Mortiswood: Kaelia Falling Copyright Gina Dickerson 2015
This first e-edition published 2015
The right of Gina Dickerson to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying, the Internet or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. It may not be given away or re-sold to other people.
All illustrations & maps Copyright Gina Dickerson 2015
Cover images:
Woman Copyright Pandorabox
Wolf Copyright Dennis Donohue
Background Copyright tstockphoto
All Shutterstock
Cover design and art by RoseWolf Design
(All images have been edited)
All characters and events featured in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to any person, organisation/company, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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For everyone who sees a little magic in the ordinary.
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Glossary and Meanings
Maps
Mortiswood blog
Note from the author
About the author
Also by the author
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Chapter One
The portrait corridor, Hel’s palace
Pain.
Searing red hot flashes of torture.
A knife ripping into the flesh of a hog to prepare it for roasting.
A hog that was very much alive and squealing in agony.
Except it wasn’t really a hog being butchered, it was his flesh.
It was his own pained cries as he was torn apart not by a knife but by talons.
Five long, sharp talons to be precise.
The torment was unlike any Bran had experienced for over a hundred years. He had built up a wall of resistance which always kept him on his toes, never allowing his guard to slip so anyone could touch him, let alone come close enough to inflict such torment. Not since Thom, the Draugr, had scarred his face and almost gouged his left eye out. That had hurt almost as much as this did.
‘I am enjoying your return to my realm, Nephew. It is so very exhilarating!’ Hel cackled, her pointed talons scraping against the bone of Bran’s spine.
Crying out; he staggered forward, singeing the fall of his raven hair on the violet flames licking around the magical doorway back to Mortiswood.
Surrounded by gnarled trees, dry bracken, and the familiar scent of Mortiswood, Kaelia stood by the grey-white Vallesm and shoved her hand through the cool flames. Her hand was slender and pale, and spattered with faint red freckles. Dried blood from the wall of bones ingrained the underneath of her ragged, unpolished nails.
‘Bran,’ Kaelia screamed. ‘Give me your hand, come on, hurry up!’
Bran lurched forwards, managing to put a small distance between him and the goddess. Blood poured from the wounds on his back, falling to the floor to glisten in the style of large, ruby gemstones. The rattle of scales alerted Bran of Hel closing in upon him once more. With a yelp of pain he turned, bolting a ball of violet light at the goddess, catching her in the chest and sending her crashing against the wall behind her. The high wall, covered with hand-painted portraits of those who had at one time been important to Hel, cracked at the impact of her body smashing against it. A large portrait fell from the wall, taking down several other smaller paintings on its descent.
‘No!’ Hel screamed and lunged for the largest portrait, leaving behind an indent of her body shape in the wall. Sliding across the floor she managed to grab the painting before it hit the ground. Propping the portrait up against the wall, she kissed two fingers and briefly placed them against the forehead of the young man depicted in the picture. His long, ebony hair was tied back in a ponytail and his eyes sparkled, seemingly alive for a second as they flashed Draugr red.
Bran took advantage of the distraction and struggled to stand at the mouth of the burning portal. ‘I told you we are two sides of a coin, Kaelia. Different yet alike. We both have power, we have each lost a mother, but I come from a line inherently evil. You would never have done to one of my loved ones what I did to your grandmother. You would never have sent a Dybbuk to possess one of mine nor would you have dragged their spirit down here to this damned place.’
‘Stop!’ Tears streamed down Kaelia’s cheeks. ‘Hel sent that Dybbuk—the one which forced my grandmother’s soul from her body and used her remains as a puppet. It was Hel, the same as it was Hel who sent all of the Dybbuks. You don’t need to do this; you don’t need to stay with her. Come back, come back with me!’
‘Hel sent those demons at my request!’ Bran fell to his knees, his limbs weakened by blood loss. ‘I am more to blame than she is. It was all my fault. You freed your grandmother’s spirit with your courage, never forget that. You ventured into a realm you had only dreamt of, just to save her. You are brave and strong and bold, and I was not. Goodbye, Kaelia.’ With a burst of light he sealed the burning doorway, silencing Kaelia’s cries of protest.
Hel’s hideous face imploded. Her slanted left eye narrowed to a slit and her human-shaped, violet, right eye creased into a pin-prick. The pale scales covering the left side of her body shook, the sound resembling the batting of a million tiny wings. She towered over Bran, dwarfing his six-feet-four-inches three-fold with her immense goddess stature. ‘Open the doorway, Dark One!’ Unattractive globules of spittle flew from between her snarled lips.
Bran wiped the steaming saliva from his face. ‘I will not.’
‘I want Kaelia!’ Hel’s words reverberated within the long corridor of portraits, rebounding off the vaulted ceiling of the wide, long corridor they were in.
Painted eyes of the many portraits of Hel’s lovers moved, following Bran as he edged backwards. The walls, which stretched three times the height of a two-storey building, seemed to bend over and close down, threatening to rain their many portraits upon him as a form of attack. His stomach twisted, and he rubbed his eyes.
‘You can’t fool me with your illusions!’ he spat. ‘I know what you’re doing and I won’t fall for it!’
Bran’s power surged through his veins, strengthening him. Violet light erupted around his hands and he lifted both arms, making the light roar. ‘You will never have Kaelia, having her was never part of our deal!’
Hel broke into laughter. ‘You think you can stop me, Nephew, because the humans call you The Dark One—the Necromancer?’ She jabbed her long, tal
on-tipped index finger menacingly in the direction of Bran’s left eye and the gash scarring through it from forehead to cheekbone. ‘You are not invincible. Thom taught you that lesson.’
Bran’s shirt clung to him, his back was soaking, no doubt with a mix of sweat and blood. Even the back of his jeans were wet. He winced, gritting his teeth to stop himself from screaming, the wounds Hel had inflicted on his spine made every move torture but he wasn’t about to give her the benefit of hearing him suffer. Struggling to keep agony from twisting his face, Bran breathed in deeply through his nose before expelling a steady stream of air to alleviate what little pain he could. ‘Why do you want Kaelia so desperately? Did you only agree to send me the Dybbuks and keep Cassie’s spirit here so I would lead Kaelia to you?’
‘I did it so you would owe me a return favour, and I want the favour repaid...I want The Chosen One for myself!’
Bran stepped sideways but pain slowed him. Hel caught him underneath the chin, piercing his skin. Grabbing onto Hel’s hand he tried, yet failed, to pull free as she pushed upwards, skewering him with one of her talons.
Hel forced Bran to raise his chin, lifting him to his toes. He baulked at the mask of glee she wore. She tilted her head to one side, studying him, and said, ‘Kaelia will be my clay to mould. You and she will free Vanagandr from his constraints. Imagine the mighty wolf walking the land, how much he could destroy. All of the godly realms will be mine. For too long have I been bound to this place with its mist and ice. I want to feel the warm breath of earth upon my face, to look upon its sun, to live again on Asgard—to walk its fertile plains once more.’
Bran’s eyes flicked nervously down the length of the corridor and back again. Without his magical lighter he had no quick escape route from Hel’s palace. The only way back was across the Gjallarbru bridge and to get there he’d need to flee Hel’s palace. ‘And The Salloki, they are complicit in your plan?’ he asked, stalling for time. ‘They will let you have Kaelia when they have searched for her for centuries? I find that hard to believe!’
Hel’s grating laughter scraped Bran’s spine, adding further torment to his injuries. ‘The Salloki worship me not the other way around. They will do as they are instructed; they are my soldiers on earth!’
‘Thom will not want you to control Vanagandr even if the mighty wolf is your kin.’ Blood bubbled up in the back of Bran’s throat, making his voice thick. ‘The Draugr wants the beast for himself, for The Salloki, the same as he wants Kaelia and me to pledge ourselves to him. He wants to control the human world and all in it.’
‘I created the Draugr. He would be nothing without me. The same as you, you only have power because I bestowed it upon you!’
‘You are not so powerful,’ Bran replied with a sneer. ‘You didn’t know I used a Draegarni.’
‘What?’ Hel’s mouth puckered. ‘How dare you use a shadow-creature from my realm without my permission?’
Bran snorted. ‘Maybe I am stronger than you give me credit for.’
‘Impossible!’
A strange, lilting song filtered through their combined rage, crackling the air so it made Bran’s skin tingle. The words, sung with a childish voice, were indecipherable but the melody wove in a soft caress around Hel and Bran. A head topped with strawberry blonde hair that cascaded in ripples over small shoulders drew into view. Hel’s hand faltered and Bran wrenched free, tugging Hel’s talon from under his chin.
Holding one hand over the bloody hole, Bran gestured with his other hand for his daughter to approach him. ‘Rosalie, what are you singing?’
Rosalie’s rose-bud lips formed a brief, upturned crescent before she resumed the song. She skipped and twirled on feet clad in pale gold satin pumps, her shimmery, full-skirted dress glinting in the gloomy light of the portrait hall.
‘What are you singing?’ Bran’s mind buzzed. Momentarily forgetting about his wounds he grabbed Rosalie’s arm, catching her gaze in his coal-black eyes. The indecipherable words echoed in his head, stirring something deep inside him he hadn’t known ever existed. ‘Tell me now. Tell me what song it is!’
Rosalie tilted her head to one side then back again and stopped the lilting melody. ‘I know you,’ she whispered with a faint lisp, ‘but I forget who you are.’
‘You!’ Releasing Rosalie, Bran rounded on Hel. ‘Stop fogging my daughter’s mind. I want her to know who I am!’
‘Rosalie is mine to command!’
Silently, Rosalie slipped away from Bran’s side and skipped over to Hel, gazing up at the goddess. ‘Aunty!’ Adoration softened her already pretty features. ‘Can I play with the Hellhounds?’
‘You may. First I want you to sing the song again, the one you were just singing but this time I wish to hear the words properly.’
Rosalie screwed her face up, the apples of her cheeks plump and pink. ‘I forget what it was. Was I singing for long? I don’t remember.’
Hel bent beside Rosalie and, holding out her left palm, gently blew across it into Rosalie’s face. ‘You will remember, Child.’
Rosalie’s amethyst eyes hazed over, her lips moved, emitting no sound at first before she broke into the song. Again, the words rolled into each other, making it impossible to tell them apart.
Bran heard his voice before it even registered he was singing along with Rosalie. Understanding her words perfectly, something clicked in his mind and the words tumbled free. It was as if he had always known them, as if they were part of him, stitched into his very being. Shivers raced up and down his spine, jerking him with every touch. With each syllable he recited, the wounds on his back tingled. Pain was bitter-sweet as his flesh slowly fused back together.
In perfect unity Bran and Rosalie sang, ‘Take my hand and I will lead you safe, you have fallen, Warrior, I will guide you to your soul’s final resting place. Take my hand, Warrior, you have fought brave and true, ride with me and you will be glad you do—’
‘Enough!’ Hel bellowed, cutting both of them off. ‘This is the work of Asta, she is sending astral thoughts to Rosalie and you, Bran, are connecting with them!’ She turned so sharply her black, coiled hair whipped and wrapped thrice around her neck. Crossly, she yanked the tendrils free, not even flinching as several locks of hair fluttered to the ground.
The final wounds remaining on Bran’s back stopped stinging and went back to plain just hurting. He swallowed, damn, not healed properly. Time stood still. His next words burnt his throat with emotion. ‘My mother? Asta, it is my mother’s name. You have never spoken it before.’ As soon as the name Asta had left Hel’s lips, he knew the former was his mother.
Hel snapped back to face him, drawing him from his slowed down fug. ‘I have told you many times before; your mother is a deceitful whore!’
Bran’s heart raced faster, pumping his blood harder through his veins. Light crackled from his fingertips. ‘Your banishment of my mother is weakening. She was able to connect with her granddaughter. A granddaughter from a son she has not even seen since his moment of birth!’ He relished the twisted look of torment upon Hel’s face. ‘You may keep Rosalie captive here but she will never truly be yours. My daughter has a grandmother; she has family—even if she isn’t aware of it—the same as I have a mother. You long for love, Hel, but no-one can ever truly love you. Any affection you have gleamed from Rosalie and me is false. You force us to call you Aunt but we are not yours, we are not your real family. This family is just an illusion you have forced upon us all. The longer you hold my daughter captive for, the more I despise you.’
Hel pushed Rosalie behind her. ‘Return to your room, Child. Immediately.’
Rosalie smiled obediently and made to leave.
‘No, Rosalie!’ Bran shouted. ‘Come back to me!’
Rosalie frowned. ‘I think I know you but I forget. Who are you, what is your name? Have I painted your picture? Aunty always let me paint pictures. I love to paint.’
‘I am your father!’
‘Enough. You can return to your room and paint.
’ Hel bent and blew in Rosalie’s face again. ‘Do as I bid, Child.’
‘Yes, Aunty.’ With her satin skirt rustling around her ankles, Rosalie skipped down the hallway. Sailing past the portraits she had painted she did not even acknowledge the painting of her father, even though she had been the one to capture his image.
‘And you.’ Hel turned on Bran. ‘You have offended me enough for one visit. You will do as I bid also. You will come with me and I will instruct what you are to do with Kaelia. You will bring her back to me and then the pair of you will break my brother’s binds.’
Heat travelled through Bran, spitting splinters of violet light from his fingertips. He clenched his fists. The words of his mother’s song lingered on his tongue; he could taste them, and hear her voice although he had never known her. Resentment towards Hel bubbled over. She had banished his mother and taken him as a baby, raising him in this very palace but he was damned if he would stay here a moment longer than he needed to. ‘I am leaving now but I will return.’
‘With Kaelia?’
Bran shook his head. ‘I will return for Rosalie and I will take her. She is my daughter and she will be with me. It is where she belongs.’
‘No!’ Hel screeched. ‘You forget I can take your power away from you, you forget where it came from!’
Bran’s light shot from his hands at breakneck speed. It formed a flaming ball that winded Hel, catching her off-guard. ‘And you forget I am my mother’s son. She has power too, I know she does!’
‘Your mother is nothing compared to me!’
‘Oh, but she is,’ Bran mocked. ‘She may not be a goddess but she is stronger than you think she is. How else could she astral project from her place of banishment?’ Boldly, he advanced towards Hel and glared up at her, refusing to allow her height to intimidate him. ‘Go on; tell me, what is she, my mother?’
‘A deceitful whore!’ Hel cackled.
Bran fired another bolt of light, this time missing Hel by a fraction as she skilfully sidestepped. ‘I’ll ask you again, what is my mother and why did she matter so much to you, you banished her and stole me when I was a baby?’
Mortiswood: Kaelia Falling (Mortiswood Tales Book 2) Page 1