Twenty-nine days later, Sally stood again on the battlefield.
It had taken a full week for her to recover her strength—and her youth—after the battle for the Yggdrasil on the Black Moon of Sleipnir’s Convergence, and even then she’d needed ample help from Freya and Frigga combined. Without their potions, teas, and special incense—most of which wasn’t too horrible—Sally knew she might still look 60 or even 70 years older than she actually was.
Or worse, she could be dead.
She’d rested at the Lodge during her recuperation—after Odin, in his role as Principal Wyatt (even though Sally didn’t go to his school), called her parents to tell them she’d been selected for an exclusive immersion program in Norwegian studies. When Sally finally did see her parents, she looked her old self again—and though her parents were full of prying questions, they were none the wiser.
Now, she was back in Pierce Forest, gazing at the World Tree.
The Yggdrasil stood tall and proud, but the field around it was empty. Managarm’s bulldozers had razed every young tree in the vicinity.
A pair of ravens cawed overhead, and Sally raised her hand to shield her eyes from the rare November sun as she looked up into the sky.
“Returning to the scene of the crime?” asked a familiar voice beside her. “Eh, Moon Witch?”
She turned and blinked at one of the gods she had come to know so well. “Freyr.”
“Come on. I have to fetch Thor.” Freyr offered his arm, and Sally slipped her small hand into the crook of his elbow.
They walked together toward the massive frame of a building under construction, just inside the line of old-growth trees and facing the Yggdrasil. At the top of the structure, Thor straddled the crossbeam and single-handedly nailed a ceiling joist into place. He hammered the first nail home, and positioned a second nail over the plank.
“This is the new Lodge?” Sally asked.
Freyr nodded, then called up to Thor. “How’s it going, thunderbolt king?”
Thor swung with his hammer, missed the nail and struck his thumb instead. He howled and watched the nail fall to the ground below, where it landed at Sally’s feet. She smiled up at him and waved.
“Haven’t quite got the knack of it back yet, eh?” Freyr teased.
“How much you want to bet I can still throw this hammer down directly into your skull?” Thor weighed the tool in his hand and scowled.
Freyr picked up the fallen nail and motioned Thor down. “It’s time.”
Thor climbed down a series of ladders leading from one floor to the next. Sally looked over her shoulder at the Yggdrasil, where the rest of the clan and survivors of the battle were already gathering.
Bypassing the last ladder, Thor leapt to the ground and landed with a loud thud.
“The Great Hall’s coming along nicely.” Sally tilted her head toward the building frame. Wall studs were already in place on the second floor.
Thor grunted. “Might even be ready for Jul.”
Sally nodded, hoping she’d be invited. The 12-night December holiday celebrating the Norse New Year—the ending and beginning of all things—seemed a fitting conclusion to the Year of Ragnarok.
Thor laughed and smiled down at her. “You ever see Odin dressed up as a one-eyed Santa Claus, little one?”
Freyr reached up to clap Thor on the shoulder. “Everyone’s here.”
They turned and walked toward the Yggdrasil. Sally felt self-conscious walking between living gods—especially Thor, who dwarfed her by a full foot. Freyr again offered her his arm, then cleared his throat and made a face at Thor, who then offered his as well. Tentatively, Sally rested her hand inside Thor’s elbow.
Despite his efforts of friendliness toward her these past weeks, Thor still made her especially nervous. She just couldn’t be certain when his innate, blustering nature would take over—she’d already seen him erupt in a fury over a few bent nails and unleash a fierce storm of cursing at an unsuspecting delivery driver when the pizza Thor had ordered arrived without extra anchovies.
She looked up anxiously at Thor as they walked together, and he flashed her a genuine smile. On her other side, Freyr tightened his reassuring grip on her arm. Even on such a solemn occasion, Sally breathed more easily and felt her footsteps lighten. Six weeks ago, had she ever thought she’d have such divine escorts?
Sally inhaled the sweet fragrance of Frigga’s herbed incense as they approached. Dressed in blue jeans and with ceremonial fur stoles draped over their shoulders, the assembled clan—including the Norns, down from Seattle—formed an oval at the base of the Yggdrasil, surrounding a stone altar decorated with fall flowers and red and gold leaves. Atop the altar sat a ceramic bowl of smoking incense and a stone urn.
Bragi’s ashes.
Sally stopped short. Thor and Freyr disengaged from her to pull on their own furs and take their places with their kin. The surrounding circle of survivors—Vikings, Valkyries, and Berserkers alike who had lived through the infamous bulldozer battle on this same ground—parted to let Thor and Freyr through. Sally offered a polite nod to Rod as he stepped up to stand beside her.
Once the dust had settled, the survivors had a hell of a story for the authorities, media outlets, and worried family and friends. Mere minutes before police helicopters zoomed overhead and a National Guard battalion arrived on the scene, Heimdall had concocted a tale they’d all stuck to—that a peaceful, though illegal, Portland State pep rally camp-out in the National Forest had turned violent when a madman fogged the site with a hallucinogenic mist that incited mindless brutality.
Then Heimdall convinced his fellow forest rangers that this lunatic was such an environmental extremist and so opposed to any human presence in nature that he bulldozed the entire stand of White Oaks in protest. Anyone who pried for more details was met with speculation that the destructive maniac had fancied himself the Moon Dog of old Norse legend, and maybe he’d drugged all those kids to start some kind of survivalist, moon-worshipping cult.
As for the Vikings walking off the football field in the middle of play, Tariq had raved to every media outlet that would listen about how proud he was of the Portland State University students who had staged such a brilliant protest of global warming and artificial turf.
None of the rangers had pressed Heimdall about who had driven all twelve bulldozers to the site, nor how a single White Oak had grown so quickly to such a massive size. Heimdall had quietly pushed through the paperwork for Odin and Frigga to purchase the ravaged land—and the vanquished Berserker Rita had fronted the money herself in an effort to make amends.
Sally gazed up at the World Tree’s thick limbs. Had it truly been Ragnarok? She’d heard the heated debates around Frigga’s hearth while she recuperated at the Lodge, but there hadn’t been a consensus. Thor—his appetite for war whetted again after centuries of trying to live more placidly—was convinced another, larger battle was on the horizon. Freya argued for peace. The Norns, as usual, were of little help.
Now, Sally watched the three fortune-telling sisters as they stood together on the opposite side of the circle, wondering what they’d seen of her in their visions, and what they might be able to tell her about her role as the legendary Moon Witch. Then she scanned the faces of the others—gods and mortals alike, though Loki was conspicuously absent—still worried about what they must think of her after everything that happened.
Frigga stepped to the altar and lifted the stone urn in her hands. “We do not have a defined ritual for moments like this,” she announced. “Ever since Iduna first brought her apples of immortality to Odin’s court, we have not lost one of our own. Now my son, Bragi, rests in the Halls of Valhalla, alongside the brave warriors who fell in the Battle of the White Oak.” Frigga’s voice broke, and she clutched her son’s urn to her chest.
“Each of us marks this passing in our own way,” she continued. “We have regaled each other with stories of his bravery, and laughed over tales of his clumsiness. And we have wept.”
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sp; Frigga paused and shifted the heavy urn in her hands. “Our kinsman was not the only one to fall. In honoring Bragi—our son, brother, and cousin—we also pay tribute to all those whose blood is forever bound to this earth. The Battle of the White Oak will be remembered for a hundred generations to come.”
In a hip-to-toe leg cast, Ted balanced on crutches between Tariq and Bonnie, lowering his head in memory of the Valkyries who didn’t make it off the battlefield. Even in the midst of the service, Thor walked over to Ted and shook his hand, then bent his head low to whisper words of comfort to the grieving warrior.
“Bragi was the Bard of the Gods.” Frigga lifted her face to the waning afternoon sun. “His poems and songs live on over celebratory meals and bonfires, just as his memory will live in our hearts.” Frigga lifted the urn high over her head. “Bragi!” she called out.
“Bragi!” The assembly shouted back.
Sally glanced across the circle at Heimdall, who stood next to a still bewildered-looking Maggie. Sally gave them a little wave, but Rod nudged her as Freya carried a ritual battle axe slowly toward the Yggdrasil. Frigga fell into step beside her, and they stopped just a few feet from the Tree’s massive trunk.
Frigga held the urn out toward the Tree. “The ashes of one who spilled his blood for your protection. Accept them, in honor of his sacrifice.”
Freya raised her axe and struck the Tree, hacking deep into its bark. After several more strikes, she’d carved a sizable alcove into the trunk, then stepped aside as Frigga moved forward.
Frigga lifted the urn and placed it inside the fresh cleft, her fingers lingering on the vessel before she closed her eyes and drew away.
Within seconds, new bark grew over to cover the wound, sealing Bragi’s remains inside the Yggdrasil.
“Sally Dahl,” Frigga called out.
Sally stepped forward nervously. She hadn’t expected to be an active participant in the ceremony. Even after the warmth and respect Frigga and the others had shown her since the battle, she still worried that she might be in for a serious rebuke—Moon Witch or not.
“Sally Dahl, in recognition of your service—in helping to bring down the Moon Dog and to safeguard the White Oak Yggdrasil—and in honor of your considerable power and position as the Moon Witch,” Frigga paused to hold out a deerskin pouch, “we present you with the Yggdrasil Runes.”
Frigga placed the pouch in Sally’s trembling palms, then laid her own hands over Sally’s fingers and gave a gentle squeeze.
Her breath coming in excited spasms, Sally loosened the drawstring and gazed down at the rounds of wood that shifted inside the bag. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes as she looked up at Frigga.
“The Moon Dog’s runes have been destroyed. They were an abomination, made of stolen wood and blood. These runes have been crafted especially for you, with honor and purpose. The Yggdrasil volunteered this wood to Heimdall, and Freya carved the glyphs.”
Sally’s throat tightened as she looked around the gathered assembly.
“Thank you,” she choked, a little afraid she might pass out. “I, I’ll still need your help, trying to figure all of this out. How to do it right, I mean.”
Freya grasped Sally by the shoulders. “You are the Moon Witch, bringing life to a new tradition. We will entrust you with our Old Ways, in hopes that you’ll carry them into this new world.”
Sally nodded and clutched the runes to her chest. Rod rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Frigga sniffed back a stray tear and then rested her hands on her hips. “Okay. Who wants roasted lamb and mead?”
A loud cheer arose from the assembled mourners, and both gods and mortals headed back to their vehicles for the drive to Odin’s Lodge on Mt. Hood. Heimdall walked hand-in-hand with Maggie, and Sally rushed forward to catch up to them.
“Heimdall?”
The guardian of the gods turned toward her with a slightly exasperated smile. Sally nodded toward the woman at his side. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”
Heimdall’s cheeks flushed pink. “Maggie, this is Sally Dahl. The Moon Witch.”
Sally reached out to grasp Maggie’s hand.
“And this is Maggie Bendreg,” Heimdall continued. “My, umm, my—”
“Girlfriend.” Maggie elbowed Heimdall in the ribs.
“Well, don’t you two look cozy?” Saga pronounced as she walked up to her brother and draped an arm over Maggie’s shoulders. Thor strode by with an amused grunt and kept walking.
“I’ve, umm, heard a lot about you,” Maggie told Sally.
“Yeah?” Sally looked hopefully at Heimdall, who conveniently glanced away at the frame of the new Lodge building.
“I’ve heard a lot about, well, pretty much everything lately . . .” Maggie’s voice trailed off. Sally smiled at her in sympathy.
“Hanging out with Viking gods isn’t so bad.” Rod stepped up next to Sally. “Once you get used to the smell.”
Heimdall shot the handyman a hard look, then his expression softened and he chuckled. “I guess so.”
Maggie caught Sally’s eye. “Will you ride with us, to the Lodge?”
“Sure!” Sally nodded enthusiastically.
Sally walked next to Heimdall and Maggie as they headed for the cars, with Saga and Rod trailing close behind.
“So, now that we’ve narrowly averted a cosmic apocalypse and saved the world, have you given any thought to where you want to go on that vacation my brother promised you?” Saga called to Maggie.
Heimdall sighed and shook his head. “Apparently, we’re going to Norway.”
“Excellent choice.” Saga reached forward and poked her brother in the ribs. “Take Sally, too. The Moon Witch needs to see.”
Sally kept her head down and her pace steady, biting her lip against a new rush of tingling excitement. She glanced back at the Yggdrasil for a moment, then kept walking.
Valhalla Page 68