The Unyielding

by Shelly Laurenston

  He got to his one good leg and hopped back, swatting at the bird with his hand. He hit it, sending it crashing into a tree.

  Erin’s hands covered her mouth. She’d never meant to get the bird hurt. Even worse, she was afraid it was dead as she watched it slide down the tree trunk to the ground. Pointing her bloody blade, Erin screamed out, “You motherfucker!”

  The giant focused on her and began to snarl, but he stopped when they heard it. Another squawk. Then another. Then they were on him. A murder of crows, attacking the giant’s head, swarming him, pecking at him, beating at him with their wings.

  The giant went down, trying his best to fight the crows off.

  Erin screeched in panic when talons took hold of her shoulder and lifted her up, carrying her away. When she realized it was a crow trying to get her to safety, she called out, “No! Take me back!”

  It didn’t. But it did drop her about two miles away, right on the snout of that damn dog.

  Erin landed on both feet, her arms windmilling back as she fought to maintain her balance. The dog was on its back, paws up in the air—and Stieg had hold of the hand.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Stieg shrugged. “It’s a puppy.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a puppy. Like Lev. I just . . .” He shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable.

  “You just what?”

  “I . . . uh . . . flew under him, rubbed his chest, and like Lev, he stopped, dropped, and rolled over.”

  “So you could rub his belly?”

  “It got me the Key, didn’t it?”

  Erin laughed. “That’s the best!”

  “Shut up,” he barked at her, which got him a squawk that nearly had him making a panicked run for it.

  Not that she blamed him. A crow squawk in Jotunheim was as close to a sonic boom as she ever cared to hear. “Don’t freak out,” she ordered him, before his natural human instincts took over. “It’s one of us.”

  “That’s a giant crow.”

  “A giant crow to us. A tiny black bird with spindly legs to them.”

  * * *

  The crow flew them over the giant’s campsite as the other crows returned to the trees, keeping a close eye on their enemy. The giant was trying to pick himself up off the ground. His face was torn and he had a hand over one eye. Stieg didn’t think the birds had pulled it out, but he did think that they’d tried.

  The crow landed at the campsite for some reason and Erin slid off its back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just stay there.” She ran over to the giant’s fur bedroll, and using her blade, she cut parts of the fur into big pieces and yanked out a couple of strands off a nearby rope. When done, she ran back to the crow and lifted herself onto the bird’s back with her wings.

  “You know, we can fly ourselves,” he reminded her.

  “She can fly faster and farther than either of us. Besides, you made a friend.”

  Stieg looked over his shoulder and saw the puppy running after them. “Now I feel bad.”

  “Why? You didn’t hurt him.”

  “They get so attached. He’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

  “Oy,” Erin muttered before handing him a large fur. “Just put this on so you don’t freeze to death.”

  A very good idea since the crow took them high up into the Jotunheim mountains, where even being a warrior of the gods couldn’t protect them from the deadly cold.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Perched in a tree, Stieg held the map open while Erin’s right hand, raised and covered in flames, gave them a bit of light. “We’re here,” he said, pointing at a spot on the map. “We need to get here.”

  Erin shook her head. “No. Here.”

  “If we want to get there, we have to get here first.”

  “I’m confused. Why go through Dark Elf territory? They hate humans.”

  “They all hate humans to some degree. But underneath Svartalfheim is Nidavellir, land of dwarves. If we want to get to Corpse Shore, we have to go into Svartalfheim and down to Nidavellir.”

  “That’s very complicated.”

  “You’re dealing with Vikings. What did you expect?” Stieg again studied the map. “It looks like there are land connections between each of these worlds. We can fly—”

  “No.” Erin shook her head. “We can’t fly.”

  “Are you high?”

  “Odin warned me. Crows and Ravens are not appreciated this far into the Nine Worlds.”

  “Sure he wasn’t fucking with you?”

  “Didn’t feel like it. At all. So we’ll need to find another mode of transportation.”

  He glanced at the crow perched on the end of the branch. “Any chance our friend here can travel between worlds?”

  “With our luck?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. And how much time do we have here?”

  “Two days here for every one back home.”

  “And based on what Odin said to me back at the Bird House . . .”

  “We have three days tops,” Erin guessed. “So six days to get from here to Nidhogg. That is not a lot of time.”

  “No. But there must be other forms of transportation. Horses, maybe.”

  “Think anyone has a Ferrari in Alfheim?”

  “Probably not.”

  “If nothing else . . . we need to get out of Jotunheim. It’s freezing here.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “You’re blue.”

  “Stop being so negative. Wow,” he said, gesturing to a branch above them. “Look at the size of that snake.” He frowned. “It moves funny, though.”

  Erin glanced over, tightening the fur around her shoulders. She sighed. “That’s because it’s not a snake. It’s an inch worm.”

  As if to prove that point, the crow snatched the worm off the branch and gobbled it down, making sounds Erin hoped to never hear again.

  Stieg nodded. “Okay. You’re right. We need to get out of fucking Jotunheim.”

  * * *

  The crow took them as far as it was willing to go, setting them down about midway up a mountainside on a set of rickety-looking stairs that went up and up, circling the entire mountain until it reached the top.

  “This is not going to be fun!” Erin yelled over the howling wind.

  “I know! Think you can make it?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That you look weak and pathetic. Need me to carry you?”

  That middle finger slammed into his nose, then he watched Erin stomp up those stairs until the power of the mighty Jotunheim wind nearly knocked her off.

  Stieg raced up to meet her, placing himself next to her so she couldn’t flip over the railing and plummet off the mountain, but also keeping her within easy reach if the wind changed course and she went the other way.

  They marched up those endless stairs for hours, although it felt like days. And Stieg realized pretty quickly that even unleashing their wings was not an option. They might be torn off if they tried to fly. At the very least, they’d be pushed back into Jotunheim.

  So they trudged on, pressed together, heads down. Neither speaking,

  It was hell.

  Yet he was impressed that Erin never complained. She never stopped. She pushed on. As determined as she ever was.

  Finally, they reached the peak but . . . there was nothing. No bridge. No new set of stairs for them to take. Nothing that would lead them out of Jotunheim.

  “Fuck!” Erin screamed into the wind. “We’re gonna die up here!”

  “Probably.”

  Erin faced him. “Didn’t you say we should be positive?”

  “No, I said we shouldn’t be negative, but let’s face it. The only reason we’re still alive is because we’ve been blessed by gods. Otherwise, we would have been dead two minutes in. It’s still impressive, though.”

  “How? ”

  “Everybody else thought you’d be dead by now. Ravens and the Killers
had a pool going. The longest time was three hours and I don’t think anyone actually picked that.”

  Erin opened her mouth . . . closed it . . . opened it again . . . pointed a finger at him . . . stomped her feet . . . before spinning away from him.

  Stieg tapped her on the shoulder.

  “What?”

  “That icky hand.”

  “What about it?”

  Stieg grabbed the rope strand Erin had used to secure the Carrion’s hand to a loop on her jeans. It had bounced against the back of her leg every time she took a step. He held the hand up close to her face so she could see it. “The rune . . . it’s glowing.”

  Erin grabbed it and turned in a circle, holding the hand palm up. When it glowed at its brightest, she reached her arm out into the empty air in front of her. Stieg grabbed her by the waist so that she didn’t fall to her death. She pressed forward and her hand suddenly disappeared.

  A doorway. Into the next world.

  Erin leaned back and looked up at him.

  Stieg shrugged. “Let’s go for it.”

  They took as many steps back as they could on the extremely tiny mountaintop. Not knowing how wide the doorway was, he waited for Erin to start her run, then went after her. She leaped and he had a second to see her disappear before he followed right behind her.

  * * *

  Erin was falling, spinning until she hit the ground hard; then she was tumbling, down, down, her body rolling, bouncing, slamming, unable to stop herself. Unable to think.

  She hit something vertical, bounced high but when she landed, it wasn’t hard ground. It was water.

  She didn’t know how far down she was; she just knew she couldn’t figure out which way was up and which was down. She still felt like she was rolling down, down . . .

  Something brushed against her shoulder, spinning her again. It wasn’t a giant fish. It was a giant Viking. Blood flowed from the back of his head and he dropped like a stone. Eyes closed, arms and legs loose.

  Focusing on Stieg only, Erin chased after him, swimming deeper until she caught his hand. She turned and, moving her grip so she held his forearm, she swam back up, aiming toward the sunlight pouring down.

  Erin broke the surface and slid one arm around Stieg’s neck, using the other to swim to shore. She dragged him out of the water and, panting, dropped beside him on the ground.

  Knowing she needed to help him, Erin attempted to turn over. A hand on her shoulder pushed her back.

  “Shh.”

  “Stieg—”

  “We’ll take care of him.” Fingers pushed the hair off Erin’s face.

  Blinking wide, making sure she saw what she thought she saw, she smiled. “You are as beautiful as the sun.”

  Then she passed out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Kera met with the leaders of the Clans in the only place they could finally agree on. A synagogue in Beverly Hills.

  Rabbi Tavvi Mankiewicz met her at the entrance. “Ms. Watson.”

  “Rabbi.”

  “Please,” he said with a smile, “come in.”

  Kera walked inside. She’d never been in a synagogue before. It was cool. She’d have to come back when the world wasn’t hanging in the balance.

  “Right this way.” The rabbi started walking and Kera fell into step beside him. “You do know the rules, yes?”

  “Rules?”

  He smiled although she could tell he was annoyed she hadn’t been given the information. “No yelling. No threats. No cursing.”

  “Who would do that in a synagogue?”

  “I haven’t finished. No slapping. No punching. No kicking. No throwing things. Especially any ancient holy text.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “No weapons.”

  Kera stopped, stared at the rabbi with her mouth open. “Pardon?”

  “That means no knives, no swords, no maces, no giant hammers.”

  She briefly closed her eyes, disgusted. “Of course, Rabbi.”

  “Do we understand each other, Ms. Watson?”

  “Absolutely. We are just here to talk.”

  “Sadly I’ve heard that before. As has my father and my father’s father.” They began to walk again. “But for the sake of our world . . . I will allow this meeting.”

  “Thank you, Rabbi. I’ll make sure complete control is kept.”

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, smirked. “I get the feeling you will.”

  They went down a set of stairs to a conference room, where the others were already sitting at the table.

  “If you need anything . . .”

  “Thank you, Rabbi. We’re fine.”

  He nodded and walked out, closing the door.

  Kera swung her backpack off her shoulder and dropped it onto the table. “Ladies and gentlemen . . . and Brent.”

  “It’s Brandt.”

  “Whatever. I made a promise to the Rabbi. We will all be nice and friendly to each other, even if it kills us. And if it does kill us, we’ll die outside. Understand?”

  It took a while, but they all eventually nodded their agreement.

  “Here is where we are. Erin has gone into the Nine Worlds; we, of course, have no contact with her—”

  “So she could already be dead,” Brandt Lindgren said flatly without an ounce of emotion. Typical for the leader of the Silent.

  “Chloe,” Kera said before her leader could get over the table and wrap herself around Lindgren like a cobra. “You promised.”

  Growling a little, Chloe sat back down.

  “It’s true.” Kera looked directly at Lindgren. “Erin could be dead, but we’re going to move forward under the delusion that she’s still alive, okay? Great,” she snapped before he could say anything else.

  “So what’s the next step?” Ormi asked.

  “Odin has suggested that Gullveig is already back or on her way. I believe we might have run out of time. But we’ve . . . managed her high priestess, which might slow her down a bit.”

  “We also don’t think she’ll be back at full power yet,” Inka added.

  “Which means what for us?”

  “The Carrion,” Kera answered. “We need to lure her out before she’s at full power.”

  “Lure her out? How?”

  Kera glanced at the Holde’s Maid and she nodded her encouragement. “We challenge the Carrion.”

  “To what?” Rada asked with a stunned laugh. “A street fight?”

  “Yes. A proper Viking challenge. In three days’ time we meet them for battle.”

  Rada looked at the others before refocusing on Kera. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “What’s wrong, Jaws?” Freida asked, cackling. “Are you afraid of the Carrion?”

  “No. I’m just not stupid.”

  “We all know it won’t be an easy battle, Rada,” Ormi pointed out.

  “No,” Kera agreed, “but I think it’ll be the only way we’ll be able to get Gullveig out in the open before she’s at full power.”

  “For what purpose?” Rada pushed.

  “The hope is that Erin will be back with the sword by then and we’ll be able to strike.”

  “And if the Crow doesn’t make it back from Corpse Shore with the sword?” Lindgren demanded. “Then what?”

  “We could give Gullveig you, Brandt,” Inka offered, “and hope that your giant, slightly sloping head appeases her appetite.”

  Josef snorted a laugh, Lindgren’s glare not bothering him in the least.

  “Look,” Kera explained, “we’re going to have one chance at this. We either kill her with that sword or we shove her back out of this world again and pray—to whatever god is listening—that Hel is bored with her and won’t even bother helping her a second time.”

  Lindgren glanced around the room before asking, “And if we don’t manage to do any of that?”

  “Then Ragnarok begins,” Inka explained, “and it starts a chain reaction that won’t end until nothing of this world is left.”

&nb
sp; Kera shrugged. “And you think a challenge will work to get her out of wherever she might be hiding?”

  “I think it will definitely get out the Carrion. Erin did just kill their Key. But Gullveig hates us, so yeah. I think she’ll grab at the chance to watch the Carrion stomp all of us into dust.”

  She could tell from everyone’s expression that they believed that, too, so Kera moved on. “Now, I’ve spoken to Clan leaders in the rest of the States, Latin America, Europe, Africa, and Asia. They’re all preparing for the worst, but those closest will be traveling in the next three days, so they’ll be here for the battle. Whether Erin makes it back or not.”

  “Or she makes it back and this sword idea doesn’t work anyway,” Lindgren tossed in.

  “Yes, Mr. Positivity, that, too. But in the end it’s all on us. When the fight starts, we’re all in.”

  “We can’t,” Sefa Hakonardottir suddenly announced, her eyes barely looking at any of them. “When the battle happens, the Valkyries will be there. But only to help those who fall get to Valhalla. Freyja’s orders.”

  “Does she understand—”

  “She understands, Kera. It just doesn’t matter.”’

  “Fine,” Kera said, unwilling to focus on what didn’t help. “We move forward. At this point, it’s all about the timing.” That was officially her mantra now. It had to be; she had no choice.

  Kera reached into her backpack and pulled out her clipboard and pen, to the groans of everyone at the table—which she ignored—“Let’s get down to it, shall we?”

  * * *

  Gullveig stared at her onetime priestess. They’d cut out her tongue, something Gullveig considered extremely tacky. Were there no boundaries these humans would not cross?

  She paced back and forth in front of the body, at least grateful that she’d finally rid herself of those ridiculous robes that Hel had insisted she’d dress in while in Helheim. She was back in clothes that fit her style. A Dior dress, Gucci shoes, Prada purse, and Harry Winston jewelry. She had no idea why anyone would dress any other way.

  Gullveig looked at a those assembled in front of her. “And you say they have . . . ?”

  “The Key,” one of the Carrion explained.