Part 10 (1/2)

Hermod sought a derisive reply, but standing before Hel, in her own hall, in the center of her own kingdom, all he could do was gesture at his surroundings and murmur, ”I never wanted this.”

”There are many who do not know what they want until it is lost,” Hel said. ”But in my kingdom, late reunions are often possible. I am generous. Those who dwell in my realm will find me a good gift-giver. Here, Valkyrie, I have something for you.”

From the folds of her robe, Hel produced a gray cloth bundle. Hermod could make out the writing and logo on the cloth. It was a New Jersey Nets sweats.h.i.+rt.

Hel lovingly unfolded the cloth. A man's severed head blinked.

”Adrian Hoover?” Hermod asked Mist. She nodded in mute response.

”Is this not the man you came for?” Hel said.

Mist's lips moved silently before she found her voice. ”You decapitated him.”

”His body became separated in transit,” Hel said. ”I don't know how, exactly. It happens.”

”Put him out of his misery.”

The soft, living half of Hel's mouth smiled. ”But how, Valkyrie? Shall I remove his brain? He would still live and feel. Living death 'til the end of the worlds. That is the gift I bestow upon all who come here.”

Hel folded the cloth back over Hoover's head. ”Let our guests retire now,” she said to Baldr.

”Please,” said Mist. ”I'm begging you. End his suffering. He's done nothing to deserve this.” She lowered herself to her knees. ”I'm begging you.”

Hermod saw no cruelty in Hel's eyes, or pleasure in suffering. What he saw was resignation.

Baldr made a gesture, and a detail of draugr and Hel's soldiers escorted Mist, Hermod, Grimnir, and Winston from the throne room. Hands prodded them along, and just before exiting the chamber, Hermod glanced back at Hel and Baldr, elegant and somber on their high seats. Hel idly petted the bundle containing Adrian Hoover's living head as though it were a lapdog.

A LONG TIME ago on an Asgard seash.o.r.e, Munin and I are perched high in a tree overlooking Baldr's funeral. It is a grand affair, worthy of the Aesir's most beloved son. Frey comes in a chariot drawn by a boar, and Freya is there with her cats. Her dress is very pretty. Everyone is there: all the G.o.ds, and dwarves and elves and trolls, and even mountain giants and frost giants. The Aesir weep. Thor keeps blowing his nose, making a great schnoork sound that shakes the leaves from our tree.

Baldr's corpse, dressed in his finest white, is laid atop a pyre built on the deck of his s.h.i.+p. He manages to look beautiful and magisterial in death but also very cold. A slave stands by with a burning torch, ready to ignite the pyre, and logs are already in place to serve as rollers. Once the s.h.i.+p is lit, the Aesir will launch Baldr's body to sea.

Odin climbs the pyre. He has always hoped that the sibyl was wrong, that he wouldn't have to see blood on Baldr's breast. Sometimes witch babble is just witch babble, after all, but now here's the shocking white corpse of Baldr, whom Odin loves not in the way a war G.o.d loves a warrior but in the way a father loves his son.

Odin whispers something in Baldr's ear, but what he says, not even Munin and I can hear.

A woman wanders through the crowd of mourners, her hair in disarray, dark rings around her eyes. This is Nana, Baldr's wife.

”Do you think he'll be all right?” she asks Thor, grabbing his ma.s.sive forearm.

”All right? Nana, he's dead.”

”Yes, but Hel will be kind to him, won't she? And Hermod will bring him back.”

”I don't know, Nana.” Thor gently withdraws his arm.

”Hermod will bring him back,” she says, with utter conviction.

The pyre is lit, and soon Baldr's s.h.i.+p roars in full conflagration. It is a grand, beautiful pyre. According to Munin, in terms of thermal output, it is the best pyre ever.

I watch as Frigg says something to Vidar, and moments later he is at Nana's side. He is speaking to her, which is rare, for Vidar guards his words like a dragon guards its h.o.a.rd.

Nana swoons and falls into Vidar's waiting arms. Carefully carrying Nana over his shoulder, he climbs the burning s.h.i.+p and lays her in the fire, where she dies in the flames, crying weakly.

”She died of a broken heart,” Frigg says.

The Aesir all nod in agreement.

HERMOD, MIST, and Grimnir were taken to some dimly lit apartments and left there without chains, though a company of armed guards remained posted outside the door. A table of meats and cheeses and bread and wine and cakes was laid out near the dead fire, untouched. Not even Winston would go near it.

Mist sat in a chair and stared at the dirt floor.

”That... really sucked,” said Hermod. He came over and took her hand. He knew what it was like to fail in Helheim.

”Yeah,” she said.

After a time, Grimnir lumbered over. ”So, we gonna get out of here or what?”

Hermod rubbed his face, trying to see if he could force his skin to feel blood circulating beneath. ”There's a whole platoon of Baldr's goons outside. What do you suggest?”

”I could act really sick, and then when someone comes in to check me out, we lower the boom.”

”Why would anyone in the land of the dead care if you got sick?” Mist asked.

”Good answer, kid,” Grimnir said. ”I was just testing you.”

”Thanks. What's wrong with breaking the door down and fighting them with overwhelming force?”

”Baldr took our weapons,” Grimnir pointed out. ”Without them, our overwhelming force is going to be somewhat lacking in the over department.”

They each floated a number of ideas for escape. Grimnir offered an impressive variety of them, but by the time he got to setting off fire-suppression systems, it became clear that he was no longer trying to form a plan as much as he was reminiscing about fonder days.

I could let you out.

The papery rasp came from the hearth. Pale flames wavered there.

I know all the ways here, Hermod, and I know the ways out.

Mist raised her eyebrows at Hermod. ”The fireplace seems to know you.”

”Funny. I don't think I know any fireplaces.” Hermod took a step closer to the hearth. ”Who are you?”

The flames danced an inch or two higher. Have you already forgotten the daughter of Nep, Hermod, my kin?

Hermod hissed air through his teeth. ”Nana?”

Ah, good. I was afraid everyone had forgotten that I ever lived.

Hermod came closer to the fire and crouched before it. ”Where are you?”