Diana had none of that anymore, and it dawned on me that my cold iron aura must have slowly snuffed out the magic that was keeping her alive. It hadn’t been quick, like the nearly instant disintegration of faeries when they touched me, but a gradual process that required prolonged contact. The question that worried me was whether she was forever done or if she would be able to begin anew at Olympus, an idea of virtue and ambrosia made flesh. Had I unwittingly turned her mortal, in other words, or was she only mostly dead?
The longer I lingered there the greater chance that a divine observer would figure out what happened—if they didn’t know already. Thinking back to his reaction before he flew away, Mercury might have figured it out. I hoped not. It would be best if the Olympians didn’t know I could do this.
Tucking her head back under my arm as if nothing had changed, I said, “Let’s go, but you run a bit ahead. I don’t want Artemis to see what happened.”
Granuaile resumed running but called over her shoulder, “Is she toast?”
“Tough to say. I think we’ll get some kind of reaction from Olympus soon. If they come for Artemis, bust her head before you let them have it.”
“Ugh. Seems wrong somehow.”
“You mean now that she’s helpless? It’s not murder if you can’t kill her. It’s more like redistributing her consciousness. Only other gods can kill them.”
“Unless you just did it.”
“Right. Aside from cutting off her head, though, I didn’t really mean to kill her.”
Granuaile laughed. “You know I’m on your side, but to an objective listener, that sounds like a less than convincing argument.”
“I know. We’ll have to wait and see.”
As we crossed into Belgium and wove a sinuous path through farms and villages and around cities, occasionally earning a honk from a driver who spotted us along a rural road, storm clouds gathered overhead, darkening the Belgian morning commute.
“Hmm. I think Zeus and Jupiter have received our message. We can expect their reply shortly.”
“What do you think they’ll say?”
“I don’t think they’ll say anything.”
“Then how is it a reply?”
Two thunderbolts lanced down from the clouds above and struck us. Our fulgurite talismans provided protection, but the sentiment was unmistakable.
“That’s their reply,” I said, and it was nothing more than I expected. But what followed was completely unexpected.
<Hey! Watch out!> Oberon said, running behind us, but it wasn’t in time to prevent Hermes and Mercury from swooping in behind us and batting the heads out of our arms with their caduceus … es? Caducei? Who has ever had to deal with more than one caduceus before?
Neither head popped up helpfully and allowed the messenger gods to scoop them up on the fly. They dropped at our feet, merely dislodged, and tumbled along as we slowed to pick them back up. We couldn’t let Hermes and Mercury escape with the heads intact; for one thing, they’d find out for sure what had happened to Diana. For another, they’d be able to put Artemis back together fairly quickly and then she’d be only an hour or so behind us. I was already carrying Fragarach in my right hand, so it was a simple matter to shuck it out of its scabbard and halve Diana’s head before Mercury could circle around to pick it up. It was not so simple for Granuaile, however, to take care of Artemis. Hermes was a bit quicker on his second pass—or else the head had rolled a bit farther from her feet—and it was all Granuaile could do to fight him off with her staff and prevent him from picking it up. She was probably thirty yards ahead, and if I went to help we’d have Mercury trying to get involved too. I had to keep my eyes on him or else he would doubtless take advantage when my back was turned. His cursing in Latin certainly indicated he’d like nothing more.
Oberon, wanna play fetch?
<On it,> he said, understanding precisely what I meant. While Granuaile and I kept the flyboys at bay, he scampered over and scooped up Artemis in his jaws, grasping her ponytail like a tug toy and letting her head dangle off to the left side of his snout. Hermes shouted when he saw that and I stole a quick glance to see what had happened.
Good, I said, returning my eyes to Mercury, now bring her over here and drop her at my feet.
Both Hermes and Mercury tried to intercept Oberon by flying over us, but we backpedaled and Oberon dodged the one pass they had at him. He dropped Artemis at my feet, and I ended it with a wet chunky sound. The Olympians roared in outrage.
“Oh, stop,” I said. “They’ll be fine again before the day is through and you know it. If Zeus and Jupiter would come talk to me we wouldn’t have to go through this.”
They didn’t answer and neither did they attack. Coming after the heads in an attempt to restore the huntresses was one thing, but striking at us and involving themselves in the hunt would violate the terms Odin had outlined earlier. They floated above us, quaking with the desire to show us what an airstrike truly meant, but we simply set ourselves and waited, saying nothing as the storm clouds boiled overhead. Eventually they flew back south toward Olympus and our tense muscles could relax.
<They’re not very nice to animals,> Oberon observed. <How did they ever become the visual symbol of flower delivery?>
Chapter 16
There was no rest for us in Belgium. We stopped only once, and it wasn’t for food, which prevented me from investigating a modern mystery: What do people in Belgium call Belgian waffles? Our Waffles, perhaps, or maybe National Breakfast Pastries? It remains for me an inscrutable conundrum. And so it goes for Belgian chocolate and Belgian witbier. I had spent very little time in Belgium since its rise to international fame for delicious foodstuffs. I supposed I would have to use the modern fallback position and Google it.
The reason for our pause was Hugin and Munin, who flew in to give us an update from the all-Odin all-the-time news channel.
Munin pointed at Hugin, indicating the raven with which I was to bond. Odin’s speech filled my head like Oberon’s did, though it was still a bit odd staring at a raven instead of his one-eyed visage.
<The Álfar have successfully destroyed thirty Svartálfar who were lying in wait along your path. They have asked me to relay their gratitude for the opportunity.>
The Álfar took out thirty dark elves? Oh. Well, they’re very welcome. I’ll send them some fine Irish whiskey as soon as possible, if you’ll be so kind as to deliver it to them. Because if someone saves you from a potentially life-threatening fight, you owe them booze. It’s a rule that transcends time and cultures.
<Of course. Of more importance is the fact that the Olympians have ascertained you’re heading for the English Channel. Neptune and Poseidon are stirring up the ocean there. I have heard this from my own god of the sea, Ægir. You should prepare for some sort of trickery—what’s the Irish word I’m looking for?>
“Shenanigans.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Odin said. “Shenanigans.”
My aquatic form was a sea otter, and Granuaile could shape-shift into a sea lion. While we could swim the channel like that and Oberon could dog paddle, we weren’t going to kick a lot of ass if the Olympian sea gods got involved. And I could see already how they would rationalize what they were doing; if we were eaten by sharks, well, that happened all the time. It wasn’t direct interference in the hunt.