Linda Evans - Sleipnir

"You. Urd. Verdani. A couple of birds."

"Exactly. There are no more lesser norns. You may think it ruthless; but we killed them all long ago."

I had no idea what to say. All of them ?

"Would you prefer centuries of us killing your kind?" Her voice dripped sarcasm.

I didn't have an answer.

"When the last of our little sisters died without issue, the final thread tying us to your race was severed forever. No longer did we decide who lived, who died, who murdered whom, who bore the child that would become king, who would start a war, and who would finish it. We did this, in the hope that your creative, inventive race would eventually produce exactly what it did—you. A free agent no one could control, angry enough, strong enough, determined enough to change the balance of power in the Worlds."

I swallowed hard. Was that what I'd done? I didn't feel much like a hero. I felt much more like a terrified kid confronted with a motorcycle gang after his bag of candy.

"Great." My voice cracked a little. "Just what am I supposed to do, now that you've got me?"

She regarded me with a mixture of apprehension and pity.

"You must stop Surt and the sons of Muspell from destroying the Worlds. If you can. There is no one in the nine worlds with a better opportunity. That is what you wished; was it not? To save your world?"

I gazed out across shining water. I hadn't exactly thought about what I'd do after I won. Hell, I hadn't really expected to win.

Stop Surt and the sons of Muspell?

Impossible.

I snorted. Killing Odin had been impossible, too, and I hadn't let that stop me. The fact remained, however, that all I really wanted to do was grab Gary and get back to something resembling a normal life. I didn't want to be a hero. I was too damned muscle-sore and bleary-eyed to be a hero. What I wanted was about a hundred years of sleep, and a hot bath, and about a ton of rare T-bone steaks... .

I did not want to start another madman's war.

Before I could draw breath to answer, I heard the thunder of hoofbeats. I whirled, dislodging Hugin and Munin. They squawked indignantly—it occurred to me they did a lot of that—and took wing briefly, then settled back onto my shoulders moments later.

Skuld rose gracefully to face the intruders. Rangrid sat Sleipnir like they'd been carved from the same block. Gary rode Rangrid 's golden-maned stallion. I had to repress a grin. Gary was green around the gills and hanging on for dear life.

Rangrid pulled Sleipnir to a sliding stop just in front of us.

"Give him back!"

She wore full battle armor, complete with dings, sweat marks, and bloodstains, not the gilded ceremonial stuff she'd worn to collect me from Fenrir's island. Odin's eight-legged hellhorse snapped at Skuld with long, bony jaws and wicked yellow teeth.

Skuld raised a brow in amazement. "You would defy me?"

Rangrid 's sword rang out of its scabbard. "Burn me to ashes if you can! But give him back!"

"I'm already dead," Gary gritted out, dragging his horse around to face her. "What's left that could be worse?" The question was an appropriate one, all things considered.

The fiery Norn glanced my way and—to my everlasting astonishment—dropped a wink. "Your friends are loyal, Randy Barnes." She turned, then, to stare haughtily at Rangrid. My darling valkyrie went rigid; but held her ground. It was amazing how cold Skuld's gaze could be.

"Rangrid Shield-Destroyer, it is not your place to decide what this mortal does. Nor," she added, holding up a warning hand when Rangrid started to protest angrily, "nor is it my place."

My beautiful, furious valkyrie faltered. "You mean... you didn't... you aren't going to... "

"The only one who may decide this mortal's fate is the man himself." She turned her burning gaze on me. I stiffened, swallowed hard, and tried not to flinch as sweat broke out all over me again.

"What do you choose, Randy Barnes?"

I looked at Skuld. Her expression was as inscrutable as a Chinese mandarin's. Rangrid looked tense. Gary sat calmly in the saddle, and waited for me to speak.

I caught his eye.

"Let's get out of here. I'm homesick as hell."

His facial muscles tightened. He bowed his head for a moment, and his hands tightened whitely on the reins. Then he met my gaze and slowly shook his head. "No, Randy. I'm afraid I won't be leaving."

The tremble that hit me left my face white and my fists even whiter.

"What?"

It came out more squeak than question.

"I'm staying here."

I don't know what I was going to say. Probably would have involved his mother and grandmother and her grandmother before her—momentarily forgetting Rangrid's presence—and then I would have called him traitor and other less flattering names.

But before I could do more than open my mouth, he barked, "Shut up, Randy!" in a tone I'd never heard from him. "God damn you, at least let me explain this time."

I rocked back on my heels. Then I clapped my lips shut. There was a cold, sick feeling in my stomach. I couldn't look at him. I'd forgotten—in the emotional high of beating Odin, and seeing Gary again—that it was my fault he was dead.

"I'm sorry, Gary," I said quietly. "I'm sorry. For a lot of things. You know I didn't mean... "

"I know, Randy."

I heard him sigh. Then he muttered, "Let's go somewhere private for a minute. We need to talk."

That was the understatement of the century. I nodded toward the open doors of the Norns' hall. "Mind if we go thrash things out, Skuld?"

"You would not feel comfortable inside," she said with gentle warning. "Human senses do not... work properly, there. But the shade outside is cool, and the grass is sweet and deep. You are welcome to a moment of privacy if you wish it."

"Yeah. I wish it." I turned on my heel and stomped in that direction. Behind me—after a noticeable pause—I heard Gary jump to the ground and follow. I stopped beside the intricately carved wall, and quickly averted my gaze. The closer one got to the building, the harder it was to see clearly. I was glad I hadn't tried to go inside, after all. Gary stopped behind me. He squeezed my shoulder. I couldn't look at him.

"Okay," I ground out. "Convince me."

He said quietly, almost as though speaking to himself, "You always did do things the hard way, Randy." I made a rude noise and he chuckled. "You know I'm right."

I shrugged, mostly so I wouldn't have to admit that he was, as usual, right once more.

"Look, RB," Gary said patiently, "I really can't go back. Think about it. I'm dead. They buried me. Took me off the tax rolls, cancelled my Social Security number, gave my old clothes to Goodwill."

I finally looked at him. Despite grief in his eyes, his expression was, I don't know, almost amused. Gary always had possessed that knack of adjusting to circumstances. I didn't. I wanted desperately to go back—but only to a world with Gary Vernon in it.

Something in Gary's eyes told me he understood. "Honestly, Randy, what have I got to go back to? I wouldn't have a physical body even if I tried. Here I have substance. There..." He grinned. "You know me, Randy. Hanging around like some vaporous Hollywood spook isn't exactly my style."

My lips twitched despite my determination not to let him sway me on this one.

"Besides, it really isn't so bad here. You know how I feel about stuff like this. It's kind of like a five-year-old kid dying and waking up in a candy factory." His voice took on a diffident tone. "You ought to understand—I feel like what I'm doing here is important."

"And what we were doing back home wasn't? In case you hadn't noticed—"

"Nothing we did back home meant squat. We were nobody there. You have a choice, Randy," he said in a hard voice. "You can go back home, find some nice girl to marry, and have a couple of hell-raising rug-rats with her; maybe save enough money to buy a piece of land, build a house."