Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  CHAPTER 18

  The Unwelcome

  To the immortals, centuries pass like months;

  but the shortest-lived see every moment’s glory.

  It is they who first notice the need for change.

  And they who adapt most quickly to it.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Ravn discovered his father in his favorite practice area, a clearing carpeted with Asgard’s emerald-colored grasses yet near enough to woodlands to provide the varied terrain Colbey preferred. Boulders, branches, and debris lay neatly piled at the boundary between meadow and woodlands, obstacles Colbey scattered randomly prior to his svergelse. Uncharacteristically sedate, Colbey perched upon one of those stones. The Staff of Chaos slanted in his right hand, its lower end buried in the dirt and its upper pointing at Asgard’s ever-present sun. As always, he wore a sword at either hip. Blond feathers hid his expression.

  Disturbing the elder Renshai’s practice was insult worthy of death. Colbey did not guard his other activities so fiercely, not even his rare moments of quiet meditation. Nevertheless, Ravn approached with a quietness bordering on silence. His feet scarcely ruffled the grasses, and he kept his breathing controlled. The news he brought his father was bad.

  Though intent, Colbey glanced in Ravn’s direction the instant he entered the clearing. A chill traversed Ravn, and he paused in position. His own swords, the left a longsword and the right a scimitar, felt warm and reassuring at his sides. His yellow hair had grown just long enough to fall into his eyes during battle, and his mixed choice of swords always irritated his father. He suspected Colbey had mentally sensed his presence rather than heard anything to alert him to his son’s approach.

  Colbey rose, tunic stained by sweat and dirt. Everything else in Asgard always seemed pristine, from the grounds to the gods, and Colbey eternally jarred from this image. A smile split the familiar features, emphasizing the ancient scar across one cheek, left by a demon’s claws. The blue-gray eyes lost their hard edge, replaced by a sparkle of delight. “Did you come for a spar?” The staff shifted to vertical, but Colbey leaned none of his weight upon it.

  Though he had not, Ravn knew better than to decline the opportunity. “Later. There’s a meeting.”

  Colbey sighed, as if Ravn had named the most painful part of his existence. And, perhaps, he had. For a warrior, sitting in council seemed grotesquely tedious. “So we’ll be late.”

  “I’m already late.” Ravn gauged his father’s reaction. “You can’t possibly be late.”

  Colbey hesitated less than a second before catching the underlying meaning. “I’m not invited?” he guessed.

  Ravn lowered his head. “Vali made that very clear.” He added for emphasis, “Very clear.” He recalled the expression on the face of Odin’s son: intense and harsh with eyes narrowed into slits that made him look as dangerous as live coals.

  Colbey made a thoughtful noise but said nothing more.

  Ravn shifted, uncomfortable. “I thought you should know.”

  “Vali wanted you to tell me.”

  Ravn could not tell if Colbey meant the words as statement or question. “He didn’t say that.”

  “He didn’t have to.”

  Ravn’s eyes tracked naturally to the staff; its continued presence unnerved him. “Why would Vali want you to know he didn’t invite you?”

  The smile returned. “He wants me to come.”

  Ravn withdrew slightly, startled and confused by his father’s assessment. “Then why did he exclude you?”

  “He wants me to come uninvited.”

  “I see,” Ravn said, but he didn’t. His gaze fixed fanatically on the staff that should no longer grace his father’s hand. “You still have the staff I brought.”

  Colbey nodded, apparently seeing no reason to respond verbally to a self-evident point.

  “Weren’t you going to give it to a mortal?”

  “I was.” Colbey hefted the Staff of Chaos, spun it from hand to hand, then returned it to its position. “I changed my mind.”

  “Oh.” Ravn tried not to let too much worry seep into his tone. He recalled the yearning the staff had created in him. Had he held it too long, he might have attempted to wield it. He had understood the need to rid himself of it swiftly, but he never expected it to have such a profound effect on a being with his father’s mental power and control. “You’re going to wield it?” This time, incredulity leached into his voice.

  Colbey responded to the thoughts rather than the words, a habit that never ceased to intimidate Ravn. “I haven’t allowed more than superficial contact. It was my choice, fully, not the staff’s influence.”

  Ravn wished for a way to ascertain his father’s words but knew he would find none.

  Again, Colbey read his concern without words. “I could let you hold the staff, but you can’t trust it. It’ll tell you whatever it believes will stir more chaos. Or, perhaps, what it thinks I want you to know. I can’t prove what I say. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  Ravn looked at his father, seeing a man who had weathered more than most of the gods in a far shorter span. Nature had endowed him with none of his biological father’s size, strength, or temper. Though plain in size and features, he could never become lost in a crowd. Whether from stance or simply Ravn’s knowledge of his prowess, he seemed to radiate a dangerous aura that created followers or enemies in an instant. Something about Colbey Calistinsson awed Ravn as none of the gods did. He did not attempt to differentiate how much of that respect grew from the natural bond between father and son, how much from the lightning swordplay, and how much from something undefinable. He might not understand why, nor ever explain it to others or to himself, but he trusted Colbey with a faith no one could shake. “So are you going? To the meeting, I mean.”

  Colbey shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Vali.” Though not a direct answer, the words told Ravn that, as always, Colbey would do as he pleased.

  “I could refuse to go.” Ravn tried to show his support in the only way the situation allowed, though the token seemed hollow. Like his once-mortal father, Ravn despised the tedium of conferences.

  “No.” Colbey made a gesture that dismissed Ravn’s sacrifice without belittling it. “Someone with common sense should be there. Besides your mother, of course.”

  Ravn grinned at the compliment, shaking his head simultaneously at blasphemy Colbey never would have suffered, from himself or any other, in his mortal years. “All right, then. I’ll see you later.” He did not specify when. His father would determine that.

  Ravn trotted onward, Asgard’s sun a pleasant warmth on his shoulders and the grasses tickling through his sandals. He did not attempt to anticipate the meeting. Only one topic could drive Vali to invite every inhabitant of Asgard except Colbey. Ravn could only guess the reason for Vali’s concern, though it likely paralleled his own: The Staff of Chaos. Unlike Ravn, Vali did not trust the old Renshai. And he had made that quite clear at their last meeting, that one in Colbey’s presence.

  Though not as large as the gods’, Ravn’s rapid strides brought him swiftly to the gold-and-silver behemoth of the meeting hall. The sunlight sparked highlights from the chaotic arrangement of gemstones, and Ravn’s movement brought different ones into focus in a wavelike pattern. The intermittent glimmers looked like stars winking into and out of existence, tiny lights on a background of silver. The appreciation Colbey had taught allowed Ravn to enjoy the display each and every time he entered or passed the building. Unlike his father, who considered the display gaudy and wasteful, Ravn found beauty in the meeting hall’s wealth. Now he enjoyed it as much as he dared, rocking his head to bring different gemstones into the light as he reached for the door.

  Ravn tripped the latch, and the panel swung silently open on a somber array of gods and goddesses at the iron-bound, oak table. Diamonds glittered from the frame, the last exhibition before followers’ sacrifices gave way to the austere interior. Again, Vidar sat in Odin’s seat, as if to r
emind the half brother who had called the meeting of his station. Vali took a position at Vidar’s right hand, once Vidar’s own seat in the days when Odin ruled the heavens. Odin had died long before Ravn’s birth, so the positioning of the assembled held little significance to him. Balder the beloved, Vidar’s once-dead brother sat to his left. Beside Balder sat his wife, Nanna, then Modi and Magni, the redheaded sons of Thor. As always, their father’s hammer lay on the table near either’s hand. Across the table from Nanna and Thor’s sons sat the goddesses Sif, Sigyn, and Idunn. Hod and Frey sat opposite one another in the very next seats, Hod beside Magni and Frey beside Idunn. Freya took a place beside her brother. Ten chairs remained vacant. Ravn chose the one across from his mother, and only she so much as glanced at him as he entered. She granted him a smile and a nod, without chastising his lateness.

  Ravn took only a moment to orient himself to the conversation, and tuned it out shortly thereafter. The gods discussed trivialities: Midgard’s weather, the faith of followers, and the status of human systems of belief. Such details did not concern Ravn. He had no temples dedicated to him; only a rare human knew of his existence. The Ragnarok had brought an end to most of the gods’ charges and concerns. Giants no longer existed, leaving Asgard without enemies. Loki no longer lived to stir trouble in their midst. Odin’s terrible commands had died with him, leaving no prophecies to fulfill. Hel no longer prepared for war. Without the extremes, the world assumed a balance that scarcely teetered . . . usually. And, as Ravn knew it must, the conversation eventually turned to Colbey.

  Vali claimed the floor. “As you know, I called you here.” He added from duty, “With my brother’s permission.”

  Vidar gave Vali a single nod that conveyed a request to continue. From their leader’s expression, Ravn perceived that Vidar did not know Vali’s intentions but chose to listen to them.

  Vali cleared his throat, breaking the last few lingering conversations and drawing all eyes to himself. “I have serious concerns about the Keeper of the Balance.”

  A rumble swept through the gods. Ravn caught some mumbles of agreement interspersed with suggestions that Vali not bother to identify a topic they already anticipated.

  Vidar sighed wearily. “We’ve already heard your concerns, Vali. At the last meeting.”

  Ravn guessed the young leader of the gods had listened to Vali’s ramblings several times since then as well, on an informal basis.

  “A new problem has come to light.” Vali swung his head toward his brother, a war braid flipping over his shoulder with the movement. “I’ve been watching Colbey.”

  The words irritated Ravn more than he expected. “You’ve been spying on my father,” he grumbled beneath his breath.

  Apparently, Freya heard him. She shook her head, frowning. The gesture bespoke forbearance.

  Vali took no verbal notice of the exchange, although his attention did swing to Colbey’s wife and son. A half-smile played over his features. “Our Balance-Keeper will destroy us.”

  Vidar’s frown matched his half brother’s, but with different source. “The King of Béarn was restored. The balance must naturally follow.”

  “It hasn’t,” Sigyn blurted. “It’s dangerously tipped.”

  “Toward law,” Vali confirmed.

  “Your point?” Vidar demanded.

  Vali threw up his hands, as if it should seem obvious. “Colbey believed he could manage the feat without tipping the balance. Clearly, he overplayed his hand.”

  Freya’s foot pressed against Ravn’s. The time had not come yet for either of them to speak.

  Sif shook her metallic gold tresses, and wavy highlights reflected on the wall. “Any of us would have done worse. Even Colbey admitted his hand might have become too heavy to meddle in Midgard’s affairs. If he withdraws, the balance should correct itself.”

  “Exactly!” Vali glanced around the room, light eyes returning every stare. “But Colbey made the decision to wield the Staff of Chaos instead. He plans to correct an imbalance of his creation by leaping personally onto the other side.” Vali paused without making the obvious point, leaving the gods to contemplate the results. Each could conjure the endpoint his or her own imagination found most horrible.

  Even Ravn could not stop himself from considering the facts Vali presented, especially in light of what little he knew. He understood the danger of gods meddling. Although he had witnessed no catastrophes, Colbey, Freya, and the gods had described ones that horrified him enough. His own father had forbidden Ravn’s associations with Griff when they affected the balance, for the very reason Vali detailed. Ravn stared at his hands, unable to deny Vali’s assertion yet fiercely certain of his father’s competence.

  Freya’s grip on Ravn’s shoulder increased. He looked into his mother’s pale eyes and ivory features, and she sought some confirmation or denial from him. Without the facts, she could not argue.

  “He has the staff,” Ravn whispered, careful to ascertain no one could overhear. “And he does plan to wield it.”

  Consideration narrowed Freya’s eyes, bringing the long lashes together. No condemnation reached her expression. She wondered about, but never doubted the propriety of, Colbey’s decision. Her allegiance to Colbey never wavered, adding fuel to Ravn’s own.

  Lines creased Vidar’s face, and he looked at Vali around bangs that fringed his forehead. “Are you certain of this?”

  “Quite certain.” Vali’s tone and expression left no doubt.

  Ravn glanced around the room at the other gods, surprised to find many gazing at him. Most looked away as he met their stares. Without Colbey in the room, their condemnations fell naturally to him. Unlike humans, however, they realized the folly of blaming a father’s insanity on his son. No one verbally tossed responsibility his way. Magni had reached naturally for Thor’s hammer, his fist tensing and loosening on the short haft. Modi’s brows beetled in anger. The other deities seemed as much confused and apprehensive as outraged.

  There seemed no defense to the action, and no one spoke for a long time. Freya finally found her moment in the silence. “Colbey wielded a staff before amid condemnations far more vehement. Those who stood against him were wrong then . . .” She added carefully, “. . . too.”

  Sigyn dismissed the argument. “It’s not the same, Freya. The mistake was believing he carried the Staff of Chaos, not Law. This time, he has chosen chaos.”

  “Colbey carried law, never sanctioned it,” Freya reminded. “He always worked for balance. That’s why Odin picked him.”

  Ravn listened to both sides carefully. That he had already chosen his loyalties did not matter. Until he heard all parts, he could not gather the logic to argue.

  Vali shook back his errant braid. “But we’re talking about chaos here. Kyndig could control law. It’s predictable. It keeps vows scrupulously. Even Odin couldn’t fully handle chaos.”

  “Colbey was Odin’s choice,” Balder reminded politely. “We have to trust Odin.”

  “A century after his death,” Vali said. “Two centuries, maybe. But things change over time. Even Odin switched strategies. He traded the system of Wizards for a Keeper of Balance.”

  “True.” Freya confirmed Vali’s words, only to disparage them. “After millennia. Give Colbey some time. And, for once, some benefit of your doubts.”

  Vidar had remained unusually quiet during this time. He shifted in his seat like a human child trapped at a day-long ceremony. It seemed impossible that his habit of listening rather than speaking had earned him the title of the silent god prior to the Ragnarok, before circumstance forced him into Odin’s place.

  Vali placed Vidar further into his uncomfortable position. “So, are you with me?”

  Vidar threw up his hands, clearly agitated. “What do you mean by ‘with you’? We’re all in this together.”

  Vali planted both palms on the table, leaning toward his half brother at the table’s head. “Over time, the Staff of Chaos will corrupt Colbey. Do you want another Loki in our mids
t?”

  Modi and Magni recoiled, hissing. Several others appeared agitated, by expression or movement. Only Freya remained in place, a wistful smile crossing her face so swiftly Ravn doubted he had seen it at all. History mentioned times when Freya and Loki had worked together grudgingly, as respectful rivals. The troublesome god of mischief and chaos had also seen through Colbey’s switching of the staves, recognizing the need for the deception and for the Ragnarok.

  Vali rose to deliver the coup de grace in a loud voice that assured the full attention he had already garnered. “We must stop Colbey’s foolishness. We have two choices I can see: remove the Staff of Chaos from him or take his title as Balance-Keeper and his status among us.”

  Vidar’s gaze strayed first from Vali to the door. Others followed in a line. Only then, Ravn felt the faint breeze of the opening at his back. He whirled, along with several others.

  Colbey stood framed in the doorway, the Staff of Chaos gripped loosely in his hand. “And you, Vali? Are you volunteering to take the Staff of Chaos from me?”

  “See!” Vali shrieked in a triumph that sounded rehearsed to Ravn. “Just as I warned. Who else interrupted a meeting of gods to which he was not invited?”

  Ravn guessed from context that Vali referred to Loki. Sage nods swept the room, from those who recalled the incident. Freya rolled her eyes at the madness.

  “The way I see it, Vali, your two choices are these: either trust me to handle the job Odin endorsed . . .”

  Ravn noticed Colbey avoided saying that Odin assigned him the task. He had always claimed a willing hand in the decision.

  “. . . or you can face me in fair combat. If you kill me, you can take any items you wish. If I kill you . . .” Colbey shrugged. “. . . the gods lose a fool.”

  A fire blazed in Vali’s eyes, but he did not accept Colbey’s challenge. Instead, he gave Vidar a warning look, again placing the problem into his half brother’s hands.