I wrap the dumb stone up in my shirt and knot it closed—it sort of exposes my bra, but it’s not like anyone on this miserable rock cares.Then I heft my blade with both hands, and I throw all my force into it, praying to Jörð for her help, as if she even likes me, and I plunge the sword as far into Hyperion’s meaty belly as I can.
It sinks a few inches.
“Eh, hopefully that’s enough.”I flip around and shift my hands, and then I haul on it as hard as I can.It reminds me of trying to saw through an overcooked turkey with a butter knife, but I am making some progress, however small.
Bright, flashing sparks start billowing out of him, along with a lot of nasty, reddish brown goo.The blue sparks explode as soon as they hit the air around us.The first one scalds my arm, and I yelp and jump back.
Which is good.
Otherwise, the second and third would have taken my head off.
I slink back, but this time, I pull on poor Azar’s magic a little more, creating a small shield around myself as I gut Hyperion, one painful, agonizing inch at a time.
I keep glancing back at Coral—still alive, I think—and Azar, fighting hordes of awful, blackened vanir who are swarming, but he’s also alive.
And I keep sawing away.It takes what feels like ten minutes, but might have been more, before I finally see it.Down, down, down, a good two feet into Hyperion’s belly, in between gushes of exploding blue blob-sparks, I find my sword.
My hand trembles as I brace myself with the other, leaning over the chasm I carved in his belly, and I lean down, down, reaching.Sparks explode around my hand as I reach, and then just before I touch the sword, I grit my teeth and release the shield so I can grip it.
When I grasp the handle, a spark beside me explodes.
The pain—oh, the pain!My hand burns like lava has eaten it down to the bone, but I don’t let go.I pull with every part of my body, shaking and miserable, and then I keep pulling, and slowly, the stupid sword Gideon hurled as a killing blow gives way, sliding upward.
Another spark explodes, and another, but finally, I pull it free.
My arm and hand are blackened, like I’m part vanir.
“I should’ve used my left hand,” I mutter, and then I drop the disgusting, dragon-blood coated sword to clatter on the ground beside Hyperion.Sparks explode all the way down as they shift and come in contact with the air, but none of them hit me.I stare a little numb at my hand, which is still working, miraculously, but looks like grilled chicken left on the smoker for far too long.
A groan beneath me reminds me of what I came to do.
He’ll die like this, splayed open like a grotesque science experiment, unless this dumb heartstone can finally do something good.I fumble, my right hand not working anymore, pain shooting up my arm and radiating through my chest, but I finally manage to pull the heartstone out.Both my swords are gone, the first discarded when I went for the other, but that’s good.I can only hold one thing at a time, and even that’s hard with a blackened stump and one non-dominant hand.
I’m not sure what to do with this dumb thing.Maybe if I’d had more dreams about it, or maybe if I had more time to fiddle around, but I don’t.I can feel the blood—or whatever it is—oozing and exploding out of Hyperion, and I can tell we’re at the end of his energy.
So how do I fix him?
I can barely hold the stone up, but I take all the parts inside of me that I usually use to channel Azar’s magic, and I press against the stone, and I’m flooded suddenly with a brilliant light.
It’s not golden.
It’s not blue.
It’s not any color I can identify, and it’s all the colors—like Freya.That feels right, since it was inside of her.I gather up all the new light that I’ve gotten, and as I shove it at Hyperion, I realize that it’s like the sun and the moon and the stars, all rolled together.The night sky and the midday sun, and the strangely combined strength of both.
I try to braid the energy somehow, giving it the form I wish Hyperion’s body would follow, knitting his bloody and broken body back together, but it’s not quite right.
Because there’s still a lot of bad inside him.
First, I gather it up, like chasing dirt with a hose, until it’s all down at the bottom, huddled, and I flush it up and out, and it explodes all around me.
I haven’t put up a shield, but the energy inside of me surges outward to keep me safe.It’s handy stuff—I could get used to this.But then Coral gasps, and I refocus, pushing all the light that’s left inside of Hyperion, and instead of trying to knit him back together, I shove it at his heart—his center.
DO something with this, you great moron.I—I have no idea what to do to fix you.
Hyperion’s body ripples, and I’m flung off and away.I’m grateful once again for my wings, or I’d have broken something for sure, but now Hyperion’s belly wound’s closing up, lit up all along the jagged, unsteady length, and he begins to scream, like a newborn baby, if they weighed nineteen billion pounds and had lungs the size of a dumptruck.
What in Eyjafjallajökull are you doing to me, human?
