Hammer of the Gods

by B. D. MacCallum

  He turned off the lights to his office, and closed the door. He made his way to the bar, dodging the usual hangers-on and flirting college girls. “I’m going away for a while. You’re in charge until I get back,” he said to Jenna. The woman gave him a confused look, but if she said anything, it was lost in the din; he started for the door as soon as the words were out.

  He stopped Jesse, leaning in close he said: “Take the money you need from the safe, no matter how much it costs. Oh, Jenna’s in charge until I get back.’ He left without waiting for a response, if there was one. Jesse talked more with his hands than his mouth, anyway.

  Chapter 34

  Goodbye Mikki

  The late evening sun was a red-orange ball drifting toward the burning clouds forming on the western horizon. A steady, gentle breeze blew, carrying the smell of salt, and the cool waves of the North Atlantic lapped against the hull of the huge freighter, Vanguard.

  Mjölnir sat two hundred yards away. The ship that had been so full of life, music, and laughter, sat empty, her silence a harsh reminder of all that had been lost.

  In many ways, she had always been just that: a reminder of things lost. Thor’s cabin was the one his parents occupied during long voyages. Though they never lived on the ship for more than a month or two at a time, their spirit can still be felt. Chelsea’s cabin stood completely empty for years, and would remain so still, if there was another for Selucca to use. Vali’s study was still the same as the day he died, collecting dust like a forgotten shrine to a man that had dedicated his life to righting a horrible wrong, and failed.

  Thor realized the ship held far more pleasant memories than bad, and it was just his broken heart dragging his emotions down into the darkness. He turned his head, catching a glimpse of his friends standing together. They drew strength from one another, and in turn, passed that strength to him. He appreciated it. No, he needed it, it eased the guilt and filled the void that Mikki’s death left behind. Death had created so many voids in Thor’s life, it was a wonder he was not a black hole by now.

  Sorina stood beside Selucca and Doru, wearing a black dress borrowed from Bryndis. Thor honestly believed, the only thing keeping him sane was waking up in Sorina’s arms, especially during the middle of the night, after being awoken by his own screams.

  Sorina pulled off the dark sunglasses, like they were designed specifically for her face. She was positively the most beautiful woman in the world; radiant despite the bloodshot eyes and smeared make-up from wiping away the tears. She smiled a sad smile at Thor, and he could feel her heart breaking for him.

  Getting romantically involved with Sorina was one of those decisions he was finding it difficult not to second and even third guess himself over. Every sign pointed to him dying before this was over, keeping her close would only insure her death, as well. Hel, now that he had called out the son of Loki himself, they were all probably doomed.

  The bill for one dead creature came up to fifty-two dead, fourteen wounded; two of those lost a leg, one an arm, one was blinded, and the rest would live with numerous scars both visible and the ones that would haunt them till their dying day. The numbers were nothing compared to the countless suffering the creature had inflicted over the centuries, but they were the only ones that mattered to Thor at the moment.

  Thor had a lot of time, lying awake in the darkness of his cabin, to think of the curse placed upon his family. He never really understood how pain and suffering could possibly be a twisted reward for doing as Odin asked. He understood now; it was punishment for not finishing the job. Thor Odinsson, the last of his line, had every intention of finishing this job, if it killed him.

  That task, however, would have to wait.

  It had been eight days since that dreadful night. Thor was exhausted from relocating the living, hospitalizing the wounded, and burying the dead. The living and wounded were easy, Jacques had options in place, already; the wounded found their way into a hospital that asked no questions, the well were absorbed into a dozen European communities.

  Putting the dead to rest was mostly easy, as well. Selucca Lazarovici had had seen her people buried with all the honor and respect due to them. Most of Jacques’ men requested to be cremated, and Thor saw to that, scattering their ashes to designated areas. Others took a little more creativity to get their bodies placed in graves, especially the ones in Arlington Cemetery, and the Montrose family plot in Aberdeen.

  ‘It will cost you more,” had been Chelsea’s words. Thor assumed she referred to his sanity or his life, not this!

  Thor knelt in the eighty-foot longship, brushing a wisp of hair from Mikki’s face with a finger, before placing the gold band on her forehead. He hated the morbid words reaching his ears. Mikki did not look peaceful, or sleeping, she looked dead. His friend was dead, and he was broken.

  Mikki did, however, look like the epitome of the warrior she was, preparing for her journey to Valhalla. Her chestnut hair had been brushed to a silken sheen. The sunlight glittered off the sterling silver and gold rings of her chain-male tunic, gold vambraces and greaves. A golden-hilted long knife was strapped to each of her thighs, both hands rested on an ornate, double-edged sword, and a brightly-painted shield placed beneath her head.

  The ship had been a gift from an old acquaintance. It was a remarkable reproduction that belonged in the hands of re-enactors, or sailing the fjords, not to be the kindling for a funeral pyre. Nevertheless, it was given freely as such; to turn it down would be the greater insult.

  Thor checked one final time. Everything was in place. Half-a-dozen spears, extra shields, a chest of gold, two boars, two casks of ale, two casks of mead, and a hand-written note from Felix that read “I love you always” would accompany Mikki on her voyage.

  Mio whined, and Thor turned to see the dog, his paws resting on the rail, the thick length of knotted rope that he and Mikki wrestled with for hours, dangling from his mouth. Mio stared deep into Thor’s eyes. Thor reached out, and Mio released the rope into his hand, then let out a long, mournful howl that made Thor choke back a tear.

  “You’re right, she will need this the next time you see her.” Thor placed the rope at Mikki’s side, and Mio returned to settle next to Bryndis, his head hung low, moisture seeping from his eyes.

  Thor kissed Mikki’s cheek before stepping out onto the deck of the freighter.

  Vanguard’s well-seasoned crew used her crane to hoist the longship down into the sea. Divers freed the wooden vessel from the cradling straps, and another on a jet-ski eased the burial ship away, setting her free at a distance of one hundred yards.

  Nwabudike gritted his teeth, and a silver tear glided down his cheek, as he and his men lined Vanguard’s rail and saluted. The Nigerian captain was taking Mikki’s death as much a personal failure as Thor was.

  The women were no better off. Julia grew very quiet; his grandmother had not been so withdrawn since Chelsea’s murder. Christelle wore herself out from two non-stop days of cooking and cleaning the kitchen, and finally collapsed during dinner service. Iona had not smiled in days. Jennifer spent most of her days wiping tears from her eyes. If anyone was hit harder than Thor, it was Bryndis; she had been an inconsolable mess, and lost six pounds before Thor made her start drinking her own concoction.

  The ship’s whistle blew, and Vanguard’s crew removed their hats and bowed their heads. Then a woman named Dylah Stigg led the honor detail, which Martin LeMay had been the first to volunteer for, in a twenty-one-gun-salute.

  Felix handed Thor a longbow, and the two of them joined the dozen archers along the rail. The arrows were lit, bowstrings pulled taught, and released on Thor’s command. A few arrows hit the mark, and the flames began to spread. Soon, the entire vessel was engulfed in flames, the billowing column of smoke rising to the heavens.

  It was said: If the flames matched the setting sun, the dead warrior lived a good life, and would be welcomed into Valhalla. Thor compared the color of the flames to that of the setting sun, smiling at the perfect
match. Of course they matched; there was never a doubt in his mind Mikki would be accepted into the Hall of Heroes immediately.

  Felix placed an arm around Thor’s shoulder, and they watched Mikki ascend to Valhalla with the rising smoke.

  “A few days after ya left the ship, Else brought back a letter for me,” Julia said. Everyone turned to the old woman, and she began to read aloud. “Ya have treated me like your own, since da first day I met ya. So I feel comfortable enough to say dis.”

  “Grandma, Julia:”

  “I’m goin’ to die soon. Please don’t ask how I know.”

  “Oh, dear Gods!” Bryndis exclaimed, her hand to her mouth. “She asked me if I believed in Heaven.” Iona and Jennifer placed arms around Bryndis’ shaking shoulders.

  Julia continued reading. “I will be killed saving the life o’ da man dat can save Thor, derefor, savin’ da world. So, I guess I’m some kind o’ fuckin’ hero. I know Thor will do the warrior ting for me, an’ dat’s ok. Give him his minute. Just don’ forget, I’m a Cajun girl. Don’ cry at my passin’, celebrate my life. I had a great, fuckin’ time! Mikki.”

  “P.S. Tell Felix he’s always been da love o’ my life.”

  Felix stared at the burning ship, a sad smile forming in his lips and a tear forming in the corner of each eye.

  “Oh, dar’s one more ting.” Julia hit a button on the large sound system and all about that bass began playing.

  Within seconds, everyone that knew Mikki began laughing hysterically: Mikki was one of those skinny-bitches Meagan was singing about. Soon, they were singing with the recording, as the ship burned.

  The last small flame was extinguished by the dark water well after sunset. The cloudless sky overhead was alive with the sparkling lights of thousands of twinkling stars; the clouds that formed westward having melted into non-existence.

  A dozen steel barrels had been cut in half lengthwise to make fire pits, and were placed in a circle surrounding the series of long tables on Vanguard’s deck. A few of her crew tended the fires, while the food was brought out on wheeled carts, and large wooden barrels of beer and mead were tapped. The air was filled with the smell of wood smoke and food, the sounds of soft music, chatter, and the occasional burst of laughter; just as Mikki would have wanted.

  Thor laced his fingers with Sorina’s, and he led her to the first table. He took the seat at the head of the table. Sorina took the one to his left. Bryndis settled into the seat at Thor’s right, Felix next to her, and so on. The biggest surprise had been Julia choosing the seat beside Selucca. Maybe they compared enough notes on Grandpa to discover they didn’t hate each other, after all.

  After everyone had settled, Thor stood, raising a class of mead. “To Mikki: Until we meet again!”

  “To Mikki,” the rest said in unison.

  After Thor sat down, Sorina stood, clearing her throat. “I didn’t know Mikki very long, but I will remember her for the rest of my life. I’ve never met a woman as fearless as she.”

  “She never even flinched, when those two biker girls came at her, armed with pool sticks,” Jennifer said, smiling. “Mikki flattened both those bitches with her bare hands, and then called them pussies for not getting up. Like either of them could!”

  “How about the time she stared down a Bengal Tiger in India?” Iona laughed, shaking her head. “Thor and the others were scrambling for their rifles. Mikki waves an arm, says ‘scat’, and the damned thing runs back into the jungle like a frightened kitten.”

  “From what I hear, the villagers still place her effigies around to ward off the tigers.” Thor took a long draught from the glass as everyone laughed.

  “She had plenty of fear,” Bryndis said, “But it was all directed toward Nwabudike.”

  “I am curious, captain,” Else said to Nwabudike. “What did you do to Mikki, to evoke such fear?”

  Nwabudike stood and shrugged his shoulders. “About a month after we first arrived, I saw Mikki leaving one of our rooms. The next day, I witnessed her snooping through another. She found nothing useful, of course. So, to keep her from returning, I told her, where we come from, we like white women: they are especially tasty roasted with potatoes and carrots; much better than goat, if you ask me.”

  Thor shook with laughter. “I could’ve used that information years ago.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “We need to sit down for a long talk.”

  Nwabudike nodded and sat down.

  “That’s alright, my love,” Sorina said loudly, patting Thor on the shoulder. “With everything Mikki, Bryndis and Julia have told me, I have enough to keep you in line until we’re very old.”

  The deck of the large cargo ship shook from the roar of laughter.

  “There’s one question I have to ask,” Thor said with a smile. “Who, besides me, didn’t know about Mikki and Felix?”

  Not even a single member of the crew raised a hand. More surprising, Sorina and Selucca sat silent as church mice. That must’ve been one Hel of a talk they had, the day we killed the first creature! Thor felt like a blind fool.

  He turned to Felix. “How long were you two together?”

  Felix shrugged. “Six years, more or less… she was the kindest, gentlest woman I’ve ever known”

  Thor’s jaw dropped open. He can’t be talking about Mikki! “And you never said a word to me?”

  Felix cleared his throat. “A gentleman doesn’t talk about those things.”

  “What kept your mouth from flapping like a flag in a hurricane, then,” Else snorted to the sound of uproarious laughter.

  Bryndis laid out Mikki’s version of the first time Felix flirted with her. That opened the flood-gates to dozens more stories about the pair. Thor discovered a few things about Mikki he never knew, and a few things about Felix he wished he could un-learn; a sentiment the big man himself shared.

  Chapter 35

  A Pound of Flesh

  In the heart of Berlin, a leisurely two minute walk to Brandenburg Gate, Lucia stood in the center of his room at the Hotel Schwarze Straße, his mind in stunned disbelief and irritated beyond words.

  A young woman once told Lucia all men were dogs; she had been a jilted lover, of course, ranting about the man that left her for another woman. Lucia, however, considered her words to be profound; men were like dogs, from the faithful lap dog to the mutt that jumped the fence every chance he got, and everything in between.

  Lucia always considered himself a strange cross-breed of Blood Hound and American Pit Bull, he certainly behaved like one – though the thought of being part American anything made him cringe. He had the uncanny ability to follow a stone-cold trail, and God help the poor bastard he cornered, the confrontation was usually to the death.

  It was 6:38 in the morning; the grey sky was turning blue, with puffy-white clouds blowing past his windows. The street sounds were growing louder as more and more people started their day, and a wren sat on the sill, singing a cheery tune to welcome the day. He had yet to receive the veal sausages he had ordered for his breakfast or morning café, though that was not what was irritating him at the moment. Someone had released a pack of mindless guard dogs on him, and that had ruined what should have been a delightful day.

  Lucia stepped over the body nearest him, careful not to place his bare foot in the pool of blood soaking into the Persian rug. That was another shame: these mindless fools destroyed irreplaceable antiques in their futile attempt to assassinate him. Not to mention the dozens of bullet holes in the walls, woodwork, and broken windows that would have to be repaired before the room could be had again. What a senseless waste! Honestly, if you are going into the assassination business, learn to be a better shot! Who the hell throws all their shots away in two seconds, and hopes for the best?

  He hoped no one was hit by spray of the bullets these amateurs demolished his room with, like immature teenagers; that would be unconscionable. Sometimes he worried over the future of this world. This new breed seemed more like rabid dogs, than merely untrained; they manag
ed to damage the building across the street for God’s sake. There’s simply no sense of pride in your craft anymore!

  Nine men lay dead on the floor; Lucia didn’t know whether to be flattered that someone was that worried, or to be insulted that he didn’t warrant sending more men, or better trained, at least. Either way, they had been sent, which meant he was on the right trail. A very big part of him hoped he was on the wrong one; this was one road he’d rather not travel, there were too many blind-corners and it was full of pot-holes.

  He wasted no time with the bodies; the only information he needed was who sent them, and Lucia already knew that. He wedged a chair under the doorknob, then moved to the bedroom. He seriously doubted there were more men in the hall; if anything, there would be a driver that would be leaving within the next minute or two, but you could never be too careful in this line of work.

  He had to leave quickly himself. Someone had to have heard the hail of gunfire; the suppressors dulled the noise, but not to the levels that Hollywood movies would have you believe. Lucia was surprised he couldn’t hear the Polizei sirens already; he knew he would, and soon. He only hoped to be out of the hotel before they showed up in force; being caught like a rat in a trap wasn’t part of the plan.

  He reached for his trousers, wincing at the pain he felt under his right arm. His left hand found the entry wound near his armpit, and the jagged exit wound three inches further back. He was lucky to walk away with a grazed rib and not a punctured lung. It did not stop him from cursing himself for getting shot in the first place, though. Especially by someone that barely knew which end of the pistol to point!

  He plugged the holes with strips from a tee shirt wound tightly; not a pleasant sensation, but would have to do until he could get it patched properly. Fortunately, he knew a veterinarian in the city that kept her lips sealed. These things happen, but not to him; the thought of the enemy learning The Lucia was a mere mortal man was unbearable. They sent nine men to ambush him in his hotel, hoping to catch him sleeping; imagine what they’d do if the y actually believed they stood a chance of killing him.