But add it all up—the kind of shelters, the makeup of the group, the baggage—and these are most likely refugees. These families don’t want any part of Ragnarok or Loki’s shenanigans. They want a safe place to raise their kids, and this particular slice of the Rockies has few humans running around. Siodhachan told me about the national park; it only has a couple of roads and they’re closed off for the winter and much of the spring. The frost giants’ only true chance of running into somebody would be mountain climbers in the summer, and if they kept this peak covered in snow and ice throughout—not difficult at these elevations—then even that would be unlikely.
I can’t tell for certain, of course. Maybe they have some sinister agenda packed away in one of those bags, but they’re not behaving like they want to destroy the world. They’re acting like they want to hide in this one wee corner of it, bothering no one. Fact is, they’re not doing anything now that’s worth me putting on the knuckles. They opened a portal, and that raised an alarm with the elemental, but now it’s closed, and so far they’ve done nothing else but make a cold place a bit colder, build an ice house, and put out a fire. Seems like this could be a noncrisis.
I spiral down to the north of them all to report to the elemental.
//Twelve frost giants / Building shelter / Plans unknown// I say, then add that the portal is closed, though the elemental surely knows that already.
//Very well / Watch and wait// the elemental says, and I decide it’s best to shape-shift into a bear on the spot. There’s no use for me to freeze if this is going to take a while, and bears can handle the cold a bit better.
I pad through the snow and find a place where I can watch the frost giants from a distance. They have that cozy fire going now in the pit, and they’re starting work on a second house. The couple who were decorating that first house, they’re taking a moment to stand back and admire it and smile. The man spreads his arms, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath as he turns in place. He grunts and nods, and the woman says, “Graah,” and nods back. They like it here—and what’s not to like? It’s fecking beautiful, and if I liked the freezing cold I’d want to stay too.
How they got here—who opened the portal and closed it again—is something I’d like to know. But it doesn’t appear to be an urgent matter requiring me attention. These folks have demonstrated by their actions that they’re here to build and preserve rather than destroy. Meanwhile, I know right well there’s plenty of destruction happening elsewhere. Those fireballs are most likely going to do damage wherever they land, excepting perhaps the ocean, but the elementals seem content to let those burn or let someone else take care of them. Plant life can come back from fires. It’s tougher to come back from the drains and death that portals cause.
Watching the frost giants build their wee hamlet, I’m wondering if we might not work with them if they’re going to be staying here a while. I might be able to bind tons of carbon to the ice if they are going to rebuild the glaciers. Could be good for the region and good for the world. I’d need Siodhachan to talk to them, though. I hope he’s managing all right.
The frost giants who’d left to fight the fire eventually return and help build the houses. It’s a bit after dawn when they figure they’ve done enough and disappear inside them for some rest. I let the elemental know that they’re harmless, and I’m glad to see that.
She gives me permission to leave and get some rest in one instant—and then takes it back the next. She relays a distress call from near the equator. Something horrible is happening in Peru.
after the fire I expected the ice. The frost giants were, by all accounts, on Loki’s side and eager to transform the world. But for some reason, only a few emerged from the Norse plane to cool down the area where Surt had stood and smooth the way for the horde. And it was indeed a horde of draugar, the spirit-filled undead from Hel, that bubbled up out of the volcano’s cone. That spirit inside them prevented me from unbinding them like vampires, and they were tough to kill otherwise. They had to be decapitated or somehow have their brains scrambled to be defeated, and they had a couple of squiffy dodges that made even that rough: They could swell up or shrink fairly easily and were also semi-corporeal. They could pass through solids—or let solids pass through them—if they wanted. Sort of like those spooky twins from the second Matrix movie, except a smidge slower and without a sense of humor or fabulous hair extensions.
They had very little going for them in the way of fashion. They did have swords, shields, and helmets, but everything else pretty much was left to hang out. And I’m not just talking about naughty bits. I’m talking intestines and organs, their manifestations looking an awful lot like Hel herself, except the various bits of draugr flesh were largely gray and bloodless. They were dead meat wagons for the saddest of spirits, and rather unappetizing meat at that, like nine steps down from fast-food roast beef.
Behind us—a couple of putting greens away—the darkened sky thundered and a rainbow descended from the sky to earth. It was yet another portal to the Norse plane, but this time originating from Asgard. Troops marched down ten wide on the Bifrost Bridge, far better armored and looking far less dead, even though in practical terms they were the same as the draugar, spirits riding around in manifested flesh. They were the Einherjar, the valorous dead selected by the Valkyries to live in Valhalla and dine with Odin, practicing for this final battle every day for centuries. They had to train vigorously and get really good at the killing bit because the valorous dead were far less numerous than all the other dead. They sure did look fancy, marching in ranks and with their spangenhelms all buffed and polished up, their wooden shields brightly painted. But they were going to be vastly outnumbered.
The Norse did have some gods on their side to even things out. Behind the Einherjar, Odin rode on a magnificent if rather ordinary horse—I was the reason he wasn’t riding Sleipnir. I was the reason any of this was happening, in fact.
Valkyries circled above Odin on white winged horses. Frigg rode next to him, and behind him, in a chariot pulled by flying cats, rode Freyja. More of the Æsir followed behind, as did many of the Vanir, dwarfs from Nidavellir, and elves from Álfheim, but I still doubted we would prevail without more help.
More help soon arrived, before the rainbow bridge was finished offloading its troops. Yet another portal opened to my left, and at first I thought it was another fire giant rising from Muspellheim but quickly saw my mistake. It was Brighid in her battle dress, rising on a pillar of flame. And behind her came not only her own Fae host but another army we had coaxed to our side: the dark elves from Svartálfheim. Now it was starting to look like we had a prayer.
Brighid noted the draugr hordes mustering under a banner and moved toward me to parley. Her eyes flicked to the large Fae host and noted Fand and Manannan waiting to receive her, but she did not acknowledge them yet. Instead, she dropped to the earth in a scorched circle, extinguished her flames, and removed her helmet.
“Siodhachan. Why are you standing here by yourself?”
“I am less than popular with pretty much everyone I’m to fight alongside today.”
“Including the Olympians, eh?”
“Olympians? Where?”
Brighid pointed over my shoulder. There, behind me and to my left, were many of the Greco–Roman deities. Zeus, Jupiter, Hermes, and Mercury floated in midair above the others. As before when I had met him in England, Zeus had a visible erection underneath his toga, because the prospect of violence excited him so. The Apollos were there, as were Ares and Mars and Athena and Minerva. I had never seen the latter four in person, and I did not want to get into a fight with any of them. The gods of war appeared to be comfortably wearing enough steel for a heavy-duty truck and gripped huge weapons and shields. The goddesses of wisdom were a bit more sensibly armored but looked no less deadly. Athena’s owl was perched on her left shoulder; Minerva’s flew lazy circles around the Olympians from above. I was relieved to note the absence of Bacchus and Diana, since either or both of them would enjoy filleting me and feeding me to their dogs.
We waved to them, and the Olympians gave us curt nods in return. Zeus’s toga twitched.