by Ann Gimpel
“Yes.”
“Other eggs occupied that verra same shelf. One particular clutch edged forward until all four eggs fell into the pool. No one was watching over the nest because no one had ever needed to before. If they had, they would have fished the eggs out, and we never would have discovered the pool’s intrinsic nurturing capabilities.”
“That’s fascinating. Go on,” I urged. Somehow, I sensed my child was listening intently too.
“One day long ago, many of us were gathered outside when Dewi let out a shriek and vanished in a flood of magic. We found out later, she’d heard the squawks of young dragons, figured she’d been wrong about when the clutch would hatch, and made a run for the nursery.
“She found all four hatchlings splashing in the pool and scooping fish into their little mouths. Dewi said it was adorable. When she hunted for the shells—because we always bury them—they were at the bottom of the pool.”
“So she put two and two together,” I murmured.
“Aye, that she did. Those eggs had many months to go afore they would have hatched on their own, but we were in the midst of a war with the Celts—one that eventuated with them making Dewi one of their own.”
I’d always wondered how that had come to pass. “Sounds like a tale in and of itself,” I said.
“It is, but we shall save it for another time,” Zelli replied. “We are almost to Fire Mountain. The others are as excited as I am. Ye’ll have quite the greeting party.”
“They know?” I squeaked, feeling shy and wondering if dragons were going to crowd around me while I labored.
“Of course they do. Your child will be welcomed, well-loved.” After a pause, she added, “Ye worry too much.”
“I never used to.”
“Aye, well motherhood changes us.”
I rubbed my hands over her scaled neck. “Do you have children?”
Her jaws lolled into a smile. “Aye, one. He is a joy.”
The channel broke apart around us, and we floated gently down onto the red earth of Fire Mountain. Dewi hadn’t been joking. Dragons closed from every direction, bugling, trumpeting, and blanketing me with steam.
The stream of cooing from within me turned into a miniature bugle that touched my heart and filled me with hope for the future. What kind of world was I bringing my son into? How could I teach him everything he needed to know in time? Never mind, dragons were indestructible. What if he got hurt?
What if—?
Zelli reached around and plucked me off her back, setting me on the ground. Bjorn melted through the crowd of dragons and placed a protective arm around me. “Let’s do this,” he murmured.
The baby was practically bouncing inside me, he was so excited by almost being free. I laughed. The independent little punk was going to be a lot like me.
“What’s so funny?” Bjorn asked.
“Nothing. I can’t wait to meet our son.”
Bjorn tightened his grip around me, and we ducked into the caves.
Chapter Ten, Bjorn
I hadn’t expected Rowan to agree to come to Fire Mountain, not without a whole lot more fanfare than we’d blithered through. Finding the dead elves and dwarves and Norsemen had been horrific, though. Perhaps that had been part of her decision. Odin’s group hadn’t just died; they’d suffered. Whoever killed them had set out to exact maximum pain.
If Nidhogg was anywhere close, I’d make certain he had a full set of details he could relay to Odin. Not that I knew the ruler of the Nine Worlds well, or at all, but he’d been looking progressively more worried. All the magic in his realm ran through him, so he had to feel the rot in Yggdrasil, and the pain in Jotunheim. Had he known about the Draugars’ escape?
Perhaps, although if it had eluded Hel’s notice—and she was a stickler for details—it may not have been obvious to Odin, either. Thor was another story. If rumors were to be believed, Odin had tried to rope him into taking up the mantle of more responsibility many times. Thor had little interest in stretching his power beyond Asgard and Midgard, the two worlds he watched over.
I’ve often wondered where he was before the Breaking. Why he didn’t sense the onset of trouble. While Odin is cunning, Thor is straightforward, good-natured. He wants to see the best in everyone, which could explain how he totally missed the signs Midgard was heading for a serious fall.
Or he could have been slinging thunder about or playing with his hammer, Mjollnir. Or riding herd on Loki, although I’m certain he had no stomach for that assignment. Odin must have offered quite the array of incentives to convince him to agree.
The dragons were out in force to greet us. I had no idea how many years—centuries?—had passed since a dragon was born in Fire Mountain. Any doubts I may have harbored about our son being mostly human vanished once I spoke with him. He has a dragon’s heart, a dragon’s curiosity, and impatience with anything standing in his way.
To his young mind, he was called for a purpose, and that purpose was to bring his will to bear on the upcoming struggle to salvage the Nine Worlds. I’d read tales of magical children who bypassed normal channels because their talents were needed.
It made me proud. And sad. I’d hoped for an infant. One who needed Rowan and me to tend to it. We might have a babe like that someday, but this one wasn’t it. He’d be independent almost from the moment of birth. I considered telling Rowan, but she’d figure it out soon enough. She had plenty ahead of her. No matter how badly the child wanted out, the birth would demand all of Rowan’s attention. They always did.
After the dragons divested me of my blades, reassuring me they’d be waiting when I left, Rowan and I traveled the same path we’d trod the day we’d been here for the dragons’ council, the one when Nidhogg instructed all of dragonkind to aid us if we required it. The arched entry to the cavern housing the sacred pool loomed ahead.
A subtle thread of music reached my ears. Was it the cave’s doing? The pool’s? Or some blend of dragon magic I didn’t recognize. Regardless, it was soothing. We crossed beneath the entry. Zelli, Quade, Dewi, and Hel entered the chamber as well.
Rowan ducked from beneath my arm and spun to face the doorway. “It’s enough,” she said in a clear, ringing voice. “My son thanks you for your caring, for your interest, but no one else shall enter until we are finished.”
Steam from many throats billowed into the room. Thick and warm and smelling of dragon magic. A stout bugle was followed by the sound of shuffling feet as dragons moved aside. Nidhogg’s golden snout poked past the lintel, followed by the rest of him.
“I claim kinship bonds,” he announced.
Rowan folded her arms across her swollen belly. “Mother would make the same assertion. She shall not be anywhere near me—or our child.”
The edges of my mouth may have twitched. Rowan had included me—finally—without me reminding her the baby hadn’t been a product of immaculate conception.
“No worries on that front,” Nidhogg rumbled. “I’ll crush her myself if she escapes from where we put her.”
I was vaguely curious where that might be, but not enough to ask. We were here for a reason, and any mention of Ceridwen was upsetting to Rowan. Zelli herded Quade and Nidhogg to a distant corner of the cavern and draped a magical veil between us and them.
The copper dragon lumbered back to where we stood and nodded at Rowan. She sat on the floor and unlaced her boots. On her feet again, she slowly stripped out of her clothing.
“May I join her in the pool?” I asked Zelli.
The dragon hesitated for a moment before she nodded.
Hel settled near the edge of the water and crossed her legs beneath her. Silvery-blue magic sluiced from her in waves, and I sensed her eagerness. Dewi trudged next to her, moving forward until her large hind feet were mostly immersed in water.
I stripped out of my clothes and boots and tucked an arm around Rowan’s waist. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” I spoke low. The dragons would hear me. So would Hel, but I didn’t care. Her
breasts were full, ripe, and tipped with golden nipples. Her belly rose in a mound in front of her. I said a hasty prayer to Freya, goddess of fertility, asking for an easy time for Rowan.
Color bloomed on Rowan’s gaunt cheeks. “Thank you.”
Together, we walked into the pool. The water was cool, but not unpleasantly cold. Fish clustered around us, biting at my legs. Dewi began to chant. It spread like an echo as the three other dragons in the cavern and everyone crowded into the hall took it up.
“Walk,” Zelli instructed.
Walk we did with my arm threaded around Rowan’s waist. We remained in the shallow section and scribed an ellipse as we moved from one end of the pool to the other and back again. Somewhere around the third or fourth circuit, a fine silvery mist surrounded us. I could still hear Dewi’s chant, but I couldn’t see Hel or Zelli any longer. The water turned dreamlike. Strange creatures poked their heads and tails and wings in and out of the haze.
A faint light shimmered around us. It took me a moment to understand it was coming from the onyx gems Rowan wore. Ceridwen had fashioned them, and the fact they’d chosen this particular moment to glow worried me. Taking care so Rowan wouldn’t notice, I tried to test their magic but didn’t get beyond them screaming Celt in my face.
Of course they were Celtic, and they were clearly not going to give me one shred more of information.
“Where are we?” Rowan asked. Her voice was faint, as if she wandered far from me.
“In a dream,” I told her.
The mist thickened; the scents of mint, vanilla, and amber surrounded us. Rowan groaned and stopped walking.
“Come on,” I urged.
She shook her head. “No more. It’s time.”
I trusted her assessment. “We must return to the shore.” I was worried about our son being able to breathe.
“No.” She groaned again, followed by a muted howl.
In our shared vision, the water dropped away, leaving us on a sandy spit. I didn’t question it. Strong magic surrounded us, orchestrating what would come next. The gems glowed brighter, but they were a small part of the enchanted working that held us in thrall. I might be able to break free of the enchantment, but I didn’t want to. I was exactly where I belonged, with the woman who meant everything to me.
Rowan was mewling, holding the sides of her belly with both hands. I could see it ripple as contractions buffeted her, one after the next. Pillows materialized out of nowhere in the middle of a bower lined with otherworldly white blossoms. Similar to lilies, but not, they smelled sweet. Almost like jasmine.
I scooped Rowan into my arms and carried her to the bower, laying her so her back was supported by pillows. Her legs fell open, and I bent each knee, bracing her feet on the fuzzy material beneath us. I gripped her hands. I’d delivered many a babe during my tenure as Master Sorcerer.
“Rowan. Look at me, darling.”
Her face had been screwed into a mask of pain, but her eyes flicked open and latched onto my face. “Good,” I crooned. “Now breathe. Nice and deep.”
She puffed out a breath or two in between grunting with pain. “Water? Where did it go?”
“Don’t worry about that. We’re in a perfect place to welcome our son.” A quick check convinced me she could push. “Next time the pain hits, push,” I told her and kept a close eye on her belly. When it fluttered with the start of a contraction, I squeezed her hands. “Push, darling. You can do this.”
She was panting and writhing. I wished I had herbs to dull her pain, but I had nothing except magic. It would have to be enough. I reached between her legs and sent power within her to hasten the birth. She yelped. “Not much longer,” I told her. “Come on, Ro. Push. Now.”
Between her laboring and my magic, I caught a glimpse of blonde fuzz as our son’s head moved lower in the birth canal.
“Felt that,” she gasped.
“Aye, he’s almost here.” Excitement coursed through me. This wasn’t a random birth I’d been called to officiate at. This was my son. My boy. Our child. The skin across Rowan’s abdomen tightened again.
“Here we go,” I told her. “Push hard.”
A low keening shriek tore out of her, but the baby slithered from her body. I caught him, held him, and waited for the placenta as I marveled at the miracle in my hands. He was incredible. Beautiful. Perfect. Tiny nails on fingers and toes were already curved into miniature talons. His hair was fair, and his skin glowed pale gold. I turned him and rubbed his back, encouraging him to breathe.
A tiny gasp was followed by a faint bugle.
“Let me see.” Rowan propped herself on her elbows and bent forward, craning her neck. “Ooooh, he has your hair.”
“Well, ye dinna expect another red-headed stepchild,” I teased in Old Norse. It’s the language I revert to when I’m so addled by emotion, I can’t recall any others.
She laughed and reached for our son. I laid him in her arms and waited for the cord to quit pulsing before I cut it. Rowan kissed the baby’s forehead and murmured, “I love you.”
I laid a hand on his warm back and told him he was everything I’d ever hoped for, but I said it into his mind.
He nuzzled for Rowan’s breast and latched on, sucking hard. One tiny hand reached until he grasped the still-glowing onyx gemstone suspended from its golden chain. The cord had quieted, so I sliced through it with magic and gathered the placenta as it slid from Rowan’s body. We’d find a safe spot to bury it, hiding it away from any who would seek to establish power over our child.
Even dragons who hatched from eggs had placental material.
“Isn’t he perfect?” Rowan crooned.
I set the afterbirth material aside and lay next to her, holding both of them. My heart swelled, overcome with love and tenderness. “Indeed he is. Just like you.”
“Ha! I’m a mouthy bitch.”
“Only one of the things I adore about you.” I was back to English.
The baby made little sucking noises, pudgy fingers still holding tight to Ro’s amulet. The air surrounding him was electric, vibrant with magic. Whatever had created the illusion around us, it was holding together. Bower. Flowers. Pillows. We were probably in the bottom of the lake, but none of it mattered.
What did was our son was here. He opened his eyes and looked right at me. Golden like Rowan’s, his eyes spun like dragon orbs. The power around him thickened, developed deep copper edges. I inhaled the distinctive scent of dragon magic. Hot clay baked under a Mediterranean sun.
The child in Rowan’s arms shifted in the blink of an eye. One moment, he was human, the next a small, perfect gold-scaled dragon nestled at her breast, still drinking hungrily. Tiny wings were tucked along his back, and a delicate tail wrapped around him. He still clutched the amulet, but talons had replaced fingers.
Rowan hugged him tighter. “Beautiful,” she murmured. “So beautiful.”
He was, indeed. Something occurred to me. I leaned near the small dragon. “Tell us your name.”
“Wait. Don’t we get to name him?” Rowan asked.
“Nay. Dragons name themselves.”
Greedy little thing that he was, he didn’t lift his mouth from Rowan’s breast, but I heard his voice in my mind. “Geir. My name is Geir.”
“Welcome, Geir,” Rowan said and looked at me. “Dewi knew.”
I remembered how outraged I’d been when she’d named our child. I owed her an apology. “She did, indeed,” I said. “Probably because she has an archetypal link to every dragon, even those not quite born yet.”
“Do you suppose he’ll shift often?” Rowan raised her brows into question marks.
“I have no idea. He’ll be his own person, and we’ll stand by him and love him.” My throat was rough, raw with all the feelings running through me. Fierce protectiveness rocked me to my core. I would stand by my boy. And Rowan. No matter what faced us.
The power around us developed an insubstantial aspect. We were about to move to another level, probably back to r
eality. If a special land that catered to dragons could be labeled as such.
Sure enough, the pool came into view. We were on the rocky outcropping where the god of the winds had discovered the first dragon egg. I kissed Geir’s forehead, and then I kissed Rowan before gathering the placenta and cord and standing.
“I will take those.” Dewi held out her forelegs.
“We must hide them well,” Nidhogg said.
“I shall be the one to bury them,” I told the dragons. “May I present our son, Geir.”
Warm laughter rippled from Dewi. “Och, ye’ve warmed to his name.”
“Apologies.” I offered half a bow. “I had forgotten dragons name themselves.”
She bent low, breathing in the dragon nestled at Rowan’s breast and puffing steam over him. “Come with me,” Dewi said. “It tempts fate to leave the birth matter uncovered.”
Nidhogg angled his head and sent clouds of steam around Rowan and his grandson. A string of musical notes flowed from him as he welcomed Geir into the fold of dragonkind. The tune was poignant and called to my dragon half as well.
“I want to come and bury the placenta,” Rowan said, “but I don’t want to disturb Geir. He’s hungry.” She shifted him to her other breast.
“Of course he is.” Nidhogg’s deep voice rumbled. “We must find him tender meat. He will grow quickly.”
“How about if I show you the spot later?” I asked Rowan.
“Aye. I must know too,” Geir’s small, melodic voice reverberated in my head.
Nidhogg puffed steam. “Definitely my blood.” He sounded proud.
When I glanced at Hel, she looked ethereal with the widest smile I’d ever seen gracing her bone-riddled face.
Zelli and Quade puffed more steam. While everyone was admiring Rowan and our babe, I summoned magic to move me across the expanse of water to where I’d left my clothes. Dewi took the afterbirth while I dressed, and then the two of us quietly left the chamber.