Beyond Ragnarok

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “Is he well?”

  “As well as can be expected for a man who hasn’t eaten in a week.”

  “Gods,” the Easterner said, spitting it like a curse. He added suddenly, “Are we being watched?”

  “It’s possible,” Rantire admitted. “Sometimes they listen around the corners. Can’t hear us if we whisper, and the vast majority don’t know the trading tongue. They don’t seem to see any farther than we do in the dark. So, if you don’t see any of them, they probably can’t see us.”

  The Easterner pulled himself to his hands and knees, crawling to the mesh door and its lock. He examined it briefly.

  “Don’t underestimate those bars,” Rantire whispered. “They’re a lot stronger than they look.”

  “The lock’s bizarre.”

  “You’re a locksmith?”

  “No. But I’ve known a few.” He added with a look that suggested the words should have proved unnecessary, “Self-taught.”

  “Is he well?” Griff asked, his voice booming over the whispering.

  The Easterner stiffened suddenly, then grimaced. Leaning on the mesh, he worked his way to a stand, still examining the lock.

  “Just a moment,” Rantire whispered. She headed back to the opposite side of her cell and addressed Griff. “He’ll be fine. He seems to think he might be able to get us free.” Rantire did not share the newcomer’s enthusiasm, but she saw no reason to dash Griff’s hopes, too. “Right now, I’m giving him as much information as I can.”

  “Good luck.” Griff stood, grasping the mesh and peering through the darkness at the stranger.

  Rantire skittered back to the Easterner who had dropped to his haunches, a pensive look on his scratched, abraded cheeks. Rantire suspected those injuries had come from his fall rather than any affliction of the torturer, who had always spared her face. “What do you think?”

  The Easterner shook his head, obviously annoyed. “With the proper tools and ten fingers.” He raised and shook his bandaged hand. “I could probably get this thing open.”

  Griff’s voice floated through the darkness. “Here, kitty. Here, kitty. Here, kitty.”

  The man’s head jerked toward the sound.

  “If you want to get even more bothered, they keep the key just around that corner.” Rantire gestured to a corridor that ended, as far as she could tell, in a rest area.

  The Easterner glanced in the indicated direction, pensive. “The guards don’t carry the keys?”

  “Nice kitty. Good kitty.” Griff’s happy voice made him sound childlike.

  Rantire glanced at Griff. He crouched at the front of his cell, attentive to something in the hallway she could not see. “As far as I can tell, there’s only one key and they share it. It opens all three of our cells, at least.”

  “They’ve let you see where they keep it?” The Easterner sounded incredulous.

  “I don’t remember if I saw them or just deduced it. They don’t think I know any of their language, but I’ve figured out quite a bit. Anyway, I was the only prisoner here for a long time. What did it matter where they put the key. If I was free to steal it, why would I need it?”

  The Easterner craned his neck toward Griff. “Is that a calico he’s playing with?”

  “You mean a cat?”

  “Yes.”

  Rantire sidled toward Griff, curious. She had seen no animals of any kind in the prison, and her discussions with Oa’si had revealed that the elves did not keep pets. They lived in harmony with animals, neither eating nor, as Oa’si put it, enslaving them. “You’re right. He’s a calico.”

  “She’s a calico,” Griff corrected. “All calicoes are female.”

  “Mior, come here.” The Easterner beckoned from his cell.

  The cat mewed, then trotted past Rantire’s cell to the Easterner.

  He knelt, as close to the mesh as he could get without touching it. “I don’t know why you followed me, girl, but thanks. I owe you a thousand pets.” He glanced at Rantire. “This is going to sound insane, but this cat’s real smart.” He returned his attention to Mior. “I need you to bring me the key. Do you understand?”

  Mior sat, twitching her tail. She spoke a soft meow.

  “All right, Brenna. Explain where the key is. Keep your description as short and simple as possible. She’s a bright cat, but she’s still a cat.”

  Rantire looked at the Easterner, reading sincerity in every line of his face. Agony and exhaustion made him appear nearly as old as she, though she guessed he was closer to Griff’s age. Feeling like an idiot, she started talking to the cat.

  * * *

  On the aft deck, Darris coaxed music from his mandolin that perfectly matched the slosh of water against the hull and the gentle whistle of wind in the sail. The rhythm of the swaying ship became a silent drumbeat to the song. Beside Darris, Captain whispered suggestions that the bard gradually incorporated into his playing. The concepts turned alien, and Kevral found herself in wild woodlands unmarred by path or ax. Animals twined freely through the brush, fearing nothing, and laughter wafted from the branches like tiny bells.

  A nudge drew Kevral reluctantly from the image. Ra-khir held up two wax-impregnated wads of cloth, then wedged them securely into his ears. Kevral glanced toward the horizon. The island seemed to grow as they drifted nearer. She clutched the fore rail in fists white with strain. In a moment, they would draw up to the spot where the elves had pounded them with magic, and she was not going to be jolted overboard again. It had taken the combined strength of Ra-khir and herself to hoist her back on deck. Soon they would discover whether or not Darris’ talent could disrupt the train of concentration necessary for chanting.

  Kevral shoved her own earplugs in place, turning Darris’ song to muffled noise. Drowning out his talent freed her to concentrate fully on combat. A moment before, she would have believed the precaution unnecessary. Only after she blocked the music did she recognize the significance. The bard’s playing controlled her mood while she listened, drawing her to faraway places, granting them an impossible familiarity. She turned her attention to her swords and cycled Renshai mental techniques into focus and power.

  Before long, Kevral could see figures on the beach. They moved erratically, unexpectedly frustrated. Apparently, the bard’s music had done its job. The rest depended on Kevral and Ra-khir.

  The elfin ranks broke as sand grated beneath the Sea Seraph’s hull. Elves darted for trees, leaving a dozen clutching swords, axes, and clubs to defend the beach. In the trees, mouths moved simultaneously; but their chant disappeared beneath the thin trickle of mandolin and bardic voice that invaded her earplugs. Kevral did not wait for the boat to fully land. She sprang over the gunwale, striking water with a splash that soaked her. Howling an echoing war cry, she charged the waiting elves with both swords drawn.

  Blood lust exploded within Kevral. As the elves clustered into an offensive wave, she sprinted directly for the thickest part. The first sweep/cut combination had nearly reached its target when she belatedly remembered to turn the blade flat. Her right-hand sword battered an elf to unconsciousness. The second slapped another full in the face, sprawling him into two behind. Fire seemed to course through Kevral’s veins, stoked by the memory of the envoy’s Renshai, slaughtered in sleep. Killing became a raging need. She blocked three sweeps at once, ducked under an elf’s guard, then hacked the ax and a finger from his grip. Renshai control struggled against Renshai battle wrath. Don’t kill! Don’t kill! Don’t kill! The words cycled into meaningless syllables, but conscience kicked in where spirit failed. Kevral hacked through the elfin line without taking a single life.

  The elves ceased mouthing a unison that kept dying beneath Darris’ distraction. Lights assaulted Kevral, playful yet blinding. Elves dove like birds from the treetops, harrying and retreating. A savage cacophony of noises penetrated even through her earplugs. Kevral continued to fight, battle-drunk and sword-possessed. She sliced and thrashed, using hilts and flats, feet and hands, knees and head as we
apons. Desires warred within her: the violent need to avenge Rantire and Randil, the urge to slaughter those who would destroy mankind and all the world, and the promise of honor she had made to Colbey’s friend. That last bound her like shackles, and her war cries expressed as much frustration as joy.

  Blades bit through Kevral’s defense. Nails gouged her, and hurled fruit glided through her wild web of attack. She noticed none of it. Her senses retreated behind the warrior’s need to dispatch enemies. Only one shred of understanding remained, that which clung to honor, that which would steal Valhalla from her death should she stoop to forsaking her vow.

  Then, suddenly, a high-pitched shrill cut through the dull rumble sifting through the earplugs. The dribble of music disappeared abruptly, and a clear shout of triumph replaced it. Kevral whirled toward the Sea Seraph, vision clearing from the red haze of battle long enough to show her Ra-khir struggling with a staff to defend the boat from a press of elves.

  “Modi!” Kevral screamed, flying toward the battle. The elves broke before her bull rush of fury. They peeled away, galloping back toward the island and leaving her a wide berth. Darris’ voice returned to her ears, soft and hoarse, without the instrument’s accompaniment. Kevral skidded to a halt, Ra-khir skittering out of her way.

  “They broke his strings, I think,” Ra-khir shouted, his voice desperately muddled. “Magic, I think. They didn’t get past me.”

  Kevral bounced off the hull, using its stability to reverse her momentum, then raced back toward the elves. She saw their mouths simultaneously open again, though she could not hear their chant.

  A presence slapped into her head with impossible clarity. It spoke with concepts rather than words, communicating a complicated strategy in an instant. Kevral caught the gist: The elves prepared a spell that would put everyone to sleep, including many of themselves. Those affected were to secure their positions so they did not fall from trees. Those left awake were to slaughter the humans before bothering to rouse their companions.

  “No!” Kevral shouted as a fog seeped into her consciousness, sapping her alertness. “No!” She continued to run, calling forward the mind control of the Renshai. If the spell took her, they would all die. “No.” Her shout weakened, and she felt her legs go numb, stumbling. No. Her mouth lost the strength to cry out.

  Then another presence speared through her mind. The second held a beauty akin to Darris’ music, and its ideas ruptured her concentration. She staggered to one knee as another’s thoughts paraded through her mind. Captain. She knew without question. In a heartbeat, he questioned the very unity he had defended to Colbey. He divided the elves into factions, lysalf and svartalf, the light and the dark. He called for followers in a rousing voice that seemed to shake the heavens though it appeared only internally. Kevral’s thoughts scrambled as she felt herself topple, and no one answered Captain’s call to arms.

  Then, suddenly, one voice responded. Others joined it, small in number yet, apparently, enough. The jovinay arythanik was broken. Lucidity returned to Kevral in a rush, more exciting than a second wind. She charged up the beach, swords flailing. She had taken only three strides when a figure appeared directly in front of her.

  “Kevral, stop!” Tae tried to duck beneath her attack.

  It was too late to pull the blow. Kevral managed to steer the left blade harmlessly upward. The other, she dropped, and the sword thumped to the sand.

  Tae seized Kevral’s arm. “Come on!” He ran toward the Sea Seraph.

  Kevral left her sword in the dirt. She had dishonored it and no longer deserved to wield it. Yet the deep sense of grief and loss she expected did not come. For once, she had placed respect for a friend over that for a weapon, and she knew no guilt for that decision. As they pounded down the beach together, she watched as Rantire, Ra-khir, and Darris assisted a strange Béarnide over the rail. Then, Rantire and Ra-khir scrambled up the ladder, and Captain shoved the bow toward the sea.

  Tae and Kevral quickened their run, feet gashing holes in the wet sand. They splashed through the water. Kevral scrambled up the ladder while Tae caught the rail in his left hand and hurled himself aboard. Captain swung up a moment later.

  Only then did Kevral glance behind her. From amid the branches, sunlight flashed from hundreds of eyes in brilliant hues. Captain thumped aboard.

  A breeze rose from nowhere, tugging the tiny craft out to sea.

  EPILOGUE

  Without risk, there can be no change. And, without change, the world will stagnate into an oblivion every bit as awful as Ragnarok’s chaos.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  A tempest racked the Sea Seraph, lashing the sea to foam beneath a tarry sky that emitted no light. Captain dashed fore and aft across the bucking deck, refastening lines and jerking the tiller on occasion to snap the ship from a wild spin. Usually, he negotiated the pitching floorboards without mishap, but sometimes a sudden jolt sent him crashing to his knees. Kevral attempted to assist, but the slam of waves against wood buried his suggestions, and she heard nothing except his pleas for her to go below with the others. At length, Kevral took the tiller, holding the craft on course and freeing Captain for other tasks.

  Eventually, the Sea Seraph floated beyond the range of the elves’ spell. Cracks of light appeared in the black curtain of clouds. Slowly the darkness faded into fog, then mist. The clouds left lacy patterns, white against blue. The sun beamed down on the battered sailboat, and friendly winds filled main and jib.

  Captain flopped down on his bench and reached for the tiller. A cut on his forehead trailed pink blood, and his amber eyes looked more glazed than usual.

  “No need.” Kevral did not relinquish her hold. “I’m enjoying myself.”

  The elf managed a smile. “Enjoying yourself is all well and good, but if you don’t put a mite to port, we’ll never make Béarn.”

  “Oh.” Kevral surrendered the steering, unwilling to admit she had no idea which direction port was.

  Captain heaved a deep sigh, and his grin broadened. “Better this way anyway. My ship’s to me like a sword to a Renshai. I feel naked without a piece of her in my hands.”

  The captain could not have chosen a more comprehensible analogy, yet it reminded Kevral of the sword she had left lying in the sand. Once, in Matrinka’s room, she had allowed a blade to slice open her hand rather than dishonor it by letting it touch the floor. Not so long ago, a piece of cold metal had meant more to her than any living creature. Moments ago, she had willingly sacrificed a sword, and she still had no regrets. Dying in glory and a place in Valhalla meant no less to her than before. Her friends had just come to matter more.

  Captain looked out over the sea, the smile locked in place. “Thank you, young Renshai. I will never forget the mercy you showed my people.”

  Kevral hesitated, loath to admit her loyalty to her own honor, not to him, had stayed her hand from killing strokes. In truth, it did not matter. The end result was the same. “I’m the one who owes you thanks. We all do. If you hadn’t disrupted that spell, we would have all died. What made you change your mind about dividing the elves?”

  “It was something Darris said. Sang actually. He never stopped singing, even when he knew he could never replace his instrument in time.” Captain paused thoughtfully. “He was singing about nature and its cycles, how those shortest-lived first see the need for change. Insects adapt in days, animals over years, and men through generations.” Captain shook his head, the point clearly difficult. “I’d been contemplating the problem a long time, but it took that moment of realization, when the fate of the world hung in the balance, to make the decision. I only hope I chose the right path.”

  Kevral tried to soothe. “Unity in the cause of right is power. In the cause of wrong, it is destruction.”

  “Colbey Calistinsson, right?”

  “No.” Kevral leaned against the taffrail. “Kevral Tainharsdatter.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Kevral drummed her fingers on the rail. “So what h
appens to the ones who supported you? Are they in danger?”

  “I don’t know,” Captain admitted. “I have no fear for their lives, if that’s what you mean. Killing an elf on either side means one less elf forever. Neither lysalf nor svartalf can afford that.”

  Kevral nodded her understanding, recognizing layers beneath Captain’s words. The sea journey to Béarn would give him time to fully ponder his decision, his loyalties, and his loneliness. Kevral’s dilemma of love seemed to fade in comparison, and thoughts of the turmoil waiting in Béarn crowded in. Much had changed in the lands once her home, and none of it for the better. Battles stalked the horizon. Elves and traitors would stand in their way. But Béarn’s true heir, the innocent who can salvage the world, is on his way home.

  Kevral the Confident relished the challenge.

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