Trapped Read Free

lie to the god of lies.
    » I am Eldhár, « I called out to him in Old Norse. His laughter, already dying out, choked off abruptly, and he focused those blue-and-blood eyes on me. The name was one I’d used before: It meant » flame hair « in Old Norse, and I’d employed it years ago when I’d gone to Asgard to steal a golden apple. » I am a construct of the dwarfs of Nidavellir. « Tapping into my adrenaline and an older, more primitive part of my psyche, I smiled at the giant in the same disconcerting way he had smiled at us. » Glad am I that you are free, Loki, for that means your wife is free also, and I was built specifically to destroy her and all your spawn. I will behead the serpent. Eviscerate the wolf. And as for Hel: Even the queen of death can die. « I laughed menacingly, hoped that it was convincing, and thought that would serve as a good exit line.
    Without giving him a chance to respond, I pulled my center along the tether to Tír na nÓg, bringing Granuaile, Oberon, and Perun with me, shifting us safely away from earth and leaving Loki to consider how to address this new problem. Hopefully he’d return to the Norse plane and start asking questions—and hopefully the dwarfs had fire insurance.
    I had plenty of questions for Perun—like how had Loki gained entrance to the Slavic plane, what was Hel up to now, and whether Fenris was still fettered—but foremost among them was finding out what idiot had thought it a good idea to teach an old god of mischief how to speak English.

Chapter 2
    I didn’t linger in Tír na nÓg but rather shifted us right away to an island in the middle of Third Cranberry Lake in Manitoba. It was one of my favorite escapes, covered with evergreens and rarely visited by humans.
    I was breathing heavily even though I hadn’t run anywhere yet. » It’s too soon, « I huffed. » He’s not supposed to be going around burning things yet. We have a year left. «
    » What are you talking about? « Granuaile asked. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned on her staff.
    » Perun will remember this, « I said, catching his eye. » Remember when we were in Siberia and we ate that rabbit stew and told stories before we went to Asgard? «
    » Da , I remember. I say, ‘Next time, eat bear.’ «
    › I like the way this guy thinks. ‹
    » Well, after dinner, Väinämöinen told us that story about the sea serpent. And I didn’t say anything then, but there is this old time-bomb prophecy that the sirens spoke to Odysseus when he was tied to the mast—the only one that hasn’t come true yet, and I thought the clock started ticking then. The prophecy goes like this: ‘Thirteen years from the date a white beard sups on hares and talks of sea serpents, the world will burn.’ «
    » That’s weird, « Granuaile said.
    » Is more than weird. Is unhappy stomach from spicy food. Is ass on fire, « Perun asserted.
    » What? « Granuaile cried, unused to Perun’s attempts to be colorful in English.
    Perun shrugged and tried again. » I mean is much discomfort. Ass on fire is very bad, yes? «
    » Agreed, « I said, » but those same sirens accurately predicted the rise of Genghis Khan, the American Revolution, and the bombing of Hiroshima. That pattern suggests they’re talking about something bigger than a small fire, camp or ass or otherwise. «
    › That reminds me! I never did muster my horde on the Mongolian steppes. ‹
    » You think my world is world of this prophecy? « Perun asked.
    » No, I don’t think the sirens would speak of planes other than this one. Plus we’re a year too early. But that’s what has me worried: The prophecies regarding Ragnarok aren’t worth a damn anymore, yet it still might happen now that Loki’s free. The sirens of Odysseus were always right, but maybe this time they’re going to be wrong—or maybe just off by a year. I don’t know. Killing the Norns screwed up everything. I suppose all I know is that there’s a tsunami of shit heading