Once the draugar were decomposing into ash at our feet, I turned in disbelief to the Olympians, who hadn’t stirred an inch to lend us aid. Zeus closed his eyes in perverse pleasure for a moment before flashing me a crooked grin. “Who was that tall woman who appeared just now? She wasn’t half bad.”
“Bloody git,” Herne whispered.
Chapter 27
“That was Hel,” I explained. “Loki’s daughter. And now that they’re together, Ragnarok could start at any time.”
“And what, exactly, would that entail?” Jupiter asked, clearly trying to decide if he should care or not. “You said something about Hel and Muspellheim, but I am unfamiliar with their legends. Why would the nightmares of the ancient Norse trouble the modern world?”
“Okay, fair enough. I’ll lay it out for you.”
“We should move before we talk,” Perun interjected from where he knelt next to Flidais. “Innocent peoples come.” He pointed east; there were now four aircraft heading our way, silhouetted in the early-morning sun.
“True,” I said. “Let’s move deeper into the forest. Would that be agreeable to you?” I raised an eyebrow at the Olympians.
Zeus and Jupiter exchanged glances and gave each other a tight nod.
“All right, give me a moment.”
If the fire on the edge of the forest took firm hold and began to spread, we’d have firefighters here in addition to investigators. Aside from that, of course, I couldn’t bear to let it continue; these were trees for which the Wild Hunt of Herne had perished, and I knew that somewhere, later, I would find the time to be very upset at their passing. With help from Albion, who was much better at moving earth than I was, I bound turf and dirt from the forest floor to the trunks of the affected trees, smothering the flames before allowing the earth to settle back down. While I did this, Zeus and Jupiter finally deigned to be helpful and transformed their thunderclouds into a thick fog that hid us neatly. Mist swirled and shrouded us as the thump of rotors whipped the air above. They’d have to put someone on the ground to find us now, and I figured we still had some time before that happened, if it happened at all.
I led the Olympians to the place where the huntresses were buried and silently asked Albion to move Mercury underneath the ground to somewhere near them. Perun and Flidais followed, though Flidais moved gingerly and only with Perun’s help. She would heal fully from the burns eventually, but I knew from experience that it would take an uncomfortable while.
“Right,” I bellowed over the noise of the choppers, which I hoped would move away soon. “You wanted to hear why you should care about the Norse. Let’s start with Hel, whom Zeus found so alluring. Hel commands legions of those semi-corporeal zombies called draugar, who don’t go down easy unless you behead them, and I have sources who tell me that they now have access to modern automatic weapons. She can also command the dead, so every person her army kills is a potential recruit for said army. Her forces will quickly build into something that can’t be stopped before you add on anything else, but there’s more. The sons of Muspellheim are fire giants—sort of like Loki but without an off switch. They just love their fire and magma and want to share it with everyone. And the frost giants are going to join in too, so you’re going to have elemental upheaval on top of the zombie apocalypse. And then there’s Jörmungandr, the world serpent, who will presumably pop up somewhere and start shit in the ocean. And we may or may not have to deal with dark elves. Humans won’t stand a chance against them. Well, maybe Chuck Norris would. But you know what humans are like. They’ll panic and start shooting one another, because they’re going to think their enemies are responsible for it all. Or else they’ll go into Doomsday mode, assume that the only rule is anarchy, and do something unthinkable to people. Some trigger-happy idiot might even launch a nuclear missile, and then it’s over. It’s going to be one hell of a bloodbath, guys. When all the humans die—or so many of them it won’t make any difference—what’s going to happen to you and all the rest of the gods who depend on their belief?”
“Bah!” Zeus exploded. “We go to kill Hel and Loki now and this never happens.”
“Who’s ‘we,’ Zeus? Do your powers work on any other plane but Olympus and earth? I know Hermes and Mercury can travel to other planes and return, but are you certain that they remain immortal while they’re cut off from this plane and the source of their worship?”
Zeus flicked his eyes to Hermes, and the god of thieves gave a tiny shrug. I pressed my advantage. “Have you ever called forth lightning on a plane other than this one or Olympus? And even if you have, did you not notice the part where Loki thought your thunderbolts were kind of cute?”
Zeus glared at me and said nothing. Jupiter jumped in. “Fine. You kill them both.”
“He’s not so easily killed, as you just witnessed, and neither is Hel. I certainly don’t want to confront them on their turf, where I’ll be weakened and they’ll be strongest. Come on. You guys are smart. What we need to do is help out Odin and the rest of the good guys and make sure the right side wins when they make their move. Look, I’ve already managed to take out Fenris—he was supposed to kill Odin and wreak bonus havoc. What if Poseidon and Neptune went looking for Jörmungandr and we took him out as well? That would make Loki and Hel all kinds of worried. They’d crawl back to their dark holes and shake their fists and say, ‘Curse you, unexpectedly effective alliance of powerful beings!’ And then we’d all have ice cream or something. What do you say we cooperate on this so that we can all have a future?”
“You mean everyone but Bacchus, I suppose?” Jupiter said.
“No, I’d be delighted to live in a world where Bacchus and I can coexist. Seriously. You know, we did so for more than two thousand years. It’s only recently that he decided I needed to die and I disagreed.”
“Tell me why.”
“Gladly. This is truth or I am the son of a goat: Some of his Bacchants tried to make a move on a city under my protection. I killed a few of them because they were slaying innocent humans. Bacchus took offense—probably because it was a Druid who did it and you Romans have always hated Druids—and it escalated from there. Had his Bacchants not invaded my territory in Arizona, he’d still be living in blissful ignorance of my existence. But after I called him some names, he swore to you that he would kill me, and so here we are. All I want is to be left alone and I’ll do the same to you. I left you alone for two thousand years and I can do it for two thousand more. I’ll tell you what: As a sign of good faith, I’ll return Mercury to you now.”
I asked Albion to release Mercury from the earth, and he complied. Five boulders rose from the ground, the rock and chalk and clay crumbled away from Mercury’s body parts and melted into the turf, and the overall effect was to make me look like a boss.
Jupiter grunted, staring at the pieces of Mercury, whose eyes burned with hatred. “Good faith? Are we in a negotiation now?”
“Yes. A treaty of sorts. The Treaty of Windsor, if you will. Hear me out, please?”
“Go on,” Jupiter said. Hermes, who had been hovering safely above, floated down to Mercury’s chopped limbs and began squidging them onto the torso until they held and began to graft together.
“I’ll release the goddesses and Bacchus as well for nothing more than a sworn oath that they will not pursue vengeance against me or my associates. I want the same oath from all the Olympians, and you can have mine in return. I have demonstrated for millennia that I can control myself and not seek revenge for wrongs done against me, so I’d like to see you do the same.”