by Eric Flint
Liz found that getting daily reports that Jerry was alive helped. Not enough, but they helped. Her coping mechanism was to get busy. Very busy. And of course to mislead Thor a bit on culture, refinement and good taste. It was for his own good, really, besides being fun. She was fairly sure that she was driving all of them mad, but that was just the way it had to be.
They were gods. They held out for two days, before Loki turned and yelled at Thor. "Go and look for that hammer—and take her with you!"
Thor rubbed his hands together awkwardly. "I don't remember too clearly where I last had it."
Loki looked at him coldly. "I'm preparing the greatest war. You may even be my enemy. But if you ever were my friend, take this woman and make her run across all the hills and valleys of Midgard and Utgard, from the wet gravel plains of Aurvangar to Niflheim. Maybe you will find Mjöllnir. Maybe you won't. And maybe I won't ask Ran to take her into an embrace."
"She's anxious to do some explaining. And worried about him. He's quite frail," said Thrúd defensively. She and Liz had, perforce, done a fair amount of talking.
"Ratatosk says he is as tough as old dragon-leather," said Loki tersely. "Go along with your papa. Just keep away from too many handsome young Jötun along the way. I don't have time to come and get you out of trouble too."
Thor had walked off by this time, his brow knitted, obviously deep in thought about when last he'd had his hammer. Thrúd rounded on Loki. "You make more fuss about me than my father. It's not as if you were a saint, Uncle Fox," she said crossly. "I heard the Lokasenna flyting. Just back off. It's bad enough living with one father."
Loki cleared his throat awkwardly. "If you know the flyting from the Lokasenna, you know that what I said was true."
"Yes," said Thrúd. "Parts of it I know were true."
"True about your mother too," said Loki, his voice quiet.
"I can believe that, now," said Thrúd sourly. "I saw what I saw in Valhöll."
Loki cleared his throat again. "I am sorry I treat you as if you were my child, but you see, I never was too sure—when you were little—if you were my daughter or not. It became pretty obvious that you were Thor's child by the time you were a toddler. No one else's child could possibly break so much. But I'd gotten used to looking out for you by then. And I'd gotten to like . . . and respect your father. Far more than your mother, to be unusually honest. So, looking after you is a habit by now, and very hard to break." He grinned at her. "Besides, you were as lovely a little girl as you are an annoying young woman. But I still love you."
Thrúd blinked. "I love you too, Uncle Fox. But I'm grown up now. I can look after myself."
"It's a matter of opinion," said Loki, raising an eyebrow.
"Coming from you, who never thinks of consequences until it's too late, that's a bit rich."
Loki chuckled. "I'm an experienced expert on bad decisions. Besides, I always was better at looking after others than myself."
Thor still had no idea exactly where or to whom he had sold his hammer. It had been in an alehouse somewhere . . . that had burned down. At least he was sure that it had burned down. Almost sure anyway. He did remember an alehouse burning down, but was less sure if it had happened around the time he'd sold the hammer.
It was probably in Midgard. Possibly. Anyhow . . . the taciturn giantess Ran had given him a chest full of sea-jewels to redeem it with. Now all he had to do was to find it.
"You might have lost it in Midgard," said Thrúd practically, "but something of that value would end up in Jötunheim or among the dwarves. What would a Midgarder do with it?"
"Use it in a smithy and break the anvil," said Thor thoughtfully. "Loki would have got wind of it if were in Jötunheim. He might not tell us that, of course."
"Right," said Liz. "Let's go and visit some dwarves, then."
Chapter 27
"I mean, take that Gylfaginning—the beguiling of Gylfi," said Fenrir sagely. "It's never really clear just who is beguiling who. The wordsmithing in that question and answer structure is confusing with all of the protagonists in the tale being kennings for Odin."
Jörmungand rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Brother! That's the entire point. The author was just trying to be clever."
Liz found it something of a revelation about Loki, that his wolfish son and dragon daughter could and did argue interminably about Norse literature. It had been Loki who had insisted that they should learn to read, Liz discovered. Of course his tastes were antediluvian, and he was wrong about this, that and the next, but it was Loki who shaped them away from being mere creatures of the stomach like Bitar and Smitar.
That would have been easier to deal with than the constant bickering about literary merit sometimes, though. At least Bitar and Smitar agreed about food occasionally.
Still, listening on the sidelines while they traveled across this broad braided flood plain had taught Liz something about the dwarves they were heading for. They were maggots who had feasted on the flesh of the dead Ymir (whoever he was) but had acquired consciousness, and the appearance of men. They were artificers of precious metals and gems. The Norse didn't seem to have any objection to creatures that had, as far as Liz could see, the same origins as politicians and certain members of the legal fraternity. Jerry would have stretched that to bank managers as well. The thought of him made Liz's eyes prick with tears, to the extent that she nearly fell off her horse when it stopped, because the others had stopped.
They'd come to a long, low bluff that ran along the edge of the wash of gravel. It was pockmarked with caves, or, as Liz suspected, delvings. Nothing came out of the first few that Thor bellowed into. But, after trying a fair number, they got a grumpy, "What is it this time?"
A short, stocky man peered out of a cave-mouth. His face was so sooty that it was nearly as black as his hair.
"Are you the sons of Ivaldi?" asked Thor.
Dirty face nodded. "One of them, yes. What do you want?"
Fenrir leapt, knocked the son of Ivaldi down, and put his jaws around the dirty neck. The huge wolf's growl was low-pitched and menacing enough to make Liz's ears buzz.
"Fenrir!" yelled Liz. "What are you doing?"
"The chain that bound him was made by the sons of Ivaldi," said Jörmungand. "Brother is known to carry a grudge. I think that he's about to eat a dwarf smith. I think he should wash its hands first. You should always wash hands before eating."
"It wasn't me!" squeaked the dwarf. "That was Dwalin."
"And who might you be?" asked Jörmungand grimly.
"Sindri."
"Ah. Loki has some words to say to you."
"Look. It was a long time ago. And it was a fair wager."
"It was," rumbled Thor. "One of Loki's more impulsive and stupider ones, and he got out of paying it. And Fenrir, it wasn't this one that made the chain Gleipnir. Let him up. I want to ask if he has seen Mjöllnir, the hammer he made for me."
Reluctantly, Fenrir let go, and stepped off the dwarf's back. "I'll go and sniff in these holes for this Dwalin. I've got the scent of you sons of Ivaldi now."
"Dwalin guards his mine with magic," said the dwarf, rubbing his neck. "Anyway, he was just the craftsman doing the job he was hired to do. We didn't know what would get done with it."
"You find the hole. I'll fill it with venom," said Jörmungand. "Even the maker must realize that there is price to be paid."
"And I still want to know if you've seen Mjöllnir," said Thor.
The dwarf shook his head. "It may have lost much of its virtue anyway in the time of fading, or you would be able to call it to you. But it does not lie among the dwarves. Someone would have told me if my workmanship had showed up."
Thor sighed. "We'll just have to try elsewhere. You dwarves always seemed the most likely people to buy it. Well, we'd better move out."
"What about them?" The dwarf pointed to Jörmungand and Fenrir, now checking out the next cave.
"Their business," said Thor, with a shrug.
"But . . . but
. . . we thought they were your mortal enemies?" said the dwarf, betraying that he knew more about what was being done with their products in the wider Mythworld than he'd been prepared to acknowledge.
"We became drinking buddies and sorted out our differences. During the fading. And Fenrir was tricked with Gleipnir. He feels that it was no part of the dwarves' affairs to help to trap him."
"It was a business transaction," protested Sindri.
"Who paid for it? We thought you did it out of respect for the Æsir," said Thrúd.
"Well, yes. We wouldn't have done it without respect. But business is business, you know. Dwalin is not a bad fellow. Besides, he owes me. If he gets killed he can hardly pay me back, can he?"
"So who paid for it, then?" demanded Fenrir, pausing in his sniffing.
"Odin. Like the spear and the boar and the hammer. All the treasures except for Sif's hair. Loki paid for that."
Liz held up a hand. "Wait a minute. What hammer? Do I get this right? You made this hammer Thor's looking for?"
"Yes. One of my best bits of work," said the dwarf, proudly, "even if it was a bit short in the handle."
"How much for another one?" said Liz. "Just like the other one, but with the right length handle."
"Um. Well the price would have to include leaving Dwalin alive. "
"I think we would look for a suitable discount for that. And some blood-price, from this Dwalin. Fenrir could use a suitable collar. A protective one," said Thor.
Jörmungand looked at the dwarf with a thoughtful eye. "Jewelry, or perhaps some fashion accessories," suggested Liz.
* * *
By the time they got back with a new hammer, a collar of protection against spears and arrows (with warranty) and a sea-jewel necklet that Liz badly envied, but in several sizes smaller, Loki was champing at the bit.
Fenrir was dispatched to Utgardaloki, and Jörmungand to the hag of Jarnvid. And the rest set off for the well of Mirmir.
Chapter 28
It was a good thing that Jerry had made day-counting marks on the bark, because by now he really couldn't have told anyone, let alone himself, what day of the week it was. But on the appointed day, good and early, with the now severed noose around his neck like a necktie, Jerry swayed his way down the branch to the guard-house on the cliff edge. The last scraps of Idun's apple had either lost their charm or had run out of material to work on. The world was a vague place from which Jerry was going to tolerate no back-chat. The guards saluted respectfully. They even helped him up onto a horse.
If only he'd learned to ride one of the damned things. It was a long way down the mountain and to the gates of Asgard. He better stay on the horse until he was out of sight of the guards.
It was very awkward that two of them had respectfully accompanied him.
The next thing Jerry knew was that he was looking up at Odin's face. The one-eyed god looked down sardonically. "You have enhanced my reputation for magic, sorcerer. And I daresay I will live down your equestrian skills. You really are a bit too powerful, just as the Krim device implied. Maybe I need to give Mirmir two eyes and not just one, for his wisdom."
He motioned to a thrall-woman. "Feed him. Then get Thjalfi to load him into the cart. We've a long journey ahead of us."
Jerry was tied up again. But the thrall-woman was very good and patient at spoon-feeding him. And the gruel probably was the right thing for him to eat after his diet of very few nuts, raw egg and a solitary half-apple.
Coming down the slope into the shadow of the great root you could see Mirmir's well clearly. It wasn't, as Liz had expected, a well in the conventional sense at all, complete with a little stone wall and a bucket. It was a natural "eye," a spring etched into the limestone. The green-looking water seethed and stirred and a thin haze of steam rose off the surface. Reeds grew on one edge, and a small lip overhung the other. Three little black figures stood at the edge of the lip.
"What in Hel's name are you Norns doing here?" demanded Loki of the three hooded women.
"We go where the fates dictate," croaked the bent one.
"We go where we must for the deeds of now," said the middle one, in the voice of a mature woman.
"Will dictate the future," finished the third, in a teen voice.
"Oh, Niflheim," said Loki. "You have your own well! This isn't Urd's well at the root of the world-tree in Asgard, where you three dictate the fates of mankind and the gods. Go home."
"We can't," said the three in chorus. "Nídhögg has driven us out."
"I'll have words with him," said Loki crossly. "Now, where is Mirmir?"
"He didn't like what the future held for him," said the youngest Norn.
"So he left," said the oldest.
"And we have been waiting for you, here," added the middle Norn. "You're late."
"As usual," said the youngest.
Loki ground his teeth. "I don't suppose you can be persuaded to leave, and send Mirmir back?"
"It would be of no use," said the oldest Norn. "Munin carried word to Odin. He knows we guard Mirmir's well now."
"But we will leave," said the middle Norn. "We will even leave you with the horn to draw water from the holy well."
"Is that a prophecy or an offer to negotiate?" asked Loki.
"Both," announced the eldest Norn. "We have foreseen it."
"Have you foreseen that if you're not out of here by the time I count to ten," Liz said, through gritted teeth, "that I am going to use this blunt instrument." She swung her shoulder bag.
Loki gaped at her. "They're the Norns, Liz. The fates. Urd, Verdani, and Skuld. You can't threaten them."
Liz took a firm grip on the strap of her bag. "Watch me. I'm no believer in predestination, but if they are, they know what's coming. One."
"Which is why we have agreed to go," said the youngest Norn. "Provided Loki takes us back."
"Because our powers tell us that Nídhögg will listen to him, and him alone," said the middle one.
Loki sighed. "Do you think you can manage without me? It won't be quite so easy. Mirmir could have persuaded Odin to part with Jerry. Now it'll have to be force."
"Odin comes with a thousand Einherjar as an escort," said the youngest fate, linking arms with Loki. "Besides, Odin would know another power was close." She pointed a long forefinger at Liz. "We could have told you how they would have done it, but now these strangers must contrive on their own."
Liz took a long, hard look at the youngest fate. "Sigyn, I think you'd better go along too. We'll manage. And I can tell that one's future without being a prophetess. She's trouble."
"So what are we going to do?" asked Lamont, after the Norns left.
Liz shrugged. "A thousand of those types I met in that gin-palace-stag-party would be a bit much to handle, head on. So. Odin expects these chicks in hoods and drape-in-the-soup-sleeved outfits. We're going to oblige him. He was expecting them to demand an eye, and was planning to give them one of Jerry's. Let's push the boat out. We'll demand a sacrifice. These guys will drink mead made of someone's blood from what you were telling me. It's obviously lurking in their culture. So: we insist on Jerry being thrown into the well. It's more like a cenote than a well—there is a nice big lip and the water is pretty dark. I'll be waiting in the well, with one of those hollow reeds as a snorkel. We'll claim Jerry, give Odin his water, and let him go."