The Goddess Embraced

by Deborah Davitt

  In the distance, three or four large godlings—ones that covered half the sky—began to make their approach. Odin could sense them from a hundred miles away. And there was one . . . just one . . . that made the leader of Valhalla grimace. The central core of the creature’s body matched the size of the blast radius of the hydrogen spell that had just set Burgundoi’s harbor district ablaze, and its tendrils stretched across the visible horizon. It was clearly one of the original fifteen, and he could feel it bearing down on them from the north, drawn by the strife and the energy releases . . . and moving fast.

  Hold steady, Odin called, and his voice could be heard by every defender of the city, no matter where they stood. He could sense them all pause for an instant, and then begin firing their weapons, loading their guns, and ducking into cover again. No one but a god would have noticed that split second of hesitation by an entire city, as if time itself had blinked. Mortals and god-born and gods. We stand together on this day, as no other in history. We stand and fight, not just for our homes, for our loved ones, or for our families, but for each other and for our entire shattered world. We have held the line here, and elsewhere, for as long as we could, but today, the darkness comes for us. Not the darkness of night, which is nothing but the absence of light. Not the darkness of death, which is but the shadow of the uncertain future. This is the darkness of the end of all things. That which threatens all of us. That which threatens both every future and all our pasts, and would render both without meaning or importance.

  Sigrun, on Nith’s back, held still, listening to the words as they soared high over the battlefield, having just fought off several small godlings. Her eyes were focused on the horizon, as Odin went on. If we win this day, the story will be told forever. And if we lose, there will be no world left to remember. I say to you all, that we do stand together. On this day, if our people fall, we gods will fall. And if we gods fall, our people . . . may yet survive. But we will stand with you, in equal risk. What is life, but the passage of the sparrow through the crowded hall, from the darkness outside, through the light, and then back into darkness once more? I say that if Death comes for me this day, I will give it such a fight, as will be remembered for so long as there are minds to recall it, and lips to sing the tale! But I also say, if Death is my fate today, I accept it, in fair trade, so long as my people may survive! Death!

  Death! came the echoes from millions of minds below, and Sigrun reeled with it, echoing the word, herself. Calling out to oblivion, acceptance and taunt. Come and take me, you bastard, if you dare.

  Every hand to your weapons. Every heart, steel yourselves. Hold to your places. Hold to each other. Hold to your honor. If wyrd permits, we will feast together. And if wyrd does not, then we will all be as one. He paused. Death! Odin shouted again, his voice ringing back from every skyscraper in the city’s crowded heart.

  Death!

  Death!

  Death!

  Death!

  Death! A chorus of voices that cried out in a mix of despair and defiance. They wouldn’t run to death as a lover. They challenged it. They dared it. They called it by its name, and shouted that they were not afraid.

  Everyone knew that there was almost no hope, beyond the faint possibility of their family’s survival. And yet, the humans and god-born were bolstered, and oddly reassured, by Odin’s promise. That the gods would stand with them all. To the end, and beyond.

  The mad ones swarmed in, and the gods had to leave the mortals behind to fight them. The god-born, the bear-warriors and the valkyrie, stood with the humans—and were forced to fight against those they’d just called brothers and sisters, as the mad ones turned entire neighborhoods into fresh ghul. The army of the Nahautl priests, on seeing the mad ones entering the skies in such numbers, defied their leaders’ orders and began to retreat.

  Too late, of course. Hundreds of their own men were being turned to ghul in front of them. Only the ahuizotl, the cihuateteo, the flayed men, and whichever god-born had been pressured into joining the priests’ army were immune. And as their own men turned on them and leaped on them, even the most seasoned Nahautl soldiers broke and ran.

  Heimdall surged forwards, leaping into the air to try to destroy the godlings to the south, Baldur at his heels. You will have no more mouths with which to feed yourselves! he shouted, and the two of them worked to shred and destroy the smaller godlings. But more and more of them arrived on the scene, swarming like bees. Freya left her hospital to move to Odin’s side, as they prepared for the arrival of the largest of the mad ones.

  Sif was the first of the gods to die, in spite of the fact that Thor and Tyr kept her between them, defending her as best they could. Sigrun, who’d been fighting with Nith, beside Njord, out over the waters of the Pacifica, beating back as many of the godlings as she could, felt the scream of pain through the humming network of the gods’ minds, and her head jerked up, distracted for an instant . . . and a tendril got through, digging into her throat. Njord slashed through the godling’s hungry appendage with his sword, and snapped, Pay attention!

  Thor’s roar of pain and anguish filled the air a split-second before the shockwave rocked the city, and buildings, already damaged and on fire, began to topple. Sif! No, my love, I will catch you—

  Tyr caught and spun Thor around, so that they were now fighting back-to-back against the godlings. Between the two of them, and Sigrun, lightning forked almost continuously, arcing across the entire sky, and rolling crashes of thunder had become a monotonous roar to the ears of the defenders. Grief does us no good right now, brother! Take that one, there, and avenge her!

  Thor shouted and threw Mjolnir directly at the godling in question. If the attack had been merely physical, it would have been a laughable gesture, but the hammer was, like most of the gods’ weapons, an extension of his will and essence. It shattered the mad one, instantly, and energy once more exploded outwards . . . only to be lapped up, hungrily, by the mad ones all around them. The more we kill, the more they feed, damn them . . . .

  The more we kill, the more we feed, as well, Tyr reminded him, and they got back to work.

  Loki, riding Sleipnir, moved now to them, bolstering the western front. His illusions were, as his son’s were, powerful enough to keep a mad god from seeing where the gods truly were. Why did you not come to us sooner? Thor demanded.

  Because moments ago, I was assisting Freyr. He is now with Baldur and Heimdall. I cannot be everywhere. But I grieve for your loss.

  To the south, Freyr had moved to bolster Heimdall and Baldur’s position, but thousands of ghul were now moving along the CI highway, which would lead them directly into the heart of the city. The highway became a major downtown street, and passed within a hundred yards of the Odinhall. The human defenders were overrun, and the god-born were falling back, as well, as the frost-giants held the ghul back, lofting cars into the advancing lines like catapult stones. Go! Heimdall told Freyr. Baldur and I have been holding well here. Aid the humans. Keep the ghul at bay.

  Freyr turned, and dove down towards the highway, the light of the sun coming with him. The ghul screamed and cowered at the brilliant light, covering their eyes; they could function in daylight, but the amount of light and heat Freyr now emitted seared the flesh from their bones, and turned them into crumbling, dry husks, before their bones burned away. The poured-stone highway beneath them turned molten, sagged, and then fell, collapsing to the access roads below.

  Heimdall and Baldur spun back to their own work, dozens of mad godlings surrounding them now. Heimdall held a protective sphere over them as they fought, and their swords rose and flashed, and directed energies in unison. But it only took one mistake . . . and Baldur shouted in agony as he moved too far from Heimdall’s protective sphere. Tendrils raced in, embedding themselves in his chest, drawing energy out of his body. Heimdall spun and slashed with sword and will, trying to sever the tendrils, but for every one he cut, another snaked in. Baldur tried to defend himself, but the godlings swarmed in, ea
ger and hungry . . . and then Baldur fell.

  His death, and the resulting shockwave shattered dozens of the smaller godlings, setting off chain-reactions as the larger godlings turned and fed on the smaller ones, fighting and squabbling among themselves. Freyr fell back to defend Heimdall and Njord. Nith and Sigrun moved onto the shore, falling back as the godlings continued to press in all around them.

  Heimdall was the next to die, and Sigrun could sense the people on the ground, screaming and fleeing as ghul now rampaged freely up the highways. Buildings in the downtown area slumped and collapsed, and the massive godling that Freya and Odin had been waiting for appeared on the northern horizon, as they continued to fight the smaller ones. Fall in, Freya commanded. Decrease the size of our perimeter, and protect one another!

  They fell back, and the humans fell back with them. Their forces retreated through the streets of Burgundoi, along both Highway CI, which followed along the long peninsula towards downtown, and Highway CCLXXX, which wrapped around the bay on the mainland side. Thor moved south to stand with Freyr, while Loki and Tyr continued to hold the east. Sigrun held a shield of seiðr over herself and Nith, and worked to unspin the godlings as Njord tore at them with tidal forces.

  On the ground, Drust and Sadb were on foot, and they’d had to run for a mile or so through the burning buildings, coughing and choking on the smoke. They’d finally just opted to jog for the bay, away from anything that could fall on them, and where the air might be a little clearer. “We can’t swim for it,” Sadb said, practically. “There are sharks in the waters. They like to eat the seals, I hear.”

  Drust grimaced, and looked back at the buildings behind them. Hundreds of them were on fire, all belching out smoke. “On the one hand, the fire will keep the ghul away from us, on that flank. They don’t usually swim, either. We’ve got two flanks protected here. But we’re alone. And we’re breathing this shit.” He coughed again. They were over forty miles from the Odinhall, at the moment. The average human walking pace meant that they might reach the city’s heart in thirteen hours, assuming they didn’t need to stop, hide, fight, eat, or rest. We’re not going to make it. We need to find a vehicle . . . there. They were out of the blast zone now, and he’d spotted a motorcar that might do—a four-wheel drive, ley-powered truck. “Shotgun,” Drust told Sadb, and they cleared around and under the vehicle before he broke the windows, opened the doors, and got into the driver’s seat, while Sadb took the passenger’s seat and hung out the window, trying to keep the area around them covered while he hotwired the ignition.

  “Movement,” Sadb reported, sharply, and Drust glanced up to see ghul leaping down off the broken roof of a building down the street, and crawling forward into the roadway. He swore, got the engine running, and rocked their way out of the parking spot, jerking and heaving over rubble. He prayed that the tires, which looked to have been patched once or twice, would hold on the debris, and pushed the accelerator. “Make me a hole,” he told Sadb, who began shooting at the accumulating ghul, concentrating on the side closer to her . . . so that they couldn’t grab her and pull her out of the truck.

  Hitting the wall of bodies with a sickening crunch, the truck rolled over them, and Drust swerved and swore as an arm reached through the broken window and managed to latch onto his throat. Talons dug in, drawing blood . . . and he knew that in spite of the fact that they were doing forty miles an hour, that the ghul was still hanging on. “Sadb!”

  She turned, moved, and aimed the shotgun behind him, aiming for the windows in the rear cab of the truck. “Going to be loud,” she warned, and pulled the trigger on the heels of her declaration.

  Inside the enclosed confines of the cab, the shotgun report was deafening. Even with warning, Drust swerved again, but at least the talons released, and he could, after risking a glance in the side mirror, see the crumpled body tumbling away behind them. “Can we go faster?” Sadb shouted, trying to make herself heard over the ringing in both their ears.

  “Not till we clear the debris!”

  They could feel the scrape of the undercarriage. The bump and jostle as they ran over pieces of poured-stone and metal. And finally, they got onto a main street, leading to the CI highway . . . and saw thousands of ghul there, being fired on by defenders who were hanging over the edge of the highway itself. Drust just swore, and swerved back onto the street they’d come from. “Side roads,” he said, and found the Bayfeld Coastal Trail, following that north. Green trees and coastal sloughs . . . and then they reached the next set of barricades, where they were hailed by the defenders and embraced. They had their wounds checked, were given a little water, and were put back on the line, in time to hear Odin’s words. Drust felt the chill go through him, and he pulled Sadb close. I’m here till the end, he wanted to say.

  He couldn’t get the words out. But he hoped she understood them, anyway.

  They had to get off the elevated freeway after the third flash of brilliant light that swept across the horizon. The bridges were all showing too many cracks. They lured some of the ghul beneath the underpasses, and used explosives to drop them, entirely. The infrastructure was already coming down. It might as well serve a purpose. And at the back of every mind, were the words death, death, death, death, like a chant. No cheering as the bridge crushed the ghul. Just packing up and moving further back, down the feeder road, as lightning flashed across the sky overhead.

  Still moving north, the hairs on his forearms stood on end, and a chill meandered down his spine, as if there were high amounts of static electricity in the air. Drust didn’t wonder at it, at first; considering all the lightning in the sky, it made sense. He had a sense that something had moved by overhead, however.

  Then all around him and Sadb, people began to fall, gasping and writhing. Clutching at their stomachs, chests, throats. His chest burned, but not from any sort of chemical gas. “What’s going on, now?” Drust demanded, and leaned down, trying to help one of the men to his feet . . . and when he turned the man over, the eyes were glazed and vacant, and talons lashed out and gripped Drust’s forearm. Ghul. He died right fucking in front of me, and turned into a ghul . . . .

  Another blinding flash, and when Drust’s vision cleared, the ghul was dead . . . all those around them, who’d been writhing on the ground were. The ground bucked and heaved, and the buildings along the feeder—a motorcar dealership, a furniture warehouse—collapsed on themselves. Another god just died. Damn it. Damn it all. I don’t even know which one. He glanced down at himself to ensure he was still himself, not some nuckelavee or bauchan or something else vile, and grabbed Sadb by the arm, helping her forwards, just as all the other survivors were moving. “We can make Candela Arena, or what’s left of it, if we just keep moving. That’s probably the next big defense point.”

  “And if worst comes to worst,” Sadb gasped out as they ran once more, her eyes showing the whites all the way around, “we can grab the gladiators’ weapons and just . . . keep cutting anything that comes through the locker room doors?”

  Drust wished he could laugh. Unfortunately, he could picture this all too clearly as their fate.

  Sigrun reeled on Nith’s back, nearly knocked off of him. Freyr had just died. Thor was wounded, and badly. Njord was wounded, as well, and Odin and Freya were exhausted from holding back the largest of the mad ones. Everywhere she turned, there were tendrils of energy lancing through the air, probing, seeking, finding. Tearing the walls off buildings below, snuffing humans on the ground, and tearing into ley-lines that were already fraying apart. Thousands of fresh ghul roamed the streets, falling on any human survivors they found. People who had, moments before, been brothers, sisters, wives, and husbands.

  Fall back to the Odinhall, Freya called, her voice exhausted. Odin and I cannot hold any longer against the largest without aid.

  Sigrun’s othersight told her that they’d made a dent in the mad gods, at least. Most of the tendrils she was sensing actually came from the largest one, and about six others, which each w
ould have taken up a quarter to half of the sky. At least most of the small ones, the swarmers, are gone, she thought, numbly, as Nith veered to the north, and Njord plunged back into the water, this time in the bay, keeping up with them easily, though far below. Do you think it’s enough? She looked down at Nith, whose scales were broken in places, and from whose wounds, black-silver blood oozed under her hands. He’d taken far more hits than she had, so far, flipping in the air so that tendrils would strike him, and not her. Using his body to shield her.

  I do not know, Nith admitted. They both retained the feeling of being death-touched. Pre-memory fought reality, and pre-memory was running out. I have no sense of the future, my love. I can see nothing, remember nothing, beyond the next hour. There was fear in his voice, but also defiance. If he could take prophecy’s throat in his teeth right now, she knew that he would.