Laika woo’ed her displeasure at this turn of events, but she lowered her body to the ground and rested her muzzle on her forepaws. Grumbling, she kept her eyes trained on Fenrir, and her ears remained flat.
Heimdall turned back to Fenrir and tried to ignore the fact that the now human-shaped Randulfr was naked. The thick layer of dark hair obscured only so much.
“You want to explain yourself?” Heimdall shoved his hands into his front pockets when what he really wanted to do was grab Fenrir by his thick shoulders and yell into his face. He wanted to know where Fenrir had been the past three years, if he was making another play against Odin, and why he’d picked this particular night to instigate a game of chase through the woods.
Instead, he waited.
“I think the Rune Witch is in danger,” Fenrir said at last.
Heimdall bristled. Sally had told him about how Fenrir had saved her from Managarm and something of the complicated story behind why Fenrir felt a deep obligation to her.
“We have to help her,” Fenrir said.
“We?” Heimdall’s eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, then his face darkened. “That’s precisely what we were doing when you led us on this merry chase to nowhere! We were trying to track her and . . .” Heimdall stopped himself before he said anything about Opal or Thor. “You’re wasting our time.”
Fenrir spread his black-clawed hands in front of him. Laika issued a warning whine, and Fenrir’s pointed ears twitched high on his head. “I was trying to lead you in the right direction. The trail they left is purposely meandering. It was meant to throw you off.”
“Then why didn’t you just say that?” Heimdall demanded.
“I’m faster on four legs than two. And I didn’t think you’d believe me.” Fenrir shrugged. “Better to lead you to her than try to convince you.”
Heimdall conceded Fenrir’s point. “What do you know?”
“I have seen Sally and her friend in the company of someone who is playing at being a teacher.”
Heimdall waited for Fenrir to continue, but the Randulfr didn’t say anything about Thor. Heimdall wasn’t sure if that was good news.
Laika belly-crawled across the ground to Heimdall’s side. She blinked up at him, and he reached down to scratch her behind her ears.
“Why should I trust your information?”
Fenrir almost smiled. His sharp, white teeth stood out against his black hair. “Maybe you shouldn’t. But I don’t have any stake in this other than the safety of the Rune Witch. I am bound to her. You know this to be true.”
“What do you propose?”
Keeping a wary eye on Laika, Fenrir took a step forward. “I can take you to the place I last saw them together.” He gestured deeper into the woods and took a step in that direction. “We could be there by dawn.”
Laika looked up at Heimdall with a questioning sigh. Heimdall wished he had a clear, telepathic link with his wolf-dog. She could smell Fenrir’s intentions and would have a keener sense of where he had been.
As it was, Heimdall had only his experience as an immortal who’d so far successfully avoided dying. He couldn’t remember anything in Norse mythology or the Norns’ cryptic forecasts about the Randulfr offering his services to Odin’s Lodge to rescue the Rune Witch. As with pretty much everything that had happened since Sally appeared on the scene, this was uncharted territory.
7
When Thor awoke in the morning, he was still lying by the stream.
His head hurt and there was an unusually foul taste in his mouth, with no available mouthwash for miles. His beard was pressed into the rocky dirt, and his neck was stiff. He groaned as he pushed himself up from the ground.
The sun was barely peeking above the horizon. Thor guessed it was somewhere between 5 and 6 a.m. His heavy eyelids fluttered as sleep called him back like a Siren, but Thor lifted an unsteady hand and smacked himself across the face. He sniffed at the shock of pain and shook a lingering dream out of his head. Something about a dancing banana slug.
He crawled to the edge of the bank, splashed cool water onto his face, and tried to clean out his beard. Hard, grainy bits tumbled away in drips of dirty water.
He rinsed his out mouth and glanced first upstream and then down to get his bearings, but it was no use. He was somewhere deep in the forest, but at least he didn’t have any company.
Freyr. Thor’s eyes opened wide.
He clambered to his bare feet and stomped up and down the bank, shouting out his friend’s name and checking behind nearby trees to make sure the mischievous Vanir wasn’t waiting to jump out at him. It would have been just like that imp to fake his own death for the sole purpose of pranking Thor.
“You cur of a runtling!” Thor grumbled in the direction of the trees on the other side of the stream. “Show yourself! Come out and face me.”
No response. Shoulders slumped, Thor stopped his shouting and lumbering about. The tight rumble in his belly woke the rest of his senses and kicked his brain into a slightly higher gear.
Freyr hadn’t faked his death. At best, he was making merry in Valhalla and flirting mercilessly with every manner of wench in a well-deserved afterlife.
At worst . . . Thor gritted his teeth. Maybe he had really seen a ghost.
Or, maybe he was losing his mind.
Thor rested by the edge of the stream and drank as much water as his aching stomach could hold. It was a temporary measure. He could fool his body for only so long, and then the hunger would return with a vengeance.
“When is a god not a god?” a familiar voice asked from behind him.
Thor spun around on his butt and was both relieved and annoyed to find Hugh stepping out from the trees.
“You,” Thor spat. A loud rumble from his gut echoed his irritation.
Hugh smiled. “So, how are we doing this morning? Hungry? I see you’ve found your water source.”
Thor tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness kept him on the ground. “You left me, told me not to move, even when I desperately needed water.”
Hugh nodded. “And you listened to your instincts instead. You found what you needed, close at hand.”
Thor frowned. He couldn’t tell if the guide was agreeing or arguing with him. He ran a hand over his wet beard and coughed.
“Was the night hard on you?” Hugh asked.
Thor opened his mouth to answer, but then realized he had no idea what had happened after Freyr disappeared. After the hallucination faded, Thor corrected himself. He closed his mouth and shrugged.
Hugh seemed satisfied by Thor’s confusion. “The vision is nearly upon you, then.”
Thor blanched. He was already seeing and talking to a dead kinsman. Was the worst yet to come?
Hugh lifted his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side. “Or, has it already started?” He narrowed his dark eyes and studied Thor’s face. “Have you been seeing things?”
Thor snorted and looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hugh smiled. “Of course you don’t.” He stepped back toward the trees. “Don’t wander far from the stream. Drink only as much as you need. You don’t want to bloat.”
Hugh turned to leave, but Thor called out. “Wait!”
Hugh stopped.
Thor managed to push himself onto his knees, then realized how stupid he must look in a position of entreaty before the perplexing guide. Odin would have had a good laugh—or Thor’s hide—over the scene. But Thor was no supplicant. He sat back down and imagined himself lounging on a generous throne of leather and bone, with Hugh in the role of faithful attendant.
Hugh sighed with plain irritation. “You wanted something?”
“Is it Thursday?”
“Anything else?”
Thor wanted to ask how long Hugh would be gone this time, whether there were any unusual predators in the woods, and how Thor might tell the difference between having a vision and losing his grip on reality.
Thor shook his head.
“Good,” Hugh said. “One more thing.” He reached into the back pocket of his worn jeans and retrieved a clear plastic baggie. He tossed the bag and it bounced off Thor’s knee before landing in the dirt.
Thor eyed the baggie and its contents—dark brown squiggles the size of his thumbnail. “What’s this? Bark?”
“If you do get uncomfortably hungry, try snacking on that,” Hugh replied. “Not too much. You’ll want to take it easy.”
Thor’s stomach rumbled again. He was tempted to dive for the bag, rip it open, and pour the mystery chunks into his open maw. But he refused to show weakness in front of Hugh. And the odds were good the bag contained something vile like desiccated caterpillars or skunk scat jerky. Thor turned away from the bag.
Hugh laughed. “Enjoy yourself, if you can manage it.” He turned and disappeared into the woods.
Thor wondered if the guide was some kind of magician, to be able to fade into the trees like a wisp of smoke. Then he remembered the tricks of light and shadow in the woods, and that Hugh had probably been traveling among these very trees all his life.
Thor waited the space of three breaths, then four. There was no movement in the trees. Once he was certain Hugh was truly gone, Thor picked up the bag and examined the contents through the clear plastic. Hugh had left him with what looked like a collection of short, twisted twigs, dark brown on one side with a creamier color on the reverse. Some kind of dried fruit, Thor concluded. Or maybe actual sticks.
Was he supposed to eat the stuff or build a miniature pixie fort with it?
When is a god not a god? Hugh’s question buzzed about his head again, though he tried to swat it away.
“When he doesn’t have any bloody dominion,” Thor growled through clenched teeth. Maybe building a little city out of rocks and twigs wasn’t a bad idea, so long as he could keep any sprites and other woodland spirits out.
Thor opened the bag and pulled out one of the pieces. It wasn’t a stick. The food—if that’s what it was—had a spongy but crackly feel to it. He sniffed at it but couldn’t detect anything beyond the familiar scents of the woods. Thor shrugged and popped the enigmatic snack into his mouth. It was chewy and tasted like wooded moss. It wasn’t half-bad. His stomach churned in anticipation, and he swallowed.
He closed the bag and stowed it in his back pocket. He washed the spongy-stick-snack down with another hefty slurp from the stream. He closed his eyes against the stabbing pain of his belly. His appetite had always been a ruling force, but he’d never known his stomach to be powerful enough to make him feel as though the very ground beneath him was shaking. The rumble filled his ears and joggled every hair on his thick body.
Thor patted the knife still clipped to his belt. He was going to have to go hunting. But not just yet. His head started swimming again. Thor rested back into the grainy dirt and closed his eyes.
Rod awoke with a start and then brushed clumps of dirt and pine needles out of his hair, which was mysteriously wet. Rod really hoped that was from early morning frost or dew and not some wild animal marking its territory in the wee hours. His mouth twisted at the unintentional pun. Thor would have loved it.
His back ached from lying on the bare ground all night, but the thick blanket pulled from the limitless depths of Grace’s rucksack had kept him warm.
They weren’t following a marked or worn trail, and the spot Grace had chosen for their camp wasn’t even a proper clearing. Rod wasn’t certain that “camp” applied to the primitive style in which they’d passed the night.
His frown deepened as he examined the sorry state of his shirt. The checked flannel was wrinkled and stained with smears of something he chose to believe was dirt. There were tears in the fabric where he’d brushed too close to trees, or possibly from the embarrassing instance when he’d gotten tangled in a thorn bush while relieving himself and had to be rescued by the old lady.
Rod shuffled over to the nearest tree and leaned back against its trunk. “Life in the wilderness isn’t for everyone.”
A loud snort erupted from behind him. Rod dropped into a crouched position and spun around to face the intruder.
“Isn’t that the truth?” Grace stepped out from behind the tree, laughing. She nodded at the hand-woven blanket that had gotten twisted up between his boots. “You sleep all right?”
Rod relaxed his shoulders and tried to stem the adrenaline rushing through his system. “Better than expected.” His throat was tight, and he nearly choked on the words.
Grace blinked up at the sky. “Hmph. He’s late.”
“Who’s late?” Trying to fold the thick blanket, Rod settled into an ungainly heap on the ground. “I thought we were tracking—” Rod’s words died on his lips as the ground shifted beneath him. It was a momentary thing, like an aftershock without a predecessor earthquake, and he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it. “Hey, did you just feel something?”
“Quiet!” Grace hissed. She nodded toward a solitary figure approaching from deep in the trees. “Here he is.”
There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and powerful gait. Rod scrambled to his feet and tried to smooth out his shirt. Grace glanced sideways and clucked at Rod’s attempt to make himself more presentable.
Rod made a move to welcome the Chief of the Norse Pantheon to this unlucky adventure in the woods, but Grace grabbed his arm and forcefully pulled him back.
“Keep your tongue and your place,” Grace whispered.
Rod was tempted to remind her of his loyal service to Frigga, but he was curious to see how this meeting might play out.
Odin slowed his approach and turned his face skyward. Paying no mind to Grace or Rod, the old god planted his heavy boots in the dirt and spread his strong arms wide. With fierce concentration, he reached upward with enough intensity to call down the very clouds.
Rod braced himself for the coming crack of thunder or a bolt of lightning, but nothing happened. He relaxed when he remembered that stormy weather was Thor’s domain, though Rod had never seen Odin’s lumbering son command so much as a hailstone.
Odin thrust his arms upward again, uttering a wordless cry as his eye searched the empty sky above. After a long, potent pause, the big god lowered his arms in defeat. Grace sighed heavily and stepped forward.
“It is as I feared,” she called to Odin. “They do not come.”
Odin shook his head. “No, they do not.”
“Who doesn’t come?” Rod tucked the blanket under his arm and followed behind Grace. The old woman shot him a stern look. Rod fell back a step.
Odin didn’t seem the least surprised to find his wife’s handyman and Bonnie’s grandmother deep in the woods, and he didn’t waste time on perfunctory greetings. “What progress?”
The old woman stood before him and pursed her lips. “They haven’t made it easy, but they’re not as clever as they think.” She glanced up at the sky. “Still, it would have been nice if they’d put in an appearance for you. Respectful, even.”
Rod edged closer. Odin offered a nod of acknowledgment, but that was all. Grace was at least a foot shorter than Odin, but she looked equally as powerful even as she stood in the shadow of the old Viking god.
“How did you find us?” Rod asked.
“Easily enough,” Odin replied.
Grace chuckled. “Thanks to the mile-wide trail I left for you.”
Rod looked around at the surrounding trees. Not only did they all look the same to him, but he couldn’t even tell from what direction he and Grace had come the night before. There was no hint of a trail that he could see. He also couldn’t figure out precisely how or when Odin and Grace might have set up their meeting.
Odin smiled at Rod as Grace kept laughing.
“Whatever.” Rod went back to folding the blanket, exaggerating each movement for neatness and to emphasize his irritation. “Just drag me along to be your manservant on another crisis.”
“Rod,” Odin spoke the single syllable with deep tones of respect and patience. “Re
d Cliff would not have brought you into the wilderness if she’d deemed you unworthy.”
“Unworthy?” Rod asked in exasperation. “For what, exactly? Everyone seems to know what’s going on here except me.” It wasn’t a new sensation but this was the first time he’d given it a voice. He tossed the carefully folded blanket onto the ground.
“Don’t be a child.” Grace squatted down to retrieve the blanket and paused to brush off the dirt. But then she suddenly let go of the blanket and pressed her palm against the ground.
“What is it?” Rod asked, and was immediately shushed by both Grace and Odin.
Grace’s startled expression had Rod’s adrenaline threatening again. She grabbed the blanket and rose to her feet. “The Bachelor is awake.”
“The bachelor?” Rod glanced back and forth between Odin and Grace. He doubted that Grace had been picking up reality TV trivia through her fingers. “You mean Thor? The bridegroom? Is he okay?”
Grace hustled the few yards to where her rucksack and walking stick rested against a tree. She stuffed the blanket inside the bag, lifted the bag onto her back, and wrapped her fingers around her staff. She gave a sharp look to Odin and Rod, and then pressed into the woods at an even faster clip than the day before.
“I never saw an old lady move so fast.” Rod gave a nervous chuckle. He hoped Odin would call her back. Rod enjoyed keeping fit, but he didn’t relish the idea of another blind scramble through the wilderness.
Odin clapped Rod’s shoulder as he stepped past him. “Just keep up with her, if you can.” Odin quickened his pace and followed Grace into the trees.
Rod took a deep breath and sighed. “At least I’m getting plenty of cardio.” With resignation and a quick apology to his wardrobe, he launched himself forward, pausing only to lift his camping cup off the ground as he passed.
Sally felt herself shaken awake, but when she opened her eyes she was alone. Birdsong drifted down from the branches over her head. She had retreated deep into the sleeping bag overnight, burying herself in the water-resistant fabric and fill. At least she’d gotten some decent rest. She blinked at the soft sunlight filtering through the tree branches.
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