Mythos (26 page)

Tisiphone took a couple of long limping steps toward the wolf, passing over Laginn as she did so, an angry light in her eyes. “You and I have a reckoning coming.”

“I could go for that.” Hati grinned a wolf’s grin, the kind with plenty of sharp, pointy teeth. But then he dropped his ears and tail, hiding his fangs. “But I’ll only go there if you insist. Papa didn’t send me to save you from the Hunt one minute only so I could attack you myself the next.”

“Fenris sent you?” I asked. “Why?”

“Me and Laginn both.” The hand bobbed a yes in agreement. “Because Grandpa Loki wouldn’t, and it needed to be done.”

“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” I said. “Back up a bit, would you?”

“Does this mean I don’t get to bite him back?” asked Tisiphone, though she sounded relieved—she really wasn’t in much better shape than I was. “It does, doesn’t it.” She sighed. “It probably wouldn’t have worked out very well anyway. My powers are weak here. Witness the state of this bite.”

She touched the fingertips of her recently broken hand to the angry scar where Hati had bitten her earlier, then winced—though I couldn’t tell if that was because of the bite or the break.

“I am sorry about that,” said the wolf, flashing us a sheepish grin. “It was reflex more than anything else. I wasn’t biting
you
; I was biting someone that had interfered in my pursuit of the moon. And right when I almost had it, too.” He wagged his tail slowly. “Oh, who am I kidding? I know I won’t catch the damn thing until the last day, but I just can’t help myself. I’m like one of those silly car-chasing mortal dogs. Well, not really. If
I
get hold of the moon, I’ll know exactly what to do with it. I’ll . . .” He trailed off and gave us the grin again. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

“You were explaining about why Fenris sent you here when Loki wouldn’t.”

“Oh, right. I suppose I ought to deliver an apology on my grandfather’s behalf as well. He really shouldn’t have kidnapped the little one there.” He jerked his muzzle in Melchior’s direction. “I’m sure he regrets it.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“Well, no, you’re probably right. I’m sure he doesn’t regret it in the apologetic sense of the word, though it was bad tactics if nothing else, which he would regret in absolute terms. But you have to see it from his point of view.”

“No,” said Melchior, crossing his arms, “I don’t think that I do. Though I’m willing to hear what that point of view is. If you ever intend to get to your own point, whatever it is.”

“Sorry. I’m not really very good at points. Well, not unless they’re on the ends of my teeth, and I’m sinking them into that big, white, yummy moon . . .” His ears pricked up, and he stood a little straighter. “Not that that’s what you mean, of course. Wait, where was I again?”

“Loki,” I prompted.

“Right, right. That was it. Well, it’s like this. He’s a father, you see. Well, and a grandfather, too. And a great-grandfather for that matter . . . But it’s really the father part that counts. He’s got a mean streak, sure . . . well, more than a streak, really, but he loves his family.”

“What
are
we talking about?” Tisiphone asked, impatience plain in her voice.

“Ragnarok, of course. What else could we be talking about?” Hati blinked and suddenly looked as though someone had hit him in the forehead with a hammer. “Grandpa’s right. You really aren’t from around here, are you?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Maybe there
is
a chance of making it all work out better than it’s supposed to. No wonder Papa asked me to bring you back to him.”

“Wait, what?” I asked. “Make what work out?”

“Ragnarok. The Twilight of the Gods and the death of almost all of us.” He flicked his ears down, then up again. “You really don’t know what I’m talking about, not even the distorted versions in the human tales.”

“Distorted versions?” asked Melchior. “Why distorted?” He looked more than a little put out. Probably because he’d had the time to do some of his homework where I had not.

“Well,” said Hati, “only Odin knows the full truth of the matter, though Grandpa has heard most of it, too—some from eavesdropping, some from arguing with Odin over what he’d heard the other way. Both of them have told multiple versions of the thing to bards and skalds as part of something Grandpa calls the spin war.”

“Could we get back to the central point?” asked a resigned-sounding Tisiphone. “Before I change my mind and bite you anyway, that is.”

“Sorry,” said Hati, wagging his tail sheepishly. “Mind’s a sieve, really. The long and the short of it is the end of the world. That’s what Odin claims anyway. He’s seen the future and says that in it we all kill each other in a huge, ugly war that destroys the world and every living thing. Sure, there’s a rebirth afterward, but almost none of the present players live to see it. Not even the heroes of Valhalla, since the whole place gets destroyed.”

“Cheery,” I said.

“Tell me about it,” growled Hati, his ears going down again.

“I take it Loki doesn’t agree with Odin about all this?” asked Melchior.

“Yes and no. Grandpa doesn’t doubt that Odin is seeing the future. What he wonders—hopes, really—is if it isn’t
a
future, or
one
future, rather than
the
future. That’s why he’s been trying so hard to break the MimirNet monopoly—in hopes of shaking Odin’s control over everything. The way Grandpa sees it, Odin is an authoritarian determinist—because he’s seen it one way and so declared it, it
has
to be that way. Anything else happening would show Odin up as fallible in the knowledge department, and that hits him where he lives. So now that he’s seen it, he has to enforce it.

“He won’t listen to Grandpa about anything that controverts his vision, and that drives Grandpa crazy. Especially since it’s cost his children so much.”

“How so?” I asked, though with Laginn sitting right there I couldn’t help but think of the cord that bound Fenris and the sword we’d pulled from the wolf’s jaws, and I said as much.

“Besides that, Odin condemned my aunt Hel to rule the darkest parts of the underworld, where the damned souls go. And he threw my uncle Jormungand into the ocean.” Hati grinned, or more precisely, bared his teeth. “I think that one was a mistake, no matter what Odin saw himself doing in the future. With nothing to limit his size, Uncle Jormungand has grown so big he can reach all the way around the world and bite his own tail now.”

“What does all of this have to do with us?” I asked.

Ever since Loki had appeared to me during my last attempt on MimirNet, I’d been waiting to find out what he wanted.

“Well, Grandpa had pretty much given up before you arrived. That’s what Papa says anyway, that Grandpa was just going through the motions while getting ever more bitter and angry at the unfairness of it all.”

“And now?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Now Grandpa thinks there might yet be some way to salvage something out of all of this. If you do come from a world where there are no Norse gods, that means that the worlds
can
be split, that maybe different, or at least multiple futures are possible. He wants to make an alliance with—”

A great “boom,” as loud as a jet breaking the sound barrier, shook the cave and cut him off. A long, thin crack appeared in the ceiling and began dripping.

“What the hell was that?” asked Melchior.

“Thunder,” said Hati through bared teeth, his ears and tail low. “Here on Asgard, that can only mean Thor’s about. Somewhere very close, too. Damn. Looks like I’m going to have to cut out of an interesting discussion.”

“You’re abandoning us?” Melchior asked incredulously.

“No, that would be much safer. I’m going to try to lead them away.” He headed for the pool.

“Why would you do that for us?” asked Tisiphone.

Hati laughed. “I wouldn’t. I’m doing it for my family in hopes of a future where we actually have a future. Good-bye.”

He dived into the pool and vanished. Laginn followed him as far as the edge of the water, then turned back to us, looking expectant.

“So, now what?” asked Melchior.

“Stay quiet for a bit,” I replied. “At least till we come up with something better, which we should probably get started on.” I began to pace, rediscovered my missing toe, swore quietly, and stopped. “I could really get to hate this MythOS, you know that?”

“You and me both,” agreed Melchior. “I can barely digest the chaos, my spells work for shit, the binary sucks, and we arrived just in time to watch Ahllan’s health go completely south. We’ve got to get back to her, Ravirn. She’s in no shape to take care of herself.”

“Hugin and Munin know about Forestdown,” I said. “Getting anywhere near there is practically suicidal.” Melchior shot me a look of pure betrayal, and I held up both hands. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Mel, just noting it’s not going to be easy.”

“Not to mention that we have to get out of here first,” said Tisiphone, who eased herself down to sit on the floor. “None of us are in great shape. We’re both limping”—she scratched around the fresh stitches on her calf—“and Melchior’s at about ten percent of what a webgoblin should be in this environment. We need rest and we need sanctuary.”

“You think we should join Fenris and Loki, don’t you,” I said. It wasn’t really a question, nor did I entirely disagree with her, but damn it, I didn’t like Loki one little bit.

Laginn came back to us and bobbed in agreement before settling beside her. He was starting to look a bit gray again and needed to get back to Fenris. But as much as I liked the hand, I also remembered his hatred of Tyr. The hand had his own agenda, and it didn’t necessarily mesh with ours.

“We have to have allies,” said Tisiphone, “and that sanctuary I mentioned. I’m not used to needing time to heal, but I need it now, and I’m not going to be much use to anyone until I get it.”

“You seemed ready enough to take Hati on earlier,” I said.

“That was ninety percent bluff.” She held up her broken hand. “This isn’t going away without a ton of sleep.”

I kicked the floor and immediately regretted it—I was going to miss that toe for a long time to come. She really did have a point.

“Loki kidnapped Melchior,” I said. I’d intended the words to come out fierce and righteous, but even to me they sounded more than a little whiny—gods but I was tired, and I hurt all over.

“And Fenris freed him.” Tisiphone gave me an appraising look. “Do you want to keep arguing for another ten minutes? Or would you rather give up gracefully now? You’ll notice that Melchior hasn’t jumped in to proclaim undying opposition.”

I looked at Melchior.

“She’s right, Boss. I’m not saying I’m ever going to feel all sweetness and light about Loki, but so far we’re pretty much oh for ten on the Norse mythos scoreboard.”

That covered Tisiphone and Melchior. Laginn? The hand pointed off into the distance and bobbed a yes. About what I’d expected.

“I don’t like it.” Ouch, whinier still. “But you’re probably right.”

“I’m definitely right,” said Tisiphone, “and you know it, too, or you’d be arguing a lot harder.” She grinned. “That or just doing something else and not arguing at all.”

I sighed and lowered myself to the ground as gently as possible, lying out flat on my stomach to give my sliced-up butt a rest. “Okay, so let’s say I’ve conceded the argument, and we should go back to Iceland and Rune. The next question is how do we get there from here?”

“Via Forestdown, where we pick up Ahllan,” said Melchior, who joined the rest of us on the floor.

“Agreed.” I nodded. “But that doesn’t answer the big question, which is how the hell do we get out of Asgard?”

“I don’t know, Boss. I just don’t know.”

My brain was seriously fuzzing out on me, and I knew what I really needed was a nap. Unfortunately, this was not the place or the time.

“Mel,” I asked, “did you save the Norse MythOS material you pulled off the local human Internet?”

“Sure, but Hati said it’s full of mistruths.”

“I don’t trust Hati, and even if he’s right, there’s going to be a lot of stuff in there that is true and that I don’t know. If you’re willing to play laptop for a while, I think it’s time I did my homework.”

“You’re the boss,” said Melchior, flickering from goblin to computer in an instant.

“I am not,” I said as I edged over to where I could read his screen.

He didn’t respond directly, just popped up a saved web page that held a translation of the complete prose Edda—a collection of tales of the Norse gods collected and written down in the 1200s. At least that was what the site claimed. I began to read. After a few moments, Tisiphone crawled over and read over my shoulder.

A couple of hours later—necessarily involving a lot of skimming of the less-immediately-relevant material—I felt I had a much better handle on things. Particularly, I felt that I now understood why everyone was so fixated on the huge mutual suicide pact that was Ragnarok. It was actually quite a strange moment for me because I found myself divided in my sympathies across time.