by Amy C. Blake
7
A Bride Named Thor
“You’re so good at this,” Morgan told Levi a few days later in archery class, right after he shot an arrow into the white outer rim of his target. As soon as they’d arrived at the archery mound, she’d darted into the spot next to his—the one he’d been saving for Sara—and had been talking to him non-stop since the lesson began, earning him more than one dirty look from the instructor, Mr. Sylvester. Levi wished the staff had separated the younger kids out for archery and the other activities, like they had for the academic subjects.
But they hadn’t, and for the last several minutes, instead of shooting arrows toward her own target, Morgan had done nothing but toss compliments his way while he tried to focus. He smiled and said thanks, but it was getting old. Distracting, too, because he wasn’t great, despite the fact that this was the third week of camp already. But then he’d had no chance to practice during the school year. When he’d asked about getting a bow and arrow, his mom had looked horrified. Instead, she’d gotten him a plastic bow and rubber-tipped arrows, which all broke within days.
And the fencing lessons he’d begged his dad for . . . there was no way they could afford them on a pastor’s salary, especially with four kids to feed. Even with Levi shoveling snow and doing odd jobs for people from church, the cost was way too high. Worse, it was clear Hunter hadn’t had to practice against a nine-year-old with a plastic sword. During fencing lessons the day before, he’d beaten Levi in five seconds flat. That was after Levi dropped the sword and nearly chopped off his own foot, despite the lightweight protective sheath intended to make it impossible for the kids to hurt themselves. Or each other—unless, of course, they managed to dislodge the sheath during the fight as Hunter had done against Levi in the Camp Classic Olympics the year before.
“You’re a natural archer.” Morgan’s words almost made Levi laugh out loud as his arrow soared well above the mound and into the trees beyond. He hoped none of Albert’s brothers were doing any groundskeeping back there. Nobody yelped or screamed in agony, which was a good sign.
He turned a frown on Morgan. “Are you messing with me?”
A blush darkened her cheeks. “Of course not.”
“Why do you keep saying I’m so good at stuff when I’m not even halfway decent?” He didn’t want to sound rude, but enough was enough. He enjoyed compliments like the next guy, but only the ones he deserved.
“I’m just trying to be nice. I want to be your friend.” She ground a dandelion beneath the toe of her shoe. “It’s hard to find friends here.”
Levi bit his lip. He’d noticed Morgan off by herself most of the time. Except when she was following him around. “Listen, you don’t have to compliment me all the time. I’ll be your friend without all that.” He hoped he didn’t regret the offer.
“Really?” Her pale blue eyes lit up like marbles in sunshine.
He gave her a crooked smile. “Really.”
Literature class the next morning brought answers to two of Levi’s questions: what the summer play would be and why he wouldn’t like Mr. Austin’s “treat.” The moment he stepped into class, the short, stumpy dwarf fixed his beady eyes on him. A grim smile twisted his lips. “Here’s my star,” he said in a way that made Levi’s blood run cold.
He sank into his seat. Star? Why did that sound so horrifying?
Once everyone was seated, Mr. Austin began his lecture. “This summer, we’ll study the Norse myths. Since last summer’s play was such a success . . .” The dwarf paused in apparent expectation. A few people clapped.
Levi smacked his palms together a few times, though he wasn’t so sure he’d call The Trojan Horse a success. There wasn’t anything wrong with the play itself, but considering that Nydia Sylvester had used the horse prop to smuggle Sara to Deceptor and that the elf herself ended up dying in a fight that still gave Levi nightmares . . . well, he’d pretty much decided he wouldn’t help build props for this summer’s play, no matter how cool they were.
Oblivious to the weak reaction, Mr. Austin gave a grandiose nod. “This year’s play is based on a favorite figure from Norse mythology and is comedic rather than tragic. It’s built around Thor, the god of thunder. In our story, the giant king, Thrymr, steals Mjolnir, Thor’s famed hammer, and buries it eight leagues under the earth in an effort to compel the beautiful goddess Freyja to marry him. Instead, the mighty Thor arrays himself in bridal finery and tricks the giant into thinking he’s Freyja. When Thrymr returns Mjolnir in exchange for his ‘bride,’ Thor reveals himself and slays all of the giants.”
The teacher rocked back on his heels as if pleased with himself. “We’ll have tryouts for all but one of the parts. Since Thor is known for his flame-red hair, our star actor is already set.” The teacher’s eyes pinned Levi to his desk.
Heat flooded up Levi’s neck, across his face, and into his flame-red curls. “Me?” His voice came out a squeak reminiscent of Trevor’s the summer before.
Mr. Austin’s triumphant smile soured slightly. “Of course. Who else?”
A loud snort erupted from the back of the classroom where Hunter sat with Martin. Tittering and giggles sounded all around Levi.
“But . . .” He glanced wildly around the room. Surely there was someone else with red hair. “But . . .” He didn’t see anybody. “I can’t . . . because . . . um, I can’t act.” He gave the teacher a look of desperation. “Maybe you could use a wig?”
Mr. Austin scowled at him. “You’re Thor, boy. Get used to it.”
He sank back against his chair. “What’s the play?”
“I’ve titled it A Bride Named Thor.”
A low groan escaped Levi’s numb lips. He was doomed.
Levi walked around in a stupor the rest of the day, shoulders slumped, head hung low. He did his best to ignore both his friends’ congratulations on winning the part (as if he’d wanted it) and Hunter’s jeers about how his scrawny legs would look in a dress (so much for a stress-free summer). He had to think of some way to get out of the stupid play.
He considered coloring his hair, but he didn’t have a way to get the dye. He could shave his head, but he didn’t have a razor and it would just grow back anyway. Maybe if he just flat-out refused, didn’t learn his lines or something. Or what if he threw himself down the spiral staircase and broke a leg? Then he certainly couldn’t be made to play Thor running around in some ridiculous wedding dress.
He heaved a massive sigh. No way he’d do any of that. He’d just have to pray he survived the embarrassment. At least there was one good thing in this whole mess—Deceptor couldn’t use this play as a way to kidnap Sara. No horses to hide her in this time.
He smiled grimly at the thought as he walked past the open kitchen door. And stopped cold. For the first time all week, the room was devoid of workers. He shot a quick glance up and down the empty hallway. Since it was mid-afternoon, all the kids must’ve gone outside to enjoy the sunshine, and the staff must not have been ready to start supper preparations yet.
Levi slipped into the kitchen and peered around. When he didn’t see anyone hidden behind the cabinets, he slunk over to the cellar door. He pressed his ear to the old wood, careful not to wiggle around and get a splinter in his cheek.
Although he listened for a long time, he heard nothing. Whoever had banged so loudly before must have been gone. Or maybe they didn’t have the energy to pound anymore. The thought made his heart twinge. What if a sailor really was trapped down there, lying on the stone steps beyond the thin panel? Just beyond the bright kitchen that smelled of cherry pie, breathing in his last puffs of moldy air, starving and desperate for some hint of help, of humanity?
Levi clenched his jaw. He couldn’t leave the poor guy to die. No rule was worth that. His fingers trembled as they inched toward the knob. Dare he defy Mr. Dominic? Yes. Somebody had to behave like a decent human being around here. He’d open the door, whether Mr. Dominic liked it or not.
Wrenching the handle hard to the right, Lev
i yanked. The door popped open. At the same moment, a strong breeze from behind slammed it shut. Blinking in confusion, he peered around the now-still kitchen. Where had the wind come from?
The windows along the back wall were shut. Only the door to the hallway stood open. Maybe it was some sort of backdraft from the cellar? Strange. With a shrug, he pulled the door open once more. This time he wedged his hip against it to make sure it didn’t slam.
Before him, a yawning cavern of blackness devoured the light. Stale air seeped into the kitchen, souring the sweetness. He covered his nose with his sleeve and crept forward a few millimeters. As he peered down into the darkness, his entire body quaked with the cold damp slithering around his ankles. And something more sinister he couldn’t identify.
“Hello?” His voice came out the tiniest whisper. He needed to speak up. If the sailor was unconscious, he wouldn’t be able to hear his pitiful mewling.
“Hello?” Levi moved into the darkness, edging one foot in front of the other, trying to find the first step down. Why was the blackness so complete? Why didn’t the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows penetrate it?
“Is anybody down there?” His voice came out louder this time, but it echoed indistinctly as though slogging through a vast, soggy cave.
When no answer came, Levi knew he had to make a decision: slam the door and run, or go down those steps.
He inched forward, eyes straining, feeling with his feet for the step while half-expecting to find the body of some pathetic sailor. Would it be warm and alive? Or cold and stiff, like Miss Nydia’s?
The stone floor ended beneath the toe of his right shoe. Before he could stoop down and check the steps, something caught his ankle and yanked. Though Levi opened his mouth to scream, no sound came.
A slamming sound echoed in his ears.
Utter darkness pressed against his wide-open eyes.
His body dropped, weightless but for the heavy clamp on his right ankle.
8
In the Cellar
Levi landed on his feet. His knees buckled and he sat down hard. The darkness was so complete he couldn’t make out any light from beneath the kitchen door. He squeezed his eyes shut tight until stars appeared behind his lids. He rubbed his aching knees. How far had he dropped? Why hadn’t he hit the cellar steps as he fell? And—his eyes flew open at the thought—where was the thing that yanked him into this black pit?
Levi peered around blindly. The blackness seemed somehow darker after the shooting stars behind his lids. Panic gripped his throat. His breathing grew raspy and shallow. Little blue lights popped in his peripheral vision. He was suffocating under the weight of the moist darkness.
Why had he disobeyed Mr. Dominic’s rule? Why had he ignored the wind that slammed the door in his face? After last summer, he should’ve known better than to ignore the warning.
Levi forced himself to breathe out, willed his wildly pounding heart to steady. He rubbed his sore knees in rhythmic circles until the little lights stopped popping and the sound of his breathing evened in his ears. The dankness pressed in until his skin grew cold and clammy, slowly raising goose bumps.
As his heartbeat settled into a more normal rhythm, he forced himself to think. How was he going to get out of here? He couldn’t see a thing, so he’d have to depend on his other senses to find an exit.
He sniffed the air. The stench of rancid water filled his nostrils, and his stomach churned. He gagged then made himself swallow back the hot bile. Throat burning, Levi scrabbled with his hands across the floor. Cold stone, gritty and damp, scratched the pads of his fingers. He reached farther and scraped his knuckles against a jagged edge. He stuck his stinging knuckles in his mouth, and a metallic taste coated his tongue.
Blood.
His heart rate kicked into a higher gear. What else was down here with him? Would it smell his blood? His breathing shallowed, and he had to go through his calming routine once more.
After a moment, he heard something. A faint dripping then a light splash. A harsh, low rhythmic swooshing like the bellows being worked on the blacksmith’s fire at Greenfield Village.
He hunched inward, listening, trying to understand what he was hearing.
Then he figured it out: breathing.
Not his own, but that of something nearby. Something not at all like a poor sailor from Lake Superior. More like that hooded monster from the staff play.
Trying not to breathe, he held his bleeding fingers in his mouth so that maybe, just maybe, the creature wouldn’t smell his blood and come after him.
A loud shuffling sound forced a gasp from between his lips. Light blinded him.
Levi blinked furiously, shielding his eyes with his hands. When his vision finally adjusted, he wished it hadn’t. A creature with a blazing torch stood barely two feet from him. Bare except for a loincloth, the creature—obviously masculine—was purest white, including long, sleek hair. His eyes were pinkish-white, except for the pupils, which were dilated to a pinpoint. Muscles bulged over his entire body.
Levi wanted to run, but he didn’t dare look away from the creature studying him with those freaky albino eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Levi,” he croaked out.
“Why have you come to my domain?”
“Your domain?” Despite his terror, a part of Levi’s mind wondered if this thing had assumed the color of his surroundings, a natural camouflage against the pale sandstone walls of what clearly wasn’t a normal cellar. It looked more like an underground cavern.
“Yes.” He took a menacing step forward. “My domain.”
Levi scooted backward on his rear. No problem. Your domain. A knife-sharp stone bit into his back—the bottom step? Would this creature let him escape? “I, um . . . I thought a sailor was down here and so I came to help him.”
The massive head angled to one side. “A sailor? Those pasty creatures that wash up from down under?”
Pasty? Levi had never seen skin pastier than this guy’s, but he didn’t think it would be wise to say so.
“They come here every so often, and I take care of them.” The creature dug a long nail between pointed fangs.
Levi wished there were a bathroom nearby because suddenly he really had to go. “What . . . what do you do with them?”
Grinning, he bared an entire mouth full of the sharp white teeth. “Same thing I’ll do with you.”
9
Regin of the Dvergar
“Take you to my master.”
Levi shrank into the stone step, feeling the skin shred from his back. “Your master?”
The creature lifted hands like big white spiders, giving Levi a view of the silver shackles on his wrists, so thin he hadn’t seen them at first against the white skin. The bands looked tight—too tight to be slipped off. And strong.
“Deceptor is my master.” The creature’s shoulders slumped slightly.
“Deceptor?” Oh, God, get me out of this!
An irritable grunt, then, “Are you a parrot, boy?”
Levi blinked. “You know about parrots?”
“Of course. Do you think I’ve lived here always?” He shot a derisive glance around the dark, smelly chamber.
Levi half-shrugged.
“I have not.” The pale eyes fixed on him again. “Now rise. We’ve a long way to go.”
“But,” Levi said as he slowly stood, “can’t you just let me go back upstairs?” He darted a glance behind him, just long enough to glimpse jagged gray steps. After his obsession with getting back to Terracaelum and with finding out what was in the cellar, now all he wanted was to go home to his parents. “You could pretend you never saw me.” He turned pleading eyes on the creature. “No need for Deceptor to know anything about it, and I’ll never try to come back, I promise.”
His captor seemed to waver for an instant, sending a shot of hope through Levi’s heart.
“No.” He paused. “No, I cannot. He would surely find out.”
“Please?”
Levi sent another glance back, but he couldn’t see even a sliver of light in the hovering darkness, much less the outline of the kitchen door. How far had he fallen? And how had he managed not to break his neck?
A cold, brittle grip to his wrist drove all other thoughts from his mind. He whipped around to find the creature’s pinpoint black pupils inches from his face. He gasped and inhaled putrid, icy breath.
“Come.”
Levi had no choice but to obey, but his eyes searched the walls, dim in the flickering torchlight. He had to get out of this mess. But how?
Maybe if he could convince the creature to pity him, to see him as human. But what if human meant supper? Ugh. Still, he had to try. Deceptor sure wouldn’t show any compassion. “What’s your name?”
“Regin of the Dvergar.”
The Dvergar? So this was one of the dark dwarves Albert had warned him about an eon ago, before he’d so foolishly opened the cellar door. Why was he called a dark dwarf when he was so very pale?
His heart. Albert had called the Dvergar black-hearted. Evil through and through.
Then there was no hope.
But he couldn’t just give up. “My name’s Levi Prince.”
Regin lifted his smooth white eyebrows in a look that plainly said he didn’t care.
“I’m just a kid, you know. I’m not a threat to your master.” He chose not to think of the battle he’d fought with Deceptor the summer before. After all, he hadn’t been the one to stab the shape-shifter.
Regin gave his wrist a sharp twist.
“Ouch!”
“Do not attempt persuading me to release you.” A tortured look flashed across the dwarf’s face. “I cannot do it.”
Maybe he wasn’t so black-hearted after all. “Why not?” Levi tried to rub his wrist and ended up stumbling on the slick rock floor.