Moon Dog Magic

by Jennifer Willis

  David got up and wandered over to the computer desk. Sally ignored him and his reverent bow as he stepped past her and stood next to Opal’s chair. “Nachos? Chili dogs?”

  Opal looked up from the computer. “Are you serious? You’ve wolfed down every frickin’ scrap of food I had!”

  He gestured vaguely in the air in front of him. “I’m hungry.”

  Sally looked at him hard. “David, really.”

  The warrior dipped his head in shame. “I apologize, my lady. It was not my intention to offend.”

  Sally’s wrinkles deepened into a frown. “You’re really odd, you know that? You’re all giggly and scarfing down pizza, and then it’s like you’re Sir Lancelot or something.” She typed new keywords into the search engines. “What’s up with that?”

  David kept his head bowed. “Simply my nature. Command me. I will behave as you wish.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Sally perked up.

  Managarm pressed his fists against the sides of his head. “Berserkers are like this when they’re not fighting.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Opal. “You will fetch doughnuts, and pizza, nachos, sugared water. Whatever the warrior requires. And take him with you on your errand.”

  “Awesome!” David leapt into the air and did a celebratory jig.

  Opal raised her eyebrows and looked at Sally. “Did the old guy really just snap his fingers at me?”

  Sally shrugged. “He’s in pain. Cut him some slack.”

  Opal got up and reached for her purse on the bookshelf. David was practically drooling with anticipation.

  “Let’s hit Plaid Pantry first, and Burgerville. And Voodoo Doughnut! They’re open all night.” David’s mouth spread into a wild grin as he danced around, kicking his legs and elbows out at odd angles. “The magic is in the hole.”

  Opal shot Sally a pained look as she grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. “You owe me.”

  “Don’t let him out of your sight,” Managarm added.

  As soon as the door closed behind Opal and David, Managarm got up and struggled with the remote control to turn off the television. “Godless heathens! Motherless sows of Álfheim!” He pounded on the buttons to no avail, and then started slapping the TV screen.

  “Here.” Sally rushed over, feeling her knees creak with every step. She took the remote out of Managarm’s hand and quickly turned off the TV. “Better?”

  Managarm sank down onto the futon, rested his head back, and closed his eyes. “Much.”

  Sally went back to the computer. “I’ll find something to help. I promise.”

  “Your condition is not permanent.”

  Sally looked at him expectantly, but his eyes were still closed. “You really think so?”

  Managarm propped his feet up on the wobbly coffee table. “Your friends are correct. You drew too much from your own power when working your magick.” He waved a hand in her direction without looking at her. “Most of these unfortunate effects might reverse themselves over time, but I can set you back to normal again. After the Black Moon. After our work is complete.”

  “Great.” Sally looked back at the computer. Another three days as an old lady? Maybe the chance to hang out with an old god—one who needed her help to save the world—was worth it. Scanning the search results, she clicked on a few healing rituals and natural headache remedies and scribbled in her Book of Shadows.

  Sally glanced at Managarm and an excited shock jolted through her as she watched him massaging his temples. Managarm! She squealed silently. Remembering his earlier admonition, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. “So, tell me more about your quest? To repair the planet? I think maybe we’ve been working on pretty much the same thing, all this time.”

  Managarm waved at her again. “Later, little witch. There will be time for swapping tales when we go to my campsite in the morning, where we’ll conduct our work. Together.”

  Sally’s fingers shook on the keyboard as her stomach shot into her throat. He’s taking me with him? We’ll work together?! She couldn’t hide her excited smile as she bent over the computer, and she didn’t see the wry grin spreading across the old god’s face.

  10

  “We’re on the way there now.” Heimdall adjusted the bluetooth headset in his ear, then cracked open the driver’s window of his truck to help dissipate the condensation collecting on the inside of the windshield. He glanced enviously at Freyr, snoozing with his head against the passenger window. Sandwiched between them, Freya leaned forward to gaze through the windshield at the few early morning stars peeking through the clouds cover while ‘90s grunge rock played softly on the radio.

  “Still a few days yet,” Freya whispered to the waning sliver of moon.

  It was nearly midnight, and Heimdall knew he wouldn’t be sleeping. Again. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and guided the truck along the winding service road. It seemed like all he did these days was drive around in the forest.

  Heimdall yawned loudly as he continued his telephone conversation with Odin. “Managarm. That’s right.”

  Freya turned to look at Heimdall. She gestured for him to hand the call to her, but he shook her off.

  “Yeah, she’s sure.” Heimdall winced at the loud tirade that blasted in his ear. “Right . . . I know . . . It’s an outrage . . . Yes . . . We’re just as mystified and enraged on this end.”

  Freya snapped off the radio, then adjusted her brother’s sleeping head so she could roll down the passenger window. She sniffed at the crisp air.

  “Feels like we’re getting close,” she said.

  Heimdall navigated around a particularly sharp turn, shifting his snoozing passengers—Laika, Rod, and Saga—in the back of the cab. Saga’s head knocked into the window glass, cutting short her loud snoring. She cursed sharply.

  “Sorry about that.” Heimdall glanced in the rearview mirror at his sister, and received a rude finger gesture in response. “Very mature.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed.

  “No, sorry, I was talking to Saga,” Heimdall spoke into his headset. “Of course. This is absolutely no laughing matter.” Heimdall fell silent again, listening to his father’s instructions.

  Freya kept her face to the open passenger window. Saga gripped the back of the front seat and leaned forward.

  “You tracking the Tree?” Saga asked.

  “That, and trying to prevent carsickness.” Freya took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “All these winding roads. Shifting elevations, not enough sleep.” Freya practically draped herself across Freyr to hang her head out the window.

  Heimdall pulled onto a dirt and gravel road leading deeper into the forest. “Well, we can’t just go storming the wolf sanctuary on our own. And somebody’s going to have to go up to Joseph. It’s the only way to get a read on anything that might be happening with the wolf.”

  The truck bounced over a couple of depressions in the road. Heimdall eyed Freya as she clutched at her stomach.

  “Yes, an Oregon White Oak.” Heimdall adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. He would have expected to feel some relief as he drew closer to the young Yggdrasil, but he was more tense than ever. For nearly a year, his thoughts had been consumed by the new Tree. When he did sleep, he dreamt of the tiny seedling sprouting up in some unknown location, completely vulnerable without a watcher nearby.

  “I don’t know how long it’s going to take!” Heimdall sighed in exasperation. Freya pulled her head back inside the truck and laid a calming hand on Heimdall’s elbow. He made a conscious effort to relax his vocal chords. Growling at Odin was not going to help matters.

  Heimdall maneuvered around increasingly thick branches overhead. “We’ve got hundreds of trees to sort through. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  Coming to the end of the road, Heimdall stopped the truck. Rod and Freyr awoke with the sudden cessation of motion. Saga threw open the rear cab door and hopped out onto a bed of damp pine needles. Clim
bing over the drowsy and disoriented Freyr, Freya practically exploded out of the car and ducked under the low hanging branches. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Rod joined the others as they gathered in front of the truck.

  “You’ll have to send Thor.” Heimdall turned off the truck’s engine and shut off the headlights. Laika leapt into the front seat and sat down beside him. “I know it’s not ideal, but there’s not a whole lot of choice right now.”

  Thor had always been wary of Loki, and Fenrir—Loki’s half-wolf son—was an especially sore subject. Long ago, before the Golden Age of the Vikings, Thor had taken a liking to the Randulfr when he was still a pup. He brought him into the Great Hall to tame him as a hunting and battle companion and given the tiny Fenrir a pair of his favorite boots to chew on. But Fenrir grew into something in between god and wolf, ruled by a chaotic soul even darker than the entropy that plagued Loki.

  Then in one of their prophetic visions, the Norns foresaw Fenrir’s fated role in Ragnarok, and that pretty much ended any place he might have had at Thor’s side. How could the gods knowingly harbor the beast who was destined to slay Odin? Millennia later, Thor still wasn’t convinced Loki hadn’t deliberately planted Fenrir in their midst.

  It was lucky that Loki had been convinced to bind Fenrir himself. Luckier still that Loki and Odin had slowly forged a more abiding familial bond, despite Loki’s penchant for really inappropriate practical jokes—like the time Loki got Thor drunk, dressed him up as an unattractive streetwalker, and dumped him aboard a merchant ship whose crew hadn’t seen a woman or dry land in four months.

  It had taken Thor three-and-a-half days to get back to port. And it was thirty-two years before Loki dared show his face again at a Lodge meeting, one where Thor was conveniently absent.

  “Send Bragi and Frigga with him, to keep the peace.” Heimdall dug his fingers a bit too deep into Laika’s fur, and she whined. He backed off on his grip and mouthed, “Sorry” to her. “The last thing we need right now is another rift with Loki. Just tell Thor he’s going on a road trip to hunt down Berserkers—far, far away from any and all photocopiers.”

  Heimdall opened his door and slid out from behind the wheel. “Listen, we’re here. I’ll give you an update soon.” He disconnected the call with a tap on the earpiece, then tucked the tiny headset into his jacket pocket. Laika leapt out of the truck after him and paced an excited circle around her master.

  Freya caught his eye. “Heading out to see Loki.”

  Heimdall nodded.

  Freya shook her head. “I don’t envy that lot.”

  Heimdall closed the car door and led the group deeper into the woods. Freya was close on his heels, while Laika ran out ahead a few paces, then bounded back to Heimdall and danced in front of him before sprinting forward again. After a few minutes of walking, the tall trees thinned and opened onto a wide spread of young saplings. Hundreds of trees, ranging from three feet to nearly six feet in height, were staggered every thirty feet or so.

  The group fanned out, planted their feet on the rich soil, and listened. The stand seemed to go on forever, but Heimdall felt a subtle buzz beneath his boots.

  Freya inhaled deeply and smiled. “It’s here.”

  Freyr rested a hand on his solar plexus and shifted his feet. “Does anyone else feel kind of dizzy?”

  Rod looked around at the others. “It’s the Tree, right? Is that what you’re all feeling?”

  Heimdall knelt and placed his palm flat on the ground. The vibration started as a quiet buzz that tickled his fingers, but it quickly spread up his arm into his chest and nearly made his hair stand on end. He steadied himself as he stood up and wiped the dirt on his jeans.

  Freyr turned away from the stand of trees. “I don’t remember the Tree making me feel this uncomfortable.”

  “You’ve never hunted for the young Yggdrasil. You’ve only known it when it’s big and strong, more established.” Freya stepped forward into the first row of trees. Even in the dark, she gazed lovingly at the leaves. “It’s just a baby right now, brimming over with power it can’t quite contain. So, yes, it can be discombobulating.”

  Laika dashed in and out of the first few rows of saplings, playing hide and seek by herself and barking for attention.

  “How many did you say there were?” Saga asked in consternation. “Six hundred?”

  “That’s about right.” Heimdall stepped up to one of the young trees. He touched the slender trunk, then grasped a tender leaf between his fingers. “Harder to find when it’s this young. It will be pretty indistinct from the others.” He looked past the tree in front of him to the hundreds of saplings that lay beyond. “It could be any one of them.”

  He pulled out his phone, opened the calculator, and started punching in numbers.

  Freyr stepped up beside him and leaned in. “That’s one hundred and twenty trees each, for five of us.”

  Freyr patted Heimdall’s shoulder with a smug smile. Heimdall flinched at the touch and stepped away from his cousin.

  “Yeah, okay. One hundred and twenty trees. Rod?”

  The handyman was hanging back, with his hand raised in the air. “Umm, so how can we tell if a tree is the Tree . . . ?”

  “It will be pretty subtle, but you’ll know it by touch. It will be buzzing with the same frequency you can feel running under the ground here.”

  Rod raised his hand again. “But what if I can’t feel this buzzing thing you guys keep talking about?”

  Freyr sighed. “Come along with me, then.”

  Rod walked up to Heimdall and leaned close. “Is it okay if I don’t get paired with him? I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Fine, you’re with me instead.” Heimdall went back to his cell phone calculator. “Okay, so with just four of us . . .”

  “That’s one hundred and fifty trees apiece,” Freyr cut in again. “Unless the rest of you take so long that I have to pick up your slack.”

  Heimdall shot his cousin a sharp look. “So, we’ll fan out and start going tree by tree.”

  Freya touched Heimdall’s arm as she passed him. “It’s not bad. About fifteen acres. We’re a lot closer now than a few hours ago.”

  Heimdall watched his companions step into the stand and start inspecting the saplings. They moved slowly from tree to tree, gradually spreading farther apart. With a smile to greet the new World Tree, Freya placed her loving hands on one narrow trunk. Her face sank into a frown and she stepped to the next tree, her expression brightening with hope for each new tree she examined. Saga got close to one specimen, sniffed at its bark and even tasted it with a quick flick of the tongue. She rolled the taste around in her mouth, then moved on to the next.

  Heimdall buttoned up his jacket against the chill and stepped up to the nearest tree.

  Stopping beside him, Rod shifted his weight between his feet in excitement. “So it’s kind of like looking for the Dalai Lama, huh?”

  Heimdall raised his eyebrows.

  “You know, every time the Dalai Lama dies, the other lamas try to find the new one. They travel to lots of cities and villages and examine every child who might be the reincarnated Dalai Lama. Asking questions, performing ritual tests.” Rod searched Heimdall’s face for recognition. “Don’t you ever watch public television?”

  Heimdall rested a hand on one sapling, closed his eyes, listened a moment, and moved on to the next. “You think these lamas might merely be seeing what they want to see? Testing children for aptitude in religious leadership, perhaps, instead of signs of reincarnation?”

  Rod placed his hand on the trunk of a tree Heimdall had just left, then followed him to the next sapling. “And you’re not doing the same thing?”

  “The Yggdrasil is different,” Heimdall said roughly. “No other tree, no matter how magnificent it might be, could ever take its place.”

  Rod held his hands up defensively. “Okay. But what is the Viking World Tree doing in North America, anyway? Doesn’t that just seem a little convenient?”

&n
bsp; Heimdall glared at him.

  “I, I mean, if you’re going to go criticizing the Buddhist lamas and all,” Rod said.

  Heimdall stepped up to the next tree and tried to clear his anger before he placed his hands on the trunk. Why was he letting this human get to him?

  “It’s hardly convenient, Rod.” Heimdall closed his eyes and listened. Not the Yggdrasil. He moved on. “We’re lucky the Yggdrasil didn’t jump continents again, like it did last time. It was a damned hassle relocating what was left of the Lodge from Norway to the New World, just because the Tree decided it wanted a change of scenery.”

  “Oh.” Rod watched him examine the next tree. “Why would it do that?”

  “I don’t know, Rod!” Heimdall barked. “It just did. And now there’s a Berserker on the loose and maybe some shady magick being worked. So every minute that we don’t know the location of the Tree is three minutes too long. Get it?”

  Rod took a few steps backward. “Sorry. I just thought that since you’re, you know, gods and all, you’d know stuff like that.”

  Heimdall leaned against the tree he’d just tested, and the sapling bowed under his weight. “We’re not those kind of gods, Rod. You’ve been around us long enough to figure that out. We’re not all-powerful. We can’t stop speeding bullets or alter time. We don’t know everything.” He glanced sideways and caught Freyr watching him through the trees. “We can’t even control the weather anymore,” Heimdall said loudly. “Can we?”

  He walked to the next tree and the sapling he’d been leaning against sprang back up, only slightly the worse for wear.

  “Six hundred trees,” Heimdall grumbled. “Six hundred blasted trees and Frigga’s annoying handyman.”

  Heimdall felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, followed by the dull thud of a rock hitting the ground.

  “Hey!” Heimdall rubbed the base of his skull and felt a thin trickle of blood beginning to mat his hair. He spun around to find Freyr standing not too far away, arms crossed over his chest.