The one thing I didn’t do was visit Little Niflheim. I didn’t know how badly the interior of Yggdrasil II had been damaged by the drone strike, and I didn’t want to intrude while the world tree was healing.
Hel always knew where to find me. She would summon me when she wanted me.
Persephone kept her word and deeded the property back to the City of Pemkowet with the stipulation that it could never be sold without Hel’s explicit approval. Not only that, the contract included a provision stating that Hel’s liaison be granted oversight of the territory and paid a monthly stipend.
It wasn’t a huge amount, but it was enough to pay my rent and bills, and even set a bit aside for a rainy day . . . and actually, for me, that was huge. For the first time in my life, I opened a savings account.
The tri-community councils and boards held a second town meeting to decide whether or not to appeal the decision in the lawsuit. Now that the community was flush, Lurine declined to repeat her offer to underwrite the legal costs of an appeal. Unsurprisingly, the members of our local governments decided that a bird in the hand was better than two in the bush, and voted to quit while they were ahead, using proceeds of the sale of Hel’s territory to pay the damages and split the extra five million dollars among them.
Too bad.
Among other things, it meant that the legal precedent of holding mundane authorities accountable for the actions of the eldritch would stand. I hoped we wouldn’t have cause to regret that someday.
It was a balmy spring evening, a month after the war, when Hel finally sent for me. Spring had been especially early and lush in Pemkowet that year, perhaps because of Persephone’s brief presence there. The grass was turning green and there was a haze of budding leaves on all the trees. The woods were filled with trillium and sunny yellow dandelions dotted the meadows. Gardens rioted with daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips, front yards blazed with azaleas blossoming in a multitude of hues—coral, scarlet, fuchsia, hot pink, orange, yellow, and white.
In fact, I was at Cody’s, standing in his front yard in the soft twilight and discussing planting some azaleas there when the dune buggy pulled into his driveway.
It made my heart ache to see a frost giant—actually, it was a frost giantess—who wasn’t Mikill climb out of the buggy. It had always been Mikill who’d come for me.
“Daisy Johanssen,” the frost giantess boomed, raising her left hand to reveal the rune etched on it. “My name is Geirdís. I am bid to summon you to an audience with Hel.”
I held up my left hand in acknowledgment. “I’ll be right with you. Cody, can I borrow a warm jacket?”
Geirdís waited patiently, dripping onto the gravel drive while Cody ducked into the house and grabbed his fleece-lined Carhartt jacket for me.
“You look like a cheerleader wearing her boyfriend’s varsity letter jacket,” he said, adjusting my zipper. “There’s a pair of work gloves in the pocket.”
Standing on tiptoes, I kissed him. “Thanks.”
Geirdís wasn’t much of a talker. Mikill hadn’t been, either, but I’d gotten used to his silence.
“Do you have the loaf of bread for—” I broke off my sentence as the buggy jolted over the dunes. No, of course she didn’t have a loaf of bread for Garm. Like Mikill, Garm was gone.
“The hellhound’s spirit roams the sands,” Geirdís said quietly. “It may be that we will catch a glimpse of him.”
We didn’t, though. A few minutes later, Yggdrasil II’s opening yawned before us without a ghostly hellhound in sight.
Geirdís didn’t warn me to keep my limbs within the vehicle during the descent. I’d never needed Mikill’s reminder, but it was ridiculous how much I missed it. Tears froze on my cheeks as we descended.
Close to the bottom, the smooth spiral ramp veered into an unexpected jag. A massive chunk of the inside of the trunk was missing, leaving barely enough to rebuild and allow the buggy to pass. A second, more accurate drone strike would have taken out the heart of Yggdrasil II’s vast canopy of roots.
It had been a near thing.
I shivered and fished Cody’s work gloves out of the pocket of his jacket, my hands swimming in them.
Geirdís parked the buggy and ushered me into Hel’s presence. Hel sat on her throne, flanked by the other two surviving frost giants, and the old sawmill was packed with duegar.
They bowed to me.
I mean all of them bowed to me, not just the dwarves. The frost giants bowed. Hel bowed.
Okay, it was a seated bow, but still.
“Daisy Johanssen,” Hel addressed me, straightening on her throne, gazing at me with both eyes. “Niflheim and its denizens are much in your debt. Forgive me for not summoning you sooner to give thanks.”
“That’s okay,” I said faintly. “I’m sure you had a lot to do.”
“Yes.” Hel’s ember eye closed, her luminous fair eye regarding me with concern. “Are you well?”
My heart contracted in my chest at her question. It’s funny, but no one else except my mother had thought to ask me.
Was I?
For the most part, yeah. I’d faced my worst nightmare made flesh, invoked my deepest fear and my deepest desire. I’d broken the world and bargained with heaven to mend it.
Most of me was profoundly grateful that I’d never have to worry about it happening again.
A little part of me missed it, and mourned for the power I’d renounced.
And it probably always would.
“Yes, my lady,” I said to Hel. “I am well.”
Hel inclined her head to me. “I am pleased to hear it, Daisy Johanssen.”
There was a bit more to the audience, but not much. I explained about Persephone donating the legal deed to Hel’s territory to the City of Pemkowet, including the stipulation about selling it and the provision for a monthly stipend to be paid to me. All of that met with Hel’s approval.
“You have done well, my young liaison,” Hel said to me in formal dismissal. “May your valor bring peace and security to my demesne for many years to come.”
The duegar and the frost giants murmured in agreement.
I hoped it would.
When Geirdís and I reached the base of the world tree and the sacred spring, I made her stop the buggy and I hopped out.
The Norns paused in their labor to regard me.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s me again. Daisy. And I’m sorry, but I have to ask.” I filled my lungs with a deep breath and expelled it in a nervous gust. “The risk I took . . . Was it worth it? Because it was an awfully big risk. I mean, we’re talking Armageddon here, right? I just want to know. If Yggdrasil had fallen and you three, you Norns, had perished, would it really have broken the skein of time? Was the entirety of existence at stake, or was this just a way to preserve your, um, particular cosmology?”
One by one, the Norns shook their heads at me, refusing to answer. I would never, ever know for sure.
Never.
Goddamned soothsayers.
“Okay,” I said. “Never mind. Forget I asked, okay?”
The Norns nodded in unison, returning to their wooden buckets, drawing water from the spring.
Maybe it was true; maybe it wasn’t. Hell, Janek Król had believed my existence was a sign that God had forgiven the Outcast, and damned if they didn’t have a second chance at redemption now.
Maybe that had been the divine plan all along. Maybe it was the only way it could happen.
I’d even made my mom’s teenage fantasy come true. In the end, I’d made the choice she’d dreamed of . . . and my father, Belphegor, knew he’d picked the wrong girl to mess with when he chose her.
The world was still here and Yggdrasil II was still standing. Life in Pemkowet would go on for all of us.
Whatever the truth might be, I’d just have to live with it.
And I was pretty sure I could.
* D P G R O U P . O R G *
Jacqueline Carey, Poison
Fruit
(Series: # )
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