Mythos (19 page)

“What sort of story do you want to hear?” I asked.

“Tell me of the magic rings that Loki spreads across our land. Tell me also of the Raven, Intuition, and his eyes so like and yet unlike the Trickster, Loki’s. Give me the tale of a blackbird and the firebird who travels with him.”

“It’s a long story, and I haven’t the time to tell it all,” I said, stalling.

I didn’t think he was going to much like my role in the faerie-ring proliferation or a number of other things. At the same time, I didn’t think lying was going to work very well. Nor skipping over the relevant bits. I looked again at the bulging muscles and the forking lightning of Thor’s eyes. Loki was a true god, one of the great powers of this MythOS; if we could convince Thor to give us a hand, we’d be in a much better state to demand Melchior’s release. I sighed. Best to start with the worst and work my way up from there.

“The faerie rings are my fault,” I said. “A magic I brought with me from another world, or worlds, really. One that lies beyond Ginnungagap—” The void of ice and fire that was the Norse answer to the Primal Chaos. “Loki entrapped me in a ring of fire, and I transformed it to escape.” I sketched in what had happened with Loki at the miniature of Shakespeare’s house. “I didn’t realize he would be able to use the magic himself, though I should have, and intentions count less than results, I’m afraid.”

“Go on,” said Thor. “Tell me more about this other world of yours.”

“Ever hear the name Zeus?” I asked.

“It sounds vaguely familiar, but no more than that.”

“Then I’ll come back to it. How do you feel about Skuld?”

“The Norn? I try to stay well away from her and her puppet-master sisters.”

“I’ll start there, since I’m not real fond of them myself. Your Norns are very like the Fates of my own pantheoverse. In fact, Skuld claimed them as sisters, an idea I hate, since that would make Skuld something of a great-aunt. Since I’ve already got two that like me even less than I like them, that seems a major step in the wrong direction.”

As quickly as I could, I told him of my lineage and how I came into conflict with the Fates when they tried to steal free will from mankind. Thor growled at the thought, which I read as a good sign. I explained how in the conflict a dear friend had died—the webgoblin Shara—and how I had ventured into Hades to rescue her.

At that Thor clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to stagger me. “Good man. Just so did Bragi bring Idun back from Hel. That you would dare the underworld for a friend speaks well of you. Say on. What happened next?”

“Well, things didn’t work out quite as I’d hoped.”

I spoke then of my meeting with Persephone and how the virus the goddess had written nearly destroyed the mweb and with it the whole multiverse. From there I went on to Persephone’s rescue and how the damage to Necessity and the mweb had allowed the goddess Nemesis to escape into the body of my cousin Dairn and in turn of my duel with her and the further injuries to Necessity.

Somewhere in there I noticed how quiet Tisiphone had grown and that she did not choose to add to the story. Not surprising, I suppose, considering how much of the damage to her mother, Necessity, could be laid at my feet. To say nothing of the bits of unidentifiable claw and the blood that had come through into our world and whatever they might portend. Since there was nothing I could do about that, I hurried through my encounter with the abacuses of Necessity and whatever had happened there to bring us here.

Finally, I related what had happened in the two days since we had arrived in Midgard. The whole took close to an hour, and one I’d rather have spent searching for Melchior, but we could really use the kind of help Thor could give. When I finished, Thor sat quietly for another couple of minutes, finally nodding.

“There is much in your story that I would like to know more about, but if we are to do your friend and familiar much good, then we should move quickly.” He leaped to his feet and in three strides stood at the reins of his chariot. “Come.”

“Then you’ll help?” I asked.

Thor nodded. “There was much left untold in your story, but no lies. You are a strange creature by my standards, a Trickster in the same mold as Loki, and yet as unlike him as the hound who guards the cattle is unlike the wolf who would devour them. I see a hero in you, one the Valkyries would be proud to choose from the field, though you will deny the charge, I think. You seek the right, and so I will help you.”

Boy did I have him snowed. I turned to Tisiphone and raised a sardonic eyebrow, inviting her to share the irony of anyone calling
me
a hero. She just smiled a brittle smile and tapped her nose in the classic charades acknowledgment of the correct answer to a clue. I rolled my eyes. I was many things, probably chief among them a pain in the posterior of Fate, but a hero was simply not on the menu. Too many of my successes are also disasters and vice versa for that.

Still smiling, Tisiphone took my arm and led me to join Thor. “Our chariot awaits.”

As soon as we stepped aboard, Thor cracked a thin whip. The goats started to pull us forward and up into the sky. Sparks flew from their hooves as they climbed, as though they were hammers of flint pounding away on an invisible steel road. More sparks flew from their teeth when they started grinding away at their cuds. Heavy gray clouds began to form around us as we got higher. That was when I remembered two things. One, this was the chariot of the God of
Storms
. And two, I
hate
flying under anything but my own power, and even that I’m not too thrilled about.

“You can let go of the railing now,” said Tisiphone.

“Not until we’re firmly on the ground,” I replied, though my athame hand ached like Atlas’s shoulders after an earthquake—and that despite our recent trip through the faerie rings.

The chariot had descended out of the storm clouds and into the snow-dappled air above the northwestern shore of Iceland, an outthrust claw of land scalloped like an oak leaf and frosted with white along the high ridges of stone that formed its skeleton. Despite flying in the heart of our own personal blizzard, with all the turbulence you’d expect in such a situation, I’d thrown up only twice.
Go, me.
To make matters worse, I was flying with two iron-stomached and danger-loving divines.

“Spits in the teeth of death, but can’t abide a bit of heavy air,” said Thor with a grin. “What kind of hero are you?”

“I. Am. Not. A. Hero,” I growled through clenched teeth. “End of story.” To prevent us going any further down that particular path, I asked him, “Why Iceland?”

“Though it is not generally spoken of in the sagas, this is where the island of Lyngvi lies in the hidden lake of Ámsvartnir.”

“Ámsvartnir?” asked Tisiphone. “That’s a jawbreaker.”

“It means red-black,” replied Thor, “a lake of lava underneath Askja Volcano, and the place of Fenris’s binding.”

“He gets around a lot for a wolf that’s been bound,” said Tisiphone.

“Neither he nor his father can break or remove the cord that ties Fenris to this island, nor pull the sword out from his jaws. But Loki is the lord of loopholes and, through means we’ve yet to thwart, he extends the stretch of that cord far beyond our intent.”

“The silver cord,” I said, “the one Odin caused to contract somehow.”

“Gleipnir the Entangler,” agreed Thor. “It’s made from cat’s footfalls and mountain roots among other things, a steely chain in a silky shape, and apparently to no avail.” He sighed and shook his head. “Actually, the last’s not true, Fenris is bound still, and he can’t leave Midgard, but it’s terribly frustrating to see him moving about beyond the edges of this island.”

“Could we go back to the part about the volcano?” I asked.

It was a question that seemed much more immediate, seeing as our goat-drawn chariot, after crossing very quickly over a good bit of snow-covered emptiness, was now heading straight for a huge steaming crater on the side of a low mountain.

“Better I just show you,” said Thor. “It’s just ahead anyw—” His words stopped abruptly, replaced by something midway between the growl of a bear and distant thunder. “I’ve got him now!” he bellowed. Then he cracked the whip, and the goats sped up, redoubling the sparks flying from their hooves.

We plunged straight toward the heart of the crater. I tried not to throw up as the bottom dropped out of my world.

“What’s going on?” I hissed through clenched teeth.

I couldn’t see anything besides steam and snow and gloom.

“They’re playing fetch in the bottom of the crater,” replied Tisiphone, whose eyes had a hunter’s sharpness. “Loki and Fenris, that is.”

“I’m going to land this chariot right on top of them,” growled Thor.

The world got suddenly darker as the high walls of the crater cut off the light of the low-hanging northern sun. Between that and the storm and the steam, I was practically blind.

“Blast!” Thor brought a great fist down on the lip of the chariot so hard the whole thing jumped like a hooked fish. My tightly clutching hands stung like I’d gotten hold of the wrong part of a power supply. “He’s running.” The chariot veered sharply to the left and started to climb up out of the crater again.

“Does he have Melchior with him?” I asked, blowing on the fingertips of my right hand.

“No,” said Tisiphone.

I made a snap decision based entirely on intuition and not at all on how very much I wanted out of that chariot. Not one little bit. Nope. Okay, so I wasn’t fooling anybody, myself included. I still thought it was a good idea.

“Why don’t we have a few choice words with Fenris while you handle Loki?” I said.

“Done,” said Thor. “Fury, can you carry two?”

“As easily as one,” replied Tisiphone.

“Then do it.”

Before I had a chance to insert myself into a debate that had suddenly gone in a rather alarming direction, Tisiphone caught me in her arms and spread her wings to their widest extent. It was a bit like opening a parachute. We stopped. The chariot didn’t. My one-handed grip on the rail tore loose painfully, then we were falling straight down into the crater.

When we were a scant dozen feet from the ground, Tisiphone backwinged. It slowed us just enough. We hit hard, but not hard enough to break anything, landing beside the waters of a steaming lake. The gray plumes rising from its surface spoke of hot springs reaching deep into the earth below, perhaps even passing near the hidden fires of Ámsvartnir. I was torn between being irritated with Tisiphone for the manner of our departure from the chariot and grateful to her for getting me back down to the ground. I hadn’t quite decided which way to jump when Fenris came bounding toward us, growling and making muffled barking noises.

Tisiphone partially extended her claws, and I half drew my sword cane—I didn’t want this to turn into a fight if it didn’t have to, but damned if I was going to face a god-wolf unarmed. Especially one who’d helped kidnap Melchior. As Fenris drew closer, the reason for the muffled nature of his barks became apparent. Clamped very firmly around his muzzle was a disembodied hand. The big poodle finally skidded to a halt about ten feet short of us.

“M-Laginn, m-let me glo!” mumbled Fenris through his living muzzle. “M-not gonna vbite ’nybody.” He growled again. “Not m-right ’way, ’nyway.”

Though he kept growling for several seconds, he put his butt firmly on the ground, perhaps in a gesture of peace. I wasn’t having any and stomped forward to glare down at him from only a few feet away.

“What the hell have you done with Melchior?” I demanded.

“M-nuthin’,” he grumbled, looking down.

“Bullshit!” I yelled, moving even closer.

Fenris stood, shaking himself like a dog shedding water, and changed shape, becoming the giant wolf once again. As he did so, Laginn’s grip slipped dangerously—the hand simply couldn’t accommodate the greater size of the wolf’s muzzle. Tossing a head bigger than a beer keg, he flipped Laginn into the steaming water. The hand hit with a splash and sank.

Looming over me, Fenris bared his teeth and laid his ears back in an expression that held not the slightest hint of humanity. The broadsword in his lower jaw quivered as he growled, and blood slowly dripped from its hilt to the ground. I couldn’t help but wonder how much that hurt.

“Are you calling me a liar?” His voice was deep and dangerous, a naked threat. “Think carefully, little Raven.”

“What would
you
call you?” I was too mad to back down, despite the fact that I was standing quite literally in the wolf’s shadow.

“Ravirn,” said Tisiphone, catching hold of my shoulder, “maybe I should handle this.”

Her grip was as firm as a steel clamp, and I could tell she was preparing to throw me aside.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “This is between me and Fenris.” I glared up into his eyes and asked my question again, spacing the words out so that there could be no mistake as to my meaning. “What—would—you—call—you?”