Mist

“Yes, but not in the way you think. They actually do know. It’s complicated. But I was hoping you’d get your people to keep it clean. No foul language. No drinking. No smoking inside. No brawls.”

“Jeez, you’ve been watching too many movies.” Bryn sighed. “But you’re right, my people can be rough sometimes, even if they wouldn’t hurt anyone who wouldn’t try to hurt them first. I’ll let them know.”

Bryn turned to signal to the other bikers, who dismounted and gathered up various packs, duffels, bedrolls, and other equipment. “You mind if we all come in for a while, just to get warm?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Mist said, looping her arm around Bryn’s shoulder. “And when we get a chance, one of the first things I want to know is how you ended up in a biker club.”

“Why not? It’s almost as good as riding an elf-bred steed over the battlefield. I can do a lot of pretending that way.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to do much more pretending.”

“Glad to hear it. Even life among my Einherjar was getting a little too routine.”

Mist stopped. “Einherjar?”

“Didn’t I tell you? That’s the name we took when I started the club.

Einherjar, Mist thought. The bravest of mortal warriors, who, after death, lived again Valhalla, where they would spend eternity in feasting and fighting. All in preparation for the greatest battle of all.

“I hope they live up to their name,” Mist said, “because they might not like what’s about to happen.”

“They’ll stick with me,” Bryn said with absolute assurance.

“Will they be willing to sacrifice their lives to save the world?”

“That bad, is it?” Bryn nodded to herself. “They’ll like that.”

Mist shook her head, and they continued to the door. Vali stuck out his hand, engulfing Bryn’s when she took it. He handled her as if she were the small brown bird she resembled.

“Glad you’re here,” he said gruffly.

“Good to be here.” She glanced at Dainn. “Heil, Alfr.”

He inclined his head, his eyes hooded with emotion Mist couldn’t read. “Greetings, Bryn of the Valkyrie.”

“A little stuffy, isn’t he?” Bryn remarked as they walked past the men into the loft. One by one the other Einherjar followed them, and soon the hall and kitchen were overflowing with men and women removing helmets and setting gear down on every available surface.

Ryan and Gabi were at the foot of the stairs, Gabi’s mouth slightly open, Ryan as calm as if he considered the arrival of a dozen bikers to be an everyday event.

Maybe he’d seen it coming.

“Back upstairs,” Mist told them.

“But it’s time for—” Gabi began.

“Later,” Mist said, and they went. Bryn came up beside her.

“What now?” she asked.

“The Einherjar can have the living room for now, if they can all fit in it,” Mist said. “There’s some Peet’s in the fridge, if you want some coffee.”

Bryn raised her voice. “Listen up, huskarlar. Mist and I are going to have a talk. You can have the living room, but don’t make too much noise. There are kids sleeping upstairs. Coffee’s on the house.”

A couple of the men muttered under their breaths, silenced by a stare from Bryn. One of the women found the coffeemaker. The rest—a hodgepodge of tall, short, thin, husky, large, small— trooped without comment into the living room. Dainn lingered in the kitchen with Vali. Odin’s son seemed sanguine enough, but she didn’t like the expression in Dainn’s eyes.

“Vali, you said you could start setting up your equipment,” Mist said. “Dainn, get some sleep.”

The elf hesitated. “May I speak to you alone, Freya’s daughter?”

Not good, Mist thought, when he started talking that way. “Bryn,” she said, “go to the second door to the left down the back hall. We’ll talk in my bedroom.”

“Freya’s daughter?” Bryn repeated.

“Just go, Bryn.”

The small Valkyrie nodded slowly and backed into the hall with obvious reluctance.

“Gym,” Mist said curtly to Dainn.

She turned on the light, trying again to pretend the whole place hadn’t been an ocean of blood twenty-four hours ago.

“I didn’t exactly appreciate your spilling the beans out there,” she said, facing Dainn with a hard stare. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

His gaze never left hers. “While you were sleeping,” he said, “I attempted to reach Freya again.”

“And?”

“I could not find her.”

“If Loki sent her away, maybe she needs a little time to lick her wounds.”

“You do not understand. There was nothing. I had no sense of her presence, no consciousness of the Shadow-Realm where the Aesir reside.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I wish I were not.” Dainn looked through her as if he saw only the emptiness he was trying to describe. “There was a great silence no voice has ever broken, as if Ginnungagap itself had vanished.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“No.” He looked at her again, and she saw what he saw: a negation of all life, a barrenness and desolation beyond words to describe.

Freya couldn’t survive in that. No living being could.

“What are you telling me?” she asked. “Are the bridges gone?”

“Yes. Completely gone, not merely closed. And we can only assume that that the Aesir—Freya—can no longer reach us, nor can her allies.”

“You mean we’re alone,” Mist said.

“It may not be a permanent state. But we must go on as if it is.” Mist stiffened her legs, half afraid they might give way beneath her. “If what you’re saying is true,” she said, “Loki won’t be able to get any more Jotunar, either.”

“We do not know how many he has left,” Dainn said, “but you can be sure that he will soon realize that he, too, is alone. He will certainly redouble his efforts to claim mortal servants. Every Jotunn he can spare will be seeking your Sisters and the Treasures. Without the Aesir, there is no one to prevent Midgard from becoming the kind of world Loki desires. No one but us.” He held up one hand, palm cupped toward her as if in supplication. “You must take up a role I know you want no part of.”

Mist knew what he was going to say. She’d always figured that Freya wasn’t going to be taking direct charge of their mortal allies or distract herself with the day-to-day details of putting together an army that could fight Loki on his own terms.

Dainn had been trying to tell her all along. She’d told Loki she was only a foot soldier, even when she’d known her claim had been meant more to protect her own illusions than to deceive him. She just hadn’t wanted to accept the obvious truth.

“You must become a leader,” Dainn said. “The leader of everyone who fights for Midgard.”

“That’s crazy talk,” Mist said, desperately searching for a way out. “Bryn would be better. She already has followers loyal to her, and—”

“She has only the magic of the Valkyrie,” Dainn said. “You are the only one of your kind in this world. The only one who can stand against Loki in single combat.”

“With the Vanir magic. But you said I couldn’t use—”

“As long as Loki continues to believe that you are in Freya’s thrall, he will not risk throwing his full forces against you until he is certain the Lady can be defeated without provoking her to use the Eitr. And when you have learned enough to wield the ancient magic again, it will not matter what he believes.”