I threw my hands up and exclaimed, “You can’t kidnap an entire city!”
“Why not?” Yngvarr asked.
I didn’t actually know why not, but it seemed like that should be in a rulebook somewhere. “Fine,” I relented. “Maybe they can, but where are all these people? Is there some Sumerian Asgard where they can stash several hundred thousand humans?”
“They’d never bring that many humans into their own realm,” Tyr said. “Too high a chance that a rebellion could cause serious damage.”
I crossed my arms and waited for someone to explain where all of these people had gone. Because if we could find them, we’d probably find my father.
“Gunnr, perhaps it’s time for the other Valkyries to stop searching for Asgard’s heroes and to start searching for a massive prison,” Tyr suggested.
Keira glanced in my direction and shuffled her feet. “My orders—”
“I know,” Tyr interrupted. “Yngvarr and I will keep him safe.”
She cast one last glance in my direction and offered Tyr a brief nod then left for Asgard to retrieve the other Valkyries.
“Bet she gets to ride her flying horse as she looks for that prison,” I mumbled.
“Gavyn, do you really think you could survive riding a flying horse?” Yngvarr asked me.
Not at all, actually, but it sounded exactly like the kind of drunken dare Hunter and I would make.
“Let’s get off the street,” Tyr said. “I sense demigods all around us, and they’re closing in on us. With no one in New Orleans, we should have our pick of hotels.”
“The Roosevelt,” I immediately offered. “Only because I could never afford to stay there.”
Tyr just shrugged, and I found myself standing in the opulent foyer of a luxury hotel. The chandeliers were still brightly lit, and a few papers lay scattered on the counter as if guests who’d been checking out had been unable to collect their things. A luggage cart near the elevators was still laden with suitcases. The hotel—like the city itself—had been frozen in time.
“I’ll call Badb and let her know we’re here,” Tyr said. “I’m sure they’ve all figured out by now that the city is empty.”
It took me a few seconds to remember who he was talking about, so I reminded him, “Her name is Agnes. Even if she’s a gorgeous witch now.”
He glanced at Yngvarr and said, “Think we’ll ever get our real names back?”
“Why don’t I have a cool, updated name?” Yngvarr asked me.
“Okay,” I said, “from now on, you’re Justin.”
“Why Justin?”
I nodded toward the receipt on the counter. “You’ve hereby been renamed after some guy that was just trying to check out of a hotel when a bunch of asshole gods kidnapped him and hauled him off to some secret evil lair where he’s being forced to read The Epic of Gilgamesh in cuneiform.”
Yngvarr blinked at me then said, “I’ll stick to Yngvarr.”
Tyr blinked at me and said, “How do you know what cuneiform is?”
So, naturally, I flipped him off.
Truthfully, I’d kinda surprised myself with that knowledge. I must’ve actually stayed awake through one of my English classes in college.
Tyr made his phone call then we began rummaging through some of the rooms on the first floor, all of which he had to open by breaking the locks. Agnes and her equally hot sisters, as well as the other Norse heroes, had shown up but apparently didn’t share our enthusiasm for digging around an abandoned hotel. I harbored a naïve hope, though, that we’d find some clue as to where everyone had been taken since my father was most likely with them.
And not all of the Sumerian heroes had been whisked off to their evil lair considering several had tried to kill me already. I tried to convince Agnes she should transform into the old witch again so she could just scare the information out of one of those Sumerian demigods, but she stubbornly refused then went back to reading a brochure about the Historic Voodoo Museum. I was about to tell her voodoo wasn’t even real then remembered I was talking to a witch, so what did I know?
With nothing else to do until Keira returned, hopefully with news about the Sumerians’ captives, I found an empty room away from the noise in the lobby and turned on the television. Not surprisingly, every channel was talking about the Sumerians’ latest stunt here, but no one seemed to realize yet the city had disappeared. The National Guard was keeping reporters out, and their helicopters weren’t allowed to fly over. They’d cut New Orleans off from the rest of the state, and really, the rest of the world.
I couldn’t blame them. What could the military do against gods anyway? I’d never even thought to ask Tyr if gods could be blown up. I was vaguely aware that my eyes were beginning to feel heavy, and the droning of the newscaster seemed farther and farther away. A cool, gentle breeze brushed my cheek, and warm sunshine engulfed me. Suddenly, I was surrounded by the smell of apple orchards and freshly cut grass, and in the distance, the golden spires of Valhalla welcomed me back to Asgard.
The Fate of Arnbjorg’s Family
(And Havard is even more cryptic with his foreshadowing.)
Arnbjorg,” I said with a laugh, “haven’t you collected enough apples?”
She smiled at me and pulled one more from the tree. “You’re impatient, Havard.”
I smiled, too, and leaned back in the grass. We often came to this orchard because she loved it here, and she’d discovered a passion after all. Almost everyday, she’d gather apples and we’d eventually make our way back to the palace where she’d bake them and bring them to my sisters’ children as tarts and cakes and jams… not because my nieces and nephews couldn’t get treats elsewhere but simply because she loved children.
I occasionally thought about telling her that if she’d marry me, we could have all the children she wanted, but I never did. She knew I loved her.
Arnbjorg sat beside me, and I found myself blurting out, “Are you happy?”
She looked at me with surprise and maybe even a little humor. “You’ve been so good to me these past few months, Havard. I’ve no reason to complain.”
“But you’re not happy,” I sighed.
“Oh, Havard, I could be. It’s just that my family doesn’t know what’s become of me, that I’m still alive even. And I worry about them.”
“Arnbjorg,” I said softly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so lonesome? Time has such a different meaning to gods. I’m over four hundred years old and still considered so young. I didn’t know three months would be such a long time for you… or for them.”
“I thought it might upset you,” she said shyly.
“Have I ever gotten upset with you?”
She shook her head. “Will I really not grow old, Havard?”
“No,” I assured her. “Idun’s apples have the magic of youth.”
She seemed pleased by this, and the sadness of speaking about her family had almost lifted. But I knew now it would always be there unless we satisfied that longing. I took her hand and helped her rise, telling her, “We can leave now. Once you see they’re well and they know you are, too, your heart won’t be so burdened.”
Arnbjorg gasped and threw her arms around my neck. My cheeks warmed and I hugged her back, immensely pleased with myself as I always was when I’d made her happy. We returned to our palace so she could put her apples away while I saddled Sigurd, my now-favorite stallion, whom I’d named after the legendary hero. Arnbjorg fastened her cloak around her neck and handed me the satchel she’d packed with goat cheese and fruit and warm rolls, which I placed in the safety of the saddlebag. I assumed the food was intended as a gift for her family.
As we approached the gate, Heimdall lifted a hand and waved to Arnbjorg, who’d become well liked throughout Asgard. We rode across the Rainbow Bridge, so named for its vast array of colors, not because it was an actual rainbow, and entered Midgard.
All around us, tendrils of smoke reached into the sky like arthritic fingers, hobbled by old ag
e, and I tugged on Sigurd’s reins and slid off the saddle.
“What is it?” Arnbjorg asked.
“War,” I said uneasily.
“Oh,” she groaned. “Havard, are you sure?”
I nodded. This was my connection to Midgard, after all. As a god of war, I knew the way it changed a landscape, how even the air would fill with the tension of battle. I drew my sword, and it immediately emitted a faint glow, a sign that I’d been right—we’d arrived in the midst of a war. I pulled Sigurd forward, slowly, as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end; there were soldiers nearby.
“We’ll get your family and take them to Asgard until the danger passes,” I told her quietly.
She took a deep breath as she scanned the forests around us. We’d have to travel through them to get to her family’s home, but I assured her I’d protect her and no harm would ever come to her as long as I lived. We didn’t meet any raiders in the woods though, and after several hours of riding, her family’s small cottage appeared before us. A small cry escaped from her as I tugged on Sigurd’s reins to slow him. The fields had turned black from fire, and water dripped from the thatched roof into ashy puddles. The scorched, sodden earth that surrounded the south and west fields indicated the home had only been spared because of a sudden downpour.
Arnbjorg dropped to the ground and took a step toward the front door, but I grabbed her arm and stopped her. I could sense someone inside, someone who knew we’d arrived and was awaiting our entry. His presence there couldn’t be good news for her family. But Arnbjorg would never agree to leave unless she knew we couldn’t save them.
Her fingers dug into my arm, and those beautiful blue eyes bore into me. “They’re dead, aren’t they?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, although it seemed only a true miracle could save them. I crept to the front door, Arnbjorg trailing behind me, and paused for a moment to feel for the man hiding inside. For a brief second, the world continued to hum along and was filled with the sounds of existence but then it stilled, quieting into nothing but the heartbeat of the intruder who’d most likely murdered Arnbjorg’s family.
There. On the right side of the doorway, waiting for me to open the door so he could hide behind it then leap out and attack me.
I gripped the hilt of my sword, and the light the blade emitted grew brighter with the anticipation of battle. This human couldn’t have known I was a god and that he’d lost before the fight even began. I willed the door to open in an explosion of splinters and mud, and as soon as I entered the cottage, I sliced with my blade so that the man’s head fell from his neck before he could even realize I was there.
Arnbjorg called my name, panicked, and I stepped back outside and gestured for her to enter. She turned in desperate circles, looking for the bodies of her loved ones, but we only saw the aftermath of a struggle.
“Where are they?” she whimpered.
A table leg was broken, but the man who’d been living in her family’s home had propped moldy hay beneath it to keep it upright. The remnants of his supper, a roasted rabbit he’d likely caught as it fled from the fires, still sat on the table, and in front of the fire, a shirt had been hung to dry.
Arnbjorg ripped it off the string and threw it on the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of her boot for good measure. I gave her a few moments to calm down before suggesting we check outside for any signs of them. I didn’t have the heart to say what I really thought aloud—we were looking for graves.
But as the sun began to dip below the horizon, we’d uncovered nothing: no graves or bodies or signs of a continuing struggle. Surely, she’d reached the same conclusion I had of a fate worse than death. Her family had been taken as prisoners, separated, and sold into slavery. The sea traders could have brought them anywhere; we had no way of ever finding them.
“Arnbjorg,” I said carefully, “it’s growing too dark to see. Let’s return home, and I’ll ask Ægir if he knows of any vessels that have left the nearby shores with…” I trailed off, still unwilling to voice what was surely her greatest fear now.
But Arnbjorg lifted her chin and took a deep breath. “Thralls?” she finished for me. “It’s all right, Havard. You can say it. Raiders are nothing new to us.”
“Perhaps we can find them,” I offered.
“Perhaps,” she said, but she sounded as skeptical as I felt.
Taking her hand, I pulled her closer and placed a single kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
She leaned her head against my chest and sighed. “You’re right, Havard. Let’s go home.”
That night, with the castle deep in slumber, Yngvarr and I crept outside where I could speak freely, no longer worried that Arnbjorg would overhear. “Ægir told me raiders are trading with the Persians now. If they were taken, brother, I’ll never get them back.”
“I know,” he said. “And perhaps it’s unwise for us to interfere so much in the lives of mortals anyway.”
“Why?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. We gods interfered in the lives of humans all the time.
“Seems we only ever make things worse. And maybe the more we try to control Midgard, the closer we’re bringing all of our worlds to destruction.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “This again, Yngvarr? Ragnarok is only a prophecy, a possibility. It may never happen.”
The lamplight cast deep shadows across his face as he smiled and arched an eyebrow at me. “But think of the cost if it’s right.”
“And imagine always living in fear if it’s not.”
He nodded toward our castle and asked, “Doesn’t Arnbjorg believe it’ll come to pass?”
“Yes, and I played along, that I’ve accepted it as truth as everyone else has. But you know why it’s not in my future.”
Yngvarr’s features hardened, and he turned away from me. “That damn sword isn’t any more accurate than our seers.”
I shrugged, indifferent really, because surviving long enough to see Ragnarok wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “All I want is to live a long, happy life with Arnbjorg. If I get that, I don’t care how or when I die.”
“Well, I do,” Yngvarr snapped. “And just because you’ve dreamed of your sword in someone else’s hand doesn’t mean—”
“All right, brother,” I interrupted, placing my hand on his shoulder. I wouldn’t remind him again that every dream I’d ever had that involved my enchanted sword had come true; he already knew anyway. And if the tables had been turned, I wouldn’t want to be reminded that I would lose my brother and best friend. “You’re right, of course. It’s only a dream and may not come to pass either.”
Yngvarr’s anger receded, and we looked to Asgard’s stars as if we’d find the answers there, both for my own future and that of Arnbjorg’s family. But whatever secrets hid among them remained there, and I finally surrendered, acknowledging that no one, not even Odin himself, could help us now.
Chapter Twenty
Warm hands nudged my shoulder and a gentle voice called my name. I opened my eyes, still heavy with sleep, and peered into the beautiful face of a love and war goddess. I swallowed my disappointment that she was the one waking me as I realized I’d been hoping those hands belonged to a Valkyrie who often acted like she couldn’t even stand me.
“Gavyn,” Freyja said again, “Gunnr has returned and she’s gathering us all in the lobby.”
I wanted to ask why she hadn’t come for me herself, but I just sat up and turned off the television. If Keira had news, she may have found the prisoners, which meant she may have found my father. As I entered the lobby, the murmured conversations stopped. I was the last person Keira had been waiting on, and she could tell us what she’d discovered now. Dozens of expectant gazes settled on her.
“They’re okay,” she reported. “Heavily guarded though. The Sumerians have been planning their return for years, so they’ve had a long time to recruit far more help than we can take on right now.”
“Where are they?” Agnes as
ked.
“Almost everyone is still here,” Keira answered. “They’ve got them in several different locations, including the Convention Center. But the Sumerians have done something to them to keep them quiet. They seem to be okay, but nobody’s speaking, none of the kids are crying. It’s like a city of zombies.”
“Dude, gods are bad enough, but I did not agree to fight zombies,” I protested.
Thor nodded in agreement. “Also not on board with zombies.”
Keira ignored me, at least I thought she was ignoring me, and said, “From what we could tell, it seems like everyone’s still in the city, but even the first responders that were initially called in have been corralled into one of those centers and… zombified.”
“So my father,” I said. “You think he’s still here?”
“Probably,” Keira said. “But I don’t—”
“Then I’m going out there,” I interrupted. “I’ve got to look for him.”
“Gavyn,” Keira tried again, but I shook my head and headed toward the front doors. She reached for my arm, but I pulled away from her. Behind me, Tyr called out, “Are you seriously going without your weapons?”
Damn it.
I stopped long enough to sigh heavily like I was only going back for them since he was making such a big deal out of it and hoped my expression didn’t give away that I’d become the village idiot again. Yngvarr saved me from having to trek all the way back to the room I’d been sleeping in though. He ran down the hallway and came back with the sword and pistol in his hands.
“You know I’m going with you,” he told me.
“As am I,” Keira said.
Tyr ran his good hand over his face and added, “Ah, hell. I guess I gotta die sometime, right?”
“The prophecy,” I whispered.
“Are we doing this again?” Yngvarr whispered back.
I shook my head and forced a smile. “It’s nothing,” I said louder, not wanting one of those dreams to delay us from searching for my dad.
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