“Berserker.” Thor stood over her. In his ancient legions of Berserkers, the women in the ranks had been some of the most savage and cunning warriors he had ever seen. Thor took note of this woman's lean muscles and hard jaw. Unlike the other fighters in Managarm’s pathetic crew, this one showed promise.
She scowled as she pulled open her pink jacket to reveal the crescent moon carved into her chest.
“The mark of the Moon Dog.” Thor felt his face flush with anger. He very nearly buried his hammer deep into her forehead, but he softened when he saw her tears.
“The mark of the Rune Witch.” She averted her eyes in shame. “We did not make this choice for ourselves. We were commanded by the one who called us.”
“Berserkers do not cry!” Thor glowered down at her. “A mortal warrior does not entreat a god for mercy!”
He tightened his grip on his hammer, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy her. She was badly wounded and was no further threat in this battle. Thor turned his back and walked away.
Dashing between one abandoned bulldozer and the next, Managarm made his way across the field as Sally stalked him.
“You will face me, Managarm!” she screamed after him. Her voice crackled with a dangerous mixture of magick and rage. “You will feel the wrath of the Rune Witch!”
Get to the Tree, Managarm commanded himself. His bulldozers were down. His Berserkers were scattered. There was no way to destroy the Yggdrasil outright, but he could still bend this new Tree to his will. He’d have to wait out the lifetime of this Yggdrasil before he could fully recreate the Cosmos, but he’d settle for dominion over this world in the meantime.
With every stride, the runes shifted in the bag hooked to his belt. He’d lost Thurisaz, and then several more when Sally had tried to blast him. But he hoped even one Yggdrasil rune soaked in her blood would be enough.
Managarm sneaked out from behind another bulldozer, then broke into a full run for several yards before sliding to his belly behind a downed motorcycle. He peeked out from behind the mangled chrome and saw the World Tree almost within reach. Another clear sprint would get him there. He scanned the field and smiled. Sally was nowhere in sight.
Managarm climbed to his feet, pulled the bag of runes from his belt, and strode toward the Tree.
“MANAGARM.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned slowly. His blood froze in his body when he saw Freya and Sally standing side by side and staring him down—and Odin bearing down from behind them.
“Sally.” Managarm tried to hide the bag of runes behind his back. “I thought you were dead.”
“You thought you had sacrificed me to the Fenris Wolf,” Sally spat. She nodded toward the bag in his hands. “You thought you could use my power as your own.”
“Sally, I thought we were partners.”
“Enough!” Freya tilted her head toward Sally, and they both raised their arms, targeting Managarm.
He held up his hands defensively. “Wait—”
The combined blasts from Freya and Sally struck him full in the chest. He flew backward and landed violently atop a pile of uprooted trees. He heard the bones in his left arm snap and he smelled burning hair as electric current shot through his body. But with all of his nerve endings screaming at once, he felt nothing.
Letting the bag of runes drop into his lap, Managarm reached for his chest but all he felt was warm goo. He looked down at the huge, smoking hole in his shirt. When he pulled his hand away, his fingertips were covered in the syrupy glop of his melting flesh.
Managarm clutched at the slimy mush that used to be his chest. Each breath was more difficult than the last as his organs liquified. Still, there was no pain. He looked up to find Odin towering over him.
“Moon Dog.” Odin glared at him. “See the failure of what you have wrought.”
Managarm scanned the field. It was littered with overturned bulldozers, mangled motorcycles, abandoned crossbows and fishing spears, and the bodies of teenagers and elderly women. His gaze came to rest on Bragi’s body, and Managarm’s face soured as he saw Frigga bent over her son in mourning.
He heard a familiar growl in his ear and turned his head just in time to catch Sally’s infernal cat backing up against him and lifting his tail to let loose a misty stream of urine on the gaping chasm of Managarm’s torso. Was nothing sacred to that animal? He felt an insistent tugging on his other side and gasped when he saw Heimdall’s dog gnawing at his exposed organs.
Managarm looked up at Odin. Was there anything he could say now to preserve his own life? His mind raced for some sufficiently hyperbolic praise or words of groveling, when he glimpsed a dark shape advancing quickly on the Chief God from the rear.
Fenrir.
Managarm’s eyes brightened. “It’s not over yet, Odin. Kill me if you will, but you cannot stop Ragnarok.”
Pushing the animals out of the way, Odin leaned over the defeated Moon Dog, wrapped a single hand around his neck, and squeezed.
Heimdall rushed toward his father as he strangled the Moon Dog, then slowed when he heard the traitor’s neck snap. Odin released Managarm, and his body slumped to the ground.
Heimdall met his father’s eye with an incredulous half-smile. “It’s over?”
Odin stood up to his full height and rested his hands on his hips. Heimdall started toward him, then stopped when he felt the prickle of apprehension at the back of his neck. Just behind Odin, Fenrir stepped through the smoke from the nearest wrecked bulldozer.
The Randulfr halted and cocked his head to one side as he looked down at the fallen Moon Dog. Heimdall didn’t sense fear or even anger in Fenrir, just calm. Heimdall moved to warn his father, but Odin rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled, then turned to face his nemesis.
“Odin,” said Fenrir.
Odin didn’t blink. “So you are here. It comes down to fate after all.”
Fenrir lifted his chin. “Ragnarok.”
Odin calmly widened his stance and braced for the coming attack. Fenrir crouched low, ears twitching and muscles taut, ready to spring on the old god.
Moving quickly, Heimdall circled around, keeping his eyes on Fenrir and making sure the Randulfr’s full focus was on Odin. There was no way to take Fenrir by surprise, but he could at least try to double-team him and keep Odin from getting killed.
He crept closer, until Fenrir was within reach. With no weapons available, Heimdall balled his hands into fists and prepared to tackle Fenrir as soon as he made a move toward Odin.
Fenrir stumbled sideways, knocked over by a projectile lodged deep in his side. He looked up at Heimdall suspiciously, then down at an arrow sticking out of his ribs. Another arrow whistled past Heimdall and lodged in the Randulfr's thigh.
“GO, VIKS!”
Heimdall’s jaw dropped when he turned to find the plush-covered PSU mascot on his knees in the distance, taking aim with a crossbow. He launched his last arrow and struck Fenrir in the lower back.
“Take that, Randulfr!” Victor E. Viking cried through his oversized character head as he jumped to his feet and pumped his fists. “Vikings!”
With a vicious snarl, Fenrir ripped the arrows out of his leg and side. Heimdall crouched low, ready again for the Randulfr to attack. But instead of lunging forward, Fenrir stared blankly at Odin’s relaxed stance and open hands.
“We can still make peace with one another,” Odin offered. “Even your father has returned to the fold.”
Fenrir growled deep in his throat and backed a few paces away. He dropped the bloodied arrows to the ground and reached for the projectile still lodged in his back.
“Ragnarok!” Fenrir spat.
“Careful . . .” Heimdall warned.
Odin gestured around the field. “This is Ragnarok. The world has changed far beyond what we could have imagined in the early days of Ásgard. So, too, can our destinies change. We are not slaves to any fate that was forecast at the dawn of time.”
Fenrir straightened his spine and looked Odi
n in the eye. Even Heimdall studied his father, searching for whatever trap he must be setting. But Odin’s posture was loose and earnest.
Fenrir glanced again at Managarm’s body puddling in the dirt. He clenched his clawed fingers into fists at the sight of the Rune Witch hovering over the fallen god.
“There is no need for us to fight one another,” Odin proffered.
Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, and he sank low again into an attack posture. Heimdall mimicked the Fenris Wolf’s stance while Odin remained still, arms hanging loose by his sides. Fenrir bared his white fangs and snarled.
“Father!” Heimdall called out. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not working.”
Fenrir’s muscles tensed and he sprang, leaping directly at Odin—diverting at the last second to dart past him. Fenrir tore across the decimated stand of young trees and fled into the woods.
Stunned, Heimdall loosened his hands and tried to slow his breathing to release the adrenaline coursing through his system. “What in all of Svartálfaheim was that about?”
Odin didn’t say a word. He stood and watched Fenrir disappear into the trees.
Sally stood over what was left of Managarm’s body and tried to think of a curse sufficiently vile to hurl upon the fallen god. She’d been foolish enough to place blind trust in Managarm, simply because he was once a member of Odin’s Lodge. She knew she’d have to live with the blame for all the blood that had been spilled on this Black Moon. If only Saga or one of the others had found her first.
Rune Witch. Sally cringed at the sound of Managarm’s voice in her head. He had used her to wreak this havoc, and as Sally hovered above the mangled mess that had once been the Moon Dog, she vowed to spend the rest of her days trying to make amends for the destruction she’d unwittingly caused with her magick.
Sally leaned down and picked up the pouch of bloody runes Managarm had crafted.
The young Berserker in bike shorts who had been running full speed at Heimdall and brandishing a pick-axe stopped dead in his tracks and let his weapon hang uselessly at his side. Saga crawled out from beneath the motorcycle she’d been trapped under, now that the two Berserkers in hockey jerseys who had been standing on top of it and thrusting pocket knives at her face climbed down and left her alone. All around the field, the remaining Berserkers ceased their fighting and turned to face Sally.
Odin nodded toward the bag in Sally’s hands. “It’s the runes. Managarm had no power over the Berserkers without them.”
Sally made her way to the nearest bulldozer and climbed up on it. She scanned the smoking battlefield, pausing when she saw Frigga on the ground, still cradling Bragi’s head in her hands.
She felt very tired. The attack on Managarm had taken more strength than she’d known she had. Her throbbing shoulder wound was bleeding through her bandages, and she felt her brittle bones aging further even as she stood there.
With a mewling cry, Baron scaled the bulldozer to stand next to her on the treads.
She opened the bag of runes and grimced at the scent of her own blood wafting up from within. She felt all eyes on her—Berserkers, gods, and Vikings. Looking past the carnage that had been a peaceful stand of young trees, Sally gazed at the Yggdrasil and almost smiled.
“Berserkers! Hear me!” Sally’s voice boomed across the field as she held the bag of runes aloft. “I am the Rune Witch! I’m the one who called you, but it was not for this. I never asked you to do battle. I never commanded you to shed blood.”
Sally watched Heimdall approach her and she tried to remain calm. He stepped over fallen warriors and uprooted trees, and he frowned at the pulverized saplings, the ground savaged by motorcycle tires and bulldozer treads, and the bodies of mortals who had taken up arms on both sides of the conflict.
She braced herself for a blistering reprimand, possibly even a death sentence. But when Heimdall stopped in front of the bulldozer and looked up at her, Sally was surprised that he nodded at her, encouraging her to continue. She lifted her head again to address the field.
“I am the Rune Witch!” she repeated. “I release you from service, with the one requirement that you never cross swords again.” She thought for a moment, then added quickly, “And that you dedicate yourselves to repairing the damage done here today, and to repairing the world at large. I release you!”
Scattered around the field, the Berserkers heaved a loud, collective sigh. They dropped what weapons they held, then looked around at each other and their former enemies in confused relief.
“Well done.” Heimdall reached up to help Sally down from the bulldozer.
Sally shook her head. “It shouldn’t have come to this. I know I can’t ever make up for what I’ve done.”
“Sure you can.” Heimdall held out his hand. “You can start by handing over those runes.”
Sally offered the bag to him, grateful to be rid of them. In all of her preparations for Odin’s Return, she’d never imagined any of this. If she never worked magick again, that would be fine with her.
Heimdall tied the pouch of runes to his belt and looked up as a late-model Mustang tore through the rough road the bulldozers had carved open. The car skidded to a stop just shy of an uprooted tree.
Freyr stepped up beside him with a dark look on his face. “A Berserker late to the party?”
Sally wondered if she'd need to make her speech again for the benefit of this new warrior. Heimdall stared hard at the vehicle and groaned.
A pretty woman with light brown hair angrily bolted out from behind the wheel. “HEIMDALL!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Heimdall, where are you?”
Freyr elbowed Heimdall. “You know this person?”
Laika broke through between them, barking happily at the woman in the distance and bounding toward her. Baron leapt down from the bulldozer and purred lazy figure-eights around Sally's ankles.
Heimdall sighed heavily and walked toward the car. “Maggie,” he called out just as the carnage of the battlefield—complete with uprooted trees, mangled bodies, mud-streaked PSU pep squad, and overturned bulldozers littered around the huge Yggdrasil rising up in the midst of the smoke and the blood—registered on her face.
“What is this?!” Maggie shrieked.
Sally edged closer to Freyr. "Who's Maggie?" she whispered.
Freyr shook his head and smirked.
“Maggie, you really shouldn’t have come.” Heimdall walked calmly toward her. “Listen, I can explain . . .”
Sally leaned against the bulldozer for support. All the discomfort of the past few days—her burnt thumb, aching joints, blurred vision, blood loss, exhaustion, throbbing chest wound—seemed to descend on her at once, and she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.
Before she closed her eyes, she spotted a black and gray wolf on the far side of the field, just outside the boundary of the old-growth forest. The wolf cocked his head to one side and regarded her curiously across the distance, then turned and disappeared into the woods.
25
Twenty-nine days later, Sally stood again on the battlefield.
It had taken a full week for her to recover her strength and her youth after the battle for the Yggdrasil on the Black Moon of Sleipnir’s Convergence, and even then she’d needed ample help from Freya and Frigga combined. Without their potions, teas, and special incense—most of which wasn’t too horrible—Sally knew she might still look 60 or even 70 years older than she actually was.
Or worse, she could be dead.
She’d rested at the Lodge during her recuperation. Odin, in his role as Principal Wyatt—though Sally didn’t go to his school—called her parents to tell them she’d been selected for an exclusive immersion program in Norwegian studies. When Sally finally did see her parents, she looked her old self again. And though her parents were full of prying questions, they were none the wiser.
Now, she was back in Pierce Forest, gazing at the World Tree.
The Yggdrasil stood tall and proud, but the field around it
was empty. Managarm’s bulldozers had razed every young tree in the vicinity.
A pair of ravens cawed overhead, and Sally raised her hand to shield her eyes from the November sun as she looked into the sky.
“Returning to the scene of the crime?” asked a familiar voice beside her. “Eh, Rune Witch?”
She turned and blinked at one of the gods she was coming to know. “Freyr.”
“Come on. I have to fetch Thor.” Freyr offered his arm, and Sally slipped her small hand into the crook of his elbow.
They walked together toward the massive frame of a building under construction just inside the line of old-growth trees. At the top of the structure, Thor straddled a crossbeam and nailed a ceiling joist into place. He hammered the first nail home and positioned a second nail over the plank.
“This is the new Lodge?” Sally asked.
Freyr nodded, then called up to Thor. “How’s it going, thunderbolt king?”
Thor swung his hammer, missed the nail, and struck his thumb instead. He howled and watched the nail fall to the ground, where it landed at Sally’s feet. She looked up at him and waved.
“Haven’t quite got the knack of it back yet?” Freyr teased.
“How much do you want to bet I can still throw this hammer directly into your skull?” Thor weighed the tool in his hand and scowled.
Freyr picked up the fallen nail and motioned Thor down. “It’s time.”
Thor climbed down a series of ladders leading from one partially finished floor to the next. Sally glanced over her shoulder at the Yggdrasil, where the rest of the clan and survivors of the battle were already gathering.
Bypassing the last ladder, Thor leapt to the ground and landed with a loud thud.
“The homestead is coming along nicely.” Sally tilted her head toward the building frame. Wall studs were already in place on the second floor.
Thor grunted. “Might even be ready for Jul.”
Sally hoped she would be invited. The twelve-night December holiday celebrating the Norse New Year—the ending and beginning of all things—seemed a fitting conclusion to the Year of Ragnarok.
Moon Dog Magic Page 31