by C. L. Roman
The throb of his wounds, still unhealed, lanced through him. A quick probe of his shoulder told him the bullet wasn't deep and he hissed as he thrust a talon inside to pry the metal loose.
Lucky for me the fools didn't know to use silver.
The lead bullet fell, hissing hot, into the snow. The bleeding stopped, leaving an ugly, red gash, but ending the immediate danger.
He stared into the gathering darkness, shivering. It would have to be the hunting lodge now, whereas he'd hoped to spend a few days at a five star, relaxing and scoping out his next meal.
The girl had only carried one charge plate, but it had been a gold card. Who knows how long he could have lived on that before it maxed out or they traced it? Damned humans. They must have tracked her cell phone.
Now he was stuck here, eating vermin, with the forest pressing close around him, its inexhaustible life force squeezing his breath back into his lungs, rejecting his very presence. Following Lucifer had been a terrible mistake, one he bitterly regretted, and this world made him pay for it with every pain-ravaged day of his existence since the Fall.
A faint rustle in the undergrowth alerted him and he pounced, whisking a snowshoe hare from the bushes with a sharp cry of triumph. Not even bothering to snap its neck, he ripped away the fur from its throat and drank it live and squirming in his grip, enjoying the feel of its fading struggles nearly as much as he had the girl's.
Overhead the feather light touch of a darker shadow traced a path across the sky and the demon stiffened. Dropping the rabbit into the snow, he stared upward and blinked. Inhaling deeply, he took in the scents the wind carried and sorted through them, quickly identifying the familiar, and coming to rest on one he hadn't smelled in decades.
He opened his ragged wings and shot through the wood, weaving around the trees, skimming just above the forest floor, following a faint trail of incandescence human sight would never have been able to detect. Seconds later he was crouched behind a stand of trees a few yards beyond the lodge in which he had planned to hide. Four thin, claws raked a furrow in the tree bark as he watched the angel climb the steps. He stifled a groan as he folded in on himself, reducing his size to avoid being seen. Clearly an enemy, and yet, the stranger did not carry the sharp awareness typical of Sabaoth's minions.
Surt watched the blond giant shove the door open and step inside before making his own way onto the porch. Sleeping in the snow held no appeal and he needed information. Shrinking still further, he hung on to his awareness by sheer force of will as he changed shape. His tattered, bat-like wings shimmered into tattoos on his back even as orange fur sprouted along his spine, and then spread to cover him. A long tail grew as his arms and legs shortened and changed their angle of attachment to his body. Small ears pricked forward and whiskers twitched. In moments a twenty pound Maine Coon cat sat on the porch, his tail lashing back and forth in agitation and he wondered for the hundredth time what it was about shape-shifting that so unnerved him.
Keeping to the shadows, he raced around the house and entered through the cat door the owners had been thoughtful enough to provide. Threading his way through the darkening house, he slipped into the living room and settled himself under the couch as the angel paced the hardwood floor between the fireplace and the window, muttering.
"I should have destroyed her. Freya of Asgard, she must have been, but she looked so..." A muted crash filled the room and Surt watched the angel's booted feet pace across the floor again before the rant resumed. "It is certain. Sabaoth has sent me, his avenger, his Jotun. I will punish. I will destroy the Asgardians for their arrogance. Behold there will be a new heaven and a new Earth. I will roll back the sky as a scroll..."
The rant continued, but Surt had heard enough. How a member of the Host had been so badly damaged as to imagine himself a destroyer didn't concern Surt in the least. He was too busy altering his appearance and planning how to use the situation to bring about his most cherished desire.
Ragnarӧk.
Footsteps sounded on the front porch and Jotun turned, dropping into a battle stance and drawing Hamar in one, smoothly connected motion. His body glowed with incandescent light as he prepared to fight.
"Hail Jotun, bringer of vengeance! Greet me, brother. As was foretold I, Surt, come to fight by your side." The voice was open, friendly even, and Jotun straightened, but kept Hamar unsheathed.
"And who is Surt, that I should know him?" Jotun asked.
"I am Surt, author of Ragnarӧk, leader of giants. S-sabaoth has sent me."
The door slammed open and Jotun walked onto the porch, stooping to avoid banging his head on the door frame. "I do not know Surt. I know only Ragnarӧk and Sabaoth. You stumble over the name of the mighty one. Tell me what is in your heart, or perish before your lie is cold on the wind."
Surt rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The cold makes my tongue stiff. Invite me in. I bring news from the maker and would tell it in comfort."
The stranger looked well enough, thick chested and tall, with craggy, uneven features and a shock of thick, black hair. But something smelled wrong. Contradictory images rolled through Jotun's mind as he eyed Surt. Finally, one clicked into place. "What is the name of the land you rule, great Surt? If your word is true, you will know your own home."
Surt scowled. "It is long since I have seen Muspelheim. You are cruel to remind me of the loss of my many félagi there."
Silence stretched between them for a long, thin moment. Jotun stepped aside and gestured to the interior of the house. "Enter and be welcome then. What news do you bring from Sabaoth?"
Ignoring the question, Surt moved into the relative warmth of the cabin. He glanced around and then headed straight for the fireplace. He glanced at Jotun. "Is here any reason we should not be warm as we discuss our plans?" he asked.
Jotun crossed his arms over his chest. "I know of none," he said.
With a few practiced movements, Surt stacked kindling and wood in an open frame pattern and then snapped his fingers. The resultant spark of super-heated air incited flames from the wood and a few seconds later a cheerful blaze warmed the cabin. He rose and rifled through the small refrigerator, emerging with meat and cheese in one hand and two bottles of beer in the other. "It is nothing like the mead in Muspelheim, but it is enough, brother, to enjoy each other's companionship as you tell me of your situation."
Accepting a beer, Jotun frowned. "My situation?"
"Of course. You were to track down Freya and destroy her so that she could no longer interfere in our great work. We had located her and off you went, but we haven't heard from you since. That was centuries ago. What happened?"
"I —" Jotun stopped as pain threatened to split his skull. Images of a woman with flaming curls, moving away from him in the dark, walking toward a white light, clashed with memories of angels fighting angels on golden streets and giants locked in combat before an enormous, black ziggurat. Mighty vessels sailed on black oceans while villages burned. Children played in market towns while silver helmed men slipped through the surrounding woods, readying a silent attack. So much blood.
Jotun pressed his fists against his temples, stopping the flow of impressions, and looked up. "I don't know. I think I must have tracked her for a long time. Then... I almost had her in the Shift, but there was an explosion." He shook his head at the memory of light and heat. "I woke up in a white room, surrounded by angry humans. I was lost, but my purpose has returned to me."
Hefting a mason jar of raw stones from the mantle Surt shook it, held it up to the light. Without looking at his companion, he said, "Tell me your purpose, mighty Jotun, that I may know you have grasped it."
"The end of days is nigh. I am to ignite Ragnarӧk and purge the world of evil."
"And how will you begin the great fire?"
"I will — the means remains hidden from my sight, but I will find it."
Surt tipped his head back and drained his beer. "You need not Jotun, for I have brought it to you. We will turn the
human's own invention against them and ignite a conflagration such as the Earth cannot survive. Together, we will accomplish this cleansing so that a new Earth may be born."
Jotun felt a trickle of warning slide down his spine. "How can a mere human create something capable of destroying an entire planet?"
"Rest easy, brother. Though they are weak, the blood lust of these worms rivals ours, and with less restraint. I have lived among them for thous— for decades and their ingenuity in the art of war is at least equal to our own."
"If this is so, how have they not destroyed Earth by themselves?" Jotun rubbed a hand over the low throb of pain drumming against the base of his skull.
Surt leaned forward and his words dripped venom. "The Asgardians. Every time the humans manage to approach the brink, Thor or Odin steps in to save them. The vermin even have little colored books in honor of the so-called gods and their minions."
The rhythm of the drums grew faster and tiny lights began to flash at the edges of Jotun's vision. "Thor and Odin? Then Freya is not involved," he said, forcing the words from between gritted teeth.
Surt shook his head. "Freya is the worst of them. It is she who watches over the humans the closest, like a mother caring for her children. And it is she who calls on the others to save them. Had it not been for her watch-care, the humans would have self-destructed long ago."
Something shrieked in Jotun's mind and he lurched to his feet. "Lies!" he shouted, grasping his head between his palms as if it might split in two. He pressed on his skull and closed his eyes.
"Yes, Jotun!" Surt shot upright. "Freya's best weapon is the lies she tells to the other races to keep them subservient. The fairies, both dark and light, the dwarves. All serve her evil plot to keep the humans from destroying the Earth and thus, maintain her own power."
Jotun sank to his knees, the lights flashed larger, faster, leaving a dense, black ache behind his eyes. The drums crescendoed in his head as a formless darkness pressed against his thoughts. He felt Surt's hand on his shoulder, the talons digging into the flesh.
"She sends her evil against you Jotun. Fight her, do not let her win."
The lights would consume him. The angel backed away, stumbling over a chair and crashing to the floor. He sensed Surt kneeling beside him, but he dared not open his eyes. In the mangled garden of his mind bloomed a single image, a woman of astounding beauty, her face framed in a ruddy halo, her blue eyes intense, but kind and loving. She reached her hand out to him.
"Jotun, beloved. Come to me. I need you," she said.
A tide of longing rose inside him and he stumbled to his feet. Behind her rose a sheet of light, sun-white and burning. In its illumination he could see her hands dripped with blood. The image collapsed and he found himself on his knees. He fell forward and emptied his stomach on the floor.
Surt threw him a towel. "You see she is powerful, but you have conquered her yet again," he said.
Jotun wiped his mouth and stood up. "Have I?" he said and felt his stomach clench with a nameless dread.
Gwyneth sat hunched down in the seat of the Vanquish, her head brushing against the roof, as the city flashed by outside the windows.
It is a little like flying. She flicked a sideways glance at her companion. "What is your name then?" she asked in Semitic.
Without taking his eyes from the road he replied in the same language. "To the humans I am John Lokstrum. You can call me Loki though. I believe we are going to be great friends."
"You said you thought you had more in common with my husband than with me," she said. "What did you mean by that?"
"Courageous and direct. I tend to like a little more subtlety in my women."
"As I am not 'your woman' nor likely to become such, I find myself unmoved. Why did you help me?"
"I was bored. You looked interesting." They pulled up at a stop light and he looked into her face. "I'm starting to regret the impulse."
Gwyneth stared out the window into a world completely alien to her. Tall poles held lights in multiple hues. Enormous buildings hunched over the streets as if they would topple inward in the slightest breeze. Some were made of metal, shining as if new forged. Others were built of square, red stones with the patina of age unmistakable upon them. A swirling mix of odors permeated every breath until she thought it a miracle she didn't suffocate. Signs blinked in the darkness with symbols and pictures of equal obscurity. And the noise — even inside the car she could hear the world around her shrieking and groaning like a multitude of wounded beasts.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I am a stranger here and you have offered me hospitality. Please forgive my suspicion. It is only that this place is so..." she waved her hands ineffectually and dropped them into her lap. "It is no excuse. I apologize. If you can help me to find Jotun, I would be grateful."
The light turned a lurid green and he adjusted the metal stick between the seats. "Of course. You have been through a stressful situation and now your husband is missing. Put it out of mind. Now, in order to help you, I need to know a bit more about how all this came about. How did you get here?"
She related the events of the last few hours as completely as she could. He listened carefully, interrupting only once.
"You heard a voice? What did it say?"
"Choose. Just that and I knew, somehow, that it meant I was to choose a light to enter."
"I see. Go on."
She did, ending with, "And all I could think was that if I didn't stop him, he would kill someone. And I knew he couldn't live with that. Then you came."
"How do you know he couldn't live with killing a human?"
She looked up from her hands, startled. "He is a member of the Host. His soul purpose is to protect human beings —"
"Do not speak to me of souls. We have no purpose but that which we build for ourselves. Anything else is coercion."
The savagery in his response had her heart beating triple time and she shrank against the car door.
After a few moments he noticed her silence. "Forgive me. Events in my past have left me bitter. It's nothing to do with you." He patted her leg and she felt tiny cold prickles race across her skin. "But tell me, when you walked through the portal, and Jotun followed, did you notice anything else? Was there any kind of noise or strange feeling?"
She shifted in her seat and his hand fell away. A frown settled across her forehead as she tried to remember. "There was warmth and I felt his hand on my shoulder but the light was so loud I couldn't hear anything and then I felt — it was like the light winked out and then blazed again, brighter than before and there was this force behind me, like a shove, but not from Jotun. And then we fell to the ground. Here."
"Hmmm."
"What do you —"
He held up a hand and she stopped. "Give me a minute," he said. Turning the wheel he drove into a large, stone structure and passed through row upon row of vehicles similar to the one they were in. Spiraling upward, they finally arrived at a level that seemed to satisfy him. He pulled into an empty space and showed her how to work the seat belt buckle and door handle. "You can't be a modern woman and remain unable to get out of a car by yourself."
Joining her as she unfolded herself from the vehicle's interior, he beckoned and she followed him into a small metal box. The doors slid closed and the box lurched into motion, startling her into a shriek.
"Right, should have warned you about elevators," he murmured. "Sorry about that."
He did not look or sound sorry in the least.
She blew out a frustrated huff of breath. "Something happened to Jotun in the Shift, didn't it? What was it? How bad is he hurt?"
"Well, I wasn't there, so I don't know for sure. But it seems likely that something went wrong."
"This is obvious. But what? And is he going to be all right?”
"I don't know really. Ouroboros isn't all right and it’s been several millennium since he was injured. Last I heard he was still trying to devour his own flesh. It would be amusing really, if it wasn'
t so sad. He takes a bite and then heals up before he can chew and swallow." Gwyneth paled and he relented. "Oh, don't be so morose. Obviously Jotun isn't in nearly so bad a case."
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"It should be." He patted her arm and it was all she could do not to pull away. The elevator doors slid open and he led the way down a brightly lit hall. A thick, soft rug covered the floor and she wondered vaguely at its plainness. Loki stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall and patted his pockets. "Now, I can't be sure, but I think I know what caused Jotun’s injury. When we travel through space alone, we use the pathway, no portal needed. When we travel through time, on the other hand, we need a portal."
Gwyneth nodded her understanding.
"Right, so when we pass through a portal, we get a culture link. What anyone from the twenty-first century might call a download. All the information, culture, history, mythology, language — all that — is seeded directly into our brain. If all goes well, it’s pretty seamless. We don't even feel it."
"And if all doesn't go well?" Gwyneth swallowed hard, dreading the answer.
"Well, then you get some variation of Ouroboros." He pulled keys from his pocket. "Since you say Jotun was talking about Norge, I'm guessing he touched a portal set for one of the Nordic countries. Most likely ancient Norway."
"He called me Freya. Who is she?"
"Freya is a Norse goddess." He gave her a sideways glance. "Come to think of it there is a resemblance. Same hair and build." She frowned and he continued. "Even the attitude appears similar."
"Never mind my attitude. This Freya, she is a real person?"
"Of course. We're all real. Our stories just get a little...twisted, by time and the telling. Don't worry, it’s not likely Jotun has ever met her, let alone had a relationship with her. Angels aren't partial to attachments, in my experience."
Gwyneth's lips tightened into a thin, flat line. "Jotun is completely attached," she said. "To me. So then, what has happened? If this download you speak of occurs so often without incident, then why has my husband lost his memory of me?"