At that moment, like a swarm of bees bursting from a hive, thousands of beavers came flying toward them. Their sheer number darkened the distant sky.

  “Look! It is those same intruders again—and now they stand beside a giant!” one shouted.

  “Never have I beheld a creature of such magnitude!” cried another.

  “Surely he is but another illusion woven by those fools. Attack them! Then we shall conquer the upper world!” roared a third, and all the beavers screamed in agreement.

  “Those rats have found us again!” Anpiel shouted as he watched the beavers approach.

  The others prepared for battle.

  “Why gather so many of these creatures?” Yamozha asked.

  “I suppose that in twenty thousand years they have done little but multiply,” Menrva replied with a laugh.

  “I descended unto this realm to hunt a few, yet never did I dream their number so vast,” the giant said thoughtfully.

  “Your hunting sparked a war between them and the wolves above,” Menrva explained.

  “Wolves?” the giant echoed.

  The beavers launched themselves in spiraling formations, forming spheres of energy ready to hurl.

  Bellona raised her chains to ensnare them once more—but before anyone could act, Yamozha lifted a single finger. A hurricane wind exploded outward, hurling the beavers far across the land.

  Like rain, they fell one by one, unconscious, forming massive heaps upon the ground and even upon the great lake.

  “It seemeth we shall feast upon beaver this day,” Yamozha laughed.

  “Wait!” Menrva cried, floating before his face. “This senseless war began because you hunted them. Let us instead seek peace, so this world need not remain hidden beneath illusion.”

  “Very well. As thou desirest,” Yamozha replied, struggling to stand. As he rose, Ana and Epona turned away, flushed with embarrassment at the sight of the giant’s exposed body.

  “Do you not wear garments?” Menrva asked, blushing herself.

  “Garments? What be those?” the giant asked innocently.

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  “I had heard that humans taught gods to clothe themselves,” Epona murmured.

  “Clothes—like this,” Menrva said, shifting her totema into the great coat she had worn in Vinland.

  “This is clothing.”

  “Thou resembleth a bear or beaver,” Yamozha laughed, as Menrva resumed her divine attire.

  Ana, still avoiding direct eye contact, raised her hand. Dark feathers spread over the giant’s form, shaping themselves into a vast moose-skin tunic and black trousers, fully clothing him.

  “This is how the people of Vinland dressed,” she muttered.

  “This is wondrous—and fair to behold. I thank thee for this gift,” Yamozha said warmly.

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way,” Ana replied, still red-faced.

  The giant took two slow steps toward the fallen beavers before sitting again. Even those two steps sufficed to reach them.

  “Hail, little beavers,” Yamozha spoke. “I have heard ye wage war upon the upper world. Let such strife cease, and ascend with me to a feast.”

  One wounded beaver, still conscious, glared at him.

  “Yamozha of the upper world committed genocide against our clan, then fled. We seek vengeance.”

  “Genocide? I slew but two of thy kin,” Yamozha answered.

  “Is that the lie they tell above? Millions perished by his hand!”

  “That tale is false. I know it, for I am Yamozha.”

  The beavers laughed.

  “Twenty thousand years have passed. Yamozha cannot live still,” one scoffed, flying toward his face.

  Loki muttered to the others, “He truly thinks they will believe him without proof?”

  “Hard to accept even for us,” Tania admitted.

  Then, silence fell.

  “Are you truly the great Yamozha?” the floating beaver asked.

  “Indeed. Slumber held me long, yet now I wake,” the giant answered with booming laughter.

  Suddenly the beavers erupted into joyous cries, spinning through the air in acrobatic spirals.

  “I gave those flying rats far too much credit,” Tania muttered.

  “A conflict of twenty thousand years ends like this?” Menrva asked, stunned.

  Yamozha attempted to dance with them, fell once more, and laughed heartily as the beavers swirled around him in celebration.

  “Perhaps they are more innocent than we thought,” Anpiel observed.

  “Forgive my manners,” Yamozha said, turning toward Orniskem. “I am Yamozha, god of the Dene.”

  Each introduced themselves in turn.

  “Now that we are friends, let us ascend and celebrate a mighty feast!” the giant proclaimed.

  “Is this wise? Could it be a trap?” Ana whispered.

  “He felled them with a finger,” Loki replied calmly. “I doubt they pose a threat.”

  “Great Yamazha, if you will allow me, I will take you directly to your world with the help of my teleportation,” Loki offered. Rodrigo looked slightly embarrassed; he had thought himself the only one capable of such spatial feats.

  “My thanks,” the giant replied.

  “Ready, all? We depart.”

  “Wait,” Menrva said. “You can truly return us above?”

  “These barriers meant nothing to me—less so now that he shattered the labyrinth,” Loki answered.

  “Bellona, radiant one,” he added smoothly, “could you bind us all lightly with thy chains, that I may move us together?”

  “Leave it to me!” Bellona cried. Thousands of chains flowed from her back, brushing each person lightly.

  Loki floated to her side and took her hand.

  “Forgive me, Roman beauty, but I must touch thee to guide the passage,” he said with playful charm. Bellona flushed and laughed softly.

  Though invisible, the chains linked them all.

  Loki raised his mistletoe staff and cried, “Tafarlaus hreyfing (Instantaneous movement)!”

  In an instant, all vanished from the lower valley of Denendeh.

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