I looked at the Biter, and wondered—somewhat stupidly—what I should do. I couldn't think of anything. Neither, evidently, could anyone else. The entire company stood frozen like a crowd of statues.
Then Fenrir moved. Toward me, the man who'd freed him. I raised the Biter halfheartedly, pleased that it still moved at my summons, even more pleased that my arm would move. I still couldn't feel it.
Then, dumbfounded, I lowered the Biter again. The great wolf whined. He dropped his head to where I lay sprawled in the mud, and butted against my leg in the timeless gesture of canine submission.
Uh . . .
"Good, boy?" I croaked uncertainly.
An eager whine broke from the creature. He lifted his head. A blast of blood-foul breath choked me; then his tongue slathered across my face like a wet towel. Fenrir panted happily, and moved to my side. I managed to wipe off my face without gagging. The Fenris Wolf sat on his haunches and turned a snarling visage to the assembled company.
"He's mine, so don't try it," was the clear message.
Nobody seemed inclined to try anything; much less Fenrir's temper. . . .
Except Sleipnir, who tossed his head, and snorted. That murderous black fiend sidled and danced his way to my other side, flanking me, then bared his teeth at the nearest Einherjar.
Uh . . .
Unsteadily I rose to my feet. I almost fell. Instinctively I put my arms out, and found rough fur on one side, sleek muscle on the other. . . . I hung supported between them, with the Biter still in one hand. The wolf stood every bit as tall and broad as the horse. Allies . . . brothers . . . who moments before had been bitterest enemies . . .
I took a deep breath and searched for Rangrid. Her eyes were dull with shock.
"You okay?"
She put the back of one hand to a bleeding lip, looked absently at the blood; then nodded, staring up at me.
"A little bruised. But, yes. I'm okay." That fact seemed to overwhelm her. "You. . . ?"
"Yeah."
We looked at one another across the churned battlefield; then I shook my head, and muttered, "Jesus Christ."
A familiar voice said, "Wrong church and wrong pew."
I snapped around. Gary Vernon strolled out of the crowd, stopping well clear of my threatening companions. He'd thrust his hands into his pockets, and just stood there, a grin on his face fit to crack his jaw.
"Well, Barnes, you certainly know how to shake things up."
My guardians never had a chance to react. I was hugging Gary and pounding him on the back before Sleipnir could do more than snort. Both of us were laughing, and he was hugging and pounding me until I nearly fell. I had to wipe tears with the back of one arm.
"Goddamn, Vernon, goddammit, it's good to see you. You wouldn't believe what I've been through. . . . "
I babbled for a couple of minutes, and he let me; then I finally grasped his arm. "Let's get out of here."
Before he could say anything, a flare of brilliant light drew our attention. I squinted into the glare; then stiffened.
—Aw, shit . . .
Sleipnir screamed a shrill warning and reared to his haunches. Gary glanced sharply at my face; then peered at the new arrival. A stallion had appeared before the Valhall—a stallion wrapped in flame. Fire defined its muscles, flickered from its mane and tail, and exploded from the prancing hooves in gouts of sparks. The glare was so fierce, I had to lift one arm to shield my eyes.
Skuld rode him like a seasoned pro. Her thighs clamped his sides. She controlled him easily as he reared high in answer to Sleipnir's challenge. Her hair whipped out behind her, each strand writhing like a living thing in the wind of the stallion's passage.
She brought the horse back to earth and held him firmly in check. The reins in her hand flickered like lightning. Skuld glanced around with a satisfied air . . . then turned her fiery gaze toward me.
I'd thought the heat of her gaze staggering before. . . .
Even Gary flinched.
One fiery brow rose slowly. I thought I saw the corner of her lips quirk. "Not bad. Not half bad."
Then she reached out a flaming hand. Her fingers closed around my wrist. Before I could even draw breath to scream, Skuld had pulled me astride her stallion. I heard Sleipnir's trumpeting neigh; then the bloody landscape of Valhalla was fading around us. As we transferred between worlds, I realized there was no pain, and wondered whether—if I were in the process of being burned to death—I'd notice.
We came out beside the shimmering spring Urd. Skuld slid gracefully to the ground. I jumped down with considerably less finesse, but a great deal more enthusiasm. I eyed her warily, and ascertained that I was, in fact, uncharred.
"I'm glad you survived," she said, by way of greeting.
Finding myself still alive and unincinerated seemed somehow to have caused difficulty with my breath control. I suspect I sounded more than a little petulant as I replied, "I'm glad you're glad—couldn't you have told me that back there?"
Her lips twitched and her eyes sparkled; but all she said was, "Yes; but not the rest of what I have to say. First, let me offer you a gift."
She lifted her hand. I heard a distant squawk; then two midnight-black ravens swooped down from the eaves of her golden hall. They alighted on my shoulders. I stood very still. Sharp little claws dug into my flesh as they found their balance.
"Hugin and Munin returned to me a few moments ago," Skuld explained. "I daresay you will find them useful."
I glanced cautiously from side to side. "Yeah, they'd be great for reconnaissance—better than spy satellites—but what does that have to do with me? I mean . . ." What the hell did I mean? What did she mean, offering them to me? I studied her through narrowed eyes. I wasn't sure I liked the implications here.
"How do you know they'd even report to me?" I stalled.
I was frantically searching for a way to broach the more delicate questions in my mind. Somehow, I didn't feel quite like blurting out, "What are you up to now?" Instead, I managed to sound like a truant little boy. "I mean, I—um—sort of killed their former owner."
Her glance was as droll as her tone. "I sort of noticed." But her eyes sparkled with white-hot highlights.
Skuld had a sense of humor?
She smiled. "Hugin and Munin were raised by my hand. Odin begged the gift of them long ago, and I obliged."
I eyed her the way a bird eyes a hungry snake. "I don't have to give up my eye or something, do I?"
Her gaze left my clothes soaked with sweat under a crust of dried mud.
Despite what she was, her voice came out cold as a German blizzard. "I would have you know, Randy Barnes, my sisters and I gave up a great deal of power, on the barest chance someone like you might come along someday and win a duel with Odin. I'm not about to sabotage the man who managed to kill that dithering old fool."
Just what was that supposed to mean? Other than the obvious, which was that Skuld's opinion of the late, unlamented Odin Oath-Breaker seemed no higher than mine.
I wondered if accepting the birds would be something like signing a contract in blood. I'd just managed to wriggle out of my contract with Hel, by killing Odin; I didn't feel like striking any more deals with any more deities. But Skuld was waiting for me to do something.
I reached up a tentative hand. Hugin—or was it Munin?—let me stroke his glossy feathers. I glanced up at Skuld again. "Would you, uh, mind explaining that, please?"
I thought it was a reasonable request, considering.
She sat down on a white limestone bench carved with vines and flowers. The stone blackened. If she sat there long enough, would the limestone turn to marble? She patted the bench gently. Reluctantly, I sat beside her.
Skuld sat poised for a moment, as though lost in thought. I waited politely.
"You have already puzzled out the most important part of it," she began, gazing wistfully at the magnificent rainbow bridge that arched out of sight overhead. "My sisters and I have not been . . . controlling things . . . for a long time, now. Quite a long time. Ragnarok, of course, approaches. We foresaw long, long ago that no matter how we three meddled, we were going to lose the war. So. We introduced free will and stopped meddling. Permanently."
"Couldn't you just have prophesied victory or something?"
She offered a wan smile. "No. We had the power to shape men's lives, yes. But the power to stop the sons of Muspell from riding against the rest of the Worlds? You credit even us with too much power, my friend." She pursed fiery lips. "Perhaps I had better explain further. We three—Urd, Verdani, and I—controlled men's lives through our little sisters, the lesser norns. I do not speak of the valkyries, although they, too, are our sisters. There was one lesser norn for each man, woman, and child born in all the Nine Worlds, and when their host died, so did they. Some were good, some evil, some mixed in varying balances of the two. But look around you, Randy Barnes. What—or rather whom—do you see?"
I studied the immediate vicinity. Violet-eyed Urd stood knee-deep in the misty spring that bore her name. She was filling a basin with brilliant white clay from the spring bottom. Verdani sat beneath a shaded tree with a wide bolt of iridescent cloth in her lap, sewing what looked like rainbow-colored feathers to it. Besides the two swans that nipped playfully at Urd's shapely ankles, there wasn't another living thing in sight.
"You. Urd. Verdani. A couple of birds."
"Exactly. There are no more lesser norns. You may think it ruthless; but we killed them all long ago."
I had no idea what to say. All of them?
"Would you prefer centuries of us killing your kind?" Her voice dripped sarcasm.
I didn't have an answer.
"When the last of our little sisters died without issue, the final thread tying us to your race was severed forever. No longer did we decide who lived, who died, who murdered whom, who bore the child that would become king, who would start a war, and who would finish it. We did this, in the hope that your creative, inventive race would eventually produce exactly what it did—you. A free agent no one could control, angry enough, strong enough, determined enough to change the balance of power in the Worlds."
I swallowed hard. Was that what I'd done? I didn't feel much like a hero. I felt much more like a terrified kid confronted with a motorcycle gang after his bag of candy.
"Great." My voice cracked a little. "Just what am I supposed to do, now that you've got me?"
She regarded me with a mixture of apprehension and pity.
"You must stop Surt and the sons of Muspell from destroying the Worlds. If you can. There is no one in the nine worlds with a better opportunity. That is what you wished; was it not? To save your world?"
I gazed out across shining water. I hadn't exactly thought about what I'd do after I won. Hell, I hadn't really expected to win.
Stop Surt and the sons of Muspell?
Impossible.
I snorted. Killing Odin had been impossible, too, and I hadn't let that stop me. The fact remained, however, that all I really wanted to do was grab Gary and get back to something resembling a normal life. I didn't want to be a hero. I was too damned muscle-sore and bleary-eyed to be a hero. What I wanted was about a hundred years of sleep, and a hot bath, and about a ton of rare T-bone steaks. . . .
I did not want to start another madman's war.
Before I could draw breath to answer, I heard the thunder of hoofbeats. I whirled, dislodging Hugin and Munin. They squawked indignantly—it occurred to me they did a lot of that—and took wing briefly, then settled back onto my shoulders moments later.
Skuld rose gracefully to face the intruders. Rangrid sat Sleipnir like they'd been carved from the same block. Gary rode Rangrid 's golden-maned stallion. I had to repress a grin. Gary was green around the gills and hanging on for dear life.
Rangrid pulled Sleipnir to a sliding stop just in front of us.
"Give him back!"
She wore full battle armor, complete with dings, sweat marks, and bloodstains, not the gilded ceremonial stuff she'd worn to collect me from Fenrir's island. Odin's eight-legged hellhorse snapped at Skuld with long, bony jaws and wicked yellow teeth.
Skuld raised a brow in amazement. "You would defy me?"
Rangrid 's sword rang out of its scabbard. "Burn me to ashes if you can! But give him back!"
"I'm already dead," Gary gritted out, dragging his horse around to face her. "What's left that could be worse?" The question was an appropriate one, all things considered.
The fiery Norn glanced my way and—to my everlasting astonishment—dropped a wink. "Your friends are loyal, Randy Barnes." She turned, then, to stare haughtily at Rangrid. My darling valkyrie went rigid; but held her ground. It was amazing how cold Skuld's gaze could be.
"Rangrid Shield-Destroyer, it is not your place to decide what this mortal does. Nor," she added, holding up a warning hand when Rangrid started to protest angrily, "nor is it my place."
My beautiful, furious valkyrie faltered. "You mean . . . you didn't . . . you aren't going to . . . "
"The only one who may decide this mortal's fate is the man himself." She turned her burning gaze on me. I stiffened, swallowed hard, and tried not to flinch as sweat broke out all over me again.
"What do you choose, Randy Barnes?"
I looked at Skuld. Her expression was as inscrutable as a Chinese mandarin's. Rangrid looked tense. Gary sat calmly in the saddle, and waited for me to speak.
I caught his eye.
"Let's get out of here. I'm homesick as hell."
His facial muscles tightened. He bowed his head for a moment, and his hands tightened whitely on the reins. Then he met my gaze and slowly shook his head. "No, Randy. I'm afraid I won't be leaving."
The tremble that hit me left my face white and my fists even whiter.
"What?"
It came out more squeak than question.
"I'm staying here."
I don't know what I was going to say. Probably would have involved his mother and grandmother and her grandmother before her—momentarily forgetting Rangrid's presence—and then I would have called him traitor and other less flattering names.
But before I could do more than open my mouth, he barked, "Shut up, Randy!" in a tone I'd never heard from him. "God damn you, at least let me explain this time."
I rocked back on my heels. Then I clapped my lips shut. There was a cold, sick feeling in my stomach. I couldn't look at him. I'd forgotten—in the emotional high of beating Odin, and seeing Gary again—that it was my fault he was dead.
"I'm sorry, Gary," I said quietly. "I'm sorry. For a lot of things. You know I didn't mean . . . "
"I know, Randy."
I heard him sigh. Then he muttered, "Let's go somewhere private for a minute. We need to talk."
That was the understatement of the century. I nodded toward the open doors of the Norns' hall. "Mind if we go thrash things out, Skuld?"
"You would not feel comfortable inside," she said with gentle warning. "Human senses do not . . . work properly, there. But the shade outside is cool, and the grass is sweet and deep. You are welcome to a moment of privacy if you wish it."
"Yeah. I wish it." I turned on my heel and stomped in that direction. Behind me—after a noticeable pause—I heard Gary jump to the ground and follow. I stopped beside the intricately carved wall, and quickly averted my gaze. The closer one got to the building, the harder it was to see clearly. I was glad I hadn't tried to go inside, after all. Gary stopped behind me. He squeezed my shoulder. I couldn't look at him.
"Okay," I ground out. "Convince me."
He said quietly, almost as though speaking to himself, "You always did do things the hard way, Randy." I made a rude noise and he chuckled. "You know I'm right."
I shrugged, mostly so I wouldn't have to admit that he was, as usual, right once more.
"Look, RB," Gary said patiently, "I really can't go back. Think about it. I'm dead. They buried me. Took me off the tax rolls, cancelled my Social Security number, gave my old clothes to Goodwill."
I finally looked at him. Despite grief in his eyes, his expression was, I don't know, almost amused. Gary always had possessed that knack of adjusting to circumstances. I didn't. I wanted desperately to go back—but only to a world with Gary Vernon in it.
Something in Gary's eyes told me he understood. "Honestly, Randy, what have I got to go back to? I wouldn't have a physical body even if I tried. Here I have substance. There . . ." He grinned. "You know me, Randy. Hanging around like some vaporous Hollywood spook isn't exactly my style."
My lips twitched despite my determination not to let him sway me on this one.
"Besides, it really isn't so bad here. You know how I feel about stuff like this. It's kind of like a five-year-old kid dying and waking up in a candy factory." His voice took on a diffident tone. "You ought to understand—I feel like what I'm doing here is important."
"And what we were doing back home wasn't? In case you hadn't noticed—"
"Nothing we did back home meant squat. We were nobody there. You have a choice, Randy," he said in a hard voice. "You can go back home, find some nice girl to marry, and have a couple of hell-raising rug-rats with her; maybe save enough money to buy a piece of land, build a house."
He turned away, but not before I saw a suspicious film brighten his eyes.
Then, slowly, I saw the tension drain from his face, and he looked over his shoulder to where Skuld and Rangrid stood watching us. Rangrid looked as though she wanted to shake some answers out of Skuld, and didn't quite dare try it. Skuld ignored the valkyrie.
"Or," he added in a lighter tone, "you can stay here. I get the feeling Skuld had made you an offer just before we showed up."
I scuffed a booted toe into the thick grass and dug up a divot; then guiltily tamped it back into place. The Vernon charm had done it again, curse him. I didn't have to like it—but he was right. Everything I'd fought and damned near died for was useless. The s.o.b. was staying. I scowled; then sighed.
No, not entirely useless. Odin was dead. That counted for a lot. Without him around to screw things up, maybe the world would get along all right.
Then I remembered Surt and the sons of Muspell, and kicked another divot out of the grass.
And what about the rest of the gods? They weren't likely to take Odin's murder lying down. Thor had already tried to kill me once. If I went back to the world I'd been born in, I'd be a sitting duck for any potshot the gods cared to take.
But in Valhalla, with an army at my back . . .
Hell, maybe I could even convince the Aesir they were better off without Odin, and get them to throw in with me and the Einherjar.
Crazier things had happened.
I looked up at Gary. He stood with his arms folded patiently, waiting for me to think things through.
"So," I stalled, "I always knew you'd be an officer someday, Vernon. I guess you'll get to be a general here, huh?"
His eyes glinted briefly as he acknowledged my surrender—on one point, at least—then he grimaced.
"No, we don't run that kind of a military organization here, Randy."
"Huh? Why not? What do you do, for Christ's sake?"
He shrugged. "Mostly practice hacking at each other. The invasion is expected soon, so we just fight it out every day in one great big horde until it gets here."
I looked at him in disbelief; then snorted.
"Jeez, Vernon, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Didn't you learn anything? And you were going to be an officer? I thought you guys learned strategy, and battle planning, and all that crap."
Gary raised one eyebrow in my direction. "You got any better ideas?"
"Well, sure. You could start training programs. I mean, those guys are pitiful. Pitiful! Hacking at each other like a bunch of Stone Age numbskulls. I mean, if you really want to beat someone in a war, there are lots of better ways to go about winning it. Christ, Gary, even the newbies we got stuck with were better than that."
He grinned. "Well, yeah, that's a good point, Randy. But who's going to do it? There's no one to lead this ragtag army—and they sure aren't going to listen to me!"
I shot him a dark look. "Vernon . . . "
He waited.
"You set me up, admit it."
He grinned; then sobered again almost immediately. "Randy, look at it this way. The whole time we were in the Army back home, you spent more time bitching about the system than any man I know. You complained about stupid officers; you moaned about how things <MI>should be done; and about what you'd do if you had half a chance. Well, dammit, you've got more than half a chance right here, handed to you on a silver platter."
A faint breeze stirred my hair.
He chuckled nastily. "It's almost poetic justice, wouldn't you say? You actually went to hell to prove your point. Well, good buddy, you got rid of Odin. And now you've got a chance to rewrite the rules. You've got a whole army ready to let you tell it what to do next. The Einherjar already think you're the hottest thing since bottled beer." He shrugged then. "You've already proven you can. All you have left is to decide whether or not you will."
I didn't care for the implications.
If I left Valhalla now, I'd end up feeling for the rest of my life like I'd run out on him. On the whole world.
Which would only be the truth.
Besides, what would I ever amount to, back there? Shopkeeper? Short-order cook? Even if I went to college, even if I managed to make a ton of money . . .
Surt and his cronies weren't about to call off their invasion just because it might inconvenience Randy Barnes, Odin-Slayer. In fact, if I were Surt, I'd make damned sure I did invade; especially if Odin's killer was a big enough fool to leave Valhalla and the Einherjar in disorganized chaos.
Gary had made his point.
I didn't know if the Einherjar would follow me if I stayed, although he seemed to think they would, and he knew them. Hell, if I were a soldier in the employ of a god, and somebody with balls enough to kill him came along . . .
Maybe they would follow me, at that.
I just might be able to make a real difference.
At the very least, I'd have a job. That thought almost made me grin. I met Gary's eyes. And he, of course, knew my decision before I did.
"Right," I said briskly.
Gary did grin. "Right. We can work out the, uh, details later."
I nodded.
He clapped my shoulder. "Welcome to Hell, RB!"
I gave him a sour grin and jerked my head toward Skuld.
"I've got a little unfinished business over there."
He chuckled. "What's one goddess, more or less, for the guy who killed Odin?"
I snorted disgustedly and started toward Skuld. Obviously, Gary had not spent any amount of time in Skuld's company. She still scared me spitless.
I plunged feet-first into it before I lost my nerve.
"Okay, Skuld, you gave me these birds, and they'll be useful. But what about Fenrir and Sleipnir? Can I trust them?"
She laughed, a tinkling, crackling sound in the superheated air around us. "My dear hero, it's a free universe. I have absolutely no idea. You'll just have to take your chances, I'm afraid."
To my surprise, I grinned, heartened by her honesty. "Yeah. I guess I will. And so," I added grimly, "will Surt."
I thought I detected a glint of satisfaction in her burning eyes. "Yes." She smiled through the heat haze. Her teeth glowed like embers. "Do not doubt your strength of will, Randy, nor doubt that you possess that which makes a man a hero. You have made yourself what you are." Her smile widened. "Your children with Rangrid will be something truly to behold. I look forward to them with pleasure. Provided, of course, the plans of our southern friends don't interfere."
I nodded.
Rangrid looked from Skuld to me and back again. "I . . . don't understand . . . You're not going to—"
I came to Rangrid's rescue. "Skuld wanted to return Hugin and Munin to Valhalla. She figured I'd find them useful. What's the matter; don't you think feathers become me? Come to think of it, birdshit doesn't. How the hell did Odin clean it off his clothes?"
"Birdshit. . . ?" Rangrid was looking a little round-eyed again.
"You'd best explain things after you get her back to Valhalla," Skuld suggested dryly.
"I think you're right. Thanks. For, um, everything."
The Norn nodded gravely.
Rangrid gave me a hand up. I settled myself on Sleipnir's forward set of withers. Skuld lifted a hand in farewell; then we were transferring between worlds with a blur and thunderclap.