Chapter 43
Charlie rushed back to reality like a bullet speeding through a tunnel. One moment, she was standing in a black-gray hole, listening to the whispers of a strange, unknown voice. The next, she was hurtling through space and time, wind roaring in her ears … only to land right back where she started.
The crowd.
The arena.
A hundred shimmering bodies.
Two hundred staring eyes.
Helheim.
She did it. She was back in Helheim, life intact. She had made it through the Trial.
I made it through the Trial.
The crowd erupted with cheers. Charlie stumbled to the side, one hand still clinging to Gungnir.
A dazed grin plastered across her face. Loki sat in the front row, a small smile curving his mouth.
Beside him, cheering loudest of all, was Mason, beaming smile and elated roar as familiar as the rising sun.
I did it, she thought, brain fuzzy with confused euphoria. I’m a … a …
Her eyes fell to her body.
There, where she normally only saw clothes and freckled skin, was something entirely new: a thin layer of shadow that covered every inch of her body.
It was translucent enough that she could still see herself beneath it but thick enough that it looked like a second skin. A second version of herself.
Her mare self.
Was this the Separation? The creation of a second being that would live always within her, ready to be called upon whenever necessary?
If it was, it didn’t hurt the way she’d expected it to.
But perhaps the pain of the Trial had also been the pain of the Separation.
Perhaps it had been the last pain she would ever feel.
That didn’t seem too far-fetched. Though the Trial had been awful, Charlie felt amazing now.
Not only was she no longer in pain, but she was also free from the strange emptiness that had overcome her in that world of darkness.
It was sort of scary, remembering how good it felt to feel nothing at all.
But she couldn’t linger on that. She had pushed through.
She had made it back to herself. What was all of Elias’s nonsense about forfeiting one’s humanity to become a mare?
Charlie didn’t feel empty. She felt strong.
She felt victorious. She felt damn near invincible.
She looked up from her shadow-tinted body at the crowd. The smile on her face grew even wider. One of her hands still gripped the spear, but she formed the other into a fist and pumped it high over her head, letting out a primal-sounding yell of victory.
The audience roared with approval.
Charlie felt drunk on power. High on conquest. She was a mare, but she’d managed to keep her humanity. Her power knew no limits. She could do anything. She could—
An abrupt hush fell over the crowd. Cheers stopped. Mouths fell open. Frantic whispers swept from one end of the arena to the other. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.
Charlie looked around, trying to find the source of the trouble. She saw nothing out of place in the crowd, or up on the rim of the coliseum, or on the giant stump of Yggdrasil. Nothing out of place on Gung—
Gungnir.
Gungnir was no longer in the stump.
The spear’s tip hovered just above the wood. Less than a few inches out of the ground, but out of the ground nonetheless.
Loki rose from his seat, staring down at Charlie with mouth agape. “It’s not possible,” he said.
Not possible, Charlie’s mind agreed. Not possible.
No one can pull the Seal out of Yggdrasil. No one but …
But …
…
Free at …
At …
Free at last.
The words sang through Charlie, who was no longer Charlie, no longer human or mare or in Helheim or on Asgard, who had become something else, a being as old as time, neither alive nor dead, crafted by the dwarves, gifted with magic, lifelong servant of the Allfather …
Free at last.
The first words I’ve spoken in centuries.
I am Gungnir, and I am free at last.
Charlie was Gungnir. Or Gungnir was Charlie. Or they had woven together into one being that now hurtled through the wood of Yggdrasil, drawn to the one they needed desperately to return to—their master.
They careened past Jotunheim, with its towering giants and deserts of stone and trees as tall as skyscrapers.
They traveled past Alfheim, with its glittering waterfalls and sparkling towers.
They journeyed past Svartalfheim, with its foreboding mountains and volcanoes and forges.
They sped through the eight realms, knowing exactly where to go, where their master could always be found, even when his second self was on Asgard, managing the gods and the winds and the sands of time.
To the place where his master’s first self stood. Always watching. Waiting.
To Muspelheim.
They descended upon the planet of mist and shadow, speeding toward its end.
They were so close. They could see him now, his hulking silhouette like a small mountain, fire and lava leaking from his ridges.
And at his feet: dozens upon dozens of human children.
Alive but unconscious, a collection of souls to be sacrificed when the time was right.
As they drew near, his eyes opened. Or, better said, his eye opened, since he only had one, the other sacrificed at Mimir’s well, the price of all-encompassing knowledge.
When he spoke, his mouth crackled like stone and lava spilled from his tongue.
“Gungnir,” he said. “You have returned.”
Not in full, they said. Only my essence. I am still in my hiding place. I know not where, but I found my opportunity for a brief escape, and I took it.
“Good. We have much to discuss. It is almost time; Ragnarok draws near.”
What can I do?
“Escape once more, but for good this time. Do whatever it takes. Persuade the prophesied one to come to your aid. If we are to win this war, we need you removed from Yggdrasil permanently so you can return to my side.”
I will do my best, Master.
“You have already done well. If you have made it here, even for a moment, it means you have drawn the prophesied one to you. The pieces are falling into place. Soon, I will find and destroy Loki’s two missing bastards, and my plan will be unstoppable.”
How do you know that the trickster Loki has created new offspring?
The mountainous beast raised one arm to show them the golden ribbon tied around his wrist. “Four weeks ago, my Valkyrie received a missive from her twin sister asking if they were the children of Loki. The Valkyries are under my control and therefore not a threat, but the other two had to be dealt with. I sent Rattatosk to do what needed to be done.” He exhaled a puff of steaming-hot air.
“But Rattatosk is gone. I felt his death, the other end of the leash going slack. I will need to come up with a new plan to rid the world of Loki’s bastard offspring.
It will take time, but rest assured, it will be done. ”
The image of the beast wobbled, and Gungnir could feel an irresistible current beginning to pull at their essence. Time was running out. Their steel tip was about to be driven back into the wooden flesh of Yggdrasil.
I must go, they said. But I will return as soon as I can.
The beast gave a lava-filled smile. “I have seen your return already. It is written in the winds of time.”
With that, the current grabbed hold and yanked them back through the ash. They hurtled back to the chamber in which they would be trapped once again …
Back to …
To …
Charlie returned to herself with a great inhalation. She jammed Gungnir back into the wood of Yggdrasil as hard as she could and stumbled backward. Her bare feet slipped on the wood, sending her sprawling. The crowd gasped.
She was dizzy, nauseous, halfway to oblivion.
Darkness closed in on her vision. Though it felt like she had spent a lifetime intertwined with Gungnir’s consciousness, she somehow knew that only seconds had passed in Helheim.
Somewhere, Mason was yelling, leaping over the coliseum wall and sprinting to get to her.
“It’s Odin,” she gasped when Mason reached her side.
He crouched low, taking her body in his arms. “What?” he asked, eyes frantic. “What’s Odin?”
She wanted so badly to give in to the darkness. To let oblivion overtake her, to sleep for weeks, even months, if necessary.
“Odin was the one controlling Rattatosk,” she rasped. “Odin is the one trying to start Ragnarok. There is no creature called Surtur in Muspelheim. There’s only … only…”
“Charlie?” Mason shook her shoulders, trying to keep her awake. “Charlie, stay with me. What are you saying? What are you trying to say?”
“Odinisajoturri,” she slurred as her eyes fluttered shut. “Odin is … a joturri. Odin … is … Surtur.”
And everything went dark.