by Ann Gimpel
“It will take me a bit to cast a seeking spell,” Rowan said. “I’m going to dash inside and put these clean clothes on, and then I need to teleport to Earth.”
“I’ll check on the witches at Inverlochy,” I told her. “They know me. It’s almost as good as you going.” I didn’t remind her she’d just been there. The unexpected turn of events with Loki acting as ringmaster made me nervous too.
After a pause where I was certain she’d object, Rowan nodded. “I’ll get the blood vectors cooking. They won’t be absolute because we’ll be leaving the Nine Worlds, but I’ll bring them along so we can do course corrections.”
I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for trusting me.”
“That’s only part of it.” She hugged me back and let go. “I have this need to control everything in my wheelhouse. It tends to get the better of me.”
The ward split around us and dispersed into red streamers. “We will assist with Rowan’s spell,” Dewi told the other dragons.
I could tell from the look on her face that Rowan wasn’t thrilled by the prospect. I understood. Too many cooks could push a delicate undertaking off course.
After crossing the courtyard, I squatted next to the blades and did a quick recall of which to employ for each variety of enemy. I wasn’t expecting trouble in Midgard, but it paid to be prepared. I was in a hurry and couldn’t risk a protracted battle like others I’d fought there.
I snatched up one of the broadswords and two shorter blades. Once I’d stood, I attached them to my body with sheaths and a sword belt. Power jumped to my command as I teleported to Midgard. I might not have appreciated the way the circumstances of my birth were revealed, but I sure as hell valued the boost to my magic.
I thought we had the rough progression of events figured out with Cadir and Loki, but what if we were wrong? We’d made a lot of assumptions that painted Ceridwen as vain, stupid, and selfish. I was on board with the vain and selfish parts, but I had a hard time believing she was that dumb. So long as I was going to Inverlochy, I’d see if Bran had any luck with his crystals or whatever he used to bring both the past and the future into focus.
Assuming I could get him to talk with me. He’d barely have noticed the master sorcerer of the Nine Worlds, but I wasn’t that man any longer. Bran wouldn’t respect my Norse half, but my connection to Nidhogg might buy me an audience.
I could be very persuasive when the need arose.
Chapter Eighteen, Rowan
After all my big talk, magic kept bouncing back in my face. I’d hung Bjorn’s shirt in the same spot where I’d gotten it and changed into my own clothes, all the while rehearsing just how to launch my incantation. The dragons were deep in conversation when I returned to the courtyard. Power shimmered around them, concealing their mind speech.
I tugged my dirk from its thigh sheath and sliced a gash in the base of my thumb urging globs of blood to form a line in front of me. When I thought I had enough, I healed my cut and focused on my little row of soldiers. The dragons had said they’d help, but they were ignoring me, which was fine. I work best alone—unless Bjorn and I link up.
I cleared my mind of everything but my blood. I even gripped the amulet to concentrate my magic. In the interest of not mucking things up, I started small and infused a bit of air into the crimson droplets while asking for general information. How far away was Cadir? What direction? What would I need to get there?”
The blobs nearest me smoked; I cut the flow of magic to a trickle. If they caught fire, they’d burn up, and I’d have to start over. I chanted low, urging them to show me where Father was. Maybe not the whole thing. Not right away. But should I head east? West?
I visualized a flame to focus myself and encouraged the drops to slowly circle it. The few other times I’d done this, they’d formed a neat little arrow and pointed right at my objective.
Not now.
What blasted into the blank slate of my mind was Mother. “There ye are. Och, Daughter. Ye’ve come to rescue me.”
I slammed the gates down fast. Too fast. My precious blood drops ran amok. Some burst into flames. Others shot off in several directions. By the time I called them back, I was breathing hard and I hadn’t gotten them all. Blood is a lot of things. Powerful. A great tool. But it’s also one that could be used against me if it fell into the wrong hands.
Zelli’s consciousness crashed into mine. My focus evaporated. “Got them,” she told me. A ball crafted from golden strands wove around the remaining blood and dropped into my hands.
I blinked stupidly as the ball folded in on itself and disappeared. “Thanks,” I muttered and released my hold on the amulet.
All three dragons were ranged around me. They’d placed me in the center of a rough circle, and I was grateful for their support. “Unanticipated problem,” I croaked.
“Ceridwen.” Dewi said the name as if it were a curse.
“Not exactly her fault. For once.” I was damned if I knew why I was defending Mother. “Blood is blood, and I carry hers too.”
“We wondered how that would go,” Zelli said.
“Why didn’t one of you say something?” I demanded.
“We dinna wish to create doubt,” Quade replied. “Magic works best—”
“When the wielder has absolute faith in the results,” I cut in. “Sorry. Wasn’t meaning to be rude, but I’m not certain what to try next. I can attempt to refine the casting, but Ceridwen must be closer than the dragon. I fear the spell will find her first, no matter how many times I cast it.”
“That isna good news,” Dewi said.
“Aye, Fire Mountain is a long way from the Nine Worlds,” Zelli said and crinkled her copper brows. “So far, I’m having a hard time imagining just where Cadir might be.”
“Under our noses,” a voice boomed from behind me. I jumped a meter and twisted midair to see Bjorn, Arawn, and Bran emerge from what had been empty ether. If there was a gateway, I hadn’t felt it and couldn’t see its edges. Bran looked like a brighter version of Gwydion. His hair was a sweep of burnished mahogany braided back from his high forehead. Hazel eyes sat on either side of a hawk-bridged nose. Stubble dotted his cheeks and chin. Unlike the other Celtic gods, he wore black woolen breeches topped by a pale green linen shirt embroidered richly with runes.
A golden signet ring adored his index finger. Tall as Arawn, he was broader. Not a neat trick since the god of the dead was downright lean. I bobbed my head at him and Arawn. I was too stubborn to tell them it was nice to see them again. It wasn’t. Arawn hadn’t been around much when I was a child. He had the dead to ride herd on. But Bran had been a permanent fixture in Inverlochy Castle with his crystal ball and his pool and the other accoutrements of his seer trade.
I stood tall and faced them down. “I just cast a blood vector spell, and the first candidate to show up was Mother. It’s not possible that Fa—the dragon—is closer than she is.” I couldn’t bring myself to call the bastard dragon Father out loud in front of two men who’d treated me like shit.
Bran inclined his head. When he looked across at me, he said, “Apologies, Dragon Heir. Ye werena treated well at our hands within our halls.”
My mouth gaped open. I shut it with a snap. When I searched for words, even something inane like, “thank you,” I couldn’t push anything past my clenched teeth.
“The reason ye couldna locate Cadir,” Arawn cut in smoothly, “is because he is hidden among the dead in my halls. Before ye ask how such a thing could happen, ye must needs understand that our Hell isna a single location. It spans Midgard in nine layers with an infinite number of entrances. Over eons, I’ve done my best to organize it, but souls doona stay put.”
He shrugged; his black robes riffled around him. “My charges have built more chambers, with others tacked on, until Hell is truly a patchwork quilt of hidey-holes. Mostly, souls doona pose any problems even if they wander. I segregate the troublemakers. The truly evil ones, I send beyond the Ninth Gate, but my gatekeeper up and quit the o
ther day. Or mayhap, ’twas last year. He’s not been there for a while now.”
Arawn exhaled sharply. “Many who should have been contained escaped. I’ve been running them down, and—”
“Get to the point.” Bran snapped his fingers.
Arawn slapped Bran’s hand down. I rather liked them carping at each other instead of at me. Arawn cleared his throat. “In the absence of my gatekeeper, many left, but at least two residents moved in. Rowan’s blood casting would have been worthless investigating the Ninth Level. ’Tis well-shielded on purpose to keep those beyond the gate from being bothersome.”
“How do ye know Cadir is there?” Dewi cut into his rambling description. Maybe it was as annoying and long-winded to her as it was to me.
“How else? One of the other souls ratted on him. When I asked Bran, he looked in his pool and confirmed dragon essence within my realm. Apparently, Loki’s been in and out of Hell too. I really need to work on securing more reliable assistants.”
“Can you close the gate?” I asked. Seemed by far the simplest solution.
“Aye. Of course. ’Tis the keeping it closed that poses a problem. The latches may require repair. Absent a gatekeeper—”
“We’ve heard that part,” Bran said. “And ’twasn’t my scrying pool, but a series of crystals. Reaching beyond the Ninth Gate is difficult, even for me.”
“All right, then. We know where Cadir is,” Bjorn said. “Let’s get moving. We’ll figure out how to spell the gates shut once we get there.”
“Och, and he is certain to stay put, waiting meekly while we slam the gates.” Quade puffed smoke. “If all of us converge in the lowest level of Hell, we’ll create an energy path several meters wide.”
“So. We erect wards.” I took stock of our combined firepower. Pretty impressive with three dragons, two Celtic gods, Bjorn, and me.
“They doona work within my realm,” Arawn said. “Can ye imagine if the dead could cloak themselves? I’d never find them again.”
Damn but I was sick of Celts. “Fine. You come up with something,” I told him.
“After Bjorn ran me down,” Bran said, “and convinced me to hear him out, I spent a few additional moments snatching a quick-and-dirty peek into an array of possible futures.”
Ha! He’d spent his fair share of time among mortals before the world broke. His occasional use of human jargon clinched it. Bran was a pretty man; the selection of bed partners amongst the Celts was somewhat limited. He’d like as not posed as a mortal to gain access to a string of willing women—or men.
“Rowan and Bjorn—and their dragons—appear to have the best chance of making it to the Ninth Circle undetected,” Bran went on.
“I must accompany them,” Arawn protested. “They canna dismantle the blockades between levels.”
“The souls in your care don’t seem to have any problems with them.” My words were probably ill-advised, but I wanted to get moving and confront the father who’d been a willing pawn in Loki’s scheming.
“We’ll teleport right to the Ninth Gate,” Bjorn spoke up before Arawn could react to my criticism. Thank Christ he was more diplomatic than I was.
“Will the Ninth Level truly contain him?” Dewi asked Arawn.
I wanted to know too, so I tossed a truth net over the god of the dead. His dark eyes blazed with annoyance, but he didn’t tell me what an upstart bitch I was. That statement would have made it past my spell because it was true more often than not.
“I doona know,” Arawn said. “If ’twere only the dragon, then aye, but Loki adds another variable. He shouldna be able to move in and out of my domain, yet he does.” After a pause, he added, “Loki is Odin’s problem.”
“Nay,” Zelli said. “He is all of ours. He belongs in Jotunheim, but returning him there will be impossible. I vote with Rowan. We need to get moving. If we wait until we have a perfect plan, we’ll never leave.”
“I am coming with you,” Dewi said. “As the first dragon to draw breath on Fire Mountain, one of the dragon elders, and a Celtic deity, I command sufficient power to journey to Fire Mountain and drop Cadir’s heart into the hottest volcano.”
“I like it,” Quade said. “Cadir will grow a new heart in that time, but if we remove each one as it forms, we might win.”
A rapid intake of breath from Arawn suggested the information about how to kill a dragon was news to him. And well it should be. If we hadn’t been painted into a corner, the dragons never would have let that tidbit see the light of day.
“Why not trap him in a travel spell and move him to Fire Mountain?” Bran asked. “That way, ye can cut out his heart once and have done with things.”
I offered the god of prophecy points for a cleaner path, but then an even better idea occurred to me. “I’ve got it,” I piped up. “Dewi. You can tell Cadir the dragon council has rethought his banishment, and he must return for his sentence to be commuted. Or whatever term you guys use.”
“It might work,” Dewi said, “so long as I am convincing.” She eyed me. “Ye do realize ye’re part of ‘you guys.’”
“Still getting used to that part,” I mumbled.
“Brilliant.” Bjorn slapped me across the shoulders. “A solution worthy of Loki.” Power rose around him as he built a travel spell.
“Nay,” Quade said firmly. “Ye will ride me. Rowan shall ride Zelli. We can mask your presence until we reach our destination.”
“See you at the Ninth Gate,” Dewi said. Heat intensified as she drew magic around her. “Take the bridge to Midgard,” she said just before her bulk shimmered, first to red light and then to nothingness.
“We shall do the same,” Zelli said. “It will shroud our presence until we’re much closer to the halls of the dead.”
Bjorn laughed. “Poor Bifrost. It may never be the same. I don’t believe it’s ever hosted dragons within its channels.” He vaulted to Quade’s back, while I mounted Zelli. I’d perfected the amount of magic I needed to create an elevator made of air.
“Of course it has,” Quade told him. “Ye’ve used it innumerable times.”
“Aye, but the critical parts of my nature were muted.”
“Bifrost is sentient and linked to Yggdrasil. Never underestimate either of them,” Arawn spoke up. I’d nearly forgotten about him and Bran.
“Aye, perhaps it was so free allowing ye access because it sensed precisely what ye were,” Bran said, adding, “We shall return to Inverlochy. If ye’ve need of assistance, we stand ready to aid your mission.”
My mouth fell open for the second time since he’d shown up. I shut it and managed to say, “Thank you.” It pays to be nice to your allies. I’ve had so few, I appreciate the ones who step up to the plate.
Zelli and Quade combined their magic this time. They seemed to know where we were headed, which was a good thing, since I didn’t. Even as a child, I’d sensed at a deeply intuitive level that borrowing space to hide in Arawn’s realm would be a mistake. I’d feared it would trap me somehow, and I’d never find a way out.
Bjorn’s courtyard dissolved, replaced by the feel of the rainbow bridge. We’d subverted the need to access one of its gateways, but I wasn’t complaining.
“Almost in Midgard,” Bjorn said.
I watched the markers flashing by. We were moving faster than my last time within Bifrost’s curved walls. Perhaps the bridge was in a hurry to jettison us. “The witches were fine, right?”
“More than fine.” Bjorn said. “The Celts are helping with their garden. Crops should be ready to harvest very soon.”
I bit back a sarcastic rejoinder about guilt being a potent motivator. My kin in the Celtic pantheon could be kind, generous, and compassionate. Just because I’d rarely seen that side of them didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Dewi was certainly putting herself on the line to help corral Cadir.
The dragons pushed their still-joined power ahead of us and half-flew, half-lumbered from the bridge. I looked around at a windswept, icy landscape t
hat could have been Jotunheim, if it had trees. An unbroken vista of cliffs rose from the ice sheet we stood upon. Not so much as a bird broke the solitude.
“Where are we?” I asked Zelli.
“The far northern reaches of Midgard. Nothing lives here anymore. Not since the Breaking, but ’tis the simplest access to Hell.”
“And we hope the least noticeable,” Quade added. “From now until we come out at the Ninth Gate, no talking. Not even mind speech.”
I felt Zelli’s power settle around me and welcomed the solid feel of her skill. She was warding me, hiding me from discovery for as long as she could. No one had ever taken care of me until I took up with the witches, and it was still an unusual-enough occurrence I treasured it.
Despite my “let’s get this show on the road” speech earlier, I didn’t feel ready to come face to face with my father. I rebuked myself for being a fool. At most, the dragon had been a sperm donor. Fathers were the dudes who hung around and made sure you felt safe and loved and—
Awk. I had to get a grip. Geez. Next I was going to start crying because he didn’t show up to buy me a puppy for Christmas. I crammed the roiling emotional mess I was turning into down a shaft and buried everything at the bottom of my consciousness. To be on the safe side, I locked the whole shebang behind a magical shield.
If that didn’t do the trick, nothing would.
The unremitting dark around us shaded to gray. Meant we were almost there. For some reason, I’d expected it to take longer, but we were covering metaphorical as opposed to physical distances. Enchanted realms were like that.
We burst through a flaming gateway. I considered applauding. The dragons were making a splashy entrance, in the spirit of welcoming Cadir back into the Fire Mountain fold.
Once the ring of fire subsided, I took in a moderate-sized cavern lined with unevenly-sized rocks. Water dripped down on every side, adding a dank aspect to the heat-laden air. The overall effect was rather like a sauna, but the wet variety. Two enormous wooden gates with hammered steel borders hung open a few meters away. From the looks of it, they’d been wrenched from their hinges and never repaired.