“Shh, little frost-ogres. Hush and sleep. Sleep, and live, and grow strong, like the body of your father, and in time, when you are ready, we will avenge the father of your hearts.”
What was left of the populace of Silvertown had turned out that morning to help clean up Soame’s. Delna was busy nursing Glen back to health, and while it would be a long time in coming, Meredith expected that June would recover from his wounds, both those spiritual as well as physical. The Mayor, having already declared that Soame’s should be rebuilt as a rallying point for the community, would most likely begin with a refurbishing of the dome and the ruined main hall. And when that was done, she wouldn’t doubt it if the scaffolding was rebuilt, and June once more took up his painting.
One event, both disturbing and unexpected, was the disappearance of Shingo’s body; Meredith suspected that he was not really dead, that his sudden propensity for quick healing was merely working beneath the surface. A blood trail led to a shattered window at the rear of The Pickle Factory, then outside across the snow to the woods north of town, where it diminished, and disappeared.
Below where Meredith sat on the roof of the house, in one of the bedrooms, Harold slept, having only remained conscious long enough for her to bandage his many wounds and get him to a bed, and to change his name again. That makes three times for the week, but all things considered, Meredith thought she could cut him some slack. It’s going to take him some time, but she’d been fixing up worse injuries since before his ancestors were taken by aliens off of the Mayflower.
Meredith decided to bring him along so he could tell her more about Hagen, and this mad quest of his to, what? Bring the father of the giants back to life? Bring back all the giants? What planet was he from, anyway? If there were such a thing as giants, Meredith hardly thought he’d have to look that hard.
Still, Meredith thought, there may have been something to what Shingo and Harald said—enough to be worth listening to, at any rate. Besides, Harald was a good guy—loyal, smart, intelligent. Pretty good qualities, and too stringy to really consider eating more than an arm or so at a time—after all, he had already lost the hand—and when a woman stumbles across a man that good, well, she just can’t eat him all at once.
She had to remind herself she was kidding, of course— about the eating him part, anyway.
She couldn’t help but wonder, though—if there were giants, who’s to say their return would be a bad thing? It’s a big world, after all—and there’s no telling whose side they may take in any given conflict, either.
Even if Hagen should find Ymir’s Heart, the treasure of the Nibelung, it would take him time—much time, before he could do anything really significant with it. Not that it would have much effect on Meredith; after all, it had been a week since he killed …
… Since … since Michael died, and supposedly set the wheels of change in motion, and what has changed? Meredith had her house; she had her mortar and pestle; and she had her camera. True, she may have been a bit more gray than she was several days ago, but it had been a pretty difficult week.
The sun was rising. Time to go.
A gesture of her hand was all that was needed for the house to rip its foundations out of the ground, rising, stretching its long, leathery, rust-colored legs to their height. Gingerly testing its balance, it shifted about a moment before pausing for direction.
Where to go, what to do?
Meredith supposed it wouldn’t have really mattered; after all, this was America—The Land Of Opportunity, where anyone, even a thousand-year-old Russian witch, can become anyone she wants to be, do anything she wants to do. Money would never be an issue again; new rules were in place, now. And besides, with six billion people on the planet, it’s not as if there wouldn’t be enough to eat.
All things being equal, that would be a fine plan, if she didn’t have something more important to do. Meredith had discovered much about herself, her family, and her own history during the last seven days, but there was one thing she needed to have closure on, no matter how irrational it seemed. One thing she needed to find. And according to Shingo, the place to begin looking was Spain.
And at the end of the day, when she thought on it, in a world where so much could happen in so short a time, was it really that unlikely to believe that she would find Vasily’s head?
Sucking contentedly on a finger bone, Meredith decided. She slapped the eaves and pointed to the East.
Stepping past the griffin, which was scrabbling around at the end of the driveway for scraps, the house moved briskly towards what used to be the interstate, and in moments, disappeared among the trees.
O O O
End Book Two
The story continues in
Mythworld
Book Three: Babylon’s Meridians
Available Soon!
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About the Author
James A. Owen is the author of the bestselling Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica series, the creator of the critically acclaimed StarChild graphic novel series, the author of the MythWorld series of novels, the author and illustrator of the forthcoming series Fool’s Hollow, and the author of the nonfiction trilogy called The Meditations. He is also the founder and executive director of Coppervale International, a creative think tank and studio that also publishes magazines and books, and develops and produces television and film projects. He lives in Arizona with his family, where he is currently redesigning an entire town.
jamesaowen.com
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Freelance Author Appearance Coordinator
Coppervale International
[email protected]
Magic is real. And worth looking for.
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Mythworld: Invisible Moon Page 17