Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy)

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “I want to use it now.”

  “What?” Hope rose within Colbey, but he kept it guarded. The inadvertent life-restoring property of the sword’s magic had seemed insignificant in the face of the wholesale slaughter of mankind, but he had known it would make Khitajrah happy until Surtr’s flames took her and her newly restored son. Now he saw an opportunity to plug the last gap in his plan. He shook rain-soaked strands of yellow hair from his eyes.

  “I want to use it on the king. Chaos didn’t say how it works, though. I thought maybe the last of the Wizards might know.”

  Though he knew nothing of magic, Colbey stuck with the practicalities. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He tried to hide his excitement, needing to ascertain that Khitajrah had not given up her prize under duress.

  “And if his demise brought Justice to any, Celebrate his death, For the good of the many.”

  Colbey recognized the stanza as one her youngest son had written, from the song Mar Lon had performed while they searched for Arduwyn. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure I do either,” Khitajrah admitted. She took Colbey’s hand, meeting his gaze with an urgency readable in her eyes even without his gift. He sensed that she wanted him to understand without words and knew she expected him to enter her mind for answers.

  Invited, Colbey made the excursion. He explored the frenzied conflict of need, desire, and responsibility that jumbled inseparably in the superficial reaches of her mind. His explanations of the need for balance mingled with myriad other thoughts. She understood the significance of King Sterrane, simplicity incarnate, yet the epitome of equilibrium between the powers. She knew that Cardinal Wizards had made world-changing sacrifices for his life, that many people had died to pave the way for his reign. In a world soon fully beset by a ruinous force it little comprehended, Sterrane would have become the wielder of both staves, the pivotal point on which all balance might have rested. Without him, there seemed little need for Colbey to try to salvage the world. Soon enough, it would crumble beneath the eternal struggles of its separate causes.

  Khitajrah’s insight amazed Colbey. He had not realized just how much he had let her know, nor how much more she would surmise. The woman’s love for her now-dead children seemed to occupy at least an equal portion of her thoughts. Yet the poetry of her youngest had made the final decision for her. Ellbaric had reveled in his death even before it had come, finding benefit in the lesson it taught those who came after him. Somehow, Khitajrah would find the victory beneath defeat.

  Colbey sensed the last thought as justification. The pain the decision caused Khitajrah battered him in a way the concept could not. She had considered long and hard. Even Ellbaric’s insistence that he had not died in vain could not stay the certainty that he had. It could not soften Khitajrah’s loss. Yet, even through a mother’s grief, Colbey sensed that she knew she had made the right decision.

  “Thank you,” Colbey said. “And if the world could understand your sacrifice, they’d thank you as well.” He made himself a mental promise to see to it that Khitajrah and all of her sons became immortalized in the bards’ songs. He accepted the sword.

  Understanding did not accompany it, however. It felt like normal steel in his hands, though finely balanced and impossibly sharp. Only one nearby could help fathom its magic. “Freya?” he called tentatively.

  The goddess emerged from the forest, yellow hair rain-plastered to head and shoulders, her golden form a replacement for the missing sun.

  Colbey explained the situation briefly. “Chaos believes the gems in this sword can restore life to a man. We’d like to use it now, but we can’t guess how it works. Would you help us?”

  Freya sighed. The movement, though slight, sent her clothing into a shimmering dance. “The Ragnarok is already started. No action of mine on man’s world matters anymore. I’ll do what I can.” She stared at the huddled and miserable group surrounding Sterrane’s body. “But why? Why bring him back only to have him bake in Surtr’s fires with the rest of these? It seems more cruelty than kindness.”

  Colbey smiled. He took Freya’s hand, though he sensed their closeness pained Khitajrah, adding fuel to an agony that already raged like a bonfire. Yet Colbey knew it could be no other way. His love and loyalty truly lay with the goddess; it always had. His decision to rescue mankind and the Renshai had already doomed him to follow the other half of his birth heritage. Odin had seen to it that he would take his place among the gods, willingly or otherwise; and Colbey had no intention of doing so without first accomplishing the single goal he had come to place even above his lifelong dream of dying in valiant combat. He and Khitajrah belonged on different worlds. His involved a wife who could challenge him daily, honing his sword skill in a way even his usual practices could not. His involved the responsibilities inherent in a balance so vast and fragile even Odin had not fully trusted himself to moderate its minuscule irregularities and temporary asymmetries. Though she did not know it yet, Khitajrah had a place, too, in Béarn, with an archer who already cared for her, a bard who could eternalize the courage of herself and her sons, and the simplistic king whose life they hoped to restore.

  A long and thoughtful pause filled the gap between Freya’s question and Colbey’s answer. “The system of the Cardinal Wizards failed with time, as Odin knew it would. He wants to put the balance in one being’s hands now, and I understand that. But it can’t work that way for the same reason Odin couldn’t modulate the balance himself. Just as you said, every small action of gods on man’s world has massive consequences.” He glanced at Khitajrah, knowing she had the facts to comprehend only part of his explanation. “As lifetimes pass, I’ll have to become more like my father and less mortal. I can balance law and chaos on the grand scale, but it’ll take a mortal to make the fine adjustments on man’s world. I can’t think of anyone more suited to that than Sterrane. His justice and simple mercy come of raw instinct, nothing more; yet that’s the one thing that can’t be swayed by the staves he’ll keep or by any being. We’ll only have to see to it at least one heir carries on his or her father’s basic neutrality.”

  Here, Colbey realized, the Renshai also had a new role toward which he and their goddess would guide them. The tribe would become guardians to the high kingdom and its heirs, a force to assure that the crown passed always to one as guileless as Sterrane.

  Freya returned her gaze to Colbey, her hand callused but gentle in his grip. “Kyndig, that’s all well and good for the moment. But the Ragnarok will bring an end to all mankind, including Sterrane. Why bother?”

  “Because . . .” Colbey kept his voice low. All of the stories he had ever read or heard stated that Odin could see all from his high seat, but he could hear no better than a man. Colbey’s mind gift told him no one nearby spied on the conversation. Still, he saw no reason to let the knowledge fall on any ears but Khitajrah’s and Freya’s. “. . . apparently, I’m the force that can alter the course of the Ragnarok. Odin believes I must fight at his side, aiding his battle against the Fenris Wolf. Surely, that would rescue the largest number of gods’ lives and the strongest as well. But that’s never been my goal. I believed Loki when he said several of the gods must die to rescue balance.”

  Khitajrah stared, lips parted and silent. Clearly, she understood just enough to realize that the level of conversation far exceeded her knowledge.

  Freya’s hold on Colbey’s hand tightened. “Odin’s wisdom is unmatchable. He’s always right.”

  “Yes,” Colbey admitted. “And that infuriated me.”

  Freya shrugged. “You get used to it.”

  “I won’t have to. He’s going to die.” Colbey considered the many actions Odin had called destiny. “So far, nothing he claimed I had to do was anything I wouldn’t have done anyway. It’s easy to say what’s already happened is fate. Just because he puts facts together well doesn’t mean he can predict the future.” In truth, Colbey had often heard this to be Odin’s only weakness, a need to understand the
future and a failing that seemed inevitable. “And I don’t believe in destiny. If there was such a thing, why did Odin need a system of Wizards just to see to it that standard prophecies were fulfilled?”

  Khitajrah remained quiet. Freya tried to anticipate Colbey’s point. “So you won’t help at the Ragnarok? Are you saying Odin’s mistake is believing you would?”

  Colbey released Freya’s hand, amused to the edge of laughter. “I’ll be there. There’s not a Northman in existence who hasn’t lived and died for that opportunity. But I won’t help Odin.” He passed Mitrian’s sword back to Khitajrah, freeing his hands to seize both of Freya’s and meet her gaze squarely. “According to the legends, your brother Frey will give Surtr a close fight before succumbing to the fire giant’s skill. With my help, I believe Frey can kill Surtr. No fires will wash the worlds of man or elf. Mankind, and your brother, will survive while the rest of the events of Ragnarok will come to pass.” In tune with the balance, Colbey knew Frey’s survival would have little effect on it.

  Freya considered the words for some time. Colbey could feel her joy buoyed, instantly suppressed by some thought, then allowed to rise again. “That could work,” she finally admitted.

  “That will work.” Colbey harbored no doubts. Since his meeting with Loki, he had realized that mankind’s destruction or continuance meant little in the wake of a war between gods. The Cardinal Wizards had taught him that fate was not a constant. For once, Odin would lose; when he placed personal gain over wisdom, his predictions must fail him. This time, Colbey had the upper hand. And, though it felt strange, he saw the necessity. Odin had to die. And mankind would live on in exchange.

  The conversation seemed to have come to an end, so Khitajrah directed it back to the matter currently closer at hand. “The sword? Can we save him?” She inclined her head toward Sterrane. The Renshai and their companions had wandered from the coffin, breaking into smaller groups to mourn and console one another. Mitrian and Tannin clung together. Arduwyn talked softly with Mar Lon, who still clutched his mandolin, gaze locked on his king. Modrey and Tarah tended their daughter. Sylva and Rache crouched near the edge of the woods, the redhead stroking Secodon’s fur while the wolf licked her face. More dog than wolf now, Shadimar’s pet could never return to the wild; and it gladdened Colbey to see that even the animal had found its place with a person who would care for it as least as well as its former master. On Asgard or man’s world, Frost Reaver would always have a place at Colbey’s side as well.

  Freya responded to Khitajrah’s question by addressing Colbey. “You’re the one with the power to mind link. Look at the magic. See what you find. If you bring her . . .” She indicated Khitajrah with a nod. “. . . you may find traces of chaos’ thoughts on the matter. Bring me, and I can interpret.”

  The concept sounded intriguing, the specifics still vague. “Bring you where?” Colbey asked.

  “Into the magic of the gems.”

  The idea sounded insane. Colbey had never attempted to enter an inanimate object before; experience gave him no reason to believe he would find anything there. Yet an item instilled with magic might prove different. Cautiously, he entered Khitajrah’s consciousness, careful to avoid the many private and intimate contemplations. He added Freya to the mix, unable to fully block the vast output of love and knowledge that seemed to merge with his own. He felt a twinge of understanding emerge from Khitajrah, a brief realization that she had never cared for Colbey with the intensity of the goddess. Then, the idea disappeared as larger concerns usurped it. Colbey thrust their combined consciousnesses toward the gem eyes of the hilt.

  A web of magic met his gaze, seeming endless and patternless in its scope. Stray bits of chaos, still in Khitajrah’s keeping, directed him to a hole in the matrix. The winking colors and twisted netting bore no particular meaning for him, but he divined understand from Freya. Once, the magics had contained the soul of a man, a Renshai slain by illness and thus damned to the cold depths of Hel. A Wizard had held the soul in stasis, unable to restore life, yet keeping it forever entombed in stone. With Freya’s help, he traced the darkened areas where Mitrian’s shattering of a gem had released the Renshai to his miserable, but appropriate, doom. He located the frayed edges, where chaos’ backlash had sparked an unpredicted side effect, the ability of the gems to return life to another.

  It seemed the perfect definition of chaos. It could not restore life to the one who sought it, but it would revitalize another at random. The ancient, Hel-locked Renshai had sought reprieve and lost, had paid for the resurrection of a stranger decades or centuries later. Still, though Colbey could define the location of the spell, he had no knowledge of how to trigger it. The holding of three mind links wore on him, and fatigue closed rapidly toward darkness. Defeated, he started to retreat.

  *Hold!* Freya shouted in his head. Light arched from her fingertips in a strand, highlighting the iridescent chaos in a random outline. *Show me the proper place.*

  Colbey directed, helping Freya find the precise silhouette of the various areas of magic. Her perception told him that parts had become defunct. Others held the blade polished and sharp. All of these, he avoided, driving full concentration to the matter at hand, the space that had once confined a human soul.

  As the last glimmering line fell into place, Colbey withdrew in triumph. *That’s it.*

  Freya triggered the spell. The area within her pattern glowed, faintly at first. Then it flashed in a wild explosion, the brightness more a feeling than a sight. The strength of sudden power blasted Colbey, shattering his mental attachment to the sword; and the human/goddess mind link ruptured as well. Flung back into his own body, Colbey found himself on his knees. He glanced first to Freya and Khitajrah, both of whom had managed to remain standing, their gazes fixed on the coffin.

  The “corpse” sat up, rubbing black hair and rainwater from his eyes. His voice emerged weak and shaky compared to its usual booming bass. “Me hungry. When eat?” He blinked and squinted, the light obviously painful. Then, apparently recalling his last moment of consciousness, his pale face lapsed into worried creases. “Sylva well?”

  Renshai, archers, and bard swung toward the sound. An instant later, they converged on Sterrane, pulling him and one another into frenzied hugs. Their joy defied need for explanation. Surely, they simply believed Arduwyn had pronounced the death too early.

  Khitajrah caught Colbey into a final embrace that expressed regret and grief, joy and hope. Familiar with his gift, she saw no need for words. Good-byes seemed unnecessary. Likely, in one way or another, they would meet again.

  Colbey returned the hug with sincere affection. Finally, Khitajrah pulled free. Turning, she headed toward the frenzied hubbub of shouting, cheering, and tears without a backward glance.

  The staves remained on the ground, Sterrane’s problem and property now. The rain continued to fall steadily, though the lightning and thunder had died away. Colbey took Freya’s arm. “And now for a battle and, if you’ll have me, a wedding.”

  “A battle? Leave it to Kyndig to make the Ragnarok sound like a border skirmish.” Freya laughed, the sound as lyrical as Mar Lon’s lightest ballad. Colbey had given her a certainty of hope where before had lain only destruction. “And as to marriage . . .” She caught at the gold ring on his finger that she had given him months ago. “I already own you.”

  “Own me?” Colbey tossed Freya’s hand away. “More powerful gods than you have tried to run my life.”

  “Yes,” Freya admitted, blue eyes alight with pleasure. “But I’ve succeeded.”

  “Have you?” Colbey scooped the goddess into his arms, the warmth of her closeness exciting beyond any battle joy. He carried her into the woods, hoping that, in the moments or hours before the Ragnarok started, he would have time to prove her right.

  APPENDIX

  People

  Northmen

  Ǻrvåkir (AWR-vaw-keer)—NORDMIRIAN. Odin’s name for Olvaerr Kirinsson. Literally: “Vigilant One.”

&n
bsp; Asnete (Ahss-NETT-eh)—RENSHAI. A valiant, female warrior who had a tryst with Thor.

  Calistin the Bold (Ka-LEES-tin)—RENSHAI. Colbey’s father.

  Colbey Calistinsson (KULL-bay)—RENSHAI. The leader of the Renshai and the Western Wizard, a.k.a. The Deathseeker, a.k.a. The Golden Prince of Demons.

  Episte Rachesson (Ep-PISS-teh)—RENSHAI. Rache Kallmirsson’s son, an orphan raised by Colbey. Killed by Colbey after being driven mad by chaos.

  Himinthrasir (HIM-in-thrah-seer)—RENSHAI. Colbey’s wife, long dead.

  Kyndig (KAWN-dee)—Colbey Calistinsson. Lit: “Skilled One.”

  Menglir (MEN-gleer)—RENSHAI. One of the two founders of the Western Renshai. See also Sjare.

  Olvaerr Kirinsson—(OHL-eh-vair) NORDMIRIAN. Valr Kirin’s son.

  Peusen Raskogsson (Pyoo-SEN Rass-KOG-son)—NORDMIRIAN. One-handed general of Iaplege. Brother of Valr Kirin.

  Rache Kallmirsson—(RACK-ee)—RENSHAI. Santagithi’s guard captain, now dead. Episte Rachesson’s father.

  Ranilda Battlemad (Ran-HEEL-da)—RENSHAI. Colbey’s mother.

  Sivard (See-VARD)—ASGARDBYRIAN. King of Asgardbyr.

  Sjare (See-YAR-eh)—RENSHAI. Founded the Western Renshai with Menglir.

  Tenja (TEN-ya)—VIKERIAN. King of Vikerin.

  Valr Kirin (Vawl-KEER-in)—NORDMIRIAN. Lieutenant to the high king in Nordmir and Trilless’ champion. Peusen’s brother. Killed in single combat with Colbey.

  Westerners

  Arduwyn (AR-dwin)—ERYTHANIAN. A one-eyed hunter.

  Avenelle (AV-eh-nell)—AHKTARIAN. Elderly woman on Ahktar’s tribunal.

  Bacshas (BOCK-shahz)—PUDARIAN. Nephew to deceased King Gasir. Oldest of four nephews.

  Baran (BAYR-in)—BÉARNIDE. The guard captain of Béarn.

  Barder (BARR-der)—BÉARNIDE. Baran’s father. A loyal court guard of usurped King Valar. Killed in the coup.