Son of Thunder (Heavenly War Series)

by S. C. Mitchell

Meghan sat by the fire and watched the remnants of the Army of Thor wander back into camp.

  “They knew we were coming.” Thor rumbled, pacing back and forth. The old god was hobbling a bit, nursing a wound on his left leg. “They blocked and harried us almost from the start. As if they knew where we wanted to go.”

  Freyr pounded the table. “That wasn’t his rear guard.” Freyr had used Heimdall’s horse, Gulltopper, to scout ahead. “That was practically half of his army waiting for us.”

  Thor shrugged. “Well, when you consider that, I think we did pretty damn good.”

  Jord’s forces had been wandering into the camp over the past two hours, shaken, but still strong. Surprisingly most of the army had survived the encounter.

  Doldar wandered in just then. His right arm hung limp and bloody at his side. “We’d have been massacred if Jord hadn’t raised that storm.” Meghan hurried to bandage his wounds.

  Thor grunted. “I just saw the edge of it. That was a doozy though. I don’t think I could ever whip up something like that, even in my youth. I sure am proud of that boy. Where is he anyway?”

  “He hasn’t returned yet, sir?” Alarm registered on Doldar’s face. “That’s worrying. He was in the heart of that mess.”

  Sif had been trying to bandage Thor as he paced. She stopped suddenly, as if sensing something. “There.” Sif pointed up in the air. “Here he comes.”

  Above them Thor’s goat chariot soared. As it approached them Meghan could hear the goats bleating. Her heart beat faster, just waiting for another glimpse of him. But when the chariot landed, it was empty.

  Meghan’s heart sank. “Oh no.”

  She felt the tension in the air. Thor and Sif looked at each other. Then Thor jumped into the chariot.

  “I’ll find him.” The old god lashed the goats into action.

  Doldar took command, his arm in a sling Maghan hastily constructed. “We’ll set up defenses and bind our wounds.”

  Freyr nodded. “Then we’ll determine our next move when Thor gets back with Jord.”

  As the men left, Sif crumble to the ground. She’d stood stoically during the meeting, but now she seemed dazed. There were tears in her eyes.

  This was the strongest woman Meghan had ever met. Meghan sat down beside her and put an arm around her.

  “Thor will find him.” Meghan tried to comfort her.

  “I don’t think so.” Sif sniffed back tears. “Jord is in trouble, big trouble. I can’t tell you how I know, but I know.”

  Sif wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “There is an emptiness, here.” She tapped her chest. “He’s helpless and facing death. He may already be dead.”

  Then Meghan felt it too. “He’s been captured.”

  Sif nodded. “I’ve seen his father, after trying to control the forces of nature like Jord did. He’d be incredibly weak. Probably not even conscious. They’ve found him, and taken him.”

  Meghan realized, of all the people in the camp, including Thor himself, she was the one best equipped to find Jord. If he was captured, he’d be in the heart of the enemy camp. She stood and pulled out the necklace Sif had given her.

  “Then I better go help look for him.” She activated the necklace.

  Sif’s eyes widened in surprise. “Meghan, no! The prophecy. Someone is going to die.”

  Meghan steeled her heart, locking out the fear she felt. “A lot of people have died, and still more are risking their lives right now to fight this evil. Can I do any less?”

  With that Meghan ran off, before the woman could talk her out of it. The enemy camp would be easy enough to find. As the night started to fall the blazing fires of the great camp lit the night sky on the horizon. It would be miles of trudging through rough countryside, but anything was better than sitting and waiting for bad news back in their camp. She’d do this for Jord. She’d do this for Sif and Thor. But mostly she’d do this because deep down she knew it was the right thing to do.

  Chapter 35

  Jord woke painfully. His head pounded. His body was incredibly weak. The elements had extracted their payment for allowing him to bend them to his will. He’d seen his father like this at times. It was the side of Thor no one but family ever saw, the weakness, the pain. How did his father recover and go back out there after something like this, time and time again?

  “Welcome back, Jord.” The voice in the darkness was deep but soothing. His pain seemed to lessen just a bit.

  Jord couldn’t speak. His throat was raw.

  “You are quite powerful, Jord. Possibly even more powerful than your father.”

  Was that possible? It did make Jord wonder. His father was well acknowledged as the best warrior in Asgaard. The one all the gods looked to for leadership and valor in battle, as well as raw power.

  “You’ve been held back, Jord. Locked away on Midgaard in your little university. Your father had to know how powerful you were becoming. Even your older brothers, with hundreds more years of experience, could never have wielded the elemental power of Mjolnir the way you did out there. I was quite impressed.”

  “Who? . . .” It was all Jord was able to choke out.

  “A friend.” The figure stayed in the shadows. “A friend who would see you elevated to the status you deserve. You are the true God of Thunder now. You should be leading armies, fighting for justice and setting the world right.”

  Jord shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He tried to rise off the cot he was on, but didn’t have the power.

  “I can give you the opportunity, and the army, Odin and the gods of Asgaard would deny you. You could do so much good for the world.”

  Jord once again tried to struggle to a seated position. He almost made it when complete exhaustion overtook him and he slumped back down into the comfort of the cot.

  “Rest now, friend. You are still exhausted from your battle. Know that you won, saving many in your army. Yes, I was most impressed. Sleep now, for a bit. We will talk again later.”

  The shadowy figure moved. Jord saw the flap of the tent open for just a moment, stars sparkling in the night sky through the slit. Then the figure was gone. He tried to stay awake, to move, to think. He had to concentrate. But everything was cloudy in his head. In the end he surrendered to the exhaustion, and darkness engulfed him once again.

  As she picked her way through the enemy camp, Meghan couldn’t count the number of times she’d had to stand completely still, holding her breath, certain she would be discovered. But she’d been lucky, so far.

  The camp of the frost giants was huge, in more ways than one. Everything was oversized, but it also covered a large expanse. She’d been there searching for hours. On the horizon she could see brightness behind the mountains as the morning sun made its first appearance.

  Meghan stifled a yawn. She refused to give up. Jord had to be here someplace. She needed to keep searching.

  A chill ran down her spine. Fear gripped her, and it was all she could do not to cry out or bolt away. Turning she saw the vision from her nightmare striding toward her. Fenrir, the great wolf, as fearsome as he’d looked in her dream, was coming toward her through the camp.

  His eyes were just as she remembered them, blazing with cruelty and hatred. Would they see her? Could they pierce the veil of invisibility she hid behind?

  “You don’t honestly expect him to join us?” The great wolf was talking to a shadowy figure walking beside him.

  “Of course not, Fenrir. I have no such delusions.” The voice was surprisingly soothing. Meghan found herself drawn to the shadowy figure. The voice sounded so friendly. But the rough, growl of Fenrir made her quail in fright once again.

  “Then why is the son of Thor still alive?”

  He was alive! Jord was alive! Meghan’s heart leapt in her chest. Hope began to burn in
her heart. A hope even the fearful voice of Fenrir could not crush.

  Soothing though it was, the voice of the shadowy figure raised the hairs on the back of Meghan’s neck. “There’s the problem with the belt I still hope he provides some information on. Rest assured, Fenrir, he will be dealt with.”

  Fenrir growled. “It is dangerous to keep him so close to the artifacts.”

  “You just get your troops to the walls of Asgaard. Let me worry about Jord Thorson and his little toys.”

  The two moved past Meghan and continued on without seeing her. Meghan fought her fears, burying the vision of the great wolf from her dream, and began to follow behind, so she could hear their conversation. They had to lead her to Jord, they just had to.

  “He is as weak as a kitten, right now. No threat to us whatsoever. Keeping the artifacts in his sight may help convince him I am his friend, at least until he gives up the secret of the damn belt. He will be moved away, long before he has the strength to stand and get to them. I have a plan for Jord Thorson.”

  The great wolf growled. “Do not let your enjoyment of his torture and death, threaten our mission. The artifacts cannot be in the god’s hands when we attack Asgaard. You know what has been said. I want to send them into hiding as soon as possible.”

  The shadowy figure reached out toward Fenrir. “Jord will wake again soon. If I can convince him to give me the secret, think of the power we will have when we attack Asgaard. The hammer and gloves are worthless without the power of Megingjörð to wield them. Once the belt is mine I will take Jord to his final resting place. Another hour is all I will need. If the artifacts are not mine by that time, you may send them into hiding.”

  The two parted ways. It was clear to Meghan the shadowy figure was heading to where Jord was and her heart lifted as Fenrir stomped off in another direction. She kept the figure in sight as it made its way through the camp, happy to no longer be in the presence of the great wolf.

  Chapter 36

  “Jord, you have to get out of here.”

  The voice and a gentle shaking woke him. The pain seemed less, and he felt a bit stronger. Jord forced his eyes open and met the intense gaze of his cousin.

  “Forseti.” Jord’s voice was still weak, raspy.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry, Jord, that I’ve brought us all to this.” Jord could see the pain in his eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’ve been such a fool.”

  Forseti helped Jord to sit up. “You’re weak because they’re keeping you weak.”

  On a low table across the tent, Jord saw Mjolnir, Járngreipr, and Megingjörð.

  “The belt.” He pointed. “Get me the belt.”

  Forseti shook his head. His eyes were red with anguish.

  “I think it’s broken, Jord. He’s been playing with it for hours and can’t seem to get it to latch and stay on.”

  Jord smiled. “The belt chooses its own. Get it for me.”

  But as Forseti went for the belt, a shadow rose up behind him. The shadow held a dark blade, and as Forseti reached for the belt, the blade plunged into the back of the God of Justice and Reconciliation.

  “So, Forseti, you perform one last service for me, even in your betrayal.” Then the shadow turned to Jord. “Megingjörð is sentient?”

  The shadow became solid.

  “Loki.” The visage of the great deceiver took shape before Jord, out of the veil of darkness.

  “So the hammer of Thor is useless to us, for without the belt none can wield it.” The evil god was talking to himself it appeared. “So be it. Fenrir will send it into hiding. If I can’t wield it, no one shall.”

  “And your father? Where is he, pup?” Loki hoisted Jord up by the collar of his coat. Jord dangled off the floor, still too weak to fight back.

  “Long have I dreamed of confronting Thor again. Defeating him and making him crawl in the dust at my feet before grinding him beneath my heel. But it appears he’s given up the fight and now slinks into hiding. Of course the mighty Thor fears me. Why else would he send you in his place?”

  “My father fears nothing,” Jord managed choke out.

  Loki only laughed.

  “There is no time to oversee your father’s demise now, though I would much enjoy that. His fright has bought him a few more hours to hide in terror from my wrath.” The god was ranting. “You, however, will not be so fortunate. I shall enjoy your death, young god. It will be slow and painful. You can count on it.”

  Loki tucked Jord under one arm, as if he weighed no more than a loaf of bread, and strode purposefully from the tent. Jord didn’t have the strength to struggle.

  Meghan stood in the tent, watching everything, too afraid to say or do anything. The god, whose voice sounded so pleasing, was the embodiment of everything evil, and Meghan cowered in his shadow, afraid to make a move or a sound. Only when Loki left the tent did she find she could move again. She stood, staring at the artifacts, the hammer, the gloves, and the belt. She also saw what looked to be a ram’s horn, resting against Jord’s backpack, on the table.

  A groan brought her attention around. Forseti lay at her feet, but the god was not dead.

  “Forseti.”

  “Meghan?” Blood flowed freely from the gaping wound.

  Inspiration struck. “There is a golden apple in the backpack. Hold on while I get it.”

  “No!” Forseti gasped, his life’s blood continuing to drain from the wound in his back. “Save it. I am no longer worthy of the golden apples of Idun. No longer worthy of immortality.”

  Meghan argued. “You were deceived, Forseti. The gods will forgive you.”

  Forseti smiled and seemed to relax. “But can I forgive myself? No, my betrayal goes too deep.”

  Meghan pled. “It’s not right. It’s not fair.”

  Forseti shook his head. “Who is the god of Justice here, you or me? It is just. It is fair. I go now to the realm of Hela to be with my parents.”

  Meghan saw Forseti begin to fade, becoming almost transparent.

  “Tell them I was sorry at the end.” His last words were a whisper, as he faded completely from the world of the living. Only the dark stain of his blood on the ground remained.

  Meghan stood stunned for a while. A god had died. A being thousands of years old just ceased to exist, expiring at her feet.

  A sudden chill stole over her. Jord would be next.

  She spied Jord’s things on the table. She couldn’t leave them here for the giants. She grabbed the belt first, but before she could do more than pick it up it wrapped itself around her.

  It’s about time! Grab everything and let’s go!

  She threw on the gloves and picked up Mjolnir. The hammer seemed so light, and perfectly balanced in her hands, despite its short handle.

  Tuck the hammer in me. You’ll want the use of both hands.

  The belt was being bossy again. Meghan slid the handle of the hammer through the belt at her side. Megingjörð expanded to make room then tightened to hold the weapon securely.

  Take the pack. And don’t forget the horn.

  Avoiding the front pocket, where the apple rested, Meghan unzipped the main pocket of the pack and jammed the horn inside. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she bolted out of the tent.

  Around her she saw the camp coming to life in the morning sun. Tents were coming down and being stowed away. The army would be on the move soon.

  Ahead of her she saw Loki, Jord still tucked under his arm. The evil god raised his other arm, and chanted. In front of him a shimmering portal opened, and the god stepped through.

  Meghan made a dash. Jord wasn’t going anywhere without her. The portal had just begun to collapse on itself, when she dove through it. Around her the mist swirled and her world spun. She felt a pull. Not falling, but more like sink
ing into quicksand—being pulled down, unable to swim back up. Nausea and dizziness assailed her. Her chest felt heavy, but she forced a breath.

  Then she was there. Sitting on the dusty cement floor. She hadn’t landed so much as appeared there. The first thing she noticed was the smell of stale beer. Around her towered stacks of cardboard boxes, each advertising its contents as some form of alcoholic beverage. The door to the room was just closing but before it did she heard the distinct twang of country music.

  As soon as her head stopped spinning Meghan moved to the door. She heard muffled talking from the next room, but couldn’t make out any of the words. There was nothing for it but to open the door. Ever so slowly she started to pull it open.

  “Nothin’ personal, buddy.” The voice was thick, with a southern accent. “But my friend, Mr. Lucas here, just paid us fifty bucks each to beat the shit out of you.”

  Meghan heard what sounded like a kick, then a grunt. She pulled the door open fully, hoping not to attract attention. She needn’t have bothered. All attention in the room was centered on Jord. The god, now tied securely with thick ropes, was being kicked and beaten by four large, rough looking men. Loki sat on a stool at the large bar, sipping a glass of wine.

  The barroom area wasn’t large. There was just room enough for a few small tables and the long wooden bar. The tables were pulled back and Jord lay in the center of the room, bruised and bloody, as the four big men continued to punch and kick him. The sight sickened Meghan. She pulled Prudr from her coat pocket and extended the club as she ran toward the four ruffians. She swung right and left, and with the power of Megingjörð behind each blow the men were thrown back into walls, furniture, or whatever was in their way.

  One smashed into a large screen television. The set smashed to pieces, and the man crumpled unconscious to the floor. Two others were flung back toward the bar, narrowly missing Loki. The evil god stood, casting his gaze around the bar area.