by Hunter Blain
“Asgard?” Depweg asked in confusion before the rest of Taylor’s sentence exploded in his mind. “Thor?!”
“Yes. It would seem Ludvig was the Norse god, Thor, in hiding.”
“Who the hell would a god be hiding from?” Depweg demanded right as the answer hit him in the face. “Satan.”
Taylor nodded only once, never breaking eye contact with the were.
“What about Hayley?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I think it would be best if you went to aid our allies in their mission.”
“Yes...yes, of course,” Depweg said, feeling the determination growing in his veins.
He looked down at the young man who was barely able to hold himself up on shaky legs.
“Can—”
“Magni will stay a while longer with us, I think,” Taylor interjected. Both men knew that Ludvig’s apprentice would be combat ineffective until at least after the shock wore off, which could take days, weeks, or even months.
“Magni!” Ghleann cried out as she all but ran past her uncle and toward her beloved’s arms, which were shifting away from Depweg now that a more desirable embracer had entered.
Taylor nodded his head to the side, indicating that Depweg should follow him to speak in private.
Obliging, Depweg struggled with what words to say to the grieving Magni, but none came to the surface, and the were slipped out of the room unnoticed.
In the hallway, Taylor leaned against the stone wall with his arms still crossed and his gaze cast at the ground. He was seemingly inspecting the moss that made up the rug, but Depweg knew it was an involuntary response for someone deep in critical thought.
“What ya thinking?” Depweg asked, mirroring the tall elf by crossing his own arms over his chest.
“Something doesn’t add up,” Taylor said as if to himself. “How did she...”
“What? Who? Hayley?”
Taylor didn’t answer for several moments before finally saying, “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you get to Germany and help John remove the remainder of Hell’s army on Earth. I fear he will need your help.”
“When can I leave?”
“Immediately. I do not know what has happened to the warden.”
“What is their last known location?”
“I will be sending you straight there.”
“You have a portal near where they last were?”
“We will use my personal doorway, which I can manipulate at will. It is reserved for guests or moving about without leaving a trail of my traversing between the planes.”
Depweg remembered that Lily could shift in and out wherever she wanted to, and was guessing Taylor meant he could use the same ability for the were, but with the help of a doorway.
“Follow me,” Taylor instructed, pushing off the wall and letting his arms drop as he made his way toward his private chambers. Depweg stayed close on his heels while deep in thought.
Once inside, Taylor shut and then locked the door behind the pair before swiping his hand across the air from left to right.
Depweg took a step back as the empty air shimmered and a portal appeared. This one had far more runes and sigils than the typical doorways Depweg had seen, and he understood in an instant that a king would in all probability have the top-tier gear.
Taylor seemed to notice Depweg’s inspection and added, “Doorways without a tether aren’t used by anyone but me because they do not leave a trail. I need to know when my people travel to Midworld, and where they go to. It aids in holding everyone accountable while simultaneously providing an alibi.”
“I get it,” Depweg said, nodding. “If a mortal is murdered by a supe in Australia, it would make sense that someone in Vegas probably didn’t do it.”
“Precisely my reasoning,” Taylor agreed before touching the portal. “Before you go, take this.” The king of Faerie held up a small cube in the palm of his hand.
“What is it?” Depweg asked, carefully picking up the item and inspecting it.
“It’s a powerful bomb. I fear you will need it.”
Depweg let his focus pull away from the tiny cube to stare into Taylor’s eyes, assessing.
Fully trusting his friend to know what he was talking about, Depweg slid the cube into his pocket and hesitantly nodded his thanks.
After a few moments, Taylor’s expression became one of slight concern as he appeared to chew on the inside of his cheek while internally debating on what to say.
“What is it?” Depweg asked, sensing his friend’s struggle and placing a hand on his shoulder.
After a contemplative inhale, he spoke, “The past never stays buried, my friend. Your time here has been beneficial, and I only wish the bridge between man and beast inside your mind is strong enough for what’s to come.”
Depweg wanted to ask the king of Faerie to elaborate, but knew he wouldn’t be able to. Instead, he simply nodded, slowly, and walked through the portal where a scene of destruction awaited him.
20
John - Asgard
The scene coalesced from where I had pulled it, exposing an extensive hall set in stone and adorned with an impossibly long table with countless chairs on either side. I understood without having to think about it that I was in Valhalla.
Turning all around, I noticed a doorway standing ajar, light spilling in from the tiny crack along the edges. Walking to it, I pushed through into a lush field and into Asgard proper, where Ludvig could be laid to rest.
It was breathtakingly beautiful, with healthy grass, blossoming flowers, and a crystal-blue river running past an enormous tree before trailing off into the horizon further than I could see.
The big tree caught my eye, and I turned my body to face it while still holding Ludvig in my arms.
Without knowing why, I walked toward the tree, feeling a pull that couldn’t be explained with rational thought.
Stopping at its base, I gently set Ludvig down against its trunk and looked up.
If the world around me was infinitely more gorgeous than, say, the desolate desert in Hell...then this tree was the next step up in comparison.
I could feel life pulsing off of it like the heat from a stone left to bake in the sun. I raised my hand to rest it on the bark, and the closer I got, the more it tickled the skin of my palm.
The limbs were mighty, and the branches were flush with green leaves.
A little bit up the trunk, about eye level for me, I could see a red stain that looked ancient.
Letting my gaze roam further up, I could barely make out a frayed rope long since withered away.
A story came to mind, and I knew where I was standing. This was the Norse manifestation of Yggdrasil, where Odin had hung himself for nine days and nine nights in an effort to learn what truths the universe could show him.
Now it was only fitting for his son, Thor, to be buried beneath the shade of its branches.
I could have willed the land beneath my feet to create a hole big enough to place the huge man in, but I opted to manifest a shovel and begin digging instead. I wanted to do this the hard way. It felt...right...it felt...proper. I couldn’t explain why.
After the hole was dug, I shoved the tip of my shovel into the large pile of dirt, bent down to grab my friend, and hoisted him up.
Stepping to the hole, I willed a system of ropes to gently lower Thor Odinson—my friend Ludvig—into the ground.
Once there was slack from his body touching the bottom, I willed the ropes to disappear, and stared down at Hayley’s husband.
Without knowing why, I willed Mjolnir into my hand, and was surprised to see it had been on my hip. I hadn’t noticed it returning to me after Ludvig had dropped it.
Looking at Thor’s rightful hammer, I crouched down, rested my elbows on my knees, and willed Mjolnir to drift down and land on the pale man’s large chest. A tear streamed down my cheek, and I paid it no mind. Tears of loss had become usual guests at this point, and there was no sense in fighting them.
“I...I don’t know what to say, man,” I said to my friend, who was becoming blurry the longer I stared at him, the warm tears freeing themselves from my eyes.
I sniffled once, and continued, “I’ll take care of Hayley for you...and Magni.”
As the words left my mouth, I became wildly dizzy and dropped the shovel on the ground before falling to my knees.
My mind, always ready to remind me of the things I wished to forget, flashed with the last book of the prophecy. I had become like a father to Magni after Ludvig...and then I killed the boy whose last words were, “I’m scared.”
“No!” I barked between gritted teeth. “Not now!”
Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, I contained the undulating memory of the pages I had read, shoving them back into the recesses of my mind like an overstuffed luggage whose latches refused to close.
“Magni needs me. Hayley...needs me,” I said to myself, pausing at the mention of the unknowing warden who was bathing in the waters of ignorance, unaware of the leviathan of sorrow that awaited beneath the calm surface.
I had to tell her, and I had to be strong when I did it.
The memory was locked away, and I stood up with the shovel in my hands.
Clearing my throat, I threw the first batch of dirt on Thor Odinson before stabbing the dirt pile with my shovel again.
It took longer than they showed on TV to fill the hole, but I needed to do it piece by piece instead of forcing all the dirt in at once.
With the last of the hole filled, I let my shovel evaporate, and stared down at the brown rectangle amidst the lush green grass.
“Goodbye, Ludvig. I won’t let you down.”
Turning to walk, there was a rumble under my feet, and I turned right as a small explosion of dirt rocketed toward me. Something brown latched onto my side, and surprise stole my breath as I looked down to see Mjolnir coated in earth.
“Hey! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be down there with Thor, dude!” I cried out to Mjolnir, feeling stupid for yelling at a hammer.
Walking back to the hole, I lifted Mjolnir off my side and tried to shove it back into the small hole that was slowly filling with dirt. As it came within inches of the grave, a force pushed back on me, and it lifted me off the ground.
“What the monkey-sticks is this!” I yelped as I caught my balance before toppling to the grass.
Scowling at the defiant hammer, I tried pushing on it again, only to have the situation repeat itself. No matter how much I tried, Mjolnir wouldn’t go into the ground.
“Dude!” I cried out in frustration. “Come on!”
Then the hammer disappeared from my grip, making me fall forward and get a face full of fresh grave dirt.
Pushing myself up with a scowl, I began spitting and rubbing at my face.
I felt something tugging at my side, and looked down to see Mjolnir slightly bouncing up and down, almost as if it were...
“Are you freaking laughing at me, MC Hammer?”
Thor’s weapon began a more forceful bouncing, and confirmed that it was now doing the equivalent of howling in laughter at me.
Something nagged at my mind, and I flicked my gaze between Mjolnir and the grave, trying to make a connection.
The hammer stopped bouncing, almost as if it saw me putting the pieces of the puzzle together.
Following the length of the rectangle with my gaze, I landed on Yggdrasil, the tree of life.
In the back of my mind, I felt something click into place, and I promised myself I would watch my hammer’s career with great interest.
After the last of the dirt was off my face and enough time of standing around the grave as to feel respectful had passed, I grabbed the scene around me, pictured Hayley, and shifted planes.
21
Locke - Houston
The inside of the dilapidated yellow house was musty, like old potpourri that sat out long past its effective use date. There was a faint hint of something bland cooking in the background that glided across his nostrils, teasing its existence.
Locke knew where to go as he slowly closed the door behind him, his hands feeling moist and warm against the cold metal of the knob.
Wiping his hands up and down his jeans to get rid of the perspiration, the wizard stepped into the kitchen where Lachesis awaited, milky eyes staring into Locke. An old, half-rusted pot was sitting on the mostly white stove. Decades of use had chipped away a substantial amount of the original paint.
Lachesis’s leathered face scowled at the wizard as if holding back a dam of frustration.
“I’m sorry it’s so late,” Locke began, palms facing skyward in placation. His eyes flicked to the pot on the stove, wondering if he had interrupted a late-night snack.
“Sit, boy,” Lachesis demanded tersely, her expression never wavering.
Locke did as commanded, sliding into the chair. The floorboards, which were probably older than most homes in all of Houston, creaked in protest under the tall man’s weight.
Knowing the game, Locke asked in a long exhale, “I assume you know why I’m here. So what price must I pay for guidance?”
Lachesis threw jet fuel on the small fire of Locke’s worry by smiling, though the corners of her milky eyes remained untouched by the expression.
A gulp filled the silence, sounding like a motorcycle rampaging down a residential neighborhood in the early morning hours with how quiet the yellow house was. Only the bubbling cauldron of unknown liquid dared make a sound.
“In order to see, you must first be blind,” Lachesis let out in a hiss. Her African accent gave the words an ominous feeling that probably stemmed from too many movies and shows. For some reason, Locke could picture John moaning how he was sick of witch doctors and the like being portrayed with the stereotypical accent, and that just once, he’d like to see a magic man from the Bronx.
Alright, ya mook. All’s ya’s need’s is some eye of newt, scales from the belly of an alligator, and a pinch of nightshade. Then, bada boom! You’s got’s yourselve’s a wicked potion. No problem!
Locke caught himself smiling before understanding that his brain was desperately attempting to fill his thoughts with funny situations rather than accept what Lachesis had said.
Her words sunk in at that moment.
“Bl-blind?”
“Yes, wizard,” Lachesis responded, putting emphasis on Locke’s new class.
“May I assume you mean figuratively?”
“Yes.”
Locke breathed a sigh of relief, and his shoulders, which had been tensed all the way to his ears, relaxed.
“You may assume. But you’d be wrong.”
Silence stole Locke’s tongue while paralysis froze his breath. He played back his question in his mind, and realized the word game she was playing with him.
Setting his palm flat on the table whose cloth had been worn down to the thickness of tissue paper, Locke leaned back in his chair and set his gaze on the seer.
“You do me a dishonor, seer, by manipulating my emotions.” He wanted to add how important he was to the entirety of creation by aiding John in preventing the apocalypse, but restrained himself. A quote from one of his favorite series sprang to mind, stilling his words: “Any man who must say ‘I am king’ is no true king at all.”
“I care not for your honor, wizard. The price has been declared. Now it is up to you...to pay it.” Lachesis was leaning forward, glaring at the man with her milky eyes.
“Then you mean I must remove my eyes?”
“No.”
Locke let out another sigh of relief.
“Only one.”
The air that had been escaping from Locke’s lungs was cinched shut as anxiety clamped around the man’s chest, squeezing the life from him. In a crescendo, a heartbeat began pounding with increasing rhythm and force, deafening him to where even the boiling pot on the stove could no longer be he
ard. Locke must have touched something wet because both of his palms were clammy and warm, forcing him to drag his hands up and down his jeans again.
Inside Locke’s mind, a war raged between needing to know what the Elders had sent him for, and wanting to keep both of his eyes.
“No,” Locke barked out after several moments of silence. “No! If the Elders wanted me to know so bad...they’d tell me.”
With that, Locke shot to his feet, knocking the feeble wooden chair over as he did, and began stomping to the front door.
“She is pregnant.”
Locke froze, confusion filling his muscles with concrete as his mind rushed to decipher the words.
“Wh-who?” As soon as Locke said the words aloud, he knew. “Hayley...”
“She has the Norse god’s child inside her womb, and will die.”
Locke slowly pivoted to Lachesis with widening eyes.
“Norse...god? You mean...Ludvig is...”
“Was,” Lachesis corrected.
Locke dropped to one knee as he registered what she was telling him.
“Ludvig is dead?”
“He picked up his hammer to save his wife and friend from the vampire-warlock, pulling power once again from his believers.”
“I-I-I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t, child,” Lachesis said as she groaned her way up on shuffling feet. With a mental snapshot, Locke noticed how Lachesis leaned on her cane, arched her back forward at the hips, and failed to fully lift her feet as she moved.
At the stove, Lachesis turned the knob with no discernable numbers or indicators on it, and removed the pot with a grunt.
Locke started to get up to help her, but knew she would protest his aid, resigning to pick up his chair and sit again as she brought the pot over to the table. She set it on a dishcloth that had nearly disintegrated with time, and looked up to lock eyes with the man.
Seconds passed as the two watched one another, both refusing to blink first.
Taking a deep breath, Locke reached up to his face with his right hand, and poised it over his left eye. The thumb rested at the corner closest to his nose while the index finger positioned itself on the upper lid. The middle finger claimed the outer corner, and his hand was set to do the job.