Dead Embers

by T. G. Ayer

  Turi clapped her hands and giggled. "That is the best part. They have a little magic woven into them."

  "Really?" Despite my dark mood, I was intrigued.

  "Yes, Glasir magic," Turi said, nodding with vigor. "It was Frigga's idea. Melt some of the leaves of the golden tree and mix it with the metal for the chainmail. She thought it might strengthen the mail, and truly it has. All the teams traveling to Midgard will be using them. Fenrir says the metal is almost impenetrable now."

  Glasir-Kevlar. Pretty cool. My last trip to Asgard had been with the normal, heavy and bulky chainmail armor that I'd somehow gotten used to over the last few months.

  I fingered the Glasir leaf curving around my finger, twisting it around and around. It was now my only adornment, my throat conspicuously bare of jewels. I still felt bereft at the loss of my father's pendant. The warmth of the Brisingamen stone had once provided succor and solace through all those times when everything had been too much to handle. With the stone back where it truly belonged, back on the famed and beautiful neck of the goddess Freya, my neck lay bare.

  As far as I was concerned, she could have it. I'd be happy with Aidan back safe and sound.

  "Come now. You must dress and meet the others at the Bifrost." Turi fussed over me like a lady's maid, eager to help me undress, and even though it was perfectly easy getting into the armor, I couldn't swat her away as I would've liked. There were enough people around here with hurt feelings already. So I held my tongue and allowed her to fit me into the new, modernized Valkyrie armor.

  Once dressed, I inspected the armor as it clung to my body like a second skin. I never would have guessed, when it lay flat on the bed, that it would act almost like a body glove, hugging me from neck to toe.

  Turi had also brought a pair of black pants made from a strange, oily leather-like material that felt like velvet. Too weird. A neat black top and a matching black leather-velvet coat completed the ensemble. I liked this new outfit very much, especially the way the coat fell to mid-calf, silky smooth and black as night. Good for hiding amongst shadows.

  One pair of black thick-soled boots later and I was ready to go. But what's the deal with the whole attire change? Turi just shrugged when I asked, so I could do little else besides thank her for her help, collect my sword and leave to meet the team at the transfer room.

  Midgard and Brody waited.

  ***

  The team assembled and exchanged quick greetings. Joshua threw a fleeting, almost nervous grin in my direction. I was about to return it when I realized that he was either a tad cross-eyed or he wasn't looking at me at all. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that his eyes were only for Mika. She stepped up beside me, her long black hair parted in the middle, framing a relaxed, almost bored expression.

  As she tightened her sword belt and checked all her hidden weapons—the knife in her boot, another strapped to her thigh—only the faint pink tinge at her cheeks confirmed she'd noticed Joshua noticing her. I snorted, the sound barely carrying in the melee of pre-departure preparation. But all the noticing going on around me failed to distract me from my worries.

  I refocused my attention. Grabbing an extra sword, I tested its weight, then paused to examine its strange shoulder-strapped scabbard. Let's hope I don't chop my wings off, when and if I need the weapon. I shrugged, then strapped the sword to my back. A girl could never go wrong with a few extra weapons.

  An air of expectation hovered over the group. Warriors, Valkyries and Ulfr alike knew this first journey of our new scout team was a test as much as a mission. The General of the Ulfr Army himself would be present to scrutinize our performances. Talk about pressure.

  I've been through worse. I so can handle the pressure.

  At least I hoped I could.

  The team stood ready, all well-kitted out, and I noted the common element of attire: black coats, dark enough for camouflage, and long enough to hide swords and spears. Thick boots, with strong soles to withstand plenty of running or walking, and high enough to hide more weapons.

  Asgard had moved with the times, no doubt offending the sensibilities of some of the gods. In fact, I wondered what Thor and his brothers thought of the changes in their home realm. Changes like the rich Irish butter we'd spread on the fresh baked bread at our meeting last night. Or even the black olives sprinkled on the Mediterranean-style loaf at dinner two nights ago. And I won't get started on the fresh Brazilian coffee beans.

  We looked like a team of spies, which made sense, since I guess we were going in pretty covertly anyway.

  Fen gave us the all clear, and we closed our eyes. My stomach lurched. I always felt strange on the Asgard Bifrost. Why couldn't it be more like the Muspell Bifrost? On my mission for Freya, the trip back to Asgard from the realm of the fire giants had been the most beautiful by far, almost as if we stood on a bridge spun from the colors of a rainbow. The colors were beyond magnificent, and I often wished our dull, dark and dreary Bifrost would liven itself up a bit. Maybe Stein, the dragon king, could give Odin some pointers. Then at least I'd notice my hurdy-gurdy stomach less.

  We materialized, blinded by bright sunlight, sucking in great gulps of hot air. I blinked against the brightness. A little forewarning would've been nice, Fen. I tugged my sunglasses from my pocket and smashed them onto my face.

  The warmth of sunshine bathed my skin, something I didn't feel very much in Asgard's frigid climes. I sighed, remembering how much I'd loved the sun in my pre-Asgard existence.

  We'd arrived in the plant-filled courtyard of a white-washed double-story house. The team shuffled around as we scanned the area, in case our arrival had been witnessed by an unsuspecting resident of this beautiful home. We waited, but even though dozens of doors opened out onto the courtyard, not a soul stirred.

  Gunfire popped in the distance, and I tensed, throwing a questioning look at Fen, who stood beside a white marble fountain. A thin stream trickled out of the fountain, forming a shallow pond, shaded by a cluster of thirsty palms.

  "These people live in troubled times," Fen said. "The gunfire would be the army who now control most of the city."

  "Where are we, exactly?" I asked, blinking at the fountain, with its tiny blue-and-white tiles fitting together in an elegant mosaic, seeming so incongruously beautiful in a city at war. He'd mentioned North Africa in our meeting, but I hadn't heard any specifics.

  "Cairo, Egypt," Fen answered. "Let's get going."

  "Won't someone notice us?" asked Aimee. "It's not exactly like we blend in, you know."

  Fen glared at her, clearly impatient, and I could tell he was thinking, Weren't you paying attention during all those training sessions in Asgard? But her question was valid. Our pre-mission briefing had been all about scout group issues and how we would be assisting a North African team with a crucial new Retrieval. Fen had totally missed out on the finer details.

  Sigrun stepped forward to save her. "Not all of us," Sigrun said. "The Valkyries and Ulfr will use their glamor. The Warriors will be the only ones that humans can see."

  Aimee's mouth formed a small 'o'. "Glamor? Oh, you make yourself invisible? So people here will only see Joshua and me?"

  Sigrun nodded.

  I hid a smile. Aimee's face said exactly what I was thinking: So not fair. I felt for her, but seriously, we could only lend our glamor to simple things like clothing and weapons. Not a whole other person. And seeing as we were all kitted out in Glasir-enhanced, modern-styled garment, the warriors didn't need our help there.

  "Let's go," Fen grunted.

  He walked to a whitewashed wooden door, which sat right smack in the middle of the high courtyard wall. He listened for a moment, then opened the door and slipped outside. After a second's hesitation, we followed. Joshua sneaked a few peeks at my Ulfr partner, and I schooled my features to hide a smile, and to also temper a frown. I'd never seen him so entranced by a girl. I guess I should have been happy for him.

  I stepped toward Fen, eager to get moving. "Remember, we only h
ave thirty minutes to get to the Khan el-Khalili souk," he snapped. "Pick up the pace." He seemed to know where he was going. Had Fen been here before? The surly wolf-man didn't look like he fit in with the hot, dusty streets.

  Sounds of the souk filtered toward us as we meandered through empty streets. And then we arrived, greeted by the bustle of shoppers and cries of merchants selling every kind of item possible.

  The heat closed in on us, and so did the crush of bodies. Fen barged into the crowd, unconcerned that he couldn't be seen. I followed as best as I could, not keen to be left behind. I scowled. How would we get through this crowd? Our glamor caused a few problems, too.

  We had to maneuver ourselves between bodies, to dodge and weave to avoid collisions. It was no simple task. At least the press of people, busy with daily shopping or touristy sightseeing, made it a little easier to avoid detection. But suddenly I recognized Aimee's envy as misplaced. I would have preferred being visible right then; being an invisible ghost in a crowd was no picnic.

  I grinned, imagining random shoppers shrieking about spirits or djinn in the souk if we so much as bumped into them. My grin disappeared as something small bumped soundlessly into me, my feathers taking the noise and the force of the impact.

  I turned slowly to face a little boy, black hair mussed and sticking up in all angles, each hand filled with a pile of flatbreads, both eyes large as he stared at my abdomen. Shouts along the path made him look over his shoulder, and fear spasmed through his skinny body.

  The poor guy quivered in his faded, filthy kaftan. The little urchin was caught between the men chasing him and the invisible thing that had halted his escape. I stepped slightly to the side and hoped he'd make a run for it, but he stood frozen in place, with his attackers bearing down on him.

  There was nothing else to do.

  I slipped behind him and gave him a swift shove in the middle of his back. The momentum got him moving. He shuddered, throwing one last terrified glance over his shoulder before he turned tail and sped off. I envied his ability to weave in between the throng of people in the street.

  Raucous shouts sounded close behind me, and I turned to see two mean faces, dark with anger, bearing down on me. I didn't stop to think. Just reacted.

  Stepping aside, I waited. Just as they passed me by, I stuck my foot out. The first man went sprawling into the dusty road, colorful robes flying, followed closely by the second, who got a mouthful of souk dust for his efforts. The men yelled, their faces streaked with sweat and dust and livid fury. They spared no time for confusion, just got back to their feet and ran.

  And I grinned again, knowing they'd never find the boy now.

  I threaded my way back to the rest of the team, pausing to allow a loud pot-bellied tourist to pass without knocking me out with his wildly gesticulating hands. Beside me, a chicken squawked, flapping her reddish brown wings and bobbing her little feathered head. She jumped, trying to avoid the grasping fingers of her master, who held a gleaming, chillingly sharp knife in one hand.

  I sympathized with the poor bird. Her end drew near, and she screeched and fluttered about, throwing tiny feathers into the air, bemoaning the inevitable. Both the doomed chicken and I had less than zero chance of changing the way things were meant to be.

  Chapter 14

  Behind me the chicken squawked again. She managed to choke off one last rebellious cry before the thunk of a knife silenced her. I sighed.

  We maneuvered through the raucous throng, admiring the persistence of the sellers, the intensity of the bargaining. A stall filled with little pyramids of spices drew my eye—every color displayed, from deep reds to the brightest yellow of turmeric. Before the multihued table, a woman, covered in black from head to toe, yelled at the stall-owner. She pierced him with lively green and furious eyes, while blasting him with words I'm sure weren't flattering or kind.

  The old man barked back, baring the few remaining teeth within his aged gums. He waved his hands and shouted, upset with the woman, who poked a very long and pointed finger at the man's chest, unfazed by his anger. Possibly she'd insulted his wares. Who knew?

  Their spat meant bad news for me, though. The man swung his hand out, gesturing wildly. He hit me hard on my arm with the back of his hand. I stepped away and held my breath. Just behind me, the rest of the team halted and watched in silence. Joshua and Aimee exchanged worried looks, and Joshua raised his eyebrows at me, in a "What do we do now?" wiggle.

  The old man's olive skin faded to a sickly pallor. His gnarled fingers trembled slightly, but he still held them out, frowning and seeking the mysterious thing he'd struck. His irate customer chided him again, her green eyes glittering, strident voice only increasing in volume, but he'd lost all interest in her. His head swiveled; his eyes darted up and down the street, staring into the bustling crowd. Then his pale eyes stopped, and he gazed right at me.

  Though I knew I remained safely invisible, I shivered, both fear and fascination holding me in place. A frown wrinkled the folds of his ancient skin. He reached a hand out toward my face, as if seeing a ghost and trying to touch it to see if it were corporeal. I backed away, suddenly very afraid that despite the glamor this old man had still seen me.

  Mika slipped past me toward the man's spice-laden tables.

  A crash reverberated from the stall, and red and yellow powder surged out and engulfed us. The old man shrieked and turned his horrified attention back to his wasted spices. The woman who'd fought with him stepped back, covered in spice-dust, and launched into a sneezing fit. Between multiple violent sneezes, she screamed more obscenities at him, her eyes obscured by a film of tears as her nose protested over and over again.

  The poor man ignored her and just wailed at the mess and the loss of his wares. Mika snuck out of the stall and tugged me away.

  "You didn't have to do that."

  She shrugged. "Did you wish me to allow him to touch you? To know that something strange was happening in the souk?"

  "No, but you could have found some other way to distract him," I said. As Mika manhandled me away, I glanced back over my shoulder. The spice vendor's shoulders slumped as he stared at his ruined stall. "You've destroyed his livelihood."

  "Ha. That was one tiny bit of his wares, Bryn. It was just half a dozen bowls of spices, not his entire warehouse." Mika shook her head. "For a Midgardian you are very naive."

  I jerked my sleeve from her grasp and glared at her. What the hell did she mean by calling me naïve? But before I could confront her, we ran into Fen.

  "What's the problem?" he asked, his forehead a field of furrows.

  "Some guy bumped into me," I snapped. I heard the belligerent tone in my voice. Too late to retract it. "Mika had to create a distraction."

  "It is fine now. The man is otherwise occupied," said Mika.

  "Yeah. Otherwise occupied with the destruction of his property." I glared at her.

  Fen watched the interplay, saying nothing. He glanced beyond us at the stall, where the disturbance had drawn a small crowd.

  "Let us go. We do not have the time to waste." He turned on his heel, and we had no choice but to move fast and follow him.

  Fen led us up two steps into a small alleyway, still lined with hawkers. He took the stone steps in a single stride. As I climbed the step, I noted the crumbling edges and the erosion, aware and slightly awed that this place went back into history; we walked the same road as the ancient Egyptians, our feet sharing the same dust and the heat as the sweat-ridden pyramid builders, the harried slaves of the long-dead Pharaohs and fervent worshippers of mighty gods like Ra and Isis. I may have been a real living breathing Valkyrie, but I still reveled in the wonder and amazement of what the world—Midgard—had to offer.

  I inhaled the richness of grilled meats and the warm freshness of mint tea as Fen threaded his way through the busy little street, and I tried to keep up.

  Good thing I didn't blink.

  Fen made a sudden, sharp left into a small shop, identical at first glance to
every other little stand on the street, except for the product they offered. The stall was heavy with carpets. Rugs hung from the ceiling above us and covered the walls around us, displaying a multitude of designs in rich gold and deep reds. A skinny, cramped passage snaked between piles of rugs and mats stacked in towers and little heaps, some neat and tidy, others threatening to tip over if you so much as breathed beside them.

  The stall seemed way too tiny for the whole team to fit within its confines, but we all managed to edge inside. Fen approached a thin, tall man encased in a long, white, traditional kaftan, bent low over a stack of Hessian-wrapped carpets, coarse black curls sticking up around his fez. We lurked close to the entrance as Fen and the man spoke, the grumble of their words low and unintelligible. We remained alert, our eyes flitting from passersby to the carpet-seller, ready for anything.

  When the two men ended their conversation, Fen beckoned us with a swift flick of his fingers. I glanced at the team behind me, at Joshua and Aimee, who stood, arms linked, the epitome of a tourist couple, inspecting the thread count of a colorful rug at the entrance of the stall.

  Fen pointed at the back of the stall, slowly edging further inside. The carpet-seller nodded vigorously and followed him. Joshua scowled as they passed, clearly not enjoying the whole tourist act. Poor guy. Guess it wasn't fun being visible when the rest of us were safely glamored.

  I shuffled toward Fen—who surprised me by disappearing between a flap of parted carpets.

  Well, who would've thought? The whole bank of shop fronts gave the impression of backing onto solid walls, but it was an illusion. I pulled the carpet aside and found a blue painted door, propped open by a rickety wooden stool.

  We snuck through, one at a time, the last Ulfr dropping the carpet closed and hesitating, as if unsure if he were meant to close the door behind him.

  "Leave it!" I whispered. Fen hadn't even paused to check if we followed. No lights lit our way; I didn't want to lose sight of him.