by J J Andrews
Residual Magic
JJ Andrews
Edited by Marisa Chenery
Cover by Dar Albert-https://www.wickedsmartdesigns.com/Model Judith Abregano
Photographer https://www.simondiez.com/
Consultants: Former Officer Karl, Officer Melissa, Officer Mike, and nautical historian, Christopher A. Sørensen
Copyright 20 JJ Andrews. Published by JJ Andrews. All rights reserved. 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 or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
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This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Officer Ali Najarah is trained to serve and protect. But strike a bargain with a dragon? Nobody has been trained for this. After all, there aren’t many dragons and fewer heroes…unless you count the ones wearing blue. Using the residual magic thrust upon her after Old Town’s Hell Night, she’s out to stop a murderer, keep her hospitalized partner sane, and get rid of the curse from the hexing harlot, once and for all.
Prologue
1000 AD
Hafdan placed an arm around his wife as they lay under the brightening sky, outside on the deck of his long ship. “Are you awake?” He paused, waiting for her to stir. “I want to sale south—as far south as I can. Odin showed me in a dream that there is land far away from here with a tip like a drinking horn. I will go around that and then back up. He showed me places no Norseman has ever seen.”
Sveina moved her husband’s hand over the slight rise of her belly. “Or a Norsewoman. I’m going with you.”
“You are with child. Because it has never been done before, this voyage is of unknown length. Stay with the settlement.”
“And have you forget me and fall into the arms of a Skraelling female? I have birthed babies on my own before. I can do it again.” She paused. “I can certainly push a fourth baby from my body. Whether or not it lives, only the gods know. The child inside me is but weeks into its gestation. We will move with three seasons before I give birth.” She rolled over to face her husband. “Did Odin happen to give you a map?”
Hafdan laughed. “Yes, Sveina. He showed me a map. I recall it well. I shall draw it on a skin. In the dream I saw very unusual constellations. South of this place—the stars change. Odin filled me with great knowledge and revealed my path.”
“It is not comely for a man to have sight.”
“Odin learned the skills of second sight from Freyja and made it possible for all men to divine and see ahead. Don’t be so old fashioned.”
“Well, let’s look at this with practical eyes. Our ship is low and quick and is the most seaworthy of any you have built. It runs shallow and smooth. We could sail the known world and still have its deck under our feet. There are fish, and there’s always food to be picked or hunted along the coastlines. We have a large supply of salted cloudberries, scurvy grass, and other medicinal plants and herbs, which will help keep us healthy. We may not be familiar with the vegetation along the way. I think we have traveled enough to know what we can eat. Better we take dried grapes, and extra dried meat and cheese packed in oil. I have seen red algae in the tides and will collect some. I will check our vat of sour whey. It was filled to the brim with auk, which we have not yet touched.”
“It may take years. He did not give me a chart with nautical miles.”
“It is my duty to make sure my husband does not go hungry and that his askur is always full. Leave it to me. What else did you see in your dream?”
“I saw my destiny and shall beget my legacy. A cave leading into a tunnel wherein I should carve my name in runes and inlay them with silver.” He lowered his voice as if the very sky above might judge him. “He showed me magical staves. Spells of birth and death. Wealth and poverty. Light and dark.”
“You must rise and transcribe these symbols before you forget them, and before the sun fully rises. They must not lose power to the brightness of day when a man’s mind is cleared from twilight’s terrors. These things thrive in the dark.”
Hafdan rose and reached for a charcoal from the brazier. He tossed it in his hands to cool it. “Can you find me a lambskin, love?”
Sveina pointed to the masthead behind him. “I must have known you’d need one. I have two drying in the salt air now.”
“Oh, yes. Perfect. Thank you.” Hafdan ripped a thin, stretched skin from the iron peg securing it to the timber beam and furiously sketched the images from his dream.
Sveina wrapped herself in a blanket against the chill of the morning air. She was a shrewd navigator, could read the flight patterns of birds, movement of waves and sounds of the surf hitting the shore and know her course was correct. “Your map appears to give us a true course until we reach the tip of that large land mass far south of our current position.”
“Yes, and then we sail around the tip and head north. True north. Odin will let me know when and where our journey ends.”
“I have more faith in accurate charts than the whims of a god.”
“Have faith, wife. We are about to embark on an incredible journey. I must tell Leif and the others of my plans. One ship less home to Greenland is of no consequence. We will return there some day.” Hafdan slipped over the side of his long ship and then waded ashore, the newly drawn map in his hands.
Sveina patted her belly, and whispered, “Well, little one. I wonder how far along this journey you will see.”
* * * *
It took eight months to sail around the horn and north to a land of towering evergreen such as they’d once seen in Norway a decade earlier. They had gone to shore only seldom, for the lands they sailed passed were strange and inhabited by many Skraellings. The sea provided their food. The sky, their fresh drinking water. They pushed away from land to catch the breeze and prayed to Odin to let the storms on the horizon pass them by. Never had Hafdan sailed for so long with a squall on his tail. Truly, his voyage was blessed, and when they rounded the horn, and the seas calmed before them, he offered a large, beautiful fish to Odin by burning it and casting the flesh into the sea. Over the voyage they lost two thralls, who were given over to the deep with reverence.
Nearing their ninth month—Sveina great with child—they discovered a river with a tributary to the sea and followed it. It offered a natural harbor of sand and stone at which they made port under an angry sky.
“I swear to the gods, the skies here are as angry as those in Iceland in winter. Will this rain never end?”
“Hafdan,” Sveina began. “My time is near. I do not want to give birth aboard. Can we find a place ashore and make a home there? Somewhere I can bring forth this child in warmth and safety?”
“I will scout ahead. I will find a place to build a shelter, and there, we can await the birth of our child.”
“I wish our bondsmen had survived,” she replied.
“The biting flies along the coast, where the air was so stagnant, it did them in. I thought I might suffocate in the heat and buzzing.”
“When we pulled away from the shore, I saw the Skraellings looking at us through the trees. I wonder if they were friendly.”
“Curious, yes. Friendly? May
be. It was not my mission to investigate such things. I follow the will of Odin.”
He disembarked and then made his way through a thick forest, following a single stream of light through the canopy. It danced before him and he took it as a sign and wonder. Not too far in, a rocky outcropping appeared between the trees. As he grew closer, he saw the message from the gods that he’d been waiting for. A raven. It perched as if waiting for him outside a smallish entrance into the heart of the rock. A cave.
Hafdan lit a fire and made a torch under the watchful eye of the raven. It didn’t budge even when the first spark popped and snapped the kindling to blaze. The torch pushed through before him, he crawled on his belly into the opening, wary of animal sign.
Surprisingly, the cave’s entrance gave way to a large, clean, dry vestibule. He spied no animal bones or nests. Moving his torch along the rockface, he found one area particularly smooth, as if it had been polished by water for eons.
The raven squawked, then cawed as Hafdan ran his fingers over the smooth surface. “I hear you, Odin. This shall be a monument to you. It is here I shall carve the runes.”
He smiled and whispered as he exited the cave, “And it is here my son shall be born.”
* * * *
“I found a home for us—at least for now. It is a cave and it is warm and dry. A raven led me to it. It is there I shall carve the runes and there you shall have my son.”
“A cave?” Sveina asked.
Hafdan nodded. “Yes. And there are game trails nearby and I saw familiar fruits and berries. It is not unlike Norway.”
“Can you build a forge there and melt the silver?”
He nodded.
“The baby is coming. I can feel it. Let’s secure our vessel and get to shelter.”
With the first load of baskets filled with food and possessions, they made their way to the cave. Sveina laughed at the entrance. “Really? I am huge and you want me to crawl through that opening?”
“You can make it. Let me take the straw and skins for our bed and set that up for you. I will dig a hole for fire, and we can line it with stones. You shall have light and warmth.”
Sveina wasn’t uncomfortable in the cave. She settled in, making animal traps and preparing for the birth of her child. She put thoughts of another stillbirth from her mind and concentrated on helping her husband fulfill his dream—literally—of carving runes into the rock face.
She watched his face grow pale in the firelight as he sketched out his design on skins. He muttered prayers to Odin and made offerings of mugwort and rue. He is working with Odin’s hands now. I see divinity in his eyes. Though we are far away from our home and kin, this is our purpose.
“Sveina,” he began as he finally looked up from his drawings. “Once I begin carving, I cannot stop. They must be done in an unbroken period of time. I cannot break to eat or drink. I cannot stop even if you begin laboring. This is Odin’s decree.”
“He’s not a god of comfort, is he? You do as you will, husband. I am content.”
And so he began. He drew the runes on the smooth rock face with charcoal, then stepped back to assess the work. “This is a sacred spot for the gods. It is on a line of holy sites in the world. These runes will bind those sites together and from this place magic shall well.”
“To what end?”
“Light to darkness. It encapsulates the four sufferings of birth, sickness, old age, and death. It will bring good fortune—or take it away if you are undeserving. It will bind viewers to the gods and the gods to the people. Someday, wife, this is going to be the most magical place on Earth. Though it will be surrounded by poverty and hidden, and perhaps usurped by followers of the White Christ, it will be here. And someone in the future will know what to do to bring about its magic.”
Sveina didn’t tell her husband she was already in early labor as he began his work. It went much more quickly than she thought. She gritted her teeth through the pains and watched him, sending her love and support to each stroke of hammer to chisel. It took him the better part of one day and one night.
By dawn of the second day, as her husband prepared the fill of silver and muscovite, she made it clear that it was time. “Finish it all quickly, Hafdan. Finish impregnating the runes with the silver and mica overlay. Then stop and help me bring this child into the world.”
He made quick work of coating the depth of each carved rune with the melted silver Byzantine coins he’d brought with him from Constantinople when he’d worked as a mercenary. In his younger days. Before he’d married. He continued his prayers as he went back over the runes with a thin layer of mica. They shined like a beacon.
Sveina crept closer to the wall and prepared for birth. Hafdan would need to pull the child from her. This birth seemed stronger than the others. “I will push now, husband. Can you help me?”
“Of course, my love.”
He rinsed his hands with hot water and then waited as Sveina strained to push the child from her body. It was her fourth birth. The baby slipped from her easily.
“What is it?”
“A boy,” Hafdan replied.
“Why does he not cry?”
“He is blue.” Hafdan stood, the baby in his hands. He held the child up before the runes. “Odin! Hear me! I have done all you asked of me. Now, do not let this child of mine die as the others before him have.” He lifted the child as high as he could and let their reflective glow bathe him. And the baby cried.
“Oh dear, gods. Thank you. Give me my child, Hafdan.” Sveina cradled the baby in her arms and cleaned him with a damp cloth. She pushed out the afterbirth, and Hafdan buried it outside their cave.
She held her baby close and stood, facing the wall. “Thank you, Frigga, for protecting my family. I pray my child grows strong in the service of the gods.”
And then…the runes hummed…
Chapter One
Approximately 1000 years later…
Tom pulled against the bindings securing his wrists to the bedframe. “Free me, you damned witch.”
“You love it.” Corazon leaned over him and let her bosom fall against his face. She had on her work clothes. Silk undergarments and black leather boots.
“I didn’t come here for this. I came to break this off, Cora.”
“Then why did we just make love?”
“It’s very hard to stay away from you. I admit it. I am weak. You are beautiful and beguiling. Look, I’m moving up in the department. They frown upon our cavorting with ex-felon madams. I explained this.”
“I run a non-sexual brothel. Nothing is illegal here, and if someone comes—it’s by their own hand or a burst of spontaneous delight. I haven’t touched a penis—except yours—in a very long time. And my incarceration was short lived, and conviction, overturned.”
“You are still a madam. The connotation is that you offer happy endings.”
“You really want to break it off? You were just starting to relax a little. You know…enjoying the process.” Corazon stretched, still sitting astride him. “That first time you let me cuff you…oh, Tommy. It was sweet.”
“I don’t relax.”
“No matter how hard I try, hmmm?”
“Untie me. Lunch break is over.”
Corazon released the bindings and then hopped off the bed. She donned a sedate terry bathrobe. “Go, then.”
“Don’t be angry. It’s business. I just can’t come here any longer.”
“I thought we had something special, Tom.”
He pulled on his uniform in a hurry. “We did. We do. Without your help, I would be another burned-out cop statistic. Probably have put a gun to my head a couple of times by now. Your form of therapy…is unique. You offered me a chance to get…to break free a little. It helped.”
“You’d never kill yourself. There’s a bit of a hiccup in that idea, anyway. You’re not a real-life boy. You can’t die.”
“Nevertheless, I get why other cops are driven to suicide. It is a heavy burden. And, dear Cora, to y
ou I must bow, for you are my creator and savior, so you must know best. Let me know when I’ve made the turn into reality, huh?”
“I created you, yet I’m not fit to be your lover.”
“You made me a cop with a heart of gold emblazon with a thin blue line. I need to follow the rules and directives of my department. I’m Officer Friendly. You made me that way. I will always be grateful to you.”
Cora turned her back. “Saying I made you is the truth, Tom. Remember that. Literally…without me you are nothing. Literally nothing. Don’t slam the door on your way out.”
“Literally twice in one breath. How literal of you. But I do know better than to piss you off. Please don’t set fire to something.”
“Leave, Tom.” She massaged the heal of her right hand with her fingertips. Her palm grew hot and little firefly-like sparks rose. “Leave now.” I should give him a swift kick in the ass.
He straightened his uniform and quickly walked out of the uptown, high-class brothel. Now I’ve done it. Is any promotion worth having to piss off a hexing harlot?
* * * *
Corazon watched him walk away. He was one good-looking plaything. Damn him. In fact, that’s exactly what I’ll do. If he wants to concentrate on his career, I’ll give him something to befuddle, confound, and confuse the living daylights out of him. Chances are pretty good he’ll figure out from whence the chaos springs and return to me. I’d like that. Tommy on his knees before me would be sweet.
The levels of frustration she had knew no bounds. She didn’t give her heart lightly, and in this case, she’d literally created the perfect lover for herself. And the bastard has the gall to have a mind of his own. It had been a while since she’d sought a higher power. After the destruction of her source of magic—her altar of dark goddesses—she’d left well enough alone. Moved uptown. No glamor spells. No incantations. No hexes. She had a piece of her past safely tucked away in a drawer, wrapped in black fabric and out of sight. The magic had not ebbed. It was still there. In hiding. Safe within a wrapping of her own version of sackcloth and ash.