“We’re on the way there now.” Heimdall adjusted the bluetooth headset in his ear, then cracked open the driver’s window of his truck to help dissipate the condensation collecting on the inside of the windshield. He glanced enviously at Freyr, snoozing with his head against the passenger window. Sandwiched between her brother and Heimdall, Freya leaned forward to gaze up through the windshield at the early morning stars while ‘90s grunge rock played softly on the radio.
“Still a few days yet,” she whispered to the waning sliver of moon.
It was nearly midnight, and Heimdall knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. Again. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and guided the truck along the winding service road. It seemed like all he did these days was drive around in the forest.
Heimdall yawned loudly as he continued his telephone conversation with Odin. “Managarm. That’s right.”
Freya turned sharply to look at Heimdall. She gestured for him to hand the call to her, but he shook her off.
“Yeah, she’s sure.” Heimdall winced at the loud tirade that blasted in his ear. “Right . . . I know . . . It’s an outrage . . . Yes . . . We’re just as mystified and enraged on this end.”
Freya snapped off the radio, then adjusted her brother’s sleeping head so she could roll down the window. She sniffed at the crisp air.
“Feels like we’re getting close.”
Heimdall navigated a particularly sharp turn, shifting his snoozing passengers—Laika, Rod, and Saga—in the back of the cab. Saga’s head knocked into the window glass, cutting short her loud snoring. She cursed sharply.
“Sorry about that.” Heimdall glanced in the rearview mirror at his sister, and received a rude finger gesture in response. “Very mature.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed.
“No, sorry, I was talking to Saga,” Heimdall spoke into the headset’s mouthpiece. “Of course. This is absolutely no laughing matter.” Heimdall fell silent again, listening to his father’s instructions.
Freya kept her face to the open passenger window. Saga gripped the back of the front seat and leaned forward.
“You tracking the Tree?”
Freya nodded. “That, and trying to prevent carsickness.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “All these winding roads . . . Shifting elevations, not enough sleep.” Freya practically draped herself across Freyr to hang her head out the window.
Heimdall pulled onto a dirt and gravel road leading deeper into the forest. “Well, we can’t just go storming the wolf sanctuary on our own. Somebody’s going to have to go up to Joseph. It’s the only way to get a read on anything that might be happening with the wolf.”
The truck bounced over a couple of depressions in the dirt road. Heimdall eyed Freya as she clutched at her stomach.
“Yes, an Oregon White Oak.” Heimdall adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He would have expected to feel some relief as he drew closer to the young Yggdrasil, but he was more tense than ever. For nearly a year, his thoughts had been consumed by the new Tree. When he did sleep, he dreamt of the tiny seedling sprouting up in some unknown location, completely vulnerable without a watcher nearby.
“I don’t know how long it’s going to take!” Heimdall sighed in exasperation. Freya pulled her head back inside the truck and laid a calming hand on Heimdall’s elbow. He cleared his throat and made a conscious effort to relax his vocal chords. Growling at Odin was not going to help matters.
Heimdall navigated around increasingly thick branches overhead. “We’ve got hundreds of trees to sort through. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Coming to the end of the road, Heimdall stopped the truck. Rod and Freyr awoke with the sudden cessation of motion. Saga threw open the rear cab door and hopped out onto a bed of damp pine needles. Climbing over the drowsy and disoriented Freyr, Freya practically exploded out of the car and ducked under the low hanging branches. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Rod joined the others as they gathered in front of the truck.
“You’ll have to send Thor.” Heimdall turned off the truck’s engine and shut off the headlights. Laika leapt into the front seat and sat down beside him. “I know it’s not ideal, but there’s not a whole lot of choice right now.”
Thor had always been wary of Loki, and Fenrir—Loki’s half-wolf son—was an especially sore subject. Long ago, even before the Golden Age of the Vikings, Thor had taken a liking to the Randulfr when he was still a pup. He’d even brought him into the Great Hall to tame him as a hunting and battle companion and given the tiny Fenrir a pair of his favorite boots to chew on. But Fenrir grew into something in between god and wolf, ruled by a chaotic soul even darker than the entropy that plagued Loki.
Then in one of her visions, Frigga foresaw Fenrir’s fated role in Ragnarok, and that pretty much ended any place he might have had at Thor’s side. How could the gods knowingly harbor the beast who was destined to slay Odin? Millennia later, Thor still wasn’t convinced that Loki hadn’t deliberately planted Fenrir in their midst.
It was lucky that Loki had been convinced to bind Fenrir himself. Luckier still that Loki and Odin had slowly forged a more abiding familial bond, despite Loki’s penchant for really inappropriate practical jokes—like the time Loki got Thor drunk, dressed him up as a rather unattractive street walker, and dumped him aboard a merchant ship whose crew hadn’t seen a woman or dry land in four months.
It had taken Thor three-and-a-half days to get back to port. It was thirty-two years before Loki dared show his face again at a Lodge meeting, one where Thor was conveniently absent.
“Send Bragi and Frigga with him, to keep the peace.” Heimdall dug his fingers a bit too deep into Laika’s fur, and she whined. He backed off on his grip and mouthed, “Sorry” to her. “The last thing we need right now is another rift with Loki. Just tell Thor he’s going on a road trip to hunt down Berserkers—far, far away from any and all photocopiers.”
Heimdall opened his door and slid out from behind the wheel. “Listen, we’re here. I’ll give you an update soon.” He disconnected the call with a small tap to the earpiece, then tucked the tiny headset into his jacket pocket. Laika leapt out of the truck after him and paced an excited circle around her master.
Freya caught his eye. “Heading out to see Loki.”
Heimdall nodded.
Freya shook her head. “I don’t envy that lot.”
Heimdall closed the car door and led the group deeper into the woods. Freya was close on his heels, while Laika ran out ahead a few paces, then bounded back to Heimdall and danced in front of him before sprinting forward again. After a few minutes of walking, the tall trees thinned and opened onto a wide spread of young saplings. Hundreds of trees—ranging from three to nearly six feet in height—were staggered every thirty or so feet.
They fanned out, planted their feet on the rich soil, and listened. The stand seemed to go on forever, but Heimdall felt a subtle buzz beneath his boots.
Freya inhaled deeply and smiled. “It’s here.”
Freyr rested a hand on his solar plexus and shifted his feet. “Does anyone else feel kind of dizzy?”
Rod looked around at the others. “It’s the Tree, right? Is that what you’re all feeling?”
Heimdall knelt and placed his palm flat on the ground. The vibration started as a quiet buzz that tickled his fingers, but it quickly spread up his arm into his chest and nearly made his hair stand on end. He steadied himself as he stood up and wiped the dirt on his jeans.
Freyr turned away from the stand of trees. “I don’t remember the Tree making me feel this uncomfortable.”
“You’ve never hunted for the young Yggdrasil. You’ve only known it when it’s big and strong, more established.” Freya stepped forward into the first row of trees. Even in the dark, she gazed lovingly at the leaves. “It’s just a baby right now, brimming over with power it can’t quite contain. So, yes, it can be discombobulating.”
Laika dashed in and out of the first
few rows of saplings, playing hide and seek by herself and barking for attention.
“Hmm.” Saga sighed in consternation. “How many did you say there were? Six hundred?”
“That’s about right.” Heimdall stepped up to one of the young trees. He touched the slender trunk, then grasped a tender leaf between his fingers. “Harder to find when this young. It will be pretty indistinct from the others.” He looked past the tree in front of him to the hundreds of saplings that lay beyond. “It could be any one of them.”
Heimdall pulled out his cell phone, navigated to the calculator function, and started punching in numbers.
Freyr stepped up beside him and leaned in. “That’s 120 trees each, for five of us.”
Freyr patted Heimdall’s shoulder with a smug smile. Heimdall flinched at the touch and stepped away from his cousin.
“Yeah, okay. 120 trees . . . Rod?”
The handyman was hanging back, with his hand raised in the air. “Umm, so how can we tell if a tree is THE Tree . . . ?”
“It will be pretty subtle, but you’ll know it by touch. It will be buzzing with the same frequency you can feel running under the ground here . . .”
Rod raised his hand again. “But what if I can’t feel this buzzing thing you guys keep talking about?”
Freyr sighed. “Come along with me, then.”
Rod walked up to Heimdall and leaned close. “Is it okay if I don’t get paired with him? I don’t think he likes me.”
“Fine, you’ll be with me instead.” Heimdall went back to his cell phone calculator. “Okay, so with just four of us then . . .”
“That’s 150 trees apiece,” Freyr cut in again. “Unless the rest of you take so long that I have to pick up your slack.”
Heimdall shot his cousin a sharp look. “Yeah. So, we’ll just fan out and start going tree by tree.”
Freya touched his arm as she passed by. “It’s not bad. About fifteen acres. We’re a lot closer now than even a few hours ago.”
Heimdall watched his companions step into the stand and start inspecting the saplings. They moved slowly from tree to tree, gradually spreading farther apart. With a smile to greet the new World Tree, Freya placed her loving hands on one narrow trunk. Her face then sank into a frown and she stepped to the next tree, her expression brightening with hope for each new tree she examined. Saga got close to one specimen, sniffed at its bark and even tasted it with a quick flick of the tongue. She rolled the taste around in her mouth for a few seconds, then moved on to the next.
Heimdall buttoned up his jacket against the chill and stepped up to the nearest tree.
Stopping beside him, Rod shifted his weight between his feet in excitement. “So it’s kind of like looking for the Dalai Lama, huh?”
Heimdall raised his eyebrows.
“You know, every time the Dalai Lama dies, the other lamas try to find the new one, traveling to lots of cities and villages examining every child who might be the reincarnated Dalai Lama. Asking questions, performing ritual tests.” Rod searched Heimdall’s face for some recognition. “Don’t you ever watch public television?”
Heimdall rested a hand on one sapling, closed his eyes, listened a moment, and moved on to the next. “You think these lamas might merely be seeing what they want to see? Testing children for aptitude in religious leadership, perhaps, instead of signs of reincarnation?”
Rod placed his hand on the trunk of a tree Heimdall had just left, then followed him to the next sapling. “And you’re not doing the same thing?”
“The Yggdrasil is different,” Heimdall said roughly. “No other tree, no matter how magnificent it might be, could ever take its place.”
Rod held his hands up defensively. “Okay. But what is the Viking World Tree doing in North America, anyway? Doesn’t that just seem a little convenient?”
Heimdall glared at him.
“I, I mean, if you’re going to go criticizing the Buddhist lamas and all,” Rod stammered.
Heimdall stepped up to the next tree and tried to clear his anger before he placed his hands on the trunk. Why was he letting this human get to him?
“It’s hardly convenient, Rod.” Heimdall closed his eyes and listened. Not the Yggdrasil. He moved on. “We’re lucky the Yggdrasil didn’t jump continents again, like it did last time. It was a damned hassle relocating what was left of the clan from Norway to the New World, just because the Tree decided it wanted a change of scenery.”
“Oh.” Rod watched him examine the next tree. “Why would it do that?”
“I don’t know, Rod!” Heimdall practically barked. “It just did. And now there’s a Berserker on the loose and maybe some shady magick being worked. So every minute that we don’t know the location of the Tree is three minutes too long, get it?”
Rod took a few steps backward. “Sorry. I just thought that since you’re, you know, gods and all, you’d know stuff like that.”
Heimdall leaned against the tree he’d just tested, and the tender sapling bowed under his weight. “We’re not those kind of gods, Rod. You’ve been around us long enough to figure that out. We’re not all-powerful. We can’t stop speeding bullets or alter time. We don’t know everything.” He glanced sideways and caught Freyr watching him through the trees. “We can’t even control the weather any more,” Heimdall said loudly. “Can we?”
He walked to the next tree, and the sapling he’d been leaning against sprang back up, only slightly the worse for wear. “Six hundred trees,” he grumbled. “Six hundred blasted trees and Frigga’s annoying handyman . . .”
Heimdall felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, followed by the dull thud of a rock hitting the ground.
“Hey!” Heimdall rubbed the base of his skull and felt a thin trickle of blood beginning to mat his hair. He spun around to find Freyr standing not too far away, arms crossed over his chest.
“Can’t make the weather? Watch your speech, Heimdall.” Freyr’s mouth was hard. “You will not disrespect the Vanir.”
Heimdall’s eyes narrowed with smoldering rage. “I will speak as I please, cousin.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable with exaggerated bravado. “And don’t fool yourself. Running a martial arts school with your sister doesn’t make you any match for the Æsir.”
Freyr’s dark eyes narrowed at the challenge, and his hands tightened into fists. Laika dashed in to stand between them, looking first to one and then the other.
Freya stepped out of the trees. “Come stand with me, Rod.”
Rod jogged over to her. “What’s happening?”
She watched her cousin and brother square off against each other. “I’m not exactly sure.”
Heimdall smiled wryly. “What good’s a nature god in the world of technology, anyway? You can’t even call the elements anymore. It must eat away at you when it rains here, practically every day.” Heimdall chuckled darkly. “Or do you just kid yourself and pretend you’re the one who opened up the skies? Eh, Vanir?”
Laika put her head down and backed away with a low growl.
Rod stepped instinctively behind Freya. “What’s that? Vanir?”
“It’s a long story,” Freya answered without taking her eyes off of Heimdall and Freyr. “Basically the Vanir—Freyr and myself—are nature gods, masters of magick and the elements. We used to be at war with the Æsir, Heimdall and Saga’s family. But we made peace thousands of years ago . . .”
“You will not disrespect the Vanir.” Freyr dropped his hands to his sides and stalked angrily toward Heimdall.
“But you’re cousins!” Rod yelped.
“A technicality,” Freya said over her shoulder. “It was a permanent hostage exchange to keep the peace between the houses. Odin adopted me and my brother into his clan.”
Freyr closed the distance between himself and Heimdall. “You, of all of us, will not disrespect the Yggdrasil. You will not disrespect my sister. And you will not disrespect me.” He pushed Heimdall backward with both hands, grunting deep in his
chest with the effort.
“What are you doing?!” Freya shouted at them.
Heimdall staggered back a few paces before regaining his balance. Freyr had never struck him before, and this first attempt was pathetic. He laughed. “Stupid little Vanir. Is that the best you can do? It’s a wonder your own kind let you survive.”
Heimdall took a deep breath and bellowed an ancient war cry as he lunged at his smaller, more slender cousin, but Rod charged in full speed to intercept him, bearing the brunt of Heimdall’s charge. Rod and Heimdall tumbled awkwardly to the ground at Freyr’s feet. Rod cried out in pain, and Saga and Freya rushed forward.
Heimdall struggled to get to his feet, but Rod grabbed him—one hand gripping the shoulder of his jacket, the other buried deep in Heimdall’s thick hair—and pulled him back down to the ground. Heimdall flailed about, trying to free himself.
“Unhand me, mortal!” Heimdall bellowed. He couldn’t remember ever having been so angry. “Someone needs to teach this undeserving nature sprite a lesson.”
Laika tore around them in a wide circle, barking loudly as Rod kneed Heimdall in the kidneys and forced him onto his back in the dirt. Rod grunted again in pain, and a vision of being scolded by Frigga for breaking her handyman pierced Heimdall’s rage. Heimdall hesitated, and Rod managed to climb on top of him where he sat down squarely on his chest.
“Someone want to give me a hand here?” Rod panted.
Heimdall stared up at the overcast sky. He blinked the light rain out of his eyes and tried to catch his breath. Laika trotted up beside him and sniffed at his face. Heimdall turned his head and pushed her away. In a fair fight, Rod would have been no match for either of the gods. Yet here Heimdall was, flat on his back, with Rod sitting on him.
“Teach the nature sprite a lesson?” Saga frowned down at Heimdall. “What kind of talk is that among kinsmen? We are no longer Æsir and Vanir!”
His rage was nearly spent, but then he spotted Freyr standing over him, laughing. Attempting to free himself, Heimdall tried to roll first to one side, then the other, but Rod moved with him, keeping him pinned down.
“Gods out of control!” Rod shouted. “I’m telling your mother about this.”
“Rod, let me go. This isn’t your fight.” Heimdall pointed an accusatory finger up at Freyr. “He started it.”
“Shrewd words from the high and mighty Æsir,” Freyr sneered. “Big and brawny and completely useless. Bested by your mother’s mortal manservant!”
Freya smacked the back of her brother’s head. “Enough!”
Heimdall paused to collect himself, then easily pushed Rod aside. The human rolled onto the ground with a painful grunt. But just as Heimdall was about to regain his footing, Saga and Freya tackled him and drove him back down to the dirt.
Keyed up by the loud voices and wrestling, Laika wagged her tail and jumped from side to side playfully. She barked and tried to tempt Heimdall with a play bow, then leapt forward to nip at his hair.
“Laika!” Heimdall pushed the wolf-dog back and then tried to free himself from his sister and cousin.
Freyr laughed. “You’re not even a match for the dog!”
“Enough!” Rod snarled as he climbed to his feet. “I don’t care who started what. I don’t care what you’re arguing about, or why, or how far back it goes. I am not your freaking babysitter!”
Rod slapped down Freyr’s raised fist, then stepped a few paces away and rested his hands on his knees. With a disappointed whine, Laika yawned loudly and lay down in the dirt.
Freya stood up and straightened her clothes. “It’s the Tree.”
With a resigned nod to Saga, Heimdall eased his sister off of his chest, sat up, and sighed.
“I’ve never seen you behave so foolishly.” Freya looked down at him. “The Tree is still too young to contain the full wisdom of the Yggdrasil. It’s spilling over, and obviously impacting us.”
“You’re saying all of this is because of some tree?” Rod held his sides and winced, and Heimdall watched the way the mortal stepped gingerly back toward the group.
“Not just any Tree.” Heimdall reminded him. “I think I may have cracked a couple of your ribs. Sorry about that.”
“Well, it’s no wonder, really.”
Everyone turned and looked at Saga.
“We all hate our jobs.” She looked at Heimdall and shrugged. “Okay, most of us hate our jobs. We’re living in a world that prefers double-decker burritos and movies-on-demand to any kind of god, old or new.” Saga climbed to her feet and made a vain attempt at tidying her wayward curls. “With this new threat from Managarm, is it any surprise we’d lose our composure? So let’s just all take a breath, okay?”
Heimdall rested his forearms on his knees and looked at the ground, mostly to keep the others from seeing his cheeks flush red. How could he have been such an idiot? Freya and Saga were absolutely right. He spent a minute or two listening to a few frogs croaking nearby and waited for the last dregs of angry tension to drain away.
“That’s better.” Heimdall stood up. He eyed Freyr warily, then took a step forward and held his hand out to him.
Wearing a petulant frown, Freyr crossed his arms over his chest. Freya kicked him in the shin. “Do it.”
Freyr reached forward and clutched Heimdall’s forearm against his own. They shared a relieved chuckle and then embraced in a bear hug.
Heimdall pulled away from his cousin and started to pick pine needles out of his hair.
Freya fought with Rod, trying to get him to move his arms away from his torso. “If you would just let me take a look . . . We all need to keep our wits about us, then, and not just tonight. If Managarm is using the old Tree’s magick against us . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Heimdall deliberately didn’t complete her thought for her. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Right, then. Back to work. Rod, you good?”
Rod shooed Freya away just as a pair of ravens settled on a branch of one of the taller saplings and cawed. Heimdall smiled.
Rod grabbed Heimdall’s elbow and winced as he pointed at the birds. “What does that mean?”
“That,” Heimdall said as he stared at the birds, “means we’re on the right track.”
The ravens spread their wings and flew deeper into the stand of White Oak saplings.
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