Hammered

Hrym? You can finally give back some of what you’ve been getting from the Æsir. There is no need to wait for Ragnarok. This can happen tomorrow. « Perun was busy passing out fulgurites to the frost Jötnar and grinning hugely at them. He was growing beardcicles of his own due to his proximity to the giants.
    Hrym still had his doubts. » Is this real lightning you call down from the sky? «
    I translated for Perun, and he promptly destroyed someone’s ice house to prove that he was using one hundred percent real fucking lightning. One of the Jötnar bellowed in outrage, but Hrym found this amusing and laughed like he was trying to clear wet cement from his throat.
    » Very well, tiny man called Atticus. You may tell me more of your plan. How precisely do we bring the Æsir low? «
    I told him.

Chapter 25
    The frost giants needed no convincing that Thor needed killing. He’d slain the family members or ancestors of everyone in the village, so once they were convinced they had a hamster’s chance in Hel of surviving, asking them to come along was like asking a starving man if he’d like a bucket of chicken. Still, we did not get the entire village to join us; we got twenty, all of whom could shape-shift to eagles, and some of them came from other villages a short distance away. They were called during the day while Leif slept, and we all did our best to prepare for the night ahead by catching what sleep we could. Perun gave me a new fulgurite to replace the one I’d given to the giantess.
    When the sun set that evening and Leif pronounced himself ready to get his revenge on, Hrym offered to carry us to the root of the World Tree, since we were so bloody slow in the snow.
    Druid’s Log, December 3: » Hitching a ride on a frost giant’s back is both entertaining and eco-friendly. « First, the greenhouse-gas emissions are almost nil; you get to hear all about the many splendid beauties of Freyja; the wind noise is minimal, aside from the occasional graah; and since you don’t have to steer, you can simply enjoy the scenery from ten feet above the ground. On the downside, they smell like ice cubes made of sweat instead of water.
    We were traveling in a valley between cragged sweeps of glacial mountain ranges, which I’d failed to notice while shivering in Suttung’s footsteps the night before. It was probably a lovely meadow in the summer—if summer ever truly came to this part of Jötunheim—but under recent snowfall it was a cobalt blanket gently undulating to the night horizon. Stands of evergreen timber, drooping with heavy snow, bracketed us on either side like mute and shivering spectators. A wolf howled off to the south, and Gunnar looked a bit wistful.
    Once at the root, we hopped down from the frost giants’ backs and they shifted to eagles—bloody big ones. They launched themselves straight up, following the root to Asgard. Long ago, Hrym told me, young Jötnar tried to climb the root to see if there might be a way to Asgard, but none ever returned. Ratatosk slew them, perhaps, or else the Norns did. Now there was nothing to prevent them from taking advantage of Ratatosk’s passage to the plane.
    Perun was going to provide transport for the rest of us. I could have shifted to an owl and joined the frost Jötnar, but I wanted to hold on to my clothes for a bit longer. Väinämöinen and Zhang Guo Lao deposited their packs at the base of the root, to be picked up on the return trip. I slipped my wallet and cell phone into Väinämöinen’s pack, because rule number one of committing naughty shit is that you don’t take ID with you.
    » You have arms out to sides, legs together, « Perun said, demonstrating with his own wingspan. We all did as he instructed, but Gunnar in particular looked tense, and his yellow eyes indicated he was struggling to keep his wolf under control. It was a control issue, period, because Perun was going to fly us up there. Thunder gods have to be able to push storms around, so summoning sufficient wind to carry us up the trunk was no problem for him. Keeping all six of us from twisting away unpredictably in the winds was a bit tougher. Imagine an extremely turbulent airplane ride without a seat belt. Or a barf bag. Or a plane. The first half mile was rough on us all, but Gunnar suffered especially, because wolves don’t like to fly.
    During the flight, Väinämöinen’s beard flew up around his face, completely hiding it, and a steady stream of Finnish curses