by Ann Gimpel
Smoke billowed around me. I coughed, but it didn’t help. My eyes stung. My mouth and throat were raw from dragonfire, smoke, ash, and all the rest of the crap dragons spew. A low, keening whistle was all the warning I got before I stumbled—or was pushed—against a boulder that wasn’t stone after all. It sucked me into darkness.
Searing pain cut through me, but it was more psychic than physical. A quick check told me Rowan and I weren’t joined any longer. Was she all right? Had she been yanked in some other direction? Sucked into a different alternate universe? Nothing I could do to help her until I got myself out of my current predicament.
I made a grab for my magic, intent on kindling a mage light, but nothing happened. All right. If light wasn’t on the menu, how about short-circuiting the strange magic that had kicked me out of Vanaheim? I’d figured out that much passing through the stone’s illusion. I was still within the Nine Worlds, but someone had expelled me from the field near the humble cottage I called home.
And from all the rest of Vanaheim too. It’s not as if I’d been jettisoned onto a familiar moor or next to one of the many lakes in my world.
I reconstructed what had happened just before my impromptu trip into oblivion. We’d been sparring, Rowan’s magic linked with mine. She hadn’t said much, but she must miss her privacy too. We can scarcely turn around without stumbling over dragons. And I know she misses the witches. It was past time for us to return to Midgard, and we were headed there right after today’s practice session. Or she was, anyway. Without me, if I wasn’t back from the smith’s in time. But I would have followed her.
I punched the darkness with a closed fist. That had to be it. The blasted dragonstone Nidhogg had given me, the one that shackled me to him twenty-four/seven, must have alerted him to our plans.
Or else Ysien had told him.
The stone hummed from the recesses of my pocket. Its equivalent of sticking out its tongue at me. I didn’t give it the satisfaction of telling it to shut up. Wouldn’t have made any difference. The stone is an extension of the dragon who shoved it down my throat.
Rowan was perfectly capable of leaving Vanaheim without me, but perhaps Nidhogg thought it less likely. Ha! He didn’t know her at all. Loki’s balls, that woman has magic to burn. Especially now that she’d owned her dragon side. I always thought I was a powerhouse. Well, she’s got me beat in that department.
I’d never actually admit it out loud to anyone, mind you. We men have our pride. I’m the master sorcerer in the Nine Worlds, a post I didn’t exactly earn, but I’ve warmed to it over the years since Odin dropped it into my lap. Aye, I’m a wizard, and I need to remember my trade.
I was sick of turning end over end in warm, fluffy blackness, so I barked a power word. One that would take me to Yggdrasil. The One Tree’s roots extend throughout the Nine Worlds. Once I located it, I could go anywhere. And where I intended to go was right back to my cottage.
Blasted dragons. They had no right to dick with me.
The velvet black ceded to a grayish mist, and the damp, earthy scent of the One Tree surrounded me before I saw it. Impossibly large, it welcomed me, branches soughing and creaking despite there being no wind. I was near the treetop, which meant the nearest world was Asgard.
If I was canny about things, I could sneak past its boundaries, jump onto Bifrost, the bridge that connects the worlds, and be gone all in a matter of a few minutes. I hadn’t seen Odin since our ill-fated meeting with the Celtic gods. It hadn’t been anyone’s finest hour, mostly because of Rowan’s mother. The Celtic bitch goddess had broken Midgard on a lark, killing over half the mortals and opening channels for evil to run unhindered. At least she was out of the way for a while. The dragons had barricaded her into Fire Mountain. A good deed that wiped the slate clean and gave them license to take up residence in my courtyard if they wanted to.
It was nearly time for the Celts to show up in Asgard—if they weren’t there already—and I didn’t want to be apprehended sneaking through like a thief in the night. No, I wanted to make an entrance garbed in my wizard’s robes with Rowan by my side.
The meeting was slated to last a few days. I’d assumed we’d show up once the deities had a chance to stop circling one another like packs of wolves sizing up their rivals.
I laid my palms flat against the tree, soaking in its ancient power. As I thought back on things, neither Ro nor I had exactly been invited to the Norse-Celtic powwow. Should we go anyway? Seemed like a question for Nidhogg. Or not. The Norse dragon would be there, along with several of his kinsmen.
Working on the belief it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, I decided Rowan and I would simply show up. If the gods wanted to toss us out, of course we’d have to leave.
And then I thought again. Rowan was her own person. She might not want to go. No love lost between her and the Celts. Ceridwen had treated her abysmally; the other Celts had followed Ceridwen’s lead and ignored Rowan. I’d have to ask her what she wanted to do. Not an easy task here of late. In the few days since we’ve been in Vanaheim, we’ve scarcely spoken about anything personal.
Rowan’s buried herself in dragon lore from the scrolls in my library, only surfacing to ask the occasional question or two. When she wasn’t studying, dragons were instructing her. Not sure what I’d hoped for… Eh, that’s a boldfaced lie. I knew exactly what I wanted.
Her. Naked. Beneath me. Or on top. I’m not especially picky in that regard. We’d almost, almost made love. And I wanted more of her lush body. Not exactly a possibility since dragons banged their heads against my single window, bugling if we were inside when they arrived.
Not a shred of privacy.
Hell, we hadn’t had a single conversation that didn’t revolve around dragon history. I was still leaning against Yggdrasil. Something about its energy was soothing, calming, and energizing all mixed up together. More than just the roots of the Nine Worlds, the One Tree was also the source of our magic. No wonder it felt like coming home.
I’d been incensed over the dragons keeping me away from Rowan when they challenged her ingenuity and ability to think on her feet. More than incensed, I’d been as spun out as if the beasts had robbed me of a prized possession, one I was willing to put my life on the line and fight for.
I shook my head hard to clear my thoughts. My expectations around Rowan were unrealistic. And unreasonable. She had plenty to occupy her mind without me adding demands to the mix. I loved her, but I’d keep my distance. Let her find her own way.
She’d accepted comfort from me, but then she’d pulled away. When I’d shown up after my visit with Hagar, she’d welcomed me, but as a comrade in arms. Someone to stand by her side and cleave through all the dragon craziness. I smiled to myself, certain she’d been furious she hadn’t left when the getting was good.
I’d never have guessed the dragons would return so soon, and I’m certain neither did she. The tree was crooning to me, singing a wordless song. It dragged me out of my mental wanderings. Past time for me to leave. If I remained, I’d end up sucked into Yggdrasil’s roots and turn into memories for the One Tree to pore over. The mighty ash was sentient. If it could speak, it would have told me it owned the Nine Worlds and everything in them.
Including me.
I tugged my hands from its gnarled bark and visualized a portal. It was slow to form, flickering into nothingness time and again. The tree liked me. It upped the ante on its song, and something about the melody eroded my magic and gave me a filtered view into the tree’s heart. It was sad about Midgard, fighting the damage but losing the battle. It needed help.
It needed me.
Its plea seared my soul. How could I refuse Yggdrasil? But if I gave in to its plea, Rowan would be alone.
The next time the edges of a gateway formed, I jumped through.
No matter where I came out, it was better than ending up fodder for Yggdrasil. The One Tree would suck me dry, and I’d wander among its twisted roots forever. Midgard was a problem, but one
I was better equipped to face in my current form.
I held an image of Bifrost, urging it to show itself so I could get the hell out of there. The darkness around me ceded to gray and then to the golden streets of Asgard. Alrighty, not the bridge, but at least I could reach it from here. I built a hasty ward and fled down the nearest alley. Buildings towered above me, and it took me a moment to figure out where I was.
Far from the palace.
Thank the gods for small favors. And for escaping Yggdrasil. I’d been an idiot and remained far too long. The One Tree had taken my measure and liked me enough to make a bid to absorb me. It was quite an honor on one level, but I wasn’t ready to devote my life to maintaining the Nine Worlds. Not yet. And not that way.
Asgard is different from the other segments of the Nine Worlds in that there’s a single entrance to Bifrost. I calculated how I could make a run for it and stay mostly out of sight. I did a smattering of work on my ward to strengthen it, but not a lot. No point. If I ran into one of the gods, they’d see straight through it.
And then I’d tell them the truth about how I ended up here, bid them a good day, and continue onward. So long as they didn’t decide to ship me off on a quest. They were famous for shit like that. And I’d have to go; no one told Thor or Loki or Odin thanks, but no thanks.
Scuttling from one shadowed alley to another, I was almost to the bridge. Magic arced as I checked the pathway between me and my goal. So far, so good. I was within a hairsbreadth of being gone, but “nearly” didn’t make the cut.
I froze.
Celts were arriving. Why they were anywhere near the bridge was anyone’s guess, but they were. I hunkered down, intent on waiting things out. Meanwhile, I absorbed scents and energy. Gwydion, Arawn, Bran, Arianrhod, Andraste, Poseidon, and each of the four winds passed into Asgard. Dewi arrived a few minutes later in all her blood-red glory.
Odin, Thor, and Loki’s booming greetings were audible from my hiding spot. An hour dribbled past with them exchanging jibes and pleasantries. Finally, the group started slowly up the gold-paved streets of Asgard toward Valhalla.
I wanted to leave. My legs were cramping, but I gave it another quarter hour to make certain no one would bother me. When I stood, pins and needles shot up both legs. I shook them out and marched in place until I was certain they’d hold me. Magic fixes a lot of things, but leg cramps aren’t one of them.
I checked the area, checked it once more, and made a run for the bridge, jumping through its shining gateway and congratulating myself for having made a clean getaway. I still had no idea how I’d ended up falling through the boulder that spit me out in limbo, and I needed to sort that out before it happened again. Worry soured my stomach. Was Rowan all right? Had the dragons pushed me out of the way for some agenda of their own?
Not the dragons. The explanation didn’t fit. They wouldn’t be paying for blades for me or having me ride them, if they had plans for Ro that didn’t include me. Other possibilities were far more insidious. For one thing, whatever had grabbed me had escaped the notice of all those dragons.
I fisted both hands and watched markers fly by. Vanaheim couldn’t arrive quickly enough.
I might not be a warrior, but I’d kill anything or anyone who stood between me and Rowan. Her maybe not wanting me in the same way I longed for her made no difference at all. I’m a patient man. Meanwhile, I’ll find whoever sent me on that one-way journey and make them sorry they were ever born.
Chapter Three, Rowan
“Bjorn’s gone,” I shrieked. The moment his magic ripped away from mine burned like a knife in my guts. I shucked playing strategy games with the dragons and bolted to the last place he’d stood. Nothing jumped out at me, so I sent a seeking spell whirling outward.
Zelli lumbered close. “Are ye certain he isn’t trying a new stealth maneuver?”
I wasn’t in an answering mood. I was still gathering what information I could. Wherever he was, he wasn’t close enough to raise with telepathy. I’d have to sense his magic to be able to talk with him. The boulder near where he’d stood fairly sizzled with an eerie power all its own.
“That.” I pointed at the rock, but didn’t touch it. “Something’s wrong with it.” Even as the words left my lips, the air around the pillar folded in on itself. It’s tough to describe, but I was certain whatever entity had taken over the stone had just departed.
Goddess damn it all to fuck. Bjorn had been yanked through some kind of gateway, but it had slammed shut behind him. Finding him would be a trick-and-a-half—unless the dragons commanded far subtler power than I thought they did.
I viewed them as the slash-and-crash and-burn type. Figuring out what happened to Bjorn would be like threading a teensy needle with slippery thread.
Zelli aimed her whirling gaze at the boulder. It stood nearly as tall as she was, and its northern side sported a thick coating of gray-green moss. A glistening spray of dragon essence surrounded it. Zelli was thorough. I’ll hand her that much. Her probing circled the stone from top to bottom and back again, checking every side.
The smell of clay baked beneath a smothering sun rose around us. It figured the dragons’ characteristic scent would remind me of a desert. I’d clenched both hands into fists so hard my nails were cutting into my palms. With a great deal of effort, I relaxed my fingers, uncurling them one hand at a time.
I wanted to claw at Zelli, demand she hurry things up, but she might be my only friend in the flight of dragons, all of whom had gathered around us. If it weren’t for the witches, I’d not have had clue one how friends treated each other. Thanks to them, I understood pressing her to speak before she was ready would be inconsiderate.
“We’re wasting time. Back to it,” a red dragon who seemed to be standing in for Ysien ordered.
I was willing to extend plenty of slack to Zelli, but my generosity didn’t encompass Red No-Name. I spun to face him. “No. I’m not doing anything except my level best to locate Bjorn.”
A blizzard of smoky ash settled around me. Coughing, I batted the bigger chunks aside and said, “Stop that. It’s rude.”
“Why ye upstart—” Red began.
“She is one of us.” Zelli’s voice sounded from behind me, full of venom and warning.
“The rest of us”—Red huffed after emphasizing the inclusive pronoun—“do what I say.”
“Only if we concur with you,” a blue dragon piped up.
I clamped down hard on a harsh grin that wanted out. Apparently, dragons dealt with the occasional insurrection too, when disagreements surfaced.
Fire roared out of Zelli. Luckily, I was short and it flowed over my head. The displacement of air made my neck prickle. The dragons, who’d been chatting among themselves, fell silent.
“We have a problem,” Zelli announced once she had everyone’s attention. “While we were merrily lobbing magic at each other, and having a gay old time, something wicked scuttled into our midst. Whatever it was turned the stone into a portal and made off with Bjorn.”
Red rolled his whirling eyes. The effect was decidedly off-putting. “And ye picked this up from gazing at yon pillar? I think not.”
Zelli sashayed around me and plodded until she stood snout to snout with Red. “I think so, Ceirrot. Test the stone for yourself. The villain would have stymied us, but bits of wickedness yet cling to the moss.”
Grumbling and spitting ash, Ceirrot shambled to where Zelli had stood. His assessment went far quicker than hers had, but he was slow to turn back toward us. I’d moved off to one side. I still didn’t trust the beasts not to step on me.
Smoke puffed from Ceirrot before he grudgingly admitted, “Aye, traces of insidious magic remain embedded in the moss, but they could have been there for months, years.” He shook himself until his scales rattled ominously. “I say Bjorn was called away to investigate a problem, likely on another world. He is the chief sorcerer, so that type of thing must be common.”
I ground my jaws in frustration. I’d had it up to
here with dragon discussions, dragons acting like they knew everything, and dragons believing they owned me.
“His magic was linked with mine,” I pointed out. “If he’d left of his own volition, he’d have gently extricated himself from our bond. He didn’t. It was ripped asunder. He also would have told me he was leaving.”
“Perhaps ye doona know him as well as ye believe,” Ceirrot suggested with a snide intonation I didn’t like at all.
“While we’re sitting here batting worthless words back and forth, Bjorn may be fighting for his life,” I snarled. “He’s not immortal like we are. He needs us. Or at least he needs me. I’m going to look for him.”
“How?” Zelli’s question was soft and non-accusatory. She was on my side.
I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t howl or scream or do something else that wouldn’t help in the least. Once I got hold of myself, I said, “I have no idea, but maybe if I start with Odin or Nidhogg, one of them will be able to sense Bjorn. Assuming he’s still here in the Nine Worlds.”
“I believe he is,” Zelli said.
“Why?” I glanced up at her. Hope teased the edges of my soul. Maybe she’d gotten more out of her perusal of the pillar than I had.
“The dark power has Jotunheim stamped all over it. The giants’ realm is wild, chaotic. It surrounds the more civilized portions of the Nine Worlds, but is sunk in perpetual winter.”
“What are we waiting for?” I asked. “If we know where he is, let’s go.” I chewed my lower lip. I’d never been there, so I’d need someone to either show me or take me. Preferably show me. I needed a break from dragons, and I’d kicked myself roundly for not leaving during the brief hiatus when they were gone.
“’Tis only where the evil sprang from,” Zelli clarified. “’Tis unlikely they’d have taken Bjorn there. Not against his will, and not if they ever wished his assistance again.”
“But we have to do something,” I argued. “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best.”