Norse Code Part 20

"Is this about my performance review?" Mist called back. Crouching between cars, she and Hermod moved toward the other end of the roof.

"We can discuss your unexcused absences later. Right now I want to talk to you about some of your a.s.sociates."

They hid behind a minivan, listening to Radgrid's thugs prowling over gla.s.s and gravel.

"Surrender to me, Mist, and I will spare your life."

Mist looked at Hermod and rolled her eyes.

A huge, bearded man came around the rear of the van, rifle pointed at them. Hermod hurled a stone at his chest and the man flew back in a spray of blood, firing his gun in the air.

"Fine, then. Open up," Radgrid shouted. "Shoot everything!"

Bullets ripped through the air, shattering gla.s.s, puncturing metal and rubber. Shots pa.s.sed close enough to shave Hermod's stubble. Maybe this is it, he thought. Maybe I die on the eve of Ragnarok, just before everything goes down the big toilet. Covering Mist with his body, he was sorry he never got to spend time with her on a white-sand beach.

Over the clatter and roar of the gunfire, Hermod heard the distinct drumming of Sleipnir's hooves. He dared peer up, and there the horse was, eyes blazing in the parking-lot aisle. Winston crouched, barking, beneath the horse.

Hermod grabbed Mist's arm. "Come on!"

He hoisted Mist onto Sleipnir's back and stuffed Winston into the harness, then leaped behind the horse's withers. Steam curling from flared nostrils, Sleipnir trotted to the far end of the roof and turned himself around. Bullets shattered car windshields and punctured steel.

"Hold on tight," Hermod warned Mist. Leaning forward, he whispered encouragement in Sleipnir's ear.

Sleipnir took off with a shock, jolting the riders back, his muscles compressing and releasing in a thundering rush. Sparks danced from his hooves. Cement cracked beneath him. Radgrid's men fell away as Sleipnir ran them down. Bare inches from the edge of the roof, he took a great galloping leap into the sky.

Hermod twisted around and looked down. Radgrid fired off shots from the roof, but soon they were out of her range, a hundred feet up, two hundred, the whole city block beneath them, people running, black smoke, ocean swells flooding the streets. Then, a wider expanse as Sleipnir climbed ever higher, his eight legs moving like the oars of a ship.

As they drew close to Naglfar, Hermod realized he'd misjudged the ship's size and thus its alt.i.tude. It was much larger than he'd thought. Perhaps it had grown.

Sleipnir came even with the keel, and then the horse's hooves struck the hull. He galloped up at a sheer vertical. His mane cut into Hermod's palms as Hermod gripped two handfuls of hair to keep from falling. Mist squeezed Hermod's waist, while Winston cried, dangling from his harness. Sleipnir charged up the side of the ship, a froth streaming from his mouth. The horse landed on the deck with an explosion of splintering planks. He reared up and shrieked, his front hooves slashing the air.

The ship was awash in full-scale combat. Hermod couldn't quite discern who was fighting whom. The majority of the conflict seemed to be between soldiers and unarmed dead, and the soldiers were outnumbered. They desperately hacked away at the swarming ma.s.ses that kept coming at them. The mutineers pried weapons loose from the soldiers' grips, gouged eyes, smothered the soldiers with overwhelming force.

"It's a revolt," Mist shouted over the din. "Let's help out!"

Hermod would have been glad to oblige, but it was easier enthused than done. An Ottoman Janissary in an ostrich-plumed hat aimed his rifle of bra.s.s and oiled wood at Hermod, but before the man could work the complex firing mechanism, Sleipnir rushed forward and bit his face. The Janissary fell, but a Zulu wrested the gun from him and took aim to fire. Hermod unsheathed the Sword of Seven and cut the Zulu in half.

Some of the fighters ran from the sight of the blade, while others were gripped with dry heaves. But for the most part, Hel's army was comprised of soldiers at least as hearty as their counterpart Einherjar, and most of the fighters pressed on with their attack.

The direction of the conflict shifted and started to swirl around Sleipnir like a whirlpool. The soldiers and mutineers both saw Sleipnir as a threat, or as a weapon to claim for their side, and Hermod and Mist could only struggle to remain mounted as the horse kicked and bit and whipped his tail at the attackers.

Hermod felt something zing past his ear and craned his neck around to see a man in desert camouflage gear firing an M16. Three meaty thunks, and Sleipnir bucked, screaming. Blood welled up from a trio of sloppy bullet holes in his neck. The man held his ground, firing, as Sleipnir ran him down.

"We're making things worse," Mist shouted, hacking away at a soldier wearing a George Custer mustache, while kicking at a woman in a postal-clerk uniform. Armed dead and press-ganged galley slaves were becoming an undifferentiated swirl.

Hermod yanked on Sleipnir's mane, trying to get him to reverse direction and head for the stern, where they might be able to fight for control of the helm, but the horse was in a rage, storming through anyone in his path and leaving a wake of wrecked bodies.

A high voice rose above the clamor: "Leave the horse alone!"

Hermod sought out the speaker, and he and Mist found her at the same time. Lilly Castillo stood upon a pile of corpses, her face scratched and bleeding, her blood-greased fingers gripping a long spear with a diamond-shaped point. Beside her, wielding a trident and a Chinese hook sword, respectively, stood the Iowans, Henry Verdant and Alice Kirkpatrick, grinning fiercely in their blood-splattered clothes.

A red-coated soldier sprang up and aimed a curve-handled pistol at Lilly. Alice Kirkpatrick ripped his throat open.

"Lilly!" Mist shouted, waving her arms at her sister, while Hermod looked about for Hod.

"Take the helm" was Lilly's only acknowledgment.

Blood flowed freely from the bullet wounds in Sleipnir's neck, making Hermod's hands slippery as he tugged with all his might on the horse's mane to get him to turn around. Whether in response to Hermod's exhortations or acting on his own, Sleipnir spun around and spider-scuttled sideways down the length of the ship.

Hermod chanced to look down, over the rail. They were no longer in Midgard, but where they'd arrived, he couldn't say. A few miles toward the horizon rose stately pillars of trees, perhaps a thousand feet tall, their boughs consumed in flame. Hermod had never seen such trees anywhere outside the forests of Jotunheim. But there were also black mountains pocked with cave openings of the kind native to Svartalfheim. The Asgardian hall of Valhalla was down there, its roof caved in. A shopping mall with a Home Depot and a Costco smoked below.

Vidar must have sliced seams into the tissue of the World Tree, and the worlds had spilled out of their confines. Now they b.u.t.ted against one another like a puzzle of ill-matched pieces. At the very center of the parking lot was a vast asphalt field. A shopping-mall parking lot, then, would serve as Vigrid, the pivot point of Ragnarok.

The ship sailed over the armed force gathered on the nearer end of the parking lot. The armor of the Einherjar glinted in reflected flames, but their numbers seemed scant, thinly distributed over the field. Arrows flew past the ship-some of those Einherjar were d.a.m.ned mighty archers, Hermod thought-but the few that hit the hull did no harm, and Naglfar sailed on toward the opposing army on the other end of the lot. This was a much larger force, made up of giants. Some were as beautiful as any G.o.d, resplendent in mirror-bright gold armor, and some were shambling grotesqueries with mouths like basking sharks or skin covered in mud and turf. Rocks and snow avalanched down the backs of the frost giants as they drummed their chests, and when they threw their heads back and shouted war cries, Hermod felt the shrieking cold wind even at this alt.i.tude.

Towering over them all, a swirling ma.s.s of flame, too bright to look at directly, rocked the earth with every step. This had to be Surt, holding a sword big enough to sever mountains from their roots.

It was too much. It was laughable. Compared to the giants, the Einherjar were a Cub Scout troop. They wouldn't die bravely. They would be rendered into grease and dust and ash. Hermod at long last truly grasped the concept of a futile battle. The world was over. It just didn't know it yet.

His sore ribs complaining, he raised himself off Sleipnir's back to gaze across the length of the ship's deck, past the heads of the soldiers and mutineers. At the stern, perhaps fifty yards away, Loki manned the tiller. His posture was relaxed, like a weekend sailor steering his yacht, and he looked out over the carnage on the deck with smug satisfaction.

"Loki!" Hermod shouted. "You f.u.c.king hermaphrodite! I'm coming for you!"

Loki's eyes locked on Hermod's, and he laughed with malicious glee.

"Hold on," Hermod warned Mist. He raised the Sword of Seven high over his head and kicked his heels into Sleipnir's sides, urging him into a charge. The deck cleared, the fight forgotten, combatants breaking off to get out of the way, and Sleipnir growled, a noise like that of no horse or any other animal in Hermod's experience. With great pleasure, Hermod saw Loki's expression shift into a frightened grimace.

In a bid to slow Sleipnir's charge, Loki gave the tiller a harsh tug. The bow lurched up. Bodies fell and tumbled down the inclined deck past Sleipnir's legs, but the horse continued up the steep grade, gaining speed.

Loki was scarcely two dozen yards away now, and Hermod whirled the sword around, building momentum for his final strike. Hot rain fell from the interdimensional incisions he made in the air.

Draugr threw themselves at Sleipnir, but most were crushed to pulp beneath his hooves or fell to Hermod's and Mist's swords. Some managed to claw their way up Sleipnir's sides, using Mist's and Hermod's bodies for hand- and footholds. Fingers raked Hermod's face. Draugr hung on his arms and legs like heavy parasites, dragging him off Sleipnir's back. Smashing to the deck, he swung the sword back and forth, trying to drive away the draugr. Limbs flew, heads separated from bodies, but the full force of the draugr squad was on him, and they were fearless. No matter how many he cut down, replacements crawled through the gory mess he made. One bit into his shoulder, another into his calf.

So this is how I die, thought Hermod. Flesh-eating zombies. Of all the ways to go.

He kicked a draugr in the face, smashed the face of another with his elbow, drove the sword's hilt into another's chin, and now, afforded some small freedom of movement, swept his blade around in a 360-degree arc that split torsos from legs and sliced a wind-sucking hole in the air.

The draugr kept coming.

With the rowers completely involved in the melee, the ship was being propelled only by the sail. If Naglfar lost her sail, and therefore her forward momentum, would she fall?

Hermod drove through the draugr mob, fighting his way to the mast. The Sword of Seven slid through bodies, parting the air with thunder cracks, and when Hermod had gained a yard of clear path, he jumped to the mast of Jotun bones and started climbing. The sail battered him, crackling and flapping in the wind, smashing him against the mast. He kept climbing, draugr coming up after him, like a treed bear with hounds snapping at his feet.

Reaching the crossbeam-a single giant femur-Hermod sliced through the thick bone, and it fell away from the mast. The sail went with it, tangling in Hermod's legs.

His bones sang like a hammered steel rod when he crashed to the deck. He could take punishment, but, d.a.m.n, he was getting tired of pain. Groaning, he struggled to free himself from the sail, now wrapped around him like a shroud.

Draugr hands gripped his wrists and tried to pry his fingers away from his sword. He held on but could do nothing as they lifted him from the deck, carrying him like a battering ram and rushing to the side of the ship, where, without ceremony, they pitched him over.

Tumbling and falling, he heard Loki's laughter.

HERMOD LANDED DEAD center on the painted wheelchair of a handicapped parking s.p.a.ce. He felt as if his every bone had shattered to pieces the size of teeth, all the fluids in his body bursting out like a broken water balloon.

Spitting a gob of blood, he lifted his head to see Naglfar listing over the battlefield, not more than twenty or thirty feet off the tarmac. Einherjar on the ground tossed spears and shot arrows at the ship, but they had no more effect than toothpicks flung at a rhinoceros.

Hermod dragged himself to his feet. He spat some more blood. With limited relief, he realized he'd fallen onto the Asgard side of the battle line. The Einherjar around him were as motley a crew as Hel's fighters on the ship had been, though better fed and better equipped. The man closest to him wore camouflage pants, combat boots, Mickey Mouse ears, and nothing else. It's a Small World was tattooed in script across his bare chest. He rather casually pointed his sword at Hermod and took a drag off a ma.s.sive joint. "Buddy, you landed on the wrong side of this parking lot. There's five hundred of us been waiting to kill guys like you."

"I'm Hermod, son of Odin," Hermod said. "f.u.c.k off."

He scanned the faces of the men around him, hoping to spot Grimnir and, to a lesser extent, his Aesir kin, but the battlefield was vast, the parking lot stretching into other worlds through cracks in the World Tree. Hermod could sense living wood beneath the thin layer of asphalt at his feet.

Naglfar limped across the gap between the two armies, and Hermod kept waiting to see Sleipnir leaping to the ground, away from Loki and Hel's fighters and the draugr. Admittedly, that would bring Mist onto the scene of the final battle, but then at least she'd be close by. But the ship continued angling down toward the ranks of trolls and giants, listing farther to starboard until it had almost completely tipped over. Dead were leaping off the deck and sliding down the dangling rigging. Hermod sprinted away from the Einherjar front line into the no-man's-land between the two armies.

The ship struck the ground bow-first, the hull collapsing behind it in a slow implosion of bone and cartilage. The fingernail scales flew like confetti, and the great mast toppled. Dust and debris billowed across the battlefield, and a bleeding Loki limped out from the cloud, towering over the battlefield.

AFTER THE draugr had tossed Hermod over the side of the ship, Mist grabbed two fistfuls of Sleipnir's mane and urged him to the rail. The horse took several galloping steps but then jerked to a stop, almost throwing Mist over his head. "What are you doing?" Mist shouted. "Leap over! We're going after him! Hurtle, d.a.m.n you!" She couldn't survive the fall on her own. She needed Sleipnir to make the jump, and even then all she could do was hope for the best. But Hermod was down there. She wouldn't let him face death by gravity or monster all by himself.

"Mist! Over here!" Lilly was upslope on the leaning deck. Her face bled from multiple scratches, and there was an ugly clot of blood and hair on her forehead. She made vicious thrusts with her broken spear at the draugr and Hel soldiers crowding her. Fierce as Lilly was, she'd soon be ripped apart like a live chicken tossed into a pen of starving hyenas. But Hermod needed Mist too. He was an Aesir, but despite whatever combination of courage or foolishness drove him, he was out of his league down there on that battlefield. And yeah, dammit, she loved him. Maybe loved him. Sort of loved him.

"Get me to Lilly," Mist commanded, despairing. Sleipnir bolted up the deck, sure-footed as a mountain goat. The soldiers in Sleipnir's path held their ground against his advance, one of them scoring a hit on the horse's flank with a poleax, but Sleipnir broke the man with a mule kick, raked his tail across another man's eyes, and bit off the leg of another.

"Get on!" Mist ordered Lilly, leaning out with her hand extended. Once Lilly was seated behind her, Mist ignored the slices Sleipnir's hair was making in her fingers and grabbed hard to steer him back to the rail.

"Where are you going? The fight's up there," Lilly yelled in her ear, pointing toward the ship's stern.

"Hermod got tossed over the side. I'm going after him."

"No, we have to crash the G.o.dd.a.m.ned ship before it delivers Hel's army."

"Jesus, Lilly, did you hear me? I said Hermod went over."

Mist expected Lilly to yell back, to grab her and shake her and scream in her face. Instead, she spoke softly in Mist's ear, and even above the screams on the deck and the ring of steel and the crack of gunfire, Mist heard her.

"Okay, babe, I'm sorry. Do what you have to do. But let me off the pony first. I need to help sabotage the bad guys' s.h.i.t." She ran a gentle hand through Mist's hair.

"Better hop off, then, Lilly. I'm gonna think global and act local and help Hermod."

But Sleipnir had other ideas. Wheeling around, he plowed through Hel's fighters and draugr to get to the helm. In a pounding charge, he flew up the deck but then came to a sudden, splintering halt. Mist and Lilly barely managed to stay mounted. Jostled in his harness, Winston whimpered.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with Glue Factory?" Lilly barked, but Mist saw why he'd put on the brakes. Loki's face was tilted up to the sky, as though he were enjoying sun and spray. Hod stood before him, one of his arms drooping, clearly dislocated. He leaned on a spear shaft, about a foot of which had been sheared off, leaving exposed raw wood and a sharp, ragged point.

"Help me guide my aim once more, Loki," he said, "and I will gladly throw another dart."

Loki chortled. "Sorry, dear, no. I have some tasks left that require me to live a bit longer. But you're a son of Odin, are you not? Surely you can throw a stick without my help. Haven't you developed a dog's sense of smell to compensate for-"

Hod hurled his stick.

The point punched into Loki's right shoulder, and Loki howled and staggered back, falling against the tiller. The deck lurched sharply downward.

"Now! This is it! Take it down!" Henry Verdant rushed past Sleipnir's legs, a blood-slicked bayonet in his hands. Loki swatted him away with the back of his hand, but Alice Kirkpatrick retrieved Henry's bayonet and took up the charge in his place. Hod demanded another dart to throw, while a ma.s.s of press-ganged dead surged forward, swarming over Loki like a pack of dogs. The trickster G.o.d was strong, but he began to sag, and with his weight on the tiller, the ship dropped with him.

The dragon figurehead splintered like windblown straw when it hit the ground. The corpses impaled on its teeth collapsed into jelly, and then the shock wave of impact traveled through the deck. Amid ear-gouging cracks as the ship's ribs and boards fractured, bodies flew, helpless as fallen leaves in a storm.

A ROAR encompa.s.sed the entire bowl of the sky, and Hermod looked up to see the Midgard serpent rise from the horizon like a mushroom cloud. Covered in brown and green and black scales, its skin reflected oil-slick rainbows. The serpent glared down at the earth, its eyes filmed over with yellow cataracts. It flared its great translucent, mucus-colored ruff and released a blast of poisonous air that drove giants and Einherjar alike to their knees, retching.

Hermod hurried toward the serpent, his throat burning. Thor was prophesied to die fighting the serpent, but he was also supposed to kill it. What if Hermod could kill the serpent instead? Wouldn't that be removing a huge link from the event chain? Could it be enough to shove Ragnarok off the rails? Of course, Hermod fully realized he wasn't Thor. He couldn't subdue Jormungandr any more than he could wrestle a tornado to the ground.

With the sound of shattering rock, Thor rumbled past in his goat cart, every vein and muscle fiber in his arms carved in high relief as he held his hammer aloft. He was monumentally huge, like a formation of earth, but Jormungandr dwarfed him.

"Thor, wait! Stop!" Hermod bellowed, but Thor paid him no mind. Hermod ran after him.

Another thought occurred to him: Removing a domino from the sequence didn't necessarily mean defeating any of the Aesir's enemies. Killing Thor would also be removing a domino, wouldn't it? But could Hermod kill his own brother? Even if it meant averting Ragnarok?

He sprinted hard. He had a clear shot at Thor's head. If he threw the Sword of Seven ... But Thor made it a moot point. He launched himself from his cart, flying like a missile into the upper reaches of the clouds, where the serpent's head was obscured behind a haze of its own poison.

The serpent's cries cut through claps of thunder, and then it wobbled like a gigantic spinning top losing its energy. It sank in an achingly slow descent, falling in a coil upon the Home Depot and the rest of the shopping center and into the distant mountains and seas of the cracked-apart worlds. Its skin burst open, spreading steaming toxins across the field. Those whom it washed over screamed, their skin burning, peeling, hanging in sheets.

Thor crawled out from between the coils, hammer-less. His face was disfigured, the texture of cottage cheese. Blood gushed from his nose. He groaned, and Hermod saw that all his teeth had fallen out.

Hermod reached his brother's side. Thor's chest rose with thin, agonized breaths. Tiny pin drops of blood beaded on his skin. And after a series of bone-fracturing convulsions, Thor died.

THE SHIP came down around Mist, wood and bone and fingernails. Winston spilled from his harness and fell the last few feet, and Mist was almost thrown from Sleipnir's back when the horse hit the ground. "Move," she commanded the dog and the horse, urging them clear of the falling wreckage.

On the ground, Hel's soldiers continued to clash with mutinous dead, and Mist tried to see through the clatter to spot Lilly and Hod, but she saw no sign of them.

"Miss Castillo!"

Instinctively, Mist reached for her sword, but it had gone missing in the crash.

Henry Verdant ran over the rubble, grasping hands with Alice Kirkpatrick. The two were dirty and b.l.o.o.d.y, but Mist let out a gasp of relief to see that they were intact.

"Have you seen my sister?" Mist asked.

"She and Hod went after Loki," Alice said, waving out over the parking lot. The battle boiled with humans and monsters and frost-covered figures the size of buildings.

"We're going to try to link up with the Einherjar," Henry said. He'd secured an a.s.sault rifle for himself. "Join us?"

Mist turned to go with them, but then, across a pile of smashed and overturned cars, she saw a flash of red hair heading into Costco: Radgrid.

"I'll try to find you later," she said to the Iowans. "There's something I have to do first."

Henry gave her a puzzled look but then flashed her a quick salute. "We all have to do what we can. You take care, Miss Castillo."