Behind them all, the Hydra unfurled its great wings and bared its seven sets of teeth with seven heavy snarls.
Still, the cowboy advanced, climbing up the hill and approaching the line of Greek gods.
“That’s far enough,” Zeus warned, holding up a hand that crackled with lightning. “Unless you’re eager to find yourself the target of eight different kinds of destruction.”
The cowboy slowed to a stop and flicked his head to the side, giving his neck an audible crack. “That don’t seem like gentlemanly odds,” he said.
“A man with good intentions needn’t worry about the odds,” Zeus countered.
The cowboy nodded solemnly. “That’s so,” he agreed. He took another step forward.
“Do you come from the Pinch?” Zeus asked.
The cowboy spat into the dirt. “No. I do not come from the Pinch.”
“Then what’re you doing here?” Ares growled, tensing his massive shoulders.
The cowboy looked up at the god of war, startled, as if he’d just noticed him standing there. “Just passing through,” he said.
“Pass some other way,” Zeus sneered.
The cowboy reached up to adjust his hat against the restored sun, and when he did, every one of the gods flinched. That brought a smile to the Stranger’s lips. “You talk like you’ve got something to hide back there,” he said, nodding toward the mouth of the cave.
The events that happened next occurred in extremely quick succession.
Hermes, driven beyond the point of exhaustion by his excessive lack of sleep, collapsed on the spot, falling face-first into the desert sand. Hephaestus, already tense, became startled by Hermes’s sudden tumble and sprang into action, pulling the blacksmith hammer from his belt and charging forward. Hephaestus’ sudden movement awoke the fury in the Hydra, which struck out with a deep roar from all seven of its throats, a roar that shook the very ground upon which they stood.
Hephaestus sprang forward and swung his hammer at the cowboy, who sidestepped it easily. The blacksmith god pitched forward, lost his footing in the sand, and went tumbling to the ground. The Hydra, alert at the confusion, reared up to its full height and clamored down from the top of the cave, its huge, tree-trunk legs planting powerfully onto the earth. It screamed again, then it stole forward, its seven heads snapping their bladed teeth toward the cowboy. The cowboy dropped to one knee, pulled his gun from its holster, and fired six quick shots at the oncoming beast. Each bullet found its mark; six of the Hydra’s seven heads found themselves with holes bored through their centers.
The six perforated heads tumbled to the dust, falling away from the remaining head like the peel of an overripe banana. The Hydra stumbled and fell, its momentum carrying it forward to within mere feet of the cowboy’s boots, the dead weight of its six giant necks dragging the body to a rough stop.
The cowboy calmly reloaded his six-shooter from the bandolier around his waist. “I’d like to see what you’re hiding,” he said, his voice as calm as if he’d just stretched his arms rather than handily put down a mythical monster. He snapped the cylinder back into the revolver and stepped forward to finish off the Hydra’s final head. If he was unnerved by the fact that the gods showed not the slightest concern over their fallen monster, he didn’t show it. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice that most of the Greeks were smiling cruelly now, as if anticipating some great, gleeful event.
The cowboy didn’t notice these things at all, until he put the barrel of his gun to the gnashing seventh head and prepared to squeeze the trigger.
But then, something terrible happened.
Each of the ruined heads began to roil and tear. They pulled apart from the bullet wounds in their centers, splitting like wet, rubbery logs. The six necks writhed and coiled as they began to bubble from the inside. Two large lumps appeared in each flailing throat, pushing themselves toward the ragged, open holes in the creature’s necks. The cowboy took a step back, artfully dodging the flailing appendages as they spun and lashed around him. The lumps moved slowly up the throats, growing larger and larger, until they emerged through the freshly formed holes and pushed themselves out into the light.
Each lump was a new head, slick with mucus and slightly off-color, but fully formed and already filled with rows of sharp teeth. Each head the Stranger had blasted had been replaced by two more. He hadn’t destroyed six heads; he’d created twelve. Adding the one that remained, the monstrous beast now had thirteen angry, gnashing mouths.
And they all pointed directly at the Stranger.
The cowboy shot a string of curses into the air, and then he did the one thing he hated doing most in the world.
He ran away.
He bolted across the desert floor, and the Hydra followed. Its great claws made the earth tremble with each ferocious step, and the Stranger knew there was no way he could outrun the beast. He could only hope to lead it away from the children, the ones in the barn and the one in the cave. That left two directions; out west, into the open desert, or east, toward the town of New Olympus.
It was an easy choice.
If he was going out, he was going to take as much of their home with him as he could.
The Stranger sprinted toward the clapboard buildings of the town. The Hydra’s gnashing mouths slammed into the ground behind him, spraying dirt and sand as each head drove itself into the desert floor. One of the heads got so close to the running cowboy that the spur on the back of his boot sliced the thing’s upper lip from tooth to snout. The Hydra snarled and spread its wings. It flapped them once, sending out a rush of air so powerful that it knocked the Stranger to his knees. He tumbled down the hill and skidded to a stop against a bank of low scrub. He rolled onto his back just as the Hydra dropped down on him from above. The great beast’s front legs slammed down on either side of the cowboy. He held up his pistol and drew a bead on the Hydra’s chest, where he guessed he would find the creature’s heart. He knew nothing of Hydra anatomy, but most four-legged animals were of similar construction, and a monster of that size had to be powered by a massive heart. It would make a big, if hidden, target. He squeezed the trigger.
The bullet exploded from the chamber and founds its mark in the Hydra’s chest. But the scaly skin simply absorbed the hot lead, sucking it into its flesh and reclosing behind the entry hole.
The Stranger frowned down at his gun. He sighed.
The Hydra huffed hotly and poised its thirteen heads, with their thirteen rows of jagged teeth, directly over the prostrate cowboy. The row of gods at the mouth of the cave nodded approvingly as the Hydra considered its next meal. The cowboy let his head fall back into the sand, his hat crumpling against the ground and tumbling off into the desert. He uselessly fired the rest of his slugs into the beast, just for the sake of going out fighting. And as the Hydra lowered three of its hungry jaws, he silently willed the children to run.
Chapter 10:
In Which We Witness a Frosty Reception
Zeus smirked at the many-headed creature below. The Hydra wasn’t the easiest animal to keep, but when you needed it, there was no better substitute. He never grew tired of watching the monster feed. But as the Hydra dug in on the cowboy, a loud screech filled the sky, and a black shadow passed over the group of gods at the mouth of the cave. It was the shadow of a bird.
No, not just a bird, Zeus thought, biting down on the side of his tongue. “A raven.”
The Olympians turned and followed their king’s gaze up into the sky. Sure enough, a huge, black raven circled overhead, its piercing eyes trained upon them with eerie determination.
“It’s Muninn!” Apollo cried, startled.
“Muninn?” Hestia asked, surprised. “What on earth would Muninn be doing here?”
“Scouting,” Zeus said, spitting venom into the dust. Sure enough, just down the sand where the hill sloped into the desert, a crackle of energy appea
red in the air. It spread into a wide plane, a rectangular frame of sparks. As it grew, the white electricity pulled itself apart in the center, and through the crackling gateway, they could see a high wall of bright green bricks consumed, but not burned, by turquoise tongues of fire. The land on the other side of the opening portal was, unmistakably, the Pinch Rim.
But, of course, it wasn’t the wall of fire that caught Zeus’ attention. It was the being standing before it, the one who now stepped through the widening gate.
“Muninn! To me,” Odin said, his one eye gleaming at the gods of Olympus. The raven squawked down at the Greeks once more, then wheeled and came to rest on his master’s shoulder. The Norse god stroked the black bird’s feathers admiringly.
“You’ll want to show yourself back out,” Zeus called, blue sparks once again filling his eyes and sizzling at his fingertips.
“Save your posturing,” Odin shot back with a smirk. “You have no power over me.”
Zeus grimaced. “Let’s find out.” He shot a lightning bolt directly at Odin’s chest. It struck with a loud burst of energy, knocking the Norseman back a step, but no more.
Odin smiled. “You used to be stronger.”
“You used to be smarter.” Ares stepped up to Zeus’s side, unsheathing the massive sword from his back. The blade alone was the size of a schooner’s sail. It threw a long shadow over the Norse god’s gateway. Hephaeustus stepped forward, too, on Zeus’s other side, swinging his hammer and rolling his neck on his shoulders. Artemis nocked a trio of arrows in her warrior’s bow and aimed them at Odin’s heart.
“Oh, I’m smart enough,” Odin replied. He reached into the folds of his heavy coat and retrieved a small, round pellet. He crushed it between his fingers and threw the gray dust up into the air. The tiny particles arranged themselves into a depiction of an iron crown. They held this image for several seconds, then crumbled back into dust and blew away on the breeze.
“The Royal’s sigul!” Hermes said, surprised.
“You?” Zeus asked, the lightning dying in his eyes. “You’re the envoy?”
“His Highness chooses nothing but the best,” Odin said with a mocking bow.
“Since when do you act on the behest of the crown?” Ares demanded. “Any crown?”
“Since the price is right.” Muninn bristled on Odin’s shoulder, and the god stroked the bird soothingly. “Hand over the girl, and you won’t have to be the one who pays it.”
Zeus laughed. “I think you’ve got your wires crossed, old friend. The Royal and I have an accord.”
“Which you disregarded when you decided to hold the girl hostage rather than present her to the throne. The Royal would like you to correct that particular mistake.”
Zeus crossed his arms. “The Royal can come correct it himself.”
Odin whispered into Muninn’s ear in an old, long-forgotten language. The bird tilted his large head, then launched into the air and flapped back through the crackling doorway. It was still growing wider and taller, with more of the Pinch Rim wall coming into view through the opening. “I’ve been instructed to give you three chances,” Odin said. “This is the second. I’m genuinely hoping you don’t take it.”
“If the Royal wants the girl, he can claim her himself,” Zeus said, standing his ground. He heard a rumble behind him and a snarl in the air, and he knew the Hydra had finished its meal and was returning to its post. Odin was many things, but strong enough to withstand the full power of the Olympians and their Hydra was not one of them. “Tell him we request his royal presence as a token of good faith.”
Odin snorted. “You request his presence as a power play, and everyone knows it. This is the third and final offer, Greek. Will you hand over the girl, or no?”
Ares tightened his grip on his sword. Hestia blew on the tip of her iron poker, stoking the glowing red flame. Hephaestus dug into the sand, ready to launch himself forward. Hermes took a deep breath. Hera stepped forward from the mouth of the cave. Artemis drew the arrows to her shoulder. The Hydra let out a mighty scream and unfurled its wings before the cavern entrance, blocking it from sight.
The Olympians were ready for battle.
“No,” Zeus said.
A wide grin spread over Odin’s face, and his eye sparkled with mirth. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Beyond the open doorway, Muninn screeched. The bird reappeared from behind the fiery brick wall, rising on the warm air gusting up from the Rim. He soared back through the doorway and into the desert. Behind him, a rime of frost began to creep up the Pinch Rim wall, starting at the bottom and crackling its way up the burning bricks. The flames sputtered and hissed as the ice fingers spread upward and outward, extinguishing the fire and turning the green bricks a pale, minty white. The frost crept and crackled until it covered the entire wall in a thin sheet of ice.
Then an enormous blue hand appeared above the wall and gripped the top row of bricks. The hand’s forefinger alone was larger than Zeus, and the god’s eyes grew wide when he saw it. Then a second hand appeared, gripping the wall next to the first. The creature on the other side of the wall pulled himself up, and a hideous blue face rose into view. His eyes were crystal clear and hooded by a thick, white, icy brow. His nose was wide and flat, and his teeth were broad, and thick, and set into powerful jaws capable of crushing boulders.
Higher and higher, the frost-creature rose. Heavy white fur covered his torso. The hairs rippled with the strain of powerful muscles flexing beneath the skin. With a loud grunt, the beast launched himself over the wall and came to a crashing halt before the sparking gateway. The opening was still expanding, and had been since Odin’s arrival, but even so, it was scarcely large enough for the ice monster to fit through.
“A jotunn!” Hephaestus said, incredulous. “You sided with a jotunn?!”
“Well. Not just one.” Odin beckoned the monster forward, and as he lumbered through the gateway, the gods could see more hands gripping the now-frozen brick wall. A second, then a third, then a fourth monster launched himself over the wall, each one lurching slowly through the opening and falling into line behind the Norseman. They towered high above the desert floor, dwarfing even the Hydra by comparison. The hot desert sun did little to deter the ancient monstrosities of ice and snow. In fact, where they stepped, the sand crusted over with frost, and the wind that blew past them turned to an icy chill. “I brought a whole pack of jotnar.”
“Have you gone insane?” Zeus snarled.
“I believe I’ve finally come to my senses,” Odin said. “Once I recover the girl, both New and Old Olympus will be mine by rights. And you lot will be knocked off in the process.”
“You practically built your lordship on the defeat of the ice giants,” Zeus spat. “The same giants that slaughtered your own people. Now you’d throw in with them for the sake of spite?”
“The old ways are dead, Zeus. Long live the new.” He raised his hand, and Muninn burst forward with a guttural caw. The bird soared into the air, and the ice giants came to life, diving forward and grabbing at the small Olympians below.
All hell broke loose in the desert.
Artemis swiveled and fired her arrows up at the first jotunn. Two of the arrows glanced off the armor-like hide on its chest, but the third found purchase in the soft hollow of its throat. The monster roared and tore the arrow from its neck. A deluge of crystal blue ice water poured out of the wound and broke on the sands below. The torrent caught Hera in its spray, and she was instantly coated in a thick casing of ice. Hermes, who had been standing next to her, scrambled backward, and one of his knees struck the frozen goddess. She tipped over and crashed onto the hardpan, and her left arm cracked and broke loose from the rest of her frozen body.
The wounded ice monster pitched forward, grabbing at the Hydra as it fell, but the many-headed creature bobbed just out of reach. The jotunn crashed to the ground.
The
three remaining creatures roared and lunged. Artemis reached for another set of arrows, but one of the jotunn swatted her bow and snapped it in half. She tossed the broken bow and gripped an arrow in her hand, stabbing at the creature’s great hand. She made contact, but the arrow broke in two. The monster lifted her easily and flung her away into the sand.
Ares boomed with full-throated laughter as he plunged forward, sword raised and fist clenched. One of the ice monsters lifted a massive palm and fired sharp boulders of ice down on the attacking god of war. Ares cleaved his way through the onslaught, sending huge chunks of hail skittering across the desert floor. He leapt up and drove his blade into the creature’s leg, just below the knee, and easily dodged the stream of freezing water that gushed out. The jotunn howled in pain and buckled down onto one knee. Ares grabbed a handful of fur and hoisted himself up onto the injured monster’s thigh. He drove his blade down again, puncturing the beast and causing a rivulet of ice water to flow down its matted fur. Ares readied himself to jump at the creature’s chest, with the point of his sword aiming at the beast’s heart, but the jotunn buckled, and Ares fell backward onto the desert floor. The blade of his sword had frozen over from contact with the frost giant, and it splintered into a dozen pieces when it hit the ground. Ares jumped up in a fury and grabbed the hunting knife from his belt, but as he sprinted back to the creature’s side, the jotunn reached down and plucked a full-grown cactus from the desert floor. He swung it down at the attacking god, catching him in the side of the head, bashing it with the sharp sting of needles. The cactus lodged itself into the god of war’s jaw. Ares screamed and tore away from it, scrabbling to the ground and plucking at the foot-long needles that protruded from his face.
Colemine, the Prince Page 5