War and Famine: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Revelations Book 2) (16 page)

She was about to say more when a giant who seemed tiny next to his peers even though he was about a foot taller than her pushed his way through the crowd. He was bare-chested and wore dirty brown pants with a hole over the left knee. The other giants regarded him curiously as he held out one hand to her. “I cannot speak for everyone, but I will help you find your friend so long as you leave my people alone.”

“Henry!” cried a female giant as she pushed through the crowd and grabbed the smaller giant by the shoulder. “You can’t trust her. You don’t know what they’re like!”

“That’s because you all sealed the world off from outsiders eight hundred years before I was born.” Henry shot an annoyed look at the female and shrugged out of her grip. “I’m two hundred years old, and I’ve never stepped outside this damn city. You can’t keep treating me, and my generation like babies when you’ve kept us all cooped up in here. It’s not fair to us or to her.” He gestured at Amy, but he wasn’t looking at her because his eyes were fixed on the female towering over him. “It’s time I stepped out of the nest, mom.”

“She could hurt you…” Henry’s mom whispered. It was sort of funny because at fourteen feet tall she towered over him. Even still, Henry managed to stare her down.

“Maybe the problem is that you only remember violence. Maybe there is a different way, a way in which we don’t force her to attack us like an animal backed into a corner. Isn’t that an option?” Henry asked, gesturing at the rest of the crowd. “We’re supposed to be good people, are we not? What of the story of Surt, the greatest among us? Wouldn’t he have died if not for the helping hand of Freyr?”

“That’s just an old wives’ tale. Surt is just a legend,” his mother said, flushing hard enough to make her cheeks literally burst into flame. She glanced around the crowd for support.

“It seems like Surt is a legend when talking about how he believed in peace and acceptance but when he can further someone’s agenda then hey, he’d totally be against this or that.” Henry started to say more when the sky above them ruptured, spilling fire fell from the sky as rain, and along with it came two more humans and a sword big enough to make Haijiku look like a party favor.

Ian 02:04

As Ian watched the nine impossible keys hurtle into the stratosphere, a strange sense of calm fell over him. He’d fought a god, and the god had won. There was no shame in that. Lots of people had fought gods and lost. It was strange, knowing he’d actually gotten his shot and failed. There wasn’t even anything he could say about it really. After all, it was one thing to complain about never getting your chance, but getting it and failing? It was an interesting pill to swallow.

Caden moved beneath him, trapped underneath Ian’s body as he struggled to get up. Ian knew he should get to his feet, should confront Vidar once more, even if it was pointless. Hell, he ought to do more than that. He should stand up and crush the god beneath his heel. This was Jotunheim, and here he was a god too. Unfortunately, Vidar had a point. He wasn’t skilled enough to truly be a threat to the Norse deity. He’d been relying on his overwhelming power to thwart Vidar, and judging by their chances of success now that the keys were gone, he was pretty sure it hadn’t been enough. It was like having revved the engine to your supercharged Indie 500 racecar before going on to lose the race to a toddler on a tricycle.

Vidar wasn’t even looking at him now. Instead, the deity was moving toward his father, Odin. Ian wasn’t sure what Vidar had in store for the All-Father, but he was relatively sure it wasn’t good, especially if Vidar was truly under the influence of Fenris. Still, how bad could he feel over losing? Odin had been there too and had gotten shutdown like a Bronco’s quarterback whenever it counted.

“Get up, Ian,” Caden whispered in his ear. His friend’s voice was strained, and his teeth chattered together. “If you don’t want to do something, at least let me try to do something.”

“Okay,” Ian replied, rolling off of his friend. He found himself face down in the snow. It was cold and strangely refreshing like ice water after chewing spearmint gum. He gripped a handful of slush and let it pour between his fingers as Caden stood up behind him.

“It’s too bad I don’t have your powers.” His friend let out a sad sigh. “If I did, I’d use them to recall the keys to my hand. You know, condense the moisture around them into ice then control the ice and return them to my hand.” He shot a grin at his friend. “I remember reading a comic where Magneto did something like that with metal.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Ian replied, rolling on his back so he could stare at the sky. He lifted one hand into the air and felt the winds whistle around him, howling across the jagged mountain tops and scurrying through the valleys. The edge of the keys touched his mind as they careened through the sky above Jotunheim’s frozen wastes. They were far away, but then again, this whole world was his oyster as it were. He concentrated, focusing on the moisture in the air around each and every impossible key.

He willed the condensate to freeze around the first one and wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or elated or both when it solidified into a thin sheet of ice around the metal key. He pulled his hand back, and to his utter astonishment, the key came hurtling toward him. He glanced at Caden.

“It worked.” He smiled at his friend as he shifted his concentration for key to key, using the same process until they were all flying back toward him. “Your keys are on their way.” Ian fell to his hands and knees in the snow and let out a weak breath. Doing that had taken a lot out of him, and he was already tired. How were they going to get past Vidar now?

He glanced at Caden who was busy pulling a long metal tube out of his backpack. His friend shivered so hard, Ian was surprised his legs hadn’t snapped like twigs. Caden shot him a look as a devious smile curled across his face. “Maybe we should trade. You can unfetter the wolf, and I’ll distract the god. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ian said, hauling himself to his feet. He hadn’t expected Caden to want to face the god, but perhaps whatever item Caden had come across would do the trick. It wasn’t like Ian had any more ideas. Well, he did, but they mostly centered on summoning more mutant Frosties because, hey, if one didn’t work, why not try ten or a hundred? The only problem was it had taken nearly everything in him to summon the one, and he doubted he could do it again, much less summon ten more. He was too tired, too hungry.

“Okay, let’s do this. You’ll have to be quick though. I’m pretty sure I only have one shot with this,” Caden said, smacking his palm against the metal tube.

Ahead of them, Vidar knelt beside Odin and gripped the All-Father by the throat. “You know, if Fenris is truly upon me, then I can kill you.” Vidar’s voice had a strange edge to it as he spoke. It was almost like he was more curious than not. “If not, your heart should grow back after I pluck it from your chest. I’ve always sort of wondered how long that might take.” Vidar reached back to make good on his threat, and his gauntlet-covered hand gleamed in the moonlight.

Ian wasn’t quite sure what Vidar had done to disable Odin so easily. One moment the All-Father had been charging his son. The next, he had collapsed to the snow, clutching his head in his hands. Perhaps it was Fenris at work? Perhaps the wolf was psychically assaulting Odin. Not that it mattered. The god was at his son’s mercy, and that seemed to be in short supply. He was just glad the wolf hadn’t tried to get in his head.

The keys glimmered overhead, and as Ian craned his head toward them, a thought struck him. He might not even have to move, which was good because he was too tired, too hungry to do much of anything. Aside from the fact he was pretty sure his left wrist was broken and his right arm was dislocated. He shut his eyes and dropped down onto his knees. His right palm slammed into the ground. The force popped his shoulder back into place, but the only thing he noticed was blinding agony. He gritted his teeth together so hard it would have hurt if he could have experienced anything other than his shoulder assaulting his senses with white hot daggers.

Vidar looked up just then, turning his head to see the keys flying toward him. His eyes narrowed just before a spear of glowing purple energy struck him full in the chest. The blow lifted him from his feet and flung him backward into the snow as electricity pulsed through his body, illuminating his skeleton like an x-ray. He hit the ground a few yards away and lay there smoking, head twisted at an awkward angle.

Caden stood a few feet away, the tube in his hand steaming. Purple sparks leapt from its surface as Caden fell to his knees, chest heaving. Whatever that tube had done, it sure as hell worked. Ian took a step toward his friend as a howl exploded from within the golden prison.

Ian raised his right hand into the air and gestured toward Fenris’s prison. All nine keys surged forward like miniature moons, but as they reached the wolf, they shattered into pixie dust that rained down upon the gilded thread of Gleipnir. The smell of burning ozone filled the air as the magical rope went up in silver flames. The writhing wolf bound within its burning cords howled in pain, and Ian was suddenly aware of a huge, imposing presence all around him. The sweltering mass of it made him stumble backward clutching his ears.

Blood flowed through his hands, dripped down his cheeks, and filled his mouth. Everything tasted metallic and coppery. Red tinged his gaze as he swung his head around, desperate to find out what was out there with him, but aside from Caden and the two downed gods he saw no one. That made no sense. There was definitely something out here. He could feel it deep within him.

He wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hands and took a hesitant step toward the prison. Only the charred remains of Gleipnir remained behind. But how could that be? He should have seen Fenris break free. He was supposed to be large enough to devour the sun after all.

He took another step forward, and as his foot touched the metal of the prison, something tore into his side, ripping open his flesh and spilling his blood onto the frozen ground. It spattered across the metal as he staggered sideways, clutching his wound with his good hand, trying to staunch the blood flow from the three slashes. He wasn’t quite sure how deep they were, but they burned like a red hot poker thrust into his soul.

A blow smashed into his face, shattering his nose and sending him sprawling backward onto the snowy dunes. Cold enveloped him, numbing him to the pain as a piercing howl cut through the night sky. He whipped his head toward the sound and saw nothing. Still there was something about the snow in front of him. He could have sworn it shifted slightly. He wasn’t quite how that could be since there was nothing there. At least nothing that he could see.

“I think Fenris is out here with us,” Caden said, getting slowly to his feet as he tried to wipe the blood from his face with one hand. It looked like the vessels in his eyes had burst, staining them red as he looked around for something to focus on. The tube in his hand steamed in the night air as he waved it through the air in front of him.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson,” said a voice that raised the hair on the back of Ian’s neck. It was like the first beast in the night that had caused all of mankind to hide in caves, huddled alone in the dark. “Tell me, are you considered the smart one?” Its words rumbled through the air like death and violence, like blood and hunger.

The snow in front of Caden shifted, and a second later, he went flying across the ice. He hit the ground a few feet away, still clutching the spear. Pain filled his face as he struggled to get to his hands and knees, but he didn’t seem otherwise hurt. Interesting. Whatever it was had torn up Ian pretty good, but then again, it could have killed them both already. Why hadn’t it done so?

Footprints Ian wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching appeared in the snow, ambled toward Caden in a weird sort of drunken shamble. So, the wolf was out here, and for the moment he appeared unsteady. He was just hidden from view. That was his only advantage. Well, that could change.

“Hey, jackass, over here!” Ian called, flinging a snowball right toward where the center mass of the creature should be. The snowball smacked right into something. The scenery behind it seemed to short circuit for a second, revealing a featureless form of bended light and giving Ian a rough idea of the size of his opponent. Unlike Vidar who was both big enough to have given professional football players swirlies, Fenris was only about five feet tall, which would have been huge for a wolf, but at the moment, he seemed more humanoid than not.

The image faded, leaving Ian staring at nothing at all. Then something grabbed him by the hair and lifted him into the air. Pain shot through his scalp as hot, fetid breath tickled the flesh on his throat. He could feel the hunger in that breath, the restless energy burning inside it. It stirred things deep within him, rousing the primordial hunger within him. He was famished. This world, while similar in nature to him, offered nothing for him to eat, nothing for him to consume. That was why he had been weak here. Sure it was cold, but what use did the wasteland have for more snow? There was no life to take. This place was dead, but this hungering thing in front of him was very much alive. And he would have it.

Ian’s fist shot out before he could even think about it. His knuckles broke as they impacted something fleshy. Whatever was holding him aloft released him, and he tumbled to the snow. The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow filled his ears as he stared down at his broken right hand, stared at the blood on his knuckles. Before he could stop himself, he brought them to his lips. His tongue snaked across his knuckles.

It was like tasting electricity. It filled him with power from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, burning up his senses and leaving him with one insatiable thought. More. He needed more.

He leapt to his feet and sniffed. The smell of wolf filled his nostrils. He whipped his head toward a spot where nothing stood. Only something was there, lurking in the non-shadows. The wind whipped across the plains, whipping up billowing clouds of snow that revealed something standing in its midst. He took a step toward it and inhaled again. It was there, and he would have it. He would sink his teeth into it. He would have more!