* * *
Sally stood over what was left of Managarm’s body and tried to think of a curse sufficiently vile to hurl upon the fallen god. She’d been foolish enough to place blind trust in Managarm, simply because he was once a member of Odin’s Lodge. She knew she’d have to live with the blame for all the blood that had been spilled on this Black Moon. If only Saga or one of the others had found her first . . .
Moon Witch. Sally cringed at the sound of Managarm’s voice in her head. He had used her to wreak this havoc, and as Sally hovered there over the mangled mess that had once been the Moon Dog, she silently vowed to spend the rest of her days trying to make amends for the destruction she’d unwittingly caused with her magick.
Sally leaned down and picked up the pouch of bloody runes that Managarm had crafted.
The young Berserker in bike shorts who had been running full speed at Heimdall brandishing a pick-axe stopped dead in his tracks and let his weapon hang uselessly at his side. Saga crawled out from beneath the motorcycle she’d been trapped under, now that the two Berserkers in hockey jerseys who had been standing on top of it and thrusting pocket knives at her face had climbed down and left her alone. All around the field, the remaining Berserkers ceased their fighting and turned to face Sally.
Odin nodded toward the bag in Sally’s hands. “It’s the runes. Managarm had no power over the Berserkers without them.”
Sally made her way to the nearest bulldozer and climbed up on it. She scanned the smoking battlefield, pausing when she saw Frigga on the ground, still cradling Bragi’s head in her hands. She suddenly felt very tired. The attack on Managarm had taken more strength than she’d known she had. Her throbbing shoulder wound was bleeding through her bandages, and she felt her already brittle bones aging further even as she stood there.
With a quiet cry, Baron scaled the bulldozer to stand next to her on the treads.
She opened the bag of runes and sighed heavily at the scent of her own blood wafting up from within. She felt all eyes on her—Berserkers, gods, and Vikings. Looking past the carnage that had once been a peaceful stand of young trees, Sally gazed at the Yggdrasil and smiled.
“Berserkers! Hear me!” Sally’s voice boomed across the field as she held the bag of runes aloft. “I am the Moon Witch! I’m the one who called you, but it was not for this. I never asked you to do battle. I never commanded you to shed blood.”
Sally watched Heimdall approach and tried to remain calm. He stepped over fallen warriors and uprooted trees, and grimaced at the pulverized saplings, the ground savaged by motorcycle tires and bulldozer treads, and the bodies of the mortals who had taken up arms on both sides of the conflict.
She braced herself for a blistering reprimand, possibly even a death sentence. But when Heimdall stopped in front of the bulldozer and looked up at her, Sally was surprised that he nodded at her, encouraging her to continue. She lifted her head again to address the field.
“I am the Moon Witch!” she commanded. “I release you from service, with the one requirement that you never cross swords again.” She thought for a moment, then added quickly, “And that you dedicate yourselves to repairing the damage done here today, and to repairing the world at large. I release you!”
Scattered around the field, the Berserkers heaved a loud, collective sigh. They dropped what weapons they held, then looked around at each other and their former enemies in confused relief.
Heimdall held out his hand to help Sally down from the bulldozer. “Well done.”
Sally shook her head. “It shouldn’t have come to this.” Her voice caught in her throat. “I know I can’t ever make up for what I’ve done . . .”
“Sure you can.” Heimdall held out his hand. “You can start by handing over those runes.”
Sally smiled and offered the bag to him, grateful to be rid of them. In all of her preparations for Odin’s Return, she’d never imagined any of this. If she never worked magick again, that would be fine with her.
Heimdall tied the pouch of runes to his belt and looked up as a late-model Mustang tore through the rough road the bulldozers had carved open. The car skidded to a stop just shy of an uprooted tree.
Freyr stepped up beside him with a dark look on his face. “What now? A Berserker late to the party?”
Staring hard at the vehicle, Heimdall groaned in response.
A pretty woman with light brown hair angrily kicked open the driver’s door and bolted out from behind the wheel. “HEIMDALL!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Heimdall, where are you?”
Freyr elbowed his cousin. “You know this person?”
Laika broke through between them, barking happily at the woman in the distance and bounding toward her.
Heimdall sighed heavily and started the long walk toward the car. “Maggie,” he called out to her just as the carnage of the battlefield—complete with uprooted trees, mangled bodies, mud-streaked PSU pep squad, and overturned bulldozers, all littered around the huge Yggdrasil rising up in the midst of the smoke and the blood—began to register on her face.
“What is this?!” Maggie shrieked, her nearly hysterical voice echoing across the field.
“Maggie, you really shouldn’t have come.” Heimdall kept walking calmly toward her. “Listen, I can explain . . .”
Sally leaned back against the bulldozer for support. All the discomfort of the past few days—her burnt thumb, aching joints, blurred vision, blood loss, exhaustion, throbbing chest wound—seemed to descend on her at once, and she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. Just before she closed her eyes, she spotted a black and gray wolf on the far side of the field, just outside the boundary of the old-growth forest. The wolf cocked his head to one side and regarded her curiously across the distance, then turned and disappeared into the woods.
Valhalla Page 66