Day of the Giants

by Lester Del Rey

  Inside the caverns the rear was filled with equipment of the same kind, but the front sections had new developments. Big metal cauldrons and hoppers were joined by queerly twisting pipes and chutes. Beside one of these, the new foreman of the dwarfs was watching two others busily shoveling crude ore into the hopper. As far as Leif could tell, there were simply two pipes leading from it, with nothing further to do the work. Yet iron sulfide went in, ran through the pipes, and came out as sulfur on one side and iron on the other.

  Sudri clucked sharply and reached forward to taste the sulfur. He ground a lump between his teeth, swallowed—and scowled. He twisted the loop of pipe half a degree, dropped something into the hopper, and tasted again. This time, he burped happily. “Pure now.”

  Sudri had been picked by Leif as foreman for his obvious superiority to most in intelligence, and was still surprised by the honor. He looked like a maimed frog with severe glandular trouble. His nose was buried in the growths on his face, and the face was little more than a huge growth, carried on a squat body that hopped about with grotesque joints stuck together haphazardly. The elevation above his fellows seemed have made a new dwarf of him, however. He was almost clean.

  Well, they’d have gunpowder, at least. Leif had used the dimensional mirror to find and copy an up-to-date periodic table from an abandoned college room, after his first surprise at learning that the dwarfs had a very clear idea of elements and atomic arrangements. They seemed to be natural-born chemists. They made many of their tests by tasting, but this system worked. Now he could obtain any element or simple compound he wanted from them by telling Sudri what it was.

  Then he turned back toward his private room, lined with lead on the assumption that what would stop X rays might stop Heimdallr’s vision. He picked up the dimensional mirror, glumly. Using it was simple enough—he only had to stare at it, thinking of any place on Earth, and the proper place would appear. Unhappily, the mirror had its limits. He could locate a library, even see the backs of the books, but until someone opened the book at the right place, he couldn’t read it.

  Sudri came in, expectantly. “What next, boss Leif?”

  “About half a ton of U-235,” Leif told him sarcastically. “Either that or some detonators.”

  “What are detonators?”

  Leif explained as best he could, though mechanics were harder than chemistry to describe to them. They’d been mixing small batches of the gunpowder, and they had casings for grenades, since those were crude enough for the dwarfs to produce. Conceivably, grenades might even be simple enough for the einherjar to use. But getting some way to set off the grenades that would be foolproof and simple was another matter. He’d figured out ways, but none that the dwarfs could follow in their production.

  Sudri scowled thoughtfully, and Leif shrugged. “Okay, I didn’t really expect you to get them. Go ahead with whatever you’re doing. I’ve got research to do.”

  Sudri’s face cleared and he was gone. Leif picked up the mirror and began ransacking his mind for some place where a book on early weapons might be in use. West Point had been shut down because of the weather and the need of all available troops. He’d tried the stacks of the Library of Congress, but no one was using that section. Damn the limitations of the mirror! He had a book in his own library, if he could only see into the pages.

  For a while, he scanned Earth at random. Things were worse since he’d last seen it. The pages of a few papers showed that military law had been imposed, and squads were trying to collect and dole out all food equally. But in the cities, thousands were already dying of hunger, or being killed for what they hoarded. There was probably enough for all for at least a year, but it was unevenly distributed, and only time would help that, if anything would. The subzero weather and winds made it harder. Part of the newly impressed army had mutinied, to make matters worse. And squads of desperate, murderous men were spreading out from the cities into the country, looting and pillaging. There were even bands of wolves from the North that had been driven down by the weather.

  Leif Svensen’s own section had been lucky. They were too far from any large city, and the local administrator of military law was too busy with plans for a power coup to bother impressing food from the farmers. But even there, the less provident and the weaker were dying and being killed.

  Reluctantly, Leif turned to his own farm, dreading the desolation he might see. There was a gale blowing, driving the snow across ten-foot high drifts with a force to discourage all travel. He could see nothing until he focused inside the house.

  Surprise ran through him then. Everything was neatly in order, and the cellars and pantries were hardly touched. Even the livestock seemed to be doing well enough. A submachine gun and a heavy rifle were mounted beside the windows in the cupola of the house, indicating some past danger, but everything seemed quiet now. A man was asleep in the main bedroom, but he lay face down, and Leif could not see who it was. He started to swear at the figure, then reconsidered. Better a squatter who would care for things than the ruin he had expected.

  Then he swore hotly as he turned to the little library. Seated in Leif’s favorite chair was Loki, with a book propped on his lap. The god looked utterly content with whatever he was reading, drawing occasionally on a cigarette. A woman’s arm reached over from behind him to empty the ashtray.

  Leif jerked the mirror, and the scene disappeared. He started to focus on it again, and then deliberately scanned a thousand miles away. Maybe Loki had stuck him up here and was making a nice place to retreat for himself, away from the perils of Ragnarok. But there wasn’t anything Leif could do about it now, and it didn’t solve his problems.

  Nothing else solved them either. Study and science—other than a frantic attention to meteorology—were almost abandoned. Three weeks had passed in Asgard, but the papers confirmed that more had gone by on Earth. From what Leif had seen, and the hits he had gotten from Loki, there was no one-to-one time relationship. Sometimes things moved faster here, sometimes faster on Earth. It swung in odd jumps; but now Earth-time was moving faster, so that a day here might be twenty-four hours there or even a month.

  He found a museum with old weapons and pictures in the cases, now completely abandoned—and apparently looted for guns—but nothing that he could use. And beyond that, there was no hint to be found.

  Sundi thumped on the door and stuck his head in timidly. “Almost time to eat, boss Leif. Supper due. You want me to bring milk?”

  “Huh?” Leif looked at his watch, surprised to find that he had been stewing over the mirror for almost seven hours. He got up, stretching his aching muscles, and nodded. “Thanks, Sudri. Yeah, I’d better eat.”

  His eyes ached from his work and his back had kinks in it, but hunger was growing stronger than his other sensations. Food wasn’t the best here by any means, but he looked forward to the milk.

  He had found that the legendary Heidrun—the goat that gave mead—was just a plain herd of goats, giving honest milk before the gods let it ferment and mixed it with honey for the sickeningly cloying drink they used. It was like a lot of the legends—a simple thing turned into something magical in the stories. The boar that was supposed to be killed and eaten every night, to be restored by Odin’s magic, had proved to be a large number of half-wild pigs running in the woods beyond Yggdrasil and killed in periodic hunts by the gods.

  Boiled and roasted pork three times a day, with mead to wash it down! No wonder Odin had ulcers. Leif hadn’t found any vegetables yet—thought there must be some around—but he had been able to obtain a few goats for the dwarfs to milk. The stream in the back of the dwarf cave made a good place to cool and store it.

  There was a halloo from outside, and Lee came clanking in. He put a platter and bucket on the bench and tossed the big shield onto the floor. “Met Reginlief coming here with the chow. She’s still kicking at having to cook for you but not living with you. Oof, I’m tired. Tossing an axe around all day is hard labor.”

  “You might t
ry sleeping nights, then,” Leif suggested. It was a cinch that Lee wouldn’t have been here this long without female companionship, and most of the goddesses and Valkyries were worth more by the pound than by the looks. But if Lee were seeing Fulla, he wasn’t talking about it.

  He grinned contentedly, then sobered. “I’m seeing nightmares when I sleep. Son, if we’re going to have a chance at winning this war, it looks as if it’s up to you. Those dopey einherjar couldn’t cook sugar without someone melting it for them first. How’s it going?”

  Leif told him, in detail, throwing over something that looked roughly like a gun. “The barrel inside that looks as if a dyspeptic caterpillar had crawled through butter. It took a dozen dwarfs four days, even so. I’m still trying to get a lathe built, but just try cutting threads on anything with no guide and no decent tools to start with.”

  “So the grenades look like the best bet, eh?” Lee threw the useless gun aside. “Even if you get them made, though, I’m not too sure how well they’ll work against the giants, form what Thor and Tyr tell me. Thor’s son Ullr—no, wait a minute, he’s Thor’s stepson—anyhow, he’s a pretty nice guy and a damned fine bowman—he wants to meet you, by the way…”

  Leif grinned in spite of himself. “Here, stop eyeing the milk and help yourself. Maybe you’ll remember what you were saying then?”

  “Thanks.” Lee swallowed gratefully, draining the mug and refilling it. “Ullr says Odin’s getting impatient. He didn’t like your not coming to mess with the other heroes, and now you’ve been holing up here three weeks with no results.”

  They were interrupted by Sudri, who was followed by a ben, grizzled old dwarf, whose grey skin indicated that he was one of the stone dwarfs. “Andvari,” Sudri announced importantly. “Andvari, make some detonators for the boss Leif.”

  Andvari tucked a chunk of flint into his mouth, followed it with a reddish dust, chewed busily, and swallowed. A moment later, he coughed it up and spat two or three hundred tiny crystals into his open hand. Sudri picked up one from the bunch, put it into a powder-filled grenade casing, and squeezed the hole in the iron closed with his fist.

  Lee gulped, but Leif was used to such things. Someday he’d have to find what these original inhabitants of Asgard were made of; it obviously wasn’t protoplasm. But now he gestured for the grenade. “How’s it work?”

  “You throw it. After it gets thrown, it explodes when it hits something. But not when you don’t want. Works a little by thinking—the way white elf tricks once did.”

  Lee took a grenade and moved to the entrance. He heaved the object strongly, and it banked against a rock, with no results. Sudri recovered it at once.

  “I didn’t want it to go off that time,” Lee explained. “But this time, if Sudri’s right, it should go boom.” He threw it again, ducking as the explosion split the air and threw pieces of rock over the landscape. Obviously, it worked! “Leif, I think you’ve got the weapon. Better make up a batch and send them over to Thor’s place for me to demonstrate. It should keep the gods happy for a while. I’ll go spread the word.”

  He picked up his shield and headed toward the palace Thor called Bilskirnir, while Andvari and Sudri started back into the cave for supplies. Then Sudri stopped to point to a heavy leather bag. “Chemicals and stuff you wanted are ready, boss Leif.”

  Chapter VIII

  Leif stared at the bag doubtfully. Then he shrugged and went inside to don his armor again. When he came out, the dwarfs were busy making grenades under the direction of Sudri, while Andvari sat spitting out detonators. Leif tucked the automatic Lee had returned to him into his pocket and went to the doorway. The tiny sun was sinking, from the diffused glow of the clouds to the west, and the air was cool and pleasant after the closeness of the caves. The dew had fallen some time before.

  Off to the side, barely within vision, he could make out the lesser Valkyries and the more energetic einherjar pairing off. Beyond that lay Thor’s Bilskirnir, the most pretentious building next to that of Odin’s. Leif grunted as he saw someone walking toward it, a figure that might be Fulla.

  There was a sudden barking from the direction of the forest, and he saw Rex galloping toward him, just as the dog seemed to catch sight of him. The next second, he was being pounced on, while a wet tongue ran over his face. Leif staggered backward, grabbing for the dog. Then he stopped.

  “All right, Loki, come off it.”

  The dog disappeared, leaving Loki in its place, looking surprised and carrying a bundle in one arm. The god shook his head. “Either you’re getting used to illusions, Leif, or I’m losing such skill at sleight as I have.”

  Rex would have made a whining sound in his throat, but Left kept the information to himself, letting Loki puzzle over his detection. “What’s happened to Rex, anyhow?”

  “He’s been in a fight with Odin’s pet wolves, and Thor’s hard at work patching him up.” Loki chuckled. “Thor’s more interested in the dog than in the grenades Lee says you have made.”

  Leif started to tell how the grenades were made, only to stop as Loki drew out a pack of cigarettes and began tearing off the paper. He put a white cylinder to his lips and shoved the pack back in his pouch to draw out matches. Leif caught his hand.

  “Not in here, or you’ll blow the place up. Pick up any habits you like, Loki, but don’t fool with gunpowder.”

  He’d spoke more sharply than he meant, partly because his mouth had begun watering at the sight of the smokes. Loki made no comment until they were away from the cave. Then the god grinned faintly.

  “It seems gunpowder would explode no sooner than you do, Leif,” he said. “Here, take this bundle. I brought you and Lee each six cartons. Since you’re in no mood to be—to be needled, as you say, take them now.”

  Leif could feel his face redden, even as the welcome taste of the smoke cooled some of his resentment. He’d probably still been nursing some of his doubts about what he’d seen of his home through the mirror. On a sudden decision, he reported it to Loki.

  The god nodded. “Look longer next time. I told you I’d try to protect your property, and I usually keep my word—in spite of what has been said about me. I’ve convinced your neighbors that the wolf was a real one, not Rex, and that Lee was the one mixed up in the fighting rather than you. For a few pigs you could spare, they’re ready to forget a lot there now. And Faulkner, who was starving at his own place, has taken over the care of yours.”

  “He seems to be doing a good job,” Leif admitted. But he found himself surprisingly less interested in the farm now than in the difficulties here. It would do little good to worry about one farm when the whole world was somehow to be destroyed if the gods lost Ragnarok. Even a world ruled by the Aesir might be better than no world. “Loki, why can’t you bring some of the tools I need, the same as the cigarettes? If a Valkyr could carry me, why not a hundred points of equipment?”

  “Metal. It resists the twists of Bifrost. Your automatic and watch were harder to bring than you—and should have been removed, if Reginleif had thought. Hoof-Tosser can carry two men, but it took two other Valkyries and their horses to get you and your metal here. Even half a pound is a heavy load.”

  “They carry armor,” Leif pointed out.

  “That’s elf stuff, not true metal. When Odin lead the Aesir through Bifrost long ago, it was easier. Then Asgard seemed downhill from your Earth, but now it is reversed. There were nine worlds connected through Bifrost then. Now only Jotunheim, Muspellheim and Niflheim are easy to reach. Your world is closing to us, except for eddies such as now make travel possible. Vanaheim and Alfheim—the home of the white elves—are completely closed.”

  Leif let it go. He was learning that Loki’s login was above traditions, and if he said it couldn’t be done, there was no use trying the idea on others here. He puzzled again over the contrast between what mythology he remembered and the facts. There seemed to be logical solutions just out of reach behind all the magic. It was like the shoes of the Valkyries’ horses
. The elves had made them, and somehow they could harden the air into a firm roadway back from Asgard, but nobody knew how; even the few surviving elves in Asgard no longer understood it.

  There was another error in the mythology that bothered him. “How come Fulla takes care of the tree? I thought it was…”

  “Idunn’s task,” Loki finished. “It was, when she remembered. There was a time with a giant named Thjazi when the apples were lost to her—thought she blamed that on me. This last time it was a fanatic priest of some new religion you still have. The Valkyries picked him up as a hero. Dying, he refused the elf flesh and had to be brought raging through Bifrost in his own flesh. Then he quieted down and turned poet as well as hero. Bragi—he’s the verse-cryer—took him in, and Idunn was all too willing to be kind to her husband’s guest. The priest left her sleeping, took the best of apples, and was halfway into Niflheim’s depths before we suspected.”

  Leif stared at Loki, unbelievably. It was an impossible ting. He hadn’t even been able to look at the place.

  “I said he was a fanatic,” Loki said. “Tyr tried to follow, and he’s no weakling, but it was too much for him. So—well, we slept through a thousand years for want of the apples until the tree bloomed again and wakened us with its scent. But before we slept, Odin widened the gateway and Thor tossed Idunn into Niflheim after her priest. Now Fulla has the job.”

  And not much luck with it, Leif thought. He wondered whether the all-important apples were necessary, like vitamins, or only a habit-forming drug. But at least normal life seemed impossible here without them. “Why didn’t you grow more than one tree?”

  Loki grimaced. “We tried, but the seed never grew a tree with the proper fruit. From your books, I find that is only natural, but we knew nothing of grafting. And it’s too late for that here and now. Some say the giants are already approaching. There’s been an eagle flying around—a huge one. Some of my changes of form are illusion, but the giant folk actually can change their shape with some effort. So this may be a spy, thought it was too far away for even Heimdallr to see its true nature.”