Valhalla

by Jennifer Willis

In the gray light of dawn, Thor skirted the Lodge’s main building, with Bragi, Loki, and Frigga following close behind. There was no sense chancing a walk through the house with the god of chaos—not with Frigga’s fancy kitchen appliances around.

  Thor could hear the voices of the others gathered in the clearing behind the Lodge, and the smoke from the bonfire was unmistakable.

  Just before they rounded the corner and came into view of the clan, Frigga grabbed Thor’s elbow and brought the group to a halt. She turned to Loki and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Everything is going to be fine.”

  Loki took a deep breath. “Some have never forgiven me.” He looked at the ground. “I’m not sure I can blame them.”

  “That’s ancient history.” Frigga smiled and tried to catch his eye. “Literally.” She slipped her arm inside his. “We all need each other now. Let any lingering troubles sort themselves out. Tonight, we are all certainly on the same side.”

  Loki nodded grudgingly, then looked up at Thor.

  Thor stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. Odin might have made peace with Loki, but that didn’t mean Thor had to like it. He wanted to tell Loki to watch his step, that they might be allies in this desperate moment but the god of chaos had better hightail it back to the hills as soon as it was over. But somehow he didn’t think that would go over too well with his mother.

  They were all staring at him now—Loki, Bragi, and Frigga. Thor felt his face start to flush red, which only left him more flustered.

  “Thor,” Frigga chided him. “Don’t you have something you’d like to say to your kinsman? Some words of encouragement, perhaps?”

  Thor cleared his throat and tried to think fast. “Umm  . . . I’m glad it wasn’t you that called the Berserkers. And, uh, Frigga has a human working for her. Rod Hammerstein. Don’t know if that’s his real name or maybe an alias for dressing up onstage, but he’s not a bad guy.”

  Thor expected the nasty look his mother gave him, but Loki surprised him by breaking into a huge smile and then firmly embracing him — right around the middle of Thor’s chest, since Loki barely came up to his chin. Releasing him, Loki stepped forward and led the way to the back of the Lodge.

  Frigga slid in next to Thor. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Anything else wouldn’t have been sincere.”

  She patted his massive bicep and rested her hand in the crook of his elbow.

  Thor rounded the corner and saw Loki silhouetted against the large bonfire as he stood on the grass and watched the glowing embers dance skyward. Stepping away from Frigga, Thor stood beside Loki and scanned the semicircle of assembled gods—and Rod. They all stared at Loki.

  Thor felt the tiny shift in Loki’s stance and planted a meaty hand on the smaller god’s shoulder before he gave into any temptation to flee. “Easy there,” Thor muttered. “Like Frigga said, we’re your friends here.” Thor resisted adding, for the next twenty-four hours.

  Loki attempted a smile. Odin broke away from the bonfire and approached them quickly, only at the last second reaching out with his strong arms to take the god of chaos into a firm hug.

  “It has been too long, my brother.” Odin clapped Loki on the shoulder, then stepped back and looked into Loki’s troubled eyes. “You are welcome here. There is no bad blood between us.”

  Thor tried not to snort with derision. Managarm isn’t Loki’s ally. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

  Odin led Loki toward the gathering around the fire, but Loki quickly looked back at Thor.

  “I won’t overstay my welcome,” Loki said. “I promise.”

  While Loki walked toward the fire with Odin, Thor stood rooted to the spot, not sure if the god of chaos had somehow read his thoughts. Before he had a chance to make up his mind, his cell phone chirped out a notification that he had a text message. Surprised his phone was working again after getting fried by Loki’s aura of inconvenient destruction, Thor slipped the device out of his trouser pocket.

  Frigga peered over his elbow at the display. “A message from Heimdall?”

  “No,” Thor mumbled, deflated. “I just got fired.” He deliberately didn’t look at Frigga. “Seems I was supposed to be at three different sites yesterday, plus some toner crisis this morning that I wasn’t around for. And, umm, also my manager didn’t take it too well when I had to take time off to go to Joseph.”

  “Look at me.”

  Thor raised his eyes to meet hers, finding her expression softer than he’d expected.

  “I didn’t exactly tell him it was a family emergency,” he stammered. “Never quite got to that part.”

  Frigga lifted one eyebrow.

  Thor rested his hands on his hips in exasperation. “When he asked where I was going and why, I, uh, I told him it was none of his bloody business—that I go where I want, when I want.”

  A small smirk grew on Frigga’s face. “Did you, now?”

  “And then I threw my tools through the front window.”

  Frigga chuckled lightly and patted her startled son on the arm. “That job was a bad fit for you. I’m honestly surprised you lasted as long as you did. I already had something new lined up for you anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  She slipped her arm into his and walked him toward the bonfire. “I’ve made arrangements for you to join a construction company. If you get frustrated, you can just hammer something.”

  Thor beamed down at her. “Hammer?”

  “Your new tools are in the truck.” She looked at the others standing in a sparse circle around the flames. “But we’ll discuss all of that, after.”

  Thor’s smile faded. He took his place beside Frigga in the circle and saw her give a quick wave to Rod, sitting at the giant picnic table Thor had built for the clan’s outdoor summer feasts.

  Freya handed a cup of mead around the circle. “Take a few sips, and pass the cup.”

  Frigga drank and passed the cup to Thor. He looked down into the dark liquid and sniffed at it suspiciously. “What is this?”

  “Just drink it,” Frigga answered.

  Thor wasn’t too sure about this mystery beverage. Freya certainly knew her magickal brews, but this one didn’t smell particularly appealing. The last time he’d tasted one of her potions—three hundred years ago at a birthday party for Loki—Freya had brewed a honey wine with a secret blend of spices to promote forgiveness and goodwill. It had been one hell of a party—what he could remember of it. Thor had awakened in the outhouse curled up with an armadillo, while Bragi was sprawled on the lawn, covered in brambles, maple syrup, and a curious blue powder he’d never been able to identify. Saga had finally come to her senses some eighteen miles down a dirt road at a convent. But Frigga had the worst hangover, after waking up soaking in her own massive stew pot, wearing nothing but Odin’s eye patch as a bra.

  “Old Ones of the New World. Thank you for joining this circle,” Freya intoned as she tossed a bundle of dried herbs onto the fire. The leaves began to smoke heavily.

  Thor grunted and took a hefty sip from the cup, surprised that it tasted more sweet than bitter, though it made his teeth feel sticky. He passed the cup to Loki. “To comely women and better days.”

  Loki lifted the cup to Thor’s toast and drank.

  “We call upon the memory of those not with us, who have chosen slumber or seclusion over the changing times,” Freya continued. “We also hold space for our brethren who stand with us in spirit, no longer in body.” She took a deep breath to inhale the smoke from the burning herbs. “Heimdall,” she called out dreamily. “We send you strength in the forest as you watch over the Yggdrasil. May your senses be sharp, your resolve unwavering.”

  “Heimdall,” the others murmured, not quite in unison.

  “Okay.” Freya sighed audibly, even over the crackling bonfire. “Here goes nothing. Let’s call the Einherjar . . .”

  With a quick nod to Freya, Frigga ducked out of the circle to the picnic table. She picked up a tra
y of small paper cups full of a dark-purplish liquid that Rod had just finished ladling out from a large stock pot. Frigga started handing the cups to each of her kin.

  When she got to Thor, he tried not to grimace at the potion’s aroma—which smelled like rotten fruit on a dead skunk. Thor silently cursed Heimdall’s absence from the bonfire. With a look of extreme distaste, he lifted the cup toward his face.

  Frigga grabbed his wrist before he could drink. “Just put it on the ground until Freya gives the signal.”

  With a grateful sigh, Thor rested the paper cup on the grass between his feet. Frigga passed out the last cup and returned to her spot in the circle.

  “We call upon the fallen heroes of the gods who have feasted and rested and stood ready in the Halls of Valhalla. Einherjar!” Freya raised her arms high over her head. “Heed the call of the Old Ones!” She thrust her arms toward the fire, palms forward. “Feed the fire, my kindred. Send your strength into the flames. Let the fire become the cauldron of our collected will.”

  Thor took a deep breath and stared into the flames. Exhaling sharply, in synch with the others, he watched the fire leap higher, reaching nearly thirty feet in the air.

  “Again!” Freya called out.

  Moving as one, Thor and his kin took a step closer to the fire. Thor gritted his teeth and willed every ounce of power he had left into the flames. His face red both from the heat and intense concentration, he balled his hands into fists, then groaned loudly as the energy flowed through him. The flames exploded upward until the bonfire was taller than the Lodge itself, singeing the branches of the surrounding trees.

  “Hear us, Einherjar!” Freya cried out. “Ragnarok has come! Your gods call you into service. Hear us, Einherjar!”

  “Hear us, Einherjar!” Frigga echoed.

  “Answer this call to battle,” Freya commanded, her expression as wild as the fire, flames dancing in her eyes. “Take up arms once more against the enemies of your gods!”

  “Hear us, Einherjar!” Thor bellowed, followed closely by his mother as the others began to pick up the chant.

  “Fly from the Halls of Valhalla, to the . . . To . . . To Northwest Oregon!” Freya glanced at her brother and shrugged.

  “Hear us, Einherjar!” The Old Ones called in unison. Sweat rolled off Thor’s brow and stung his eyes, but he didn’t break his focus on the fire.

  “Heed the call of your gods!” Freya’s voice was growing hoarse. “Your service will not go unrewarded.”

  “Hear us, Einherjar!”

  Freya bent down to pick up the small paper cup of potion and lifted it high into the air. “Now!” Freya threw the cup—potion and all—into the flames, and the others followed. The bonfire howled and twisted upward in a cyclone of flame, reaching up to touch the clouds and spreading fire across the early morning sky. Thor felt his blood come alive with waves of heat as he looked upward and saw lightning bolts jump from one cloud to the next as a mighty crash of thunder shook the ground.

  With a humming whine rising in pitch, the flames retreated suddenly downward as the column of fire collapsed onto the giant pile of logs and tinder. The bonfire extinguished itself with a loud hiss and a billow of dark gray smoke.

  Thor stumbled back from the charred wreckage of the fire, coughing viciously and trying to wave the smoke out of his eyes. He retreated to the picnic table, where Rod was handing out water. Thor frowned at the bits of green floating in the cup. “This is just water, right?”

  “I think it’s got some mint and lavender in it.” Rod refilled Freyr’s cup and motioned for Thor to drink.

  Thor knocked back the herbed water, coughing at the bits of plant matter that tickled his throat, and turned around to survey the giant, blackened bird’s nest of charred wood that had been the bonfire. As the last ember faded, the entire pile collapsed into a heap of ashes.

  “Well, by the black elves of Svartálfaheim,” Thor whistled through his teeth, then fished a piece of lavender out of his mouth.

  “Quiet!” Odin hissed. He swayed on his feet and held a hand to his head, and Thor realized he was feeling dizzy, too. He staggered back to the picnic table and allowed Rod to help him sit down.

  Odin stood at the head of the table, pressing his fists into the surface to keep his balance. “Everyone just take some time to—”

  The I Dream of Jeannie theme song started playing.

  “Oh, for the love of Niflheim!” Odin scowled at Saga. “Will your history-loving hiney ever turn that thing off?”

  “Sorry.” She slipped the phone out of her back pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”

  Thor downed another cup of water and looked across the table at Freya. Her eyes were still a bit hazy. “So that’s it?”

  She nodded slowly, clearly lightheaded from the ritual. “That’s all I could come up with on short notice.” She glanced at the wide black spot that had been the bonfire. “We’ll see what happens.”

  Sitting next to Thor, Bragi laid his head down on the table and appeared to go to sleep.

  Seeming to regain her clarity, Freya looked hard at Thor and reached across the table to tap his wrist. “What took you so long getting back here, anyway?”

  “Loki,” Thor growled, watching his possibly nefarious kinsman chatting with Odin at the head of the table. “He insisted on spending half the night trying to track Fenrir himself.”

  “He dragged us through the forest, across fields, onto private property . . .” Bragi muttered in dreamy exhaustion. “Even down into a few ravines that were, uh, less than savory.”

  Thor picked pieces of chopped lavender and mint out of his teeth. “Couldn’t find another working phone to call and check in.” He didn’t mention that he’d been glad they couldn’t find a phone—he hadn’t relished the idea of getting blasted by Odin again—but Freya flashed him a knowing smile.

  “THEY’RE COMING!” Saga shouted suddenly just behind him. Thor nearly fell off the picnic bench. She jogged up to the table waving her cell phone in the air. “They’re coming already.”

  Thor picked himself up and frowned. “That was fast.”

  Freya stood up and regarded Saga doubtfully. “Are you telling me you just got a cell phone call from the Einherjar?”

  “Pretty much.” Saga tapped her phone. “That was my manager, Bonnie. From the bookstore.”

  “And . . . ?” Thor looked up at his sister and hoped she wasn’t succumbing to whatever made the Norns speak in impossible riddles. “Did some kind of portal to the afterlife open up in the Anthropology section, allowing the fallen heroes of Valhalla to come pouring through?”

  Bragi lifted his head and laughed. Saga glared at her brothers and stuck her tongue out at them.

  “Oh, yeah,” Bragi rested his head back down on the table. “Real classy. How a petulant teenager got to be the goddess of history  . . .”

  “Right,” she sneered at him. “This from the great god of art and poetry who can’t take a single step without tripping over his own feet. Twice.”

  In a daze, Bragi spun around on the picnic bench and fixed Saga with a bleary gaze. “Once! That happened one time. It wasn’t my fault that old farmer let loose a bunch of squealing piglets in the middle of a barn dance—”

  “Can we get back to the Einherjar, please?” Frigga rested a hand on Bragi’s shoulder and motioned for Saga to continue.

  “Right! Well, so Bonnie called. She sounded pretty excited, almost out of breath. She said she’d had this sudden vision, like a lighting bolt to the temple—”

  Thor perked up. “Lightning bolt?”

  Saga smiled. “Exactly how she described it. I, umm, told her to meet us at the dojo. I hope that’s okay . . . ? She said she suddenly knew who I was, who we all were.” Saga gestured around the table and couldn’t keep from laughing. “I think, I think she’s one of the new Vikings. Or the new old Vikings. So is Bonnie now the reincarnation of an old warrior, or is her body being taken over by a spirit flying up from Valhalla? How does it w
ork?”

  Freya sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Let’s hope we have the leisure to figure that out later.”