Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  Mist could hardly focus on the young woman’s words. She added water to the soup and tried not to fall asleep on her feet as she stirred it in and put it on the small burner of the camp stove. “Tell me,” she mumbled.

  “Ryan had visions of the future, right?” she asked. “I … I can see the past. Sometimes.”

  Mist dropped the spoon in the saucepan with a clatter. “How?” she asked.

  “I don’t really know. Sometimes”—she hunched her shoulders and began again—“All my life I’ve had … I guess what you’d call dreams that weren’t mine. Only they weren’t just dreams. I experienced things I knew couldn’t have happened to me, like being interrogated by Nazis.”

  Nazis. Like the ones who’d nearly killed Rebekka and Geir and Horja. “You thought it was happening to you?” she asked.

  “When Orn led me out of the apartment to find you, I thought we were being hunted. And when Loki first caught me, I saw him as … well, one of the Nazis. I think.” She shrugged apologetically, as if she really believed what she was saying might make Mist laugh. “Sometimes it’s all a jumble, as if I’m seeing things from Rebekka’s and Helga’s lives at the same time.”

  “Rebekka?” Mist asked, remembering that only a few hours ago she’d thought she could never be astonished again.

  “That’s … another thing I should have told you,” Anna said. “I knew before I ever met you or realized you weren’t mortal that my great-grandfather and a woman named Mist had been lovers. After you and I talked for the first time, I wondered if you knew about Rebekka. The way you acted—”

  “I did,” Mist said. “That was something I should have told you at the beginning.”

  “You helped save her, didn’t you?”

  Mist was grateful that her exhaustion made the bitter memories a little less immediate. “Who is Helga?” she asked.

  “She married Geir when the Nazis were run out of Norway,” Anna said, staring at the floor. “They adopted Rebekka.”

  Mist wanted to shake herself. Helga. Horja. Could anything be more natural?

  “You knew her too,” Ann said, “Because you fought beside her. Geir told me a story about his taking care of Rebekka in Sweden while Helga went back to fight in Norway.”

  “But you said you … remembered being interrogated by Nazis,” Mist said slowly. “That could never have happened to Rebekka. She was too young.”

  “But Helga wasn’t,” Anna said. “The one thing they had in common is that both of them wore the pendant.

  Rebekka almost never took it off, but she gave it to Helga when she left to fight, for good luck. It must have worked, because Helga came back.” Anna rubbed her bloodshot eyes. “She was tortured, though. By Nazis who wanted something from her. They thought she knew something she didn’t.”

  Gods,” Mist whispered, beginning to see where the story was headed.

  “Yeah.” Anna shivered. “But they weren’t able to get what they wanted from her before she escaped.”

  “Was Orn with her?”

  “That’s where things get confusing. Sometimes I see him with Helga, in a cage. But It’s hard to tell if I haven’t added a little of my own life into the mix.”

  “But all three of you wore the pendant,” Mist said. She left the pot on the boil and moved toward Anna. “If these Nazis knew the pendant was connected to Orn, they were probably after him.” She dragged her hand over her face. “Horja—Helga must have understood by then that there was something different about him.”

  “If she did, she never told Rebekka.” Anna squeezed her hands together tightly. “When I first saw Vidarr, I was sure he was one of the Nazis. Not like Loki. I was absolutely sure.”

  One of the Nazis. Vidarr, living in Midgard, interrogating the woman who wore the pendant. Looking for something important. Something he’d kill for.

  “But you never saw me, did you? In your dreams?”

  “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because it scared me so much when I met you, and—” She extended her hand in a gesture of apology and regret, then let it fall. “I never saw Orn with you, though.”

  “Because he never showed himself to me in all the time I lived in Midgard,” Mist said wearily. “How much did you see of the rest of my life?”

  “Only fragments, or I would have known what you really are.” Anna said, dropped her gaze. “I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Assuming your dreams are accurate,” Mist said, “At least we know why Vidarr behaved as he did. He must have lost track of Orn and the pendant back then, but when he got another chance, he took it … even if it meant working with Loki. It looks to me like he wanted more from Orn than a message from his father.”

  Anna cleared her throat nervously. “There’s one more thing, I wanted to make sure it made sense, and that I wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there. This time, I think it’s good news.”

  Mist wandered back to the stove, barely aware that the soup was starting to boil over. “I could use some right about now,” she said.

  “When Helga died,” Anna said, taking a seat at the table, “she left Geir some stuff that he passed on to Rebekka. For some reason Rebekka hid it, and Geir never asked her what happened to it.” She frowned. “Oldefar mentioned it in passing before he died, but I never really saw any of that part of Rebekka’s life in my dreams. I think she buried the stuff in Norway or Sweden, and after my parents moved to the United States, I never thought about it again. But now—”

  Now, Mist thought, fresh energy pumping through her veins. She turned off the stove. “Horja’s Treasures,” she said quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” Anna said, pressing her forehead against the tabletop.

  “Quit it with the apologies. What’s done is done, and it’s not too late unless Loki figured this out first.”

  “I may be able to find more with Vali’s programs,” Anna said, lifting her head. “Maybe sleep will help me.”10

  If these were the kinds of dreams Anna had, Mist thought, how could she ever sleep at all?

  “You loved Geir, didn’t you?” Anna asked softly. “I know he never stopped loving you, and neither did Rebekka.”

  “I failed them,” Mist said, turning away.

  “I don’t know how,” Anna said, resting her chin in her hand. “I don’t need to. Love, guilt, anger … it’s funny how all those feelings can get mixed up in your head. Just like my family’s memories.”

  “Funny,” Mist said with a short laugh. “However long you may live, that lesson never seems to sink in.”

  “I’d say we’re all human, but…” Anna caught Mist’s gaze, her own eyes brightening. “Shouldn’t someone go to Norway right away and try to find the Treasures? If Vali is still working for Loki, he might find them any time.” She grinned, her teeth only chattering a little. “I should go. Maybe I can access more of Rebekka’s memories. I may be able to figure out exactly where she hid the Treasures.”

  Mist fell into a chair at the opposite side of the table. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? You might be risking your sanity. Not to mention your life.”

  “I’ve been doing that every day since Orn dragged me out of my apartment.” She sobered. “I know it’s dangerous. But it’s just as dangerous sticking around here. And you can always get another programmer.”

  “Don’t joke about that, Anna,” Mist said, reaching across the table to touch Anna’s hand. “Orn may come back for you.”

  “I’m sure if he comes back, it won’t be for me.” She blinked several times. “Sure, I miss him. But I haven’t done much of any use so far. This time I can really help.”

  Mist was silent for a moment, wondering again how she could be worthy enough to have people like this young woman risk their lives for her.

  For Midgard.

  “If you go,” Mist said, “it won’t be alone. I’m sure I can convince Lord Konur to send one of the Alfar. And I’ll ask Bryn, Rota or Hild if they can accompany you.” She laughed, though there was really
nothing to laugh about. “You do realize that if Helga had been your great-grandmother by blood, you’d be descended from a Valkyrie yourself.”

  “But Rebekka was adopted.”

  “I know. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t be one in every other sense.” Mist slapped her palm lightly on the tabletop, afraid she was about to tip over into the maudlin again. “If you’re going on a perilous journey, you need to get some real rest. That’s an order. And at least for tonight, try not to dream.”

  Anna rose, saluted broadly, and gave Mist a lopsided grin. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

  Ignoring the burnt smell of spilled soup on the stovetop, Mist slouched over the table and rested her cheek on her folded arms. The factory was caught in a rare moment of silence, and she felt a new weight settle on her shoulders. A very personal one that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but managed to hurt anyway.

  She was lonely. Lonelier than she’d ever been in her life.

  What had Anna said? “I’d say we’re all human, but…”

  I’m not human, Mist thought. Except that she was, inside. She was weak, and vulnerable, and made mistakes. Even the Aesir did that. They weren’t really much different from mortals, when it came down to it. They were just a Hel of a lot more powerful.

  She closed her eyes and thought of the men and women who so loyally served without question. She had no right to ask comfort, physical or emotional, from any of them, not after what they’d suffered. She was the leader, the commander, and there was always a chance that any man she might approach would feel an obligation to acquiesce because of it.

  But sometimes, for a moment or two, she wished she could accept that comfort for just one night.

  One night, she thought. What she might have had with Dainn. Now, when it was too late, she could finally acknowledge that she’d never been completely alone when he was around.

  It wasn’t likely that she would ever find that a second time.

  Unless he came back. And she was pretty sure she’d never see his grave, enigmatic, beautiful face again.

  32

  “We can already see the difference,” Bryn said, settling with the others around Mist’s forge—the only real source of warmth in the factory warehouse except the space heaters scattered around it, doing little to pierce the constant chill. The snow was falling heavily again, and while the city was still largely paralyzed, Mist hoped the forecast of warmer temperatures would take care of what remained of Loki’s ice.

  “Where were these new Jotunar you saw?” she asked, glancing around the workshop.

  “On the corners where the dealers usually hang out,” Bryn said. “We typically see one Jotunn standing around somewhere, disguised as a mortal, and one regular guy. To judge by their behavior, I think the Jotunar are keeping an eye on the dealers. Maybe even studying them.”

  “Jotunar studying pushers,” Mist said. “Did the mortals know they were there?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said. “They were scared, and I think either the giants are shaking them down, or—” He broke off, flushing a little. “You said that Loki’s going to be recruiting a lot of lowlifes. I may be crazy, but I think maybe the Jotunar are learning the ropes so they can take over.”

  “That could be pretty lucrative for them,” Vixen said.

  “And allow Loki to flaunt his influence among the less legitimate businessmen in this city,” Mist said. “He’ll have been picking up mortal followers for months, but now that he’s got more Jotunar, he can really get down to business.”

  “And we don’t know when he’ll get more from Ginnungagap,” Rota said. “It could be any time, now that he can open the bridges.”

  “But you and Freya can expose these Jotunar, can’t you?” Captain Taylor asked, his quiet but commanding voice catching everyone’s attention.

  “Loki will be countering every move we make,” Mist said. “And Freya still hasn’t seen fit to share her game plan with me.”

  “Maybe she’s leaving it up to you. You’ve been handling the ground game all along.” He paused, looking Mist in the eye. “She doesn’t seem to know much of what’s going on.”

  If only Freya could hear you now, Captain Taylor, Mist thought with a silent laugh. She might try to demote you.

  Over my dead body.

  “I noticed she’s not around much, either,” Rick said. “Maybe she’s doing some goddess thing no one else can do.”

  “Things Mist can’t do?” Tennessee asked with stubborn loyalty.

  “There are still a few of those,” Mist said dryly. “But if she—”

  “This is all of great interest,” Konur interrupted—leaning against the wall near the doorway, just the way Dainn used to do—“but we are also here to discuss the journey to Norway.” He gestured to the tall, unusually fair elf beside him. “Hrolf and several other of my Alfar have agreed to accompany the mortals in their quest.”

  “Our quest,” Mist reminded him. “And Rota has also volunteered.” She nodded to Anna, who had barely spoken.”You’ll take the flight bound for New York and Norway tomorrow…” She glanced at the mantel clock. “I mean today.”

  And hope Loki hasn’t gotten Danny to open another one of those intra-Midgardian portals, she thought.

  Just another thing Mist knew she couldn’t do much about. For now, anyway. She got up from her place on the worn carpet remnant near the mismatched chairs.

  “At times like these,” she said, “when we face a new and dangerous venture, it seems only right that we honor the courage of those who will journey into the unknown. Once, the Vikings celebrated Yule in the middle of January, but now the tradition is to exchange gifts at the time tradition claims the White Christ was born.” She looked at each face in turn. “We don’t have a proper feast, nor a boar to sacrifice, nor a Yule log to burn. But I have something I can give.” She ducked her head. “Rota, Rick, do you mind bringing the drinks? Bryn and Captain Taylor, I’ll need your help as well.”

  While Rota and Rick fetched the glogg, she led Bryn and the captain to her private office. She’d laid the velvet-lined cases on the ratty old desk the mortals had found for her. Most of the cases were half empty; she’d already distributed swords and axes to her Sisters and those Einherjar and other mortals who thought they could use them. Now all that was left were the knives and daggers.

  She still felt very lucky that several metalworkers and fighters had come with the new batch of recruits. Or maybe it wasn’t luck at all. It was her need that had called them here. Need she had no control over, and a power she still despised and prayed she’d never have to use deliberately, no matter what she had to do to make up for the loss.

  “Beautiful,” Captain Taylor said, picking up one of Mist’s less decorative knives. “You made these, Chief?”

  “I used to,” Mist said.

  With a certain reverence, he and the Bryn carefully stacked the trays and carried them to a shelving unit just outside the workshop.

  Once Mist had everything arranged to her satisfaction, she followed Bryn and Taylor back into the workshop, where Rick and Rota had already distributed the mugs of glogg. The hot beverage steamed, sending its glorious fragrance through the room. Even Konur and Hrolf had accepted their share.

  Mist lifted her own mug. “Skal,” she said. “To victory.”

  “To victory,” the others echoed. Everyone drank, and then there was a long, pensive silence as each of the council members considered how difficult the path to victory would be.

  “I’ve got something else,” Mist said, setting her mug down. “If you’ll all come outside…”

  They trooped after her and stared curiously at the weapons on their trays.

  “The only gifts I have to give,” she said. “Please take whatever you think suits you. I think there are just enough to go around.”

  After another moment’s pause, Rota chose a dagger with an unusually ornate grip and slid it from its sheath. “Gorgeous,” she said.

  Taylor was next. He cho
se the plain knife, while Hrolf chose a dagger adorned with interlocking vines and birds in an old Nordic design. Rick’s was the broadest and heaviest Mist had crafted.

  One by one the others selected their weapons. Only Konur abstained.

  “Nothing for Eir,” Rota murmured.

  “Believe me, she wouldn’t want a weapon of any kind,” Mist said. “And Gabi sure as Hel isn’t getting one.”

  “I think this calls for another toast,” Rick said.

  Still admiring their weapons, everyone but Konur, Taylor, and Mist returned to the workshop.

  “They seem devoted to you,” Konur remarked. “They know a good gen—chief when they see one,” Taylor said.

  “I would gladly have passed this duty on to someone else,” Mist said, “but sometimes such choices aren’t ours to make.”

  Konur inclined his head. “The Alfar follow you, as Freya wills.”

  As if she’d been summoned by her name, Freya walked into the warehouse. She wore tight-fitting leather pants, a close-cut shirt that showed off plenty of cleavage, and high-heeled boots. She exuded so much allure that even the phlegmatic Taylor reacted, staring a moment before he averted his gaze.

  “I see you have been busy in my absence,” the Lady said, looking the captain up and down. “Have you glogg for me as well?”

  “If you want some,” Mist said. “It’s in the workshop.”

  Mist followed her in time to witness the reactions of her council. Most of them had already seen her in the elven form she still wore, but there wasn’t a single man or woman in the room who didn’t respond to her natural glamour. She could easily have bent every one of them—mortal, elf, and Valkyrie—to her will with a crook of her finger.

  Mist despised Freya for that. But she had too many questions to waste her time on anger, and she very much wanted to know what her mother had been up to during her absence.

  After the council members had left to return to their various camps and beds, Mist stood face to face with Freya near the forge, sensing that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.

  Freya pursed her lips as if she’d read Mist’s thoughts. Mist hoped that was only a cliché and not the literal truth.