“Hell yeah! Let’s go!” Thor shouted, eyes blazing with excitement—only for Freyja to yank him back at once.

  “Are you seriously just gonna waltz into an obvious enemy trap like that, moron?! Idiot!” she screamed.

  “But it’s a festival!” Thor protested, still fired up. “Ain’t nothin’ bad ever happens at a festival, woman!”

  “Excuse me, miss… ??” Freyr asked, stepping closer to the woman.

  “My name is Dzelarhons,” she answered. “A deity of this realm.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Dzelarhons. I’m Freyr, and the little blonde girl is my little sister Freyja. And that there is my buddy Thor, and the man without his arm is Tyr ?,” the Norse god of light said.

  “Very well, Freyr,” the Haida goddess replied.

  “We come from a realm called Asgard, and our lord is lost in these lands, as my little sister explained ?,” Freyr continued.

  “We have no wish to cause offense whatsoever, and I am certain Thory’s attack was not fatal to your men. Therefore, we do not seek direct conflict with you at all. And before we accept your invitation, we would like to know whether the safety of my three little companions—and mine—can be guaranteed ?.”

  “It’s a festival, Freyr!” Thor shouted, still wrestling against Freyja’s grip. “Didn’t ya hear her?!”

  “Are the brave men from across the world afraid of a festival?” Dzelarhons asked Freyr.

  “We are not afraid,” Tyr answered sharply. “But we also have no time to waste on conflicts that do not concern us.”

  As he spoke, the war-god set his hand on the hilt of Tyrfing.

  “Very well, men from across the world,” the Haida goddess said, her face turning severe. “You will pass the trials, or you will become our slaves forever. That is what this special Potlatch is—held in honor of your audacity in setting foot on our land.”

  “Unfortunately,” Tyr said, “slavery is not something that interests us.”

  He drew the legendary sword Tyrfing and swung to take her head—but she caught the blade with a staff she had hidden inside her massive red robe.

  “Poor wandering spirits,” Dzelarhons said defiantly, “who do not know the power of the gods in this part of the world—where we have, since our very existence, submitted to ever-decreasing barriers of power.”

  “My invitation was not voluntary,” she continued. “It was imperative. I only wish you had taken it more jovially—like your red-bearded friend over there.”

  Tyr leapt back, and his hand went numb from the force the Haida goddess had used to stop his strike.

  “Even with this barrier that weakens our power,” the Norse war-god muttered, “I’m certain that woman is extremely strong.”

  “Tyr, stop!” Thor barked, still struggling against Freyja. “Ain’t you see this is exactly what we came for?!”

  “This’ll make us stronger—overcomin’ challenges when every damn thing’s stacked against us,” he added.

  “You’re a moronic idiot, Thor!” Freyja shrieked, yanking hard on the thunder-god’s cape. “Do you not understand that if these people enslave us, we’ll never rescue your father?! Do you not understand Asgard is vulnerable right now to an attack from Lel?!”

  “But if we can’t beat these gods,” Thor snapped, ripping his bear cape loose so Freyja couldn’t hold him, “then we’ll never beat Lel!”

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  Then the thunder-god strode up to Dzelarhons, face inches from hers. Tyr and Freyr stared, startled.

  “We’ll join your festival,” Thor said, voice low and hard, “and we’ll show you just how powerful the gods of Asgard truly are.”

  “That is the attitude I like,” Dzelarhons replied with a smile.

  “Lady Dzelarhons ?,” Freyr interjected gently. “Unfortunately, I cannot oppose the orders of my master Thory. However, I would like to know what guarantees we will be given if we are victorious in your festival ?.”

  “The Haida are honorable warriors,” the goddess said, turning away toward the boat that was already prepared to depart for Haida Gwaii. “We always keep our word. If you win, you will be free to leave.”

  “You always get your way with these stupid plans, Thor,” Freyja growled, hurling his bear cape back at him as she marched toward the boat.

  “No need to fear,” Tyr said. “We only need to be stronger than they are.”

  “Cheer up, friends!” Thor boomed, walking with the others toward the vessel. “We’ll be stronger after this adventure. Ain’t that excitin’?!”

  “If you say so, Thory ?,” Freyr replied.

  The boat ride lasted about half an hour. Dzelarhons stood at the prow, while Thor and the others rode in the center. Haida men rowed in perfect unison through the frigid waters of the northern sea.

  When they reached the great city, the massive wooden wall was guarded by two warriors wearing wooden armor and helmets carved into human faces. At the sight of Dzelarhons, the gates opened without a word.

  At the entrance stood multiple totems, each bearing a different animal—eagles, wolves, whales, or human faces with tongues hanging out. Many of them looked designed purely to intimidate.

  Crowds filled the streets of the great village, walking and staring in shock at the gods of the North. The path led straight to a large red house, painted with a furious Haida-style face with its tongue sticking out.

  “In that house, you will remain until you are called to begin the Potlatch,” Dzelarhons said as the men opened the door.

  Inside it was dark, and many people were bound with ropes. Thor and the others assumed they were prisoners of war—or slaves.

  “You gods will not stay with this rabble,” Dzelarhons said. “At the far end of this hall you will find a room for ‘important guests.’ We have cleared it so you may live there until the festival ends.”

  “Honestly, I’d sleep better out in the open,” Thor muttered, already disappointed by the state of the place.

  The men opened the door to the guest room.

  Inside were blankets thrown on the floor, and torches strapped to the walls. On the far wall was a horrific face—smiling, tongue out. On the ground sat bowls of water, as if animals were meant to drink there. The room reeked of dampness. Rodents squealed behind the walls. A stench of rot and death filled the air.

  “Well, wow,” Freyja said dryly. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

  “Settle in and do not attempt to escape,” Dzelarhons said as she closed the door. “If you try, we will all know—and we will enslave you immediately… or kill you, whichever suits us better.”

  “You know, Thor,” Tyr said darkly, eyeing the disgusting room, “if we went outside and attacked this city, we could quickly determine whether we truly are stronger than these so-called Haida gods.”

  “Yeah, Thor,” Freyja added furiously as she sat down on one of the blankets. “This is straight-up humiliating.”

  “You got conned by that woman,” she continued, glaring at the nearly spoiled fish left in clay containers. “They’ll play dirty with us. We don’t even know what we’re facing.”

  The Norse goddess of fertility wrinkled her nose and nearly vomited as the stink hit her.

  “I side with my little sister and Tyr, Thory ?,” Freyr said, leaning against the wall. “What do you decide? Are we going to keep letting them treat us like dogs ??”

  “We must treat this as the worst-case scenario, friends,” Thor said. “If we walk out victorious, we’ll make that woman our personal slave—but we have to play by the rules they’ve set.”

  He lifted his totema so they could see it clearly.

  “See?” he said. “They didn’t even take our totemas. They truly believe we’re weak. We’ll make ’em swallow every last one of their words—and their humiliations.”

  “I am this close to a mental breakdown, Thor,” Freyja hissed, collapsing onto the blanket. “If you weren’t Asgard’s new chief, I’d already have ripped out those green eyes of yours.”

  “Let us try to rest, little sister. Surely tomorrow will be a new day ?,” Freyr said, still leaning against the wall.

  “You’ll see,” Thor laughed. “Our victory’s gonna be epic. These folks ain’t got the slightest idea who they picked a fight with.”

  The sky darkened over Haida Gwaii. Torches were lit throughout the city, while soldiers kept watch around the house where Thor and the others were locked inside.

  The villagers—brown-skinned people wearing only small loincloths—made their way toward the largest house in the settlement. In front of it stood a totem with a raven at the top, and it was guarded jealously by multiple soldiers.

  Thor watched through a tiny window and could only assume it was a feast—like the banquets of Valhalla.

  He missed mead and roasted boar. It had been a month since he’d tasted a proper meal. Now all he had was the rotting fish left for them.

  With no enthusiasm at all, Thor ate it anyway—bones and all.

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  The next part will be released tomorrow.