Gods of the Ragnarok Era Omnibus 3: Books 7-9

by Matt Larkin

Idunn’s presence, there beside her mother, was the only welcome surprise found in Idavollir.

  “Surtr will go toward Andalus,” Eostre said, “to join with the Sons of Muspel in Serkland. I must go to them, try to negotiate a peace.”

  “If you go,” Idunn said, “I’ll go with you.” Oh, poor Idunn. Caught between sunlight and shadow and torn apart by both. Odin so desperately hoped she would find a place, somewhere, where she could belong.

  It did not truly serve his ends to send away his people, but perhaps Eostre was even right. Perhaps she could help save some few remnants of humanity from Surtr’s flames through negotiation or supplication. As Al-Uzza, perhaps Eostre could save mankind.

  Odin couldn’t see the answers.

  You cannot see beyond your own death, Valravn said. And it draws so perilously nigh.

  Fate’s jaws close in …

  It left him Freyja and Malina, neither of them with stored sunlight remaining, Magni, who might have a death wish, and an army of broken and exhausted Aesir and Vanir.

  The last days of an era.

  “Surtr has greatly diminished Hel’s horde,” Odin said. “This provides us with an opportunity. She does not wish to withdraw and allow us to regroup, but it also stalls her, prevents her from raising more draugar, considering the Sons of Muspel reduced most of the corpses to ashes.” Freyja cringed at his words and Odin had to push down a sliver of regret. He could not change what had happened to her brother. “Further, Hel diverts some of her power to maintain the eclipse.” A small edge. “I ask everyone who remains to push back against her army. Destroy the draugar and frost jotunnar who have come through. Force Hel herself to take the battlefield. And then I will deal with her.”

  “Arrogance,” Malina said, her voice soft. The liosalf seemed on the brink of despair, a strange state for one of her kind.

  Odin rose from his seat. “There is no dawn coming to offer reprieve. This is our last chance. Say your farewells to those you love. In one hour, I go to battle with Hel and all her forces. And if we fail, the world ends with us.”

  “I have so many reasons to want to hate you,” Freyja said, when they were alone in the great hall. A hundred emotions warred on her face, as if she could not decide whether to scream or whimper or rage or embrace him.

  Choosing the last for her, Odin moved to her side and drew her close. “My prescient insight shows so little left before us … I cannot say what will happen out there … Only one thing I can say with utter certainty. I have loved you every time I’ve found you. It no longer matters whether or not you believe in the Wheel of Life, because I know it is true. I remember all the times I loved you. The Well of Urd showed me this so long ago, but I wasn’t ready until now. Not really.”

  She murmured something, and buried her face in his shoulder. Then, after a moment, she spoke softly. “I love you too. Fate has not been kind to us.”

  “Fate is never kind.” Odin stroked the back of her head. “I have to do this now. I have to ensure that Hel cannot ever bring the world to this point again. That she cannot tear us apart from our loved ones again. Whatever I have to sacrifice, I must.”

  “I know.” She sighed deeply.

  A slow, perfect sound.

  A precious memory to add to the ocean.

  Hel’s forces had encircled Idavollir, preventing Idunn and Eostre from escaping. It hardly mattered. The chaos that would soon ensue would afford Odin’s allies the chance they needed.

  Odin had stripped down to the waist, not bothering with armor or aught else that might slow him. More importantly, his forces saw the runes that encircled his body. They saw, and they whispered, wondering what the symbols meant. The Master of Runes, some had begun to call him. And they would need that confidence.

  Despite his aged form, having spent the years in constant struggle had ensured his muscles remained tight. He would look like a berserk, wading into battle. A sight he hoped might further instill confidence in his allies.

  Now, he stood at the head of his faltering army. A good number of his forces bore torches in addition to their arms, though more still preferred shields, even if they could not create a shield wall large enough to hold back the draugar that ringed them.

  Much of the mist had burned away, but the darkness of the eclipse meant the vast horde of draugar and frost jotunnar remained largely in shadow. A legion of gleaming red eyes out in the darkness, clanging rusted weapons upon tattered shields. Shuffling on decaying feet. Knowing, as sure as Odin did, that the final charge now impended.

  Hel had no doubt told her draugar that the Aesir were their greatest enemies, and now, the last Aesir stood arrayed against them.

  Odin turned, looking back over his own scattered, frightened army. They knew so many of them would die this day. Setting his face, Odin banged Gungnir’s butt on the ground and raised his shield. “I know you are tired. I know you are pushed beyond the limits of endurance. But we have come to the end at long last. One final battle I ask of you, and then, whatever befalls you, I promise you the chance to rest, in your beds, or in Valhalla!”

  He could feel it, the valkyries converging on his location. They knew it, too. Today, death would reign supreme. Great warriors would fall, and Odin could only hope his few remaining valkyries would be enough to save so many falling souls.

  Now he turned back to Hel’s army and strode toward them, Gungnir high. His people followed behind him, their steps reluctant, but not turning away.

  From amidst the ring of draugar, a wave passed, a shuffling aside as something monstrous and tall pushed its way to the front. A frost jotunn, half again Odin’s height, bearing a spear just as a long.

  The jotunn grinned, exposing a bearlike maw. “I am Sökkmimir, scion of Aurgelmir, and champion of Hel.” His voice was a growl, throaty, feral. His eyes promised pain. “The honor of killing you falls to me.”

  Odin planted Gungnir’s butt in the snow. “No. It doesn’t.”

  Sökkmimir chuckled. Then the jotunn lunged, surging forward like a wave, kicking up snow in the process. A monstrous lunge that should have skewered Odin.

  Instincts, honed over his thousand lives, seized Odin like the waves of time. Sökkmimir moved as though plodding through a mire, motions thick and slow and so very predictable. Odin twisted around the incoming spear and jerked the rim of his shield into the jotunn’s gut in a single motion, then stepped around him, a whirl of Gungnir’s point carving out the base of Sökkmimir’s spine.

  The jotunn collapsed in a heap.

  Odin didn’t bother looking back at him. Roaring, he rushed into the midst of the draug army, whipping Gungnir around. His every attack became his every defense, a dance that simultaneously moved out of every foe’s potential strikes and lined up his own.

  His shield crunched into undead skulls.

  Gungnir’s point sheared through wrists, ankles, shins, arms, severed heads.

  A draug charged him. Odin felled him, kicked up on him, flipped over him. His spear split another down the middle. The flat of his shield crashed into a third draug and sent it flying, toppling over its fellows.

  Instinct.

  It was all instinct. All the lifetimes he’d lived, all the wars. All the battles. The blood. The training. It swept over him.

  Dimly, he knew he was roaring at the draugar as they came at him, driven by Otherworldly rage that forced them on, despite him carving through their fellows like a scythe through wheat.

  Yes … kill …

  Behind his back, he impaled a draug with Gungnir. Whipped the spear around and flung the draug like the head of a hammer, straight down into his foes.

  The thousands surged into him, and, as if it flowed through all the men he’d been, pneuma flooded Odin’s system. Making him stronger and faster than he’d ever been. He unleashed a torrent of blows.

  Kicks.

  Punches.

  His elbow crunching a skull.

  Gungnir leaving a mountain of dismembered limbs in his wake. His shield had begun to crac
k. Odin dropped it, caught the rim, and hurled it like a disc, right into the chest of a charging draug.

  An axe soared at his head. Odin fell to one knee, locked his other leg around the legs of a foe, tripped him. Thrust up. Impaled a draug. Caught the falling one and ripped its head off with a savage twist. Flung the decaying thing at another.

  Kill …

  Pushed off the ground, a flip carrying him over another strike, allowing him to strike down another draug from midair.

  He could no longer tell which of the lives he’d lived led him to what maneuvers. It was a flood, and like a flood, the waters had become one, whatever their source.

  And there, within the scope of his rage and the skills that had surfaced to allow him to unleash it, he caught the prescient threads of the battle. The images of his own impending moves reaffirming the press of the warriors manifesting within him.

  Reaffirming, assuring, even, that he did not need the visions for this.

  Kill … them all …

  He had spent a thousand lifetimes of war readying himself.

  Draugar, weak and slow, came at him, brandishing useless weapons. Odin caught one’s arm on his own, wrapped it round. Slammed his knee into the draug’s gut, stepped under his twisted arm, and snapped his foot up into the jaw of another while impaling a third with Gungnir.

  He caught a falling sword and rammed it through the skull of yet another foe.

  Jotunnar, they had closed in on him, dozens of them. They faltered now, gaping at him, backing away.

  Odin surged into them without mercy. They had sided with Hel. They would find themselves swept away in the tide. Bellowing in endless rage, he pommeled them, landing a dozen body blows on one. Snatching falling weapons and flinging them like projectiles.

  Every move had become a fluid step in the dance of destruction.

  Behold … the Destroyer has risen at long last …

  Audr’s mad cackles had Odin turning, taking in the swathe of destruction he had wrought. A thousand corpses lay in his wake, and beyond, the awestruck remnants of Odin’s own army engaged—and still losing, despite all he had done—with the yet greater horde of draugar. The endless army of the dead had folded around Odin, was slaughtering his people even as Odin tore through them.

  The ground shook, drawing his gaze forward once more, as a towering, rotting behemoth plodded toward him, sweeping aside jotunnar and draugar in his wrath to reach Odin. The one who had killed him before, long ago.

  Ymir.

  Odin glanced back as draugar closed in on Freyja. Not even he could be in two places at once. How was he to—

  A shrieking eagle swept down from the sky. A golden beam of light and fury that crashed into a draug descending on Freyja, flinging it up into the air.

  Kára. His valkyries had come!

  Then, of a sudden, another draug burst apart, as though some invisible spear had driven straight through its back and out its chest. Other draugar fell, some spontaneously headless. Others stumbling, suffering wounds that appeared from nowhere.

  And he knew.

  Odin knew what it had to be, and still, he had to see it. He looked beyond the Veil, and there, leading the army of einherjar, strode Hermod, blade flashing. Odin’s own ghost army laid into the ghost army of Hel, matching them in fury, overmatching them in skill. Fighting, not for cold rage, but for something more. Something Hel could never understand.

  There, striding down over the hill, leading another charge, hammer raised, came Thor.

  Odin’s heart felt apt to burst, swelling with pride, with joy. To those unable to see Thor’s hammer blows, it must have looked as though the draugar coming for them suddenly flew skyward without explanation.

  Odin released the Sight and turned back to Ymir, pointing Gungnir at the creature. “I have slain you once already. Come to me, and I shall end your suffering at long last.”

  A hammer the size of a building dug a trough in the snow behind Ymir, and now the draug-jotunn broke into a run, hefting the monstrous weapon over its head. Whirling it, coming in. Swinging it two-handed down on Odin.

  He leapt to the side, then, just before the weapon struck, jumped again, this time toward it. Landed on the haft, and charged up it. He pumped pneuma into his legs and flung himself upward.

  Flung Gungnir as he had flung it long ago.

  Shrieking like a dragon in flight, the spear soared, catching Ymir between the eyes, punching through its skull and out the other side.

  The jotunn staggered backward, arms flailing wildly. Stumbled. And crashed back to the ground with an impact that shook the land and forced Odin to steady himself.

  A growl, low, angry, it carried through what remained of the mist, preceding poor Sigyn as she plodded toward Odin. Rather than crunching snows underfoot, it seemed ice formed everywhere she stepped. She was naked, and half her skin was gone. She clucked her tongue as she advanced, sneering at him. “So we come to this again, so-called Destroyer. I admit, I never imagined you could unleash such chaos. Still, you have to know this does not end well for you. We have seen this fight play out before, you and I.”

  “Yes.” Odin glanced at Gungnir. Going for it would expose him to her attacks. A risk he could not afford, much as he would miss the spear’s power for this fight. Instead, he strode toward Hel. “But this is the last time.”

  “You have thought to destroy me before, mortal.”

  Odin did not slow his advance on the Goddess of Mist. “I am now all I was back then and far, far more. This is your final era, ghost.”

  Hel snarled. Ice coalesced around her hands and arms. It formed into shards, and Hel swung her arms together. A cascade of razor-sharp icicles the size of spears launched at him, flying in all directions, an endless barrage of death.

  Odin broke into a run, leapt into the air, and twisted around the flurry of missiles, landing before her, coming up with a left hook that took Hel in the gut. She staggered, stumbled backward, even as his uppercut caught her in the jaw, cracking hard on bare bone.

  A snarl, and she lunged at him, her strike impossibly fast, and yet, still predictable.

  Odin blocked her forearm on his own and snapped his fist into her gut once more, then, with her stunned, unleashed a torrent of body blows. Ribs crunched under his fists and a blast of freezing air exploded from her mouth.

  Then her left hand snared his hair and hurled him, tearing out a chunk of gray hair in the process. It sent him tumbling end over end, twenty feet through the air. Odin twisted around and landed in a crouch, his impact digging up a mound of snow as he skidded.

  She was no longer smiling as she stalked toward him once more, ice forming around her hands. “How are you doing this?”

  Odin rose. “You would never understand … did you really think your father had made so many moves on the tafl board without a plan?”

  “Father …?” Her bemusement, on that half face, it struck him as almost sad. She extended her hands, and whips of liquid cold shimmered from each of them, twenty feet long cords, with mist wafting off them.

  Hel snarled, twisting round and whipping those cords in intersecting vicious arcs that sent a torrent of cold toward Odin. They came so fast, he could barely twist out of the way, and it took all he had to—

  A cord lashed through one of his legs, gouged the flesh and numbed it, sending him stumbling to the ground. An instant later he rolled to the side to avoid the other freezing lash, and again back the other way. Hel’s attacks sent up a flurry of snow, and a torrent of mist. Odin kicked her knee and she stumbled.

  Odin lunged, caught her wrist, and flipped her over, driving her down into the snow. Bellowing, he launched himself atop her and pinned her shoulders with his knees. Then he slammed his fist straight down into her face.

  Bone cracked beneath his blow. A split in Sigyn’s skull.

  Hel gasped. “Kill me, you kill—”

  Odin slammed his fist down again. He knew all too well what killing her meant. But Sigyn was already dead. Already in fathomle
ss torment as host to this abominable creature. Again and again he pommeled her. Until her skull split in half.

  She will claim another, Valravn warned.

  Odin knew that too. But this was the last time. He would end this.

  He smashed through her skull and splattered her brains across the snow. He felt it, as her corpse at last went limp.

  Then he grasped onto Audr’s power and jerked himself across the Veil. Color melted away into cold shadows, and lightless world of the dead. Not so far away, an army of einherjar strove against an army of draugar, turning even the ghost world into a chaotic battlefield.

  And nearby, Hel, rising from Sigyn’s corpse, and now, gaping at him.

  Odin lunged at her, grasped her etheric arm. And slammed his fist into her jaw once more. “There is no escape this time, ghost! I will break your very soul, but I swear I shall end this forever!”

  The ghost—her aspect changed somewhat, taller—thrust a hand at him. It formed into an icicle lance the size of a spear. Odin twisted out of the way, caught her forearm, and slammed his fist into the back of her elbow. Bone snapped in half, punching through her skin, an explosion of blue blood and sickly marrow.

  Hel’s shriek was a mind-rending cry of utter damnation, a knife carving down to Odin’s very soul, threatening to snuff out his existence.

  An uppercut to the jaw brought an abrupt stop to it.

  The Goddess of Mist backed away, one arm useless at her side, her one eye wide in horror at his audacity. Yes. She had never imagined Odin would think to pursue her beyond the Mortal Realm.

  “It’s over,” he said, closing in on her.

  Hel turned about and broke into a run, her form blurring, her speed like the wind.

  Surging pneuma, Odin raced after her. She charged at a shieldmaiden engaged with the draugar. Seeking another host.

  Odin almost caught her.

  Hel’s hands wrapped around the warrior’s throat, and then the goddess’s form broke apart as she seeped inside the hapless shieldmaiden.

  The woman convulsed, thrashing as Hel took her over.

  Clutching Audr, Odin burst back across the Veil, forcing down any concern of what pieces of himself the wraith fed on for such a use. Odin caught the shieldmaiden under the jaw and by the back of her skull, and jerked her head around so violently a dozen vertebrae must have snapped. Almost a full rotation.