Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  “Odin’s balls.”

  “Indeed. If our supposition is correct, Loki will understand its possible significance and attempt to obtain this bird as quickly as he can.”

  “Possible significance,” she muttered. “That leaves a lot of wiggle room. Did you get any sense of where Loki might be?”

  “No,” Dainn said. “But…” He lifted his head, tilting it to the side and half closing his eyes. “I cannot be sure, but he may not be far away.”

  Curse it, Mist thought. “We’re going to have to find this bird

  Dainn drew a small folding knife from his pants pocket, sliced the tip of his finger, and crouched, drawing bloody Rune-staves on the sidewalk with his fingertip.

  “What in Hel are you doing?” Mist demanded, making a grab at his hand. “Using Blood-Runes when you’re not sure you’re—”

  Dainn pulled his hand away. His blood froze almost as soon as it touched the ground. Slowly the staves began to shift shape, twisting into the image of a curling vine, complete with leaves of frost—elements of nature’s life in the midst of snowy desolation. The vine curled around and around itself, forming a perfect bull’s-eye.

  “Anything?” Mist asked, crouching beside him.

  The elf rocked back on his heels. “It is coming here.”

  “What?”

  “I was remiss in not attempting this before. The Runes tell me that this loft is the bird’s destination.” He looked up. “It must be coming for you.”

  Mist didn’t wait to ask questions. She raced into the loft, grabbed her cell phone and knife—her sword, Kettlingr, shrunk to a more convenient size—and ran outside. Dainn was staring to the north, scenting the air like a panther seeking prey.

  “I’m calling Bryn,” she said. “I didn’t want her Einherjar to get involved in any real fighting so soon and without proper training, but if Loki already knows about the bird, I can’t face him and his Jotunar alone.”

  “Even if Loki has located the raven,” Dainn said, “fighting now would be most unwise.”

  “I’ll only do it as a last resort. But if this bird has any importance at all and Loki gets it, he may force our hand.”

  “I am ready,” Dainn said, getting to his feet.

  “Forget it. This could all go to Hel pretty fast. You might be okay now, but we have no idea what you might do when things get hairy again.”

  His expression was as grim as she’d ever seen it. “Do you expect me to wait here and do nothing?”

  “We can’t leave the loft unguarded,” she said, touching Bryn’s name on her cell’s contact list.

  Dainn’s eyes glittered in the shrouded moonlight. “Listen to me,” he said. “If you meet Loki, remember that he almost certainly still believes you rely on Freya to work your magic. Since Freya is no longer among us, he will underestimate you.”

  “I’m not going to let him beat us, Dainn. Not even to keep him ignorant about what I can do on my own.”

  “Nevertheless,” he said, “do not draw on the ancient power. If you—”

  Abruptly he broke off, his gaze snapping up. Mist gasped as a wave of sheer magical awareness washed over her, accompanied by an aftershock of nausea.

  The dark, cloud-swept sky seemed as empty as before, but she knew it hadn’t been just a moment ago. She could still see the pale negative of a familiar image behind her eyelids.

  “Did you feel that?” she asked, hardly aware that Bryn’s cell had gone to voicemail.

  “Yes.”

  “Why in Hel isn’t Bryn picking up?” She rang again. Rick answered.

  “Mist?” he said, his voice muffled with sleep. “Do you know what fuckin’ time it is?”

  “Rick, get Bryn.”

  “Oh. Uh, sorry about the language. I—”

  “Right now, Rick. We have a situation.”

  There was pause. “Loki?”

  “Maybe, but I can’t explain right now. Ask Bryn to choose four or five Einherjar, the best fighters, and meet me at the loft ASAP.” She hesitated. “This will be your trial by fire. If we do meet Loki, some of you may not get out of this alive. You can still change your mind.”

  “Give us five minutes.”

  He broke the connection, and Mist pocketed the phone. She belted Kettlingr on so hastily that she almost dropped the knife.

  “There,” Dainn said, pointing to the north.

  Above them, banking against the chilly wind, flew a jet-black raven. It circled closer, head cocked, watching them. Around and around, ever earthward, voiceless as a shadow.

  The roar of motorcycles interrupted the bird’s aerial soliloquy. It darted upward again, arrow-swift, as Bryn, Rick and three other Einherjar—Bunny, a bleached blonde with her hair cut in a ragged bob and her nose pierced with a small silver stud; Tennessee, lean and dark; and Edvard, a thick-set, brown-haired man who reminded Mist of a friendly bear—pulled up to the curb.

  Bryn removed her helmet. “We’re ready,” she said, raising her voice over the idling engines. “Where are we going?”

  “You see that bird?” Mist said, pointing up and to the north as Dainn had done.

  Her Sister’s eyelids compressed in a squint. “What is it? A crow?” She sucked in a breath. “Shit. It’s a raven.”

  “We’re going to follow it wherever it leads us. We may run into Loki along the way.” She glanced at Dainn. He was staring, not at Bryn or Mist or even at the raven, but at Edvard.

  She couldn’t afford to take the time to ask him why. She ran to the side driveway, mounted the bar hopper she’d recently “borrowed” from an unsuspecting neighbor, released the clutch, and rolled out to the street.

  Just as she was ready to join the others, she felt Dainn’s gaze. She’d known him long enough to recognize the anguish behind his seemingly expressionless eyes.

  But there was no more to be said. She accelerated north on Illinois, coaxing every last dash of speed out of the vehicle as the raven flew right above her.

  “Anna,” it croaked distinctly, and they were off.

  8

  Dainn remained where he was long after they had gone, waiting for the moment when he could be sure he was in no danger of destroying everything in his path.

  It was only when his vision cleared that he saw that one man hadn’t left with the others. He was broad-shouldered, muscular, and of average height. There was nothing particularly striking about his sunburned face and thick brown hair. His eyes were round and chocolate brown, nestled under heavy brows.

  He was the mortal Dainn had marked out from the rest. And he still didn’t know why.

  Nostrils flaring, Dainn took in the biker’s scent. It was musky but not unpleasant, like earth and sun-warmed fur. And Dainn understood why instinct had focused attention on this one man.

  He wasn’t human. And until this moment, Dainn hadn’t recognized what was now an obvious truth. Had he failed to see it because he’d been so close to the edge himself?

  The biker approached slowly—a wise decision on his part, Dainn thought—and stopped a good three yards away. “I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said, keeping his arms at his sides.

  Dainn stood very still. “Who are you?” he asked.

  The man didn’t offer his broad, blunt hand. “Edvard. I’m one of the Einherjar … but you know that.”

  “You are also a berserkr.”

  Edvard stared at Dainn with his large, brown eyes. “You’re surprised.”

  “I was unaware that berserkir still survived in Midgard,” Dainn said. “I have not seen one of your kind in centuries.”

  “We’ve done a pretty good job of hiding ourselves. The way you have.”

  “What do you know about me?”

  “I know you’ve been on Earth for a long time, and until all this happened you had to have kept a very low profile.” He curled his fingers around the nape of his neck and stroked it nervously. “We’ve known about elves for hundreds of years, but I never thought I’d meet one. Especially not an elf who—”

/>   “How did you recognize my nature?”

  “I sensed it as soon as we showed up.”

  “How?” Dainn asked, slowly closing the distance between them.

  “The same way I’d sense any other of my kind,” Edvard said, instinctively retreating.

  “I am not your kind,” Dainn said. He tried to clear his mind. “Berserkir,” he said, emphasizing the plural. “How many of you exist?”

  “Enough to maintain stable populations,” Edvard said, watching Dainn warily. “Some clans live on this continent, some in Europe, a few in other parts of the world. We’re descendants of the Ulfhednar and Bjornhednar who fought in the ancient battles.”

  “How did you come to join Bryn?”

  “She found me. I knew I was supposed to go with her, that something was happening that would affect me and my people.”

  “Does she know what you are?”

  “Sure she does. Has since I joined her.”

  “Then why did she fail to inform Mist?”

  “What makes you think she didn’t?”

  “She would have told me. A peculiar oversight on your leader’s part, especially since she indicated that the Einherjar were descended from Norse warriors, gods and elves.”

  “Bryn knew I wouldn’t be a danger to anyone, so she was probably just waiting for the right time.” He hunched his shoulders, giving his body a bearlike aspect. “Look, I’m not here to challenge you.”

  “Then why have you come to speak to me?” Dainn asked.

  “Because I want to help you.”

  “Why should I need your help?”

  “I heard you were pretty close to the edge.”

  “The edge of what?”

  “Losing it. Losing control.”

  Dainn breathed sharply through his nose. “This was Rick’s assessment of our very brief disagreement?”

  “I know what happened with that giant attacked Mist.”

  “And what business is that of yours?”

  “I can’t just pretend your problem isn’t all of ours, too.”

  “Speak plainly.”

  “Bear or wolf?” Edvard asked.

  “Neither,” Dainn said bitterly. “No. Perhaps a little of both, but far stronger than either.”

  “And you’ve been fighting it. Fighting to hold it back.”

  Dainn clenched the muscles between his shoulder blades and released them, rolling his head to work the tension out of his neck. It did little good. “Your kind does not ‘fight it’?” he asked.

  “We’re not ashamed of it, if that’s what you mean.” He seemed to realize he’d said something unwise, for he was quiet some time before he spoke again. “We learned to handle it a long time ago. Sometimes, when we’re young, it takes a little work.”

  “I am not young, and you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  The berserkr took another step back. “I know you expect to lose all control if you let it manifest physically.”

  Dainn closed the space between them again. “I have already come very close. You are committed to this cause for the sake of your people, are you not?”

  “The result of this battle will affect the berserkir as much as anyone.”

  “Loki would be pleased to have you on his side.”

  “Those would be fighting words among my people,” Edvard said, a growl low in his voice. “Maybe you’ve forgotten I’m one of the good guys. If you keep refusing help, it’ll be as if you’re working for him yourself.”

  It took great effort, but Dainn quelled his anger. “You have given me no reason to trust you.”

  Edvard smothered a cough, rather like the sound of a large animal muttering to itself. “I know strong emotion provokes your beast,” he said. “It can happen that way with us, too. But when one of us can’t quite manage the changes on our own, we have ways to calm it down. I can show you—”

  “Thus far you have displayed nothing but profound ignorance,” Dainn said, “and I am in no mood to deal with it.”

  Edvard dropped his gaze. “Obviously this isn’t a good time. I thought since Mist left you behind, you’d want to—” He shook his head. “I guess I was wrong.”

  He turned to leave, but Dainn detained him with a hand on the man’s arm. Edvard shuddered, and the corner of his lip lifted in an all-too-familiar warning. Dainn closed his eyes and let a little of the beast loose. He felt that almost addictive strength flow through him, opened his eyes and let the creature glare out at the berserkr with all its hate and savagery.

  Visibly flinching, Edvard crouched low. “Okay,” he whispered, not daring to move. “You’ve made your point.”

  Pushing the beast back down, Dainn struggled to regain his composure. When he could speak again, he found he was much calmer than before. He released Edvard quickly.

  “What do you propose?” he asked, knowing himself for a fool. A desperate fool.

  “We treat what you’ve got as a sickness,” Edvard said, clearly relieved, “and we have a kind of cure that—”

  “A cure has already been attempted by someone much more powerful than you.”

  “But maybe not as knowledgeable. I have access to a … palliative, I guess you could say, that could help you keep your other side under better control.”

  “It is highly unlikely that any ‘palliative’ can make a difference.”

  Very carefully, Edvard reached inside his shirt and withdrew a small leather pouch. “How can you know if you don’t try it?”

  Dainn took in a deep breath. “What is it?” he asked.

  “A kind of herbal compound. I didn’t make it, but I always carry some of it with me.”

  “And you think I would sample this concoction without knowing anything about it?”

  Edvard loosened the cord that held the pouch closed, dipped his finger inside and scooped out a small portion of the compound. He sucked the faintly dusty, green-and-brown mixture from his finger, never taking his eyes from Dainn’s.

  “If it’s poison, you’ll know soon enough,” he said.

  “If it were poison, the effects might not be immediate.”

  “I’ll still suffer those effects sooner or later. We can wait as long as you want. Unless, of course, you want to help Mist now.”

  Dainn searched Edvard’s eyes. “You want me to help her.”

  “You’re important to her, and that means you’re important to this fight.” He offered the pouch to Dainn. “Take this. You just put a pinch on your tongue. Maybe if things get bad … well, you may decide to try it.” Suddenly, he grinned. “If I’m not dead by then, of course.”

  Almost against his will, Dainn took the pouch. It was as light as a feather from Freya’s Falcon Cloak.

  “Thanks,” Edvard said. “Thanks for considering what I’ve said. It’s important to all of us.”

  “I make no promises,” Dainn said, tucking the pouch inside his shirt. “Will you summon the other berserkir to fight for Mist?”

  “I can only speak for my own clan. I’ll send a report as soon as I understand what’s going on well enough to explain it to them.”

  “If they are to be of any use, you must not wait too long.”

  “I know.” He backed away. “I’ll be going after Mist now, see if I can help. I’m a fighter, after all.”

  He returned to his motorcycle, his shoulders slightly tensed, as if he expected Dainn to lope after him and tear his head off. In a few moments he was gone, leaving a thick trail of condensation behind him.

  Loki had lost track of the raven by the time he reached Brannan Street. But once he crossed Bryant and passed under the James Lick Freeway, he knew that his Jotunar had found what he sought.

  He sped up the quiet street, nearly striking the giants on the sidewalk before he stomped on the brakes. They had formed a tight circle around a small figure, who held her arms over her head as if she expected to be attacked. Loki dismounted and walked at a casual pace toward the tableau, his gaze sweeping the sky once more for any sign of the bird. />
  Nothing. But if Haurr was right …

  The mortal female was hardly impressive, small and dark and clearly afraid. Her black hair was loose and tangled and her face was flushed, as if she had been running. She wore a conservative gray suit, hardly appropriate to the weather, and her feet were bare. Her gaze darted from one Jotunn to the other with uncomprehending terror.

  Loki attacked Hymir before the Jotunn could lift a hand in self-defense. The giant sprawled, and Loki spun to kick Grer’s legs out from underneath him. Haurr backed away, utter confusion on his face. Loki ran at him and struck him hard across the jaw. The blow was powerful enough to knock the Jotunn unconscious.

  Ide simply ran, instinct driving him away from a master who seemed to have lost his mind entirely. Hymir and Grer scrambled to their feet, taking off after their fellow Jotunn like the mortal dead fruitlessly fleeing Hel’s long fingers.

  Loki stared after them until they were well out of sight and then looked down at the girl, who gazed at him with wide, surprisingly pretty hazel eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” Loki said, assuming his most sympathetic and worried expression. “They’re gone.” He held out a hand, but she shrank away.

  “I saw them accost you,” Loki said, crouching a little distance away. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his face. “Where did you come from?”

  “That doesn’t matter now,” he said gently. “I want to help.”

  “Thank you.”

  Loki knew that his natural charm and charisma, as much a part of him as his delight in deceit and chaos, were already beginning to have their usual effect. “This isn’t an area where a young woman should be walking alone at night,” he said. “Especially in this weather, and without shoes.”

  “I know.” Her mouth curled in a reluctant, rueful smile. “That’s obvious.”

  Good, Loki thought. Her muscles were beginning to relax—not much, by any means, but enough that he thought she might soon begin to answer his questions without unnecessary prodding.

  “You must be freezing,” he said, beginning to remove his leather jacket. “Please, take this.”