Hell's Pawn (13 page)

“We could jump,” John said. “Might hurt, but we can’t die, right?” Dante looked back the way they came. “I don’t hear him coming.”

“C ome to think of it, why are we running anyway?” J ohn continued. “I t’s not like he can kill us.”

“There are a number of unpleasant things that could happen to us here,” Dante said, his accent gone once more.

“Like what?”

“L ike that creature eating us. B eing trapped in its stomach for all eternity as it feeds off our soul energy.” Dante lost color, surprised again by the strange words coming out of his mouth.

They waited together in silence, Dante not trusting himself to speak and J ohn no longer trusting Dante. He didn’t know what to think of his companion’s change. O n one hand, Dante suddenly knew a lot more than he did before, and that was useful.

O n the other, who knew where this information was coming from. For all he knew, it could all be Loki’s manipulative lies.

The falcon soon landed on the ground before them, its beak covered in blood.

E verywhere the falcon hopped, it left red footprints in the snow. J ohn was crouching down, concerned that it was injured, when the bird began to shimmer. The falcon grew and stretched, replaced almost instantly by a woman.

J ohn knew her immediately, as he had the other gods. This was Freya, goddess of enchantment and poetry. Thick braids of honey oak hair wound in circles on each side of her head before resting on her shoulders. Her lips were red paint on porcelain skin, emerald eyes alive with intensity. S he wore a long cloak made of falcon feathers that fluttered restlessly before settling. Freya raised a quizzical brow at them and frowned.

“I t was only an ice giant,” she said, recognizing the concern in J ohn’s eyes. S he pulled the falcon cloak tightly about her and sat, motioning for them to do the same, her expression becoming determined. “The other gods may be content to play their games, but I tire of them. Diplomacy may be unfamiliar to us, but all other methods have failed. I am giving you a chance to earn our support, but only if you answer truthfully.”

“You’ll never meet a more honest bloke than I ,” Dante lied, eyes locked on the beautiful goddess.

“Good,” Freya said and nodded. “Then tell me, where is Odin?” The air reverberated with his name. O din, king of the gods, the all-father, the one-eyed hanged man. O din was the true chief of the gods, not Thor. J ohn could mentally see the grizzled beard, the keenness of the remaining eye, the ravens that sat on each of the god’s shoulders. What he could not see, unfortunately, is where this god was.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

“Then tell me what has become of him,” Freya demanded. “W hat did you demons do with him?”

John shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Deceivers!” Freya hissed. “All was well until your first emissaries came. S hortly after their arrival Odin disappeared. You cannot tell me this is coincidence!”

“I admit it sounds suspicious,” J ohn said, “but I don’t know anything about it. I f Hell has your king, why would they ask for your support in the war? W ouldn’t they use him to extort you into fighting for them?”

Freya’s eyes narrowed as she thought over his words. “I will ask you one more time to tell me the truth.”

“I already have.”

She turned next to Dante.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, “but I can’t remember the last time a woman scared me so much. Not since my old mam. If I knew where Odin was, I’d point the way.” The goddess shook her head in frustration. “Then I leave you to Loki’s whims.” W ithout another word, Freya’s form shimmered and became the falcon, taking to the air. J ohn thought she intended to abandon them, but the bird circled above until they got to their feet and began to follow again.

S o the Norse gods had always meant for L oki to deal with them. The nonsense about stolen apples was only a ruse, this journey a long march toward a divine steel trap. Unless L oki was only to interrogate them. J ohn wasn’t that optimistic, but maybe the trickster god could be reasoned with. Perhaps L oki was a skilled enough liar to recognize when someone was telling the truth.

* * * * *

Freya left them at the entrance of a monumental ice castle. Transforming into a woman, the goddess asked them once more what they could not answer. J ohn reiterated their ignorance and defended their innocence, and despite his certainty that she was on the verge of believing him, in the end she became a bird and swept away into the sky.

They were left to face the curiously constructed castle alone. The bricks of foggy ice gave only hints of colors and objects on the other side of the wall. J ohn looked desperately for signs of movement, but the castle was as still as their frozen surroundings. The proportions of the building worried him. The massive door, the size of the windows, and the space he estimated between floors were all scaled to the size of a giant.

They saw no portcullis, drawbridge, or any other method of defense. Whatever lived here didn’t fear intruders. I n fact, the heavy door was cracked open, just wide enough for humans to pass through. They were expected.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Dante mu ered in a reassuringly thick I rish accent. He gestured for John to go first, as if he were being polite.

The entrance hall was a mess. Tapestries had been torn from the walls and suits of armor lay in pieces among sha ered furniture. Perhaps the open door wasn’t an invitation, but had been left that way by whomever—or whatever—had caused this devastation. Then again, maybe that was how things were supposed to appear. Was this all part of L oki’s notorious cunning? They surveyed the surrounding chaos in silence before proceeding to the next room, careful not to slip on the icy floor. The large table, still laden with empty plates and goblets, showed it was once a dining hall, but everything else was in complete disarray. The remaining rooms in the castle would likely be in the same condition.

“M aybe this is the trap,” Dante said. “They’re going to pin this mess on us. L oki is probably on his way home, and is going to be pissed when he thinks we trashed the place.”

“S eems like a lot of trouble just to frame us,” J ohn said doubtfully. “Unless the gods wanted to get back at Loki while getting rid of us at the same time.” They tensed at a noise in the adjacent hallway. A booming cough, a snort, and footsteps too heavy to be human. Dante and J ohn took one look at each other before racing for the only cover in the room—the dining room table. Twice as tall as a normal table, it was easy to duck underneath.

R emaining silent was easier without a thudding heart or short breath, but they were still terrified to hear the footsteps nearing, one by one. A shadow cast across the floor as the doorway was filled by the very ice giant they had seen in the wild, its head now sticky with maroon goo. Dried blood clumped around the gashes on its face where Freya’s talons had done their work. The giant surveyed the room, one of its eyes almost swollen shut, and sniffed.

J ohn thought of
J ack and the B eanstalk
and almost burst out laughing, but clicking claws on the frozen floor distracted him. A dog was standing in the doorway where they had entered. B olo! The dog’s ears were perked, his eyes searching. O f all the times the dog could track him down, why now? J ohn looked back at the giant, who was rummaging through a mess of pots and broken dishes on the floor.

B olo spo ed J ohn and tro ed toward him. J ohn grimaced, knowing what was going to come next. The bark that had once saved him from P urgatory was now going to doom him in Asgard. Sure enough, the English Shepherd began yapping happily.

The giant swung around, and B olo skidded to a stop, his hackles rising as he noticed the monster. A low growl built in the dog’s throat, one that was drowned out by the ice giant’s roar. J ohn thought of an eternity spent inside the giant’s stomach and knew that would be the dog’s fate if he didn’t act. Already the giant was rushing toward Bolo, its feet sliding over the floor with the skill of an ice skater.

J ohn was closer to B olo and reached him first, despite the giant’s speed. He crouched protectively in front of the dog, but B olo scrambled to do the same for him.

The giant leapt the final distance to them, grabbing J ohn by the head and tossing him effortlessly across the room. J ohn collided with a leg of the table, his body wrapping around it like a wet rag.

B olo yipped as J ohn grabbed the table leg to pull himself up. The giant had the dog by the tail, holding him aloft and dangling him over his maw as if he intended to swallow his prey whole.

Then Dante was there, gracefully moving across the ice, reaching the giant’s feet in seconds. Dante’s eyes glowed red and his chest expanded before his entire head lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. Fire exploded from his mouth. J ohn used his arm to shield his eyes against the light. He didn’t need to see to understand what was happening. The giant’s screams of pain were deafening as he fled from the room, the noise moving toward the entrance and fading away in the distance.

W hen J ohn uncovered his eyes, he saw Dante on his knees, white as a ghost. B olo cautiously approached him and sniffed his mouth before turning to J ohn for some sort of explanation. The dog’s expression was remarkably similar to the Irishman’s.

“We’ve got to get you to a doctor,” John said.

“W hy? You think I caught something?” Dante sounded panicked. “M aybe from the succubus, like some sort of demonic STD?”

J ohn laughed. “I don’t know, but it’s proved convenient so far. As for you,” he said to Bolo, “you need to stick with me. No more of these surprise appearances.” Bolo barked, hopefully in agreement.

After a brief reunion, they regained the urgency to fulfill their mission. The giant could come back, maybe with brethren. W ith this in mind, they began to cautiously explore the other rooms. Not all were trashed. A pa ern began to appear, a path of destruction leading from the entryway, through the dining hall and half a dozen other rooms, before ending in the courtyard.

There, near the fountain in the center of the yard, a dozen ravens cawed in lustful abandon, pecking and tearing at the carrion beneath their feet. B olo sent the birds flying, barking and leaping at them as they escaped.

“Well, we found the golden apples,” Dante joked.

J ohn saw nothing to laugh about. W ith the ravens gone, they could see what the birds had been working on. A man had been turned inside out, his muscle, entrails, and the raw red underside of skin spread out in a messy heap. The golden apples were scattered carelessly on top of it all.

The body was still identifiable. L ike the other gods, it retained an aura that spoke its name and character. This was L oki, trickster god, dark and cunning—what was left of him anyway.

A falcon swept down from the sky and landed between them and the body. B olo went after the bird, but quickly skidded to a stop when it changed into the goddess Freya. Her eyes were wide with shock. This obviously wasn’t part of the plan.

“What happened here?” she whispered. “The other gods must know!” And in an instant the gods were there, more of them than had been in the hall. And they were different now. G one were any signs of age. E ach was in his or her prime—

B aldur indescribably handsome, Thor the pinnacle of physical fitness, and blind Hodur no longer senile, but grim and serious.

The names and natures of the other gods filled J ohn’s mind. O ne of them was I dhunn, goddess of immortality and keeper of the grove of golden apples. O f course the gods had a limitless source. How could L oki have stolen them all? J ust as the gods had pretended to be old, L oki’s theft of the apples had been part of the game, a ruse gone terribly wrong.

“You did this?” Thor demanded.

Before John could act, the thunder god grabbed him by the shoulders.

“You will pay,” Thor hissed before tearing off J ohn’s right arm as if dismembering a paper doll.

J ohn shuddered. I t wasn’t pain he felt… not exactly. L osing of a part of himself felt
wrong
, the disturbing sensation that he was no longer complete. Not just superficially, as in missing a physical part, but as if something had been stolen from the core of his being. J ohn’s head was reeling, but he forced himself to focus. The Norse god had ripped his arm from him effortlessly. I f J ohn didn’t act quickly, he would soon lose more of himself.

“How could we have?” he whimpered. “Are we more clever than Loki? Is anyone?” Thor hesitated before unstrapping his hammer. L ightning sparked along its rune-engraved surface. The hammer rose into the air, held above J ohn’s head and ready to strike. Bolo barked and snapped at Thor’s legs, but the god paid him no heed.

“Freya saw us. She knows we didn’t do this!”

J ohn could see the goddess from the corner of his eye. S he mouthed the word

“O din” to him and his stomach sank. S he wouldn’t vouch for them unless he told her where Odin was. She still believed he knew.

“I don’t know!” John moaned.

Thor’s face was grim. “You shall share Loki’s fate.”

“I f I could kill a god, I ’d kill you!” J ohn snarled. “I ’d take that hammer and shove it up your ass!”

Thor’s eyes flashed with fury before giving way to amusement. He bellowed with laughter as he dropped J ohn to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder and almost sending him flying.

“Now you are talking sense!” the great god boomed. “Here! Have this back!” He picked up John’s arm and handed it to him.

John took it by the hand, feeling both grateful and repulsed.

“J ust hold it to yourself,” Dante said, suddenly next to him. His accent was gone again, the shadows deep across his face. Was that a glint of red in his eye?

J ohn shuddered, the discomfort of being incomplete returning now that he was no longer in danger. Following Dante’s instruction, he pressed the two severed parts together, trying not to focus on the perfect cross-section of bone and muscle visible where his limb had been torn. At least it wasn’t oozing with blood. As soon as the torn areas reached each other, they snapped seamlessly together like two a racting magnets, and John’s discomfort abated.