The Eye of Odin

Part 8

"Odin hung himself upon the world tree for nine days to discover the art of the runes. I suppose I should have known they would be useful in containing his power." He held his fist up and grinned. "Silver etched in solid stone, the finest Germanic craftsmanship."

"I can't help but feel that lecturing us is counterproductive." I said.

"I do recall something about being wiped from the face of the Earth." Wes added, "Is there a reason for your stalling?"

"You're a dangerous lot," he admitted readily, "There are many ways that I could use someone with your skills, Miss Masters. You can forgo the usual refusal to join, I don't intend to ask." He jammed his pistol back into the holster at his hip, digging through his uniform jacket pocket for a crumpled cigarette.

"I don't understand," Wes said, acting as the most rational of the four of us.

"Your commanding officer will recall a certain poltergeist, something akin to that," Schuntzel mumbled from around the cigarette, lighting it with a match. "We have a variety of ways to use raw material. Imagine an empty mind with the same killing instinct of the lieutenant here."

"I'd rather not." Reynolds said under his breath, and I winced.

"I won't let you turn us into some kind of abomination," I said, my right foot falling back. Schuntzel just smiled tiredly.

"You don't have much choice in the matter, but I digress. I'm certain reinforcements from our respective armies are headed to this point now. We'd better conclude our affairs before that occurs." He glanced up, the soft whistling sound of approaching artillery punctuating his statement. I followed his gaze, and could see a trio of dark shapes moving quickly towards us. Artillery shells, possibly chemical, but it was far too late to get out of the way.

Schuntzel didn't bother trying to hide. His left hand shot up, his fist opening to expose the Eye of Odin set into his palm. That familiar, explosive storm howled into the sky and impacted with the artillery shells. They popped in sequence, powerful explosions filling the air above us but far enough away to be harmless. Reynolds and Wes ran for the trenches, but I knew the Eye would have no trouble tearing through the ground to get at us. I scrabbled for the holster at my waist.

The Colt cleared leather in the same instant that Schuntzel directed his hand down and towards us. Whatever recovery period the Eye possessed gave me the edge, and I fired twice in quick succession. The heavy pistol rounds hit an instant after one another, the first burying in Schuntzel's side, the second impacting with the Eye directly. The stone gauntlet shattered violently, shards flying like shrapnel as the German fell to his knees. The Eye dropped to the ground, apparently unharmed by the direct hit. When it struck the ground, energy was released once again. Without direction, the energy was less focused. Concussive waves shot out in every direction. I saw Schuntzel tossed like a ragdoll, before I was struck as well. I felt my feet leave the ground, tossed end over end by the raging storm.

I hit the ground rolling an instant later, the breath solidly knocked from lungs. I lay uselessly on the ground, sucking in the grimy air of the battlefield in deep, nourishing gasps. I turned and looked at the place I had last seen Schuntzel. He was nowhere to be found, but two large, dark shapes fluttered to the ground nearby. They were ravens, but far larger than any I had ever seen before, hopping about, quirking their heads from side to side. One paused to peck at the ground, and I noted with a start that it had grasped the Eye of Odin in its jet black beak. The other looked directly at me, tilting its head to the side a final time, before both took flight.

I sat up, coughing violently, and watched as the pair disappeared into the sky. I had no intention of questioning what I had just seen, and instead wavered to my feet. I returned my Colt to its holster, and weariness washed over my body as I realized the fight was over. Wes and Reynolds appeared in the trench as I limped towards it, peering cautiously over the side.

"It's over," my voice scratched, containing the bare minimum inflection. I held a hand to my throat and winced. "Get on the line and call command. We need someone to hold this trench."

"Already done, Chance," Wes said, helping me down into the trench.

Reynolds was looking at me with a strange expression and finally said, "I don't even know what I just saw, Masters." I felt another wash of exhaustion pass over me. "But I'm glad you're with us. I never want to be on the wrong side of your gun," he added.

"Good choice," I said, and we both smiled, although a distinct sense of unease remained. The sun was rising in the distance, over what had been the German lines. Fresh troops arrived before noon, relieving the three of us. It was with great relief that I returned to the military staging area and boarded the now empty train car that had brought us to the front lines.

Doyle was none the worse for wear, his arm hanging uselessly from his side, but in high spirits upon discovery of our victory. There was no conversation on the trip back to Paris, as we all fell heavily asleep the instant we'd left the front behind.