by Ann Gimpel
I should be worried. Frightened. Instead, I was angry I’d been duped. There’d be plenty of time to be scared later. If I tried—and failed—to get myself out of this mess.
I had a shit ton of questions. Had something targeted me specifically? Or would anyone landing on that particular level spot have been snapped up? Was this a variant of the same spell that had snared me the first time Bjorn and I had worked together on corralling the Breaking?
I felt for Mother’s magic and didn’t find it. At least it argued against this being the same casting that had given me heartburn last time. I had a feeling teleporting would be difficult, but I tested it, anyway.
What choice did I have?
Waiting around to be rescued isn’t my style. Besides, it presumes someone could find me, which was scarcely a given. I took my time, grateful when each step of my process seemed relatively normal.
Magic accessible. Check. Mix fire with air. Check. Feed in more air. Check. Determine destination… I thought about the most promising spot and chose Inverlochy. Returning to the area I’d been jerked from was pointless. By now, everyone would have scattered, hunting for me. If I could get to Inverlochy, the Celts could raise Gwydion. Presumably, he was with Bjorn and the dragons.
Hell, if I made it out of this pit, I could find everyone myself.
Convinced I’d done as well as I could, I fed the destination into my teleport casting and kindled my spell. I was smooth, confident. I didn’t hesitate. Ha! I should have been smarter. My spell snapped back in my face like a large-caliber rubber band. It smarted, and I rubbed my jaw.
“Think,” I said out loud. And then I repeated the word a few more times.
Everything had been normal—until I’d tried to use my magic to forge a pathway out of wherever I was. Teleport spells aren’t necessarily directional, not in the normal way of visualizing north-south-east-west. They’re more metaphorical than linear. Kind of a “beam-me-up-Scotty” undertaking where your cells start at point A and end up at point B without a physical transition zone.
I thought of another approach that might bypass my prison— if I was on the right track. This time I worked fast, before whatever had me in its clutches caught on and stymied my efforts. In less time than it takes to tell, my astral self hovered above my body. The projection that was also me floated easily. I directed myself upward, but before I left, I examined the problem from my current aerial perspective. Sure enough, a brass-colored cage circled my body. Not solid, it glistened with eerie magic. Something about its weave had defeated my effort to teleport.
Why hadn’t I noticed it from within its confines?
Not a question I was likely to come up with an answer for. Many types of magic exist, and I’m only familiar with a small portion of them.
I needed to hurry. At some point, the siren call of my body would force me back to it. I didn’t relish the collision. Leaving was easy. Returning hurt like a bitch.
After traversing dirt, rocks, and mud, I popped out into the clearing around the Breaking spot. As I’d feared, everyone had left. Maybe I still had some latitude before my body grew impatient. I floated higher, hoping to discover something I could leverage to help myself.
A portal snapped open beneath me. Bjorn, Gwydion, Andraste, and a bevy of Celts poured from it. Zelli and Quade winged into view. If I’d had my body, I’d have fist pumped the air. My next task was getting someone’s attention. A neat trick since no one could see me or feel me. Even if I landed square on their head.
Astral projection is phenomenal for eavesdropping. Less useful for other pursuits. Regardless, I started with Zelli. She was closest; maybe our bond could reach across my lack of a physical presence. I hovered right in front of her. She flew through me. This time, I straddled her, wrapped my spectral arms around her neck, grabbed her horns.
The dragon felt so good, I wanted to cry. But she had no idea I was there. I tried telepathy, but it was a joke. The part of me that could push words out was a gazillion miles underground.
Zelli thumped onto the ground with Quade nearby. Dewi flew through a gash in the sky and joined them. “If we find her”—the Celtic dragon goddess fisted a foreleg and shook it—“she will go to Fire Mountain. No more arguments.”
Yeah, well, we’d see about that.
I waited for a chorus of disagreements, but no one voiced them.
Damn it.
Bjorn had begun an incantation I didn’t recognize above the spot where I’d fallen into oblivion. Perhaps because I was a spirit, I could see his magic and the Norse enchantments weaving in with it. The mix was colorful as fuck. When the dragons added their power to the mix, a veritable rainbow formed, shaping itself into an enormous arrow that augured into the earth.
The ground parted before the onslaught of magic. More than parted. I’ve never known earth to move so fast. The chasm deepened until I couldn’t see the tail of the arrow any longer. I felt it, though, burrowing downward. I’d have had to be dead not to sense the enormous trail it blazed deep into Earth’s mantle.
Hope surged, so bright I could almost, almost taste it. Would they find my body before it moved beyond the reach of their magic? I opened eyes I didn’t realize I’d squeezed shut. Hope turned into a blazing inferno. If I could do anything with my spirit form, it meant my body was moving toward me.
An unholy glow shimmered around the opening forged into the dirt, and grew brighter by the minute. I felt the pull of my body but resisted. I’d wait as long as I could—in case something went wrong.
I did not want to end up trapped again. By now, whoever was behind this surely knew I’d made a run for it. Part of me, anyway. If they’d had enough magic to counteract seven Celts, Bjorn, and three dragons, they would have.
In a deeply personal place, I was delighted some combination of magic was enough to temporarily defeat whatever was out to sabotage the Nine Worlds.
The glow took on an iridescent sheen; the tail end of the arrow backed out of the hole. My body, cage and all, was encased in it. I felt the inexorable pull to be whole again. The arrow was moving slower now. Everyone surged closer to it, urging it with renewed magic and stronger, more insistent incantations.
Halfway.
I was done waiting. I could help. Right now, my magic was missing from the group effort. I let myself slam back into my body, ready to pivot as fast as I could. No wallowing in how shitty the transition was. Not this time. The moment I was whole, I shot power outward and glommed onto Bjorn.
His shout told me everything. Harsh. Feral. Victorious. He knew we were going to make it.
Light blinded me, and then I was in his arms. Somehow, the cage had vanished. Behind us, I heard the Celtic spell that would shut the hole and keep it closed. Hope to hell it worked better than our attempt to seal the Breaking spot.
“Rowan. Aw shit, you scared the life out of me,” Bjorn murmured.
Too wiped out to talk, I leaned into him. Not much point in telling anyone about my astral separation. They’d have rescued me, anyway. And probably with somewhat less effort, if I’d been available to help sooner. Besides, this way, I wouldn’t have to deal with Dewi’s pronouncement about me and my baby and Fire Mountain.
Before anyone could get into that discussion, I squeaked out, “Home.”
“Of course, darling. Ben Nevis?”
I nodded and felt his magic surrounding me. I wanted to sleep for a week, but I wouldn’t be that lucky. Someone would show up in my little chamber. By the time its walls formed around us, I’d started to shake. I’d had a hell of a close call, and it was just beginning to sink in.
Many things are worse than death, and being buried alive is one of them.
Chapter Six, Bjorn
Rowan is ungodly strong. It’s one of the many things I love about her. When shudders racked her body, I understood what a rough go she’d had. Fierce protectiveness shot through me. I wanted to rip whoever had done this to her from one end to the other. Flay flesh from bones—if they even possessed such thi
ngs. I made a grab for level-headedness, reminded myself we’d won this round. It made absolutely no difference at all.
Fury and apprehension traded places, pummeling me with a dizzying round robin of conflicting priorities. I refused to leave Rowan’s side, but I’d have to in order to hunt down and annihilate the thing that singled her out. She’d insist on coming along, which would complicate things still further. I had no right to order her to remain behind. She could thumb her nose at me and follow wherever I went.
I tightened my hold on her. We had to be equal partners. I’d been onto something with not having a right to tell her what to do. No matter how worried I was about her—about our child—she was still her own person. I was an ass to discount her magic. She might not have gotten herself out of the last trap, but she hadn’t had much time to work on it, either.
Reminding myself to have faith in Rowan and her common sense and her magic and her sheer grit, I guided my travel spell toward her chamber beneath the most sacred mountain in Scotland.
It had required a mix of Celtic, Norse, and dragon magics to neutralize the mesh that wound about her. Under different circumstances, I’d have wanted to examine the webbing, find out how it was constructed so we could guard against such an occurrence again.
Under different circumstances. Not when it controlled the woman who meant everything to me. Her room formed around us. As my spell faded, I carried her to the edge of her bed and sat, still holding her in my arms.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Uh-uh. Not yet,” she mumbled.
Mort dashed into the room and jumped on my back, clawing his way around my body so he could get to Rowan. Luxuriant black fur encased his feline form. He clearly couldn’t decide if he was happy or furious. Yowls mixed with deep purrs; the occasional claw dug into me. I could relate to exactly how the cat felt. Tansy followed Mort carrying a welcome pot of tea. The rich scents of rosemary and wild mushrooms filled the chamber as she poured us mugs and stirred honey into them.
“Thanks,” I told her as she handed me one.
“Smells divine,” Rowan said. Letting go of me, she maneuvered until she sat on the floor at my feet. Mort followed her to the floor. First he plopped in her lap, but after she stroked him a few times, he crawled up her body and ended up curved around her neck. The yowls had mostly ceded to purring.
“You look like you’ve been through a war,” Tansy said and placed a mug close enough for Rowan to reach it.
“Because I have.” Rowan offered a wan smile.
Tansy patted her shoulder. Her blonde brows knitted into a thin line, and I felt witch magic flare. “Oh my,” she breathed the words. “Are you—? I mean it seems like you might be…”
“It’s all right.” Rowan extended a hand, and Tansy grasped it. “You’re correct. I am pregnant.”
“How long? When will the babe be here?” Tansy’s thin face blossomed into a blinding smile. She let go of Rowan’s hand and clasped hers together. “This is so exciting. I was last to be born in these caverns, and…” She started over again. “Not that you’ll necessarily be here for the birth, but it would be such an honor to attend you. Not by myself, of course. Hilda and Leif, they’re the healers.”
Color splotched her cheeks when she looked at me. “And of course, your magic far surpasses ours. If you’d prefer Norse healers to our own, I understand.” She dropped an awkward curtsey. “Congratulations to you both.”
Tansy was so kind and so genuine; her enthusiasm and her deep caring for Rowan touched my soul. Her green eyes moved from Rowan to me and back again. “The babe will be half dragon. Will she be able to fly?”
Rowan chuckled. “First off, it’s a he. And I have no idea. About much of anything, including how long I’ll be pregnant. It won’t be very convenient if he can fly since neither Bjorn nor I can.”
“Oh. Hadn’t thought about that. I’m certain you’ll figure things out. May I share the good news?”
“Of course,” I told her. “The other group of witches already knows.”
“Ooooh. Back with more tea in a little bit. Unless you’ve fallen asleep. Then I’ll just tiptoe in and leave the pot.” Still grinning from ear to ear, Tansy turned and bolted from the room.
Rowan picked up her mug and took a long drink from it.
“Feel like talking?” I asked.
“Not exactly, but it’s probably a necessary evil.” She scooted around on her butt until she sat cross-legged on the floor facing me.
I wasn’t certain where to begin, so I picked the hardest part. Unpleasant, but she still needed to know. “That trap,” I began, “had your name all over it.”
She nodded somberly, mug clutched between her hands. “I figured as much. What kind of magic could do that? It not only nabbed me, it imprisoned my power. I could do whatever I wanted within its confines, but if I tried to direct anything outward, it snapped back and clonked me over the head.”
I must have been grinding my jaws or making a face because she shook her head. “Out with it.”
“Out with what?” I felt impotent, helpless. “Things happened almost too fast to follow, but what I saw was this. You jumped to the only unmarked bit of ground left. A net sort of oozed out of the air and draped around you. Describing it makes it sound like it took a while, but the whole thing was done in less than a couple of seconds.
“I dove for you, chucked magic at the webbing. So did the dragons and Gwydion. Nothing we did made any difference. That net rebuffed me. I couldn’t grab hold of it. The earth opened up, and you vanished in a flurry of clods of dirt that rained down on the broken place.”
Rowan blinked a few times and closed her teeth over her lower lip. “Interesting,” she murmured. “All I remember is jumping, the ground opening up, and being gone. I had no sense of a physical snare, nor did I feel it once I was underground. At first, I tumbled, but I righted myself pretty quickly. Tried to stop moving, but all I managed was to slow things down. When I cobbled a teleport spell together, things got ugly fast.”
I uncurled my hands. They’d formed fists as I listened to her. “I’d have found you. No matter what it took. Gwydion was pretty spun out too. And the dragons were beside themselves, stomping about and bugling and throwing fire. They stayed to keep an eye on things while Gwydion and I raised the Celts. We gathered a small group and led them to where you’d been taken.”
I stopped long enough to gather my thoughts. “I was certain if we waited too long, you’d move beyond the Nine Worlds. Would have made things more difficult.”
Rowan dropped her head into her hands. When she looked up, she said, “I’m confused. I do not see the connection between Yggdrasil’s rotting roots, the Breaking spot, and the gray things beneath the Nine Worlds. Is Loki still pulling puppet strings from the sidelines? How about Ceridwen? How certain are we she and the Morrigan haven’t joined forces? Both of them enjoy the fuck out of a good shitstorm.”
“What worries me,” I forced the words out because I couldn’t keep them contained, “is they painted an X on your back because of our baby.”
The light in Rowan’s eyes turned hard. “Your point?”
“Not sure I had one, except we are going to have to be more cautious than usual.”
She shook her head slowly from one side to the other and then back again. “Cautious has never been part of who I am.” Hair had fallen into her face. She shoved it behind her shoulders with an impatient gesture and curved a hand over her belly.
“I will do my best to ensure things go well. For the babe and me. Doing my best does not include sequestering myself in Fire Mountain or Niflheim or Hel or Asgard or anywhere I’m simply waiting out my pregnancy.”
Rowan rolled her shoulders back. “What happens after he’s born? Do I leave him with the witches while I’m out fighting to keep Earth from collapsing into dust? Do I leave off fighting until he’s a years old? Two? Five? Will anything be left then?”
“None of this is easy—” I began.
“Not done,” she broke in. “Not looking for sympathy, either.” She drained her tea before continuing. “I’m a practical woman. I’ve had to be. No one ever sugarcoated anything or made things easy for me. Practical means I like to think things through, have a plan. Kind of like the plan the witches and I came up with around growing crops. It held risks, but the benefits outweighed them. Or my plan keeping an eye on the Breaking spot.”
I nodded, offering encouragement. She was obviously working through something important. When she looked up at me, her eyes looked more dragon than human. They revealed her turmoil. Anguish spilled from her. “I can hardly find time to eat or sleep. What kind of mother will I be?”
“You’re not alone in this,” I reminded her.
“Are we going to take turns fighting? Kind of negates the benefit of how amazing our magic is when we mix it together.”
I slid off the edge of the bed until I sat across from her. Taking one of her hands, I said, “Whatever we face, we have each other. Hatchling dragons can fight from a very young age. It was one reason the dragons opted to keep their young behind Fire Mountain’s gates. They did not want them to become part of anyone’s army.”
“Define very young.”
I thought about various books I’d read. “A month, or perhaps two at the most.”
“I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry.” She reached up and stroked the cat with her free hand. “Will he fly? Will he shapeshift? Will I need to nurse him, or will he eat whatever dragons do?” She leveled a glance my way. “I’m assuming they eat meat.”
“They hunt, yes.”
I caressed the back of the hand I still held. “All those things will show themselves in time. Meanwhile—”
“Meanwhile, what?” she snapped, almost immediately adding, “Sorry.” Her eyes narrowed. “Crap. Dewi is outside. Tell her to go away.”
A quick scan verified Rowan’s words. “What did she say?” I asked.
“Ordered me to meet her outside. I’m not going.”
“I’ll go.” I got to my feet. “I can’t tell her to go away, though. Can you imagine how well that would be received? I’d piss her off, and we’d end up in a squabble that would go nowhere.”