Cursed Prince (Night Elves Trilogy Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  I’ll need your crystal, wrote Marroc.

  It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to my vergr crystal.

  The crystal.

  For a few terrifying seconds, I thought I might have lost it in the river, but then I found it deep in one of my pockets. “Why do you need it?”

  Marroc wrote, I’ll climb the wall. When I reach the other side, I’ll bang on it three times with all my strength. Then you travel to the crystal, and we continue.

  It wasn’t the worst idea.

  I handed him the crystal. “Don’t break it. And don’t keep it in your pants or something when you call me, because I’ll come bursting out of them. It would be awkward for us both.”

  With a ghost of a smile, he slid the crystal into his pocket. Then he started to climb, latching his fingers into the crack between the sheets of iron.

  I watched him climb until he was a tiny black speck high up on the wall.

  Most magical creatures were repelled by iron, but elves were like humans. We had iron in our blood. Still, that was probably why it was built of iron. Maybe it repelled the spirits. Helped keep them in.

  Marroc had disappeared into the mist high above. I glanced across the field toward the road leading up to the gate, where the dead kept shuffling, an endless procession.

  Mist roiled over the mud, and I shivered. My stomach rumbled, and I closed my eyes, envisioning the roast chicken I’d refused to eat before. What the Helheim had I been thinking?

  Surely Marroc would be at the bottom by now? I listened for any sounds of knocking, but when I moved closer to the wall, all I could hear was the faint gurgle of water trickling down the side of the wall. Strangely relaxing. I plopped down on the ground and rested my face in my hands.

  In the distance, through my fingers, the dead moved slowly, inching forward like ants through molasses. The mist shifted, but I still heard no knocks from Marroc.

  I didn’t know if it was the hypnotic effect of the mist or simply extreme exhaustion and hunger that caused me to close my eyes. I drifted off, dreaming of Mom and Dad and Barthol, their faces shining over the birthday cake they’d made for me. Ten candles gleaming like stars. A tradition left over from the humans. Barthol and Mom looked so much alike—same pointed chins and delicate features. Same cupid’s-bow lips.

  In my dream, Mom leaned over my cake, and the candles warmed her features.

  “Avenge me, Ali,” she whispered.

  Chapter 41

  Marroc

  I straddled the wall as I got my first look into Helheim itself. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see.

  Like the gateway, the surface of Helheim was entirely obscured by fog. Sooty clouds pressed low to the ground and roiled in unnatural twists and swirls. Behind me, a plain of brown mud and mist stretched out as far as I could see. Only the dark curve of the road, like the back of a giant serpent, interrupted it.

  I looked straight down the wall. My eyes followed the crack, but I couldn’t see Ali from here. I didn’t like the idea of her alone so near the road of dead. I wanted her close to me.

  Best get this over with fast, then. I rolled my shoulders.

  Time to get moving. I turned and jammed my hand into the crack on the Helheim side of the wall. Then, drawing in a deep breath, I began to descend. The crack cut clear through the wall, so climbing down was only a matter of locking and unlocking my fingers. As I slowly lowered myself, mist began to surround me.

  With a creeping sense of dread, I quickly realized it was more than mist. Much thicker and darker, it wrapped around me like a funeral shroud. In moments, I could barely see my hands where they touched the wall.

  Though I’d seen the stygian fog moving from my perch on the top of the wall, now that I was within it, the air felt oppressively still, like a creature holding its breath.

  I continued climbing downward, one hand at a time. Everything was going smoothly until the crack stopped. I paused, confused. I couldn’t see a thing; the crack had just disappeared.

  Hanging by one hand, I pulled myself close to the wall.

  A low growl rose in my throat. The crack was there, but it had been welded shut. I drew one of my daggers and scratched at it, but it wasn’t doing much good.

  How high was I in the air?

  Maybe I could just drop and deal with the pain of bones shattering. I’d recover. Eventually.

  As I was steeling my resolve to let go, the fog grew even thicker, until it had a wet texture over my skin. The temperature dropped.

  Worse, my skin prickled with the sensation that I was being watched. Suddenly, a dark shadow passed above me, and I realized something was in the fog with me.

  I growled softly, more a warning than a threat as I craned my head around, trying to see what it was. But the shadow had disappeared. The chill deepened.

  What the Helheim was it?

  Suddenly, something ice cold wrenched my hand from the wall, and dread clamped a hand around my heart. In the next moment, I was falling.

  I hit the ground with a smack. Mud sprayed around me, thick and black as tar. Pain shot through my limbs, but there was no cracking of bone. I wasn’t seriously injured.

  I lay on my back for a moment, then crawled to my feet, holding my daggers in front of me.

  I could see nothing beyond the ends of my blades in the fog. Silent as a grave, here.

  Frowning, I tried to brush some of the mud off myself.

  As the temperature dropped even further, a chill washed over me. Condensation on my skin froze. Ice formed on the tips of my daggers. A shape flickered in the periphery of my vision, and I spun, trying to see what it was. In the swirling fog, it was gone.

  And there was that sense of eyes on me.

  Then the fog began to thin around me, revealing a shadowy figure hovering at the edge of the fog, tall and thin like a scarecrow. It stayed just out of sight.

  I knew what it was now—a shade—a soul of one in Helheim. They weren’t necessarily good or evil, but they always told the truth.

  I raised my blade as more shades appeared around me. One stepped forward, out of the swirling vapor. It was completely black, but its outline continually shifted as though stirred by an invisible hand. I couldn’t quite focus my eyes on it.

  “It is sacrilege for an earthly body to cross into our lands,” said the shade. Its voice sounded muffled, as though it was shouting from a great distance.

  I began to write in my book, to explain that I was on my way to the Shore of the Dead, but the shade glided closer. Close up, I could see its pale white eyes gleaming at me.

  I tried to lift my book but couldn’t. My arm was frozen. A growl rose in my chest. It cut short as the air in my lungs filled with ice.

  “Do not challenge me,” it whispered. “The dead rule this realm. You’re in our domain.”

  Chapter 42

  Ali

  When I woke, I felt a pang in my chest. That happened sometimes, like I’d lost Mom all over again every time I woke up.

  Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I saw that the slow procession of dead continued to inch forward. Shit. I hadn’t slept through the banging, had I? I had no idea how much time had passed. There was no sun here, just an unwavering gray light sifting through the mist.

  I stood slowly, my limbs stiff and cold. I shook my hands and rolled my shoulders. Turning to the wall, I traced my fingers along its cold, pitted surface.

  What had happened to Marroc?

  I started pacing, the worry now making me alert. Should I go to him now? If I opened my mouth to say Fara and jumped to the crystal, I had no way of knowing where it was. I could end up reappearing in the stomach of a giant beast, in the midst of a battle, or trapped in a prison.

  Luckily, I had another option. I could climb this wall. I peeked under the makeshift bandage, checking the wound on my hand. Already, it had scabbed over.

  I started to pull myself up and stopped. A new idea occurred to me: what if I could talk to Marroc? Raising my knuckles, I rapped o
n the wall as hard as I could.

  Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  I didn’t know if the sound traveled through the metal. It was so thick, so ancient. I had the sense it was reverberating, but I still waited to hear if there was an answering series of taps. Only silence greeted me.

  Okay, then. Climbing was my only option, unless I wanted to starve to death and enter Helheim that way.

  I latched my fingers into the gap and leaned back so that my weight held my grip in place. Then, slowly, I began to climb, one hand over another. Just like I’d done in the Shadow Caverns. Locking my fingers, moving my feet. Unlocking the fingers of one hand, reaching higher up, locking my fingers again. Slow going, but I was moving steadily up.

  After about twenty feet, the crack widened, and I could wedge my feet inside, climbing more easily. It felt good to move again, to be in control.

  I just had no fucking idea what I’d find on the other side.

  Chapter 43

  Marroc

  I didn’t know how long I’d been walking. The fog hung close, and the landscape had no features except mud. All around me, the dark forms of the shades glided through the fog, silently watching me.

  Right now, the shades controlled my body, forcing my feet to move one in front of the other in a perpetual march. I couldn’t raise my arms, turn my head, or even lift a finger. Ice filled my veins. It was so frustrating to be around creatures I couldn’t kill. What did I have to threaten them with?

  The only thing I could control was my mind, but that was its own torture, because it was screaming with questions: what had happened to Ali? Was she still waiting for me to knock on the wall? Would she still jump to the vergr crystal?

  If she tried to climb it, it would be a disaster. But I had to count on the fact that she’d figure it out and wait till she heard my signal. I’d find a way to get out of this.

  I could feel the stone’s weight in my pocket. If Ali appeared next to me, the shades would surround her in an instant. She wasn’t dead, so maybe they wouldn’t be able to control her as well. But still, the presence of a living person here would enrage them.

  Beneath my feet, the mud grew drier until it turned into soft soil. The fog thinned. Around me, the shades floated, their dark forms tracking me like a murder of crows.

  Slowly, the ground began to rise, and the soil hardened into a path. Now, from out of the corners of my eyes, I saw something unexpected—I appeared to be walking on a floating island above a sea of fog. Mist rolled all around the island like the waters of a river.

  Ahead of me, the path joined an old cobblestone road, the stones coated in a thin layer of grime. No one had walked on them in a while.

  Before me rose an escarpment, a black cliff nearly as tall as the wall I’d climbed. The road led straight toward it, but it was only when we were a few hundred yards away that I glimpsed the yawning crack in the cliff face. With the shades surrounding me, I passed once again into darkness.

  As I entered the crevasse, the jagged rock quickly gave way to stone walls, constructed of boulders and carved into interlocking shapes like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The smallest boulders were twice as tall as a man. Every few yards, small alcoves had been carved into the stone. Within them flickered faint blue flames. Some sort of death magic, I guessed.

  The shades floated along next to me, silent as ever. The only sound was the quiet footsteps of my feet on the stone. We walked along this stone pathway until it expanded into a massive hall.

  I found the dimly lit hall empty. As the shades led me forward, my footsteps echoed in the vast space, and a faint whispering fluttered around me, growing louder and louder the deeper we moved. Through the corners of my eyes, I searched for some way out of this, some key to breaking the spell over me.

  At last, we reached the end of the hall. It was empty but for a massive throne. Completely black, it appeared to be constructed entirely of obsidian. A giant form slumped over in it, and a shadow crept over my heart.

  I knew who this creature was—or had been. One half of her body was a deep indigo, the other the color of weathered bone. Her hair hung limp over sunken cheeks. She wore a long gray robe covered in a thin layer of dust, and her eyes were closed. A gnawing terror filled my chest as I looked at her, like I was trespassing on something I was never meant to see.

  Before me was the corpse of the goddess Hela herself. This was the mummified body of the queen of Helheim, Loki’s daughter. There was no question the goddess was dead, so I had no idea why they’d led me to her.

  Under the control of the shades, I walked up to the throne. Slowly, they forced me to kneel.

  A shade swept before me. “Why have you trespassed within our realm?”

  I shook my head, pointing to my throat. He’d be waiting for an answer for a long time, since I couldn’t speak.

  The shade’s eyes flickered. Suddenly, its inky arm thrust out and down my throat. My vision flashed white with pain. Then the shade’s fingers retracted, and it spoke again.

  “Answer,” said the shade. “Now, you can speak. Tell us the truth. Why do you trespass on our lands?”

  Chapter 44

  Ali

  I straddled the top of the wall, gazing at the vast expanse of Helheim. Beneath me, soot-colored clouds hid the ground. I hesitated as cold fear crawled up my spine. Whatever was down there, it didn’t want to be seen.

  I desperately wished I could wait a little longer, but I knew that wasn’t an option. I hadn’t eaten a meal in days, and I was becoming dangerously dehydrated. I had to go down there, had to find Marroc. He was my ride home, my way back to Midgard.

  Assuming we found Loki’s freaking magic wand.

  Whatever it took, I had to find my way back to my people, with the golden ring in my hand.

  I looked once again toward the road of the dead. Then I took a deep breath and jammed my fingers into the crack between the iron plates. Slowly, I began to descend, hand over hand.

  As I inched my way down the wall, my shoulders and forearms throbbed with exertion. Slowly, I passed into the dirty clouds. A thick fog surrounded me, cold and oppressive. The iron became slick with condensation. Then the temperature dropped sharply.

  Something brushed past me. A dark shape that seemed to fill my veins with ice. Frost spread across the iron like icy spider webs. Unease rose in my chest, and I clutched the wall tight. Whatever that was, it was bad.

  I looked down, hoping to see the ground beneath me, but I saw only mist and fog. Fighting my instinct to cling to the wall, I unlatched one of my hands.

  I was reaching down when a shadow appeared above my head. I looked up in time to see an inky hand reach for mine. The instant its fingers touched me, my hand spasmed. I lost my grip and fell.

  I tumbled, spinning. Sooty fog rushed past me, and panic snapped through my nerves.

  My mind raced. This had been a bad idea. If I didn’t do something fast, I was going to die.

  There was only one thing I could do.

  “Fara!” I yelled.

  I disappeared in a purple flash of light. An instant later I reappeared, flat on my back, bits of cloth in my hair, skidding fast across a stone floor.

  Smack! I slammed into something solid. My vision flashed, and the air rushed from my lungs.

  When I opened them, a dark shape hovered over me—gray shadows and beaming white eyes.

  “One of the living trespasses in our realm.” His hollow voice rang in my mind.

  I groaned, pushing myself off the floor. I was in a large hall, though shadows covered most of it. It felt almost like one of the Shadow Caverns where I’d grown up, but those caves had signs of life. This felt like a mausoleum.

  Above me, silhouettes hung in the air as though suspended from invisible threads. I stiffened. They looked like the creature that had pried me off the wall. It took me a moment to recognize them for what they were—shades.

  When I looked beyond them, my mouth went dry and my legs trembled. The corpse of a giant woman rested in a black
throne, and Marroc knelt before her, ignoring me. She was the goddess Hela, I thought—one of the gods who’d died in Ragnarok. It felt wrong to see her resting place, her body slumped in gray robes.

  Was this what Marroc was really after? Did liches worship the goddess of the dead?

  Marroc must have sensed my presence, because slowly, he turned to look at me. His pants were torn, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, his eyes locked on mine.

  Slowly his lips parted, and he spoke. “Ali, are you all right?” His deep voice shivered over my skin.

  Chapter 45

  Marroc

  Ali stared at me, open-mouthed.

  “Marroc.” Confusion furrowed her brow. “You can talk?”

  I nodded.

  She frowned. “Then why are you nodding?”

  “I’m out of practice.” My voice sounded the same as it always had, though I was out of the habit of speaking. “It’s been nearly a thousand years since I last said a word.”

  As I talked, the leader of the shades glided between us. His pale eyes glowed in the dim light. “Tell us why you are here,” he whispered.

  Considering they had the power to control me, I had to give them a reason. I just wouldn’t give them the whole reason.

  I flashed an easy smile. “We are on our way to the Nastrand. The Shore of the Dead. We have business with the dragon Nidhogg. The pale wyrm.” I shrugged. “Just an ordinary Saturday.”

  The shade’s eyes flickered. “What sort of business? This realm is for the dead alone, not the living.”

  I relaxed my shoulders. I wouldn’t show any unease. “I am dead, as you can see.”

  “Your kind is an abomination,” growled the shade. “Cheating death with black magic.”