Hell's Pawn (12 page)

L ike their counterparts, the roof dominated the architecture, but these were made of turf and were green with sprouting grass.

“I have to see inside of those,” John breathed in awe. “They’re brilliant!” J ohn had spent countless hours creating blueprints, obsessing over the smallest details to ensure maximum space usage, energy efficiency, visual appeal, and an overwhelming number of other considerations. He relied on drafting tools and the accuracy of computers, and yet the simple practical structures here had been built by hand. No construction vehicles had erected these buildings. They were created by the sweat and muscle of men and women who were unlikely to take them for granted.

“We’ll be going in one of them, I ’m sure,” Dante said. “M ost likely in the center of the village and of a size much larger than these.”

J ohn was surprised by Dante’s confidence in what they needed to do. The conversation he wasn’t allowed to hear had only lasted a minute. C ould they have really briefed him so thoroughly?

M ost of the villagers were dressed in simple but colorful robes, decorated with belts, cords, and primitive jewelry. L ike the man in the field, none of them appeared surprised by the presence of two strangers. Apart from initial glances, J ohn and Dante were ignored as they moved through the village.

After travelling a considerable distance, they reached the center of town and found what they were looking for. The hall was so large that it dwarfed shopping malls and football stadiums. L ike the buildings they had seen earlier, it resembled a boat turned upside down, but this one had a roof thatched in gold. L ight from an invisible sun reflected off its surface, the effect almost blinding.

“Valhalla,” Dante said before grinning. “You know what goes on in there, don’t you?”

E ven J ohn was familiar with this myth. The great heroes and those who had fallen in ba le spent eternity in Valhalla, drinking, feasting, and brawling with the gods.

There may have been some womanizing with the Valkyries as well, he couldn’t quite remember, but there was sure to be booze.

“There’s a lot of drinking in the afterlife,” John commented.

“When in Rome,” Dante said, “or Norseland or wherever.”

J ohn shook his head and followed Dante as he strode forward. No guards were at the door, but what sort of deities would need them? E specially when the hall beyond was stuffed with hundreds if not thousands of immortal warriors, drunk, rowdy, and no doubt eager for a good fight. J ohn winced in anticipation of the loud festivities taking place inside as Dante threw open the door.

The hall beyond was completely silent until a cranky voice called out, “C lose the door! You’re letting in the cold!”

They hurried in, the door slamming shut behind them. The hall was even grander inside. M ythical beasts hung from the ceiling, monsters that had been slain by heroes and stuffed. S words, armor, and weapons of all kinds were mounted on the walls, each with a plaque declaring who they belonged to and what their achievements were. The most important of these were accompanied with statues of the heroes, each in a noble pose.

A long table ran the considerable length of the hall. The surface should have been covered in steaming bird carcasses, delicious fruits, great slabs of meat, and of course, tankards of mead. I nstead it was bare except for some kni ing, a number of used handkerchiefs, and something that looked like a bowl full of prunes.

A handful of gods sat at the table. There was no mistaking what they were. E ven though they appeared more wizened than expected, they still radiated power. As J ohn looked upon each of them, he knew them by name and reputation. S uch was their presence that their stories gathered around them as auras.

There was B aldur the sun god, still beautiful despite his considerable age. His brilliant blue eyes shone with what might have been youth or senility; it was difficult to tell. Next to him was a blindfolded god with an old bent horn in his ear: Hodur, the greatest of all archers despite being blind. At the center of the table sat Frigg. Age only lent more credence to her reputation for wisdom, which was currently focused on knitting a fat pair of socks. Holding the wool for her was the mighty Thor, still a hulking figure although his muscles now sagged from his arms.

No one else was in the room. No warriors, no Valkyries, not even serving staff. The old gods went about their nose-blowing and napping without even glancing up at the newcomers.

J ohn grasped for a properly formal way of addressing them. He cleared his throat and declared, “Norse gods! It is an honor to stand before you.”

“Is it time for my bath?” Baldur asked.

Some of the gods snickered as John’s face flushed.

“We bring greetings from Hell,” he tried again.

“What’s the old witch been up to, then?” Hodur asked.

“Not Hel,” Frigg said patiently. “He means the place, not the goddess.”

“Oh. Well, tell her we said hello,” Hodur replied.

Dante stepped forward with an impatient sigh and produced a scroll that was burning with fire. “Just read this, will you? Which one of you is in charge?”

“I am.” Thor’s voice rumbled like thunder when he spoke. He stood and snatched the scroll out of Dante’s hand, not fearing the flames. He unrolled the parchment and examined it, his brow furrowing in concentration. Half a minute later and he moved on to the next word. Eventually he grunted and shoved it toward Frigg.

The goddess took one look at it and tu ed. “The writing is too small for these old eyes.”

“L et me,” Hodur offered. The blind god took the scroll and held it at arms length in front of him. “M m-hm,” he said after a moment’s time. “I see. Hell wants to wage war.”

“Against us?” Thor grumbled.

“No, no, against Heaven,” Hodur explained. “They want our help.”

“What care we of angels and demons?” Frigg asked.

“There are souls trapped in P urgatory, held there against their will,” J ohn said, stepping forward. “Not just C atholics, but souls from all religions. S ome of your own people could be there, too.”

“M ost of our kind came here long ago,” Frigg answered. “There isn’t likely to be more on the way.”

“There are the neo-Pagans,” B aldur pointed out. “I rather like them, even if they don’t have a taste for blood.”

“Any of our kind could fight their way out of P urgatory!” Thor snarled, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “Nothing there but a bunch of fluffy birdmen. W hat are they called? Angels! P

a!” The glimmer in his eye didn’t go unnoticed by J ohn. The thunder god was full of pent-up aggression. E nticing him into a war shouldn’t take much more than a little creative description.

“P urgatory has changed,” J ohn told him. “G one are the angels. I n their place are giant spiders and glass wizards, cruel masters of their territory. P urgatory is surrounded by a barrier built from their victims, a monument to their skill in ba le.

They are indeed worthy foes!”

B aldur and Hodur were both bright red in an effort to hold back their laughter, but Thor was buying it. His eyes were alive with the idea, his great muscles twitching in anticipation. “And Heaven?” he asked.

“So deadly are the foes there that none have returned to speak of them.” The thunder god leapt to his feet. “We shall feed the ravens!” he bellowed. “We will wage war until Heaven is covered in wound-dew!”

Frigg delicately took hold of his elbow and pulled Thor back down to his seat. W ith an expression of limitless patience, she whispered into his ear. Thor flushed and pouted at her words. “We are too old to fight,” Thor said in monotone. “Loki has stolen the golden apples that keep us young.” He sounded as if he were reading from a script.

“G o to J otunheim, the land of the giants, and bring the apples and the traitor back to us, and we will join you. This falcon shall guide you.” Finished with his speech, he sat back in his chair and glared at them.

A bird’s cry echoed through the hall as a falcon swooped down from the rafters. The bird circled J ohn until he raised his arm for it to perch on. He eyed it nervously for a moment before turning back to the thunder god. “What do we—”

“Go!” Thor yelled, cutting off his question.

They left the hall with haste, the sound of laughter bursting out the second the door slammed shut.

“There’s something very wrong here,” John said.

Dante nodded. “They’re taking the piss. I reckon they’re playing some sort of game with us. Asmoday said we weren’t the first ones here.”

“That’s right. He said the others had been sent back in pieces.” J ohn frowned. “S o what do we do?”

The falcon screeched shrilly and launched itself from his arm.

Dante shrugged. “Follow the bleedin’ bird.”

* * * * *

The falcon led them beyond the village to a hilltop, where a wooden bridge arched through the air, rising and twisting away into the distance. J ohn marveled at this feat of engineering. The bridge had no supports and shouldn’t have been able to stand, but physical laws didn’t apply in the afterlife. Neither did the engineering limitations he had fought against his entire career. I f he could build his own world, as J acobi suggested, or even just create a few buildings in a realm that already existed, then John was sure he could work wonders.

O nce on the bridge, they couldn’t see much except the branches of the sky above and the occasional cloud. The falcon would fly ahead until almost out of sight, land on one of the rails, and wait for them to catch up. The temperature dropped steadily as they proceeded along the miles-long bridge. B y the time they reached its end, the air was positively freezing and their environment had undergone a complete transformation. The grassy hillocks had been replaced by icy white mountains, all vegetation completely hidden beneath a heavy blanket of snow. J ohn glanced at the dirt beneath his fingernails and sighed. It had been nice while it lasted.

He hoped they wouldn’t have to stay here long. Not that J ohn understood exactly what lay ahead of them. He said as much to Dante.

“You heard them,” Dante said. “We’re supposed to get their golden apples back.”

“Right, so they can be young again. So we just sneak up on some guy and steal them back?”

“Not just some guy. L oki is a Norse god too, and a notorious trickster, one who always causes trouble for the other gods. He’s a devious and cunning old goat, and we’ll have to be on our guard.”

“What do you mean?”

Dante smiled in a manner that wasn’t like him at all. “Well, there was the time that Thor’s magic hammer was mysteriously stolen by an ice giant while he and L oki were sleeping. Hardly a coincidence, nor was the ease with which L oki searched out the supposed thief, the chief of the ice giants. L oki returned to Asgard with news that the ice giant demanded the goddess Freya as his bride in exchange for the hammer. L oki had a grudge against Freya at the time, you see.

“S trong-headed Freya refused, even though the gods did their best to convince her.

L oki enjoyed watching her being harassed before suggesting that Thor take her place.

The old trickster promised Thor that the disguise would only be needed until they gained entry to the ice giant’s stronghold, saying blood would flow soon after. Thor agreed, so L oki dressed the thunder god in a gown decorative enough to cover his muscles, and curled his blond hair so that it hid his face. L oki brought his rather ghastly creation to the ice giants, making Thor swear not to a ack until he gave the signal. P oor Thor suffered through most of the wedding ceremony waiting for L oki’s permission. Finally, during the vows, Thor couldn’t take it anymore and went berserk, slaughtering every giant there. Thor got his hammer back, but I think L oki got much more out of the ordeal. Not only did he keep whatever the giants paid him for the hammer, but he took some revenge on Freya and was able to make a fool out of Thor in the process.”

John thought of the beefy thunder god in drag and laughed. “Loki sounds all right.”

“He has his moments,” Dante murmured, “but he also has his dark side. As the myths go on, L oki’s sense of humor becomes progressively wicked. E ventually he betrays the gods, unleashes Armageddon on all of creation in the form of R agnarok, and is responsible for countless deaths, destruction, and the end of the world.” John shivered. “And this is who we are going to see?”

“As I said, we must be on our guard. I t is no coincidence that we are being sent to see the cleverest of the Norse gods.”

As much as J ohn had enjoyed the story, something about it had troubled him. He realized that it wasn’t the tale itself but the teller.

“What happened to your accent?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“Your Irish accent. It’s gone.”

Dante’s face went pale. He looked shaken, just as he had in the coach. “S omething’s wrong with me,” he whispered, his accent returned to him again. “Those things I told you, I didn’t know any of them. I never read a myth in my life!” John’s skin crawled. Was this one of Loki’s tricks?

“I t was like being a captive audience in my own head,” Dante continued. “How could I know those things?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I knew all the gods by name when I saw them.” Dante nodded. “Me too, but this was different. I wasn’t in control. I wasn’t me!” The falcon screeched, making both men jump, but they soon understood its warning. Ahead on the path was a giant. He looked mostly human, except that his skin was hypothermic blue, his white hair and beard covered in ice crystals. E ven from a distance, his height was impressive, twice that of a normal man. The furs he wore were filthy and bloodstained, as was the giant, misshapen bone he carried as a club.

The giant noticed them too, roaring and raising his club with clear intent. Then the falcon shrieked in a manner that sounded oddly like “R un!” before it began swooping at the giant’s head. Dante was first to act, grabbing J ohn by the arm and pulling him into the pines off the path. They ran, dodging trees and casting fearful glances backward for any sign of pursuit, not slowing until the ground gave way to a steep drop that forced them to halt.

Peering over the edge, they saw only jagged stones slick with ice. At the very bottom was a small frozen stream. M ore rocks spiked into the air on the other side of the ravine.