by C. L. Roman
"Surt." The elegant, black clad figure rose from the couch and nodded at the young women. "Ladies. If you wouldn't mind waiting in the bedroom, your...erm, friend... and I have something to discuss," he said. Suze looked as if she might protest and Molek's eyes glinted. "It wasn't a request. Go on now. I promise not to keep you waiting long."
The girls hurried out and closed the door behind them.
"Molek, this is an honor. What can I —" Surt's head snapped sideways with the force of Molek's blow and he crumpled to his knees, fresh blood seeping from his lips and dotting the carpet.
"Stop talking, Surt. There really is nothing left to say." Molek jerked the lesser demon up by his collar and flung him across the room. Surt crashed into the TV, before sliding down the wall.
"Please, Sire, let me explain —"
Molek flicked his fingers in the air and the air tightened around them, sound-proofing the room. "I am not the Master, do not call me Sire. And we are already quite aware of your ambition." He crouched in front of Surt. "Did you really think the King of Demons would allow you to destroy even a fraction of his kingdom?"
"I wasn't going to destroy it!"
"No, you were just going to carve out a slice for yourself." Grabbing Surt's hair, Molek dragged him to his feet and shoved. Surt flew backward, landing on the coffee table and smashing it into fragments. "You really are a fool. And Lucifer does not suffer fools easily."
He held his hand over the beaten demon and ribbons of purple and blue light spun out from his fingers. Like snakes, they twisted and writhed toward Surt's cowering form, twining about his limbs, binding him, sinking into his flesh. Everywhere the ribbons touched, his flesh bubbled and distorted. Surt began to scream, but the transformation continued. Fur sprouted along his torso as his limbs shortened and bent at odd angles. His ears elongated and his jaw jutted forward with a hideous crack. Slowly, Surt's screams became whimpers until finally, it was done.
Molek crouched down in front of his wolfish creation. "Lucky for you, I've always wanted a pet. You will serve me, and I will feed you and then, when I create my kingdom, perhaps I will free you and give you a territory of your own in exchange for your loyal service."
The beast cowered before him and Molek smiled. A soft rustling at the door drew his attention and he released the seal on the room.
Jess put her head around the corner, her eyes widening as she took in the destruction. "Is everything ok out here?" she asked. "Where's Surt?"
"Surt isn't feeling well." He crossed the room and she backed away. "I however, am very interested in that three way you were talking about." He followed her into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.
"Jotun," the whisper curled around his ear and sent gooseflesh along his spine. "Awaken, Jotun. Her fever is gone. We need to get her into a warm bed." Freya straightened, giving him room to exit the pool.
Jotun's eyes sprang open and he looked down at Gwyneth's pinched face. A shiver passed over her and her skin had a blue tinge that had not been there before. He pulled her close, relieved that she no longer felt like a living torch against him. In a few steps he had climbed from the pool and stood, dripping, at its edge.
The cavernous room echoed with the susurration of water lapping in pools carved into the stone. Wide benches provided space to sit or recline. Across the nearest one lay a blanket. When an attendant tried to lift Gwyneth from his arms, Jotun tensed and a growl rumbled from his throat. The man blanched and backed away, raising his palms in surrender.
Freya's frustrated tones sliced through the cold air. "They are here to help. We need her out of those wet rags and into a bed where I can check her wounds." She slid him a sidelong glance before continuing. "You could use a bit of rest yourself."
A frigid pool had formed around his feet, the water streaming from Gwyneth's ruined dress and his own clothes. He cast Freya cool, level stare. "If you have a room prepared for us, show the way. I will see to her injuries myself."
"And in the meantime, you'll track water from one end of Sessrumnir to the other. No, I don't think so. Lay her here and I will undress her while you change into dry clothes. Then I will show you to your rooms."
Their eyes met and held as a long, taut silence stretched between them. After several moments Freya threw her hands up. "Really Jotun. Had I wished her harm I would simply have left you in the field outside. You'd never have found the entrance in time to save her."
Seeing the truth in her eyes, Jotun relented. Laying Gwyneth on the blanket he accepted a tunic and leggings from a servant. Reluctantly, he let the man lead him to an alcove to change, but he had just pulled on the dry leggings when a startled shriek from Freya sent him running back to the pools.
"What happened?" He asked.
"I tried to remove her necklace." She held up her hands, displaying a chain shaped burn pattern across her fingers and palms, then pointed at Gwyneth's chest. "What is that thing?" She demanded.
He stared at the jewel around Gwyneth's neck. "I don't know. It looks..." he hesitated, prodding his memory. "Familiar isn't the right word. I don't think I've ever seen it before, but it feels as if I should know. Like something I've heard about, but never encountered."
Leaning as close as she could without touching the locket, Freya examined it. A speculative look tightened her features until finally she gave a small nod. "It would be best for her if we remove it," she said. "Sigyn, could you bring me some bandages from the storage room"
A young woman hurried to comply and was back in moments. "This is very thin. Do you think —"
"If I am right, this will do nicely. Blood forged metal doesn't mind cloth. Only skin." She threaded the cloth under the chain, wrapping it twice around to form a wide pad, and then lifted.
Gwyneth screamed, grabbing the pendant and slapping Freya to the floor. A streak of white light speared from the injured woman's fingers, narrowly missing Freya's head before detonating on the wall, leaving a black, smoking circle in the stone.
Freya leapt to her feet, her skin glowing with battle fury and Jotun leapt forward, pressing Gwyneth back onto the bench.
Wrapping the blanket tight around his wife, he crooned, "Hush sweet love. It's all right." He lifted the frantic woman onto his lap and rocked her, whispering reassurances until she gradually calmed.
Gwyneth had not even regained consciousness. Freya relaxed, forcing her outrage down with visible effort.
Jotun shot the demi-goddess a desperate look. "This is not like her. Gwyneth has never..."
"She is still not recovered.” Freya stopped him with a shrug. “And you will find, she is changed. Ascension will do that to you."
He had no reply and after a few moments she said, "Follow me and you can look over her injuries." She dismissed her servants with a wave and led the way herself along a torch lit corridor, warning him over her shoulder as they walked. "You may not like what you see."
After the first turn the floor slanted gently upward. The walls went from black stone to wood lathe. The air warmed and a sweet scent flowed around them as they climbed. Another three turnings and Freya paused next to an open door.
The sparsely furnished room was not over-large, but he could see that an effort had been made to make it comfortable. Thick carpets, a low fire in the grate, and a pitcher of water waited on the bedside table provided a welcome.
"We have prepared this chamber for your use. There are healing oils on the table there and candles in that cupboard. I assume you know how to make fire?"
His lips thinned at her tone. "I have been trained, just as you were."
"Then you'll know what oils to use, and how?" Her brow arched.
"I was my company's training officer. I received extensive instruction in the healing arts for all species, including humans."
An odd expression crossed Freya's face, her brows drawing together and her lips pursing. "I am sure you were, but the Ascended are..." Her frown deepened as she searched for the proper word. Giving up, she shook her head. "They are
a unique case. We were never trained for them."
"You used that word before. What — who are these 'ascended' you keep talking about?" Jotun entered the room and crossed to the bed, laying Gwyneth gently down still wrapped in the thick blanket of soft wool.
Surprise lit Freya's features. "You have watched two ascend and you do not know the name that has been given them?" He stared at her and she shook her head. "Of course you don't. Danae's ascension was the first and then, between Shift-sickness and trying to destroy the Earth, you have hardly had time to know the world since the flood."
Jotun paled, but said nothing. After a moment's silence, she continued. "You have remembered Danae, yes?"
He nodded.
A faint smile ghosted across her lips. "Good. She is the first of the Ascended. Tainted with angelic blood through no fault of her own, she was granted immorality and the gift of healing." She nodded past him at his sleeping wife. "I have no doubt that it will be the same with Gwyneth. There is little doubt what gift she was given." Freya ran her fingers through the singed strands along her hairline. "The extent of it, she will have to tell us herself."
Jotun opened the cupboard and took out several candlesticks. Setting them on the table he snapped his fingers over them, producing a bright lick of flame for each wick. He glanced at Freya. "You can stay if you wish, but close the door." His hand hovered over the cover. "Please," he added, and Freya stepped into the room, pulling the door softly closed behind her.
Candle light wavered along the walls as Jotun pulled the blankets away from Gwyneth's still form. His breath caught in his throat. "Surt has much to answer for," he whispered.
The place where the demon's blade had pierced Gwyneth's breast was marked with a thin line of garnet scar tissue. The red line spiraled out from the newly healed wound, winding around her breast, following the line of her blood vessels in an elaborate, overlapping pattern that spread from sternum to shoulder like a warrior's breast-plate, fading into the surrounding skin at her collar bone above and her ribcage below. Bruises faded around her upper arms and across her ribs. The marks of the demon's fingers stood in plain relief around shadowed her slender throat.
"Have you...remembered what happened?" Freya asked.
Jotun nodded.
"Then you understand. The scars on her chest are interior. The silver in Surt's sword, reacting with your blood as he drew it from your body into hers, caused those." Freya pulled her gaze from Gwyneth and looked up into Jotun's face. "The bruises are already fading, but the scars will be permanent."
There was silence as he stared at his wife's pale face. "I failed her," he said.
"She is still breathing. She will recover. I would say that you saved her."
"Had I listened to the voice in the light, none of this would have happened." Jotun sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.
Freya rolled her eyes. "And she would still be mortal. It seems an even trade to me, unpleasant in the making, but beneficial in the outcome. Stop whining."
Jotun lifted his head, eyes blazing, and glared at her. Her eyes, blue and piercing as his own, held without flinching and after a moment, he looked away.
"The question is; what will you do now?" Freya lifted the pitcher and poured water into a cup. She held it out to him. "See that she drinks as often as possible, and do the same yourself. I'll have food brought up shortly."
He said nothing and after a moment the swish of her gown informed him that he and Gwyneth were alone. He lifted her thin hand into his and traced the lines of her palm with tender fingers. "What have I done to you my love?" he asked.
He felt her hand grip his and his startled gaze leapt to hers. Her face was pale, with tired lines engraved around her mouth and eyes, but she smiled at him.
"You came when I needed you most, even though you didn't know me. Even though you thought I was your enemy." His eyes closed and he shook his head, but Gwyneth was insistent. "You cannot blame yourself for this. You acted on what you thought to be true. And now you must act again. Surt has to be stopped before he hurts someone else."
"I'm not leaving you again," he looked away, pulling the covers over her. "I cannot," he said, but his hand shook and she touched his cheek, bringing his eyes to hers.
"There is more," Gwyneth said. "What is it?"
Reluctantly, in terse sentences more fitted for a military report than an intimate conversation, Jotun told her of Surt's goals and Conroy's danger.
Her fingers tightened around his for a moment and then she released him. "You have to go."
He shook his head. "You are my first duty. I abandoned you once, I won't do it again."
"I am not abandoned. They will take care of me here." She gazed into his stubborn face and sighed. "There is no other choice. You know what he will do if you don't stop him."
Supporting her with one arm, Jotun held the cup to her lips and she drank. After he settled her back onto the pillows he rose and paced the room.
"It is likely too late now. Whatever Surt would do, he has already done."
"If the Shift was simply a doorway from Par-Adis to Earth as we once thought, that might be true. But you know it isn't. Travel to a point and place where you can stop him Jotun. Find him just as you found me."
"You were calling to me. Surt is unlikely to do the same, and he'll have made an effort to cover his tracks. Besides, how can I go and leave you unprotected?"
"She will be protected. You have my word." Loki stood in the doorway and Gwyneth blew out a disgusted breath.
"By you? I'd rather take my chances with Surt."
Guilt rushed briefly across Loki's handsome features but they quickly settled back into an expression of imperturbable good humor. "Don't be cranky."
Gwyneth said nothing, turning her face away, and Jotun's eyes went cold. "You will go now. It is clear that my wife does not want you here."
Loki held his hands up in mock surrender. "As you wish. But in all seriousness," he said, dropping his hands and frowning. "You can trust me Gwyneth. Not because of any sudden altruism on my part," he said hastily as she sent him a glare that should have melted the skin from his cheeks. "But because I have interests in modern America that would suffer if Surt has his way."
"He is not wrong." Freya spoke from behind Loki. With an impatient hand, she nudged him aside and gestured to a servant carrying a tray of food. "Put it on the table and then you may leave us."
The servant complied and Freya turned to Jotun. "You need not place your trust in Loki, however. I certainly wouldn't," she said, sending the chagrined demon a sardonic look. "I will care for your wife. She only needs time and rest to complete her recovery. If you use the Shift properly, you can be back here almost before you have left."
Jotun quirked an eyebrow. "Almost?"
Freya grinned. "It is never wise to cross paths with our former selves; it only creates confusion and regret." Her mouth straightened and her eyes dimmed. "We must move forward if we are to succeed. Do you understand? Anything else is a useless self-indulgence."
He looked from Gwyneth to Freya and back again. "I will be back as quickly as I can."
"I know you will. Just don't turn your back on him."
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. "Good advice." He leaned down and kissed her, then turned to Freya. "How do I get out of this place?"
"You'll have to go back to the meadow where we found you." Loki stepped forward, his brow crinkled with earnestness. "You can't enter Sessrumnir except through the portal and that only by permission of Freya or, as in your case, the creator himself."
Jotun glanced at Freya and, at her nod of agreement, he said to Loki, "All right then, lead the way, if you will."
Loki smiled. "Gladly."
He turned and headed down the hallway. With a kiss and a last smile from Gwyneth, Jotun followed.
"One light at a time," Loki said as the wood beams of the hall gave way to dark stone. "Never touch two at once. The trick is to call the one you want to y
ou. Of course, if you have time to focus on your destination before you enter, that's always best, since that takes you through a direct route."
Jotun shot him an annoyed glance. "Do you always babble this much?"
"I beg your pardon. Considering your medical history, I just thought you might want some instruction..."
"I'm a quick study. I rarely make the same mistake twice." He fingered Hamar's hilt. "Tell me this — my wife loves nearly everyone, yet she seems to have taken an intense dislike to you. Why is that, I wonder?"
Loki hurried around a bend in the corridor, putting several more paces between his neck and Jotun's still-sheathed blade. "Umm, does she? I'm sure I can't think why that would be. I, uhh... Ahh, here we are." Relief lightened his tone as the pair stepped into soft morning sunlight.
A green meadow, replete with wildflowers and edged in ancient trees, rolled before them. A hundred yards distant stood a vine-covered arch. As they approached Jotun realized that it wasn't carved from cut wood, but grown in place. Two sets of seven young trees, still rooted in the Earth, had been woven together as they grew. The central tree on each side was carved with animal faces that peeked out from between the others and the upper branches met and embraced at the apex. The air inside the arch quivered, vibrating with supernatural energy.
They approached the arch and Loki turned to Jotun. "When you came through, it must have been just on the other side. We found you there," he said, pointing to an unexceptional stretch of grass in front of the portal. "Freya thinks you must have fallen through after exiting the Shift."
"So I have to go through the archway before I can enter the Shift?"
"Yes. The Shift doesn't open into Sessrumnir, and you won't be able to see it from the other side of the portal, so don't be startled if you look behind you and see only forest."
"Then how will I get back?" Jotun frowned.
"The same way you got here, I would imagine. You will be guided."
Jotun eyed the arch. "I'll have to take it on faith then? Good enough. Now, how did you meet Gwyneth..." he looked for Loki and saw only the back of him. The grass rustled and then settled. "Right," he muttered. "Something to take care of when I get back." The meadow was still now, and silent. No birds sang, no animal moved through the brush. He could still see the cliff-entrance to Sessrumnir. He could still go back.