by C. L. Roman
Jotun, please beloved, help me.
He felt the shadow of fingers around his throat, as if someone were trying to squeeze the life from him, and knew that she was in trouble. The physical sensations faded, but the tug in his chest remained. He cast a glance at the quiet farmhouse and inhaled, but no stench of demon greeted him. Surt was not here. Freya's image was fading. If he flew to her, it would be too late.
Focusing on her call, he stepped into the Shift, his heart rate rocketing as the lights oriented on him. His blood throbbed through his brain, clouding his thoughts and his vision. Forcing his mind to obey, he strained to keep Freya's image in the forefront of his desire. He stepped again and emerged into a wooded area. The skyline beyond the trees told him he was back in New York. Central Park.
A choked cry to his left had his feet moving without conscious thought and he burst into a small clearing to see Surt crouching over a half-naked female figure, preparing to feed. His boot connected with Surt's stomach, flinging him into the air in a tumbling roll.
"Always you prey on those weaker than yourself, Surt. Come, fight one who is your equal." Jotun's fist clenched around Hamar's hilt and cold light rippled up his arm and across his chest until it engulfed him.
Surt lurched to his feet and presented a battered visage to his enemy. The broken nose had started to heal, but blood still seeped from the head wound Gwyneth had given him.
Jotun smiled. "Well, it seems she was less helpless than you thought." The grin faded into grim determination. "But now, let us put an end to your cowardice."
The demon's gaze flickered from Gwyneth's helpless form to Jotun and back again. "How did you find us?"
"Always you have the same question." Turning, Jotun adjusted his grip on Hamar, his eyes never leaving his enemy.
"And you never give an answer," Surt said, and feinted right to hide the thrust he brought from the left. Jotun parried easily and Surt fell back, circling, looking for an opening.
"Jotun," Gwyneth's whisper was threaded with pleading and pain. Jotun turned and Surt charged. Sensing the movement, Jotun spun back, deflecting the slashing thrust without an inch to spare. A thin blaze of heat slit his skin, leaving a trail of blood across his chest. The wound began to heal, and Jotun raised Hamar to counter strike, but Surt was gone. Behind him, Jotun heard Gwyneth's scream and whipped about to face the sound.
Hoisting her limp, battered form under one arm, Surt shot him a triumphant grin. "Follow if you dare, Jotun," he cried, and a cloud of smoke rose around the space where he was standing.
Ignoring the icy threads of terror that raced down his spine, Jotun leapt into the Shift after them, leaving a shower of blue sparks behind him. The icy, gray mist of the Shift swirled around his feet. His sword hung from his fist, a long, thin sliver of illumination in the intense blackness. In the distance, the lights winked, rotated, and began their advance.
Circular eddies in the mist betrayed Surt's passage and Jotun followed. A movement in the dark jerked his startled gaze left and he was staring into the eyes of a red-haired goddess. The picture reminded him fleetingly of the TV programs he had become accustomed to. Just as the actors were unaware of their watchers, the woman seemed oblivious to his presence. Somehow, though, he was equally sure that she was not an actress and the rectangular square he stared into was no television set.
A moan from the darkness ahead of him pulled his attention away from the woman in the picture and he hurried after the sound. His exhalation puffed small white clouds on the frigid air but in the distance, the lights grew larger. He had to find Freya and get her out of this place. His heart raced as he rushed forward, thin beads of sweat freezing on his skin.
"You are a fool, Jotun." Surt's voice lashed at him out of the darkness and Jotun dropped into a fighting stance, his sword igniting.
"And you are boring me. Put the woman down. Face me." Jotun lifted his blade and Surt's shadowed form leapt from the gloom, the metal sliding, edge to edge. Sparks erupted and the hilts crashed together. Surt shoved against Jotun and the angel returned pressure for an instant before giving way, stepping aside suddenly. Off balance, Surt flew past and Jotun brought the flat of his blade down hard on the demon's shoulders.
Surt sprawled in the gray mist and Jotun followed up with a kick that would have caved in his opponent's ribs had it connected. Surt rolled and sprang to his feet, bringing Brunjharta around in a sweeping curve aimed at Jotun's neck.
Jotun leaned back, the tip of the blade skimming a thin burn of red along his throat. Surt laughed. "You will not heal in this place. Here you can be wounded, weakened, and will stay that way until you leave." He gestured into the half-light surrounding them. "If they let you leave."
The lights were the size of cannon balls now, approaching from every direction, the distance between them lessening with each breath. The air was warm as spring and Jotun's stomach clenched.
"Where is Freya?" he asked.
"How will you find her when you do not even know her true name?" Surt slashed at him, forcing Jotun into a defensive posture. The angel parried, crushing Surt's blade aside and bringing Hamar around to slash at the demon's mid-section. Dancing back, Surt clutched at the gash across his ribs and Jotun pressed him, raining blow after blow on his enemy. Ducking, sliding, parrying, Surt fought desperately.
"Where is she?" Jotun roared and stabbed at the demon. Heat rose around the fighters, the gloom dispelled by the approach of the lights. They fought in an ever-tightening ring. Pain arced through Jotun's skull, pounding in time with his racing heart.
Surt twisted to meet the onslaught, hissing as Hamar pierced his upper arm. "Better get out while you can, Jotun. Once the ring closes, you will be destroyed."
"Don't listen to him Jotun. The light will heal you." The ragged voice came from the dark beyond the ring of lights and Jotun spun to track it, slipping between two globes, out of the illuminated circle. He almost tripped over her as she struggled to her knees.
"Freya, don't try to talk. I'll get you to safety." Jotun put his arms around her and lifted her to her feet.
"You have to listen..." she said. She looked over his shoulder into the brightness and her eyes widened. "Look out!" she said, and ducked between him and his enemy, arms outstretched. Jotun pulled her against his chest and turned an instant too late.
Surt thrust Brunjharta through Gwyneth's breast, the long blade piercing her through before burrowing into Jotun's chest. Surt ripped the sword free with a cry of triumph and disappeared in a cloud of sulfurous, black smoke.
A shattered cry burst from Gwyneth's lips and her knees buckled. Jotun caught her, and knelt. He lifted her into a sitting position, resting against him. With frantic fingers, he pulled the shredded gown away from her wound. The flesh was badly torn, and he knew that once they left the Shift, it would be lethal. "What have you done, Freya?" His voice broke as he looked into her face.
She put her hand against the matching rip in his own tunic, over his heart. "I couldn't let him hurt you," she whispered. "I am your Gwyneth, now and always. Do you still not know me?"
The lights danced closer, circling the couple, merging into a solid wall of painful brilliance.
"Choose." The voice thundered out of the darkness, the sound vibrating with command.
Jotun felt his heart dissolve in his chest. "You will die if we leave this place."
"We will both die if we do not," she said. "You must choose. It is the only way."
The lights closed in, the heat rising to an unbearable level. Gwyneth's skin turned pink and sweat beaded along her hairline. Her breath was rapid and shallow.
"Choose," the voice thundered, and smoke rose in thin, lazy tendrils from the edges of her dress.
"That way lies madness and destruction. We must go back where we came from."
"We do not come from that world. Trust me, beloved."
Jotun stood, cradling her in his arms. He stared into the lights, a solid wall of menace surrounding them, offering no escape.
<
br /> "Choose!" The voice died away, leaving no alternatives but forward motion or incineration.
Jotun closed his eyes. A place for her, Lord. I beg you for her life, he thought, and walked blind into the light. On his third step he fell to his knees as lightening coursed through his brain, bringing searing pain in its wake. He clutched Gwyneth closer and he was falling, headlong and helpless, through the light.
"We have to make him release her." The voice was frustrated, and female.
"Good luck with that." A male voice, mildly amused, but with an underlying tone of worry.
The female sighed. "Really Loki, why are you here? You are no help at all."
Jotun blinked and opened his eyes. Gwyneth's curls obscured his view and he smiled despite the wicked headache hammering at the inside of his skull. His chest itched. He rubbed his hand across the irritation and found a rip in his tunic and a four inch scar hiding underneath. Where had that come from? He ran his fingers along Gwyneth's cheek and jerked his hand back, sitting up in the same motion. Her skin felt as if it was on fire.
"There he is." Relief laced the male tones now and Jotun instinctively pulled his wife closer.
"Let her go, you idiot. We can't help her with you clinging like a limpet." A woman towered over them, blue eyed and milky skinned.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Freya, but formal introductions must wait. We need to get your woman to the baths or she won't last long enough to sew up those wounds."
Jotun lurched to his feet, hoisting Gwyneth up with him and looked down at her still form for the first time. Her face was badly bruised and a four inch puncture in her chest oozed thick, heart's-blood. His pulse raced even as his grip tightened. "Who did this to her?" he demanded.
"Again, a question for later. We need to get her to the pools or the fever will kill her." The woman turned away, beckoning him to follow. Jotun glanced at Gwyneth, and then at the man leaning against a nearby tree.
The man shrugged. "It's usually best to do as she suggests," he said. "She's much less annoying when she's being obeyed." He set off after Freya.
Gwyneth stirred in Jotun's arms, moaning fretfully. Her breath rose and fell in short, panting bursts and the heat radiating off her skin burned him through both sets of clothes. Whatever else Freya might be, she was right in this, they had to get the fever down. Jotun strode after the pair, passing the male in a few long strides. As he walked he struggled to figure out where he was. A mountain forest surrounded them, and the air was clean and bright, not like...where? Where had he been that the air smelled of tar and hot glass?
They arrived at a clearing, backed by a sheer cliff face. The male figure looked at him with a curious half-smile. "Welcome to Sessrumnir, Jotun. Freya's home and one of the only places on Earth, at least in this time, where evil cannot find you."
Following Freya, Jotun walked past him down a long, torch-lit corridor of stone. "How do you know my name?" he asked.
The man's eyebrows rose. "You don't remember me then?" He shrugged. "Well, not so surprising really, considering. I am Loki. We met, or technically, will meet, in New York City, America."
"Lay her in the pool" Freya said. The hall emptied into a wide chamber dotted with pools of clear, bubbling water. The cavern was enormous, its walls pocked with arched doorways and alcoves. The temperature had dropped and ice crystals sparkled on the cave walls.
Jotun crossed to the nearest pool and stepped down into the cold water. Gwyneth's eyelids fluttered as the water touched her and she cried out. Jotun shot a look at Freya but she shook her head. "We have to get that fever down. She won't like it, but this will keep her alive until the infection runs its course."
"Infection? What are you talking about?" Jotun shifted his grip, struggling to keep Gwyneth's face out of the water as she thrashed, fighting against the cold. Gradually, she calmed.
"Your wife is blood-tainted, Jotun. Somehow, she has taken angelic blood. I have seen the signs before and very few survive. The taint has created a fever and if we don't keep her cool enough, long enough, it will burn her alive from the inside out," Freya said as she rummaged in a nearby storage area.
"Gwyneth cannot die," Jotun whispered.
"Unfortunately, she can, and if we don't act quickly, she likely will. However, you picked a good place to land. These waters are rich in minerals known for their curative properties. They will help her survive the ascension."
Memories of Danae, Gwyneth's sister, cascaded through his mind. They had almost lost her the same way. But how had Gwyneth gotten angel blood in her system? He sank lower in the water as Gwyneth fought against his hold. The scar on his chest burned even as the water reddened with her blood. His eyes locked on the open wound on his wife's breast.
"But the blood taint isn't Gwyneth's only problem." Pulling several vials from a shelf, Freya returned to the pool. "These are healing oils. She's been badly beaten and the oils will ease her pain and help her body mend itself."
"How did this happen, Jotun?" Loki asked.
Scattered images flashed across Jotun's mind. A sword descending, a demon's grin of triumph. "We were attacked, or I..." he hesitated, trying to organize the fragments into a whole memory.
"Attacked? By who?" Loki asked.
Freya crouched by the edge of the pool and emptied three flasks into the water. Gwyneth calmed almost immediately. "Do not press him," Freya said. "If, as you told me, he was suffering from Shift-sickness, his travel through the portal will have healed him. His memory will come back to him in time, as his mind completes the healing process. Meanwhile, we must see to the woman."
Loki followed her as she went to put the empty vials in the storeroom. "If he was attacked, his enemy is likely to track him here," he said. "I have to protect the boys."
"And so you shall, but not at Gwyneth's expense." Freya fixed him with a cool stare. "From what you have told me, there has been enough of that done already."
Loki lowered his gaze. "I did what I had to. The boys are here, safe. That is what matters."
"And now she is here, safe. The boundaries are sealed. I would know if Luc—" She fell silent at Loki's grimace. "I would know if they had been breached."
Loki pointed at Jotun and Gwyneth. "This is not a breach?"
"Only Sabaoth himself could have led them here. There is only one portal and that one is protected." She held up her hand when Loki would have protested further. "Go and see to your sons, Loki. I have work to do."
Loki stormed off, his steps resounding hollowly from the cave walls. Freya returned to the pool and knelt at the edge. "I have a wicker frame we can use to support her in the water. You do not have to —"
"I am where I belong," Jotun said. "She is mine, I will stay."
"She will need to stay in the pool for several days. You are still healing yourself," Freya said. Jotun's eyes never left Gwyneth's still face. Sighing, Freya rose, drying her hands on her skirts. "Very well. I will arrange for food and drink to be brought to you."
She walked into the shadows and a brief column of light flashed as she passed through a door at the rear of the cavern. Jotun settled into the frigid waters, holding Gwyneth lightly, allowing her to float nearly free so that the waters circulated around her. His breath came in frosted, white plumes that drifted into the damp air like miniature ghosts.
Time passed and he found that when he tried to force his recollections, they ran from him and his head ached. So he watched over Gwyneth's fretful rest and waited. Gradually, fragments of memory danced solos in his mind and he examined each one as it came.
Footsteps echoed through the vault, but he barely looked up. Food arrived and was taken away. He obeyed the frequent, quiet instructions to "get her to drink this, and take some for yourself," and accepted the cups pressed into his hand, but otherwise made no response to Freya or those she sent. He watched Gwyneth's face, frowned over her slowly closing wounds. The water trembled around them, but her skin remained hot to his touch, her cheeks
pale and sunken. He forced water between her teeth and listened to the fragmented words that dropped in broken whispers from her lips.
Days passed this way, and as they did, he remembered.
Surt stumbled, laughing, into the living room of his suite in New York. His head ached and fire danced along his ribs and upper arm, but the look on Jotun's face as Gwyneth slipped to the ground had been worth it. Well worth it.
"Damn Jotun for turning on me," he snarled. "He'll pay though. I'll make sure of it. Him and that bitch of his, both, if she lives." He stumbled into the kitchenette and jerked the refrigerator open. A single bag of O negative was all that he had left. He drained it in a few gulps and slung the empty bag into the trash.
On his way to the bathroom, he grabbed a sheet from the bed and ripped it into strips. Checking the wound on his ribs, he saw that it was starting to heal, but slowly, and it was leaving yet another scar. Curses spouted from between his fangs as he cleaned and bound the still-seeping gashes.
Rather than waste any more energy traveling the Shift or changing shape, he hid his tattered wings away and shrugged into a black trench coat. Pulling a black watch-cap over his ears, he slammed out the door and down the hall. He would have to hunt if he hoped to make a real recovery.
It took less than an hour to lure two hookers back to the room. The fact that they both bore a passing resemblance to Gwyneth was a bonus.
"Come on Mister," the tall one said, taking his hand and swinging her way up the hall. "Suze and I got another appointment at midnight. You wanna have some fun before then dontcha?" She popped her gum and wiggled her hips suggestively.
"Oh, I plan on having lots of fun," he said as he slid his key into the lock.
"Jess and me done tons of three ways. You're in good hands." The other girl giggled and danced past him into the room. She stopped short a few feet inside the suite. "Hey, if you want a four-way though, that's gonna be extra."
Eyes blazing, Surt pushed past the girls. "Jotun, you son-of-a —" His breath caught in his throat and the word fell unfinished into the frigid air. "Molek."