Poison Fruit

To say that the Norse goddess of the dead was displeased with the news I brought her was an understatement.

A massive, massive understatement.

A short time after Mikill picked me up at City Hall, I stood shivering before Hel’s throne in Little Niflheim while Hel stared into the distance, both eyes open and blazing. In the darkness, thunderclouds gathered around her throne. Deep beneath us, the earth rumbled with vibrations I could feel through the soles of my boots; above us, the beams supporting the ceiling of the abandoned sawmill creaked ominously.

I really, really hoped Hel wasn’t going to bring the whole thing crashing down around us. Being buried alive would be a sucky way to die.

In the end, her gaze returned from the distance, as it always had. The earth stopped groaning and settled.

I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“So,” Hel said in her most sepulchral voice. “It seems I am mistaken, and the gods of yore may yet make war upon each other.”

“Does it have to be war, my lady?” My voice sounded small and plaintive. “Please know I mean no disloyalty . . . but could you relocate Little Niflheim?”

Hel closed her ember eye and smiled gently at me with the fair side of her face. “I fear it is an impossibility, my young liaison. The work of finding this place, of the Norns nurturing the seed of a second Yggdrasil, was the work of many years. This is something the Greek Persephone well knows,” she added. “She cannot acquire my demesne by dint of mere money.” Her left eye blazed open. “To truly claim it as her own, she must end my existence.”

I winced. “You know, it would have been useful to have that piece of information a few hours ago, when I was trying to persuade the council not to accept Persephone’s offer.”

Hel waved her right hand in a dismissive gesture. “You pitted yourself against a goddess bent on persuading mortals to accede to her will. That was never a battle you were going to win.”

“So what happens now, my lady?” I asked helplessly.

“Now?” Hel smiled, and it was a terrible smile on both sides of her bifurcated face. “We prepare for war.”

“As long as Yggdrasil stands, there is hope,” Mikill said in his deep rumble. “Our fates are tied to the world tree. The hellhound Garm yet guards it. The frost giants will give battle. The duegar will take up arms.”

“Consult this ledger you have created and seek out allies above the ground, Daisy Johanssen,” Hel said to me. “Surely there are those among them who are willing to stand and fight beside us.”

I nodded. “Is there anything else you would have me do?” A fearful thought struck me. “My lady . . . is dauda-dagr capable of killing Persephone?”

“No, my young liaison. It cannot slay a goddess.” Hel’s voice took on a note of kindness. “You have served me with valor and loyalty. I am sorry that your service has been thus rewarded.”

My throat tightened. “So am I, my lady. This, um, war . . . exactly what do you think we’re up against?”

“The Greek Persephone’s weapon is wealth.” Hel’s nostrils flared with disdain. Well, the right one did, anyway. The left was pretty much just a blackened hole revealing the sinus cavity beneath it. “Her husband’s wealth. It is my belief that she will acquire whatever mortal army such wealth can purchase.”

I swallowed hard at the thought of frost giants and dwarves facing off against some sort of Blackwater-style mercenary army equipped with body armor and assault rifles. “I’ll do my best, my lady, but . . . are you sure there’s no way to avoid this?”

“Nothing that lies within my power,” Hel said gently. “Unless the Greek Persephone relinquishes her claim, war will be waged.”

“There are worse fates,” Mikill added in a philosophical tone. “If it is the end we face, it is fitting that we face it in battle.” He rubbed his massive hands together in anticipation. “And it will be an epic battle.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, okay?” I said to him. “I’m not ready to lose you just yet.”

He laughed deep in his chest. “Nor am I ready to be lost.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Once my audience with Hel was concluded, Mikill drove me back home. After calling Stefan to touch base with him, I fired up my laptop and spent a couple of hours poring over the Pemkowet Ledger, making lists of members of the eldritch community other than the Outcast who might be willing to stand with the denizens of Little Niflheim and take on a crazed goddess and her probable mercenary army.

At least I knew where to start.

      Forty-eight

Before I could begin my recruitment drive, I needed to warn Chief Bryant about what was coming.

He heard me out with deepening dismay. “Goddammit. Goddammit!” He rubbed his chin. “And you’re sure there’s no way to prevent this?”

“Not on Hel’s end,” I said. “Can you talk the city council into reversing their decision?”

The chief hesitated. “Daisy, the problem is that there’s not a lot of sympathy for Hel in town right now. Let’s face it—you’re talking about a deity no one but you has ever seen, a deity who has contributed nothing to the community in material terms. A deity whose inability to control the eldritch population has resulted in a considerable amount of pain and suffering.”

“Oh, as opposed to a deity who deliberately bankrupted the community in order to get what she wanted?” I asked bitterly.