With her exit I was left in a circle of Norse, and they simply stared at me. I rolled to my left and levered myself up to my feet. I felt a bit light-headed, and I paused a moment for the spinning in my head to subside before taking careful steps over to Thor and Odin. I nodded at them and they returned the gesture, waiting for me to say something. I started with the red-bearded thunder god.
“You’re Thor?”
“Yes.”
“So who was it that Leif Helgarson killed with Moralltach?”
Thor snorted in amusement. “Oh, that was me.” He grinned briefly, and then it melted away, replaced by chagrin at the memory. “That was the old me, who had been bound by the prophecy of the Norns regarding Ragnarok. I lost my way while they lived; over the centuries I became corrupted, thinking that there would be no consequences for my behavior, until the day I met Jörmungandr. That is the true poison of prophecy and destiny, the implication that you are somehow not responsible for your actions. But I was wrong, for there were consequences, weren’t there? Indeed, I was justly brought to account by those I had wronged. And do you know what is miraculous about that? I am glad. I am grateful. I am manifest again thanks to those who still worship me, and I find it is a new age of humanity, more hopeful than before. I’m remembering what it means to be good. I have this same hope for you, Druid. For now you are being brought to account, and it may serve to refresh your perspective.”
“Or turn me bitter and vengeful.”
Thor wagged his head, admitting the possibility, then chucked his chin at the still form of Loki. “He was bitter and vengeful.”
“Point taken. What about Heimdall and Freyr and the others?”
“There is hope that they will receive enough worship to manifest again, but at present they remain memories. And for my part, I bear you no ill will. Odin does not agree, but I think you did me a favor. Perhaps in time you will see we have done you one.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’m glad we could talk. But there is still much for me to do, so if you will excuse me.” He strode to his chariot and took off to the north after the draugar, leaving me with Odin and Frigg and the Valkyries. Odin watched him go and then his eye fixed on me.
“I am not of Thor’s mind, Druid. I still bear you plenty of ill will. I rather hoped you would die in battle.”
“Yes, you mentioned such a hope to me before.” Frigg said nothing, but the expression on her face communicated plenty. She agreed with Odin.
“I will content myself with knowing that you are miserable. And hopefully far away from here. Where is it you wish to go?”
“The eastern coast of Tasmania, if you wouldn’t mind, to the east of a town called Triabunna. Oakhampton Bay. I’d like my hounds brought to me there—Oberon and Starbuck.”
“By all means. Let us go, for I have other work to do, but I want those cookies. You joined the pool, did you not?”
I ground my teeth. “I did.”
“Excellent. I will let you know where to send the cookies here on Midgard. I want Samoas.”
“Of course. I’ll see to it.”
We don’t speak as I trail behind him and Frigg to the nearest piece of unspoiled land. They will need that to summon Bifrost. They were mounted but didn’t offer me a ride. I saw Valkyries off to the right, capturing a wounded Garm in a net. He survived, then. Good.
Part of the golf course had withered and died from the drain of the portal, and I had to trudge across it.
“Is the portal to Hel still open?” I asked them, since I couldn’t feel the earth’s energy under my feet.
“No,” Odin replied. “It closed once Loki died.”
Perhaps Granuaile would see to mending the land. She would have to see to quite a bit, I supposed, without my help.
The reconnection of Gaia underneath my heel was all too brief, because Odin summoned Bifrost immediately, and then we traveled in a starry furred space between planes until Odin delivered me to the northern beach of Oakhampton Bay. I gave him instructions on how to find my cabin and which hounds were the ones to bring me, and then I was alone in the darkness. It was that oddly timeless time between midnight and dawn in Tasmania, when the absence of light and activity suggests that the world may have stopped moving.
I remained standing but reconnected with the Tasmanian elemental and asked for his aid in healing my stump. Granuaile had stopped the bleeding, but the wound was still open and susceptible to infection besides being quite painful. Relief washed over me in one sense, but in another the pain only increased as I felt the accelerated growth of new skin smoothing over the place where my arm used to be. I felt so off balance and unmoored. Alive, but unable to think what I should do next.
We seldom recognize where the chapters of our lives begin and end until we are gifted the benediction of hindsight. Our loves, our triumphs, our tragedies—they do not exist unless we endure long enough to label them so. I am not sure if I have accomplished much else, but I have at least survived long enough to exult and mourn, to cherish my victories and regret my mistakes.
Both are legion.
I think surviving Ragnarok and getting the gods to leave me alone should be counted somehow as a victory. It just doesn’t feel like one right now, because by losing a large part of my connection to Gaia I’ve lost…well, too much.
Maybe that will change with time, but time has a way of passing slowly when you’re suffering. I spent an uncounted span in the darkness, listening to the waves lap against the beach, and thought perhaps the night would never end, until the sky grayed with the approaching dawn. That’s when the light of Bifrost returned and two dogs bounded off it to land on the beach. Odin did not descend to chat, which suited me fine.
<Atticus! You made it!> Oberon shouted in my head as he galloped my way.
<Hi, Atticus! Good human!> Starbuck added.
“Most of me made it, yeah,” I said. “Careful, now, don’t jump on me; my balance isn’t so good yet.”
<Whoa, suffering cats, Atticus, what happened to your arm?>
“It’s gone,” I told him. “But the world is safe.” At least for a little while. At least from Loki. There were still literal fires to put out, no doubt, and there would be plenty of questions asked by most of humanity and no satisfactory answers for them. They would have to learn to live with the mystery and rebuild what was destroyed, while I would have to solve the mystery of how to rebuild my life.
<Safe except from squirrels, you mean.>
“Right. Except from squirrels. That threat continues to hang over us all.”
<So what happened?>
I sighed. “Would it be all right if I shared that with you later? I have a lot to process and…I think I want to write it all down. With my left hand, which should be an adventure.”
<Oh, sure. That would be fine. What do you want to do now?>
“I think I’d like to have something to eat and drink.”
<You always have the best ideas, Atticus.>
<Yes food!> Starbuck said.
“Come on, then. Town’s to the west. We live here now, even though we don’t have a place to live yet and we need to get ourselves situated. But first, as a matter of principle: breakfast.”
<Yes! Principles are important.>
“Indeed they are. I think it’s past time for me to examine mine, but ‘breakfast first,’ at least, is rock solid. Let’s go.”
Dogs, I think, might be more important than principles. They provide love and loyalty when you need them the most.
with the help of the Tasmanian elemental, I find Atticus at a teahouse in Triabunna, painted yellow with green trim and potted flowers all about the porch. He and the hounds are on that porch, though he’s sitting on the edge of it with his bare feet resting in the dirt rather than sitting in their wicker outdoor seating. He still has plenty of healing to do and he looks rough. He’s discarded the cuirass he’d scavenged from the field, but the shirt he wore underneath is torn and bloodstained down his right side. He’s still wearing an armor skirt of hardened leather strips, though, and I’m sure he looks less than sane to modern eyes. I’m surprised the teahouse served him like that. He looks tired and miserable as I approach, and his face offers no smile of relief or welcome, but the hounds wag their tails.