Ravn sat at Magni’s right, the fidgeting youngster looking vastly out of place amid the grim collection of deities. Emotions radiated to Colbey in a wild mix: worry, anger, disgust. His son proved the jarring piece. Something unnerved Raska “Ravn” Colbeysson. Colbey made no attempt to sort his impressions or to read further. The gods would make their concerns clear soon enough. Ravn’s vexation could wait.
Colbey accepted the chair beside Ravn, and Freya the one beside him and across from the other goddesses. Ravn’s discomfort heightened precipitously. Sweat spangled his brow, and the smile he turned on his parents was tight and strained.
Vidar waited only until the last two had settled into their seats. “It appears we’re all here now. We can commence.” He peered around the gathered faces, meeting eyes that ranged from the palest blue to the richest green. Most wore war braids, yellow except for Modi’s and Magni’s fiery red. “At our last meeting, we found the balance between the world’s forces teetering.” At last, his cold gaze found the Renshai, and eyes like diamond chips bored into Colbey’s as if to read the thoughts behind them.
The irony struck Colbey, and he barely suppressed a smile. Experience had taught him that the gods could not read minds, at least not his. He, however, could violate their thoughts with impunity. Odin had placed the world’s forces—good and evil, law and chaos—into Colbey’s sword. To a Renshai, that did not differ from entrusting it directly to his hands. So far, the gods had agreed, most reluctantly, to let him handle the problem on man’s world. Their influence would prove too massive. Their slightest action invariably snowballed to shattering proportions. Only Colbey and Ravn maintained the necessary sensitivity to act without destroying, whether from age or proximity to mortals. Like his father, Ravn preferred swift and violent solutions without need for deliberation. Ravn, however, lacked the maturity to realize this situation called for the latter.
When Colbey did not answer immediately, Vidar asked the implied question. “How are you faring, Keeper of the Balance?”
Anticipation filled the room, accompanied by a hefty skepticism. Every god awaited his answer.
“I’m making progress,” Colbey said, vague from necessity. He walked a delicate line.
A sudden slash of anger pierced the gathering, and Colbey did not have to seek its source. Modi surged to his feet, orange beard bristling and face as crimson as Thor’s in his wildest rages. “That tells us nothing! We’re talking about the survival or collapse of Asgard! Whimsy will not suffice. Have you restored balance or haven’t you?”
“I haven’t,” Colbey admitted, his calm like a whisper beneath Modi’s shouts.
Vali mumbled something unintelligible, though his attitude, as well as his aura, revealed disgruntlement.
Colbey blinked, not bothering to explain himself further. The monstrous might of the gods had awed and, at times, terrified him. Thor’s heavy stomp had shaken the heavens with thunder, and lightning shattered and crackled in the wake of his violent anger. Odin’s single eye seemed to consume all knowledge and understanding, and he gave nothing of himself in return. Loki sanctioned the chaos the others disavowed, a dark presence of destruction that fragmented honor and severed alliances in wild explosions of betrayal and hatred. Tyr had personified honor, and Heimdall had served as the watchman. But the time for absolutes had come and gone. No human followed a path purely good or evil any longer, and the gods’ time had come as well. Ragnarok had destroyed the unconditional and left behind deities with little of their predecessors’ directed power. He respected them because his faith would allow nothing less, but he would not kowtow to their petty needs just as he had refused to do so for mankind.
Freya clarified for her husband. “We’re asking Colbey to coordinate irrational creatures, none of whom can be wholly predicted, nor does one resemble another. They have failings I can scarcely comprehend and agendas that can vary from day to week and often make no sense at all.” She leaned around Colbey and Ravn, placing both hands on the table. “A failing in the Balance isn’t like a hole in a dam that can be fixed with a straw plug and a handful of mud. Too much interference, and the wall tumbles. Too little, and the leak continues to widen. Meanwhile, new openings appear all over the surface, and he has to decide, correctly, which depend on others and which to handle first. None of us can afford a mistake.”
Vali cleared his throat and rose. “Which is why someone more skilled and experienced should work on this project.”
Colbey’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, but Freya blocked this response from the others’ view. Many times, he had wished the problem lay in any hands but his own. Yet, with a certainty that transcended vanity, he believed himself the best qualified for the job. Likely, he would fail, but he felt certain any of the gods would. Bluffing, he gestured from himself to Vali, indicating that Odin’s son could take the job from him at any time and without resistance. If Vali chose to do so, Colbey would have little choice but to oversee and intervene as necessary.
Sif rose, metallic gold tresses fluttering around comely features and warrior sinews, flinging highlights no normal hair could match. Colbey fought the urge to kneel in supplication. He had dedicated every practice since birth as a prayer to this goddess of Renshai, more fervent than the most devout priest. “This is nonsense,” she said, her voice, though at normal volume, as demanding as a shout. “We trusted Odin’s judgment since time began. Why would we question his choice for Keeper of the Balance?”
Balder and Hod nodded vigorously. Vali’s scowl deepened. Beside Sif, Idunn spoke next. “Who among us could think like mortals better than Kyndig?” She used the name the gods had given Colbey long ago. Literally, it meant “skill” and placed him with his half brothers, “wrath” and “might.”
Sigyn disagreed with her seatmate. “Just because we’re working with mortals doesn’t necessarily make thinking like one a positive thing.”
Vali grinned.
Colbey relaxed, letting the others carry the conversation. When a group of personalities this strong came together, they could never all agree. Ultimately, he believed, it would come back to him. For good or ill, the group always gave less acknowledgment to Sigyn’s opinions; marrying Loki placed her credibility in permanent jeopardy.
Sigyn continued, “Times have changed since Odin created the task for the Keeper. Perhaps the test is no longer valid.”
Vali snorted, taking the point one step further than good taste. “We would have the Wise One’s judgment still if Kyndig had assisted his battle as Odin intended.”
Frey interrupted, his scowl deepening and his handsome features a study in rage. “Whatever your opinion of Colbey’s actions at the Ragnarok, don’t state it in my presence. He chose to help me instead. I believe that decision expedient for more reasons than that he spared my life instead of Odin’s. Without Colbey, we would have no Midgard to balance.”
Colbey gave his brother-in-law a nod that he hoped conveyed respect as well as gratitude. They had agreed on few matters since that day. Frey’s demand, that Colbey kill no elves, had placed more constraints on him than any other. So far, however, he and all humans he employed had complied.
Vali relented, presenting an opinion Colbey had never heard before. “In all deference to your life, friend Frey, I’m afraid Odin may have known what was best even then. The Ragnarok was Midgard’s scheduled time to fall. I’m afraid Kyndig’s actions, however much you might believe in them, may only have delayed the inevitable. Only now, when Midgard falls, she will drag Asgard down with her.”
Varying emotions turned to blank and open-minded consideration. Colbey glanced at Ravn, pleased to find his son still mired only in anxiety. He had not given the suggestion any more thought than the other bitter nonsense the gods spewed forth at intervals. Colbey only hoped Ravn’s lack of reaction came of common sense and not adolescent disinterest.
The answer came sooner than Colbey expected. Speaking for the first time in a gathering, Ravn drew upon his courage. His voice eme
rged in a thin quaver, yet it rose over the hushed contemplation. “If that were so, if the world had a master plan even the gods don’t know, why bother to live at all? And why would Odin have made a system of Wizards with the purpose of keeping the balance and making prophecies come true? If things happen no matter what we do, why should we do anything?”
Ravn had found the point well enough, but Colbey added the current practicality. “I believe I’ve made it clear I don’t believe in fate. Not even my own. Those of you who do can hide in your halls and do nothing. I’m going to do my best to save the Balance, for our sakes and for the sake of my people.”
Vali recoiled as if slapped. His pale eyes narrowed, and he glared at Colbey. Before he could inflame the issue any more than Colbey already had, Vidar stepped in to restore order. “Let’s not argue, please. There’s no time or place for that.” He sat up straighter in Odin’s chair, finally taking the role he had held, in name only, since the Ragnarok. “Odin is gone, but we’re not leaderless.” He turned Vali a hard, calculating look as if he expected his half brother to challenge his command. “I’m the one who assigned Colbey to this task, and I stand by my decision.”
Vali lowered his head, a silent gesture of capitulation. Nevertheless, he challenged Vidar’s decision as he had not done his position. “You realize you place our fate into his charge as well?”
Vidar’s reply followed without hesitation. “Yes. That would be the case no matter who I chose. The situation, not the man, determines that.”
“But he’s not even one of us!” Magni blurted, an attitude Colbey knew many of them shared.
Vidar grinned, turning his attention to Thor’s son. For a moment, the ugly gleam in his eyes resembled Odin’s. “That may well be his greatest asset.”
Magni’s eyes snapped wide, and his hand went to his beard. He said nothing further.
“Odin gave over regulation of the Balance to Colbey despite the fact that he expected to survive the Ragnarok. I condone his decision. And I uphold it.”
Colbey remained silent. He would not stand accused of influencing Vidar.
Freya held no similar compunction. “Colbey’s methods may be . . . unconventional.” She paused just long enough to unintentionally broadcast “weird” to Colbey’s mental talent. “He’s done fine by the Balance in the past, even when certain of us tried to sabotage him.” She glanced pointedly at Thor’s sons, though they had not participated in the mistake.
The corners of Colbey’s mouth twitched into a smile at the memory. Believing Colbey sanctioned chaos, Thor had blustered down from Asgard to kill him. No matter the winner, the battle between biological father and son, neither of whom knew of their relationship, would have instantly sparked the Ragnarok both were trying to prevent. Luckily, Freya and Loki separated them in time. Colbey knew Thor had meant well; the God of Law and Storms truly believed his actions would work in the gods’ best interests.
Freya finished with a warning. “Vidar sent my husband to teeter on ice too thin to hold anyone and told him to repair cracks in its surface while the world’s forces bombard him with wind and flying rocks. I won’t have him dodging divine but stupid sea monsters at the same time.”
“Meaning what?” Vali shifted his attack to Freya, a reprieve Vidar probably appreciated though Colbey did not.
Freya leaned forward, not shying away in the least. “Meaning if you or anyone else has any thought of interfering, speak now.”
“There’s no need for threats,” Vidar asserted calmly. “We all understand there’s no such thing as a ‘small’ act of gods on Midgard. Anyone may talk to Colbey or question his actions, but no one will intrude. No one.” His last words took the burden off Vali. “Not even me.”
A hush followed, as Vidar’s command settled over the gathered gods. Colbey read discomfort and dissatisfaction in the silence, even a hint of fear. No one would directly challenge his actions, at least not until the stakes became intolerably high. Unfortunately, he realized, that might happen soon.
Balder’s musical tone seemed a welcome relief from the tension. “What disturbs me is that we seem to have lost control. When did the forces of the universe become more significant than gods?”
When no one else deigned to answer, Colbey did. Not being a god gave him a vantage none of the others seemed able to fully comprehend. “That’s always been the case.”
Every face whipped toward Colbey, and a sea of cold eyes pinned him. Hostility flared, the fires of resentment burning through all other emotions.
Colbey explained, “The primordial chaos existed even before the gods. Odin banished the chaos, leaving a world wholly lawful. For good and evil, he struck a balance, assigning Wizards to guard it. But even Odin’s powers could not contain chaos indefinitely. Gradually, he released small amounts to mankind, like a spout on a teapot. Ultimately, he knew, law and chaos needed to strike a balance, too, but he waited until he found guardians capable of properly championing them.”
“You,” Modi inserted.
“And the Eastern Wizard. Right,” Colbey confirmed. “But even Odin can misjudge, and it soon became clear that the system of Wizardry he created could not handle law and chaos as it had good and evil. So he destroyed his creation and placed one being in charge of the Balance.”
“You again,” Modi said.
“Right. My point being that even the oldest and most powerful of the gods could not fully contain even one of the universe’s forces forever.”
“And you think you can contain all of them?” Vali laced his fingers through his beard. “Does your gall know no limits?”
“Gods, no!” Colbey immediately cursed the unintentional blasphemy. Even after three centuries, he still lapsed into mortal patterns of speech. “I know nothing of magic. I can scarcely contain my adolescent son, never mind an entire force. But I’m not trying to contain them, just restore the natural balance. I am capable of that.” Colbey allowed no doubt to tinge the statement. “And Odin believed so, too.”
“Which brings us full circle.” Vidar reclaimed the floor. “So if there are no further questions . . .” He paused long enough to allow anyone to raise additional concerns. “. . . this meeting is adjourned.”
Gods and goddesses rose, filing from the Great Hall. Some remained behind, presumably to discuss the events of the last few moments or the future that did or did not await them depending on Colbey’s success. The enormity of the task awed even Colbey, and he harbored no wish to remain trapped in a room with deities assessing his abilities. Even if they kept their discussions to a whisper, the height of their thoughts and emotions would surely drag the gist to the mental gift that often seemed more like a curse. Leaving Freya behind, he funneled out the teak door with those who chose to leave. He sensed Ravn’s presence directly at his back. The boy definitely needed to work on his timing.
The sunlight seemed dim after the vast array of lanterns in the hall that sparked a web of rays from metallic walls. Colbey found the change a welcome relief. His doubts did not stem from his ability to correct the Balance. If the task was possible, he would see it done. If not, it would prove an honest failure. He had lived a full and honorable life that could satisfactorily have ended in his thirties.
Colbey waited only until those who left the hall fully disbanded before turning to confront his son. Keen blue eyes studied him from beneath a tangled fringe of bangs just a bit too long for his warrior senses. Freya’s straight nose and high cheekbones settled comfortably over a thin-lipped mouth so like his own. At sixteen, Ravn had already surpassed his father’s height, not surprising given that most of the gods towered over them both by half again. Though the boy stood firm, nervousness still hovered around him like a mantle.
Colbey had no difficulty guessing its source. “You interfered, didn’t you?”
Ravn heaved a deep sigh. “Sometimes I wish I had a normal father. One like Griff’s.”
“You mean dead?”
“I meant his stepfather. One who doesn’t read my mi
nd.”
Colbey frowned. “I don’t read your mind. You know I set strict rules about that. I don’t invade the thoughts of anyone I respect, though I can’t help what you send me. You’re feeling guilty about something.”
“You respect me?”
Colbey refused to be sidetracked. “Sometimes. Whether I do right now depends on why you’re anxious.”
“I interfered,” Ravn admitted. “Does that mean the whole world will crumble?” His straightforward tone denied the possibility. His concern did not stem from this eventuality, more likely from his father’s potential reaction.
Colbey folded his arms, brows arched. “Maybe,” he replied calmly, lacking the knowledge to reassure. “What did you do?” He reserved his judgment, and anger, for the facts.
Ravn avoided his father’s gaze, shuffling a foot through the thick carpet of grass. “Griff was worried about his mother.” Ravn fell into a long pause that seemed unnecessary.
Though Colbey felt no conversational need, he filled in the opening to encourage Ravn to continue. “Understandable.”
“So I promised to give her some reassurance.”
Another pause into which Colbey inserted an impatient, “Go on.”
“So I did.” Ravn did not look up.
Colbey studied his son. He let the silence hang. Ravn’s discomfort grew in increments, then burst suddenly to full alarm as his mind turned to concern over his father’s lack of response. Finally, he met the icy blue-gray eyes.
Colbey doubted such action would affect the Balance, though it depended on Ravn’s methods. The boy’s devotion to Béarn’s rightful king had grown dangerous, and Colbey only hoped his lessons on how to interfere had finally taken root. Ravn had paid dearly for defending Griff in the past. “You chose a vow to a friend over one to your father?”
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