by Renée Jaggér
But it wasn’t enough. Bailey wheeled around the broken-tipped spear and cut it in half, then severed the giant’s arm with another upward swipe. His fist came toward her, but she threw a concentrated blast of water into his chest, knocking him back and filling his cracks with water. When she froze it, the expanding ice put enough strain on the fault lines in the stone creature’s structure for him to fall apart in chunks.
The king stood up and glared at her. The giants’ faces barely had features, yet somehow it was possible to perceive expressions on them and emotions in their glinting quartz-like eyes. She suspected the monarch was regarding her with a mixture of loathing and respect.
Suddenly he was on top of her, having summoned a dormant ability to move his staggering bulk at speeds she would not have expected. His enormous fists bore down on her shoulders. Her sword fell to the ground, and her eyes bulged in shock.
She strained against him. She had the magical strength of a goddess on top of the greater-than-human might of a lycanthrope, but the sheer weight and gravitational force of the giant king was a match for her. Their limbs trembled with the effort.
Then Bailey fell between his arms so that he stumbled forward while she sprinted past him and grabbed her sword. She could see Roland watching her from near the front lines of the main battle.
The king stood back up straight. “No time for this,” he rumbled. His hand twitched, and the ground split open beneath Bailey’s feet.
Before she could rocket upward from the trap, heaps of earth piled in atop her from the sides. In a second or two she would be buried alive, crushed beneath the matter of the hill.
She forced dirt and rubble first from her face and head, then from the rest of her body with a hasty shield. Then she extended and widened the impromptu crevasse. The giant king fell into it beside her.
He raised his arms to try a counterspell, but Bailey detonated a sonic explosion around herself, pushing away all the debris and flying upward to freedom. With a stroke of her sword, a bolt of lightning as thick as a tree descended from the clear sky and struck the stone monarch’s head square on, shattering it into coals and lava.
The girl floated back down to the ruined hill, imagining once again the tendrils extending from her head and heart to probe into her vanquished adversary and drink his supernatural abilities and latent strength.
“Damn,” she gasped. Her feet touched the ground, and she reeled and blinked from the hasty infusion of power.
Then she went to the edge of the hill and looked around. To her consternation, the remainder of the rock giants were still fighting her regiment.
And other giants were massing on the horizon.
A tremor of frustration went through her. “What’s this shit? Was this guy really their leader?”
As her brain and soul tried to digest the dead king’s magical essence, some of his knowledge passed to her, and the answer came to her clearly: No.
There were multiple kings of different stone giant tribes. She had defeated only one of them; the others still had their own contributions to the horde for her to deal with. She extended her vision across the savanna and glimpsed them—four other sub-monarchs were within a mile or so of her position.
But with the new knowledge also came new powers.
Bailey flew back to her allies, her sword raining arcane death upon the crumbling lines of the giants. She landed in front of Roland and Sigfred, her boots treading over a mass of shattered stone.
“There are more kings than one,” she reported. “These pricks are a federation rather than a dictatorship, I guess. We need to charge and deal with the rest. The good news is that I think I know how to handle them.”
The Asgardian officer just gave a grim nod, but Roland looked at her with a quizzical twist of the mouth. “How might that be?”
She smiled and turned away. “Forward, march. Then watch.”
The regiment advanced toward the massed armies of the other tribal leaders. Not only did the already-advancing droves of the creatures come into sight, but still others rose from the earth, assembling themselves from the myriad piles of boulders scattered around the landscape.
Bailey had no fear. Her new abilities were coalescing, and she thought she had a handle on them. Hopefully.
The air split in multiple places as though earthquakes had happened in the atmosphere, and the ground beneath the feet of the front waves of giants roiled like clouds in a storm. Trees nearby grew taller and sideways, blocking the giants or crushing them with their powerful limbs. Other trees uprooted and fell between the legs of the golems, making them trip and fall. The sky went dark, then brighter again. A few of the giants exploded into clouds of dust.
“Holy shit,” Will exclaimed. “Bailey, be careful! You don’t want to destroy this whole world.”
The girl heard him only faintly, but she knew he was right. The recent infusion from the defeated sub-king on top of all the other magic she possessed was pushing her to the brink of her self-control.
I can defeat all these fuckers, she realized, and I must be a match for Fenris by now. Unless he has hidden reserves far beyond what I expected, I must have reached his level.
She calmed the demi-apocalypse that had begun to rip apart the giants, noticing that the monsters had no fear despite the massive losses they’d suffered, and lifted her sword.
“All right,” she announced, “let’s do this again. Charge!”
The tall man stood before the sea, allowing its salt spray and cool, moist breeze to push the hood back from his head and rustle his shaggy hair. His apprentice might have appreciated the sight, but he was not present. The scion had other business to attend to.
The nexus was growing closer. The more they achieved, the quicker they had to accomplish what remained.
Fenris looked down at his feet and the waters beyond. A man could have waded into the ocean for one, perhaps two steps, then the ground would have dropped out beneath him, giving way to fathomless depths that did not seem possible by Earthly standards. There was no gradual slope. Beyond the lip of the sea, it transformed into a downright abyss.
Thus the water appeared a deep cobalt blue, and the sky overhead was covered in equally dark blue-gray clouds. The two shades blended with distance, so the horizon was an indistinct strip of blue-black.
Beyond him was a rolling expanse of barren and dreary heath and bog-tundra. Overhead, a pale white speck of sun was visible behind the cloud cover. It was a domain of nothingness that lay at the farthest edge of the Other.
But it was inhabited.
The wolf-father raised his arms then and began the chant that would call forth Jörmungandr, the World Serpent—the great worm, the devourer, the beast of beasts whose acts would usher in the beginning of the end. Fenris’ words echoed across the limitless expanse of cold waves.
And then he fell quiet. There was no reaction thus far, but he knew the serpent had heard his call.
There was someone else he needed to summon, too.
“Thor!” he bellowed, the vibrations of his voice going past the borders of the dimension to reverberate through the halls of Asgard. “Come quickly, for my need is urgent. Death and destruction are upon us, but we may be able to halt them. Come to my aid!”
While he waited for the god of war and thunder to manifest, Fenris turned again to the waters and saw the sea churning and bubbling from a great disturbance below its surface. A vast shadowy silhouette was visible amidst the waves.
He addressed the unseen presence. “Jörmungandr. The time has come at last for you to fulfill your destiny and slay Thor Odinson, your prophesied enemy since the dawn of time. When he is gone, you will be free to swim across the entire universe. Complete the task, for Ragnarök is nigh!”
A deep, almost subsonic rushing sound filled the air. The World Serpent had heard and understood.
As Fenris walked up and away from the shore, they both waited.
A moment later, thunder rumbled, and a bolt of lightning fell from the c
louds. When the flash faded, Thor stood on the gloomy heath in full armor, his red-bearded chin thrust forth, looking around for the source of the threat. He gripped Mjölnir in his right hand, the weapon’s head resting on his powerful shoulder.
“Fenris!” Thor bellowed. “I’ve come. What’s the trouble? We’ve had enough goings-on lately, all the border skirmishes and attempted invasions. I’m tired of leaning on the girl and letting her do our dirty work. It will be good to crack skulls again. Point me in the right direction!”
The wolf-father stared at the boisterous deity with a somber, neutral expression. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, my friend. The border attacks are part of a much larger conspiracy, which we must confront by subtler means.”
Thor frowned and spat in the sand. “Bah! Deviousness and treachery and plotting again. Very well, who are the conspirators? Once we’ve found them, I will end them.”
Fenris explained, “I have reason to believe that the unrest of late is the work of the gods of other pantheons. They feel Asgard has grown too strong at their expense, so they have riven us with internal dissent, forcing us to fight the rebel creatures within our own realms as they move to initiate Ragnarök. They are willing to tolerate the destruction this will cause as long as it deposes us.”
“Oh, ho!” The thunder god scoffed. “Wretched bastards! We’ll intercept them before they get very far with such a boondoggle. Once we’ve found the nithlings who planned all this, I will wring their necks.”
Fenris had turned and begun to walk back down from the low heights of the heathland back to the bleak and sandy shore. Thor, still ranting and blustering, followed. The vast dark-blue expanse of the World Sea was before them.
“And having mashed their bones to a paste with my hammer,” the red-haired deity continued, “I will dispense the liquid residue of all the mead and ale I’ve drunk on what remains, drenching them in a veritable yellow shower of—”
With blinding speed, Fenris pivoted and struck Thor with his fist, the blow massively enhanced by a pulse of concussive force. The thunder god careened past the shoreline and landed amidst the churning waters with a loud splash.
The wolf-father intoned, “Jörmungandr! Arise and end it now!”
Thor righted himself and floated magically at waist-level in the sea, not hampered by the weight of his hammer. “What the devil?” he sputtered, water streaming from his beard. “Is this your idea of a joke, Fenris?”
The wolf-god had not intended to answer, but before he would have had time to, the World Serpent showed itself.
Thor spun away from Fenris toward the gargantuan bulk that rose from the depths to tower before him, filling half the sky. Fenris watched, totally still, transfixed by the spectacle.
An expanding wave of water gushed outward as the World Serpent reared its head and neck.
It was like a great finned snake with glossy black and dark green scales, and tendrils trailed from its huge, fanged, dripping jaws. It was larger than any other creature in existence, so big that most minds could not comprehend what they saw. It blotted out the pale and pitiful disc of the sun. The spines on the back of its neck were lost in the low dismal clouds.
Thor’s eyes bulged wide in horror as he realized—at last and too late—the awful trap into which he’d fallen. Fenris could see the gears of his mind turning, his recollection of the prophecy, his quick and hopeless calculation of how much chance he would have against such a monstrosity.
But the god of thunder was nothing if not courageous. He hoisted his hammer in the air and lightning struck it with crackling fury, making it glow. Thor bellowed a war cry that echoed across the waves.
Jörmungandr responded in kind. Its roar drowned out Thor’s, rendering it insignificant by comparison. Fenris smiled in triumph.
The war god plunged toward his adversary through the waves. Before he struck a single blow, the World Serpent plunged down with a speed and force that created a wind, its mighty jaws open.
Thor disappeared between the creature’s rows of fangs as the ocean exploded, white spray rising like a mushroom cloud as the monster bore the god beneath the surface. Then both of them were gone.
Fenris raised his hands and face to the sky, a brief tremor of emotion running through him. He had succeeded. He’d destroyed every last one of the council gods. Some turbulence out in the water suggested the struggle was not yet over, but it would be soon. Thor was too stupid to fight fate.
The wolf-father turned away and walked up the shore to the heath, enjoying the mental image of what had happened before he opened a portal and left the World Sea behind.
Though Fenris did not know it, this time there was no slender black-haired figure watching him from behind a holographic mirror. Unlike his confrontations with the other gods of the council, this was no illusion.
Chapter Fourteen
Bailey leaned on her sword, breathing heavily and watching over her friends as they rested and recovered from the long, brutal battle. No one had died, for which she was beyond thankful, but many had been wounded or rendered delirious by blows to the head or sheer overexertion.
Once the werewitch had acquired full control of her new powers, she had been able to use them judiciously, turning the environment of the rock giants’ homeworld against them to devastate vast numbers of their hosts.
But her abilities had their limits, and she began to tire from the strain, both mental and physical. She’d rested near the center of the formation, helping with magic as needed but allowing the casters, Weres, agents, and Asgardians to do the bulk of the mop-up fighting.
Then they’d met the next of the stone giant kings. Since there were several of them, Bailey didn’t bother fighting them in duels but destroyed them outright through overwhelming magic. She feared she wouldn’t be able to handle trying to absorb the powers of them all, so she only drained two.
That was more than enough. She’d nearly lost consciousness toward the end of the battle, her mind spinning within her head and her body writhing and trembling. Roland and two werewolves had taken her aside and stood guard over her while the rest battled on.
Finally, she recovered and vanquished the last of the giants with a surge of earth magic that shattered them all. Quiet then set in.
She wondered if this were all of them—if she’d wiped out an entire species. It was a disturbing thought. None of them had tried to surrender. They had plowed dumbly ahead, seeking to do harm to her friends, her allies, her world. She hoped they had children somewhere who would live on but grow up to be smarter than their parents had been.
Roland came up and held her. They did not speak but simply enjoyed the warmth of the mutual embrace, resting their heads against one another’s.
After what felt like about ten minutes, a portal opened and Bailey perked up, her hand going to the hilt of her sword. She partially relaxed when she saw Loki step out, but she noted the haste in his demeanor and the nervous look of worry on his face.
Uh-oh, she thought.
“Bailey,” the trickster god began, “there is serious trouble afoot, and I’m not sure how much time we have to avert it. I’ve been working with the other gods, helping them put up resistance to Fenris’ assassination attempts while collaborating on the final illusions. He believes at this point that he has killed all of us save one.”
Roland waved his hand and asked, “You mean, all but Bailey?”
“No,” Loki went on, “all but Thor. That’s where things may have gone wrong. Fenris may succeed in destroying him.”
Bailey stood to her full height. “Got it. How the hell did that happen? Not that it matters, I guess. Where is he?”
Loki’s fingers twitched, and his eyes darted around. The girl couldn’t recall having seen him so flustered.
“He is at the World Sea of Midgard, which lies at the utmost edge of the Other. Somehow, either Thor stupidly forgot to tell me that he was answering a summons from Fenris, or Fenris proved cleverer than we’d thought and blocked any message
that Thor might have sent. The thunder god is a poor illusionist but a great fighter, so even without me, he might have simply overcome Fenris and driven him off. The problem is that Fenris is not his opponent.”
Bailey’s gut roiled. She wasn’t sure why, but the ominous tone of the mischief lord’s words had evoked a primitive and superstitious fear in the depths of her being. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“The sea,” Loki explained, “is the home of Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, which is quite possibly the most powerful entity in existence, besides the higher gods. These species you’ve fought are as nothing compared to it in the hierarchy of monsters.”
Roland slapped his own cheek. “Jesus H. Christ, Loki, can’t you bring us good news for once?”
The deity paid him no heed. “Jörmungandr is another son of mine, but let’s not get into that. The important thing is that the prophecy of the End has decreed that the World Serpent’s slaying of the thunder god is one of the events that will bring Ragnarök upon us. If we make haste, we might be able to avert it.”
Bailey lifted her sword. “Lead the way. I’ll rally the troops who are still able to fight.”
“No,” Loki protested, “they cannot fight this creature. They’d only die uselessly, providing fodder for its hunger and fuel for its coming rampage. You must go alone. It’s risky, but you and Thor together might be a match for the serpent.”
The girl frowned, and another shudder of primal dread struck her. “Fine, I’ll do what I have to do,” she stated. Then she thought of something. “What if Fenris is still there? Won’t it blow our cover?”
The god of mischief closed his eyes and shook his head. “It can’t be helped. He’ll likely flee if he sees you, or lie and say he was trying to help Thor when Jörmungandr appeared or some such nonsense. If you must confront him now, so be it. We will come to your aid. But first, you have to save the lord of storms and battle. Go!”