Page 132 of Heart of Mischief

I am Gungnir, and I am free at last.

Charlie was Gungnir. Or Gungnir was Charlie. Or they had woven together into one being that now hurtled through the wood of Yggdrasil, drawn to the one they needed desperately to return to—their master.

They careened past Jotunheim, with its towering giants and deserts of stone and trees as tall as skyscrapers. They traveled past Alfheim, with its glittering waterfalls and sparkling towers. They journeyed past Svartalfheim, with its foreboding mountains and volcanoes and forges. They sped through the eight realms, knowing exactly where to go, where their master could always be found, even when his second self was on Asgard, managing the gods and thewinds and the sands of time. To the place where his master’s first self stood. Always watching. Waiting.

To Muspelheim.

They descended upon the planet of mist and shadow, speeding toward its end. They were so close. They could see him now, his hulking silhouette like a small mountain, fire and lava leaking from his ridges. And at his feet: dozens upon dozens of human children. Alive but unconscious, a collection of souls to be sacrificed when the time was right.

As they drew near, his eyes opened. Or, better said, hiseyeopened, since he only had one, the other sacrificed at Mimir’s well, the price of all-encompassing knowledge.

When he spoke, his mouth crackled like stone and lava spilled from his tongue.

“Gungnir,” he said. “You have returned.”

Not in full, they said.Only my essence. I am still in my hiding place. I know not where, but I found my opportunity for a brief escape, and I took it.

“Good. We have much to discuss. It is almost time; Ragnarök draws near.”

What can I do?

“Escape once more, but for good this time. Do whatever it takes. Persuade the prophesied one to come to your aid. If we are to win this war, we need you removed from Yggdrasil permanently so you can return to my side.”

I will do my best, Master.

“You have already done well. If you have made it here, even for a moment, it means you have drawn the prophesied one to you. The pieces are falling into place. Soon, I will find and destroy Loki’s two missing bastards, and my plan will be unstoppable.”

How do you know that the trickster Loki has created new offspring?

The mountainous beast raised one arm to show them the golden ribbon tied around his wrist. “Four weeks ago, my Valkyriereceived a missive from her twin sister asking if they were the children of Loki. The Valkyries are under my control and therefore not a threat, but the other two had to be dealt with. I sent Rattatosk to do what needed to be done.” He exhaled a puff of steaming-hot air. “But Rattatosk is gone. I felt his death, the other end of the leash going slack. I will need to come up with a new plan to rid the world of Loki’s bastard offspring. It will take time, but rest assured, it will be done.”

The image of the beast wobbled, and Gungnir could feel an irresistible current beginning to pull at their essence. Time was running out. Their steel tip was about to be driven back into the wooden flesh of Yggdrasil.

I must go, they said.But I will return as soon as I can.

The beast gave a lava-filled smile. “I have seen your return already. It is written in the winds of time.”

With that, the current grabbed hold and yanked them back through the ash. They hurtled back to the chamber in which they would be trapped once again…

Back to…

To…

Charlie returned to herself with a great inhalation. She jammed Gungnir back into the wood of Yggdrasil as hard as she could and stumbled backward. Her bare feet slipped on the wood, sending her sprawling. The crowd gasped.

She was dizzy, nauseous, halfway to oblivion. Darkness closed in on her vision. Though it felt like she had spent a lifetime intertwined with Gungnir’s consciousness, she somehow knew that only seconds had passed in Helheim. Somewhere, Mason was yelling, leaping over the coliseum wall and sprinting to get to her.

“It’s Odin,” she gasped when Mason reached her side.

He crouched low, taking her body in his arms. “What?” he asked, eyes frantic. “What’s Odin?”

She wanted so badly to give in to the darkness. To let oblivion overtake her, to sleep for weeks, even months, if necessary.

“Odin was the one controlling Rattatosk,” she rasped. “Odin is the one trying to start Ragnarök. There is no creature called Surtur in Muspelheim. There’s only… only…”

“Charlie?” Mason shook her shoulders, trying to keep her awake. “Charlie, stay with me. What are you saying? What are you trying to say?”

“Odinisajoturri,” she slurred as her eyes fluttered shut. “Odin is… a joturri. Odin… is… Surtur.”