Chapter 007

In the early morning hours, Heimdall drove his pick-up truck along the winding forestry service road while he spoke to his father on his bluetooth headset. Dawn was still several hours off.

“That’s right, we’re on the way there now.” Heimdall cracked his window open to help dissipate the condensation collecting on the inside of his windshield, and nodded to Freya to turn down the radio. Sandwiched in the front seat between Heimdall and her brother slumbering besode her, Freya reached forward and snapped off the car radio.

“I think you’re going to have to send someone up there,” Heimdall continued. “It’s the only way to get a read on anything that might be happening with the wolf.”

He navigated a particularly sharp turn, shifting his unsuspecting back-cab passengers. Magni’s head knocked into the window glass, and he cursed sharply.

“Sorry about that.” Heimdall glanced into the rearview mirror to see if his nephew was alright, and received a rude finger gesture in response. “No, I was talking to Magni,” he directed into the headset’s mouthpiece. He was silent a few moments longer, listening to his father’s directions on the other end.

Freya leaned over her brother to roll down the passenger side window. She hated the stuffiness of the cab, and she frequently got carsick, even in the front seat, if she wasn’t driving. All these winding roads, on little sleep and at shifting elevations, was a good recipe for impending vomit. Draping herself across Freyer, she practically hung her head out the window to get to the fresh air, hoping to settle her stomach.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to take. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Heimdall sighed. He’d been standing ready to seek out the Yggdrasil ever since the Sitka Spruce had first showed signs of its nearing demise, back in 2006. Even after the tree finally succumbed to wind and old age a year later, they’d still had to wait. The tension had built in him, day after day, thinking of the tiny seedling, sprouting up somewhere in the world, completely vulnerable, without a watcher nearby. It had only been a week since his mother had at last gotten the vision of the young tree, now nearly a year old, having taken root again in the Pacific Northwest.

Lucky that they’d been so close by, that the Yggdrasil hadn’t jumped coasts, countries or even continents as it had before. They’d been in Norway when the last World Tree had faded from this world, and even with Frigga’s sight guiding them to the New World and the new World Tree, it had still taken them decades to navigate the expansive new territory and find the Sitka Spruce.

This time, the tree had sprung up again in its own backyard. But that didn’t mean Odin would be patient with the young Yggrdasil not being located immediately. Heimdall had been hunting every night, growing closer with every passing hour, but not making progress quick enough to placate his father. Now that there was a Berserker on the lose and dark Runic Magic being worked, every passing minute that they didn’t have the location of the tree was three minutes too long.

“Yes, an Oregon White Oak.” Heimdall yawned loudly as he pulled off the main forestry road onto a lesser dirt road leading deeper into the forest. “Managarm. That’s right.”

Freya pulled her head back into the car at the mention of the Moon Dog’s name. She looked up at Heimdall and gestured for him to hand off the call to her, but Heimdall shook her off.

“She’s sure.” Heimdall continued up the dirt road, following it between increasingly thick branches overhead. Coming to the end of the road, Heimdall slowed the truck and shifted it into park. Skadi and Freyer awoke with the sudden change in motion, and Magni opened the rear cab door and hopped out onto the bed of damp pine needles. Freya, Freyer and Skadi exited from the other side of the truck, ducking the low hanging branches. They gathered in front of the truck and waited.

“No, definitely don’t send Tyr,” Heimdall advised his father as he turned off the truck’s ignition and shut off the headlights. The last thing they needed was a disruption in the fragile peace between Loki and Tyr.

Try had nearly lost a hand in the initial feud over Loki’s son, Fenrir. That damnable wolfen beast had nearly ripped the pantheon in two. When Fenrir was still a pup, Thor had brought him to the great hall and tried to tame him, but that was before any of them understood what he was. Fenrir had grown into something between man and wolf and was compulsively ruled by the same chaotic soul that had plagued Loki for so long.

And then Frigga had foreseen Fenrir’s fated role in Ragnorok, the ultimate demise of them all. It had been lucky that Loki had been convinced to bind Fenrir himself, luckier still that he and Tyr had carefully, over time, forged a more abiding familial bond — despite Loki’s penchant for really inappropriate practical jokes. Like the time he got Thor drunk, dressed him up like a large and rather unattractive street walker, and then dumped him aboard a merchant ship whose crew hadn’t seen a woman or dry land in four months. It had taken Thor three and a half days to get back to port.

“Send Bragi and Sjofn,” Heimdall suggested. “And Thor, if you can spare him.” He knew his brother would leap at the opportunity for any kind of adventure — even if all it meant was a road-trip to Joseph to talk to the currently monastic Loki. Anything to get himself back into the game, and far far away from any and all photocopiers.

Heimdall pulled the keys from the ignition, opened the door and slid out from behind the steering wheel. “Listen, we’re here. I’ll give you an update as soon as there’s more information to share.”

He disconnected the call with a small tap to the earpiece, then pulled the device out of his ear and slid it into his jacket pocket. Laika leapt out of the back of the truck and paced around her master in an excited circle.

“Heading out to see Loki.” Skadi stepped out from beneath a low-hanging branch and met Heimdall’s eyes.

He nodded, and she shook her head.

“I don’t envy that lot.”

“No.” Heimdall closed the car door and walked past the group, heading deeper into the woods. The others fell into step behind him, Freya following close on his heels. After just a few minutes of walking, the tall trees thinned and opened onto a wide spread of young saplings, ranging from three to nearly six feet in height. And they seemed to go on forever.

“Hmm.” Freya sighed in consternation. “How many did you say there were? Six hundred?”

“That’s about right.” Heimdall stepped forward to one of the trees. Resting one hand on the slender trunk, he reached out and grasped a leaf between his fingers. “It will be harder to find it while it’s still so young. It could be any one of the trees in here.”

He watched his companions fan out into the stand of young trees, each one of them going from one tree to the next, looking for some sign of the new Yggdrasil. Heimdall sighed and shoved his hands in his jacket pocket. He had only limited sympathy for the Buddhist lamas who traveled far and wide in the years after each Dalai Lama’s death, looking for His Holiness’ next incarnation. They examined each child who showed promise, asking him questions and performing ritual tests to confirm their leader’s true identity. Somehow they always managed to find the next Dalai Lama, reborn once again.

But these trees couldn’t answer direct questions. They couldn’t be shown selections of bark and be asked which had belonged to them in their previous incarnation as the last Yggdrasil. He and Freya both had the ability to look into the trees, to taste its essence and so discover the Yggdrasil that way, but it was a time- and energy-consuming process. Even between the two of them, going through each of these six hundred trees one by one would take a good bit longer than this one night.

They moved slowly from tree to tree, gradually moving farther apart. With a smile to greet the new World Tree, Freya placed her loving hands on one narrow trunk. Her face then sank into a frown as she stepped away to the next tree, her expression brightening with hope again for each new tree she examined. Skadi got close to each specimen and sniffed at its bark, evening tasting a few of them with a quick flick of the tongue. She rolled the taste around in her mouth for a few seconds, shook her head, and moved on to the next.

“Oh, for the love of Huginn and Muninn!” Magni cursed and spat on the ground. He resisted the temptation to kick at the base of only the second tree he’d examined. He planted his fists firmly on his hips and turned to face Heimdall, now several meters away. “We’re never going to find the bloody tree this way.”

There was a dull thud as a small rock struck Magni in the back of the head.

“Hey!” Magni rubbed the base of his skull and spun around to find Freyer standing not too far away, arms crossed over his chest.

“Watch your speech, Magni.” Freyer’s mouth was hard. “You will not disrespect the Yggdrasil.”

Magni took in a deep breath, his chest puffing up with smoldering rage. “I will speak as I please, cousin.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable with an exaggerated bravado that he had little use for in the twenty-first century world of mortal men. He shrugged a shoulder in Freya’s direction, several yards to his right. “Running a martial arts school with your dried up priestess sister over here doesn’t make you any match for me, vanir.”

Freyer’s dark eyes narrowed at the challenge, and Magni smiled wryly. “What good’s a nature god in the world of technology, anyway? You can’t even call the elements anymore. It must eat away at you when it rains here,” Magni chuckled darkly. “Or do you just tell yourself that you’re the one who opened up the skies?”

Freyer dropped his hands to his sides and stalked angrily toward Magni, quickly closing the distance between them. “You will not disrespect the Yggrdasil,” he spat as he moved. “You will not disrespect my sister. And you will not disrespect me.” He pushed Magni backward with both hands, grunting deep in his chest with the effort.

Magni stumbled a few paces to the rear, then regained his balance. He looked across at Freyer and started to laugh. “Stupid little vanir. Your kind should have been wiped from the face of the Earth long ago.” Magni took a deep breath and started his war cry as he lunged at the smaller, more slender Freyer, but Heimdall came charging in from one side, intercepting his nephew and bearing the full brunt of his assault. The two tumbled to the ground at Freyer’s feet, and the others quickly gathered around them.

Magni struggled to get to his feet, but Heimdall grabbed him — one hand gripping the shoulder of his jacket, the other buried deep in Magni’s thick beard — and pulled him back down to the ground.

“Unhand me, uncle!” Magni bellowed. “Someone needs to teach this undeserving nature sprite a lesson.”

Heimdall kneed his nephew in the kidneys and forced him onto his back in the dirt. Magni struggled against him, but Heimdall managed to climb on top of him and sat squarely down on the other’s chest.

Heimdall sat for a moment, trying to reclaim his breath. In a fair fight, he was no match for Magni — no one was, god or otherwise. He’d only been able to best him because he’d caught him off-guard.

“Teach the nature sprite a lesson?” Heimdall panted, looking down into Magni’s reddening face. “What kind of talk is that among kinsmen? The aesir and vanir settled their differences long ago.”

Magni tried to roll first to one side, then the other, in an attempt to free himself, but Heimdall moved with him, keeping him pinned down. “Let me go! This isn’t your fight. He started it!” Magni pointed and angry finger up at Freyer, who just shrugged and then started to laugh.

“Mature words from the high and mighty aesir,” he sneered. Skadi rested a corrective shoulder on her son’s arm, but he just shook her off and took a step closer to his incapacitated rival. “Always so big and burly and completely useless. Never having the guts to step out from your father’s thunderous shadow.”

Heimdall shot an angry look up at his cousin. “Enough!” He sighed angrily. “I don’t care who started what. I don’t care what you’re arguing about, or why, or how far it goes back.” He slapped Magni’s raised fist back to the ground, then ran a hand through his thick hair. It was the tree. Still so young and tender, it couldn’t yet contain the full wisdom and order of the Yggdrasil, and with the strain of their discontent — working menial jobs in a materialist society that worshipped double-decker burritos and Tivo over the old or even the new gods, on top of this fresh threat from Managarm — they were losing control of themselves.

“Everyone just take a deep breath, all right?” Still sitting atop Magni, Heimdall rested his forearms on his knees and looked at the ground. In the silence, he felt at least some of the tension drain out of the surrounding group, and beneath him, Magni exhaled and lay flat on his back in surrender.

“That’s better.” Heimdall crawled off of Magni and climbed to his feet. “We need to keep our wits about us, not only on this hunt for the tree, but also as we try to fit these pieces together.” He reached out a hand and helped pull Magni to his feet.

Skadi stepped forward to stand between Freyer and Magni. She looked first at one, then the other. “Whatever bad blood existed between you, it is long since passed.” She narrowed her eyes and looked out at the young trees, her gaze then sweeping skyward at the low-hanging clouds and the moon barely peeking out through the breaks between them.

“We have become vulnerable to our own magic,” she continued. “The Moon Dog uses it against us. Will we fall so easily into his hands?” Her eyes flashed again on her son, and then on Magni, her expression fierce in the broken moonlight. “Do you allow yourselves to be his puppets? Will you so willingly be pawns in his game?”

Magni growled low between clenched teeth, but his scowl had softened. Freyer titled his head to one side and nodded at his mother.

Heimdall cleared his throat. “Right, then. Let’s get back to work.” He pointed off toward the far end of the field of young trees. “Freyer, why do you start skirting that edge over there.” Heimdall turned completely around and gestured Magni toward the other end. “And you take that side.”

Freyer and Magni both frowned slightly, then shrugged and headed off toward their appointed sections. Skadi offered Heimdall a glimmer of a smile before slipping between a pair of saplings, examining them both for signs of the young Yggdrasil.

*****

It was dawn before they reached Joseph, in the Northeastern corner of Oregon. Bragi had driven his old Subaru slowly through town, looking for a 24-hour Starbucks. He’d finally pulled up at the Motley Brew Coffee Company, waited for them to open, then ducked inside for three black coffees — in the biggest to-go cups they had — along with a bag full of muffins and assorted pastries.

The aroma of the steaming coffee woke Sjofn in the passenger seat, and she gratefully accepted the cup Bragi offered her. After pulling out a couple of muffins for himself and Siofn, Bragi tossed the bag into the backseat, where it landed squarely on Thor’s chest. The sudden proximity of food roused the slumbering giant, who sat up too fast and smacked his head on the car’s ceiling.

“Oof!” Thor rubbed at the top of his head, then pounded the ceiling above, leaving a sizable dent. “Stupid horseless machinery.” He made several thundering, retching noises that sounded as though he might be trying to dislodge one of his own lungs — what qualified for Thor as clearing his throat in the morning — then sniffed at the contents of the paper bag. He frowned.

“No jelly?”

Bragi handed a cup of coffee back to him. “No, sorry. Just the cream-filled, some cake doughnuts and a couple of glazed bear claws.”

Grumbling to himself, Thor pulled out a custard-filled pastry and took a huge bite out of it. Custard oozed out the sides of his mouth and dripped down onto his jeans. He muttered something about Eastern Oregonians being wretched creatures trapped in the dark ages of pastry performance while he chewed, then took a massive gulp of hot coffee. If it burned the roof of his mouth, he never let on.

Bragi started up the car and pulled out onto the road, following the main drive out of town toward Loki’s cabin, where the old god of chaos isolated himself from time to time.

Since the clan had relocated to the Pacific Northwest, it wasn’t unusual for Loki to abscond to his mountain retreat for months or even years at a time. Of all the gods, he still retained the most of his abilities — but rarely had control over them. For the Viking god of mayhem and destruction, this should have suited him just fine, but he had grown more sentimental as the decades and centuries had passed. He longed for the company of his kin, or at least to immerse himself in human community.

And he found it disquieting not to have any order, even in the midst of his own chaos.

Ice cream melted in the freezers at grocery stores when he tried to go shopping. Loaded guns went off by themselves when he got too close. He’d gotten a mild headache in the middle of a bank once, and triggered the fire alarms of every building on the block. Traffic lights malfunctioned as he crossed intersections. Cell phones had a nasty tendency to burst into flames in his presence — as a result, he’d accidentally set at least a dozen unsuspecting people’s hair or clothing on fire. The official story blamed the trouble on overheating cell phone batteries, but Loki and the others knew the truth.

And even with the peace that had been negotiated between himself and the others, he still never felt completely comfortable around Odin and his clan. Plus, there was the matter of Fenrir. As long as he lived, there’d been tension with Odin, but if he died…. Loki would have outlasted all of his children.

Bragi reached into the back seat and held out an open hand. “How about another pastry up here?”

Thor popped the last bit of his sixth doughnut into his mouth, crumpled the empty bag into a ball, and dropped into Bragi’s hand. Bragi pulled his arm forward again, frowned at the paper ball and tossed it to the floorboards at Sjofn’s feet.

“Classic,” she muttered, pulling her auburn curls into a tight ponytail that she secured with a rubber band. “How much further?”

“Not far at all.” Bragi made a left onto a dirt road that wound around a steep hill. Spiraling about three quarters of the way up, Bragi turned right up an even steeper dirt driveway, finally coming to a stop beneath a level patch that had been carved out beneath a trio of pine trees.

Bragi, Sjofn and Thor sat silently in the car, looking at out Loki’s cabin. It was a rustic structure built from old trees that had gratefully given up their wood for the home of one of the old gods, when the trees had still recognized them. They had been the last to acknowledge the ancient deities for what they once had been. But no more. Now, it was only the World Tree that knew them, and even it had to be reminded from time to time.

The cabin was largely nondescript, the unpainted wood frame darkened by weather and time. There was a neat flower-bed to the left of the wide steps leading up to a porch that ran the length of the front of the house. Herb bushes the size of boulders grew wild in an open area several yards from the front steps. Rosemary, lavendar and honeysuckle perfumed the air whenever the sun shone down on his property.

Loki had kept up the place rather well, though he wasn’t as reclusive as he thought he was. Regular grocery deliveries were made on a weekly basis, ever since his last trip to the store in town when even the mechanical scales in the produce section had gone kaplooey. Neighboring kids liked to pick fruits and berries from his property spring through fall, and he often made them fresh lemonade to enjoy while they filled their baskets with figs, raspberries, apples and plums. Loki even had an informal recipe exchange with several of the “mountain cottage wives” — as they called themselves — who had homes on the same hill. He did still have to hike down a ways to pick up his mail, which he did every couple of days or so, but the area UPS and FedEx delivery drivers knew the route to this cabin by heart.

“Right.” Bragi pushed open the driver’s side door and climbed out of the car, stretching his arms up overhead as he tried to work out the kinks in his spine that had settled in after driving all night. He glanced across the top of the car at Sjofn as she got out on her side.

“You’re driving back.”

She titled her head and smiled at her nephew. “Good. I’ll make sure we stop for some decent food, then.”

Thor lumbered out of the back seat and slammed the door shut. He stomped around the car for a few minutes, complaining that his feet had fallen asleep, then pronounced that he was ready to call on Loki.

As if on cue, Loki opened the front door. For someone who left so much bedlam and disorder in his wake, he was surprisingly unimposing in the flesh. He was a modest 5’9 or 5’10 in height, wearing loose-fitting denim jeans and a faded corduroy shirt that probably used to be black. His steel gray eyes were more curious than intimidating, and wavy salt-and-pepper hair hung loose, almost touching his shoulders.

Loki stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and leaned against the doorjamb. “From the looks on your faces, I’d say this wasn’t exactly a social visit.”

Sjofn straightened her shoulders and walked toward him. “I’m afraid not, old friend.” She stopped at the bottom of the wooden stairs leading up to the porch, then glanced out at the herb garden. Turning back to Loki, she smiled up at him with a quick wink. “I’m glad to see someone still keeps up the old ways.”

Loki laughed as she climbed the stairs. “You know that was never my art. I just like a little rosemary in my bread every now and again.”

He opened his arms and took her into a strong but brief hug. Sjofn pulled away from Loki and made room for Thor and Bragi as they climbed up the steps. Loki looked into their stern expressions and sighed.

“I suppose you should come inside.”

Loki was a warm if frugal host, having adopted the more thrifty gastronomic ways of modern men. The main room of the cabin served as kitchen, dining room, and den with a short hallway leading to the single bedroom and bath, but through the windows overlooking the back porch, the place offered a magnificent view of the upward sloping back yard and its great trees adorned in autumn colors.

Loki set down two pots of strong coffee and herbal tea on the coffee table and let them pour for themselves while he fetched plates of sliced apples, wafer cookies and homemade biscuits fresh out of the oven.

Sjofn tilted her head and looked up at Loki as he set the plates down on the low table before her. He smiled weakly and shrugged his shoulders. “I just had a feeling I’d have company this morning.”

Thor struggled to get comfortable in the worn, mission-style chair facing the end of the table. He was simply too large for regular furniture. He wedged himself between the exposed oak armrests and heaved a sigh. “What would have given you that idea.”

Loki settled into a simple rocking chair opposite him. “Something in the air didn’t feel quite right.” He pored himself a cup of tea and popped an apple slice into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, resting back into the rocker. “And also my postman yesterday got halfway to my mailbox, then suddenly stripped naked and dashed off into the woods. Left the whole hill’s mail just sitting there in the dirt.”

“Berserker,” Thor grunted. Loki responded with a slow, unconcerned nod.

Bragi put down his cup of coffee and leaned forward in his chair. “So, what did you do?”

Loki pursed his lips and glanced out the window behind Sjofn at the brightening morning sky. “I picked up the mail and delivered it myself.”

Sjofn caught the glimmer in Loki’s eye and the hint of a smirk at the corners of his mouth. He was baiting Thor, and it worked every time.

The god of thunder tried to launch himself out of his seat, but he was wedged in pretty tight. All he managed to do was lift the chair a couple of inches up off the hardwood floor and then slam it back down again when he gave up trying to stand. “You’ve got a bloody Berserker running around in your yard, and all you can think to do is deliver the mail?!”

Thor’s face was beet red, his large hands grasping the armrests and threatening to pull the chair into pieces.

Loki raised a hand in acquiescence. “Would you please try to keep your temper in check? I’m afraid it will be the death of my furniture.”

He took a long drink of hot tea and let the warmth of it slide down his throat and spread across his chest. “Of course I recognized the Berserker. But there wasn’t anything for me to do.” He gestured across the table to Thor. “I figured that was more your department.”

Thor nodded, the flush on his cheeks fading. Loki glanced between Bragi and Sjofn. “I gather there have been others then.”

Sjofn poured herself a cup of tea. “One that we know of. One of Odin’s students.”

Loki abruptly stopped rocking in his chair, then resumed the motion as he sucked his breath in through his teeth. “That’s a young one.”

“Only by today’s standards,” Bragi offered.

Loki took another sip and tea and regarded Sjofn on the couch beneath the front window. “What news from Frigga?”

Sjofn shook her head. “She hasn’t seen the Berserker herself. Even if she could, she might not be able to get a read on him.” Sjofn glanced nervously at Thor, then looked back at Loki. “The student awoke to his Berserker right in front of Odin.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And nothing. The Berserker didn’t so much as acknowledge him, as though he wasn’t even there.” Sjofn lowered her head and sipped at her tea to keep from breaking out into anxious tears.

Loki reached for another slice of apple and bit into it. “So…” he chewed as he spoke, “you don’t know if that’s because someone else has called the Berserkers — and not very efficiently at that — or if you’ve all finally lost every last shred of divinity and are now nothing more than mortal beings.”

Bragi let out a startled squeak, which he tried to cover with a cough and a long gulp of coffee. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Well, given those options, I suppose we should be happy that it’s the former.”

Loki opened his mouth and was about to speak, but Thor leaned forward in his chair — with the wooden frame creaking in protest every inch of the way — and blurted out, “It’s Managarm.”

“Managarm,” Loki echoed. He narrowed his eyes and nibbled the edge of a flaky biscuit, rolling the possibilities over in his mind. He glanced across the coffee table and met Thor’s gaze. “You’re here about Fenrir then, aren’t you?”