The beast narrowed its eyes as if accepting the challenge. Its lips pulled back and it stepped forward, again on all fours.
Julian stepped away from the wall. The troll launched across the room. A battle cry ripped from her throat as she pushed forward, flames erupting from her fist.
White fire tore through the trolls hair and flesh. Its pained roar filled the cavern for a long moment, echoing painfully in her ears. She thrust her hand forward, and forced the burn hotter. Darkness wrapped around her belly, but still she pushed until the cries stopped and the beast collapsed, a burnt giant.
Julian breathed heavily and lowered her hand. The flames disappeared, and the frosted floor began to melt, leaving a puddle of water around the black beast she’d never believed herself capable of killing.
“I did it.” She stared wide-eyed around the cavern, as if expecting another foe to present itself. “I… I did it.” Her racing heart slowed and the corners of her lips pulled up. “I did it!”
Her shout echoed in the hollow cave. She could hardly believe it. The frost troll may have almost eaten her alive, but she’d won the day. She’d defeated the beast and she’d reap the rewards.
Julian rushed across the cavern as fast as her feet would take her. The same magic flower glowed on the sill of the ice cave. Carefully, she plucked it. It continued to glow, even after she snapped the base of the stem. Unable to hide her grin, Julian laughed, her head tilted back to the ceiling.
“I wish you were here to see this mother,” she said. Sighing, Julian spied the frosted shield across the floor where she’d left it. She might not know how to use it, or a blade, but the shield saved her life.
She plucked it from the ground and hoisted it across her shoulder. Her left arm was still numb, and she could scarcely move her fingers, but even still, she managed her way back out of the cavern and atop her horse.
“Let’s go see your mum. We have something unbelievable to show her.”
* * *
The city was quiet when Julian arrived just after dawn. Her shoulders slumped with fatigue and her arm burned hot and cold like she’d never experienced before, dampening the excitement from her victory. Her face was hot, and her forehead slick with sweat, but she pushed the mare until they arrived back at the witch’s home.
Julian slid from the horse’s back, nearly toppling to the ground as she did. Her knees shook and her entire body ached.
“It’s about time.” The witch emerged from the side of the house. “Oh my. You’re a sight now aren’t you? Didn’t heed my words about the troll’s bite.”
Julian narrowed her eyes. She left the shield leaning against the edge of the house and thrust the reins out to the witch. “Here.”
The old woman’s lips twisted, but she didn’t laugh, only smiled ruefully. After tying her mare to a post, the witch ushered her back inside, her hand gently resting on Julian’s back.
“Come this way dear. Let’s get you fixed up.” She led the way inside, Julian slowly trudging beside her.
Once returned to the darkness and foul stench of the witch’s inner sanctum, she sat down hard on the same stool she’d sat upon the day before. The same instruments lay upon the wide table, though they were much more organized this time, sitting in a row, with no metal scraps or jewel fragments in sight.
The witch busied herself getting fresh water, a cloth and plucking ingredients from her wall of horrors.
Julian hardly paid attention as she leaned on the table, her head in her hands. She was just so tired, drained from whatever the frost troll’s bite was doing to her.
When the witch returned, she handed Julian a cold compress for her head, and instructed her to remove her jacket. Julian obeyed, leaving her rucksack and jacket on the floor.
“Be still while I clean the wound.” The old woman ripped open the sleeve of her blouse.
Julian hardly felt a thing as the witch dabbed a wet cloth across her arm. The bowl of once clear water beside her turned red. Julian hadn’t even realized she’d been bleeding.
“This is going to sting.”
“What?” Julian looked over.
The witch pressed a poultice to the teeth marks marring her bicep. Pain burst through the numb she’d slowly gotten used to, sending heat burning through her limbs and chest.
“Damn!” she hissed. “What is that?” Julian clenched her fist, her mind buzzing as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“It’ll help stimulate the healing process. A mere mortal would have died from such a bite,” the witch chastised. “You’ll live though, but this arm will never be the same. You should be more careful next time.” She finished layering the bite marks in the sticky substance then wrapped her wound in a thick bandage.
By the time she was done, the burning pain had dulled and Julian’s mind cleared. This woman really was magic.
“Now drink this.” The witch handed her a cup of dark liquid.
Julian narrowed her eyes. “What is this?”
“Wine.” She laughed. “It’ll help numb the pain.”
“Oh.” Julian blinked in surprise. “Thank you.”
The witch waved her off and began cleaning up while Julian sipped at the surprisingly sweet beverage. It was the least unpleasant thing she’d encountered yet because of the witch.
“All right, now that you’re fixed up––” The witch stopped at the other side of the table, her hands on her hips. “––Do you have it?”
Julian set the goblet down and reached for her bag. Her arm ached, but she got it onto her lap where she pulled out the glowing plant. “This?”
The witch gasped and clapped her hands together. “Yes, it’s perfect.”
Julian handed the witch the flower, and watched as the woman danced across the room to her shelf. She plucked an empty glass jar from the shelf, opened the lid and dropped the flower inside. Her hands hovered over the jar and she closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath before replacing the lid. Then she returned to the table.
“What is the flower for anyway?” Julian asked.
The witch tilted her head back and laughed, a long raspy sound. “My girl, it was never the flower I desired.” Julian raised a brow. “I just wanted you to overcome your fear. Your belief is far more precious than any plant.” She giggled and waved her hand at Julian as if she were the ridiculous one.
“How can you use my belief?”
“Magic, of course. Your belief is sealed inside that flower. It’ll be very useful in my potions.” She waggled her thin eyebrows before reaching inside the large pockets of her black dress. She pulled out a long silver chain with a large crudely crafted amulet attached. The red jewel seemed to almost glow, even in the low light. “You’ve earned this.”
Julian held out her hands, and the witch placed the cool metal on her palm. She drew it back to her and flipped the amulet over in her fingers. It appeared to be a simple necklace, with nothing special about it other than the enormous ruby.
“This will help me find who I’m looking for?” Julian looked up at the witch.
“Yes.” She nodded, her veil dipping further over her forehead. “Put it on and you’ll see.
Julian took a deep breath. This was it. If she put the pendant on and nothing happened, she’d have travelled across the kingdom, killed a troll and run from guards all for nothing.
She slipped the chain over her head, pulling her hair out from around it. The piece settled against her chest, heavier than she expected. Julian felt the edge of the metal, rough, but not jagged. The stone was smooth, and hot to the touch.
The burn of magic flared through her stomach and up into her chest. It was faint, but it was there.
Julian looked up at the witch, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. “I can feel her.”
The witch nodded and smiled before standing and leaving back for her ingredients shelf.
Julian turned the jewel over in her hand before clasping it tightly. The burn grew stronger, calling her in every direction, pushing for
her to find the ashen and save herself and her mother. Julian smiled. “I’ll save us yet, mother.”
* * *
The End
Continue Julian’s story in Chronicles of Warshard book three, coming soon. Discover the rest of the series now on www.katherinebogle.com
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About the Author
Katherine Bogle's debut young adult novel, Haven, came second in the World's Best Story contest 2015. She currently resides in Saint John, New Brunswick with her partner in crime, and plethora of cats.
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Dragon’s Awakening: Journey to Asgard
Tina Glasneck
Dragons' Awakening: Journey to Asgard © 2017 Tina Glasneck
* * *
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dragon’s Awakening: Journey to Asgard
Nanna of Carthage prayed to the gods for help from the Romans. She never imagined that the wrong god would answer.
Nanna of Carthage finds her city besieged by a Roman garrison. The prayer from her lips brings forth the help of the Norse God Baldr, the son of Odin and Freyja, and brother of Thor. He was not the God she’d expected, and when he whisks her away to Asgard, she’s unsure of his intentions.
Baldr couldn’t let Nanna perish. His knee-jerk reaction to save her comes with consequences and threats from all sides, including from the All-Father’s throne.
Journey to Asgard and meet the Norse Gods. You’ll be glad you did.
Preface
The death of Ymir brought life, and a curse.
Once destroyed by Odin, the All-Father,
and his two brothers, Vile and Ve,
the body of Ymir, the evil frost giant,
was disassembled and the world and all in it was created therefrom.
Yet, it was Ymir’s heart that the gods had to hide in secret,
for from it, a great beast could arise if given a foothold.
Deep under the caverns of Asgard, the heart rests,
untouched, unmoved,
unknown by all except those involved in its procurement,
shrouded in magic,
it remains still.
—Ymir’s Kiss, stanza 1
Baldr, Asgard
“Why does Baal wish for us to respond to his challenges in Midgard?” Odin asked. “Is Carthage not his area of expertise?” Baldr, the Norse God of Light, paced in front of his father’s throne.
Odin seemed to have doubled in size on his golden throne; he was intimidating, as his one eye sought to break through Baldr’s lovesickness. Baldr could always tell when something displeased his father. Maybe it was the way he gripped his spear, or the clenching of his jaw. But Baldr also knew the stories which told of how Odin had found love before he’d loved Baldr’s mother, Freyja.
“Baal has said that you and Melqart have an agreement, that both of you have spied upon a certain woman in Carthage, and that you have become a little obsessed with her.”
The gods communicated across worlds, boundaries, and realms, and often worked in tandem.
“A certain woman? I have no idea what you might mean by that,” Baldr said.
“So, there is no woman?”
“That, I have not said. There is a woman, and there is something about her that has stirred something within me. I’ve… I do not seek love for love’s sake. I find her quite appealing, and for this I am no child to be admonished.”
“You risk us all. You have to be lonely if you are considering such a union. We all have been attracted to women in Midgard, but that does not mean more must come of it.”
Baldr’s heart said something different. It was as if staring upon her was part of his dreams. He’d visited her in those dreams, and lived a thousand lifetimes with her. But when morning came, she remembered nothing, while he remembered it all. In his mind, those thoughts turned into actions, real moments between them.
They were supposed to be enough. Was it wrong to love her, even if she only knew about him when she dreamed?
“She will never accept us, or our ways,” Odin declared. “She is of earth, and not of here.”
“And if I bring her here?”
“Then you will face repercussions. You know of the curse that seeks to be awakened.”
Baldr didn’t know what he felt. Confusion mixed with yearning? He pictured her heart-shaped face, kissable lips, and felt a sense of what could be destiny between them—a dream ready to become reality.
“True love has been promised to me,” he declared. Thinking of her, his skin took on a reddish hue, and magic perfumed the air.
“You were always one to show your emotions. You know what is the right thing to do.” Odin sighed. “You speak like a weak woman. When it comes to matters of the heart, you should talk to your mother. We gods do not waste time wondering about such things. They are a waste of time and energy. Instead, we need to concentrate on repelling the giants and keeping a tight hold on the Dark Elves. This realm will not always remain peaceful, and Thor must not be the only one willing to lift his hammer to fight back.”
“For you, it all comes down to war,” Baldr said. “You haven’t figured out yet, with all of that wisdom, that war is not the answer to everything, Father, and that peace is something the rest of us desire. You continue to horde, and gather more troops for a prophecy that might never happen. Ragnarok could be a cycle, something that we must overcome. Maybe, in your fear of tomorrow… you are cursing today.”
Baldr was a prince in his own right. Although, not as renowned as his brother, Thor, he could read the signs, and he refused to allow his father’s cynicism to ruin his hope for a better future.
He bowed his head and retreated. He needed to speak with Melqart again; if the woman needed help, this time he would intervene.
An existence without love was no existence at all.
Nanna, Carthage, 183 BC
I raced higher towards the top of the temple’s steps—the highest building in Carthage—with Roman soldiers on my heels. Tossing open the temple doors, I screamed my prayer. “Melqart, save us! And if you can’t, then give me the tools to do it. I’m strong enough, oh, lord of the sea. Everything has led me to this moment, and now it’s time to stand up and fight victoriously.”
War called me. Something within me stirred.
“How far will you go?” A voice whispered in my mind.
“I am part of the great design. Just as my father, Hannibal Barca, and his father, Hamilcar Barca, were called, I will answer. Use me!”
I couldn’t breathe. The chokehold of oppression tightened its grip around my neck, and the Roman legion moved in closer. Their steel swords reflected the bright sunlight, and their Latin words, although foreign to my ears, sent shivers down my spine. I clenched my own sword until the jeweled pommel’s edge bit into my palm.
A portal formed before me and out stepped a man, the sight of whom made me stop. Perfection. Seeing him, knowledge I did not know I possessed pounded into me. His handsome face seemed familiar, and something within me stirred. It felt as if time had pau
sed and all that existed was him. A part of me wished to fall into his arms and move towards something I’d never known: love.
“There are ways to make introduction,” I said.
“I am Baldr, and you are in need of assistance,” he said.
I paused. He didn’t need to introduce himself. I recognized him straightaway. My stomach tightened. Maybe it was the way his hazel eyes sparkled, and how I could almost strangely recall the feel of his blonde tendrils between my fingertips. He stood at over six feet tall, athletic in frame, and despite my recognizing him, he was not the deity I’d expected to answer my call.
“We can’t delay much longer,” Baldr said. He held out his hand for me to take.
“What of my people?” I asked.
“I am commissioned to save you, as it is your destiny.”
I realized he offered me a longer life, but at a cost. Surely, as a deity, he could just smite these Roman invaders. Most certainly, he was powerful enough to cleanse this land from their abominations.
Freedom. A spiritual song sung quietly in the chambers of my heart, and told me why my family had battled these foreign foes.
My exiled father, Hannibal Barca, had found refuge in Bithynia, assisting the king in fighting back against the Romans. But everything here in Carthage was lost. And I, being his daughter, wore a virtual target for their javelins on my back. Once the Barca name had brought with it prestige, but now its only gift was death.
For a brief moment, I glanced into the distance as the warm sunlight was refracted from the blue Mediterranean Sea. I could taste fresh salt on my lips. Fishing boats arrived in the harbor with their daily catch. They seemed to hurry in, as if they, too, could feel the choking hold of Rome pressing down on our necks.
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