Realm of Fate

by Kelly N. Jane

  “Come on. We’ll make a plan, and then we’ll find her,” Plintze said from behind Jorg.

  Jorg rubbed his hand over his face and took several deep breaths to settle his racing heart. I’m here, Hjarta. It won’t be long now. With a heavy sigh, he backed farther into the darkened forest with the others.

  “Are there many cities on Alfheim? How do we know this is the one where my mother and Ingrid will be?” Bremen asked, directing the question to Plintze.

  “I only know of one city, but there could be more. The elves aren’t too keen on giving out much information about their homeland to the other realms,” Plintze answered.

  “She’s here.” Jorg pulled out the bead from under his tunic, and the glow lit up his face. “Eir said it would signal me when she was close. Ingrid is here.”

  “Ingrid, but we don’t know about Galwain,” Selby said.

  “If the queen isn’t here, Ingrid might know where she is. We should follow that,” Plintze pointed to the bright amber bead, “to Ingrid and then decide what to do after that.”

  Selby darted a glance to Jorg and then settled her gaze on Bremen. “He’s right. If we know Ingrid is here, we can’t miss our chance to find her.”

  Before there could be any further discussion, a voice sounded in the distance, farther into the forest. The voice was distant and sounded as if it was calling in distress.

  “It’s her,” Jorg said and ran toward the sound.

  “Jorg!” Plintze called out, but Jorg heard no one. The bead glowed, and it vibrated against his chest so he couldn’t think of anything but getting to Ingrid.

  The small glow of what looked to be a campfire became visible through the trees. Jorg jumped over fallen logs and dodged low branches, slipping only once on the soft moss as he ran. He could hear the mutterings and noise from the other three behind him but paid no attention.

  When he reached the sight of a small campfire, perfectly circled by small stones and burning without a spark or char on the wood, he stopped. His chest heaved, and chills broke out on his skin. The only sounds came from the crack of branches as the others caught up to him. They, too, halted and stared in silence at the small clearing encircling the strange fire.

  After what seemed like an unnerving amount of time, Jorg was about to turn back when a young woman stepped out of the trees. He thought it looked as though she had been there the whole time, disguised as a tree until she showed her face.

  That can’t be, can it? That would mean she’s a . . .

  “Don’t look at her,” Plintze whispered, but loud enough to make sure the others heard. “She’s a spirit folk, a wild-woman of the forest—a skögsra. She’ll devour a man’s soul and leave him with nothing but a mind full of madness.”

  While Plintze spoke, a second woman appeared. “Have no fear of us, the dwarf is just trying to frighten you. He’s jealous that his kind cannot enjoy our company. Come, sit by our fire and share stories.” The women smiled and locked their gazes on Bremen and Jorg. They stepped closer, and their beauty and songlike voices floated toward the group.

  Jorg ignored Plintze’s warning and felt himself warm through as he smiled back at the woman staring at him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Selby shake herself and turn away from the women. Then everything other than the fire and the woman disappeared from his view. It was as if nothing else existed or mattered.

  Her beauty radiated as if it were the air he needed to breathe, and no other source would keep him alive. When she raised her hand and beckoned him closer, he didn’t hesitate—until he found himself face down in the dirt. Sputtering, he knocked the heavyweight laying on his back to the side and jumped to his feet.

  The sting of a staff against his stomach caused him to double over. For a split second, he gasped then righted himself, ready to destroy whatever had attacked him. Before he could see who or what it was, someone swept his feet out from under him, and he landed on his back. All his breath left his body. His vision blurred, and a weight landed on his chest.

  “Be still, or I’ll knock you in the head and drag you out of here,” a voice hissed in his ear. He recognized it, but his mind was foggy. As he fought to fill his lungs and breathe, recognition dawned on him. Plintze sat on his chest. The dwarf held him down, but why?

  Then he remembered the warning and realized that the woman’s snare had caught him. “I’m fine,” he said in a wheeze. “Get off.”

  “Not until you promise not to look at her again. It’ll take every bit of strength you have. Hold that bead and think only of Ingrid,” Plintze said, his voice harsh.

  Jorg only nodded and brought his hand up to grasp the bead that lay to the side of his head, still on the leather string around his neck. As soon as he touched it, his mind cleared. He patted Plintze’s shoulder, and the dwarf rolled off him.

  “Thank you. I’m better now,” he said. “Where’s Selby and Bremen?”

  “Selby’s trying to fight against those two by herself, to retrieve her stupid boy before they have him. If you’ll stay here and not move or turn to look, I’ll go help her.”

  “Go! I’ll be fine.” He clutched the bead harder as he sat upright and closed his eyes for safety, just in case.

  Plintze darted off behind him, crashing into what sounded like the trunk of a tree. Now that his head was clear, he could hear Selby’s shrieking war cries and the hissing of what sounded like a nest of vipers. With Plintze’s added growls, it was an unnerving barrage of battle sounds. The one voice he didn’t hear was Bremen’s.

  Odin if you watch this realm, please keep my brother safe. The prayer surprised him at how intensely he meant it and how much the ache in his chest increased as he listened to the war raging behind him.

  A scream rang out from Selby just before a cold breeze blew over Jorg’s skin. He was instantly chilled as if exposed to the elements in the middle of winter. He sat still, afraid to breathe. The forest was silent and calm. With the battle finished, but the victor unknown, he didn’t dare move.

  “Selby, are you all right?”

  Jorg sighed and dared a peek over his shoulder at the sound of Plintze’s voice. Bremen lay on the ground near where the campfire had once burned but was now only a blackened ring. Plintze hovered over Selby who huddled in a ball, covering her head not far from Jorg. Dizzy, he crawled over to them. “What happened? Is she hurt?”

  “I’ll be ok. Just let me rest.” As Selby spoke, she adjusted the hand she held against her face and blood seeped between her fingers.

  “Can you sit up? You’re bleeding,” Jorg said. The bead still glowed around his neck, but the hum was less. Ingrid will never forgive me if something happens to you. The thought of losing Selby when they were so close to Ingrid and her healing powers added a sting to his already aching insides.

  “Where’s Bremen? Is he safe?” Selby tried to push herself to a sitting position as she asked, her words muffled as she held her hand against her jaw. Plintze supported her against his arm and gestured with his eyes for Jorg to go check on the prone, unmoving figure of his brother.

  Still on his hands and knees, Jorg made his way over, dread welling up in his gut. Bremen lay unconscious, but thankfully as Jorg approached, he could see his chest rise and fall to prove he lived. The gash in his leg from the fight with the goblins oozed, but other than that, he didn’t appear to have any other wounds. Jorg was about to jostle his brother’s shoulders when Bremen launched himself into a sitting position with a loud gasp.

  Jorg sat back on his heels and gave Bremen some space. “Where . . . What happened? Is she gone?” He turned his wide eyes to Jorg as he stumbled over his words and regained his senses.

  Not knowing how to answer or which question to address, Jorg waited for Bremen to calm down before he responded. If the women they’d seen were truly the skögsra as Plintze thought they were, Bremen may not have his mind anymore. The stories he’d heard said if the forest women allowed a man to live, he went mad and never recovered his sanity, wandering around as a
shell for the rest of his life.

  “Where’s Selby? Ahh.” Bremen groaned and clutched his leg as he tried to move. “She fought those women. Where is she?”

  Relief washed through Jorg. Bremen was still sane and alive. Now they needed to get out of the forest and see how bad Selby’s injuries were. “She is over by Plintze.”

  Jorg’s head was clearer, and some of his strength had returned, so he stood and moved around to Bremen’s other side. He offered his hands so he could help Bremen stand on his good leg. Together, they hobbled over to where the others sat on the ground.

  “What happened? How bad is your injury?” Bremen asked when Jorg helped him to the ground in front of Selby.

  In the bead's glow, they could see blood glistening on Selby’s throat. “We need to get out of the forest, now. Then we can check,” Plintze said.

  Jorg agreed. They wouldn’t survive a second assault, and if the skögsra were watching, they’d know that. “My strength has returned. Let me carry you, Selby, so we can move faster. Bremen, you can use Plintze’s shoulder to lean on.”

  Without waiting for Selby to answer, Jorg scooped her into his arms. Neither Plintze nor Bremen complained about the idea and immediately positioned themselves next to each other. They didn’t know exactly how far they’d traveled into the trees, but they set off in the direction they’d come, following the broken branches and churned-up mosses from their hurried pace earlier.

  The going was slower than any of them would have liked, but before too long, the air lightened and they reached the edge of the forest. It wasn’t fully dark when they entered the clearing between the forest and the city, and they could finally see each other in the twilight.

  “Put me down now, Jorg. I can walk.” Exhaustion laced the words as Selby spoke, but Jorg let her slide to her feet. “We need to find Ingrid. The bead is still glowing, and I could feel it humming against your chest. Do you think she’s close?”

  “We need to take care of your injuries first. I’m sorry for causing this,” Jorg said. His chest ached, and a thickness gripped his throat. How could I have done this to you? I've caused you so much pain.

  “I’ll be fine. We all made it through.” Selby glanced over at Bremen and then to the ground. “At least, I hope so.”

  “He’s fine. His mind’s intact—as much as it was before anyway,” Jorg whispered and added the small amount of jest to lighten her concern—he hoped. She tried to chuckle but winced from the effort, using both hands to press on her jaw and chest. “Let’s head over to those shadows next to that building. We can rest there.”

  When they settled against the cool stone of the building, all the males faced Selby. “Well, I’d normally not mind such admiring attention, but I think I’d like all of you to look away for just a minute while I check the damage,” Selby said with a crooked smile. Her face had already swollen, and her speech was slurred.

  “Let me help,” Bremen said with a wink.

  Jorg snorted, then he and Plintze turned their backs to give them some privacy.

  Selby checked her injuries, and while two cuts were deep enough they still oozed, none were life-threatening. A water barrel sat next to the building where the group rested. Jorg ripped off part of his tunic and hurried over to wet it for her to hold against the cuts on her jaw. There would be scars, and it ate at him that his actions had disfigured her.

  While he was at the barrel, the bead flared and felt as though it seared into his skin. He knew Ingrid was near, not only because the bead glowed stronger than a torch, but he thought, for a quick moment, that he’d heard her in his mind. Without concern for anything, Jorg stepped around the side of the building and into the open.

  24

  Ingrid

  Ingrid did her best to scramble backward, dragging herself through the mist as Urkon approached. What was he doing there? How had he found her? Part of her felt like she should be grateful since he was obviously the one who’d saved her.

  “Come now, Ingrid, you can’t be afraid of me after all of this?” Urkon spread his hands out, gesturing to the surrounding forest. The scattered bones of the animals finally rested as they should.

  The heaped body of the vetter continued to lay motionless as Ingrid gave it a quick glance. “Is she dead?” Her voice squeaked. It was so small in her ears it made disgust rise up her spine. She had once again allowed herself to be captured. When was she going to accept her circumstances and quit trying to change them?

  Never; I’ll never stop trying. She couldn’t, but that didn’t mean she had to keep allowing herself to be captured—or worse.

  “She is. Now, give me your hand, and I’ll help you out of this forsaken place.” Urkon stretched out his hand to her. It reminded her of the time that Jarrick had come to her in a dream. He’d reached out and said she had to choose. Though he didn’t mean it—he’d tried to trap her. Was this the same? If she took Urkon’s hand, would she succumb to his power? His will?

  Slowly, Ingrid pushed herself to her knees. The effort was more than she expected, so she rested a moment before standing.

  “I do like your tenacity, though I’d prefer you to accept your situation and quit all this nonsense. Take my hand.” Urkon pushed his hand closer to Ingrid, his eyes narrowed and impatient.

  Weakened from all the bite marks and scratches, Ingrid willed herself to ignore the pain. If she ran, there was no way she’d make it out of the forest before Urkon caught her. Would she even know the way? Whether or not he was trying to trap her, she needed help.

  Repulsed by the act, she placed her hand within his palm.

  The cold mist rose up and swirled around their bodies. Ingrid’s hair whipped in front of her face, and nausea threatened her stomach. A heartbeat later, they stood in the clearing between the forest and the marketplace.

  Fresh air and twilight replaced the cold mist and black twisted trees. Ingrid stared at where her hand still joined with Urkon’s. He hadn’t taken her anywhere other than out of danger. Why? Voices permeated her consciousness, and she pulled her hand to her side.

  “We’ll discuss what happens next later,” Urkon said. Then he turned toward the sound of guards heading in their direction.

  Ingrid spun, hoping to see Kelvhan but instead, Dúngarr and six others from Jarrick’s guard stomped toward them. If there was a way for her situation to get worse—that was it.

  “Where have you been Ingrid?” Dúngarr spat the words as if he’d been searching for quite some time.

  Something about the wrinkle of his nose and curl of his lip made Ingrid giggle. It made no sense to her other than she was exhausted. Caught between Urkon and Jarrick’s guard, the absurdity of her situation overwhelmed her. Rather than fight it, she gave in and let the laughter bubble over as she slipped to her knees in the grass.

  “There is no mirth in this situation. A dangerous event has occurred, and you need to come with me.” The guard was so serious it made Ingrid laugh that much harder.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “Ingrid needs rest and possibly a healer if she is going to stubbornly refuse to help herself,” Urkon interjected.

  “What happened to her?” Dúngarr asked.

  It annoyed Ingrid that they talked about her as if she were an object rather than a person. It dampened her giddiness but not completely. She wasn’t sure how to answer either of them, so she let them believe she was incoherent.

  “I don’t know how she managed it, but she was in the forest. Attacked by a vetter. If the event you speak of has to do with the dungeons in the palace, I assure you, she was not near there.”

  That sobered Ingrid. Could that be why Jarrick sent his guard for her? Did he know she’d killed his beast? She might have laughed again after Urkon vouched for her, except whatever army Jarrick had made was terrifying. Besides, everyone in the palace knew she was involved.

  “Jarrick needs to speak with her, and I’ve been searching everywhere. She can get whatever medical attention she needs later. Come with me
, Ingrid.” Dúngarr nodded to the other guards who surrounded her as she sat on the ground.

  Ingrid was tired of being a pawn for those who felt they were more powerful. She was out of the forest and within sight of the palace. All she had to do was make it through the marketplace to the guard tower. Those were the king’s men. They could help her contact Caelya or Kelvhan. Either of them would help her. Possibly. Probably.

  While she sat on the ground, ignoring the two males and letting them bicker amongst themselves, she realized that her wounds were not as painful as they had been. Perhaps it was because she was out of the forest. How could that be when she couldn’t access her powers? Checking, she confirmed they were still obstinate, like a sleeping cat, ignoring her completely.

  Should she risk running? Thoughts of what happened the last time she ran through the marketplace alone tried to dissuade her. That had been a unique situation. She wouldn’t let herself dwell on it.

  It’s not worth it.

  Urkon snapped his attention to her. Ingrid checked her barriers and realized she’d let her mental protections drop with her exhaustion. Slapping them back into place, she held Urkon’s glare and rose to her feet.

  “I’ll go with you, Dúngarr. I want to go back to my rooms, anyway.” Ingrid strode toward the guard, expecting him to turn toward the palace. “I could use a bath.”

  Dúngarr grabbed her arm. “Not that way.” A smirk played on his lips, and Ingrid held her breath. The touch of his hand on her arm grated like a rasp. “We aren’t going to the palace. Jarrick would like to speak to you at Montibeo.”

  As if she’d fallen off a cliff, Ingrid’s stomach lurched. What was the reason for taking her there? It might give her the opportunity to speak with Galwain finally. And, Caelya did come to visit, but . . .

  “It’s not time,” Urkon growled. “Jarrick knows that. Take her to the palace until I speak to him.”