Dreamwander (In The Ruins of Eden Book 1)

by Kildare

  A brightness lit his closed eyes. He rolled over and looked up. Through an opening ringed in white clouds, a ray of sunshine lit the raft like a spotlight. The rain had stopped. He took a deep breath, gathered his energy, and pushed up onto his knees, shielding his eyes against the bright light. It was a sign. He was going to live. He knew it.

  The gap was already shutting, the light snuffing out. Once more darkness swallowed the sky, as if the light had never existed. Winds picked up, rain pelted down. But Cillian’s belief in his survival persisted. A fire inside had been lit. He wouldn’t be broken. Not this day. He rose to his feet, defiant of the storm raging all around, and recited William Ernest Henley’s poem Invictus. By the last lines he was shouting the words as a challenge to the storm.

  For another half hour or so—time was hard to keep in the constant struggle to stay afloat—the storm raged. Then just as quickly as it had come, the winds lessened, the rain weakened to a drizzle, and the waves diminished. Cillian keeled over and lay motionless on his back, unfazed by the rain sprinkling his upturned face.

  He might have passed out for a while, he might have been slipping in and out of consciousness, or he might have just been staring into the clouds the whole time—he wasn’t sure which. At some point a milky white shape formed in his vision. It clarified. An albatross floated on an invisible current of air.

  He sat up and squinted to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him against the glare of the sun. The raft had drifted into the shallows surrounding an island. A tiki hut stood in the shade of palm trees at the edge of the beach. He stumbled off the logs, dropped to his knees at the water’s edge, and kissed the wet sand. He had never been so happy to see land in all his life.

  A figure rose from a recliner neaer the tiki hut and walked toward him, slowly clapping.

  Cillian bristled. “I nearly died because of you.”

  “And yet you did not,” Loki said. “You persevered. You channeled your fear and used it to your advantage. On the raft, just when you thought you had no more strength, when all hope seemed lost, you found a hidden reserve. You endured, stood unconquered. ‘I am the captain of my fate, I am the master of my soul,’ is that now how the poem goes?”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “To test you. The body is willing, but the mind is weak. You learned a valuable lesson about yourself. For that you should thank me.”

  “You can cease the self-congratulations. Why did you bring me here, Loki?”

  “Such hostility. Look around you. Is this not paradise? Try to enjoy yourself a little. Days such as this are rare.”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “It’s good to see you as well, Cillian. Hopefully all is well with you?”

  “Why did you bring me here?” Cillian said more slowly, emphasizing the words.

  “To talk.”

  “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “I am sorry,” Loki said in mock concern. “Are you too busy? Are you pressed for time by a prior engagement? No? I thought not. Now where are my manners? You have been through quite an ordeal and I have not even offered to mix you a drink. How about a margarita?”

  “I don’t want a margarita.”

  “Nonsense. Come have a drink. You have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.”

  Loki walked back up to the tiki hut. Cillian followed reluctantly. As much as he hated to admit it, Loki was correct. He had nowhere else to go.

  Loki wore a white dress shirt with a black vest, and gray dress pants. The top two buttons of the shirt were unhooked and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He walked barefoot. His hair was cut to a length of a couple inches. He looked a much different figure than the man chained in the cave.

  Cillian sat down on a stool at the bar and rested his elbows on the bamboo counter. He grimaced as the movement ripped open a cut on his thigh.

  “Forgive me,” Loki said. “My mind wanders sometimes.” He snapped his fingers. “Better? I thought so.”

  The pain had vanished. Cillian looked down. All his injuries were gone. All except the arrow scar in his shoulder. He looked up at Loki, who smiled and shrugged. Behind the counter, the bar was well stocked with a wide selection of booze. Loki pulled on a chain and a pink neon sign spelling IT’S FIVE O’CLOCK SOMEWHERE lit up.

  “It is kitschy, I know, but I think it adds a nice touch,” Loki said as he stocked the ingredients for a margarita on the counter.

  “Do you intend to kill me?”

  Loki laughed. “Now what would be the purpose of killing you? Your assumptions about me are deeply flawed, and a little hurtful.”

  “Are they? The archangels told me you’re not to be trusted.”

  “The archangels?” Loki scoffed as he went about mixing the ingredients into a blender. “Have you considered they may have their own motives, and that those motives might not be in your best interest?” He started the blender and turned to Cillian. “Let me offer you some advice. Everyone on this side has motives. You are at a severe disadvantage. You do not even understand what this side is, let alone what is going on. There are a lot of politics involved.”

  “So I suppose I should trust you?” Cillian asked dismissively.

  Loki shut off the blender. “I said no such thing. I just want you to consider that perhaps I am not the bad guy.”

  “You told me you were the god of chaos.”

  “It is a flattering title, but not quite correct. The Norse based their idea of their trickster god on me, but I am not the god of chaos. The gods are not assigned to various properties. There is no sun god, or god of war, or god of death. Just as there is no single man whose sole concern is the success of harvests, or the arranging of festivals. More apt to say that I am a god of chaos, not the god of chaos. No such thing exists.”

  “You expect me to trust you?”

  Loki produced two margarita glasses, ground the lips into a container of salt, filled the glasses with the margarita mix, slid one to Cillian, and sipped from the other.

  Loki smiled. “Not too bad if I do say so myself. Hard to beat a margarita on a day such as this.”

  Cillian took a sip of the margarita. Loki was correct. It was quite good. Maybe the best he’d ever had. He took another, longer sip. Definitely the best margarita he’d ever tasted.

  “You like it, then?” Loki asked. “I thought you would. I have been practicing quite a bit since my release.” He raised his glass. “To liberty. I will forgive you if you do not join me in cheers.” Loki drained the contents of his glass and made himself another. “Your problem, Mr. Rysgaard, is that you assume too much. You are quite knowledgeable in the ancient myths, and because of this your entire opinion of me is based upon conflicting accounts of stories written down a thousand years ago from oral traditions far older. I was imprisoned long before the birth of Jesus, so these myths are at least that old. Now, the myths are based loosely on some of my wanderings on Earth, that is true, but they are not an accurate reflection of who I am.”

  “You’ll have to forgive me if I remain leery of you.”

  “Your sarcasm is unnecessary. You Americans have become an odd people. Incapable of saying things with literal meanings. You couch your words in sarcasm and irony to avoid the chance that others will not approve of your true opinions. It shows a complete lack of faith in what you believe. It is quite disappointing.”

  Cillian found Loki’s verbal word-play exhausting. He suspected Loki’s diction was meant to confuse and distract him. “Where are we?”

  “This is a world I created long ago in the event I needed to hide out for a while. I have a few of these worlds hidden here and there. The other gods are aware of their existence, but have never been able to locate them. I am sure the angels have worked themselves into quite the tizzy worrying about your whereabouts. They need not worry. You are a guest, not a prisoner.”

  “Did you cause the war between the angels?”

  “In a manner, yes. Though I never pushed the angels to
revolt. But once they realized they could be free, how were they to dwell beneath the tyrannical yolk of the other gods? Revolt was their only option. Satan, being the greatest of the angelic host, and the most free-spirited, led a third of the angels in his rebellion.

  “What began as an act of defiance, became a fuel to fire his hatred of servitude of any kind. Satan perceives any act of submission as its own evil that must be eradicated. As such, he cares nothing for the damage he wreaks. That is where we are different, Satan and myself. I am a proponent of free choice.

  “You, Cillian, must choose for yourself how to live your life. What choice you ultimately make is no concern of mine. If you wish to submit to the will of Yahweh, that is your decision. Satan, however, refuses to accept such a choice. He believes that the self-imposed subjugation of others must be punished.”

  “If you only want mankind to be free to make their own decisions, why did you feel the need to corrupt Adam and Eve?”

  “Corrupt mankind!” Loki howled with laughter. “Is that what you believe? I certainly did not corrupt mankind. I opened Adam and Eve’s eyes. I revealed to them the true nature of the world. I have had no direct interaction with mankind since then, until you, of course. Do not blame me for the havoc Satan has caused.”

  “You created Satan.”

  “Yahweh created Satan. I set Satan free, as I set Adam and Eve free, and through them, you. What you do with that freedom is your choice. I will not be blamed for the choices you or others make.”

  “You have no morals, do you? You refuse to accept any blame for the consequences of your actions.”

  “Correction. I refuse to accept blame for the consequences of others’ actions. I am quite proud of my own actions. So spare me your self-righteousness. If you should blame anyone, it is the other gods. Maybe you will change your mind when you learn why they created your race.”

  “And why did they create us?”

  Loki flashed his devilish grin. “In good time. Too much information too quickly will only overwhelm you. Better to chip away at your assumptions. The truth can be difficult to accept.”

  Loki finished his third margarita and poured another.

  “Perhaps I will have to show you Eden sometime. Then you might start to understand.”

  “How would you show me Eden? It was destroyed long ago.”

  “Was it?” Something in the way Loki spoke the words made clear that he found Cillian’s statement amusing and ignorant. “Did the angels tell you why you are on this side?”

  “Not really, though they said it was because of you.”

  “I am sure they did, but it was not because of me. The other gods wanted you to be here. I found out about their plans and used you to set me free. Even in prison I have many friends, and the watch of the other gods has grown lax.”

  “Why would they want me to be here?”

  “They mean to test you. Though why you in particular even I do not know. I am no longer privy to their discussions. I have many eyes and ears in Olympus, but they do not catch everything. Do you remember your visit with the doctor that started this all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there not something strange about that office? A red dog with white ears, perhaps?”

  Cillian nearly fell off his chair. He had forgotten all about the dog. In Celtic myths, red animals with white ears were creatures that dwelled in the Otherworld. Their sighting was often a signal that a traveler was near a portal between the worlds or had already crossed to the other side.

  “So you recall,” Loki said. “Who was the doctor? He could not have been me. I was still imprisoned. Discover the identity of the doctor and you will learn who started this.”

  As Cillian grappled with the implications, another oddity emerged. The meeting with Dr. Lewis was nearly identical to the meeting with the doctor who had originally diagnosed his dementia. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. But why make the fake experience so similar to the real one?

  “I can’t tell if you’re lying or not,” Cillian said. “Either way, none of this makes any sense.”

  “I am sure it does not. You look like you could use another drink.”

  Loki poured Cillian another and topped off his own. He leaned casually on the bar and sipped his margarita. Loki was more debonair in stance, speech, and mannerisms than anyone Cillian had ever met. He had to remind himself not to be ensnared in the god’s charm.

  “Have you met him since I escaped?”

  “Met who?”

  Loki smiled. “He still does not want you to remember his little visits? Of course not. He is always like that. Not wanting to meddle too much. Just nudge a little. Not me. I love to meddle.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  Loki took another sip of his margarita. “Absolutely delicious. I could drink these all day.”

  Cillian realized Loki had no intention of answering the question, so he tried another. “You still haven’t answered why you brought me here if you don’t want to kill me.”

  “Is it not already obvious? I want to recruit you.”

  VIII

  -------

  19

  The horse sidestepped, nearly dumping Cillian out of the saddle. He was saved only by a quick grasp of the horse’s mane. Using his hold on the hair, he pulled himself back upright and jerked the horse to a stop. What the hell had gotten into it? A good horse should know better than to shy for no reason. He looked over and saw Fáelán scowling at Cillian and fighting his own skittish mount. Cillian looked around to make sure the glare was meant for him. The only others were Rebel Sly and Niamh. They rode ahead and had yet to notice the commotion behind. What had he done to earn Fáelán’s ire?

  “Do you always appear with no warning like that?” Fáelán asked in Gaelic.

  Of course. His sudden appearance had startled the horses. If someone had suddenly appeared next to him, it would certainly have given him a shock as well. Fáelán had probably about pissed himself. The thought was too much. Guilty as he felt, Cillian couldn’t stop from laughing.

  “I’m sorry. I know my sudden appearance must be quite a surprise, but you should’ve seen your face.”

  “Gets you every time,” Niamh said. “You don’t get used to it, either.” She slowed her horse and slid in between Cillian and Fáelán. “God’s grace returns you. It’s good to see you again. You’ve been gone for two weeks. We were starting to wonder if we would see you again before arriving at An Dún sa Spéir. Without you, it would certainly complicate our search for answers.”

  They were riding through a rolling, treeless plain stretching to the sky’s rim in all directions. Ahead, dark smoke tarred the view. So great was the cloud that Cillian assumed it must belch from a volcano. The sky was clear and the sun was bright. Cillian tipped down the front lip of his hat to shield his eyes.

  “How far away are we?”

  “About a week’s ride,” Niamh answered.

  “What news of other events?”

  “Several battles have been fought against the trolls, but none have been decisive. A great tide of refugees rolls in all directions to escape the invasion. We’ve had to abandon the road many times to avoid the crush of people fleeing. Now we’re behind the tide. We’ve only seen a few stragglers in the last three days. You’re lucky not to have witnessed the destruction. We’ve passed through dozens of villages razed to the ground. It’s terrible. I’ve seen plenty of war, but nothing like this. For those who aren’t soldiers, there are only two options: flight or death. The trolls will slaughter or enslave any they encounter, and slavery is only a slower, more excruciating death.

  “We’ve been at war with the trolls since before our oldest written records. Long ago we made slaves of any of the Dread Queen’s forces that were captured, but after a bloody revolt that killed tens of thousands, and took years to crush, vows were sworn to never take another slave. Any of her servants captured on this side of the mountains are executed. They offer us no leniency, either. I hate to
even think of what we’ll find when we reach Arx Aequoris.” She stared off toward the black smoke that Cillian had thought was a volcano.

  “That’s a city?”

  “Arx Aequoris is the greatest city in the North. The northern legions are based there, and a half million citizens reside within its walls. The city hasn’t fallen to a siege in eight hundred years. The city extends beyond the walls, so perhaps only the outer buildings are burning, but I fear the walls have been breached.”

  “Why does it have a Solaeri name?”

  “It was founded long ago as a trading post by the Solaeri. In the northern tongue, it’s named An tUrphost. Most of its inhabitants are Daoine Saora.”

  The city’s name meant the Fort of the Plain in Latin, and Outpost in Gaelic.

  “Any news from the capitol?” Cillian asked.

  “We’ve heard nothing. No help will be coming from the South. The North is on its own. Curse Loki’s chaos.”

  “You think he was behind this, too?”

  “Loki’s an instigator and a trickster. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that he’s escaped and the Dread Queen has invaded.”

  “Who in this world would’ve wanted Loki freed? The Imperator wanted me to steal Anbhás, but that couldn’t have been the real reason I was sent. The book I found in Sindri’s cave had my name written on it. Someone knew I was coming. Which means I was sent. Who sent me?”

  “You think the Imperator wanted Loki freed?”

  “No. He lacked a motive. Who told the Imperator about the sword? He told me his scouts had learned of Anbhás from a woodcutter who had seen the sword. Do you know anything about this?”

  “The Imperator told me nothing about it.”

  “So you didn’t know about the scouts returning? Who were the scouts?”

  “Who was the woodcutter?” Rebel Sly asked. Cillian hadn’t even realized he had pulled alongside them. “If you wish to start a lie, involve as few people as possible. It’s not likely the scouts were involved.”

  “Well, Sindri had to be involved,” Cillian said. “The book was in his cave. Now he’s dead. A steep price for his involvement. Sindri couldn’t have known the woodcutter would meet the scouts, so the woodcutter had to be involved, as well.”