Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  Then he was Dainn again, Dainn as she had always known him—a little more like the ragged indigent she had found in Golden Gate Park than the one in the aubergine shirt. His hair was still a mass of tangled black, there was a gauntness to his face, and his eyes were couched in deep shadow.

  He remained still, head down, breathing harshly. Mist knelt beside him.

  “Dainn,” she said, holding her hand out to him.

  Scrambling away, he kept his eyes averted. “I cannot help you. Protect the young mortals, and find Anna. Keep them out of Loki’s hands.”

  “I’ll go when you promise me you’ll stay right here and wait for me to come back,” she said, getting to her feet. She caught a glimpse of his tormented gaze behind the unkempt veil of his hair.

  Perhaps she was about to lose him. Perhaps he would be gone when she returned.

  “Mist,” he said.

  “What is it?” she asked, half afraid of what he might say.

  “The Serpent … it wasn’t entirely real.”

  Mist almost forgot what she’d just seen him do. “Not real? It sure as Hel had real teeth and the strength to squash a man to pulp with a toss of its head.”

  “I’m saying that this may well be the phenomenon we witnessed when we saw Freya in the loft,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “Able to cause hurt, but not entirely of this world.”

  Freya, Mist thought. The “ghost” Dainn couldn’t explain.

  But Jormungandr was Loki’s son, and Freya his enemy. If they were the same kind of “manifestation,” and Loki had created them—which he must have done, given the available options—had Loki sent both to cause trouble in different ways? Had he really become so powerful?

  “Curse it,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for this now. Dainn, you’ll need to tell me everything you know when I get back.”

  Edvard came to stand next to her. “I’ll watch him,” he murmured.

  Mist blinked, suddenly aware that she’d never seen the berserkr change back again. She turned to grab the biker’s collar.

  “I don’t know exactly what you have to do with all this, but you’re going to have one Hel of a lot of explaining to do..” She released him. “But I still need you to track for us.”

  “At least let me speak to Dainn before we go.”

  “I have no reason to trust you.”

  “It’s all right,” Dainn said. “I … won’t hurt him. And I wish to speak to him.”

  “Okay,” Mist said, holding Edvard’s gaze. “I’m trusting Dainn right now. Don’t take too long, or I’ll come looking. Meet me at the factory in ten minutes.” She bent to touch Dainn’s matted hair. “I’ll never abandon you to the beast, Dainn. Believe that.”

  She went looking for Kettlingr, wiped the blade clean on the tail of her shirt, and sang it small again. Gleipnir lay where she had left it—nothing but a cord now, dull and limp. She wondered if it would take vengeance on her for attempting to use it.

  Let the punishment fall on me, she thought. The others are innocent.

  But she knew cursed well that innocence was long a thing of the past.

  Dainn had Edvard by the throat the moment Mist was out of sight. His vision was blurred with tears, but he saw the fear in the berserkr’s eyes.

  “Is this what you intended?” he growled, dangling the berserkr a foot off the pavement. “Did you know the herb would fail?”

  Edvard grabbed Dainn’s wrists, struggling to pull them away from his neck. “No,” he rasped. “I didn’t … I never said—”

  Letting him down slowly, Dainn released him. “You said if the problem got ‘too bad,’ I should take a pinch of the powder. That it would help.”

  “Are you saying it didn’t?” Edvard said, rubbing his neck. “Not at all?”

  Dainn swung away from Edvard, walked toward the sealed crack in the street and measured its length with his footsteps. “In the loft, when the beast returned,” he said, “I couldn’t find the pouch.”

  “Then you don’t know if it wouldn’t have stopped the beast again,” Edvard said, his voice still raspy. “I never said it would get rid of the problem permanently.”

  “Perhaps I should have ingested the full contents of the pouch when I had the chance.”

  “That could have killed you. Or kept you from … doing whatever it is you did to Jormungandr.”

  Dainn stalked back toward the berserkr, beginning to understand. “You had no idea how I might respond to this mixture, did you? Was it a test? An experiment?”

  “No. You’ve got it all wrong.” Edvard raised his hands palm out. “I may still be able to help you. No one could understand this better than I can.”

  “I saw your bear. It was nothing.”

  “But not even Mist knows what it’s like. She didn’t know what it really was, did she? I saw her face when you—”

  Dainn shivered at the memory. Yes, she had accepted him. But she couldn’t conceal her immediate, visceral reaction of horror and shock.

  He should have shown her long ago, when he might have done it in a way she could understand. Now it was too late. No matter what she might say about standing by him, never abandoning him …

  “We can find the dosage that’ll work for you,” Edvard said, “at least to keep your beast under control when you need its abilities. If you can find balance—”

  “There is no balance for this world or anyone who lives in it,” Dainn said with contempt. “I lost the pouch during the earthquake, but it must be somewhere in the loft. I will return it to you.”

  “No. There’s still a chance that the herbs might be the only thing that stand between you and killing someone you love.”

  Raising his hands, Dainn studied the long fingers, remembering claws that could tear a Jotunn’s head from his body without the slightest effort. The herbs had worked, for a time. Maybe that would be enough when the beast was ready to claim its sacrifice.

  “I trust you to keep what you have seen to yourself,” he said.

  “I’m trusting you not to hurt my friends,” Edvard said, his jaw hardening.

  “Don’t get in my way, Edvard,” Dainn said softly. “I cannot be sure what will happen if you do.”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Edvard said. He dropped his gaze, a predator of lesser rank acknowledging the greater strength of a rival. “I have to go. Think about what I said. There may still be a way out for you.”

  Dainn laughed.

  20

  They were all around her, staring down at her bed, dark uniforms with glittering lightning symbols on their collars, guns at their hips, cold ruthlessness in their eyes.

  “Come, now,” said the one sitting next to her bed. “This is unnecessary. We wish only that you ask the creature to speak.”

  “I…” She swallowed, her mouth so dry that words were almost impossible, tearing at the inside of her throat. “I can’t control him. He has to decide—”

  “Here,” the man said, holding her head up and lifting a glass of water to her lips. “We know he is not entirely a free agent, Fräulein.” He set the glass down and eased her head back to the mattress. “He looks to you for guidance, and we must have the message he carries. What he knows of the objects.”

  “So you can…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Where is he?”

  The man raised his hand, and an underling brought Orn in a cage barely large enough for him to fit in, let alone move. He croaked piteously, his black eye fixing on her as if she were his only hope of salvation.

  She couldn’t even save herself.

  “Orn,” she whispered. “Don’t. Whatever they do to me, don’t say anything.”

  A broad, hard hand slammed into her face. Blood spurted from her nose and her head rang as Orn screamed in rage, sounds no raven should be capable of making.

  “We have been too careful,” another voice said somewhere in the glare of lights above her head. “The bird clearly cares what happens to her. There is only one way to compel its cooperation.”
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  She never heard the other man’s answer. Ungentle hands pulled her up, slung her sideways, carried her out of the room with her feet dragging behind her. Orn banged around inside the cage, shrieking words the men didn’t understand.

  “Orn,” she whispered as the men hurled her into a darker, colder, fouler room than the one before. “No matter what they do, don’t say anything. Don’t—”

  Another fist struck her, and she spun into darkness.

  Anna moaned. Someone held her head and put a glass to her lips. She jerked away, letting the water splash all over her chest and the sheets and the hand that held the glass.

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” Vali stammered, pulling back. “It’s just that you’ve been having these nightmares, and I thought—”

  “Get away from me,” Anna said. She heaved herself up on her elbows, blinking to clear her vision. This wasn’t the same cell or the same bed. The room was small and undecorated, but it was clean and warm and dry. The bed was a real bed, not a sagging cot with a dirty mattress like a board.

  She was in Vidarr and Vali’s flat above Asbrew, and she had no idea what time it was. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on when Vali had brought her here, and she felt as if she had been in a state of limbo, neither awake nor asleep, for days.

  “I’m really sorry,” Vali said again, dropping his head between his broad shoulders. “Vid … well, he said it was only right that we should hear what Orn had to say,”

  “You tricked me,” she said, scooting away from him. “First you introduce yourself as a fellow programmer, Mist’s good friend, without bothering to let me in on the fact that you’re one of Odin’s sons. Then you go all gallant and pretend to protect us from the snake. And lead us right into a trap.”

  “I didn’t want … I really didn’t…” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Anna. But Vid’s my brother, and he has his reasons.”

  She snorted. “Reasons.” She pressed her back to the wall. “I know Orn had plenty of chances to escape before we got here. How did you stop him? Some kind of magic?”

  “He wouldn’t leave you.”

  “He would if he thought he could go for help again. But your brother did something to him, didn’t he? His own father’s messenger, who obviously didn’t want to see him?”

  Vali looked away, but Anna had already slipped into the horrible memory of when she’d first recognized Vidarr, the son of Odin.

  Not because she’d ever seen him before. Not in this life, anyway. Either Rebekka or Helga or both had met Vidarr under very different and terrifying circumstances. Or perhaps not so different, after all.

  He wouldn’t know her, of course. Not Anna Stangeland. But he was very close to getting what he’d always wanted.

  Anna shivered and took a deep breath to steady herself. “So, is your fine brother working with that red-haired creep?” she asked.

  Horror contorted Vali’s face, almost comical in its extremity. “By my father’s beard, no! They’re enemies. Loki’s everyone’s enemy.”

  “But that snake was Loki’s son.” She stared into his face, daring him to deny it. “Very convenient for you and your brother.”

  “Loki wants to destroy Odin. Vid just wants to communicate with our father.”

  “Who hasn’t looked for you in all these years.” Anna slid farther away until her back was against the wall. “He went to Mist instead. Why is that?”

  With a miserable shrug, Vali rose. “You must be hungry. I’ll get you something to eat.”

  “What time is it? How long have I been here?”

  “It’s only a little after dawn.”

  “Did your brother make me sleep?”

  “I’ll get you breakfast,” Vali said, nearly running for the door.

  She slid off the bed. “Help us get out of here, Vali. I believe you’re a good man. I know that Vidarr hates Mist, and I don’t think he has the welfare of this world at heart.”

  Vali’s jaw hardened. “You don’t know him. You don’t know anything, and I can’t help you.”

  He walked out the door, nearly slamming it behind him. Anna ran after him and checked the doorknob. Locked, of course. In addition to a small bathroom, her prison had an additional locked door and a single small window, but it had been boarded up, and she wouldn’t leave Orn even if it wasn’t.

  Mist will come after me, she thought. But surely, once she realized Anna was gone, she’d go after Loki. Would she be wrong?

  Still woozy from whatever she’d been given to make her sleep, Ann went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face, pretending she didn’t see the hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror, and tidied her hair. She couldn’t use her feminine “wiles”—if she’d ever had any—to get Vidarr off his guard. But she couldn’t believe that Vali knew what Vidarr had been up to nearly seventy years ago.

  She had to keep working on him. Carefully. Even if she had to play damsel in distress, a ploy she thought he might actually respond to.

  But to get him to betray his brother …

  She returned to the bed and sat down, trying to calm herself. When the bedroom door opened again, she was ready.

  Vidarr sat at the bar, watching Anna as Vali led her from the back room into the small dining area parallel to the bar. He wore jeans, a belt with a buckle engraved with some kind of Rune symbol, and an open-necked corduroy shirt. The pendant hung around his neck. For a moment, all Anna could see was a black uniform and the paired lightning bolts on its collar. She barely managed to keep her feet.

  Orn perched on Vidarr’s gloved wrist, the raven’s legs bound by jesses like those of a hunting falcon’s. Vid held his arm away from his body, and when Anna saw nearly healed lacerations on Vidarr’s face she knew that Orn had made a couple of effective stabs at him.

  “Good for you,” she said aloud.

  Orn knew who she was talking to. “Anna,” he said. “Okay?”

  “I’m fine, Orn.” She stared at Vidarr. “If you’ve hurt him…”

  “Hurt him?” Vidarr said with a decidedly unpleasant smile. “He’s my father’s messenger, an extension of Odin himself. I would no sooner harm him than I would the All-father.”

  “But he doesn’t want to talk to you, does he?”

  Vidarr was clearly not about to let her see if she’d stuck a blow, though his cold eyes were expressive enough. “Let’s have a chat, the four of us. We might find a solution to our problem.”

  “Your problem. Kidnapping and threats aren’t a very good way to gain cooperation.” She held out her hand. “Let me have Orn.”

  After staring at her for a good long while, Vidarr released the jesses. Immediately Orn flew to her and rubbed his beak against her hair.

  Feeling stronger already, Anna obeyed Vidarr’s gesture and sat at one of the cramped tables. The worn surface was covered with stains from hundreds of glasses, and smears she didn’t want to think about.

  “Quite an appropriate hall for the son of Odin,” she said.

  Ignoring her quip, Vidarr moved behind the counter and poured himself a drink, while Vali brought a sandwich to her table and perched on a barstool.

  “Like to get started early, do you?” she asked Vidarr, amazed at her own temerity.

  “I’m sorry how this went down,” Vidarr said, his hand tightening around his glass, “but Mist should have come to me about this in the beginning.” He took a long swallow of whiskey. “She was Odin’s Valkyrie, not his daughter. She had no right to take the bird from me.”

  “She didn’t, and you know it,” Anna said, trying not to stare at the sandwich.

  Thumping his glass on the counter, Vidarr looked as if he’d have liked to come around to her table and strangle her. Just like Loki’s Jotunar.

  “Mist could have forced Orn to come to her,” he snapped.

  “Oh? You admit she’s stronger than you?” Anna shook her head. “No, Orn chose without any influence from anyone, least of all me. And if he trusted you, he’d have told you whatever it is you want to know.�
� She met his gaze. “What is that, anyway?”

  Orn cackled. “Power,” he said.

  “Tell him to speak to me,” Vidarr said, “and I’ll let you go.”

  “Give me my pendant.”

  “I don’t think so,” Vidarr said. He touched the stone hanging around his neck. “The raven has to stay with it, doesn’t he? Like he stayed with you and your family since your great-grandmother got it from Mist.”

  There were two ways he could have known that, Anna thought. Either he’d figured it out during the Second World War, or someone had reported Anna’s first discussion with Mist.

  She stared at Vali, who refused to meet her gaze. Anna knew that the situation might be even worse than she’d guessed.

  And it wasn’t going to get any better soon. She had to buy time.

  “Orn,” she said, “do you have a message from Odin?”

  “Oh, yes,” Orn said, cocking his head in Vidarr’s direction. “You are not the one. You are not the one.”

  The voice startled Anna. It didn’t seem to belong to the raven at all. It clearly startled Vidarr as well. He charged around the counter and stood before Anna’s table, towering over her and Orn.

  “Which are you?” he demanded. “Huginn, or Muninn?”

  “Memory,” the bird said. “Memory of you.”

  For the first time, fear passed over Vidarr’s face. “You do not speak for Odin,” he said, planting his fists on the table. “Who is controlling you?”

  Orn croaked a laugh.

  “I’ll get it out of you,” Vidarr said, “even if I have to mark your friend’s pretty face.”

  With a sweep of black wings, Orn flung himself at Vidarr. Vidarr batted him aside, and Orn went spinning to the ground. Anna sprang out of her chair, but Vidarr held her back with the tip of one finger. She could the feel pressure bruising her chest.

  “I’ll do it,” Vidarr said, addressing the raven as he hopped to his feet. Anna forgot her own pain as she noticed that Orn was favoring his left leg and listing to one side, his feathers all askew.