The words were too easy to say, and he realized they might not be a ploy. A father who wanted him, who he could learn from, sparked a fire within him. Memories of watching Ingrid’s father and brother and wishing he had the same relationship came boiling to the surface.
“Oh, that we could stand together and make the realms what they need to be—what they should have always been.” Jarrick’s eyes sizzled with the same thrill that burned within Jorg. The others faded away, and they stood eye to eye, forging a path to replace what each had lost.
“My father never had time for me. I was the second son after all. Thelonius was busy with his lessons, Father was busy running the realm, and they left me to wander. It wasn’t a bad life—do whatever you want, lay in the fields, gaze at the stars, swim in the heated springs, and explore the realms. I did all that and more, yet I was restless. Until I visited Vanaheim.
“Such a beautiful place that had been left to rot. I tried to convince Father and Thelonious that we needed to do something about it. I went to Frey and tried to persuade him to stand up and lead his people once more, but he’d have nothing to do with me. It’s a sad day when a man won’t step up for what’s right.”
Jarrick’s held Jorg’s gaze and leaned forward. “Together, we can do what those others wouldn’t. We will restore the glory and beauty of Vanaheim. We’ll bring back the full extent of our culture and our heritage.”
Jorg’s mouth was dry. He had to force himself to breathe. The chance to build something great, to feel not only accomplishment but acceptance—it was everything he’d ever wanted. He nodded. It felt right and wrong at the same time. What was he doing? Taking hold of what was his, that’s what.
The possibilities flashed through him. They’d need to assess the damage, make a plan, and find materials. Did Vanaheim have enough resources, or would they need to bring in supplies? Questions flew through Jorg’s mind. The most important one of all he voiced out loud. “When can we get started?”
Jarrick’s face split wide with a smile. He reached out with both hands and squeezed Jorg’s shoulders.
From behind him, Jorg heard his name. Someone had gasped and called to him in an anguished voice laced in fear. He ignored them as he soaked in his father's pride. A new purpose took shape inside his chest. He shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, barely able to stand still. With his hand clasped onto his father’s forearm, the future seemed bright, and he wanted it.
Then, a wave of nausea rolled through him. Jorg stumbled backward and clutched his head. He peered through eyes, slitted against the pain and realized he wasn’t the only one struggling.
Jarrick had a grimace on his face and braced himself against his thighs to keep from falling. The entire room seemed to shift. The flames in the sconces sputtered along the wall.
Just as quickly as the shift occurred, calm returned.
Breathless, Jorg swallowed hard and scanned the room. When his eyes returned to his father, he found rage covering his features.
Jarrick tipped his chin to the ceiling and roared so loud, Jorg felt it vibrate through the tiles and into his body.
Whatever had just happened, changed everything.
45
Jorg
Jorg had witnessed hatred in the eyes of an attacker before. The intensity blazing in his father’s stare was a new level.
He let out a long exhale. Whatever small bond they’d experienced, whatever hope it had kindled, died. Jorg’s heart pinched.
What did you expect? But that means . . .
Ingrid made it—she'd bound the spell. Jorg’s desire to have her safely back at his side flared and overpowered all other emotion. Despite everything, he smiled.
“You will pay for this,” Jarrick sneered. The air rumbled with his rage. Gone was the eager father, ready to build a future. Magic sparked into an aura like lightening around Jarrick.
Jorg spun and raced for Galwain. He tackled her to the ground, and they rolled as they landed. Pain lanced the back of his shoulder, and he grimaced. The ground vibrated, from Jarrick, but also from thundering footsteps spilling into the room.
Ruvars flooded through the arches and blocked the exits.
“Jorg.” Galwain pushed against his chest. “You need to help the others. I can fight for myself.” She touched his cheek, and a brief smile crossed her lips.
There wasn’t anywhere for her to hide, and she was right. He needed to join the battle. He jumped to his feet and pulled her with him. Before he could ask, his mother produced two small daggers. He raised his brows and nodded with a grin.
All the women in his life were strong. He wouldn’t hinder her. Jorg turned his attention to the others.
Two guards lay motionless in the room's center. Bremen and Selby fought back to back near the far wall, closest to freedom. Bakkan and the two remaining guards attacked from the near side. Galwain rushed toward Selby in time to cut down a ruvar charging at her.
An enraged Dúngarr stormed through the arches and immediately engaged with Bremen. Before Jorg could decide which threat to tackle first, Selby shrieked and dodged at Dúngarr. The two clashed, and with a speed and accuracy Jorg hadn’t seen from her before, she sliced her short-sword across his calf. Twisting as the guard exposed his chest, she drove her blade through his middle.
There was only one other threat unaccounted for, and Jorg spun to face it—his father. Sliding the curved blade, he’d gathered before from his belt, he also pulled the ivory-handled knife from his boot. He had no defense against Jarrick’s magic.
“I didn’t lie,” he called, bringing Jarrick’s attention solely on himself. “We would have made a good team.”
Jarrick chuffed. “I believe we would have. You can still surrender and join me.”
Squaring his shoulders, Jorg sauntered three paces and stopped. “You know I can’t do that. You’ve got more power than I do, I concede. How about we make it fair and see how matched we are without the magic?”
With a flourish of his fingers, Jarrick’s aura faded, and swords appeared in each of his hands. He cocked a brow and waited.
Jorg twirled the curved blade as he felt the weight, though it was more to buy time to settle his mind. The other sounds faded around him except for the occasional female grunt or shriek he couldn’t block out. He trusted both women, but it didn’t stop his concern.
Jarrick stood still, watching as Jorg closed the gap between them. Neither dropped their focus—Jorg’s blade up and ready, Jarrick’s held relaxed at his side.
From the corner of his eye, Jorg leaned back in time to avoid a ruvar that charged him from the side. He sliced the beast’s neck and plunged the dagger through its eye.
Another one tried to attack, but Jarrick slit its throat and dropped it out of the way. Apparently, Jarrick wanted the privilege of killing his son for himself.
Jorg swung his sword in a wide arc that Jarrick blocked. They stayed locked together, gauging each other’s strength. To Jorg’s surprise and delight, his force was equal to his father’s, maybe even more.
Finally breaking apart, Jorg swung again. To the left. Across to the right. Straight down the middle.
Each time, Jarrick blocked or spun away. Then he came slashing, chopping, and thrusting. Jorg spun to jab Jarrick’s kidney, but his father matched the move and knocked the dagger from Jorg’s hand. The ivory clattered along the smooth tiles and rested at the base of the dais.
Using two hands, Jorg came at Jarrick. He feigned right and swung left, knocking one of Jarrick’s swords through the air. Jorg dropped low and swept Jarrick’s leg, causing him to fall.
The dark elf sprang back to his feet, determination set over his features. He didn't expect such a worthy opponent, and Jorg wondered when he’d last faced one.
Before Jarrick could reset, Jorg swung again. The blow came too close to Jarrick's hand to block properly, so he grabbed the blade with his palm. Jorg pushed harder, feeling the sharp edge slice into flesh. He hesitated for a split second.
&
nbsp; It was all Jarrick needed to twist his shoulder and ram Jorg backward. Blood dripped from the dark elf’s palm, but Jarrick gave it no notice. Jumping into the air, he spun into a kick aimed for Jorg's head, but Jorg caught the elf’s foot in midair.
Using his momentum against him, Jorg twisted Jarrick's leg, feeling the knee pop as he did. The Dark elf landed on his stomach but only for a second. With just his arms, he propelled himself into the air and landed gracefully onto one foot. The other leg he gingerly balanced against the floor.
Out of respect for his opponent, Jorg waited before he charged forth again.
"Wait long enough, and I'll heal. Are you sure that's what you want to do?"
The talk fueled Jorg's rage. He charged forward but raised his fist instead of his sword. Jarrick grabbed him by the front of his tunic and threw him five feet into the nearest pillar. Jorg landed against his back. He fell to his knees and had to gather his breath, but Jarrick was there too fast. Grabbing him by the back of the head, he slammed Jorg once more into the pillar.
He tried for another, and Jorg elbowed Jarrick’s side, finishing with a punch to his jaw. Using the hilt of the sword as they wrestled, Jorg slammed it into Jarrick's stomach. Then he clasped both fists together driving them into Jarrick's face.
Jarrick fell to his knees dazed. Jorg raised his sword. He only needed to bring it down, and Jarrick would lose his head.
But he couldn’t do it.
Jarrick lurched forward, thrusting his shoulder into Jorg’s stomach and shoving until Jorg’s back slammed against the side of the dais.
Jarrick squeezed his hand around Jorg’s throat, and Jorg clawed at Jarrick's eyes. They grappled, and Jorg pushed Jarrick off him. He caught sight of the dagger down by his feet, but, Jarrick followed his eyes and dove for the dagger first. Jumping to his feet, his knee either healed or ignored, he roared and slammed the dagger into Jorg's chest.
Jorg's eyes popped wide. He gasped and stumbled backward. Jarrick let go of the handle and stared at his son. Jorg slid to the ground, coming to rest with his back against the platform and his legs straight out. Jarrick crouched down and stared at what he’d done.
The dark elf’s brows pinched together. His head shook side to side as if he were confused. He reached out and touched two fingers to Jorg's cheek, appearing stunned. Jorg saw the regret in his eyes. The life they could have shared, gone.
Ingrid—I hope you hear me. I love you.
Jorg didn't have the strength to keep his mental barriers in place. His eyes fluttered, and he fought to keep them open.
A shrill scream rang above all other sounds. Jarrick spun on his heels staying low as Galwain sprinted toward him. He stood and shoved her backward with both hands. Flying off her feet, she landed on her backside. Jarrick watched her scramble to get her feet under her and try to make another charge, but he didn’t notice Bremen.
Jorg saw him though. The brothers met each other's gaze; Jorg's tired and fading, Bremen's desperate and pleading.
I think I would have liked having a brother.
Bremen didn't scream. He didn't shriek. He charged forward like an enraged bull. He pierced Jarrick's chest with his sword and kept going until it went all the way through.
He pulled the sword out. Jarrick swayed on his feet, and Bremen slid the sword through him one more time. The dark elf slumped to the ground. Bremen turned to Jorg and saw that he’d watched it all.
Behind Bremen, the ruvars stopped fighting. It seemed to Jorg that they’d become confused, then shuddered and fell. He swallowed and tipped his chin with a smile.
It took more and more effort for Jorg to catch a breath. He could feel his heart racing like a confused squirrel. Sounds muffled as if he was underwater, but he knew he wasn't. He wanted to rest. He closed his eyes and let himself lean further and further till his cheek met the cool tile. Then silence and peace enveloped him.
46
Ingrid
Ingrid didn’t know where her body ended and the sweet amber that surrounded her began. Since the magic threads had snapped into place, she’d floated free. Vaguely, she knew that she used to be different. It didn’t bother her. She had no worries, yet something tugged at her occasionally as if trying to draw her away from the peaceful bliss.
It had been easy to ignore at first, but it had grown more insistent. In the distance of her mind, she recognized that she’d known another life once. Thinking about that made her feel cold, and she’d shove the thoughts away. Nothing could be better than where she was.
There was that buzzing again. Like a persistent fly in summer. Ingrid furrowed her brow. She remembered flies . . . maybe. Were they important? She didn’t think so. The more she thought, the more she remembered that they weren’t. They were pests. Why would she bother thinking about pests when she floated in bliss?
Then the buzz turned to a hum. A soft song that made a ripple in the amber, and she liked it. She let herself sway. When the hum grew louder, she listened on purpose, trying to determine the source. Ingrid’s eyes were open, her heart was beating, and she could move if she wanted. When she looked around, everything was amber and without form.
I think that’s odd. There should be shapes.
For the first time, she wondered if she’d forgotten too much. Perhaps she should be somewhere else? The hum grew louder and turned into muffled words. Ingrid reached out and waved her hand through the thickness. A voice carried through to her as a woman called her name.
Who is out there? Would you like to join me?
The thought occurred to her that she was alone. It would be nice to have company as she enjoyed the peaceful space. When she didn’t hear the voice again, she grew worried. The amber crowded her. It didn’t feel restful anymore. She wasn’t floating; it trapped her. Like a fly! The substance grew thicker. If she didn’t get out right away, she never would.
Help! Please help me!
She hoped the singing woman had heard her. It was harder to move her arms, and she wasn’t sure if her eyes were open any longer.
“Can you hear me?”
Yes!
The woman’s voice was clear that time, so Ingrid replied quickly. Here I am. I can’t move. Can you come to me?
“Do you remember who you are?”
That was an odd question. She knew who she was. Didn’t she? She was . . . her mind was blank. There were no memories to draw upon. She knew she had a name and a different life once. Yes, she remembered that, but what was it? Why didn’t she know? An ache grew in her temples.
“Search your heart. Allow yourself to feel what your mind doesn’t remember.”
Wiggling and uncomfortable within the amber liquid, she tried to do as the woman said. It was hard to concentrate as her surroundings grew more restrictive.
Suddenly, her heart squeezed, and her memories flooded back. Faces flashed into her mind; Jorg, Selby, Plintze, Bremen, her parents, her brother, and Selby’s sister. Then she recognized the voice, too.
“Eir, please help me,” she called.
“I’m here, child, but you must help yourself. When you bound the spell, you released your own essence as well. You need to draw from the amber and allow the Yggdrasil to restore you.”
“How? It’s becoming harder to move.”
“Ingrid, concentrate. There isn’t much time.”
Ingrid heard the urgency in Eir’s voice. Something wasn’t right, and she couldn’t figure out what. She had to bring the amber into her body, even though it no longer flowed like liquid. When she’d first touched the tree, there had been light. Then she remembered how the thread of her magic and the spell had shown with a brilliant golden shimmer. Though her eyes were closed, she searched.
There . . . just out of reach . . . a speck of gold. She willed it to come closer, and it grew larger as it did. By the time it brushed the tips of her fingers, it was large enough to fill her palm. She squeezed it, and light flared through her body.
A moment of excruciating pain coursed through her, and the
n she lay on the ground gasping for air. Grass tickled her cheek, and a gentle hand rubbed her shoulder. Turning, she met Eir’s gaze. The goddess smiled at her, and Ingrid sighed.
She rolled to her back, then sat up. They were at the base of the Yggdrasil tree. Everything was at once familiar. Not because she’d been there before, but because she felt connected to it. Invigorated, she rose to her feet and looked around.
“The spell is bound,” she said.
“Yes, you did well.”
“I feel . . .” she let her voice trail off. How did she feel? Stronger, more aware, powerful. Then realization hit her. She’d not been floating, and the amber hadn’t hardened. It had been her own essence seeping away. “How?”
Eir smiled and understood what she asked. “It was what the spell required. To bind the spell, you had to give up your magic, and with that, your life. I couldn’t tell you that because it had to be of your own will that you made the choice.”
She’d known, though. It was the way it would always happen. Regardless if she made the choice herself, the spell required the thread of her magic. The only way to release it was to release herself. But how was she alive?
“The Yggdrasil restored you. I could only call to you and hope you found your way back.
Ingrid looked down at her hands. They seemed the same. She touched her arms, her legs, her face, and she could tell no difference. But inside, everything was new. No longer did she have a thread of magic that coiled in her belly, it flowed through her veins. A thought struck her, and she reached down and touched a blade of grass. Instantly, a stem grew, and a large purple flower blossomed. Ingrid smiled, then snapped her eyes to Eir.
“Can I go home?”
“You can go anywhere you want. You are no longer bound by the laws of a human body.”
“What am I now?”
“Partly the same as you’ve always been—Freya's descendant, only now you are as she is, a goddess immortal.”
The Viking Maiden Box Set Page 71