Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy)

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Though the question implied interest in the transformation, Freya’s explanation addressed the real question. “I needed to watch you. Had I come in my true form, I would have caused no end of problems and changes to man’s world.”

  Colbey did not probe for details. The gods’ avoidance of mankind seemed to confirm Freya’s comment well enough. “Why did you need to watch me?”

  Freya raised an arm, a silent request for help with rising.

  Absently, Colbey leaned over and gave her his hand, a hundred more questions pressing into his mind at once.

  Freya wrapped callused fingers around Colbey’s palm, her grip seeming soft and delicate despite the hoary buttons worn by the hilt of her sword. Without warning, her hand tightened painfully, and she jerked with an unexpected suddenness that overbalanced Colbey.

  Colbey scrabbled for equilibrium, failed, and fell. Only an instinctive twist kept him from landing fully upon the goddess. “Why . . .?” he started, his next words suffocated beneath Freya’s lips.

  The kiss rallied Colbey’s senses like nothing ever had. In an instant, the world and its every problem disappeared, replaced by an inferno of need that threatened to consume reason. He jabbed his tongue into her mouth, sucking in the sweetness of her saliva and breath. One hand slipped through the collar of dress and mail, desperately seeking breast and nipple. The other tugged at the skirts, hunting entrance beneath garments constructed for war, never for passion. He slithered on top of her, mind emptied of all thought except a vital desire.

  Freya returned the kiss with an eagerness that encouraged Colbey. Her passionate caresses nearly sent him over the edge too soon. Still, she disengaged her lips from his mouth before he had found the necessary gaps in her clothing. She whispered in his ear, warm breath stirring something animal before the words registered. “Careful, Kyndig. Don’t smash anything, or I’ll never carry your baby.”

  The words seemed nonsensical, but concentration on her voice brought reality back into focus. Horrified realization replaced desire in an instant, and Colbey’s lust died to a painful throb. “Gods!” He sprang to his feet, straightening his clothing, averting his eyes so that Freya could do the same. His hand slipped to his hilts, prepared to fight a divine retribution that never came. Surely, the goddess could forgive no man or god what he had done. Even the AllFather himself did not dare lay a finger on Freya. If the goddess did not inflict her revenge, the many gods who wanted and could not have her surely would.

  Nothing answered Colbey’s transgression. No gods slammed him with killing spells. No massive weapons soared from the sky.

  Cautiously, Colbey glanced back at Freya.

  The goddess lay, propped on one elbow, a smile of amusement touching her lips.

  Colbey’s mind replayed as much of the last few moments as he could, ripping through the shroud that desire had drawn over his wits. Freya had pulled him down on her. She had initiated the kiss. He had taken things much further, but she had not resisted nor made any attempt to stop him. For reasons he did not dare to fathom, Freya wanted him. And he wanted her more than anything he could remember. The fire in his loins sparked to life again, and he overcame need with will. “You said something about a baby?”

  Freya rubbed a hand across her lower abdomen. “Some day.”

  Confusion replaced the wild craving that still compelled him to finish what he had started with the most beautiful of all beings. “With me?” Colbey frowned, wishing it could be true. Desire drove him to lie, to hide his inability to sire children for the chance to spend his days trying. He had lost one wife and many potential others for their knowledge of his limitation. But the thought flashed through his mind only briefly, without need for consideration. He would not tolerate deceit, especially to a goddess he respected. “I’d like nothing more. But it’s just not possible.”

  Freya continued to smile, saying nothing.

  Colbey explained. “My seed is sterile.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not a virgin. I’m also not a father. Women I’ve slept with have had children with other men.”

  Freya swept to a sitting position. “Maybe you just didn’t find the right woman before.”

  Freya’s words seemed meaningless; Colbey shook his head. His marriage had lasted years, and his wife had borne her second husband three children. Images rose, of her warrior limbs guiding sword strokes in spar, her short locks a golden frame about features his love for her made beautiful. That love had become driven to his core, smothered by the tasks of daily living. It now rose to the surface for the first time in decades. When he compared it with the excitement he had known during his spar with Freya, they blended together in a silken match. Since the goddess had appeared in his dreams, he had come to love her. His admiration had grown, without his knowledge. Though he had not known about the hawk-guise she was wearing, the bond had thrived; and he had mistaken it for many things: attraction to a bird, compassion for Khitajrah, a directionless need for companionship.

  Yet, clearly, love alone was not the answer. “I loved my wife.”

  “I’m sure you did. But she was mortal.” Freya swept her legs in a graceful arc. “Gods’ seed doesn’t sprout easily; if it did, we would pack the heavens with babies. Odin has sired offspring from giants and goddesses, but never mortals. Thor has impregnated giantesses and at least one mortal; yet his own wife, who bore a son before their marriage, remains barren for him. In fact, no goddess has carried Thor’s child. Several of the gods have no children, though married for centuries. It’ll take time, but it can happen. And I believe it will.”

  Colbey considered the implications of being a god’s son, thrilled as much by the prospect of fatherhood as the chance to earn Freya’s love. Yet it seemed unlikely that impending Ragnarok would grant them the years or decades needed to conceive. Even if it did, there seemed no purpose to creating an infant only to see the child die.

  “Come here.” Freya gestured Colbey to her.

  Every fiber of Colbey’s being goaded him to do as she bid, not from any irresistible divine or magical urging, but from his own yearning for her. He resisted. Physical distance had given him perspective. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I come too close, I’ll ravish you.”

  “Ravish me?” Freya laughed. “What makes you think you could take me against my will?”

  Colbey ran a hand along Harval’s hilt. “This. Do you need another demonstration?”

  “Yes. Hundreds of thousands of spars. I’ll win more than one.”

  The challenge intrigued Colbey, a daily battle with a goddess nearly his equal with a sword.

  “You don’t need to worry about ravishing. I’m as eager as you.”

  Hunger blazed, and the fire returned. Again, Colbey resisted. For the first time, the position of the sun overhead registered, and guilt hammered back desire. “First I have to handle the Wizards.”

  Freya rose, brushing skirts and armor back into place.

  “You’ll help me, I presume. The Ragnarok affects the gods as much as men.”

  “That’s why I can’t assist. Not even to advise.” Freya looked sincerely sad. Her eyes lost their glow, and the smile vanished. “The balance is tenuous enough. If a god interfered now, I believe it would immediately set the final battle in motion.”

  The implications struck hard. “I’m half-divine.”

  “But raised a mortal. You’re already in this too deep to extract. Good luck, Kyndig.” Red feathers flashed in a sudden arch, then Freya disappeared. The aristiri winged a spiral toward the clouds.

  * * *

  The sword practice had brought Colbey no answers, divine or otherwise, yet exhilaration lent him a second wind that gave him a new clarity of thought. Freya’s promises refreshed his reasons for living, equally reinforcing the need to help the rest of mankind survive as well. As he hurried through the brush and toward camp, his course seemed no less difficult bu
t infinitely clearer. He had little choice but to give the Cardinal Wizards one last chance to barter. Should they refuse, he and his followers would regroup for attack, arming the other Renshai as swiftly as time allowed. At least some of the Renshai would survive. And if the Wizards died, he would have to hope the system Odin had created would find its own solution.

  A curled mass of brush parted stiffly before Colbey, limbs jabbing through his lightweight tunic. Shadimar had claimed he would kill a Renshai every half day Colbey dallied. He had not specified times. Midday seemed an obvious choice for the first sacrifice, but Colbey felt certain the Cardinal Wizards had not yet carried through on their threat. Surely, they would warn him before they took a life, using the imminent murder to strong-arm Colbey into a hasty decision. It went against Trilless’ championed tenets to slaughter innocents, and he believed even Shadimar held the Renshai in enough regard not to kill them out of hand for personal gain. Still, it made little sense to dawdle. The sword practice had proved necessary to stimulate mind and body. Anything more was only delay.

  Colbey pressed through the last copse, emerging into the encampment. Khitajrah sat, sagging body supported by a deadfall. Packs and blankets lay in rumpled piles strewn over the leaf-cushioned stretch of ground. His other companions and their weapons seemed to have disappeared.

  Colbey froze, train of thought interrupted by sudden, all-encompassing wariness. He measured the pertinent in an instant: no blood, no evidence of a struggle, and Khitajrah appeared no worse than when he had last seen her. She stared back, a welcoming half-smile on her face tempered by concern. He sensed mild discomfort, but none of the desperate terror that would have accompanied an attack and the violent loss of friends.

  Khitajrah anticipated his question. “They went to talk to the Wizards one more time.”

  Alarm stabbed through Colbey, and he stiffened. “Without me?”

  The answer seemed obvious, but Khitajrah understood the need for explanation as well as confirmation. “They tried to get your attention, but you seemed beyond reach. They were worried about Wizards’ deadlines and Renshai lives.”

  Colbey took the last step into the clearing, gaze tracing the route his companions must have taken, need driving him to follow as swiftly as possible. “When?”

  “Moments ago. Not long.” Khitajrah staggered to her feet.

  Colbey strode to Khitajrah’s side, steadying her. “Come on. Let’s go. Quickly.”

  Khitajrah allowed Colbey to support much of her weight. “If time’s that important, you’d better leave me.”

  “No.” Colbey headed from the clearing, prodding Khitajrah forward with an arm around her back. “It’s not safe to leave anyone alone. Especially trapped on another world and with magic about.” They headed into the brush, seeking the pathway the Renshai tribe had carved through forest from the Fields of Wrath.

  Once on the roadway, Colbey and Khitajrah moved reasonably swiftly, hindered only by the woman’s inability to take deep breaths and the long, awkward staff the Renshai was forced to carry. Khitajrah questioned, though whether from a need to soothe or to force an issue, Colbey could not guess. “Is it possible they might bargain better without you? Emotional distance makes for clearer heads and opener minds. And the Wizards might handle the problem differently when not dealing with one they see as an enemy.”

  Colbey denied the possibility. “Distance was why I needed the practice. And why I became so entrenched in it they couldn’t rouse me. My mind couldn’t be clearer.” He rushed Khitajrah past rows of brambles. “Remember, the others have friends and relatives at stake, too; and running off without the warrior who has a sword that can strike the enemy doesn’t seem like clear judgment to me. I’m also the only one who knows enough of what’s going on to make a fair exchange.”

  Khitajrah gave him no reply. They continued on in silence, the road to the Fields of Wrath seeming endless, far longer than Colbey remembered from their first parlay. With time, Khitajrah’s gasping breaths elicited more impatience than sympathy. Finally, the woodlands seemed to thin, the trees becoming sparser, younger, and smaller in height and breadth. Human voices wound between the trunks.

  Colbey slowed, keeping Khitajrah slightly behind him, shielding her with his body. He edged forward until the exchange became ungarbled. He recognized the speaker as Arduwyn. From his voice, he stood ahead and slightly to the right of them; and his tone betrayed exasperation.

  “. . . must be something else you can take in trade.”

  Shadimar replied. “There can be no compromise. Man’s world is law, and chaos will destroy it. Why press me? Colbey holds the doom of gods and mankind in his hands.”

  Arduwyn’s frustration rose to tangible levels, and his tone betrayed it. “I press you because you’re the one threatening the lives of people you once considered friends.”

  “Just bring us the staff,” Shadimar said, his calm emphasized in the wake of Arduwyn’s desperation. “No one has to die.”

  “No one,” Trilless added softly. “No one or everyone. The choice seems simple to me. If you get the staff from Colbey, the Renshai and the world will live on.”

  Arduwyn shouted, control lost. “Get the staff from Colbey? Three Wizards together can’t do that. What makes you think any of us could?”

  Colbey frowned, but he passed no judgments. Arduwyn’s question did not necessarily imply that he agreed with or would attempt such a thing.

  “You can try,” Shadimar said.

  “The world depends on it,” Trilless added, her voice soothing and goading in its gentleness. The claim had become trite, at least to Colbey.

  Mar Lon joined in then, speaking his mind freely in the presence of Wizards. “So you say. Colbey’s carried the Staff of Chaos for months now. That seems like more than enough time to send our world crashing down.”

  Shadimar fairly crowed. “Lies, theft, deceit. You can see his influence already. Our work to restore order has kept the world on keel so far, but it’s teetering. Time’s running short. We need the staff. We can’t afford to compromise, and neither can you.”

  Arduwyn made a noise that sounded like a choked back scream. “We’re getting nowhere. One thing’s certain. Your feud is with Colbey, not with us. And not with the Renshai. You’re butchering the horse because the mule won’t plow. What could serve chaos more than slaughtering innocent people for another’s offense?”

  A blast of sudden rage slammed Colbey. Carcophan answered, his voice a shout. “Look who’s talking about killing innocents. The father of a vicious murderer.”

  A raw mixture of emotion followed the pronouncement. From Shadimar, Trilless, Arduwyn, Dh’arlo’mé, and Mar Lon, Colbey sensed impatient irritation, a need to bull past what must have become a tedious issue. From Sterrane, he received only a steady wash of sorrow and hope.

  Sylva’s fury nearly matched Carcophan’s own. She shouted. “I’m sick to death of your accusation! Your apprentice was about to kill or mutilate my husband for no reason but jealousy! I’m not sorry I killed her. She and all like her deserve to die. She wanted Rache, and she couldn’t have him. Maybe she got tired of sleeping with a shriveled up, old goat!”

  The mood changed at once. Before Colbey bothered to assess it, the staff pulsed against his mind in warning. Impressed by its frenzy, he let it in, immediately deluged by its anticipation of a massive gathering of power. Conserving time by using concept instead of words, the staff let him know someone prepared a huge and aggressive spell.

  Colbey did not waste breath for warning. Releasing Khitajrah, he charged. He had barely raced into view when a jagged flash of light speared from the clearing. His staff-sight added the chaos slashes and colors the others could not see: patternless movement writhed within the directed confines of the magic.

  Colbey’s mind collected details in an instant. Clearly, the spell had come from Carcophan, and Colbey’s mind gift told him the Southern Wizard had borrowed some power from a link with Shadimar as well. The deadly sorcery sped for Syl
va where she stood, feet braced, in the forest. Arduwyn sprinted to protect her. More familiar with magic, Sterrane sprang first, before Mar Lon could think to anticipate the action. Sterrane and Arduwyn crashed together in midair. Smaller, the hunter bounced and rolled from the impact, and the spell slashed through Béarn’s king. A flashing corona engulfed Sterrane, flipping through the spectrum more quickly than Colbey could think to name the colors.

  Sterrane bellowed in surprise and agony. His limbs went rigid, then loosened. He spasmed a second time and a third, lapsing into a wild convulsion while Mar Lon grabbed and clutched, furiously trying to stabilize his king. Then, as suddenly, Sterrane went still. The last vestiges of magic sizzled into oblivion, visually gone, though Colbey could still feel a dangerous tingle that made the air seem vibrant and watchful.

  The staff’s nonverbal warning came faster than any physical action could. *Too much chaos here. Another large spell, and the End will have begun. Once in motion, the Ragnarok cannot be stopped by anyone.*

  Colbey skidded to a halt at the clearing’s edge, treading the fine line between preventing a spell and forcing one in defense against his attack. The three Cardinal Wizards stood, crouched and ready for battle. Their mental exchanges trickled to him in snatches, warped and only partially intelligible. The shock of missing his target had claimed most of Carcophan’s anger. Shadimar and Trilless chastised their impulsive colleague with rage at least as strong. Whether or not they understood the danger of more magic, Colbey had no intention of testing their linked forces again. Beneath the combined consciousness, he sensed a restless power as awesome as that of his staff.