Two Ravens and One Crow (Novella)

head.
    Across the street, Siodhachan , she said.
    Turning my head, I saw that the Morrigan and Odin had dropped their concealment and were staring at me from the other side of the street. The sensation of camouflage left me and I became visible as well. After waiting for another couple of cars to pass on the street, I jogged across to them.
    »The assassin is athletically gifted,« Odin informed us. »He’s leaping from roof to roof, which is quite an accomplishment when one considers that they are sometimes of differing heights. And my ravens have just witnessed him leaping across an entire street.«
    »So not human, then.«
    Odin shrugged. »He is not a dark elf. I have seen such feats from berserkers, however. Some of the Einherjar can perform like that. This one may have been granted some strength—but by whom? We need to catch up quickly before he goes someplace my ravens cannot follow.«
    »How are we going to do that?«
    »We’ll go to the roof of this building,« Odin replied, as if that made everything clear. The Morrigan and I followed him inside a four-story brick building, and we climbed until we reached the blessedly flat rooftop. »He went that way,« Odin said, pointing to Kirkegata. There were very few flat roofs ahead, and even if I could bridge the distance between them and leap over streets, the steep shingled surfaces on some of them didn’t look as if they’d offer a safe landing.
    »Unzip me, Siodhachan,« the Morrigan said. »I’ll go as a crow and join Odin’s ravens.« I want to see what’s going on for myself , she added telepathically as I moved to unzip the back of her dress. I dislike being dependent on others for my intelligence .
    When she shifted to her crow form and launched herself into the night, I was left alone with Odin, who took the opportunity, out of sight and hearing of Frigg and the Morrigan, to tell me how he really felt.
    »I like looking at you about as much as a jötunn’s yawning asshole,« he began.
    »Right,« I said.
    »I’d rather spit you like a hog, roast you with thyme, and feed you to my wolves than track down this assassin. But I can’t have the Morrigan thinking I don’t keep my word. I promised a peaceful meeting and now it’s been ruined.«
    »I understand that completely.«
    »I also don’t like the fact that someone used Frigg to track us. That question needs answering. So we’re going to pull a Johnny Cash. Have you heard of him? American singer?«
    »Yeah, I know him. The Man in Black.«
    »Good.« He turned to the north, put two fingers between his teeth, and whistled a rather haunting series of notes. The night sky answered with the neighing of horses.
    »Oh, no,« I said.
    »What’s the matter, Druid, afraid of horses?«
    »Well, these are fairly special ones, aren’t they? So special that they have no physical presence?«
    »That’s entirely in their favor. Smoother ride.« Odin’s tuxedo morphed before my eyes. The jacket lengthened to a long trench coat and turned skull gray. His shirt turned to a tunic, his pants became breeches, and his shoes grew up his calves and hugged them as leather boots—all of it gray. His face weathered and shrank in a bit, turning gaunt and tough. The architecture of his beard unraveled and became an untamed mane. His teeth flashed white in the darkness. »Haven’t done this in a long time. Should be fun, even with a pile of weasel shit like you.«
    »Kind of you to say.«
    Blue-green lights approached from the northern sky; in a matter of seconds they resolved into the outlines of spectral horses and hounds, and they came to a halt more or less on the roof.
    »Up you go, then,« Odin said, leaping onto the back of a horse. Even though only the outline was there and I could see through the damn thing—I saw Odin’s leg dangling down the other side—the Norse god appeared to be sitting on something very solid.
    I approached one of the horses and mounted it against all visual evidence that it would be possible. I was simultaneously relieved and skeeved that something extremely horsey supported my weight.
    »The Wild Hunt rides!« Odin said, his face alight with savage joy. He kicked at his phantom stallion and the whole pack of us leapt forward, floating just above the rooftops. His mouth rounded and he bellowed out the old Johnny Cash chorus about ghost riders as we sort of slid across the skyline of Oslo. A few of the extra horses neighed along, and some of the hounds bayed at the stars.
    Riding