Mist

Unerringly it found its mark, passing through his heart and into the battered door within its once- impenetrable forest of poison and thorn, the prison Dainn had kept intact so long. The beast awakened and began to stir, swinging its vast head from side to side in search of the one who had disturbed its sleep.

Dainn gasped, undone by the ferocity of the attack and of the primal force that boiled unrealized beneath Mist’s flesh, the unbridled strength of her unknown father and her mother’s irresistible powers of seduction and desire. She taunted the beast, tossing Dainn’s centuries of discipline aside like chaff before the wind. The creature extended its claws and raked at the wall of thorns, tearing the flesh from its massive paws. The intertwined branches began to shriek like souls lost to the Christian Hell.

In a moment the beast would be loose.

Somehow Dainn resisted, though the energy he was forced to expend seemed to feed off his bones and muscles and organs, eating him away from within. Struggling every step of the way, he drove the beast back into its prison and wove the waist-thick branches anew. With the last of his strength he regained mastery of his physical being, singing it down from the rage of its lust.

He came back to himself drenched in perspiration, every muscle quivering, Thor’s Hammer beating on the inside of his skull. His stomach cramped, and he lurched up in search of a corner where he could empty it of its scanty contents.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth and leaned against the wall until he could breathe without gasping. Mist, only semiconscious, had barely moved from her original position.

She had no idea what had happened, no notion of what she was truly capable of. This was what he had just begun to sense when he had first touched her mind. What Mist had unwittingly shown him had not come only from Freya’s influence or presence within her.

What he had felt was more ancient still—ability gleaned from Freya’s Vanir blood, yes—but with elemental aspects that went beyond the magic wielded by most of the Aesir and their allies. Beyond any magic even the most powerful of the Alfar possessed, more than the Seidr that had existed even before the Runes had come to Odin. It was if she had reached back into the time before time and drawn upon the very force of life itself.

Carefully Dainn made his way to a section of the room well apart from both Mist and Vali. He eased himself to the floor, crossed his legs, and breathed rhythmically until he had shaken off all traces of sickness and fear. Sense returned, and with it the sure knowledge that he could no longer expect to complete his task by creeping about inside Mist’s brain like a thief casing a house and slipping out again unseen. He had no idea when she might become aware of his attempt to identify and eventually neutralize her native magic.

“You must discover the extent of her abilities and make certain she has the necessary instruction to accept me,” Freya had said. “ You must be sure that there will be no resistance.”

Dainn laughed deep in his throat, though the attempt left it raw and burning. Mist’s unconscious reaction went well beyond mere “resistance.” He must not only keep her from inadvertently killing him, but also find a way to breach her defenses. As long as Mist’s power was uncontrolled, Freya’s plan would fail.

But the more he pushed, the more magic he used, the closer the beast came to escape.

For now, there was still one task Dainn had to complete. He trained his fragile focus on the Jotunar across the room and called up the Rune Raiho, the chariot—safe enough—along with the image of a vast sirocco blowing the defeated giants into the middle of a bleak desert halfway around the world. A gust of searing wind knocked him sideways. He braced his hands on the floor and pushed himself back to his knees.

When he looked up again, Mist was staring at him, as wideeyed as a child she most assuredly was not.

“What happened?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

Dainn rose carefully. “I am very well.”

“That must be why you look like a snowflake could knock you over.” She stretched her arms above her head and frowned. “I don’t remember a thing. Are we finished?”

The Fates, Dainn, thought, had done him some small kindness in the midst of their punishment. “See for yourself,” he said.

She turned her head toward the place where the Jotunar had lain. Only a few dark blue bloodstains marked the spot.

“Where did you send them?” she asked, pushing loose tendrils of damp hair away from her forehead.

“We sent them to a place largely uninhabited by mortals,” he said. “They will be bound to that place for at least a few days.”

“Good,” she murmured. But her expression was troubled, and Dainn wondered if she remembered more than she let on. “Did you keep your promise not to meddle in my head?”

“Does it feel otherwise?” Dainn asked cautiously.

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall again. “I don’t know what I feel, but it’s different from last time. How am I supposed to know what’s normal?”

“The sensations are unique to each practitioner of magic. In time, you will become accustomed to your own reactions.”

“In time,” she echoed, meeting his gaze. “Look. I understand what you said about needing someone to help you and teaching me how to use whatever I have, but you can’t expect—”

“I expect you to become what you were meant to be, Mist Freya’s-daughter. You must learn to wield and control your magic, just as you wield your sword.”

She stood up, facing him with legs apart and hands on hips, looking for all the world as if she intended to turn an entire blizzard against him. “I assume we’re not only supposed to find the Treasures, but also keep Loki occupied until the Aesir show up, whenever that is. Not to mention finding out what’s happened to the bridges Loki and Hrimgrimir used.”

“Keeping Loki occupied is not your primary task.”

“But getting Gungnir back is. Did you get in touch with Freya while I was in the other room?”

Dainn started. Had she heard or felt him speaking with the Lady? He had been too distracted at the time to set up proper wards, and if she had any idea what they had discussed . . .

“I did contact her,” Dainn admitted, matching her offhand manner. “I made her aware of the situation. She believes the problems Loki had with the bridges are an anomaly.”

“What does that mean?”

“That it may be Loki’s problem alone.”

“I hope that’s true, since otherwise he could bring more Jotunar through anytime, right?”

“Now that the Lady knows that Loki is here and what he attempted in contacting you, she will better be able to counter his actions.”

“How? Loki said she can’t do much without her body, and she’s still working on getting our allies to Midgard.”

“She will send them soon,” Dainn said, feigning certainty he was far from feeling.

“You never told me how many Jotunar Loki actually has here,” Mist said, brushing aside his reassurances.

Dainn knew he still couldn’t afford to tell Mist about the game or its rules—especially since Loki had already broken several of them—but she had given him another opportunity to dissuade her from taking unnecessary risks.

“Perhaps two dozen,” he said, “perhaps as many as fifty. But he will move cautiously, since he obviously believes that Freya was acting through you and is capable of fighting him on his own terms.”

Tugging her braid forward over her shoulder, Mist began to unwind the heavy blond plaits. “Loki may move more cautiously,” she said, “but since what he believes isn’t true—”

“What matters is that he does believe,” Dainn said. “He is blinded by his feelings for Freya, both love and hate. He will continue to be deceived if you keep your distance from him as long as possible.” Mist gripped her half-undone braid tightly between her hands. “How are we going to stay away from him when we’re both looking for the same things?”

“Loki will sacrifice any number of Midgardians in reckless or even hopeless ventures and use them to distract us and aid him in his search. Now we, too, must find mortals to fight on the Aesir’s behalf.”

“You mean put ordinary people in danger.”