Mist

by Susan Krinard

  He breathed in deeply. The cats, having down their duty, turned and ran back to the relative safety of the kitchen.

  “Jotunar,” he said.

  “We meet again, Sow’s daughter,” Hrimgrimir said.

  She came to a stop just inside the gym door, Dainn a step behind her. The giant, about seven feet tall and 350 pounds of solid muscle, stood in the center of the gym, hands on hips, grinning with all the evil relish of a nineteenth-century melodrama villain. The only thing that ruined the effect was his too-tight jeans, bulging at the thighs, and the loose plaid shirt.

  He and the two Jotunar with him had not been among those she and Dainn had— hopefully—sent to a desert half a world away. Loki’s forces might have been reduced, but they were by no means eliminated. And Hrimgrimir was among the strongest of them. And the worst.

  “Where’s the forest?” Mist asked, feeling for Kettlingr at her hip.

  Hrimgrimir lost his grin, his face creasing in confusion. “Say what you mean, bitch,” he said.

  “You look like a lumberjack. Shouldn’t you be out somewhere cutting down trees?”

  It was a consummately ridiculous thing to say, but Mist wasn’t interested in trying to be clever. Her only goal was to get Hrimgrimir angry enough to make stupid mistakes. Making him angry wasn’t very hard to do.

  But Hrimgrimir didn’t take the bait. He looked at Dainn, who had moved to stand beside Mist, and chuckled.

  “I’ve never felt such pathetic wards,” the Jotunn said. “Was that really the best you could do, Faith-breaker?”

  Mist closed the door behind her, refusing to reveal her emotions. Dainn’s wards had failed. He had seemed confident enough when he’d set them, but the presence of Hrimgrimir and his two friends— one in biker’s leathers and the other wearing an incongruous red silk shirt and striped trousers—proved that he’d screwed up somewhere. Perhaps fatally.

  She could tell by Dainn’s rigid stance that he fully understood his responsibility for the current situation. But she didn’t have time to ask him what might have happened.

  “What’s wrong?” Hrimgrimir taunted. “Fenrir got your tongue?”

  Dainn stepped in front of Mist. “You should not have come here,” he said.

  “The threat of a weakling and coward,” Hrimgrimir jeered, rumbling laughter.

  “I am not alone,” Dainn said. “Or perhaps you have forgotten what happened in Vidarr’s establishment.”

  “You had the element of surprise on your side.” The Jotunn stared at Mist. “You won’t have it again.”

  Mist shoved ahead of Dainn. “But Loki made the mistake, didn’t he?” she asked. “He knew I was Freya’s daughter, but he didn’t think I’d be able to fight him.” She smiled. “Did he actually tell you to let me through to him?”

  For a moment Hrimgrimir seemed at a loss. “Do you think you’d ever have made it past us if he didn’t?”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Only because Freya was there. Loki told us. You couldn’t have done jack shit without the Vanir bitch. Where is she now?”

  Good, Mist thought. Loki still credited her abilities to Freya’s presence within her, just as Dainn had said. And that assumption would hurt him, and his allies, as long as he held it.

  “Waiting for you to do something stupid,” she said. “What should worry you now is that Loki didn’t know that Dainn was around, or how much damage he could do. And your boss ran off without checking on his Jotunar minions. That’s why about a dozen of your comrades are halfway across the world.” She clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Doesn’t that piss you off just a little bit?”

  Hrimgrimir cracked his knuckles. “Loki didn’t send us here,” he said. “We’ve come to get the kid.”

  “What kid?” Mist asked, raising her brows.

  “You took him away from my men.”

  “Because they were beating him up. What’s so special about him?”

  “You think we’re that dumb? We’re taking him back. And if we happen to kill you on the way—” He exposed his sharp, yellow teeth in another grin. “Well, that’ll be the icing on the cake.”

  “Good luck with that,” Mist said. She flicked a sideways glance at Dainn. His expression was rigid, but she could feel the tension in his muscles, the anger building up inside him.

  The beast. The beast of thought, driven by dark emotion and the implacable will to hate, to destroy. A devourer of the mind.

  Mist had no reason to doubt that it could also devour Jotunar minds. But Hrimgrimir apparently knew nothing about it. Dainn had kept it hidden, under control. Until tonight.

  Magic fed it, too. But magic was the only way Dainn could fight the Jotunar.

  Unless she sent him away.

  “Go, Dainn,” she whispered. “If you stay—”

  “I know,” Dainn said, very softly. “But I will not leave you to face them alone.”

  “Freya can’t help us at all?”

  “Even if she could, I have no time to reach her.”

  “Then I can handle it. You just finished saying how powerful I—”

  “Why the whispers?” Hrimgrimir asked. “Trying to figure out how you’re going to get out of this alive? Give us the kid, and maybe we’ll spare one of you.” He met Mist’s gaze. “You, since Loki still has some use for you.”

  “And you always give Loki what he wants,” Mist said.

  “Only as long as he gives us what we want,” Hrimgrimir said.

  “To grab whatever you can of this world when Loki unleashes chaos,” she said. “Better hope he leaves enough of Midgard for you when he’s finished.”

  “He needs us,” Hrimgrimir growled.

  “For now.” She deliberately bumped Dainn’s shoulder with her own. “Get out of here,” she hissed.

  He didn’t budge. Hrimgrimir was cracking his knuckles again, opening and closing his fists.

  “Enough talk,” the Jotunn said. “Give us the elf, and we’ll take you and the kid alive.”

  Dainn moved so close to Mist that his chest was pressing against her back. “I can hold them off,” he said, “while you get Ryan and the girl to safety.”

  “You notice that you’re the one they want to kill?” she asked. “You have to go.”

  “Listen to me,” Dainn said. “When they attack, try to remember what you did when I sent the beast to confront you. Use that power. We must hope that you can control it well enough to—”

  Hrimgrimir charged, his flunkies behind him, their booted feet clumping on the rubber tiles. Mist drew her knife and chanted it to full size, desperately trying to remember what she’d done to Dainn out of the pure, instinctive need to defend herself.

  Darting sideways, Dainn yelled out a foul insult Mist would never have believed she’d hear from an elf ’s lips. Hrimgrimir didn’t break stride, but the gangster Jotunn in the silk shirt split off from the others and headed straight for Dainn. By the time Hrimgrimir reached her, Mist had Kettlingr in out and ready.

  To her amazement, Hrimgrimir stopped. “You think that can save you?” he asked.

  Suddenly Mist knew why he hesitated, in spite of all his bluster. “Freya will save me,” she said. She envisioned how she had felt in Asbrew when she’d faced Loki. “My mother is here.”

  Alarm crossed Hrimgrimir’s face, but she wasn’t quite convincing enough. He swept his arm at her, aiming to knock the sword out of her hand and send her flying across the room.

  Mist ducked, stabbing upward. But Hrimgrimir was already out of her path and preparing another strike, while the biker Jotunn behind him was circling around to approach her from the rear. All the warmth was leached from the room as the air crackled with newly formed ice, Jotunn magic meant to freeze her, immobilize her, make her helpless.

  Curse it, Mist thought, addressing that part of herself she was so far from understanding. What did you do to Dainn?

  Fire and ice and anger. Water and wind and stone. Vanir magic, Dainn had said. Not of the Runes, but able to shape the
ir inherent power outside the boundaries of logic.

  Mist closed her eyes and spun, swinging the sword with her body, feeling the Runes dance in the air like snowflakes caught in a whirlwind. Runes of protection. Runes of strength. Uruz the Ox danced on the edge of Kettlingr’s silver blade, thrashing the air with his horns. Kenaz the Beacon burning behind her eyes, aflame with the power of transformation. Hagalaz, Hail, the uncontrolled forces of nature, lifting her hair with the crackle of electricity and bathing her skin in cool moisture.

  Hrimgrimir came at her from the front, the other Jotunn from the back. Uruz bellowed and, cloaked in the whirlwind, impaled Hrimgrimir’s arm on one deadly horn.

  The Jotunn yelled and retreated. The giant behind Mist bounced off the wall of water her spinning had formed around her.

  Mist snatched a very brief moment to look for Dainn. He was halfway across the gym facing the third Jotunn, who was buffeting him with sprays of ice needles. As she watched, Dainn staggered back, one arm raised to protect his face.

  He wasn’t defending himself. Only his elven nimbleness had kept him out of the Jotunn’s reach so far, but the giant was obviously wearing him down. He would let himself be killed rather than use his own magic.

  As if he’d heard her soundless shout of fear, he leaped back and began to sing. Vast roots burst through the floor, nearly transparent at first, becoming more and more solid as shoots sprang up and wove themselves into a dense and impenetrable shield. Dainn lifted his arm, and the shield broke off and flew into his hand. The roots vanished.

  That was the last Mist saw of Dainn or the shield. She had lost both her concentration and her momentum, leaving her vulnerable to attack. Hrimgrimir slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She managed to take a swing at the second Jotunn before he could pile on. The blow connected, snapping bone.

  Using his good arm, Hrimgrimir yanked Kettlingr from her hand and wrapped his sausage- sized fingers around her neck, freezing her skin from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. His companion screamed in rage. Mist turned her head in the direction she’d last seen Dainn, struggling to break through the darkness clouding her vision.

  Dainn was also on the ground, pushing against the Jotunn on top of him with the oak-root shield. The giant grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the matting. He lay there, his chest heaving, as the Jotunn lifted his fist.

  Fight, Mist urged Dainn silently, praying she could reach his mind. It doesn’t matter what else happens. Fight!

  Dainn’s shield unraveled, the shoots separating and reaching toward the giant, sinuous as serpents. One caught his raised fist and wrapped around it. The other shot toward his mouth and darted inside. The Jotunn’s face went red as he began to choke. He fell back, struggling with his free hand to dislodge the shoot in his throat.

  Rolling out from under him, Dainn scrambled to his feet and ran toward Mist. The giant Mist had injured swung to face him, all teeth and muscle. Dainn looked like a stoat facing down an elephant.

  But he didn’t fight. He dodged around the Jotunn and hurled himself at Hrimgrimir’s back, locking his arm around the giant’s neck. Hrimgrimir lost his grip on Mist and reared to fling Dainn off, while his crony kicked the elf repeatedly in the back with his heavy boot.

  Her vision clearing, Mist pushed against Hrimgrimir’s chest and punched him in the jaw as soon as she had enough room to move. It was like hitting one of the faces on Mount Rushmore. Hrimgrimir bellowed and flung Dainn off. Mist squirmed out from under him and got to her knees, sucking in as much air as her lungs could hold, her fist a lump of pain. Desperately she scanned the floor for Kettlingr’s familiar shape.

  The biker Jotunn had Dainn pinned to the ground with his good arm as Hrimgrimir rose to his feet. The gangster giant Dainn had attacked with the roots had finally escaped them, leaving blackened, twisted ropes of withered vegetation in his wake as he thundered across the gym to join his comrades. He stopped next to Hrimgrimir.

  “Let me have him, boss,” the gangster said, rubbing his throat.

  “Here!” Mist shouted. “Are you blind? I’m over here! Or would you rather beat up on a half- dead elf than face me again?”

  Hrimgrimir bared his teeth at her. “There’s no rush. Whatever you did, you’ve lost it. Freya isn’t here. You’re just as helpless as the dirt-sniffer.” He glanced at the biker, who was holding his injured arm against his chest. “Dofr, you go find the kid. I promise I’ll let you have a turn at the bitch, as long as you don’t kill her.”

  Dofr was about to protest when the gym door opened a few inches and Ryan’s head popped through the gap.

  “Ryan!” Mist shouted. “Go back! Run!”

  The young man’s face went pale, but he didn’t follow her orders. He stepped into the room, still barefoot and completely defenseless.

  Mist knew it was her fault. She should have found a way to make Dainn leave with the kids. Now it was too damned late. She couldn’t protect Ryan and save Dainn at the same time, if she could manage either one.

  Through a gap between the giants’ legs, Mist could see Dainn’s head on the matting, battered and bloody. He turned his face toward her, unbearable sadness in his eyes.

  “Dainn!” she shouted. “Let it go!”

  Dainn had nothing left. Nothing to save Ryan, nothing to help Mist. Nothing but the one thing he knew could destroy every living creature in the room. It was so strong now, slavering with hunger, eager to obey Mist’s reckless command.

  But he was weak. So weak from holding it back, forced to use magic that made it stronger still.

  “Dainn!” Mist cried. “Do it!”

  “Dofr!” Hrimgrimir snapped, ignoring Mist completely. “That’s the kid. Go get him.”

  Dainn managed to lift his head. The Jotunn in biker’s leathers headed for the door while Ryan, fragile as a porcelain statue, only stared.

  Dainn let his head fall back and closed his eyes. There was one chance, and little hope he would succeed. More likely the beast would break loose completely, casting him aside like a half- eaten carcass and consuming his body as well as his mind.

  But it was the only chance. He met Mist’s gaze again.

  Get their attention, he thought. But don’t let them catch you.

  The spark in her eyes told him she had heard, or at least enough to figure out what he wanted. She jumped up and broke into a wild, giddy dance, leaping and whirling and throwing every conceivable rude gesture at the Jotunar.

  “Nyah, nyah,” she jeered like a child on a playground. “Whasamatter, ya big apes? Still scared of li’l old me?”

  Hrimgrimir and his companion turned to stare. “You must’ve hit her too hard,” the silk- shirted Jotunn said.

  “Shut her up for me, Bakrauf,” Hrimgrimir said. “She’s getting on my nerves.”

  Bakrauf lowered his head between his shoulders and stalked toward Mist, his right hand frosting over with a gauntlet of ice.

  The Jotunar’s brief moment of inattention was all Dainn needed. He opened the cage door and caught at the beast as it emerged, burying his hands in its thick mane, drawing its savage strength into himself as it struggled and clawed and bit.

  When he moved, the giants seemed like insects caught in amber, trapped forever in one instant of time. Dainn raced toward Mist’s sword rack and snatched at the first weapon he could reach, a heavy Viking spatha. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and charged Hrimgrimir and his companion, who had barely begun to notice his absence.

  He swung, feinting high and then swinging low to cut at Hrimgrimir’s legs. The Jotunn, his arm still bleeding freely from Mist’s magical attack, leaped back just in time and beat down on the blade with the flat of his other hand, riming it with a crust of frost and temporarily freezing the muscles in Dainn’s right arm.

  “So,” Hrimgrimir said, “the little Alfr thinks he can handle a sword. Out of magic, Dirt- sniffer?”

  Dainn let the anger come. “I’ve forgotten more magic than you will ever possess, Loki
’s cur,” he said, baring his teeth. “Better run home and lick his feet.”

  “The way I heard it, you licked more than Loki’s feet.” Hrimgrimir widened his eyes mockingly. “I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve seen an elf look as pissed off as you do right now.”

  “You have no idea,” Dainn said.

  Bakrauf, halfway to Mist, turned around. “You need help, boss?”

  “I don’t need your help to flatten this nidingr again,” Hrimgrimir said. He grinned at Dainn. “I don’t expect him to last very long.”

  Dainn felt the sword become a living thing in his hand, intensely aware of Mist’s spirit burning at the heart of its deadly steel. Calculating speed and angle, Dainn swung again and pretended to lose his balance, letting Hrimgrimir strike him on his left arm with just enough force to cause pain without fully connecting.

  He fell back with a cry of fury, hoping that the Jotunn would believe he was too angry to act any less recklessly than most of his breed would do under the same circumstances. Deep inside him, the beast flexed its claws and howled as it absorbed the pain.

  Still Dainn retreated, holding his left arm at his side as if it had been damaged by the Jotunn’s blow. He gradually circled toward the hall door and Ryan, letting his arm drop lower and lower.

  Hrimgrimir didn’t bother to taunt Dainn for his weakness. He followed slowly, obviously enjoying what he must have believed would be an easy victory.

  Dainn turned and lifted the sword, feebly swinging at the Jotunn, who conjured a barbed icicle and sent it flying at Dainn’s heart. Dainn dropped into a crouch as the weapon flew over him, severing a few loose hairs on the top of his head. Hrimgrimir followed up with a bunched fist in Dainn’s stomach. Dainn fell to his knees, gasping for breath, and let the sword slide out of his hand.

  “I yield,” he whispered. “Spare my life, and I will help you capture the female.”

  “What makes you think we need your help? Take a look for yourself.”

  He gestured in Mist’s direction. She was on her feet again, pressed against the wall, but she had managed to retrieve Kettlingr and was holding Bakrauf at bay with all her considerable skill. There was no fear in her expression, but Dainn knew the burst of magic he had seen her use earlier had abandoned her.