Part 16 (1/2)

The one seam Mist had been empowered to open was that between Midgard and Valhalla. She flicked the Zippo and dialed the flame to its full height. Just as Radgrid had taught her, she traced a rune in the air, over and over, until it blazed a trail of light. It grew bright red, then orange, then yellow, and when she killed the flame, the rune hung in the air, cycling through all the colors of the rainbow.

Men who had seen Bifrost often described it as a rainbow bridge, and Mist supposed that was as good a description as any. The arch of light rose from the ground and curved up to the clouds, and within the confines of its shape swirled eddies of energetic color, the colors of the rainbow and other colors that weren't quite in the rainbow.

Grimnir engulfed Mist in a sudden embrace. She emerged from it out of breath but intact.

”You be careful,” she admonished him.

”I won't be careful, but I'll be fine. You, however ...”

”I'll be fine too.”

Grimnir gave a brief salute to Hermod, and Hermod returned it. Then Grimnir stepped up to the arch and began to climb. He grunted with effort to maintain grip but made slow, inexorable progress. After several minutes, he faded into the s.h.i.+mmer and was gone. The bridge dimmed and vanished soon thereafter.

Winston beat his wagging tail against Mist's leg as she quietly wept.

THAT NIGHT, Hermod and Mist made camp onstage at the Hollywood Bowl. The graceful curve of the concrete concert sh.e.l.l provided some shelter from the wind. Mud slides had rendered the hills impa.s.sable to wheeled vehicles, and after a day of trying to remain out of public view on an eight-legged horse, Hermod was happy to have found some privacy. He tried to imagine the seats filled with a dancing, cheering audience, an image that belonged to a different world in a different time. A dead kudu, escaped from the storm-battered zoo, would provide an ample supper, and Hermod and Mist even risked attracting unwanted company by building a fire to roast it on. The cries of hyenas pierced the dark like lunatic ghosts and were answered by the roar of big cats.

Tucked under Hermod's jacket, Odin's eye grew increasingly heavy, as if it were resisting Hermod's efforts to drag it through Midgard. It had remained silent since its removal from Mimir's well, and only its uncanny weight convinced Hermod that it was anything more than a dead orb of sclera and humors.

Mist stared into the fire. She'd probably said fewer than a hundred words since Grimnir had departed.

”All told, this isn't so bad,” Hermod said, turning a slab of kudu flank on his makes.h.i.+ft spit. ”I remember when the Neanderthals were dying out. Scarce game, dwindling resources, compet.i.tion from your species ... Now, that was a rough time.” Dripping kudu grease hissed in the flames. ”I didn't think h.o.m.o sapiens would hang on either, but you lot managed just fine. You're more stubborn in your own way than we Aesir.”

Mist stood up. ”Hermod?”

”Yeah?”

She walked over to him. ”Shut up.”

”Oh, okay. Sorry.”

Tugging gently on his wrist, she pulled him to the ground.

”Oh,” he said. ”Are we going to ... I mean, do you want to-”

”No,” she said.

”Oh, right, I didn't think-”

She curled up close, which was very nice.

”Let's just consider this our first date,” she said, yawning.

The kudu meat burned to a crisp. Later, they ate it anyway.

THE MORNING broke frigid and wet, with eddies of frost swirling up the hills. Mist lay nestled in Hermod's arms. Not wanting to wake her, he tried to ignore his madly itching nose and focused instead on the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. This was a nice place to hide from the world, in this little pocket of warmth, with food in his belly, with a woman who maybe liked him a little bit. It wasn't that far removed from his end-of-the-world fantasy, and he was content to stay here awhile.

Winston ruined it with a sharp bark, and Mist started awake. A few dozen feet away, in the third-row seats, sat Vali, manic eyes gleaming. He'd grown since Hermod had last seen him. He now had the appearance of a grubby-faced three- or four-year-old, with a tangle of dirty-blond hair falling over his eyes. He bounced in his seat and swung his legs.

Sitting beside him, Vidar gave off the impression of a calm, snow-covered mountainside at rest before an avalanche.

Vali pointed at Winston with a chubby finger. ”Stupid dog! You be quiet!” Which naturally set Winston off into a fresh barrage of throaty barks.

Mist put an arm around Winston's neck, trying to shush him. Hermod's vision pa.s.sed over the scabbard belted to Vidar's hip. Nausea corkscrewed down his belly. There was something about that sword. ... He swallowed.

”What a pleasure to receive a visit from my brothers.”

”We were looking for you,” said Vali. ”Vidar figured you'd be on a hill above the ice and you'd make a fire, and guess what?” He glanced around the bowl, fidgeting. Vali was a G.o.d sired to mete out justice, but it was a poorly controlled, hyperactive brand of justice. He sang a little la-la song and then jumped to his feet. Hermod and Mist stood as well.

”Do you have Daddy's eye?”

Hermod weighed his possible responses. He decided to go with a bald-faced lie.

”No. Last I heard, it's still at the bottom of Mimir's Well.”

”We already looked there,” Vali said, picking his nose. ”I swam and swam and swam, all the way to the bottom of the stinky well, and then Vidar swam and stayed under while I threw rocks at Mimir's head, and when Vidar came up he didn't have the eye because he couldn't find it.”

”Wish I could help you,” Hermod said. ”Want something to eat? I've got some kudu here if you don't mind it well done.”

”Yay!” Vali clapped his hands and jumped up and down, and for a moment Hermod thought maybe he could get out of this encounter losing nothing more than a few pounds of antelope meat. But then Vidar came to his feet, rising ever higher in a way that made Hermod wonder if he would continue on, taller than the treetops, higher than the clouds. Hermod blinked, and then Vidar was no taller than a man.

Vidar drew his sword. His blade wavered like a heat mirage, disobeying the laws of optics such that it was visible from all angles at once. Hermod recognized the sword now. It was the same one he'd seen in the dwarves' workshop below the sc.r.a.p yard.

”The eye is under your jacket,” Vidar said. Hurricane forces raged behind his voice, tremendous energies contained in his bare whisper. Mist staggered, but Hermod held himself steady. He would not be intimidated. Had Vidar ridden to Helheim and back? Had he stood before the queen of that realm, whom even Odin feared? No. Hermod had done those things. He would not fear his brother.

”Our father's eye lay steeping in the well of wisdom for thousands of generations,” Vidar said. ”Did it reveal its wisdom to you?”

Hermod thought of the toy world at the bottom of Mimir's Well and how he'd crushed a mountain with an effortless movement of his hand. What was he supposed to have learned, other than that, under the right circ.u.mstances, he could be as destructive as any G.o.d?

”I really don't know,” he told Vidar.

”It is not everyone's fate to be the recipient of knowledge,” Vidar said. ”Had I hung on the World Tree for nine days like Father, I might have gained nothing more than an acquaintances.h.i.+p with pain.”

”I'm not giving you the eye, Vidar.”

”You cannot stop me from taking it.” Vidar spoke the truth. Hermod would not be able to beat him in combat, not even if he somehow took Vidar's magic sword out of the equation.

Vidar moved the sword, and Hermod had to look away.

”You've never been a thief, Vidar. If you want the eye, what are you willing to give me in return?”

”My pledge that I will not harm you. Nor your companion.”

”Then it sounds like what you're offering me is a nicely gilded threat. Will you at least grant me answers to some questions? Getting the eye wasn't easy, and you could do me the courtesy of telling me why it's so valuable.”

”True wisdom is the ability to see the world as it is,” Vidar said. ”That's a useful skill if one wishes to adapt the world to a particular purpose.”

”The sibyl says you're among the few who survive Ragnarok and that the world that rises from the ashes will be yours to rule.”