by Lola Gabriel
But the boys weren’t there. Two bears seemed to be fighting on the shore. The red of blood from scratches and bites was running out into the water, coloring the foam.
Irna was going to call, to sit up properly and take a better look, but the enchantment overcame her, and she dropped down into blankets and furs and slept.
26
Axel
Axel leaned toward Ingar. “You’re telling us this whole rivalry—this whole… the reason for years of hate and for Keira’s life hanging in the balance—is because our fathers were into the same girl?”
“Into?” Ingar raised his eyebrows questioningly. “If you mean they shared an infatuation, then yes. They did.”
Chance scoffed. “I don’t believe you. That’s not enough! My father was more sensible than that!”
“Was he?” Ingar asked, “He isn’t now, I can tell you that. And neither is my son. They got into a fight over her. More than a scuffle. They were lucky the witches were around to heal them, or else either or both could be dead.” Axel bit his lower lip. At least his own mess was about his mate.
“But she couldn’t have been bonded to either of them. She wasn’t… isn’t a shifter. Why would they fight over her?”
Ingar laughed. “Hurt pride? I can’t tell you. I don’t know. High blood and youth. Embarrassment, maybe. She didn’t want either of them, and they both felt the need to prove their power and their masculinity. Only they can answer. If you asked them now, they wouldn’t tell you, and in your time, I’m afraid you are too late.
Axel’s head was spinning. The time travel, the alcohol, the smoke from the fire, the idea of his father as a foolish young man making mistakes… But worse, his father standing by those mistakes later, letting them harm Axel, Chance, Keira, two whole packs.
“I know,” Ingar told Chance and Axel, “your fathers are not people to you. Not really. At least not people who could have made such grave mistakes. But we all change, and we can all be stupid. Hell, my first instinct was to claw you two in half. I told you that. We learn to control ourselves, to make better decisions. Perhaps your fathers died before they had finished that growing.” It was hard to see in the dimming firelight, but Axel was almost sure Ingar wiped his eyes.
“Why should we believe you?” Chance questioned. “How do we know any of this is real? We might be asleep on the floor of the Ambrosia House, or you might be lying to us about this entire situation.” Ingar smiled, apparently recovered from his moment of emotion.
“I thought you might ask that.” He put a hand in either pocket and drew out two pieces of parchment.
Axel and Chance moved closer to see them. In Ingar’s left hand was the scroll they had brought, unmistakable, its Ambrosia seal carefully broken, the parchment brown with age and the ink of its message fading to yellowish. In his right was a flat piece of parchment without seal. It was brand new, roughly pressed, still stiff. The marks of ink on it were clear. Both parchments bore the same message.
The Packs of the Southeastern Territories of the Northern Lands will forever remain united in friendship.
No dispute, no marriage, no quarrel or war will break this alliance. This is, has, and always will be true.
Signed, Northern alphas: Alasdair of the east, Ingar of the south.
On this day, October 15, 1618.
“This one,” Ingar said, holding up the new parchment, “was signed just last week by myself and Alasdair. This,” he said, holding up the old one, “was, as you will have deduced, given to you by your own Ambrosia Coven. I don’t know what happened to it in the meantime, but I have kept it with me since it was written up, and I intend for it to be stashed with my will and testament. I would rethink where I secrete it, but I know that what has been and what is and what will be… are. And you are here now.”
Axel could hardly breathe. What did this mean for him and Keira? It depended on Chance, he supposed, and on finding that cure.
“Perhaps it has been leading up to this,” Ingar went on. “There will be a bonding ceremony when you return to your time. Our clans will be one.”
Chance let out something oddly like a squeak. Then he said, “We need to find that cure, or there’s no chance of any of that.”
Axel nodded his head, although had no idea if anyone saw. Ingar smiled, like he knew some great secret. Perhaps he did.
“Yes,” he said, “my alpha-cubs. The fire is dying down, and the food and drink are gone. Let’s head to the Ambrosia Coven and see what they can do.” He stood and stretched, looking almost like another dark-shadowed tree. “We’re too tired and too intoxicated to shift. We will take the sleds.”
Ingar called to his men, who kicked snow over their own fire and then over the fire the three alphas had been sitting around. The six men headed down a dark path, barely discernable through the trees. For a moment, it occurred to Axel to be worried, but he batted this away. He knew that Ingar believed them. What else had the last few hours been about? They had been tied to trees, helpless. Ingar wouldn’t let them down to toy with them. He wondered if Chance knew this.
When they were in step, he muttered to his companion, “You okay?”
“Think so,” came Chance’s calm reply. Axel was surprised at how measured he sounded. After only five or so minutes of walking, they heard the rough barks of the dogs. The beautiful white and grey creatures soon came into view, huddled for warmth, wagging their tales to see their masters.
Axel knew dog sleds well. They both still had huskie packs and had regularly used them for medium-distance transport before ATVs and snowmobiles. But not since their very youngest days had they been on wooden sleds with hide covered seatbacks, rushing through forest pathways. It was amazing what the body unlearned, Axel thought as he worried about his expensive jacket ripping on the branches. He tried to remember how to lean against the turns with no seatbelt and no give of fiberglass and modern alloy.
Both Axel and Chance were swearing under their breaths.
“Is that normal language, when you’re from?” asked Ingar with the slightest bit of haughtiness.
“Actually, it pretty much is,” Chance replied against the wind, and Axel had to shout his agreement.
“You know how fast things change now, Grandfather?” Ingar grunted in the affirmative. “They change a thousand times faster when we’re from.” Axel paused, unsure whether he should finish. In the end, he added, “Don’t worry, you’ll see some of it.”
“Not the iPhone, though!” Chance yelled. “Lucky for him.” Axel laughed.
“Right. You know Byron was proud of sending that emergency text, because his is pretty much for show.” Chance cackled.
“I was wondering what that was all about! We have some that are the same!”
“Well,” Ingar said, “looks like there are some things I will never understand, and this conversation is one of them.”
27
Chance
The dogs knew to wait at the gates of the Ambrosia House. It took a few minutes, but when the witch got there, she greeted Ingar and opened the gates. The two shook hands.
“Imelda,” said Ingar.
“Ingar,” said the witch, Imelda.
There were balls of orange light dancing up the driveway, illuminating them all dimly. Not competing well with the night. Ingar and the witch walked up front, heads close together. No doubt he was explaining what they had come for.
“Why do I feel like a child in trouble with his teacher?” Axel asked Chance, who chuckled.
“I think that’s what this is, right? Our elders disapprove.”
Axel sighed. “Seems like it’s our elders who made the mess.”
Chance said nothing, but silently, he agreed. If this was true, it made a mockery of his entire time as alpha, of his beliefs about his father, himself, his pack… and about Keira and Axel.
They stepped into the entryway of the Ambrosia Coven’s house. It was the same house they had been in earlier—or, Chance thought, later—but nothing was as big. There
were fewer branching corridors. The lights were all those floating orbs, which gave everything a warm glow but also made it hard to see details. It was still a large and confusing and potentially illusionary space. Just on a slightly smaller scale.
Perhaps it was because the light was dim, but the witch who had collected them from the gate came very close up to their faces. She looked at Axel, her eyes very wide, her eyebrows and wild hair just like Agnes’, though she was older.
“Oh, yes,” she said to Ingar. “He’s yours, isn’t he? Strong family resemblance.” She raised her bushy eyebrows at Ingar. “Good for you. He’s a looker. Is he as intelligent?” Ingar smiled serenely.
“It would be rude to say in front of them, Imelda.” The witch seemed to gather herself and remember she wasn’t just with an old friend.
“Of course.” She stood up straighter, turning to Chance. “And you,” she said, “a Harstrom! My goodness, you have that same resolve in your eyes. Green is never to be fully trusted. In nature, it comes and goes with the seasons. I hope you make it work for you, young alpha.” The old witch stood and looked them up and down a while longer, and then she said, “Come,” ushering them down the corridor in front of them.
To Chance’s surprise, after a few minutes’ walk, they ended up in what seemed to be the same living room they had left from. There was a fire burning in the grate. The room was large and grand, as before, except that the furniture was far more rustic, and the sconce lights had been replaced by those balls of hanging orange. Chance looked at Axel, questioning. Axel shrugged.
“Do you have a cure?” Chance demanded. “Did Ingar explain?”
Imelda smiled. Her lips were chapped. “Of course he explained. There has been strife between you two, no? Your packs?”
“Yes,” Alex said, both he and Chance nodding. “But that’s not—” Imelda waved a hand at him.
“Oh, it is!” she chirped. “You know, I was there, just a few years ago, when your fathers had that ridiculous fight. The girl, she was gifted; she was beautiful. I can see why they fell for her. But she was flighty, and she was going home. She was homesick the entire time she was here. We would hear her crying sometimes at night. And those boys… She wanted their friendship, probably still does. They nearly ripped one another to pieces and got their wounds full of dirty seawater and grit. It was lucky we were there.”
“Right,” Chance said, “Ingar told us. But if you can fix them, why can’t you fix Keira?”
“Oh!” Imelda laughed again. “We can. Of course.”
“You can now, but can’t you in the future? In our time?” Ingar handed Chance the scroll they had arrived with, tied back up, this time in a bow.
“Of course!” Imelda said. “Apparently, we only get wilier. I’m proud of the sister who sent you to us.”
Ingar nodded his assent. Imelda pulled a birch branch from her robes, its end a fork. She began to whisper incantations.
“No!” Chance cried. “What are you doing?”
Just as he was about to ask if it was a spell of protection or something to take back to Keira, Ingar called, “Goodbye, you two! Good luck!”
Chance felt what seemed to be hands on his shoulders. He looked at Ingar, at Axel, as if they might have been the hands of one of the men, and the last thing he saw before his feet were ripped from beneath him was the whites of Axel’s eyes.
Landing on a wooden floor was different from landing in a snowdrift.
“Ah!” Chance shouted when his back thumped into the floor.
Seconds later, Axel landed on the sofa, yelled, and rolled off onto a rug.
“Jesus!” Chance exclaimed. “What if we’d landed in the fire?” Agnes, who was cross-legged on an armchair, shrugged.
“Very unlikely,” she said, “given the size of this room. And of this house.” She thought for a second. “Inside a wall would be more likely. And then I suppose you’d suffocate.” The witch smiled, and Chance hadn’t the slightest idea whether or not she was joking.
“What the hell, Agnes?” Axel almost yelled as he jumped up to his feet. “We were looking for— Why didn’t you tell us what we were looking for? Why do I feel like I’ve been taken for a fool?”
Chance was pleased to see some anger from Axel. It had been lacking from his fellow alpha, like Chance had been cursed with carrying it all.
“We don’t have anything,” Chance said. “All that happened was talking, and then, a witch— Imelda, she—”
“Ah!” Agnes smiled. “Aunt Imelda. Always a little severe, eh?”
“We don’t have the cure!” Chance screamed. He was sure his sister must be near death already. He could hardly breathe thinking of it; imagining her face, her slowed breathing…
“Is she?” Axel chipped in. “Is she still alive? Can we see her? I need to see her!” Chance felt no annoyance at Axel’s demands. Not this time. He seconded the need.
“Right,” he said, “let me see my sister. Let us see Keira.”
“So you’re a ‘we’ now? A team?” Agnes asked, still sitting casually on her chair. Chance rubbed his hand through his greasy hair. When had they last slept, apart from being knocked unconscious by strange shifters in the past? He could barely think.
“For this,” Axel replied, “yes. You made us a team. But obviously, you were wrong, because we failed. We have nothing.” He opened his palms to show they were empty. Chance pulled the scroll out of his pocket and threw it at Agnes’ feet.
“Here’s this back. Fat lot of good it did.” Then he and Axel flopped down on the sofa, bone tired. They began to pull off their outdoor clothes, sweltering in the heat of the fire, piling them on the sofa beside them.
28
Axel
Picking up the rolled parchment and sitting down on the armchair with her feet to the floor, like a normal person, Agnes grinned. “I see Ingar got this?”
“How…?” Axel was too tired to even finish his sentence. All he wanted was to see Keira. He could feel her near, like she was calling to him. Her body was calling to his. Even if these were his last moments with her, he needed them. He would pack them up and keep them with him as long as he lived.
Agnes pointed at the bow on the parchment. “I only knew Ingar in his later years, but he was always very neat. Good with knots. I would tease him for it.”
“I’m going to see her, Agnes.” Axel stood up. “I don’t have time for this.” Chance was right behind him, standing as well. Axel put a hand on his shoulder, a thanks for the solidarity or something. They hadn’t taken a step when Agnes got to her feet.
“You will see her when I say you can see her,” the witch boomed. She seemed much taller than before. Axel didn’t know whether it was shock or magic that made both Chance and himself quickly sit down again. “You will see Keira again. Soon,” Agnes said. “First, tell me what Ingar told you.” There was a pause as the men waited on one another to speak. Then Chance spoke, once again in his gruff and grumpy voice.
“Well, first his men knocked us out and tied us to trees.”
“You could have warned us,” Axel added. “About a few things, actually.”
Agnes Ambrosia, back to being petite and sitting cross-legged, her hair large and wild, smiled and shrugged. “It would have defeated the point, which I’m surprised you haven’t grasped yet.”
Axel looked at Chance, Chance at Axel. They were both too worn down and worried to have their heads messed with.
“What?” Axel demanded. “What’s the point?” Agnes allowed for a dramatic pause. Witches were so irritating.
“What did you learn from Ingar?”
“Our fathers were fighting over a girl,” Chance answered. “They were young and stupid. Our lives have been a damn lie.” Agnes nodded slowly.
“A little harshly put, but essentially, yes.”
“Hang on,” Axel said, the fog clearing from his brain for a moment. “The parchment. The new parchment. That parchment, but before. What happened to it? Its binding, where did it go?” Agn
es waved the aged version of the agreement between Axel’s and Chance’s tribes.
“Its binding?” she echoed. Axel looked at Chance.
“Where was it?” Chance asked. Agnes put the parchment down, seemingly shelving her question for later.
“Buried,” she said. “Axel, your father buried it. It was in a box, safe from decay. Perhaps he knew one day he would want it, get over his childish feud. But he didn’t live to see that day.” She glanced at Chance. “Don’t get any ideas, Harstrom. Your father would have done just the same. Anyway, the box was dug up where they’re building new storage space a little out of town.”
“Why was it not brought to me?” Axel questioned. The witch stood up and handed over the piece of parchment.
“What would you have done two weeks ago, if this had been given to you?”
“I…” Axel swallowed. “I would have… I would have called a meeting.”
“And then?” the small witch prompted. Axel stared at Chance, whose gaze was on the floor. “Your friend Byron is a sensible man, Axel,” Agnes continued. “And he knows the ways of these woods well. You’re right to keep him close. He’d make a valuable advisor. His eldest son was at work on the site. When Byron saw the parchment, he brought it to us for verification. Then this whole business with Keira…”
Axel’s mind leapt back to his mate, and he felt awful, gut-wrenched to have been thinking of anything else. Agnes saw the look on Axel’s face, which was probably mirrored on Chance’s.
“Keira,” she said, “was the missing piece of the puzzle. Her and the parchment, together, were the key. What has been—”
“Yes,” Axel interrupted, becoming increasingly irritated with the witch. “Time is fixed but nonlinear. We get it.” Beside him, Chance smiled.
Agnes looked as though she might do the big and booming thing again, and Axel tensed up. But she merely returned to her speech, in a slightly more irritated tone.