Autumn Bones

The hellhound bounded after his treat. In the front seat, Lee turned to give me an incredulous look.

“What?” I said to him. “You want to visit Little Niflheim, you bring a loaf of bread for Garm.”

“Um . . . why bread?” he asked in a faint voice.

“Because that’s the way it is,” I replied firmly. I’d asked the exact same questions on my first visit and gotten the exact same highly unsatisfying response. Somehow it felt better being on the other side of the equation.

Mikill gunned the buggy’s engine again. “Be sure to keep your limbs inside the vehicle during the descent.”

Lee looked around the basin. “Descent? Descend where?”

I pointed at Yggdrasil II. “There.”

The fact that a gap large enough to admit a small vehicle looked like a mere crack in the mammoth trunk gives you an idea of the scale of the tree. Lee let out a terrified sound as we hurtled toward it, then slumped in deflated relief as we passed through the opening and began spiraling down the path carved into the walls of the hollow interior. The temperature dropped as we descended, an icy mist rising from the depths below us. Mikill stopped dripping, his hair and beard freezing.

Down, down, down we went, emerging beneath the immense canopy of roots that the three Norns tended with tireless care, drawing water from the wellspring and pouring it over Yggdrasil II’s roots. One of them smiled at me, her eyes as colorless as mist in her grandmotherly face. I smiled back at her. She’d given me a piece of soothsaying earlier this summer that had saved a lot of lives.

“Are those . . . ?” Lee asked in a hushed whisper.

“The Norns,” I said.

Turning his head, he looked at Mikill hunched over the steering wheel. “And he’s . . . blue.”

“I told you,” I said. “He’s a frost giant.”

Little Niflheim really is little. There’s nothing left of the buried city of Singapore but a single road and a handful of buildings, including the abandoned sawmill where Hel holds court. Or at least that’s what it looks like, insofar as it’s possible to see in the darkness and mist. I suspected that here, as elsewhere in the eldritch community, the laws of physics didn’t necessarily apply.

Duegars, the ancient Norse dwarves whose magic had excavated Little Niflheim and kept the whole thing from collapsing, came out to observe our passage, silent and watchful, looking as knotty and hardened as though they’d been carved from Yggdrasil II’s roots.

“What do they want?” Lee whispered to me.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard one speak. Maybe if you learn Old Norse, you can ask them.”

In the driver’s seat, Mikill made a muffled sound that might actually have been a chuckle before halting in front of the sawmill. “Come, Daisy Johanssen,” he said to me. “You are expected.”

“Hey, wait!” Lee clambered out of the dune buggy. “What about me?”

Mikill fixed him with an implacable slush-colored stare. “You are not expected.”

“Daisy—”

I spread my hands. “Look, I told you I couldn’t promise you anything. I’ll ask, but don’t hold your breath. She’s a goddess, Lee. She’s not some imaginary character made of bits and bytes and pixels.”

“Okay.” He swallowed hard, then glanced around at the misty darkness, the watching eyes of the silent duegars. “Right. Of course. Do what you can, and I’ll . . . I’ll just wait here with the car.”

“Fine.”

With that settled, Mikill escorted me into the sawmill.

Being in the presence of a living deity is another experience that’s hard to describe. There’s just so much . . . well, presence. It’s awesome in the oldest sense of the word. It makes the very air feel different, charged and intense. It makes your skin prickle and raises the hair on the back of your neck. Whether you’re a worshipper or not, you will tremble. And you will kneel and bow your head, whether you intended to or not.

Don’t get me wrong—as Hel’s liaison I was more than prepared to offer her honor and respect. I’m just saying it would have happened regardless.

“Rise, Daisy Johanssen,” the goddess bade me, her voice tolling like a bell.

I rose.

Seated on a throne wrought from the immense saw blades that the duegars had salvaged and brilliantly repurposed, Hel regarded me. “So, my young liaison. What compels you to seek an audience?”

With an effort, I made myself return her gaze evenly, which wasn’t an easy feat. On her right side, Hel resembled some Renaissance painter’s idea of a goddess, fair-skinned, beautiful, and luminous, with boundless depths of compassion and wisdom shining forth in her gaze. That part was easy. The left side . . . the left side was another matter, burned and blackened and withered, her sunken left eye glowing like a baleful red ember in its hollow socket. It was hard to meet that eye.

“There’s something I’d like to do, my lady,” I said to her. “But I felt I should ask your permission.”

Her right eye closed, the right half of her face lovely and gracious in repose. Her left eye continued to blaze at me. “Tell me.”

I outlined my idea for a database, floundering as I tried to couch it in terms that would be comprehensible to someone whose idea of modern innovation was the Gutenberg printing press. Aboveground, there were plenty of members of the eldritch community who have embraced technology. It was different in the underworld. Well, except for Mikill’s dune buggy.

“Enough.” Hel opened her right eye and raised her graceful, elegant right hand to stop me. “Although the means may be unfamiliar, the notion is not. Humankind has catalogued the world since first they began scratching marks in the soil. Even so, we have never abetted them in this task.” She closed both eyes and fell silent a moment before opening them again. “Although I have misgivings, your idea has merit. I grant you permission to execute it.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “Thank you, my lady.”

Her right eye closed again. Oops, not out of the woods yet. “And this mortal you have brought into my demesne?”

“I would need his help to accomplish the task,” I said. “You might say he’s the only scribe in town.”

Hel said nothing, which I took to be her equivalent of raising her eyebrows and saying, “And . . . ?”

Despite the cold, a trickle of sweat ran down my back beneath the old down coat I’d donned for the occasion. “He promised to give me everything I want for one glimpse of you.”

The shadowy frost giant attendants behind Hel’s throne murmured at the audacity of Lee’s request. The goddess turned her head this way and that, revealing one perfect and one devastated profile in turn as she silenced them with a look. “I will consider it, Daisy Johanssen. Tell me, what else passes above?”

A blue jay roosting in the rafters gave a rather self-satisfied squawk, leading me to suspect it had observed me stumbling along the streets of Pemkowet the other day, half-blind, pain-dazed, and clinging to Jen’s arm. I shot it a covert glare as I reported on events of the past month, including Emmeline’s attempt to hex me and her threat to return.

But I managed to keep it on a professional level and Hel heard me out impassively. She was a goddess; she didn’t care about petty issues—she cared about results. “Well enough, my young liaison,” she said when I finished. “See that you continue to uphold my order.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Hel glanced upward. A pair of jays fluttered down to perch on the back of her throne, peering at me with bright, beady eyes. “There have been reports of a . . . person of interest . . . inquiring about purchasing large tracts of land in Pemkowet.”

“A person of . . . oh.” The sweat trickling down my back turned icy and my tail twitched uneasily. I remembered the lawyer I’d seen leaving the PVB. Hel was being polite. “You mean a hell-spawn like me.”

“No.” Closing her ember eye, her fair right side regarded me with gentle compassion. “Quite unlike you, Daisy Johanssen.”