by Ann Gimpel
Had I imagined it because I was so taken with him?
Weary, confused, I turned away and stumbled toward a clearing far enough from Mother’s perfidy to set a teleport spell in motion.
Bjorn loped after me. “Wait. Where are you—?”
Before he got more words out, a roaring filled my ears. Gale force winds blew up out of nowhere and drove me to my knees. I was a heartbeat too late throwing a ward into place—or the one I cobbled together was too weak. I felt rather than saw a whirling vortex form right in front of me, its pull too potent to deny.
“Nooooo!” Bjorn shouted and dove right for me. He gripped me hard, and both of us were sucked into the maelstrom.
“You stupid, stupid man. Why’d you do that?” I cried.
We spun, turning end over end, as the whirlwind tossed us this way and that. “I’m saving you,” he informed me tartly, but humor edged his words.
“If I’d wanted a knight errant, I’d have ordered one up.” By now, he had both arms around my body and was hanging on. I did my very best to ignore the hard planes of muscle pressed against me. I could fight my own battles. I’d been doing it for so long, I’d forgotten there was any other way.
Magic hummed around us. Bjorn’s, not Mother’s slimy touch. We might have the same magic, but hers felt dirty to me. What was he up to? I would have asked, but I didn’t want to tip Mother off. She had to be the one who’d tripped the vortex.
Maybe I’d been off base about thinking the Breaking was booby-trapped. It appeared the snare was right next door—and had my name stenciled all over it. The trap might have done the same to anyone who’d mucked about in Ceridwen’s casting, but I didn’t think so.
Bjorn’s working thickened around us. We stopped tumbling end over end, but the vortex still crashed around us. “Better,” he said. “At least I can think.” His nostrils twitched. “This has Ceridwen’s touch, but not only hers.”
“Whose, then?”
“Not sure.”
I sharpened my own antennae and dug into the pulsing mass that swirled around us. We had to be in the space between worlds, except I could breathe. Either the vortex had trapped enough air to keep me comfortable. Or I was wrong about our location.
If not the airless void, though, then where were we?
“Good question.” Bjorn’s deep voice rumbled near my ear. “Sorry. I helped myself to your thoughts. We would be in the void had I not placed constraints on the magic that created the Breaking.”
“Does that mean you know where we are? Or how to return us to where we were?”
“No to both.”
He went back to chanting low and urgent. I did what I’d done before and pressed the pathetic amount of magic left to me into his spell. He sucked it up but didn’t keep drawing on my slender reserves. Almost as if he’d figured out last time how quickly he could turn me into an empty husk.
His concern reassured me. If he’d meant me harm, I was in a precarious spot. Too depleted to fight back. Hell, I was almost too weak to care what happened next. But I wouldn’t always be. Mother had declared war on me, and I wouldn’t rest until I took her down.
Big thoughts from her half-Celtic spawn, but I’d figure something out.
“Hang on,” Bjorn told me. “This next part won’t be pleasant.”
Before I could ask what he was doing, a blast of destructive power, red with golden edges, burst from him. The vortex shattered, leaving us in the familiar airless nothingness. If I’d had more warning, I’d have harbored air in my lungs. They seized and seized again. Breathing was a reflex. It never went away. My chest burned. My vision developed gray edges.
“Not much longer.” Bjorn switched to telepathy.
I barely heard him before pressure built in my chest, and the world went black.
When I came to, I was shivering, but there was air, blessed air. Frosty darkness surrounded us, and Bjorn still held me in his arms. “Thank all the gods that worked.”
I wanted to ask what had worked, but my brain was still disconnected from the moving parts of my body. When I found words, my first ones were, “Why is it so cold?”
“Because we’re in Niflheim.”
I squeezed my eyes shut trying to remember what it was. Norse something. Obviously one of the Nine Worlds.
“It means world of fog,” Bjorn explained. “What it really is, though, is our primordial world of mist and ice. It’s a counterpart to Muspelheim, the world of fire.”
I cut to the chase. “Are we safe here?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “From Ceridwen’s meddling, yes. From the Frost Giants, perhaps.”
I didn’t ask what they were or how likely to strike. “How can we leave?”
“We can’t. Not until our magic has replenished itself. I’ve been here before. I didn’t exactly hit my goal, but there’s a cave not too far from here where we can wait things out.”
“For how long?” Alarm filled me. I had to get back to Earth. To the witches. They were counting on me, especially now that I’d shown them how to breach the illusion surrounding Inverlochy Castle.
“As long as it takes. I will get us out of here as soon as I can.”
Not liking his answer, I reached for my own magic, intent on dredging a teleport spell out of it. Ha! What a joke. I’d never been quite this worn-out. I was useless until I rested and ate.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
My teeth began to chatter as I answered, “Not really. Goes against my nature to trust anyone.”
“I understand because I’m the same way, but for now, Rowan, we are forced into an alliance.”
“Why did you say my name that way?”
“What way?” He hustled us across crackling ice, through fog so thick it penetrated every pore.
“You’re hedging. You understood me perfectly.” Fascinating I could shiver and pant at the same time.
Bjorn didn’t even break stride when he said, “If your name sounded odd rolling off my tongue, it’s because it isn’t really your name. I’m a truth speaker among other things, and such things are noticeable coming from me.”
“Of course, it’s my name,” I sputtered. Of all the possible answers, what he’d said had been damned low on the list of what I’d expected.
He didn’t answer, just kept loping along. When I slipped and slid on the ice-crusted ground, he caught me. He’d said the cave was close. Maybe it was to him, but I was stumbling from cold and exhaustion by the time we ducked into its darkness.
At least it offered protection from the icy wind. I was so miserable, I hadn’t exactly noticed the chilly gusts until I was out of them.
“Here.” He kindled a feeble mage light and led me to a pile of skins in a corner. “You’re cold. Get under them.”
I looked around, but there weren’t any other skins scattered on the dirt floor. “There are enough to share,” I said and dove beneath them. It would be a long while before I stopped shaking.
“Thank you, but I’m leaving.”
“What?” My voice held a frantic note that made me look weak and pathetic.
He knelt next to me. “We need food. I shall return once I’ve secured something for us to eat.”
I wanted to drag him under the skins next to me. What if he was lying and had no intention of returning? What if something about this world meant my magic would never recover? I was too tapped out to read his mind. Apparently, he’d retained more magic than me because he said, “Have a little faith. I’ll be back soon enough.”
Embarrassment swamped me. Would the next thing out of my mouth be I was afraid of the dark? Curling into a ball, I willed the return of warmth. Maybe by the time he got back, we’d have enough magic between us to leave this frozen wasteland.
Footsteps plodded away from my makeshift pallet, and I shut my eyes. I’d lived through worse than this. I just hoped the witches wouldn’t launch a search party when I didn’t show up. They were safest out of sight.
Nothing I could do about it
if they did, though.
Nothing I could do about anything until my magic came back online. Funny thing, the electronic age was just as dead as the mortals who’d cherished it, but the lingo lived on in my tired brain.
Chapter Nine, Bjorn
I’d been shocked when Rowan showed up, and totally flummoxed by how well our magic slotted together. When it happened the first time, I’d figured it was a fluke, but flukes didn’t happen twice.
Not that way.
The more time I spent with her, the surer I was she had no idea about the dragon blood pulsing through her veins. She’d told the truth when she’d owned her name. She truly believed it was Rowan. As I moved through Niflheim’s murk, intent on finding at least a winter hare or two we could cook and eat, I thought about what it all meant.
The only way she could have remained ignorant of the circumstances of her birth was because Ceridwen—the parent she knew about—had made certain she remained clueless.
After half an hour with not so much as a whiff of game, I broke a few rules and paid out bits of magic—not that I had enough left to sneeze at—and lured animals across my path. Two rabbits and a vole-like creature later, I headed back to the cavern where I’d left Rowan. I’d been trapped in this frozen world centuries ago and had stumbled onto the cave.
Or been led there.
Hel’s realm shares walls with Niflheim, and I’d always believed the goddess of the dead had shown me the way. She was probably the one responsible for leaving the pile of skins there. They didn’t belong to any creatures endemic to this world, which meant she’d imported them from elsewhere.
For all I knew, Hel entertained the occasional lover. The warriors who ended up here were the ones who’d been found lacking, who didn’t deserve Valhalla’s glory. No wonder she’d keep her dalliances brief and oh-so-private, if she’d sunk to having sex with her charges.
I yanked my ungracious thoughts out by the roots. First off, I had no idea who she’d shared those skins with. Even if I did, who was I to judge anyone? I’d checked out of any relationships more complicated than my sword practice with Jarle long since. Easier that way. Plus most of the women in the Nine Worlds were goddesses or Valkyries or elves. Goddesses expected me to be at their beck and call. Valkyries wanted to kill me if I so much as looked at them. Elves appeared so childlike, they were off the table when it came to anything of a romantic nature.
Women aside, what I really needed was a heart-to-heart with Nidhogg. The dragon knew about Rowan. I’d bet my last beaker of alchemy experiments on it. It could well be why he’d sent me to Midgard. To keep an eye on her. As I turned it over, I was certain he knew about her connection to Ceridwen. And the source of the Breaking.
Was he Rowan’s father?
The thought rattled around in my head. If that were true, I’d have to tread very carefully. He’d broken several rules mating outside dragonkind and would have every reason to hide his faux pas. After all its energetic antics earlier, the stone in my pocket might as well have been a random rock I’d picked up off the ground.
Poor Rowan. Saddled with two parents who had multiple motives to deny her existence. Assuming I was right about Nidhogg, he’d done a fine job of ignoring his spawn for centuries. If he was going to pick up the parental reins, why wouldn’t he have done so when Rowan first left the Celts? Or after the Breaking?
There had to be a whole lot I didn’t know.
Balls in play that were well above my pay grade.
I grinned at the human slang that jumped into my mind from time to time. I’d enjoyed my time living among mortals. Midgard was poorer for the Breaking that had wiped out so many. And turned the ones who were left into a bunch of scarred husks.
I felt sorry for them, but pity only reached so far. Saving humanity was not only above my pay grade, it wasn’t my job. I had my hands full as the de facto sorcerer for the Nine Worlds. Not that the gods viewed me in that light, or the dragons, but most everyone else did.
I was close to the cave now. Spreading magic in an arc, I checked for danger. Mostly, Hel kept good order through her realms, but Frost Giants were an unpredictable lot. They lived in Jotunheim, another of the Nine Worlds, but they adored the cold here. A type of overgrown serpent with two heads was another potential problem. Loosely related to the dragons, they lacked wings.
I’d left a blood trail from my kills, but so far it hadn’t come round to bite me. Not that I hadn’t been careful, but fresh meat has a particular stink about it. I didn’t exactly leave a crimson path, but anything with a nose could have tracked me.
Ducking into the cave, I kindled a mage light. It wavered and flickered but managed to shed enough light for me to see Rowan huddled beneath the pelts. She’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, and her brilliant hair fluffed around her still form. She had the most beautiful hair. Like silky dragonfire, it reflected gold and ruby from my light.
Power shimmered around her, visible to another with magic. Good that she’d had the presence of mind to ward herself, and also encouraging she’d had enough magic left to fashion protections.
I battled a ridiculous desire to run my fingers through her hair. Before I gave in to the urge to touch her—assuming I could reach through her wards—I rustled my way over to a hearth vented up one end of the cavern. I wasn’t trying for quiet. Before I got a fire well and truly going, she yawned and made a purring, mewling sound that was tough to resist.
“I found food.” My voice was gruff. I couldn’t afford to give in to the attraction I felt for her. She hadn’t presented me with even the smallest indication she viewed me as anything beyond a nuisance, and we had far more important issues facing us.
Like escaping Niflheim.
It wasn’t the easiest place to leave. The longer you stayed, the less you cared about going anywhere.
“Can I help?” Rowan was on her feet. She’d wrapped one of the warm skins around herself and walked to where I stood coaxing fire out of a few bits of frozen wood. Somewhere between her impromptu bed and my side, she’d dismantled her ward.
I blew on the fledgling flames and pointed to where I’d laid the animals on the cave’s floor. “Sure. Help is always welcome.”
She nodded and reached beneath her clothing. When her hand reappeared, she held a wicked-looking dirk with a ten-centimeter blade. Squatting next to the rabbits and vole, she worked quickly and methodically skinning and gutting them.
My fire had finally moved from a smoky mess to something that put out heat, and I laid our dinner over the coals.
“Thanks for hunting food for us.” Her voice was low and lyrical. She bent and cleaned her blade with dirt before tucking it back away.
“I’m lucky I found anything. I have no idea what happened down here, but these animals didn’t exactly fall into my lap.” I took a measured breath. “As soon as we’re done eating, we need to try to leave.”
She crinkled her forehead into a mass of lines. “I want to get going too, but there’s something you’re not exactly telling me.”
I offered her kudos for shrewdness. “This world shares many elements with Hel—”
“That’s the same as our underworld, right?” She raked curved fingers through her tangles to move her hair out of her face.
“Yes. The important part, though, is the goddess who runs Hel utilizes enchantments to keep the dead in line, It’s a sort of forgetfulness casting. The longer anyone remains here, the dimmer their memories become about the life they had before.”
“I see. And the less anxious they are to find their way out.” Rowan’s mouth twisted into a sour expression. “It’s already working on me. I’m far less worried than I was when I arrived here. I hate to admit it, but I can visualize myself, uh, settling in,”
She fisted a hand and punched the air. “That cannot happen. The witches need me. They’re vulnerable, and I just set them up in Inverlochy Castle, or what’s left of it, so we have a prayer of growing enough food we won’t starve.”
I turned th
e meat over. “The Celts’ old stomping grounds?” At her nod, I went on, “I thought it was naught but ruins.”
“That’s how it appears when people look at it, but if you gaze through your psychic vision, you’ll see it still stands in most of its former glory. My kin abandoned it when they moved to a borderworld right around the time of the Breaking. I believe the witches are fairly safe, but if one of the Celts decides to revisit the place, they’ll be most put out to find it occupied.”
I moved the smaller pieces of meat to warm stones around my firepit and asked, “What do you think they’d do?”
Rowan looked askance at me. “Depends who finds them. Some of my erstwhile kin are more compassionate than others. Best case, they’d chase them out.”
“And worst?” I quirked one brow.
“They’d kill them for trespassing.”
It was about what I’d expected. The Norse deities weren’t any more forgiving when it came to human incursions into places they felt belonged to them.
She picked up a small bit of rabbit and popped it into her mouth. The smells of cooking meat were rich and delectable. I plucked a bite for myself. Soon we were eating the moment meat came off the coals. I was sorry I hadn’t killed double the number. Winter hares weren’t very big once they were skinned out.
“I hate to take the time, but I can get more,” I said around my last bite.
Rowan shook her head. “Not a good idea. I’m full enough. My magic is coming back around. I’m not anywhere near my complete strength yet, but what I have should be good enough to teleport. How’s yours doing?”
A quick assessment told me I might have enough to encourage Bifrost to open to my command, but not enough to teleport. Whatever we did, I wanted us to remain together, but perhaps it wouldn’t be possible.
I wiped grease from my fingers with a combination of dirt and rubbing them together. “You should go as soon as you can,” I told Rowan.