The Fox and the Falcon (No Other Gods #2)

Chapter Thirteen

The whoosh came with nausea, whirling, and darkness.

I didn’t love that Fauna had drugged me to soften the blow of meeting my great-grandparents. That said, I was pretty sure I would have preferred being high now. The elfin city was a distant memory. Gone were the stars dancing upon the twinkling rapids that wrapped around álfheimr. There was no warm, glowing light, no sheer mountain, no skyscrapers or bustling life.

“Help,” came my involuntary response. Wind knocked from my lungs, I stared face-down into my damp, earthy landing. I could only describe the feeling as thumping onto the soft, grassy carpet of a haunted cemetery.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Some friend you are, Fauna,” Estrid spat. “Bringing a human here? They did a shit job sending you to protect her. You lose her Prince, get a major goddess murdered, and have now dragged her into the goddamn bog. Guardian of grief and fucking harm if you ask me.”

“Knock it off, Ess. This is Hafna,” Ella said through clenched teeth. “Fauna brought us to Hafna.”

Fauna said nothing, but I knew the Old Norse word.

Forsaken.

I learned everything I needed to know about the place from the valkyrie’s anger. Warrior, immortal, chooser of the slain, and yet she was horrified at where we’d been taken. I looked at Fauna for answers, but came away with more questions.

Did I know her as well as I thought I did?

A distant, Bible-thumping Lisbeth shouted words about trickster spirits in the recesses of my memory, but I shoved them down.

Lisbeth was wrong.

Fauna was my friend.

Everything would be fine.

I extended my hand for Fauna, and she took it.

The wood, stone, and glass of Ella and Estrid’s warm, beautiful home had oozed like paint melting from a canvas; it gave way to the dark, wet field of nightmares. We’d landed on the curving shores of what appeared to be an island in a glass-still lake. I searched for the distant banks for only a moment, as the perfectly still obsidian reflection of the watery surface between us and the mainland was too unsettling to look at for long.

The only path forward was in.

If the thick fog, the squish of the marsh, the dead trees, and the black water weren’t terrifying enough, Fauna’s change in demeanor filled in the gaps. She was the single most dauntlessly chaotic creature in all of the realms, yet she’d grown quiet. Not just quiet, but on edge.

She tightened her grasp on me, looping her arm through mine as mud swallowed our feet, urging us forward as we trailed behind the others. If it weren’t for the occasional hum of insects or flutter of large, dark birds, I would think there was nothing here at all. Ella and Estrid hadn’t spoken in fifteen minutes. Ella rose from the marsh with hands and forearms so black with mud that she might have been wearing silken, elbow-high gloves. Her dress was impractical, but she’d hiked the fabric to her hip and let the mud swallow her naked calves, darkening her up to the knees with silt and muck.

I wasn’t sure how anyone knew where they were going, but Estrid stopped at a particularly large femur bone and muttered that we must be headed in the right direction. I looked to Fauna for confirmation, but she didn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze remained fixed on the pair before her.

Through the mist I heard a gentle splash, almost like a fish jumping out of water. The prolonged slurping sound that followed told me that I was not hearing a fish.

Anxiety slithered slowly through me, spreading like a poison from my spine into my limbs. “Fauna,” I whispered, unable to keep the quiver from my voice. “I don’t think I should be here.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said back, voice hushed.

She wasn’t convincing.

Our presence in this swamp was my fault. If it weren’t for my yelling match with Aloisa, we would have had Geir and his gifts of healing on our side. I wasn’t exactly sure how their assistance would have helped us with Caliban, Azrames, and Silas, but then again, it seemed moot to ask. If my misfit team wanted a healer, it stood to reason they anticipated physical warfare. And yet, he said they’d be there at the end.

I supposed a healer would be useful if this miserable mission ended in our death.

Etimas di mori. The god-killer.

If we couldn’t play defense and revive ourselves during battle, we’d need one hell of a strong offense. Despite the glittering array of weapons, we possessed nothing that could stand against Anath. It had been Ella who had said that we should pay a visit to Fenrir.

I had blanched. “The apocalypse dog?”

Fauna’s hand had flown to her mouth as she choked on a laugh. “Oh my gods and goddesses, I’m never calling him anything else.”

My ears had hummed. “Did a god and goddess really give birth to a wolf?”

Fauna had waved away the question. “Some say she’s the mother. Reliable translations say she’s the keeper . I guess it depends on whose abhorrent mistranslation you cling to. But he’s who we need right now.”

Ella made a sympathetic face now. “It won’t be easy. But, if anyone can do it…”

Yes, I knew Fenrir’s lore. I’d used his story in my first Pantheon novel, albeit as a rather creative adaptation. Often accredited as the love child of Loki and Angrboda, Fenrir was a dark, mighty wolf so powerful that he’d been predicted not only to cause Odin’s death, but to bring about Ragnarok—the end of the world. Fenrir had two siblings that Odin had similarly mistreated. A sister named Hel who Odin had dropped into the depths of the realm of the Underworld, and a brother who he’d hurled into the sea. Meanwhile, Fenrir had been tricked into being tethered by the gods to keep the nine realms safe from his jaws.

“Why would he help us?” I asked incredulously.

Estrid found this question particularly amusing. Her combat boots made a sickening, slurping sound as she freed her foot from the marsh only to plunge it into the next step. “Are you serious? Gods ruined his life. He was designed to tear a hole through the fabric of reality and bring about the end of the world.”

“And that’s reassuring?!” I demanded.

“He’ll join forces with the enemies of the gods in power,” Fauna said, quiet but certain.

“Not these gods! Not Hell! Not the Phoenicians!” I struggled to keep myself from pacing. I wasn’t sure why I was trying to talk three Nordes out of this decision. I certainly didn’t know more about it than them, and yet, something told me that immortality made them a bit more liberal with their choices.

“To stick it to the man,” Fauna clarified. “Fenrir was powerful, but not evil. He lived peacefully with everyone for a long time, but he just kept getting bigger and stronger. They were afraid of his potential. Now he’s been tied up on the marshy island of Hafna long enough to develop quite the grudge. The gods turned him into what will undoubtedly be a self-fulfilling prophecy. He’ll get to be the fabled Twilight of the Gods at long last.”

I knew this story. Gleipnir and Tyr had worked together to secure Fenrir until the end of time. I wasn’t sure how a human, a treasure goddess, a valkyrie, and some forest fae who loved Sour Patch Kids and Rick and Morty were meant to unbind him.

Fauna knew me well enough by now to expect a litany of questions. I faced her as I asked, “And if we free him? What about when we’re done with Anath? He’s not going to wander willingly back into his special prison made of chains forged from cat spit and fish’s breath or whatever.”

“It was bird spit, not cat spit.”

She was right. I’d had the main character in A Night of Runes collect the chain’s six ingredients. The roots of a mountain, a bear’s sensibility, the beard of a woman, the sound of a cat’s step, a fish’s breath, and a bird’s spittle. I’d used each ingredient as a riddle that the character had to crack to understand its true meaning, since none of those things truly existed.

“How would we break a chain that he can’t break?” I asked.

Ella plucked a thin knife from the lacy garter securing the weapon to her upper thigh. “It’s useless against a god, but quite effective against magical items. It’s one of my favorite treasures. I’d guess Fenrir would be glad just to have the chain off his neck.”

“You have a god-killer!” I gasped, not bothering to hide my surprise. “Could you—”

Estrid cut me off. “God-killing is two-fold. If you want them to stay dead, it has to be by both some one and some thing that can kill gods. If a human has a god-killing bullet, they’ll buy themselves time. A temporary death, at best. If a god has a standard steel sword, they might behead another god, but once again, they’ve only bought themselves time. Permanent death requires both the object and subject to be qualified.”

“So…” I looked at Hnoss, the seductress, the goddess of precious treasure. Of course, she’d have a few things up her sleeve—or silky dress, rather. “Ella could kill him?”

Her sympathetic smile dripped with apology. “On paper? I guess so. In practicality? I’m…Well…Combat isn’t my thing.”

I looked between Estrid and Fauna. “And no one else has cut him free?”

“We’ll make a deal,” Ella said brightly, drawing the attention away from her comrades. She steered the conversation forward, presumably to soothe Estrid’s worries about bringing her into such a dangerous situation.

“Fauna?” I asked. “Is this how we free Caliban? Are we sure…” I stopped myself, as I didn’t know what I was asking. Was I sure he was worth the end of the world? Yes, I was. Was I sure he was worth the danger? Yes, I was. Were we sure Fenrir would work with us? Well, no, that part was a gamble, but it was one I was willing to take.

Fauna remained nonverbal, which did nothing to soothe my nerves.

I sucked in the misty air, trembling at the odd flavor it left on my tongue. It wasn’t raining, but the dampness stuck my hair to my face and my clothes to my body until I shivered against the chill. A snap drew my attention sharply to the right. Ella and Estrid stopped mid-step. I wasn’t sure what could possibly be brittle enough to snap in a climate so damp until I began to eye the branches dotting the marshlands and noticed the smooth, rounded ends intended for joints and sockets.

Fauna tightened her grip on my arm, which was anything but reassuring.

I wished they’d left me in álfheimr.

“Maybe there’s another way,” I said quietly. “If you waste resources protecting me because I’m a fleshy, powerless human, then I’m to blame for Caliban staying with the Phoenicians. I could end our resistance effort before it gets off the ground. I could be the reason Azrames dies. I’m useless. I’m worse than useless. I’m a liability.”

“Don’t be a coward,” Fauna hissed.

“Why not? This seems like a perfectly reasonable time to be cowardly.”

Estrid waved for us to stop talking, which made me aware of how silent the marsh had grown. No longer could I hear the buzzing of gnats or cawing of crows, nothing that might lead us to believe anything else lived on the island. The only sound was the sharp, scraping ring as Estrid slowly unsheathed her sword. Beside her, Ella plucked the diamond shield from her back and lowered it in front of us. Ella may not have had experience with swordplay, nor Estrid the ability to wield both sword and shield simultaneously as the fabled shield-maidens, but together, they were an unstoppable pair.

Uneasiness leached into me as if the mud had been laced with physical dread. My imagination grappled with the nightmares that could be lurking in the mist, but between the undead armies of Norse mythology and the frost giants of Jotunheimr, I was confident that anything that had Ella and Estrid on high alert was not something I wanted to meet. Cold sweat joined the fog that beaded on my forehead, trickling down my face, barely missing the open mouth that struggled to pant in short, shallow breaths. I blinked rapidly through the thick, white cloud but saw nothing. Ella and Estrid remained at the ready.

And we waited.

And waited.

Estrid lowered her sword slightly, relaxing her posture. I continued to stare at the back of her head, comforted slightly at how she released her shoulders and how her partner’s stance softened in response. Ella muttered something to her, but I couldn’t make out her statement. Their words were lost as sound fell away. Time slowed as I turned to look over my shoulder. My eyes barely had time to widen; I didn’t have time to scream.

Fur, teeth, snarling, fear, horror.

I could scarcely react as the wolf pounced.

Before breathing, before thinking, before two brain cells had a chance to rub together, I’d raised my free hand and shoved Fauna as hard as I could out of the lunging wolf’s path. She hit the wet ground with a thwack the moment the creature connected with my chest. Sharp claws, bared teeth, black glistening eyes, and wet, gray fur covered me as I disappeared beneath the creature. I barely felt its paws on me before my head hit the ground, air escaping my lungs.

I heard a scream.

The ring of metal.

A snarl.

The attack was upon us before I understood what was happening.

Panic and adrenaline tasted like copper on the back of my tongue. I gasped for air as a hand flew to my shoulder. My fingers came back red and sticky with blood, seeing the evidence of a goring bite before the wave of pain hit me. I tried to move my arm but couldn’t. I had to act. I had to move. I had to run.

I whipped my head up at the valkyrie’s rallying cry to see Estrid swing her shield and knock the wolf from its advance. The wood connected with the broad side of the beast’s body in time to send it flying. She cried out again to antagonize the wolf as it slid across the marshy soil. Rather than advance, it planted its feet and threw back its head in a howl.

My eyes widened in panic as I silently begged Ella and her diamond shield—whether for the practicality of its remarkable durability or the beauty of its shine—or Estrid with her power for war to do something.

Ella moved her shield to protect both her and Estrid, and I heard a scream once more.

Fauna .

I clutched my shoulder and scrambled onto my knees to see her muddied shape still on the ground, holding out her hands in opposite directions. She wasn’t screaming in fear. She was crying out for Estrid to stop.

Estrid barely skidded to a halt in time for her to shift her gaze to the wolf.

Fauna said something to it, but I couldn’t understand what.

The wolf’s hackles remained up. It continued its low, unrelenting groan as she repeated herself more forcefully.

“Stand down ,” she commanded. It wasn’t alone. She looked from the wolf who’d led the charge to the array of bared teeth, the low rumble of growls, the many glittering eyes of a bloodthirsty pack. She’d slid through the muck, and it dripped from her hands, arms, and hair with the slow ooze of tar. She didn’t move a muscle as she stared at the alpha wolf.

I was in the park all over again. We’d been two women for all the world knew, helpless and alone in the dark, when nature itself had sprung into action to defend us. I pictured the overturned earth, the brand-new oak, the bloodcurdling screams, the damp, blood-soaked soil, and the eviscerated security guard, lost forever to the wrath of a forest deity.

My forest deity.

The wild pack demonstrated more self-preservation than the guard.

With an aggressive huff, the wolf shook off her command as if she’d spritzed it in the face with water. There were so many. An ink-black wolf. A forest-brown wolf. One with the gray and fawn coloring of a coyote.

“Stop!” she said to the pack through gritted teeth.

The wolves didn’t move.

“Estrid,” Fauna snapped, “put away your sword.”

“But—”

“Put it away!”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. With cold command, she ordered the valkyrie and wild beast alike. Her teeth were bared, making her lovely features as lupine as the animals that stalked us.

I didn’t mean to make a noise, but one escaped my lips as a fresh wave of pain hit me.

“Estrid,” Fauna directed, jerking her chin toward me, “wrap her up.”

Estrid nodded and came to my side, fetching things from her bag—the fabled valkyrie deeming me worthy of her mercy on the battlefield. She eased my arm from the jacket and wrapped my shoulder with the grace and speed of someone who had centuries of practice, but I saw none of it. I couldn’t take my eyes off Fauna.

“Now,” Fauna said to the wolves as she got to her feet, “take us to Fenrir.”

The largest of the wolves huffed again, almost like a sneeze.

“It wasn’t a request,” she growled, voice dripping with hostility.

My eyes left the exchange long enough to beg Estrid to explain. My forehead creased, brows knitting, mouth opened in shock and pain as I asked, “What’s happening?”

I groaned against the pain as she popped my shoulder back into its socket.

“Do you really not know who she is?” Estrid asked, voice ripe with surprise. She kept her question low enough so as not to disrupt the standoff happening only paces away.

I could only shake my head.

“The wild is hers to command,” Ella supplied. I awaited further explanation that never came.

The elfin nymph, delicate features obscured by dark smears of silt and grime, held the wolves at bay through sheer force of will alone. My heart dropped into my stomach as I watched the chaotic, licorice-eating smartass force the pack to bow at her feet. Ella had returned her diamond shield to where it belonged on her back. Estrid had fallen into line at Fauna’s order. It was with awe and dismay and shock and confusion that I realized this friend, this companion, this guardian who’d stepped into my life from the shadows was someone I didn’t know at all.

I winced in pain again as Estrid tightened my bandages, Fauna’s words ringing through my memories from before we’d left the mortal realm.

You think they’re going to send a nobody to watch the Prince’s human? she’d said, laughing as she’d taken my hand to guide me into the unknown. I’m no more of a nobody than you are. And you, Marlow-Merit-Maribelle, are not a nobody.