Unlike Granuaile, Freyja was fully visible and making noise. She obviously wanted to get the wolf’s attention, and she managed to—but not the way she would have liked, perhaps. As I charged, she leapt at him, spear cocked in her hand. She thrust it at his head as he lunged at her, letting Granuaile go for the moment. He saw the spear and shrank, twisting his head at the same time, so that her thrust overshot her target and grazed along the side of his head. Fenris caught Freyja’s legs between his jaws, she screamed, and he tossed her away into the mist so that he could return his attention to the invisible demon pestering his left side. Granuaile was probably chucking all of her throwing knives into his ribs and driving him crazy. He lunged around to his left, snapping at something he couldn’t see, but thankfully his teeth sank into nothingness. I made my own leap at Fenris—which he didn’t see coming—but he was still shrinking in an effort to spin around faster to catch Granuaile, and he shrank faster than I expected. I’d put quite a bit of force behind my jump, and now I was going to overshoot him entirely. I swiped at his head and just scratched the top of it between his ears, doing no lasting damage beyond whatever the poison could do to him. Thus far, despite having been wounded repeatedly with poisoned blades, he’d shown no ill effects.
My scratch secured his attention, however. His jaws whooshed closed, with an audible clap of jowls and teeth, where my legs had been a split second before. I landed safely if a bit unsteadily on the other side of him, and he barked in frustration before speaking.
“Who strikes? Who hides like a coward from my eyes? Show yourself!”
Yeah, right. I had made sure Granuaile was of my mind on this matter: When in a fight for your life, you never, ever fight fairly. Honor and sportsmanship are wonderful in games that don’t matter, but it’s the honorable guys who always die in real battles. “When there’s blood involved,” I’d told her, “you always use every advantage you have to make sure it’s theirs that spills and not yours. If you want to feel guilty about taking unfair advantage afterward, you go ahead and feel that shit. But live to feel it.”
In this situation, though, showing myself might make Granuaile safer. It might give her another free shot to finish Fenris for good. Blood was still squirting out of his leg, and I could see now that he had several throwing knives lodged in his bleeding skin, plus a larger one stuck in his left leg. Between that wound and his missing right leg, he wouldn’t be making any astounding leaps my way. It could work out.
I dissolved my camouflage and whistled at him. “Here, boy. Nice doggie.”
His eyes flashed at me and his lips peeled back into a snarl.
“Who are you?” the wolf growled. “Some new god?”
He spoke in Old Norse, so I replied in kind. “Not quite. I’m the guy who kills gods when they piss me off. Freyr, for example.”
Fenris flinched as if I’d slapped him.
“You killed Freyr? And you come here with Freyja?”
“You’re the blood price, see? How’s that leg, by the way?”
“About the same as Freyja’s, I imagine.” He did his best to lunge at me with just his front legs and his jacked-up rear left, but it was an awkward move and bereft of speed. Using her second large knife, Granuaile employed the wolf’s momentum to open up his right side. Fenris yelped and tried to pivot right, but that put weight on his bleeding stump, and he yowled louder as he lost his balance and crashed down onto his leaking guts.
I cast camouflage again and sprinted at him, thinking of little else besides a prayer to the Morrigan that Granuaile wasn’t trapped underneath him. Even though Fenris had shrunk significantly, he was still bigger than Garm. If Granuaile’s head was underneath all that weight, she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Fenris struggled to get up but flailed messily instead. Without his back leg to lift him, he couldn’t stand again, and his wounds were finally taking their toll. He realized it was over as his eyes searched for me.
“You have my curse upon you, godslayer,” he said between bared teeth. “You and all your—”
I hacked through the back of his neck and cut through his spine. “Shut up,” I said.
Wiping Fragarach hastily against the wolf’s fur, I called for Granuaile. She appeared on the other side of the great wolf’s neck, grinning at me. Her left arm was a sleeve of blood.
“Made you nervous, didn’t I?”
My shoulders slumped in relief. “A bit, yes.”
“Nice kill shot.”
“Thanks. What’s all that?” I chucked my chin at her arm.
“He got a tooth or two into me at one point. It’s all good. No rabies.”
An especially loud explosion from the vicinity of the dwarf ships reminded us that we needed to get out of there.
“Did you see where Freyja landed?” I asked.
“No. Too busy running for my life.”
“I think she flew off that way,” I said, pointing vaguely behind me.
We jogged together in the direction I thought she’d flown, keeping about ten yards between us. I was giving some panicked thought to how we’d get out of Hel without Freyja’s help if she turned up dead. I was reasonably sure I could use the root of Yggdrasil to shift back to that nice wee pond in Sweden, but getting past the walls and gates of Hel was another matter entirely. I doubted the dwarfs would give us a ride over the wall if we told them one of their favorite goddesses was a chew toy, and I was positive the cats would listen to no one but Freyja.
Granuaile found her first.
“Atticus, she’s here! Bad shape, though.”
Freyja’s spear was lying some distance from her awkward form. Her legs were twisted at odd angles and sheathed in red.
“Okay, you stimulate skin repair, and only that, hear me? No adrenaline. I’ll stop the bleeding.”
We laid on hands and got to work. The wounds Fenris had made would have killed her from blood loss had we arrived much later. She’d already lost consciousness, and soon her brain would be starved entirely for oxygen. She needed a transfusion, but she wouldn’t get it here.
“Gods, what a mess,” Granuaile said. “Wish we could put some of it back in.”
“You and every field surgeon who ever lived.”
Freyja’s right leg and right arm both had breaks, probably from the way she landed. She most likely had a concussion as well, though I thankfully saw no blood pooling underneath her head. I couldn’t set her bones here.
“We’ll have to carry her to the chariot,” I said. “Think we can do it invisibly?”
Granuaile nodded. “Once the spell is cast, skin contact with the staff is all you need. We could support her under either shoulder, hold the staff across the back of our necks with our outside hands, and sort of drag her that way.”
“Make it so.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
I took a few more seconds to stabilize Freyja’s circulation, then we hefted her up between us as planned. Before we had taken three steps, we heard an anguished cry erupt near the body of Fenris. We recognized the gravelly source of it and hurried: That was Hel’s voice. If she’d burst through the Black Axes, there was no telling what kind of reception awaited us.
Hel’s unseen wailing continued as we dragged Freyja closer to the sounds of fighting, and it was difficult not to cringe at the noises Hel made. Half her throat was dead and rotting, after all, so normal cries were impossible for her. The addition of tears, mucus, and genuine emotion on her part made it unbearably animal.
Thinking of the stages of grief, I wondered if Odin had counted on what would happen when Hel reached rage. Could this be the trigger for Ragnarok, right here? Or would she stay her hand until Loki wakened from his sleep?
Knowing I was caught between Hel herself and Hel’s army, every step seemed unnecessarily long. I wanted to be in the chariot and flying already—but who knew if Freyja’s flying kitties were still alive at this point?
The mist brought us nothing but the sounds of battle, dwarfs dying and
Hel must have pushed through the lines on an unstoppable wave of
