“Could you go get it and come back? I’m just not sure that you’re going to make it out of here, is all.”

  “I’m loving this plan more and more,” Chesa said.

  “We’re coming back,” I answered. “And when we do, you’ll get your bacon, and your ball.”

  “And the leg bone of a giant,” the bison said.

  “Yes, yes.” I marched past the dog. Beyond him the canyon opened up into a quarry. The path descended rapidly and precariously into the sea of mists that boiled up from the floor of the quarry. I hesitated, then looked back. “Is there anything we should know before we go in there?”

  “Fenrir is large, and dangerous, and will likely kill you,” the Bichon said. It whined nervously. “Perhaps one of you could go back for the bacon while the others are slaughtered?”

  “I volunteer!” Percy snapped. He had already taken three steps back the way we’d come before Matthew could grab his shoulder.

  “We all go in together,” the saint said. “There are too few of us, and little magic to go around. John’s the only one who’s spent time in his domain.”

  “I am feeling pretty mundane here,” Chesa said. “Are we sure about this? If we could get Revna to power up the other domains, we might have a better chance.”

  “No time. You saw what happened to Valhalla. I suspect they knocked us out so we wouldn’t be able to interfere with whatever comes next. They expect us to take the time to power up,” I said. “Which means we need to get in there before they do . . . whatever it is they intend to do.”

  “Good enough for me,” Matthew said. “Just don’t expect much healing.”

  “Don’t get hurt. Got it,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The mists rapidly enfolded us in their damp grasp, and the world closed around us. Between the unstable footing and the cloying mists, I was soon forced to put all my effort into not tumbling to my death. Chesa crowded close behind me, bumping into me each time I slowed to test the next step. I could hear Matthew and Percy chatting nervously, and the dripping of water, and my own hammering heart. I lost track of how far we descended. Slowly, another sound crept into my awareness. It was a soft roar, like a distant airplane passing overhead, except it came every few seconds from somewhere down below. The mists stirred in rhythm with the sound. I stopped and looked up.

  “Breathing,” I said. Chesa yelped softly, and Matthew and Percy fell silent.

  We continued on. Eventually, we came to the floor of the quarry, and the mists cleared a bit. There was a stagnant pool the color of moss, and a great expanse of flat, slick slate. Broken chains the size of my waist lay scattered about, slowly rusting into gritty sand that stained the stone the red of dried blood. The far side of the quarry was overgrown with thick, curling vines the color of pewter.

  There was no sign of the famous wolf. The breathing continued, echoing off the walls of the quarry, making it impossible to tell which direction it was coming from.

  “Well, this is hardly encouraging,” Matthew said. “Do you think it’s a metaphor? Like . . . we’re the scary wolf that’s going to end the world?”

  “That doesn’t seem right. But nothing about this seems right,” I said. Walking across the floor of the quarry, I could feel the beast’s breath swirling around me. The air smelled like old blood and fresh meat. The farther I got from the path out, the less I liked this place. “Should we go back? Try to get clearer direction from that little runt?”

  “There must be a den,” Chesa said. “Maybe behind this wall of vines? John, you and Percy go that way, Matthew and I will look over here.”

  “‘Split up the party,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fine,’ they said.” But I took Percy and headed in the indicated direction. At least it was warmer over here. The tangled wall radiated heat, as though a vein of magma ran through it. I peered at the vines. They were the strangest growth I had ever seen—thick and glossy, with curls that were caked with dirt and tangled with other growths. I was pretty sure I could climb them fairly easily. “At least if we get cut off from the path, we’ll have a way out.”

  “Pardon?” Percy said. “You said something about a way out?”

  “Nothing. Just try to find—”

  The breathing sound intensified. There was one long, loud inhalation. Beside me, the wall swelled. I froze in place.

  “Oh dear,” Percy said, very quietly.

  The exhalation came and blew a sour wind across my face. The mists disappeared, and I realized I was standing toe to snout with a giant wolf. It was curled in on itself, paws tucked under its chest, with its tail lying flat on the ground. The top of its head was pressed hard against one wall of the quarry, and a small flap of pink tongue stuck out between its teeth. The vine-covered wall was its rib cage, fur matted and tangled with dirt. One cataract-filmed eye flicked open and stared at me.

  “What do you want, mortal? Come to mock the great Fenrir?” Its voice echoed in my brain like a church bell, loud and gravelly and more than a little bored. “Or do you wish to try your hand at slaying me? I have a nice collection of bones, but I could always use another skull for my den.”

  “John, I think we found . . . Oh.” Chesa came running up, skidding to a halt as she saw the giant wolf’s head. “Um. A den. Full of bones. But, uh . . . nevermind.”

  “Three heroes. No, wait . . .” A long inhalation through the cracked black expanse of his snout. “Four mortal souls. How quaint. Usually they come alone. More glory that way.”

  “We’re not here for glory,” I said.

  “That’s good. None of your predecessors found it, either.” Fenrir’s massive eye closed. “But if you’re not here to fight, then I have no use for you. Best be gone before I get hungry. Or bored.”

  And then he promptly went back to sleep. His breathing settled, his body relaxed, and moments after his eye closed the giant wolf was twitching.

  “I don’t want to know what sort of dreams a dog this size has,” I said. “He doesn’t seem very interested in helping, does he?”

  “Been here a long time,” Matthew said, strolling up from out of the mists. “Not good for a dog to be cooped up like this. Fellow like that needs exercise. A good walk. A job to do.”

  “He has a job. He needs to take us to Folksvangr,” I said. Gingerly, I prodded the hairy toe of his front paw. When that didn’t get any kind of response, I gave it a kick. “Hey! Fenrir! Fame-wolf! World-ender!” Nothing. “Bad boy!”

  “Well, there’s no need to be nasty,” Fenrir rumbled. “If you want me to kill you, all you have to do is ask. Who’s first? The crunchy one with the shield? The girl? How about . . .” He raised his head and waved it over us, nose twitching, until he stopped over Matthew. “That one smells like the gods. He’ll do.”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” I shouted, putting my crunchy self between Matthew and the wolf. “We’re not here to fight you, or get eaten by you, or anything remotely like that.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “To free you.”

  Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed.

  “Free me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what is prophesied to happen when I slip my bonds?”

  “Something about eating the moon?”

  “Something about . . .” He snorted and settled his head back on his paws. “I will fly to the heavens and kill the gods for what they’ve done to me. For imprisoning me in this place, for tricking me, for taking my freedom from me! I will end the world, mortal, and the seas shall quake and the mountains tumble!” His eyes started to slide shut, only to stop while a fraction of his golden irises still peeked out. “And yes, I’m going to take a nip at the moon on my way by. It’s been up there all this time, taunting me with its roundness. I just want to give it a good chase. Maybe shake it in my jaws for a while.”

  “What is it with dogs and tennis balls?” Chesa muttered. “Look, if we free you, can you take us to Folksvangr?”

  “Folksvangr? Why would you want to go there? Dreary place, everyone napping all the time, hardly any bloodshed. Now, Valhalla!” His attention stirred, and he peered up at the sky with a dreamlike look on his face. “I’ve heard great things about Valhalla. Walls made of meat. Great flagons, also made of meat, brimming with blood, just lying around. And meat-people you can chase around, and catch, and shake for awhile and then they get up again for more chasing. Ah, it sounds so marvelous.”

  “I think we just call those people,” I said. “Not meat-people.”

  “Whatever. Either way, it doesn’t matter. If I haven’t been able to break free for all these three plus three ages, how are you supposed to release me from my bondage?”

  “I don’t even understand what’s holding you here,” Matthew said. “All I see are these broken chains.”

  “The first two tricks of the gods,” Fenrir said. “Dishonest bastards. But no chain can hold me, no rope bind me. No, I am held by a much greater power.” The wolf slid to one side, revealing the nape of its neck. There, a pink ribbon, no wider than my little finger, lay tangled in the beast’s fur. I snorted.

  “That? That’s what’s holding you here? What’s the matter, worried about ruining the silk?” I stepped forward, drawing the razor-sharp steel of my sword. “You may be a big damned doggie, but us meat-people have this thing called tools.”

  I slipped my sword beneath the ribbon and cut with a grand flourish. My blade rasped against the ribbon, pulling it taut. But nothing happened. No cutting. I blinked in surprise.

  “Big bad meat-person has tools, does he?” Fenrir asked. He smiled, showing off row after row of enormous teeth. “If something as flimsy as that blade and your arm could cut that ribbon, don’t you think I would be free by now?”

  “There has to be a latch or something,” Chesa said. “He gets free in the prophecies, doesn’t he? There has to be a way.”

  “Trust me when I say this,” Fenrir growled. “Prophecies have a way of being tricky to interpret.”

  “Well, we’re going to interpret this one right now. Everyone up.” I sheathed my sword and hitched my shield onto my back, then gathered a huge handful of matted fur into my fingers and hauled myself onto the side of the giant wolf. “Look for a knot, or a buckle, or even a bell. There has to be something.”

  “That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Percy said.

  “You’d rather stay down there next to his mouth, for when he gets bored of talking and decides he’s hungry enough to eat a dead man?” Chesa asked. She vaulted up Fenrir’s paw, landing in a crouch on the knobbled ridge of his spine. Fenrir twitched and snorted, but didn’t shake her off.

  “I see your point,” Percy said. With Matthew’s help, he scrambled up onto the wolf. Soon, all four of us were pulling at his fur and running our hands down the length of pink ribbon, looking for a flaw or break in its design.

  “This is hopeless,” Fenrir said. “That is Gleipnir. Fashioned by the dwarves of six impossible things; the breath of a fish, the spittle of bird, the sound of a cat’s footstep, the beard of a woman—”

  “Dwarves haven’t met my aunt Elda,” I muttered.

  “—the roots of a mountain, the sinews of—”

  “I found it,” Chesa said. She pulled a length of ribbon free of the wolf’s fur. There, as tight as a sailor and as small as a mouse’s burp, was a knot.

  “Did they use the opposable digits of a wolf?” I asked. “Because meat-person has one trick you might not have thought of.”

  With a pluck and a pull, the knot came undone. The ribbon fluttered to the ground.

  Fenrir’s eyes shot open. He leapt to his feet, craned his head to the sky, and let loose an earth-shattering howl.

  “Everyone hang on!” I shouted.

  “I’m coming for you, bitch!” Fenrir howled, and leapt straight at the moon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  We left the forest behind in a heartbeat. Wind tore at my face, whipping Fenrir’s fur like iron wires against my skin. Percy’s screams cut through the sky. For once, I wasn’t screaming at all. Screaming would have taken my attention away from hanging on for dear life. My arms burned with the effort, and Fenrir’s matted fur started to slowly slip through my fingers.

  “Hey, fame wolf!” I shouted. “Come on, big boy. We talked about going to Folksvangr, remember?”

  “Have you seen the size of this ball? It’s getting bigger!” the hound answered. “Man, I’m going to bite the living HEL out of this thing!”

  “Fenrir! Fen! I don’t think you can bite the moon!”

  “I think maybe he can,” Chesa said. She had crawled up close to me, her wrists wrapped in the stiff fur of Fenrir’s hackles. “John, what happens to us when he leaves the atmosphere?”

  “That’s a science question. This isn’t a science situation,” I said. “For all we know he’s going to bump into the Viking ideal of the moon, swallow it whole, and then get bored and put us down.”

  “It’s getting pretty cold,” she said. And she was right. I risked losing my lunch and leaned out to look around. The earth spread out beneath us like a carpet, bending slightly at the horizons. I thought I could see a glimmer of sunlight to the east, and the sky was definitely brighter in that direction. I took a deep breath. My lungs clawed at my throat for more oxygen.

  “Maybe it’s a metaphor,” Matthew said cheerfully. “Like, maybe we’re the moon that—”

  “It’s not a metaphor!” Chesa and I shouted in unison. I wiggled my way up the beast’s neck, until I reached the tufted crevice of his ear.

  “Fenrir, you have to put us down! If you take us to the moon, it’ll kill us!”

  “Sounds like a meat-person problem,” he said.

  “We freed you, and this is the thanks we get?” Chesa yelled.

  “I will remember your names fondly, and see that your glory is added to the Edda,” the wolf answered. After a long pause, he added. “What were your names again?”

  “I’m Saint Matthew, and this is Percival—”

  “Just take us to Folksvangr like you promised, and then you can chase the moon to your heart’s content,” I urged. “We need to stop the end of the world!”

  “You’re . . . aware that the end of the world is kind of my thing?” he asked.

  “Well, yes, but not this specific end. Or I guess it’s the same ending, but not . . .” I took a deep breath and found that I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I started to get dizzy. Chesa grabbed my shoulder and shoved me against the wolf’s neck.

  “Listen up, you bastard!” she snapped. “We released you, now take us to Folksvangr!”

  “But . . .”

  “Now! Bad boy! Down!”

  Fenrir’s hackles raised, and a low rumbling shook his ribs. I began to worry that we were about to be shaken off, but after giving the moon one last, longing look, he turned and slowly descended through the clouds. Eventually I lost sight of the moon, and the air grew warm, and my lungs stopped screaming bloody murder at me. And that’s when we arrived in the mythical Folksvangr.

  There wasn’t much to recommend the place. On our initial descent, I thought Fenrir had lost his way, and was simply dropping us off at the first field he came across. A cloud-wreathed hillock framed by exposed granite cliffs, with a tumble of broken stones scattered across its crown made up the majority of the terrain. But as we drew closer I saw that the grass field was littered with bodies, laid in stately lines. Wind blew the grasses back and forth, covering up most of the corpses, so it was difficult to get any kind of count. But there must have been hundreds, if not thousands, laid to rest across that hill.

  Fenrir landed hard at the base of the hill. I slithered gratefully to the ground, followed by the others. The giant wolf swung its head in our direction.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  “This is the place? You’re not just ditching us?” I asked.

  “This is Folksvangr, the realm of Freya’s dead. Abandoned since her misdeeds of the last war, or so I’ve heard.” His attention focused on Percy, and he snorted. “Though you will know more of that than I, draugr. Be careful, mortals. Those who come here do not leave.”

  Then he leapt in the air, flying straight at the moon, his enormous bulk getting rapidly smaller and smaller until he disappeared against the moon’s silver face. The trail of the Milky Way blotted out most of the sky, turning the purple night into a veil of diamonds.

  “Well, there goes our ride,” Matthew said.

  “We’ll find a way back, if we’re lucky enough to need one,” I said. “Now, what’s next?”

  “What’s next? I thought you were the one with the plan!” Chesa said.

  “Sure, I am. And my plan got us here. But I was expecting there to be a bunch of rebellious valkyries, and the creepy dude with the death sword. Not an empty field.”

  “An empty field full of corpses,” Matthew said. “Doesn’t really look like Valhalla, does it? More like the battle of the Somme.”

  I turned my attention to the nearby dead. Matthew was right. In Valhalla we were met by Viking warriors, bare chested and armored, dressed in leathers, with steel blades and ash-hafted spears. But the corpses lined up around us were much more modern, if no less dead. Bloodstained khaki uniforms framed surprisingly young faces, hands folded peacefully over oiled rifles or clutching bayonets. Flat-brimmed steel helmets lay jauntily over shattered skulls. They wore the kind of boots punk bands used to wear, spattered with mud so thick it was impossible to tell what color they had once been.

  “Sword Beach, actually,” Percy said. “We came in with the Free French, made it nearly to Caen before the counterattack. We were expecting Panzers, you know, so when this ridiculous Jerry in a cape came marching down the middle of the street with a sword in his hand, well . . . we had a bit of a laugh.” He smiled at the memory. “Duff thought it would be funny if we challenged him to a duel, but the sarge just wanted us to shoot him. Neither worked. Took everything we could dish out and kept on coming. He cut straight through us. I remember wondering what they were going to tell the generals.”

  “These are your men?” I asked.

 

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