Chapter 005

Heimdall led the group through the woods as a light rain began to fall. With Laika by his side, he felt more energized to be outside again among the trees, breathing in the cool, crisp air and feeling the crunch of pine needles beneath his feet as his boots pressed down into the damp soil. He was grateful for his night vision, one of the few gifts they had all retained — at least so far — as the rest of their powers had slowly deserted them.

He followed the path he had made the night before, and as the trees opened to form a clearing, the others fanned out around him — Skadi and Magni to his right and the twins, Freya and Freyer, to his left.

“This is as far as I’ve gotten.” Heimdall stepped into the center of the clearing. He looked for the moon overhead but found only clouds and the gentle drizzle of Oregon rain in autumn falling down onto his face. Laika danced around the grove, nosing under the low shrubs, no doubt looking for more furry prey.

“It was here that I felt that chill move through me.” He gestured toward Freya. “The magic that you suspect is being worked.”

Freya moved into the center of the clearing to stand next to her cousin. She turned slowly in a full circle, taking in the energies beyond the sights, scents and sounds of the forest. She might not have had all of the same strengths she’d commanded as a deity, but she was still a skilled shaman.

“We have not been tracked,” Skadi offered from the periphery of the grove. “I’m certain of it.”

Completing her surveillance, Freya turned toward Heimdall. “Can you still feel it, standing here now?”

He frowned down on her. “The magic?”

Heimdall looked into her quiet, narrowed eyes and nearly laughed. “Oh, sorry. You mean the tree.” He crouched down and laid his palm flat against the ground. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in and listened to the vibrations beneath the surface of the soil. Filtering out the familiar chatter of the domestic trees and the occasional, sharp static from the power station and cell towers several miles away, Heimdall tuned into the tender, hopeful pulse of the young sapling.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Freya. “Yes. It’s close.” He stood up and wiped the dirt off of his hand onto the front of his jacket. “But I’m not sure how close.” He glanced down at the ground and sighed. “I’m not even sure what species of tree it has taken form in.” He raised his eyes and met Freya’s level gaze. “Not yet anyway.”

Freya nodded at her mother and sat down on the ground, her legs crossed beneath her. Taking her daughter’s cue, Skadi formed the others into a circle around Freya, facing out toward the night and ringing the shaman in their protection. Slipping the canvas rucksack off of her back, Freya reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a plastic baggie containing one the roots she cultivated in her garden. She retrieved a utility knife from her jeans pocket, unfolded it and sliced off a small sliver of the root.

Laika darted into the circle, sniffed once at Freya face, and then lay down behind her, the wolf-dog’s spine pressed against Freya’s, Laika’s eyes and ears alert to any danger or intrusion. Freya returned the baggie and knife to her rucksack, then placed the small slice of root on her tongue. She closed her eyes and gently rested her hands in her lap.

The others stood at the four corners around her, each facing one of the cardinal directions. Magni, facing South, whispered to Heimdall to the East.

“Is there something else we’re supposed to be doing? Like an evocation of something?” Magni shuffled his feet in place. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Heimdall looked over his shoulder at his nephew, then faced forward again and shook his head. “We’re just holding the space. Leave the magic to Freya. We’re just here to keep out the stray squirrel or dragon.”

Magni snorted. “Dragons.”

Skadi, at the North point on the compass, shushed them both. “Boys.”

Magni squared his stance and turned back to face South, his patron direction of fire and summer. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in the vague hint of burning warmth, feeling the faint trickle of power that had once flowed through his veins. But it wasn’t nearly enough. He might yet be a formidable force among mortal men, stronger even than his own father, but he felt a pathetic weakling in the memory of what he had once been. Maybe Thor had it right. Let the magic come. Let the Berserkers awaken and roam. There would be time to track them down and bend them to the gods’ will once more, after the gods had managed to restore themselves. Find the young tree, sure, but use it, don’t just keep an eye on it. Harness the World Tree’s power to resurrect the old pantheon and the old ways.

Freya felt the subtle influence of the root go to work. She’d brought the plant — which she called Andlang, for the second of the three heavens — back with her from her studies in South America a century or two earlier. The others might still be struggling with the decline of godhood, but Freya was quite enjoying herself. Without the pressures of the pantheon — and its hierarchy and responsibilities both mundane and esoteric — she had been free to study and explore. She’d traveled the world, learning from the masters of other traditions, from men and women who worshipped other gods, and sometimes who worshipped no gods at all. No longer bound by her duty to promote love and fertility among her divine kinsmen or the mortal Nordic tribes, she cultivated her other innate gifts for mysticism. If she could, she would pour her entire being into the Earth herself.

Her breath quickened as she felt the buzz of snake-like energy coil itself around her spine, curling upward out of the soil, entwining with Freya’s nerve centers and reaching up through the crown of her skull to grasp through the overcast skies at the stars above. She felt the pulse of the Earth throbbing through her. Until she had studied with the shamans of Brazil, she had envied Heimdall’s subtle listening skills, the way her cousin seemed to so easily tune in and hear the planet’s hidden language.

Freya shifted where she sat, resting her palms flat against the ground by her sides. A small smile brightened her face as she felt the living energy of the Earth — swirling with individual identities and personalities of all who walked, flew over, or made their home within the planet, all the while underscored by an unmistakable, unifying vitality. The electricity of the Earth tickled her palms. These journeys into the soul of the planet always made her want to laugh with the sheer joy of communion.

She took a deep breath, grounding herself, sending energetic roots down into the soil to anchor herself firmly in place. She sent tendrils of her consciousness out onto the collective network of tree roots, every tree connected to every other through mingling and intertwined roots. She had learned to speak their language, not only to listen and learn, but to ask questions and receive active guidance as well.

Let Thor and the others lament the pantheon’s decline. Freya had never felt more at peace.

She frowned slightly as she homed in on the quiet, empty roots of the dead tree. Forgetting her physical body in the forest, surrounded by her kinfolk and supported by the warm, furry weight of Heimdall’s Laika, she followed the trail of cold, underground branches back to the decaying Sitka Spruce. She tried to push her way to the surface, to lift her consciousness up out of the soil to commune with the stump of the old tree, but the way was sluggish and heavy. Death and decay had taken hold, blocking her path. She had no direct access.

Freya backtracked, retreating along the lines of dead root to the previous junction, where the roots of a nearby evergreen hadn’t yet completely recoiled from those of the Sitka Spruce. She launched herself along this new, living root system, refreshed by the speed and springy energy of the younger tree, which she estimated to be only about six decades old. There was a surge of excitement within the tree at her approach. She zipped up its roots toward the trunk, where she waited at the base, asking for the evergreen’s permission to mingle with its memories and awareness beneath its bark.

But the tree pushed her back. Freya felt the evergreen’s trepidation. She frowned at the mixture of longing and anxiety. Freya backed off slightly, reassuring the tree and asking how she might be of service to it. She felt the evergreen relax, but not enough to let her in. Instead, it pushed a recent memory in her direction, and Freya’s own body shook with every touch of the chainsaw, with the soul-rending cracks of wood from the intense wind storms, even with the small pieces of bark that small children had peeled away from its hide. She felt the tree bleed, its sap trickling down from open wounds. A single tear slid down Freya’s cheek.

Then she shuddered at the vision the tree threw at her. She saw the deserted parking lot, just hours before, and the arrival of the beat-up truck. She saw the man with the handsaw.

“Ungh,” she moaned aloud as she recognized the intruder. The tree had no ability to register facial features, but Freya would know the gait and the aura of one of her own anywhere. Fulla had been right. One of the Old Ones was up to something. Freya moaned again.

Laika shifted nervously at the sound, and Heimdall stole a look over his shoulder. “Shh,” he reassured the wolf-hybrid.

Laika settled back down, lending her strength and comfort to Freya on her journey. Freya’s body stiffened and she whimpered quietly as the tree showed her the slab of the World Tree being sawn off.

She felt the bile rise in her throat at this abomination, especially at the hands of one who fully understood his sacrilege. She shuddered at every stroke of the saw. But she had to stay focused, if this was going to work. She tensed her shoulders, drawing the anger and indignation up out of her body, and then released it onto the air. She will relaxation into her hands, which had balled into fists.

Freya inhaled and sighed audibly, shifting her body slightly as she mentally thanked the evergreen for sharing its memories with her. She rode the tree’s roots back to the dead tendrils that had once fed life and sustenance to the World Tree, and she paused. Laying her energetic body out over the underground network of the Sitka Spruce, she invoked the ancient tune that called the shades back from Bilrost, the bridge spanning the river that separated the world of mortal men from the world of the dead.

The Yggdrasil was not yet fully formed in its new incarnation. The tree was young yet, its power scattered, and she gambled there was at least a small part of it hanging out by the bridge. Reaching out for the dead ends of the great tree’s roots, Freya opened herself as a beacon and a sponge, to call forth whatever remnant of the World Tree might yet be lingering and to absorb this energy into herself.

The cold of the dead roots sparked briefly, and Freya felt an itinerant piece of the Yggdrasil’s soul rush forward and bind with her, before she knew what happened. In a dizzying flash, she felt herself pulled along a spectacular blue-white thread of blinding light shooting through the collective root network, traveling back toward the grove of trees, miles away from the corpse of the Sitka Spruce, where the old gods stood vigil over Freya’s body, zipping beneath the soil on which they stood, past old-growth stands and the young saplings they were fostering, spiraling headlong through charred earth. Suddenly, she was motionless, floating free.

Freya took a moment to gain her bearings. How far was she now from the grove? In which direction had she traveled? What was this place? A gentle, familiar pulse sang softly to her, and Freya found herself surrounded by glistening light. She nearly wept as she realized she was nestled in the tender root structure of the new World Tree. Opening herself, she released the element of the Yggdrasil’s spirit she had called back from Bilrost, offering it as a gift to the sapling.

The gift was accepted, and Freya felt a dancing light curve up and down along the length of her spine.

And then she was yanked backward, torn away from the young tree.

Freya’s body shook. Laika whimpered and pressed her head against the former goddess’ back. Freya’s torso convulsed and she pitched forward, opening her eyes just in time to catch herself against the damp soil.

Heimdall was immediately at her side, a steadying hand resting on her shoulder.

“Freya?” He pulled her back up to a seated position, but she stared wide-eyed out at the surrounding forest. “Freya!” He shook her hard.

She blinked, looked down at the dirt on her hands, and then titled her head to face Heimdall. Her mouth was hard, her eyes full of tears.

“Managarm.” She wanted to spit the feel of his name out of her mouth, after having witnessed his atrocity. She should have known it would be one of the Wolves. They’d always seemed too comfortable on the periphery in the old days, scheming and laughing among themselves, grumbling about their responsibilities and lack of reward when it came to honor their duties. But she’d never dreamed it would come to this. Not even Managarm had such ambition.

Freya bent forward and allowed her tears to spill onto the ground. “It’s Managarm. He’s the one who stole from the Sitka Spruce.”

The others crowded around her, with Freyer and Heimdall crouched down by her sides. Freyer wrapped a strong arm around his sister’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

Freya shook her head, not bothering to look up. “It was him. There is no doubt.” She brushed the dirt off her hands onto her jeans. “He used his saw and took from the Yggdrasil.”

Magni towered over her, arms crossed over his chest. “Why would Managarm do such a thing?”

Freya rubbed at her temples, the images the evergreen had shown her still burned on her brain. It was simply too much, and it made her head hurt. “Ragnorok,” she whispered.

A silent shudder ran through her companions. Even Laiki shifted uneasily, getting up from her spot at Freya’s back to nuzzle beneath one of the Heimdall’s arms.

Skadi stood tall before her daughter. “He seeks the tree.”

Freya nodded slowly, then her eyes grew wide and she turned again to Heimdall. “I’ve found it. I mean, I’ve seen it. The tree.” She took a breath and wiped the tears from her eyes, smudging her cheeks with bits of soil still clinging to her fingers.

“It’s not far from here, I’m not sure exactly.” She glanced around the grove, trying to discern in what direction the new Yggdrasil might lie. If only the young tree hadn’t pulled her in so quickly. “Maybe a couple of miles, but it is here.” She sniffed, and her face brightened. “But I can tell you this. It’s an Oregon White Oak.”

Freyer smiled and hugged his sister tight. “That’s good work. That will make the tree much easier to find.”

Skadi frowned. “I just hope we’re able to get to it before Managarm does.”

Shifting his weight between his feet, Magni tightened his arms across his chest. “Cursed moon dog,” he spat in a low voice. “Even if he succeeds, it will mean the downfall of us all.” But if he were to get close enough to his goal and fail, things would be much, much worse.

Heimdall sighed, his jaw tight. Freya titled her face toward him. “Be grateful for this news. Now we can find the tree.”

Heimdall shook his head. “Maybe.” He stood up and Laika danced nervously around him as he paced a few yards away. “There’s a stand of young Oregon White Oak, about four-and-a-half miles from here.”

Freya’s face brightened. “That’s it then. That has to be where the Yggdrasil now grows.”

“You don’t understand.” He rested his hands on his hips. “There are about 600 trees in that stand. All Oregon White Oak. All about the right age and the right size. It was a Forestry Service project last year, after a forest fire wiped out the area. The Yggdrasil could be any one of them.”