Granuaile couldn’t have heard what I said, but Oberon’s comment, plus the outrage that must have shown on my face, caused her to laugh.
<Burrrrn!>
“Good dog,” she said, petting him.
“Well, I hope Ukko’s all right,” I said, steering the conversation back to safer territory, “if indeed he was the target and if this was Loki’s doing.”
“Ukko wanted you dead and you’re worried about his welfare?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. He also cheered when the Morrigan cut Vidar in half. I think he was more bored than truly angry with me. He tagged along for the entertainment value.”
“If he calls ganging up on people and watching them die entertainment, I’m not predisposed to like him.”
“Few of the old gods are truly friendly. Goibhniu is a notable exception.”
<Don’t forget Fand! She gave us both bacon and sausage.>
Granuaile brightened, agreeing with my hound. “Yeah, I like Fand, and Manannan Mac Lir. They tend to save our asses, so what’s not to like?”
“Count them amongst the few, then,” I said, and squinted west toward the sun, now low on the horizon. “You let me sleep a bit long, didn’t you?”
“You needed it. I was just about to wake you.”
Two large ravens swooped down from the sky and landed on the branch of an ash tree. “Ah, Odin was watching us after all,” I said, pointing at Hugin and Munin. “Perhaps we can get some answers.”
In the mundane spectrum I still couldn’t tell them apart, but in the magical spectrum they were easily distinguished now, since Hugin glowed with more magic as the mind of Odin. Hugin jerked his beak at Munin, indicating that I should bind my consciousness with his.
Once I did so, Odin’s memories caught me up with recent events. I saw Loki still dazed by the charms of the Sisters of the Three Auroras, specifically by Klaudia’s lips, to which I myself had succumbed once upon a time. They were decadent. Sultry. So very, very kissable. And, damn, they almost snared me through the replay. The witches and the god of mischief were still in the same field where we had left them, which surprised me to some extent. I had expected Malina to move the operation elsewhere, but perhaps she had decided that moving was more trouble than it was worth, and it’s not as if onion fields are subject to constant scrutiny. The view expanded to show me Garm, Hel’s gigantic hound, similarly entranced by a couple of other witches. I smiled appreciatively. With Garm occupied, Hel wouldn’t know where to send her draugar. Malina had done well.
Garm’s gaze was fixed on a stick held in front of his eyes by one of Malina’s younger coven members. Clearly it had been enchanted with the same beguiling charm they had used on their body parts to ensnare humans. With both Loki and Garm preoccupied—Garm being Hel’s eyes and ears on earth, much like Hugin and Munin often served as Odin’s—Malina could conceivably stave off Ragnarok indefinitely, keeping Hel uncertain of victory.
Provided, of course, she wasn’t interrupted.
Ukko provided the interruption. Somehow, he’d discovered that Loki was unbound from his long imprisonment and located him—a mystery that begged to be solved, since no one else had beaten him to it. Why was Ukko the first to discover this? He flew down from the sky, landed a short distance away, and, without so much as a howdy-do, threw lightning at Loki.
His motivation wasn’t a mystery at all. Like Perun, who held an equivalent position amongst the old Rús tribes, the Finn would have very little love for the Norse pantheon, being a sort of direct competitor for the hearts and minds of people in that region of the world.
Loki flew bodily through the air, his torso folded and his long flailing limbs reminding me of a squid. He landed fifty yards away, far outside the range of Klaudia’s lips or Malina’s hair or any other charm capable of calming him. His body bloomed in flames and the madness returned.
“Hah? Who?” he cried, then saw Ukko advancing. “Thhhhunder god! G-g-guh, good!”
Malina shouted something in Polish, but Loki and Ukko ignored it, focused as they were on each other. Loki took a deep breath in the way a trained opera singer would, chest rising faintly but lungs filling like a bellows. He threw back his head and roared as his hands flew up and an inferno exploded from him, a burnin’ ring o’ fire that lifted Ukko off his feet and set the field alight. Here, then, was the great conflagration that Malina’s coven had foreseen.
“S-s-set your world on f-f-fire!” Loki spat before launching himself into the air and streaking north, presumably toward Finland. Ukko, having no choice and forced to play defense, followed him without ever acknowledging—or perhaps even realizing—that he had flipped Loki’s switch from “Neutralized” to “Unchained Sociopath.”
Odin’s vision didn’t chase after them but rather panned back to the witches. They had their purple wards up, protected from the flames but clearly feeling the heat. Garm, however, had no such protection. His fur was aflame and he sprinted, howling, for the river that bordered Jasło’s western edge, some two hundred yards away. The witches ran after him, cursing in Polish and sounding far more angry than scared.
Munin broke off the images and squawked at me. I disconnected with him and then switched to Hugin to speak with Odin.
All right, why was Ukko there? I said.
The Gray Wanderer’s voice lacked the casual tone he’d employed when Loki was safely occupied. Even the raven looked a bit more concerned. <I was hoping you could tell me.>
Are you suggesting I had something to do with it? Not only would that be against my own interest, but I’ve been a little busy lately.
<Someone had to stir him to action. Ukko is not what one would call vigilant.>
Well, what about Hel?
<She didn’t know where he was. Her hound was ensnared by those witches. Besides, she wouldn’t need to send anyone if she wished to free her father. She would have come herself and brought draugar along, as she did when Loki invaded Nidavellir.>
Maybe she just told Ukko that Loki was free and Ukko used his own methods.
<Possible, perhaps,> Odin granted, <but not really her style. This seems more like the sort of string-pulling favored by the Tuatha Dé Danann, if you don’t mind me saying.>
Oh. Right. Midhir, I said.
<Who?>
I shared my suspicions about Midhir’s motivation to want me dead and his relative ability to do it.
<Interesting. This will set off a whole new round of betting in Valhalla.>
This time I didn’t curb my tongue. The Einherjar can go toast their foreskins.
Odin laughed at me. <I’ll be sure to tell them.>
Do. What happened to the witches and Garm?
<The witches reached the river safely. Garm shifted to Hel before he got there, so I assume he is recuperating now.>
Great. One more thing to worry about.
<Garm is of no concern at present, and neither is Hel. Loki is. He’s burned out the Finns and presumably he’s now free to look for you. He’ll scour the continent for you because of what you did to Fenris.>
That reminds me. How is Freyja doing? The Norse goddess of beauty and war had been severely injured in our raid on Hel.
<Recuperating. Frigg is looking after her.>
Does she even know we were successful?
<I do not believe she has regained consciousness yet.>
I frowned. Is she in a coma or something? I knew that she had lost a lot of blood and had some shattered bones when we evacuated her, but perhaps she’d suffered more head trauma than was immediately evident.