Hammered

Chapter 24

When I returned to the center of the village, nose knitting and blood washed away with a handful of snow, a blessedly clothed Hrym had joined Suttung and my companions around the communal fire pit. Someone had produced some dry wood from somewhere, and now a cheerful blaze from a few logs of northern pine illuminated the scene. Some other frost giants were standing around, curiosity driving them outside, making my friends look like Halflings. I surveyed the tableau with my faerie specs and saw that Väinämöinen had taken it upon himself to cast a seeming over the area, shielding us from the sight of Odin’s spies.

The frost giants had interesting auras; the white noise of their magic was elemental and limited to ice, of course, but over that I saw colors of curiosity and mistrust and even anger over our presence. I could have been misinterpreting what I was seeing, however, since I had no baseline experience with frost giants.

Hrym was taller than Suttung and much broader in the chest. Reminiscent of a growling heavy metal singer, he had studded black leather bracers on his wrists. He also had a fine fur cloak draped around him, which marked him as the chief and a little more sensible about the cold. I’m not sure he ever got to finish his business with his partner, though; the expression on his face combined with the tone of his skin suggested that he might be feeling a bit blue.

He was grimacing down at Leif, who was trying to explain something in Old Norse, when one of the other giants directed his attention to my approach. He sized me up with his cold eyes and did not seem to be impressed. He had a beardcicle thicker than my neck and longer than my torso.

“You are the Druid?” he said.

“Aye. Call me Atticus.”

“I am Hrym,” he said, and thus the pleasantries were concluded. He pointed at Leif. “This dead man tells me you can get to Asgard without crossing Bifrost.”

“It is true. I have already done it.”

“He tells me the Norns are dead, as is the great squirrel, Ratatosk.”

“Also true. It is why Hugin and Munin have been so active recently. They are looking for me.”

“Graah. Those cursed ravens always hound me. They know I will lead the frost Jötnar to the final battle.”

“Have you thought that the final battle may not occur as foretold anymore, now that the Norns are dead?”

The Jötnar all looked at one another to see if any of them had thought of this. It was clear they hadn’t.

“The prophecy can outlive the prophet and still come true,” Hrym finally said.

“Graah,” the Jötnar chorused in agreement, nodding their heads at Hrym’s nugget of wisdom. A few of their beardcicles snapped off at this unexpected activity.

“Sleipnir is dead as well,” I said. “Does that not change the outcome of Ragnarok?”

“No,” Hrym replied. “In some tales Odin rides Sleipnir to confront the wolf Fenris. In others he does not. Nothing is changed.”

“But without the Norns to spin their fate, the lives—and deaths—of the Æsir can be changed. We can change the outcome now.”

“You wish to begin Ragnarok now?”

“No. We wish to bring justice to Thor for his many crimes against humanity and the Jötnar. We ask for your aid in this.”

“Why should we help you?”

“You will remove your oldest enemy.”

“Jörmungandr will remove him for us,” Hrym said. “All we must do is wait.”

“For how long? The frost Jötnar need not cower any longer in Jötunheim. Help us slay Thor, and the spoils of Asgard will be yours to take. The goddess Freyja, for example, will be among the spoils.”

“Freyja!” Suttung exclaimed. All the male frost giants took up the name in a sort of horny echo. It was like walking into a nerd party and shouting, “Tricia Helfer!” or “Katee Sackhoff!” I checked their auras again and the males were turning red with arousal. The women were rolling their eyes and trying not to vomit. It let me know that their auras could be read reliably like human ones.

“There are other gods to contend with before that can happen,” Hrym pointed out, justifiably so. “Freyja will not fight without her twin, Freyr, in attendance. If Thor goes to fight, Týr will probably tag along. Heimdall, maybe Odin himself, will oppose us, to say nothing of the Valkyries and the Einherjar. We are a mighty people, but we have learned the hard way that we cannot face the combined might of Asgard alone.”

“Excellent points. Allow me to remind you that you won’t be alone—you’ll have us—and the Einherjar should not be a problem. We’re going to show up on the opposite side of the plane from them. You cause lots of freezing and suffering as soon as we get there, and the Æsir will send out those who can respond the fastest—which means those who can fly, right? So we can expect Thor, Freyr, Odin and the Valkyries, and anybody else who can hitch a ride with them. They can’t bring all the Einherjar with them. We strike fast, kill Thor, and take Freyja, then leave. The Æsir will be crippled and—”

“Graah!” Hrym broke in. “How can you prevail against Thor? His thunderbolts will destroy us all.”

“Oh. Perhaps you have not had time to be introduced to our companions. We have our own thunder god.” I turned to Perun and asked him quickly in Russian to produce more of his fulgurites. “This is Perun,” I said to Hrym. “With his help, Thor’s primary weapon will be neutralized. The Æsir are unlikely to have similar protection, because they’ve never had to deal with it before. Our attacks will be unlike anything they have seen or prepared for. None of your people can be struck down by cowardly attacks from the air. If the Æsir are to defeat you, they must do so by force of arms, and surely the people of Hrym can acquit themselves well in battle.”

“Beware of tricks, Hrym,” one of the females said. “This could be a snare to draw you into the Æsir’s clutches.”

“See for yourself, lady, that I speak truth. Here,” I said, tossing her my fulgurite. She caught it and regarded it quizzically; she had probably never seen sand before. I signaled to Perun to let her have it and held my breath. I wasn’t sure that Perun’s powers would work here on the Norse plane—but they did. A lightning bolt struck the giantess, and the frost Jötnar dove for cover. “Graah!” they shouted.

But then they looked back at the woman and saw that she was laughing at them, completely unharmed.

“You see, Hrym? You can finally give back some of what you’ve been getting from the Æsir. There is no need to wait for Ragnarok. This can happen tomorrow.” Perun was busy passing out fulgurites to the frost Jötnar and grinning hugely at them. He was growing beardcicles of his own due to his proximity to the giants.

Hrym still had his doubts. “Is this real lightning you call down from the sky?”

I translated for Perun, and he promptly destroyed someone’s ice house to prove that he was using one hundred percent real fucking lightning. One of the Jötnar bellowed in outrage, but Hrym found this amusing and laughed like he was trying to clear wet cement from his throat.

“Very well, tiny man called Atticus. You may tell me more of your plan. How precisely do we bring the Æsir low?”

I told him.