by Renée Jaggér
Velasquez gestured toward it. “That’s an arcane energy reversal field,” he exposited. “Not the same as what our guns fire, but it will block spectral beings from passing through unless they have a death wish. As such, we’ll be safe for a while, and this valley should remain a clear zone as long as those things are up. Later we can portal back here and use this place as a staging zone for further incursions.”
Since they’d be taking a break to rest and recharge their armaments, Velasquez also decided to let everyone eat. He ordered Park to distribute a couple packs’ worth of Meals, Ready-to-Eat that the Agency had purchased from the Department of Defense.
Park grinned evilly. “Any of you people ever had an MRE before? Hoo, boy! Are you ever in for the complete opposite of a treat!”
“I have,” a male witch said. “Army Infantry, 2012 to 2016. They’re not that bad. I mean, they’ve gotten better since my dad was in the service, based on the shit he said. I was kind of a fan of the ravioli, to be honest.”
Park snorted. “If all you ever eat is microwaveable junk or crap out of cans, I guess they’re okay. But clearly, you’ve never had my mom’s authentic Korean cooking, have you?”
The guy shrugged. “So, invite me to dinner when this is all over.”
“I may,” Park retorted. “She lives in Los Angeles, though.”
“Oh,” the other man muttered. “Fuck that, then.”
They all tore into the packaged meals and found mostly an assortment of macaroni and cheese, meatloaf, and decently-preserved vegetables. Roland found his tolerable, but he could understand why deployed military personnel tended to find themselves missing home cooking or proper restaurants very quickly.
The agents also set up a portable heating device. According to Velasquez, they could have made a fire without fear, since the crones were not as devious as human opponents, but there was nothing to burn. The landscape was totally devoid of wood.
Roland and Dante sat about halfway back from the heater. Being from Seattle, they didn’t much mind the Other’s chill, though the agents from California, Nevada, and Arizona seemed uncomfortable.
Dante shook his head as he finished his meal. “I still don’t understand how the heck this happened. Like, how did it occur to her to make that many copies of herself? You said she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed originally. Something must have ‘clicked’ after those wraiths turned her into an eldritch crone.”
Roland shrugged. “Yeah, it’s bizarre. Her main form, the body that possessed her consciousness that we obliterated a week or two ago? That must have been a distraction while she kept parsing off her essence into all these things. She must have been feeding, unseen and unknown, for a long period of time before she moved up to killing people and got our attention.”
“Probably,” the younger wizard agreed. “The thing is, there has to be something else anchoring and protecting these clones. They’re inferior copies, phantoms of phantoms, so according to basic magical theory as I understand it, they should have faded or collapsed in on themselves by this point.” He frowned. “Though, admittedly, I don’t claim to know everything about everything.”
Roland, who was well versed in arcane knowledge for his age, allowed his eyes to go distant as his mind raced ahead. “No, Dante, I think you’re right.”
Park and another agent who’d been passing by stopped. “What do you mean?” Park asked. Other agents and witches glanced toward them as well.
Raising his voice to address the whole group, Roland explained, “There has to be, uh, like a magical device of some sort empowered with the essence of Callie—the original crone—rooting all these duplicates to physical or semi-physical existence. By themselves, they’re relatively weak, and their advantage is clearly in numbers.”
“Right,” an agent agreed.
“So,” Roland continued, “since they’re pale shadows of the power she had before, they’d scatter or melt into nothing without something holding them together. I can’t say what it is or where to look for it. Maybe down there, surrounded by hundreds of the goddamn things, maybe someplace different. But there must be a way...”
Velasquez came over. “I’m not expert on this shit, but what you say makes sense. I’ll pass it on to the eggheads. Any bright ideas would be helpful at this point.”
Eerie howling approached, and the men and women looked to see another mass of eldritch specters crowding up against the purple barrier between the poles. Thirty or forty of them had come from the central and right-hand paths.
“For fuck’s sake,” Deanna groaned.
Velasquez ordered them to make ready to confront the crones. After a short warm-up and a brief conference on tactics, as well as double-checking to ensure their rifles were charged, the agents and witches pushed through the barrier and immediately engaged their foes.
Since they had to fight at closer range than before, two witches took nasty burns on their arms and legs, and one agent was dashed against the stone wall of the pass, where he cracked a rib. They didn’t lose anyone, though, and were able to annihilate the phantoms in a matter of minutes.
“Good,” Velasquez stated. “Move the poles into the passages. We’re extending our safe zone. This way, we can use these paths to get closer to the canyon and observe what’s going on down there unmolested.”
Once the task was done, the senior agent seemed loath to press any further attacks.
“We don’t have the manpower or firepower,” he pointed out. “The fact that we took minor casualties at close range demonstrates the fuckery that will happen if anyone gets cut off and surrounded by two hundred of the things at once, which is a real possibility if we try to fight the whole horde with a goddamn platoon’s worth of people.”
“Okay,” Charlene acceded. “What should we do, then?”
Velasquez pursed his lips and smoothed his black hair. “We, meaning the Agency personnel, will stay here and hold the fort. I want you guys, the casters, to go home and tell all your friends to come along for the ride. Or better yet...”
Roland held up a hand, palm flatly outwards. “Say no more. If she’s back, we’ll get her. If she isn’t back, I’ll file a formal complaint with management about how she’s neglecting her duties as a goddess.”
Bailey opened a portal and stared into the irregular amethyst-hued surface. Snow continued to fall around her from the dim blue light, the “day” of the trolls’ domain having changed again to “night.”
“Well, Fenris,” she mumbled, though the wolf-god was not present, “if you need me—and I know you do—you know where to find me.”
She’d waited long enough for him to return. She stepped through the gateway, and the usual chill was accompanied by another, deeper chill as she realized that the idea of him needing her had acquired a new meaning.
The slight dizziness of astral travel passed, and she found herself standing on the slope behind her backyard as usual. Leaning against the wall of the pole barn were Roland and Dante.
“Well,” her fiancé began, standing up straight when he saw her. “Who’s this chick, and what’s she doing on Nordin family property? You’re trespassing, young lady.”
She strode over to him and slugged him gently in the stomach. He doubled over slightly and let out an oof.
“You know damn well who I am, dork. Hi, Dante. Sorry I took off so fast, but it was an emergency. Goddess shit; you know how it goes. Fenris had to fetch me in the middle of the night.”
Dante waved. “Hi, Bailey.”
Roland stood back up and made a show of massaging his abdomen. “We had something of an emergency ourselves. The Men in Black—or Men in Dark Grayish-Green, whatever—came to fetch us, albeit in the middle of the day. So there. Unfortunately, the emergency is still going on, but before we get to that...”
He grabbed her, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed her body to his, kissing first her forehead and then her mouth. She didn’t complain.
She brushed his nose with the tip of her own. �
�I missed you.”
“Ditto.” He kissed her cheek for good measure. “Is everything okay?”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “For the time being, I guess. Fenris...shit, I dunno what to think anymore. He helped me again, I’ll say that much. I can tell you about it later. First I need food. I ate half an elk, but I’m kinda feeling the need to go to the other Elk if you don’t mind.”
Roland looked at Dante. “Is that okay with you? Fine with me. Better than military-grade MREs in any event.”
The three Nordin brothers were already at the Bristling Elk, having lunch and beers, so going there killed two proverbial birds with one stone.
When they arrived, the trio sought out Jacob, Russell, and Kurt, finding them at their usual booth.
“Oh, hi!” Jacob greeted them. “Goddamn, Bailey, we were worried as all hell.”
She frowned. “I know, and I apologize. It was an emergency. Let’s move a table over so I can order myself a steak sandwich.”
While they waited for their food, they chatted sporadically about minor bullshit. Bailey did not feel much like talking about all that had happened while she was gone, and Roland and Dante didn’t regale her with the tale of what they’d been up to, either. It wasn’t until the sandwiches arrived and everyone dug in that they resumed discussion of serious matters.
“So,” the werewitch began through a mouthful of steak, cheese, bread, and sauce, “the gist of what I was doing is that some pricks from another dimension were trying to invade Asgard—Fenris’s home turf, basically—and we had to convince them to stop. Which we did, mostly. Another time, I’ll tell you the details.”
Kurt cracked his neck. “Ohhh. Convince them. Like how you convinced Aradia to stop existing, I’m guessing?”
“Yeah,” the girl confirmed, “though it wasn’t as elaborate. Roland, you said there was something important still going on. Fill me in.”
Breathing deeply, he and Dante related all that had happened. All four of the Nordins gawked in amazement as they went on.
Jacob whistled. “A Grand Canyon’s worth of floating zombie witches from Hell. Things keep getting better and better, don’t they?”
Dante said, “They will get better if our plan has any basis in reality, which it probably does because we’re smart.”
“Exactly,” Roland confirmed. “However, we’re not as strong as, you know, a deity. With Bailey’s muscle on our side, we’re pretty sure we can figure out the rest of what we need to learn and rid the world of Caldoria McCluskey once and for all. God, it feels good to say that.”
Bailey swallowed the last of her sandwich. “I bet.” She sighed, realizing that she could do with a night’s sleep even though the arcane realms refreshed her without the need for traditional slumber. There was a kind of compound mental tiredness that had nothing to do with the needs of the body, and she felt it now.
Dante pointed out, “The agents are waiting. Time is different in there, but we shouldn’t delay too long.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bailey grunted. “Let me finish my coffee, then I’ll join you guys in saving my second world in two days. Tomorrow maybe I’ll save two worlds in one day, then take Saturday off.”
Russell put his huge hand over hers. “Bailey. If you need us, say the word. And don’t work too hard.”
Usually Russell wasn’t the sentimental type, so she knew he meant it. Jacob and Kurt echoed what the middle brother had said, and she embraced them all before she departed with the two wizards.
Roland drove. “The good news,” he quipped, “is that having been to this weird-ass part of the Other where the Callies are gathering, I can portal back instead of relying on the Agency’s oh-so-fancy technology.”
“Well,” Dante observed, “it is fancy. And it works!”
Roland narrowed his eyes. “Silence.”
Once back at the house, the older wizard opened the gateway in the rear of the pole barn, as Velasquez had done with his device earlier. “Oh,” he added, “Charlene and Deanna are there too, if you remember them.”
Bailey nodded. In fact, she barely recognized the names, which made her feel strangely ashamed. She wanted to care about all the people in her life, everyone under her divine purview as the goddess of witches and Weres. But there were so many of them, and so much had happened lately. Her brain was overflowing.
They stepped through the portal and into the desolate valley.
“Hi!” Roland announced as all eyes turned toward them. “We have successfully procured the goddess.”
“Yup,” Dante added. “Everyone gets three wishes.”
The girl smacked the wizards lightly on their heads. “Wishes my ass, aside from whatever it is you actually need me to do. Velasquez, is that you? What’s the situation?”
The lead agent approached her. He was suited up in armor and a helmet and carrying his rifle and wrist-tank, which made him hard to identify at first glance.
“It’s me. Thanks for coming. Did these guys explain the overall situation to you?”
She nodded. “Yeah. They told me what you guys have done so far, what we’re up against, et cetera. I only need to know exactly what you want me to do in order to, uh, find this mysterious thing that’s supposedly anchoring the crones in place.”
Velasquez elaborated. “Our best guess thus far is that the hypothetical target object is at the center of the horde. Makes sense that something that important to them would be guarded by the bulk of them, though Roland tells me it could also be stuffed into a nook or cranny in a completely different dimension where no one would think to look for it. But we need to take out as many of these things as we can regardless, so the idea is a direct incursion.”
“Fun,” Bailey quipped. “I assume you want me out in front.”
Park walked up. “Of course, but first, let’s discuss a little something we can do with an explosive charge...”
Chapter Eight
Fenris stepped out of the snow and into the portal. Worlds and energies rushed past him as his foot came down on the gritty soil of another plane, the realm of the frost trolls left far behind.
He had not been here for a long time. It was a bleak domain, with parched rust-colored dust and sand and rock over irregular terrain. Huge monolithic boulders were strewn about the landscape, many carved by the wind—or hands and conscious intent, in some cases—into weird, fantastical shapes. Caves opened into the depths of the earth from rises in the land. The only vegetation was an assortment of snaky vines with thorns the size of a human hand.
The sky was a dark slate color, seemingly too close to the ground, and the scanty light that filtered through the thick clouds added to the paradoxical sense of oppression. The land was open, yet the low, dim sky made the place claustrophobic.
Alone, Fenris walked with a casual, deliberate gait. He had no particular destination in mind. He knew that he’d been sighted moments after he’d appeared and that he was being watched and stalked as he moved.
Good.
Shadowy forms occasionally appeared out of the corners of his eyes as his pursuers changed positions or scampered out of easy sight. He came to a higher patch of land, where oddly-shaped stones were arranged in a rough circle, and a tall, twisted, petrified tree grew at the center.
No sooner had the wolf-god stepped into the circle than he was surrounded. Without fear, he turned to examine his ambushers.
They were lithe, compact humanoids with grayish-purple skin and hair that was the color of pale ashes. Most of them wore it long and tied up or back. The pupils, irises, and scleras of their eyes were all a solid glossy black. Most held bows loaded with barbed arrows, and all wore curved swords at their sides.
Dark elves, another species Asgard had banished to the far fringes of the universe.
“Fenris!” their apparent leader called in a voice that hissed while also being curiously musical. He had a scar down one emaciated cheek. “We know who you are, but not why you’ve come. You are not welcome, but let us hear your reasons be
fore we decide what must be done.”
The wolf-father regarded the elves with a steady, neutral gaze. “Have you been paying no attention to the worlds beyond your own? If you had, then you would know that the beginnings of Ragnarök are upon us. I would speak to your king on these matters if he deigns to receive me.”
The creatures conferred in soft whispers. After a moment, the lieutenant of the warband replied, “So be it. We will take you to him, but whether he decides to grant you an audience will be his own decision. Any treacherous acts you might attempt will be met with the wrath of the entire realm.”
Fenris bowed his head. “I understand. I will attempt nothing untoward.”
The elves, maintaining a circle around him, led the wolf-god across the wasteland, and then down into an especially large cavern. At first they passed through mere tunnels, but soon they came to an area like a subterranean city, with carved stairs and pillars set with black, amber, and purple gemstones. Other elves, civilians in rags or courtiers in fine robes, milled about.
In a grand hall at the rear of the sunken metropolis stood a throne of black crystal. Armored guards with pikes closed in, peering suspiciously at the newcomer as the dark elves’ king descended from his seat.
His name was Gormyr, as Fenris recalled. He was taller than most of the others but just as lean and cruel-looking, and his white hair fell in a banded cascade to his waist. He wore elaborate armor of two materials colored like gold and bronze, accented with orbs and bands of obsidian.
“Fenris,” the monarch intoned in a voice deeper than that of the lieutenant and thick with sardonic coldness. “What could possibly bring you here?”
The deity smiled grimly. “The end of Asgard’s rule.”
Silence fell over the hall as Gormyr stared at the eyes under the hood. “Oh?” The king sneered. “So you’ve come to negotiate the surrender of the Æsir and Vanir to us. We shall consider treating you mercifully.”
