Realm of Fate

by Kelly N. Jane

  The Tree of Life where Ingrid had to stand to bind the spell.

  There was a pathway to the Yggdrasil tree somewhere in Alfheim. Ingrid had a way to escape and bind the spell. She could defeat both Jarrick and Urkon while she protected Midgard. It was the destiny she’d trained for.

  Finding the Grimnir Passage wouldn’t be easy. There wasn’t an exact location anywhere in the book that she could find. She’d spent the next few hours searching every page. The skies had turned light, and her eyes gritty, but she had no further information.

  Ingrid slid the book from her lap and stood. Stretching, she released the kinks in her arms and legs from sitting so long. She rolled her neck and sighed. Was she really going to endure the halls again? And what about Galwain? Could she abandon her to suffer in Montibeo?

  Too tired to make a true plan, she wandered out to the balcony. The morning air was crisp against her bare arms. The calm and peace were in direct contrast to the storm raging in her mind.

  When Jarrick had hauled her to Alfheim, he’d saved her life because it suited his purpose. He needed her, and that justified allowing his dragon, Voxx, to destroy everyone else—including Jorg. If she decided finding the passage was more important than Galwain, how was she any different from Jarrick?

  Ingrid stared out at the marketplace with its colorful flags waving in the breeze. It was quiet before the crowds showed up for the day. Beyond that stretched the open grasses, glistening in the dewy morning as the sun peeked over the horizon. If she were to escape—somehow getting through the ever-changing hallways, past the guards, and through the marketplace—she’d be without cover and spotted easily.

  Then she looked to the forest. It loomed along both sides of the village, dark and menacing. Did she have the courage to brave it alone? She had to. The image of Odin in the tunnel flashed through her mind. Could the Grimnir Passage be that close? Her hand closed around the runes still secured around her neck. Eir had told her she needed to have her bead. But why? So many thoughts swirled through her mind she couldn’t remember the reason.

  Well, I don’t have it anymore. She huffed a laugh and rested her hands against the smooth stone of the railing. Whatever the purpose, she’d have to forge ahead without the bead. Resolve bloomed in her chest, and she released a long breath. I have to do this . . . and hope Galwain forgives me.

  With renewed purpose and determination, she returned to her rooms in search of something she could wear besides her night clothes.

  After checking every cabinet, Ingrid found her own clothes, laundered and folded neatly at the bottom of a drawer in the bathing chamber.

  Interesting.

  Finally, able to feel like herself, she opened one door a crack and peeked into the hall. Quiet and lifeless, the path to freedom stood ready.

  Instead of charging forward as she’d done before, she studied each direction for a clue to what might have confused her. As she leaned forward to get a better view, she caught sight of the second door she’d left closed. The lines and whorls that appeared as an intricate design drew her attention. She’d noticed them the first time when she entered through the heavy wooden doors.

  Ingrid reached out and let her fingers graze over the carvings. Her breath caught, and dizziness threatened to buckle her knees as understanding slammed into her. They were more than a design; they were words-warding the doorway with a spell. It had to be what caused her to become confused and lose her way.

  She pressed her hand against the grooves and closed her eyes. Held rapt as the words became clear, her chest heaved from the effort or the excitement, she didn’t care. Words took shape and made sense individually, but they seemed jumbled. It was like a puzzle. How do I release this?

  A memory surfaced from her time with Eir. The first lesson she’d learned. Eir had made her clean the workroom, moving pots, jars, and bottles with her mind. Rearranging everything until it was in order. Could this be similar?

  With a deep breath, Ingrid envisioned each word as if someone wrote it on vellum. When she’d found them all, she mentally rearranged them. Deep within her core, her powers rumbled, awakened and watching as if ready to respond. Eager to solve the riddle, she concentrated harder.

  Ve a lunte aut-bime a raumo at eccaia, I acsa na- a mysterime—Like a boat tossed by a storm at sea; the path is a mystery.

  She’d done it! I translated the spell. But, how to break it?

  "The storm has passed," she said aloud. Nothing changed, though she didn’t know what it would look like when the spell broke. She imagined it had to feel different. "The path is clear."

  Still nothing.

  Ingrid tried a variety of words and sentences. Calming her mind, she remembered how she’d had to care for each item in the workroom. Find the spot that would make the most sense and keep it safe. It was an uncomplicated solution. Could it be that simple here?

  Ar a raumo, i lunte na- at sér-i acsa na- vamme a mysterime—Without a storm, the boat is at rest; the path is not a mystery.

  A flash of light blinded Ingrid for a split second. The carving under her palm flared with heat. She yanked her hand to her chest. Ingrid opened one eye and peered at the door. The door was smooth, and the words were gone. Her brows shot up toward her hairline, and she gasped. The polished ebony shined. Intricate carvings decorated the edges but gone were the flecks of gold.

  Ingrid sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and focused on the hallway. It appeared no different. There was only one way to find out. Closing the door to her room, she jogged down the hallway to her right.

  22

  Ingrid

  A trickle of sweat slipped between Ingrid’s shoulder blades as she pressed her back against the cool stone wall. After only three turns, she’d made it within sight of the doors to freedom. The hallway appeared empty, but she waited. She needed to catch her breath and keep her wits. One short corridor was all that stood in her way. Well, that and the guards, the marketplace, and the forest.

  Ingrid laughed to herself. Sprinting for the doors, she burst out into the morning light and hurried down the steps. The pebbled path crunched loudly under her feet. She leapt to the grass and continued forward. Then she heard voices ahead.

  Skidding to a stop, chest heaving, she measured the closest distance to cover. She rushed to the high stone wall that surrounded the palace grounds. Manicured shrubbery and flowers decorated the base of the wall. As she reached the edge of the grass, she recognized one of the voices. She stumbled as her stomach squeezed tight and her legs wobbled. Ingrid dove headfirst into the bushes.

  Urkon walked casually up the path with two guards at his heels. Ingrid sucked in a deep breath and held it until her chest ached. The dark arts master passed by her hiding spot without hesitation.

  I made it. He didn’t see me.

  Not daring to return to the open, she stayed against the wall and crawled along toward the guardhouse. The gate to freedom was in reach. Remembering how relaxed the soldiers had seemed when she arrived gave her a burst of confidence.

  She reached the small square room that allowed the guards somewhere to sit during their shift. Ingrid stayed crouched and listened.

  The guards chatted together casually. Ingrid peeked around the corner. They had their back to her and the gate. It was the opportunity she needed. Staying low, she hugged the edge of the building and raced around and through the gate. For a heart-stopping second, they’d stopped talking, and she thought they’d heard her, but relief filled her when they’d resumed their conversation.

  Ingrid hurried along the outside wall, away from the open path, until she was out of view of the guards. Legs burning from staying in a crouch, she ran as fast as she could across a low-cut field, heading for the first building on the edge of the marketplace. It appeared empty, and she hurried around the corner out of sight.

  As she rested in the building's shadow, she fought against the idea that perhaps it had been too easy. Was it possible they had allowed her to escape?

  No! That
makes little sense.

  When she’d settled her nerves, she scooted to the edge and peered around. The marketplace was still quiet though some had recently arrived to ready their tents for the crowds to come. Ingrid darted across the grassy gap to the closest tent. Sticking to the shadows, she moved from one to the other, making her way closer to the edge near the forest.

  There was a low hedge, and beyond that was an open grassy area to cross between the edge of the market and the nearest trees. She’d be in the open for several seconds. More elves arrived to mill about each minute she waited.

  With a deep breath, she set her shoulders and ran. Using a technique she’d learned from Selby, Ingrid launched herself over the hedge as if she were jumping into a swimming hole. Then tucked herself into a ball and rolled to her feet on the other side. Every part of her wanted to whoop and throw her arms in the air at her success, but she kept focused on the trees.

  Pumping her legs as hard as she could, she crossed the grass and darted behind the first big tree. Blood pounded through her ears, and sweat rolled down the side of her face. Not wasting any more time in dangerous view, Ingrid hurried farther into the darkness.

  The trees grew thicker, and a mist rose above the ground around Ingrid’s ankles. Tangles of shrubbery and roots hindered any direct path and slowed her progress. Grateful for her trousers, Ingrid climbed over logs she could wrap her arms around and through rope-like branches. Though she’d plaited her hair down her back, wisps pulled free as she squeezed through the tangles. The strands fluttered around her face like blonde moths.

  When she turned back to see how far she’d come, only darkness surrounded her. No sounds from the marketplace penetrated. As she stopped for a rest, she noticed the silence even more. Gooseflesh pricked against the sleeves of her tunic. It was too quiet. There wasn’t any rustling of leaves from rodents or buzzing of insects. Not a single bird twittered among the branches.

  Suddenly, from a few feet ahead of her, Ingrid heard a clacking sound. Small at first, but it grew louder as whatever it was came closer. It sounded like the rattling of dice in a cup. Before she could figure it out, more of the same noise rose from all around. She readied herself in a fighting stance and made a slow circle trying to spy what headed her way.

  Out from behind a tangle of large roots stepped a deer—or what used to be a deer. Gaping cavities of disintegrated flesh exposed sections of skeleton along its jaw, legs, and flank.

  Ingrid had heard the ghost stories that were told at night around the hearth fire. Tales to scare the children and entertain the adults. At least, that’s what she’d believed.

  But all around her, reanimated corpses emerged. It was the work of vetters. Witches who used dead forest creatures to hunt their next meal, and they weren’t picky about what they ate.

  Ingrid reached near her to a broken branch and yanked it free to use as a weapon. It wasn’t a spear or an axe, but it would be better than nothing. She tossed it from hand to hand and sliced it through the air a couple of times to get a feel for it as she again spun a slow circle.

  There were several species closing in on her. A few, under normal circumstances, would have been prey for herself. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, and a couple of geese stared at her with lifeless eyes. With exposed skulls, their teeth appeared razor sharp and ready.

  The first attack came from a squirrel on a shoulder-high branch. It landed on Ingrid’s back and sank its teeth deep. She ripped it away and flung it against a nearby tree where the bones scattered into pieces.

  The branch batted away each of the next few attackers, but they kept coming. Ingrid didn’t have time to wait and see if the bones reformed into the same animal or if new creatures emerged from the trees. She could only dodge, swing her make-shift weapon, and kick away each new threat. Deep within herself, her powers rustled but didn’t wake.

  Why! I need you. Answer me!

  Her arms grew tired, and blood leaked from bites all over her body. Her chest heaved for air as she weakened. When a large hare slammed against her side, she lost her footing and fell. Within seconds, more bodies landed on top of her. She fought to pull them off and strike at them as they clawed and bit.

  Tears rolled out the side of her eyes as the pain grew too intense. Wrapping her arms around her face, she waited for death. The bites and claw marks grew more intense.

  If only I had my powers. Where is my magic? What has Jarrick done?

  As she laid there contemplating how helpless she was, the creatures drug her over the rough ground, her head bouncing along against roots and stones as they pulled her by her feet. She was beyond angry and frustrated she'd allow them to capture her, especially so quickly.

  She knew the creatures would drag her to the vetter. If she didn't do something soon, she would be stew. The air got thicker and darker as they plunged deeper into the forest. The cool mist on the ground continued to swirl. It seeped through her clothes, making her cold and powerless.

  No! I am not powerless, even without my magic I can do something for myself.

  Ingrid kicked her feet. She reached out with her hands and grabbed the leg of a deer that had a big mouthful of her thigh. Each time she kicked one away, another took its place. She didn't stop fighting—exhaustion warred against adrenaline.

  Suddenly, the animals let go. She thought perhaps she'd done something right. Perhaps she'd proved she wasn’t going away easily, so they gave up—but she should have known better.

  She sat up, rising slightly out of the mist. Standing right before her was the vetter who'd summoned the animals. She was a short woman though Ingrid estimated she was the same height as herself. Long, stringy gray hair poked out from beneath the cloak that covered her head and hung in tatters down her sides. Her shoulders had a hunch, and long claw-like fingers protruded from the sleeves.

  A raspy voice rang through the air. "A delicacy," the hag cackled. "I've never feasted on a human before."

  "And you won't today either." Ingrid rose on shaky legs and stood her ground.

  She'd fight for all she was worth, regardless of the blood oozing from countless cuts and bites. Raising her fist in a gesture that could only look ridiculous, she readied herself to fight the next attacker. If it was her day to die, she'd do it in a way that honored her Viking heritage.

  Faster and nimbler than she would have believed, the witch rushed at Ingrid. A vise-like grip wrapped around Ingrid's throat, and claws dug into her skin.

  Ingrid stepped closer to the woman whose face she still hadn't seen entirely. There was a long scabby nose that Ingrid could break if she head-butted her. It was one of the sure-fire tactics Selby had taught her to use when fighting off an attacker.

  The woman screeched but did not let go. Ingrid wrapped her hand around the woman's wrist, feeling the bony sinewy muscles wrapped around the small skeletal frame. She tried pulling the woman off to no avail. Slipping her foot between the woman's legs, she hooked the back of her heel causing both women to tumble to the ground. There was a slight knoll, and they rolled several feet, tumbling over and under each other.

  The woman never loosened her grip on Ingrid's throat. Her vision faded, and bursts of light flickered in the darkness around the edges, but she didn't stop kicking or fighting. There had to be a way to get the woman off of her.

  The vetter rolled onto Ingrid's chest. Using her second hand, she pinned Ingrid's shoulder to the ground as her grip tightened. Again, Ingrid tried to call her magic. It rumbled, twisting in her gut, as if it wanted to respond, then sank back quiet.

  Just when Ingrid was about to lose consciousness, the woman disappeared. Ingrid tried to suck in a deep breath, coughing and gagging as she rolled to her side. She had to fight the urge not to throw up from the adrenaline mixed with the effects of air loss.

  Pushing herself to rise on her elbows and foggy with pain, she saw a shadowy figure hovered over another lump on the ground.

  Did the vetter find different prey?

  When the figure turned around, th
rough her haze Ingrid gasped and recognized the man stalking toward her. Urkon moved with slow steps, watching Ingrid with a slight curve to his lips.

  “No,” Ingrid whispered.

  23

  Jorg

  No one wanted to move. Jorg, Bremen, Selby, and Plintze lay on their backs, steadying their breathing and staring at the hazy skies overhead. The stars shimmered brightly as if it were night, but the mixture of indigo and purple said it was only twilight.

  “Have we made it? Is this Alfheim? The air feels different. It’s hard to breathe with all the dirt and soot in my lungs,” Selby said.

  “This is Alfheim,” Plintze said. “It doesn’t change too much from day to night. It’s like both dawn and dusk last most of the time, with a small portion of fully light or fully dark.”

  “I can handle that as long as there aren’t any more goblins,” Bremen said as he pushed himself up and looked around.

  They were at the edge of a forest not more than twenty paces from the edge of a city. The buildings were all one story. Some were made of cream-colored stone or wooden slats with reddish-orange tiled rooftops. Others were made in the form of fabric-covered tents.

  The bead under Jorg’s tunic flared to life, heated his chest, and rumbled an approving hum. “Let’s go. Ingrid is here. We need to find her,” Jorg said. The anticipation was more than he could bear, and he felt like he could crawl out of his skin.

  “Jorg, wait, look!” Selby pulled the sleeve of his tunic and brought his focus to a couple of guards wearing royal blue cloaks. The shimmer of jeweled epaulets at their shoulders signified their importance.

  The foursome ducked low and hustled out of sight into the tree line and waited for the guards to continue on their way, out of sight.

  “We should head a little further back, where the darkness of the trees will grant us cover while we come up with a plan,” Bremen whispered. Plintze and Selby nodded their agreement and inched backward while Jorg stared at the city, unmoving.