Fenrir grabbed one of her arms and pressed a thumb into her wounds, and Sally wailed in pain. “Why are you doing this?”
He pressed harder into her damaged flesh, and she screamed unintelligible syllables that echoed off the walls and hurt her ears.
And then he let her go. Sally backed away, and could just barely make out the sound of retreating footsteps over her own crying.
“I’m sorry about that,” Fenrir said. “I’m supposed to be in here killing you, and Managarm was listening outside. He’s walked on now.”
Sally was shaking so badly that she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from falling over. “He’s not going to let you out of here until you do it, is he?”
Fenrir walked toward the door, dug his claws into the metal, and rolled the door upward. Night had fallen outside, and cool air rushed in.
Fenrir motioned Sally toward the door, but she just sat on the concrete, blinking at the glare from the street lamps.
“Escape,” he suggested.
Sally rose to her knees. “You’re letting me go?”
Fenrir groaned in frustration. “Get out of here, now. Get as far away as possible.” He crossed the floor and pulled her up to her feet, letting her lean on him as he helped her through the door and out onto the blacktop pavement.
There were many rows of identical storage units. From the sound of traffic, Sally guessed they were near a highway. Just beyond a tall chain link fence, she spotted a few familiar billboards and knew they had to be in NE Portland, just across the river. If the spell she’d done to locate the Yggdrasil was accurate, they were about forty miles northwest of Pierce Forest.
She looked down at Fenrir, still startled that a creature of such terror and power would be so much smaller than she was. “You’re going to the Tree now, aren’t you?”
Fenrir bared his teeth, and Sally involuntarily stumbled backward, but then he smiled. “Ragnarok comes soon.”
He turned and ran down the row of storage units.
Managarm was taking another lap around the storage facility, waiting for Fenrir to be done with his sacrifice. He flinched when a black shape flashed past him, then stopped short when Fenrir appeared in front of him.
“Cursed Saxon whores!” Managarm cried out.
Fenrir laughed.
Managarm raised his eyebrows. “It’s finished?”
Fenrir lifted his bloody palms.
“Stars above,” Managarm sighed in relief. “I’m finally rid of that pest of a witch.” He turned and walked in the direction of his truck. “We’ll collect the new Berserkers at the apartment, then rendezvous with the others in the forest.”
Fenrir stood his ground. “I’ll meet you at the Yggdrasil.”
Managarm turned. “It’s a good hour away from here, even by car. Ride with me.”
Fenrir shook his furry head. “I’ve had enough of confined spaces. I’ll make my own way to the Tree.” He turned and disappeared into the night.
Managarm shrugged and kept walking. He’d need to warn the Berserkers in the field that the Fenris Wolf was on his way. In the meantime, if the little witch had performed her last spell competently, Managarm had an entire army of new warriors to greet.
Having finally given up on the electronic garage gate that refused to budge at Rita’s apartment building, Managarm had circled the surrounding blocks seven times before he found an empty parking space big enough for his dented Suburban four blocks away. He growled and cursed at the patrons ducking in and out of P.F. Chang’s, Andina, Cloud Seven Cafe, and Whole Foods. He hated being downtown on a Saturday night.
And then he’d reached Rita’s building to find that the elevators were out of service and only the emergency lights were working.
After climbing an endless parade of staircases and swearing every step of the way, Managarm threw open the stairwell door onto the darkened thirteenth floor and nearly spat on the carpet in disgust. What the hell had happened while he was gone?
In one hand, Managarm carried a damp sack filled with the Sitka Spruce runes, soaked in Sally’s blood. His other hand balled into a fist. He found Rita's front door standing wide open and scores of people he didn’t know milling about inside. Save for the flickering candles scattered about the great room, the apartment was just as dark as the rest of the building.
“Who are you?” Managarm scanned the room for his Berserkers. The whole place smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.
Peter squeezed through the crowd, balancing more bowls of snacks and chopped fruit than he could safely carry.
“Managarm!” Peter nearly dropped a tureen of cheese puffs on the floor. “We couldn’t get in touch with you. There’s been a problem.”
Managarm stormed toward him, and the crowd pressed back to give him a wide berth. Peter tried to duck out of the way but Managarm caught him by the front of his shirt. “What kind of problem?”
“Loki paid a visit.” Peter’s spilled corn chips onto the floor. “I thought he was coming to help.”
Managarm let Peter go. “Loki?” He surveyed the crowd for the familiar face of his kinsman, but Loki was nowhere to be found among the senior citizens, a hockey team in full gear, a rowdy group of cyclists in spandex, and four guys in slick, matching suits. He noticed the smoke rising from the stereo system and the burnt and cracked glass of the computer monitor on the desk.
“It didn't occur to me to be wary, since he’s the father of Fenrir and all.” Peter looked at Managarm. “It was sabotage.”
Managarm’s brows knitted together. “Sabotage.”
“Everything started blowing up.” Still trying to balance the heavy serving bowls, Peter gesticulated dramatically and flung sliced apples and corn chips in every direction. “The computers, the TV, everything electrical. It was awesome!”
With no appreciation for the young warrior’s enthusiasm, Managarm glowered at Peter, who shrank back a few steps.
“Loki,” Managarm muttered. He’d thought the god of chaos would steer clear of this fight, particularly if it meant Fenrir’s freedom, but he’d gotten involved anyway. Still, Managarm had Berserkers. So what if Odin had Loki?
He gauged the diverse crowd with a more critical eye, noting the moon-shaped blood stains soaking through each of their shirts. But he frowned at the cluster of old women in their aprons. “These are my new warriors? The ones the witch called?”
Peter nodded. “They’ve been showing up all afternoon.”
“And why does it smell like cookies?!” Managarm roared.
A woman with lavender-tinted silver hair stepped forward. “We’re the Angel Bakers from Cedar Presbyterian,” she announced with pride. “We brought shortbread.”
Managarm’s jaw tightened. He doubted he could take down Odin, Thor, and Heimdall with a few dozen snickerdoodles. He felt his blood pressure rising and was about to let out an ear-splitting roar when Peter stepped in front of him.
“We’ve also got the Zoobombers, see?” Peter put the serving bowls on the floor and gestured to a far corner where a boisterous group of young people dressed in stretch pants, bright feather boas, and sparkling top hats was digging into pink boxes of doughnuts. “They’re Portland’s renegade cyclists.”
Managarm looked at Peter with raised eyebrows. He was only slightly more impressed with Zoobombers than he was with the Angel Bakers.
“Okay, so a rec league hockey team . . .”
Fifteen middle-aged men jumped to attention, their ice skates scraping up the hardwood floor as they held their hockey sticks across their chests in a kind of salute. Managarm nodded at their gold-and-black uniforms emblazoned with an angry bee, and then pointed to the quartet with slicked-back hair and shiny suits.
“Let me guess,” Managarm grumbled. “The Young Mormons Book Club.”
Peter laughed, then quickly fell silent under Managarm’s deepened scowl. The boy cleared his throat. “Umm, no, they’re from the touring cast of Jersey Boys.”
Managarm growled deep in his throat. These we
re his mighty warriors? This is what the stupid little witch had called up for him? Yes, by all means, let’s beat back Odin with '60s pop music and jelly-filled pastries. He was glad he’d given Sally to Fenrir. He hoped she’d suffered.
Peter took a step forward. “Where is the Rune Witch?”
Remembering the drawstring bag in his hand, Managarm lifted it up for all to see. Recognizing Managarm’s bag of runes, now dripping blood, Peter gasped.
“The Rune Witch has given her life for our cause!” He turned slowly, making sure all eyes were on him, even those of the boa-clad cyclists in the corner. “She offered her very blood to further our magick. Her last wish was that you would serve me as you did her.”
The new Berserkers murmured their collective assent, then looked down at the floor in respect for the fallen Rune Witch.
“She promised that whichever of you should fall in her service, will join her at the feasting tables in Valhalla!”
“Valhalla!” The Berserkers screeched as one.
Managarm motioned toward Peter. “Organize the caravan. Call Rita and let her know how many Berserkers we now number. We’re leaving for the forest. Immediately.”
Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “But we don’t have any phones. They all got fried when Loki was here.”
“Figure it out!” Managarm bellowed. Glaring around the room at his less than inspiring complement of warriors, he stalked toward the dining table and shoved a few shortbread cookies into his mouth.
“No, Mom, I’m okay, really.” Sally stood inside the one working phone booth she could find, at a deserted gas station about two miles from the storage facility. With her torn, blood-soaked clothing, she’d had to keep a low profile on the street. If the cops found her, she’d spend wasted hours in a hospital—and then likely in a psychiatric facility, if she tried telling the authorities what was really happening.
“But where are you, sweetheart?” Sally’s mother pleaded on the other end of the phone.
“I’m safe, that’s all I can tell you.” Sally tried to keep her voice steady. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Sally, I want you to tell us right now where you are,” Sally’s father broke into the conversation. “And then I’m coming to get you.”
Sally very nearly gave him the address of the gas station. Going home with her parents, sleeping in her own bed, and waking up to find that this had all been a bad dream sounded wonderful. But she caught her reflection in the phone booth glass—white, stringy hair hung down into her withered, blood-streaked face. Her green eyes were ringed by so many wrinkles that Sally didn’t recognize herself.
“I’m not in any trouble, I promise.” Sally cringed, knowing her parents would detect the lie. “I’ll be home tomorrow, after I get done with this research project.”
“That’s it.” Her father barked. “I’m dialing the police right now, Sally Dahl, and they’ll trace back this number you’ve called from—”
“Please don’t do that!” Sally cried. “I promise I’ll be home tomorrow. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” Sally hung up the phone.
She stepped out of the phone booth and stood there for a moment trying to collect herself. If she didn’t live through this night, who would tell her parents what had happened?
“Focus, Sally,” she commanded, then walked across the empty street to a small park.
She started scrounging for small stones, a few dry leaves, and short sticks—anything she could use to improvise a travel charm to help her get to the Tree. Even if she had a car, she didn’t have her driver’s license and was an anxious spaz behind the wheel.
Sally arranged the stones in a small circle on the ground. She unwrapped her bandages, then gritted her teeth and tried not to moan as she rubbed the sticks against the oozing wounds on her arms.
“May these twigs connect me to the World Tree. May my blood show my sincerity.” Sally placed the sticks in an asterisk pattern in the center of the stone circle, then laid the leaves on top. “Help me make my way to you, to stand with Heimdall and Saga—”
The nearest street lamp popped with a loud BANG and went out.
“Excuse me,” said a man’s voice out of the darkness—and Sally jumped about two feet into the air.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said.
Sally rose unsteadily to her feet as the silhouette of a man of average build approached.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
The man held up his hands in a placating gesture, and stopped when he was just near enough for Sally to see his face. “Please forgive my intrusion,” he said. “But are you Sally Dahl, by any chance?”
Sally’s heart was in her throat. Her parents had called the police, and they’d arrived in record time. If they took her in, she’d never make it to the Yggdrasil in time. She started to back away, shaking her head vigorously. “No, no, I’m not.”
The man smiled. “It’s okay.”
He turned his head and nodded to another man who stood by a car at the gas station across the street.
“My name is Loki, and I believe you are the Rune Witch? I tracked Fenrir to the storage unit.” Loki gestured at the wounds on her arms. “And then tracked you here.” He extended an open hand to her. “I can take you to the Yggdrasil, if you’d like.”
24
Heimdall awoke with a start. With Laika as a pillow, he was lying flat on his back a few yards beyond the Yggdrasil’s canopy. He looked up at the starlit sky and guessed it was just after midnight.
Bragi stood above him, kicking his feet.
“Hey!” Heimdall shouted and drew his feet out of the way. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Has anyone told you that you snore like a rabid bear in heat?”
As a matter of fact, Maggie had told him, but she’d used nicer words. He missed Maggie. “I haven’t slept in a good while, you know. Give me a break.”
“Sleep when you’re dead,” Bragi replied. “We’ve got work to do.”
Laika lifted her head and growled at Bragi as he walked away.
Heimdall sat up and spotted Frigga and Freya kneeling together at the base of the Tree. They had spread out four sets of runes—with the symbols carved into stone, painted onto shells and glass, and burned into wood—and spoke in hushed tones as they discussed the letters of the ancient alphabet. Saga leaned over them to pour two more sets made of bone and fired clay onto the ground.
Heimdall rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and slowly got up to his feet. Bragi stood with Odin over a half-dozen picnic baskets spread out on the ground, trading old war stories about Frost Giants and Dragon Wraiths while they devoured roasted turkey legs, egg and vegetable burritos, fruit bars, and meatloaf sandwiches. The scene looked more like a tailgate party than preparations for the great battle of Ragnarok. Heimdall headed for the food, with Laika on his heels.
“How long have you been here?” Heimdall rummaged through the nearest basket and lifted out an apple stuffed with peanut butter and dried currants.
“Little more than an hour,” Bragi answered between bites of his sandwich. “We’ve got the battle plan drawn out, in case you’re curious.”
Heimdall glared at his brother, then unwrapped a meatloaf sandwich and tossed it to Laika.
Bragi gestured at Heimdall with his half-eaten egg salad. “Thor is moving the Vikings into position.” He took another bite. “Kind of funny, isn’t it?” he said with his mouth full. “That the Portland State Vikings would turn out to be actual Vikings? We saw that school get founded.” He gestured at Odin. “You were incensed when they picked the mascot, remember?”
Bragi laughed. Odin leveled him with his one-eyed stare.
Bragi stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth. “Thor has the Einherjar divided between the two service roads that run nearest the Tree.”
Heimdall swallowed a bite of apple. “And the logging road?”
“Escape route. A reserve complement there to ke
ep it open, in case we get pushed back.”
Heimdall shook his head. “Retreat isn’t an option. You know that.”
Bragi pulled a roasted turkey leg out of one of the baskets. “To keep Managarm from escaping, then.” He tore off a huge chunk of meat. “Is that better?”
“Much.” Heimdall finished off his apple and wiped his hands on his jeans. He was about to reach for the last burrito when he looked up to find four people he didn’t recognize approaching. The two teenage boys had dazed, excited expressions on their faces as they walked alongside two slightly older girls, one of whom was carrying a cat.
The foursome stopped behind Odin, and the boys practically had tears in their eyes as they tapped him on the shoulder. “Principal Wyatt?”
Odin turned and regarded the boys with curiosity.
“It’s us. Kyle Mackey and Trevor Chase? From school?”
Odin rested a broad hand on each of their shoulders and smiled. “Ah, yes. The Hooligans. Always hoped you’d find a way to redeem yourselves.”
The boys laughed awkwardly. Kyle gestured toward the young women who had come with them. “This is Dotty. She’s a waitress.”
The blond with the ponytail bowed her head. Odin reached for her hand and held up her wrist for closer inspection. Pulling her along with him, Odin turned to Heimdall and Bragi to show them the purple, three-armed knot Dotty had tattooed on her wrist.
“Valknut,” he said in mystified amusement. “Do you think they all bear such marks?”
Not waiting for an answer from his sons, Odin released Dotty’s wrist. “You are welcome here, Dotty.”
She smiled and gestured toward the larger girl with dark hair, cradling a black-and-orange tabby cat. “And this is—”
“OPAL!” Saga shouted.
They all turned to face the Tree, where Saga was on her feet and pointing at the young woman. Saga rushed over to the picnic area. “You’re Sally’s friend, right? Opal?”
Opal nodded. “And Baron, her cat.” She let Baron down onto the ground. Heimdall stood ready to break up a fight as Laika strode over to sniff at the cat, but Baron started purring and rubbed lazily against Laika’s front legs. Laika looked up at Heimdall and wagged her tail.
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