Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  “Aye? Make it snappy, lass.”

  “The Morrigan and Loki are working together. She met him during the part of her imprisonment where she was supposedly locked behind Arawn’s Ninth Gate.”

  “And ye know this, how?”

  “Arawn had Bran scry the past.”

  The magic that had flared around Andraste retreated; her forehead furrowed in thought, and she nodded slowly. “Och, I can see the attraction. Both of them are born troublemakers. That does cast a different color over her freedom, though. Mayhap ’tisn’t such a good idea after all.”

  Before I could add my own enthusiastic endorsement, she shimmered to nothingness. Geir was still muttering “fucking bitch” under his breath. I squatted in front of him and grabbed one of his forelegs. He curled his talons around my arm in a trusting gesture that caught my heart in a sling.

  My lecture might have died unspoken had Bjorn not knelt next to me and said, “There are better ways to express yourself. Bad words always want out, but you can find ones that do a better job.”

  “Who is this Morrigan?”

  “A Celtic goddess. I suppose she’s as much your aunt as Andraste, the one who just left.”

  “Why is she a fuck—” He recovered fast. “Bad. Why is she bad?”

  I tightened my grip on him and hoped he’d read my approval. “She never thinks about anyone but herself,” I said.

  “And she delights in making trouble,” Bjorn added. “Come on, let’s say hello to the witches, and then we must be gone.”

  We walked. Geir flew circles above us. I didn’t blame him. Walking wasn’t the best venue for dragons. As awkward and ungainly as they were on land, they were grace personified in the air.

  Tansy and Hilda ran to meet us, and I hugged both women. Bjorn wrapped his arms around us all. “So good to see you,” Hilda said.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Tansy tossed out. “So much.” She hugged me harder.

  A strident meow announced Mort. He took a running jump, caught onto my clothing with his claws, and climbed to my shoulders. Meanwhile, Geir skidded in for a landing, bugling a greeting.

  “A tiny dragon,” Hilda exclaimed.

  “He’s precious,” Tansy crooned and reached to stroke his scales. He leaned into her touch.

  An awkward catch peppered my words when I said, “May I present my—our—son, Geir. He was born about a month ago.”

  Hilda drew back and stared at Bjorn and me. “But how? I understand he’s magical, but that was the quickest pregnancy on record.”

  “Not amongst magic wielders,” Bjorn said and hit the high points about the enchanted pool.

  Tansy was still stroking Geir’s scales. “You must have a human form,” she told him. “May I see it?”

  Shock rocked me to my moorings when the scent of hot baked clay rose, along with the prickly feel of dragon power. Moments later, a fair-haired youth with tousled curls stood before me. His eyes were the same ice blue as Bjorn’s. If I’d applied human standards, I’d have judged him to be around ten, perhaps twelve. His skin was the same coppery-gold as mine, and he was strongly built for a child with ropy muscles stretching beneath his skin.

  Feeling oddly formal, I bowed before I snugged him into my arms and murmured, “Nice to meet you this way too.”

  He wriggled out of my grasp, his face painted with color. “Good Grandma and Good Grandpa told me not to do this. I wasn’t certain I could.”

  “You mean Hel and Nidhogg.”

  Geir nodded solemnly. “Dewi too. They all said I was much safer as a dragon.”

  “You are,” Bjorn agreed.

  Oblivious to everything, Mort purred like a small locomotive from his perch on my shoulders.

  Patrick ran to us, and the round robin of greetings repeated itself. After he’d oohed and ahhed over Geir, he said, “Quickly. Tell me what is happening. All of us are here now, so our forces are no longer split. Is it safe to be out and about, or should we still be remaining within?”

  Between Bjorn and me, we told Patrick and Hilda about the army of shades, Cadir, the Morrigan, and Loki.

  “That one, the trickster,” Patrick hissed. “He won’t remain in Jotunheim. For all we know, he’s already escaped.”

  “Odin would have told us,” Bjorn said.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know.” Patrick shrugged and shook his head. “I’m worried for all of you. An army of the dead poses obvious problems. You can’t kill them. You can’t hurt them. They just keep right on coming at you.”

  “There are spells—” Bjorn began.

  Hilda held up a hand. “Aye, even we know of some, but they take time, and they are far from permanent.”

  “You should leave the lad here with us,” Patrick said. “He will be safe beneath Ben Nevis. Safe as anywhere can be, that is.”

  Geir had been standing about a meter away talking with Tansy. He tilted his head our way and said. “My place is with my parents. This battle is my first task, the reason I was called from the beyond.”

  My ears perked up. I wanted to know more about where Geir had been, how he’d heeded a summons, but such questions would have to wait. Talking was coming easier to him, too, probably a product of not filtering everything through his dragon consciousness.

  Probably. In truth, I knew less than nothing since I’d never had another form to shift into.

  Bjorn ruffled Geir’s hair. “Thank Patrick. It was kind of him to offer.”

  “Thank you.” Geir glanced at Bjorn. “Things are…different in this body, but I’m getting used to it.”

  “Better not get too used to it,” Bjorn retorted. “I won’t tell the dragons you spent time in your other form. Wouldn’t want them to be cross with you.”

  Geir stretched his arms out and turned in a full circle, rolling his shoulders back. “Feels odd,” he pronounced. “Not bad, but odd.”

  Patrick had asked an important question before we got sidetracked by Geir shifting. I smothered a smile. Maybe my son changing forms wasn’t so surprising after all since Tansy, a very attractive young woman, had been the one doing the asking.

  “Nothing is any safer than it was,” I told Patrick, Hilda, and Tansy. “Be very cautious when you venture beyond the caves. In fact, why are you outside now?”

  “Andraste dropped us and the crops off right next to the entrance,” Patrick said. “Everybody rushed out to greet us, and they’re working on hauling the crops inside. We grew a lot, but it all needs to be processed in some way so it will keep.”

  “Of course. Bet that canning pot will be busy,” Bjorn said.

  “And the drying racks,” Hilda said. “Never fear, we won’t let a single plant go to waste.” A soft smile curved her mouth. “The Celts said we were welcome to return when our stocks ran low.”

  “It was kind of them,” I murmured and quit there. By the time the witches ran out of canned and dry goods, either they’d be able to grow food near Ben Nevis, or the world would have blown up around all of us. Back when I’d been living with the witches, I hadn’t given a thought to how Earth—Midgard—might be connected to anything other than the mysterious evil pumping ruin through the Breaking site.

  I understood a whole lot more now. The stakes were much higher. Loss of the Nine Worlds would reverberate through every universe. It was so unthinkable, it nearly immobilized me.

  Pull yourself together. I used my sternest mental voice.

  “We should go,” I said.

  Mort must have understood because his purrs turned to a throaty growl and he jabbed his claws into my back.

  “Come tell everyone hello,” Patrick urged.

  “Won’t take more than a few minutes,” Tansy chimed in.

  Geir had traded turning in a circle for skipping and running as he tested out his new form. I tucked a hand beneath his arm as he barreled past. “Back to dragon you go, child.”

  “But why? I’m having fun.” His gaze lit on Mort. “That’s the cat you told me about.”

  “It is.
”

  Geir’s hand shot out. Mort growled.

  “Why doesn’t he like me?” Geir sounded hurt.

  “He doesn’t know you. Here.” I detached the cat from my shoulders and cradled him in my arms so he’d feel more secure. “Move slowly, and stroke his head. No magic. He doesn’t like it.”

  After a few moments when Mort stiffened in my arms, he allowed Geir’s touch. My son smiled. “I like him.”

  “He will appreciate you once he gets to know you. All animals rely on their sense of smell, and you smell enough like me he will trust you more easily than he might have otherwise.”

  “I see.” Geir bobbed his head.

  “You need to shift,” Bjorn said, “and then we will bid the other witches hello.”

  Grumbling like the youngster he was, Geir summoned magic. It flickered and flashed around him until a dragon stood where the child had been. Bjorn turned to Patrick and Hilda. “Any progress talking with some of the humans in the neighborhood about magic?”

  A snort pushed past Patrick’s lips. “None.”

  “We did make an effort,” Hilda clarified. “A small one. We stopped by the enclave near the lake where Nidhogg killed the goblins that night. Never got past hello. They shot at us.”

  “Gawk. Thank the goddess you weren’t hurt,” I said.

  “We had the presence of mind to shield ourselves behind one of the standing stones,” Patrick told me.

  “Aye, but then we had to ward ourselves to get back here,” Hilda added.

  “You should always be warded when you’re beyond the caves,” Bjorn warned them. Somehow, when the words came from him, they sounded caring. The same sentence from me would have taken on the flavor of a lecture.

  Geir spread his wings. Tansy gazed up at him. “You’re beautiful,” she cried.

  Oh-oh. Before I could intervene, he took to the skies flying this way and that, showing off. Bjorn whistled for Geir to follow us, and we took off at a brisk pace for the caves half a kilometer away. I was surprised Zelli and Quade hadn’t shown up, but Fire Mountain was likely a busy place right about now.

  Much as the Celts viewed the Norse gods as a step below them, dragons considered both the Celts and the Norse deities inferior. The combination was a pressure cooker, and we’d be lucky to get through the next few days without an explosion or two.

  Tansy had been right about greetings not taking long. Being immersed in the witches warmth and good wishes made a thick place form in my throat. Before I dissolved into a puddle of emotion—not good for me or anyone else—I gently extricated myself from several witches who wanted to hug me and run their fingers over Geir’s scales.

  I still held Mort in my arms. He didn’t squawk when I handed him to Tansy. He must have grown used to me being gone, but his stoicism made me feel worse. Like I’d failed him. No matter what I did, there was never enough of me to go around. I felt stretched thin as a dried-up piece of leather on a rack.

  It wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and wishing for my old life back. No matter what happened, that life was gone for good.

  The bevy of greetings changed to a chorus of “good luck” and “let us know as soon as you can.”

  I tried to swallow, but it was a losing proposition. So was holding onto the smile that had bloomed when the witches mobbed us with enthusiastic welcomes and compliments about Geir. “You won’t need us to determine the outcome of our war with the undead,” I told them.

  “Aye. You’ll figure things out long before we return,” Bjorn said.

  Patrick stood tall. Raising both hands, he chanted a blessing, one that urged Danu to watch over us and ensure our safe return. I’d take it. And more. Even with all the power of both pantheons and the dragons standing next to me, we were still starting from a one-down position.

  “Thank you,” I told him once he’d fallen silent. “For everything.”

  “Rowan. It was a glad day when you joined our coven. You might not be a witch, but you are one of us, and you always will be. You and yours are welcome to bide in our halls.”

  A tear spilled over, followed by another. They turned to gems before they reached the ground. I stooped to pick them up and walked to Patrick, pressing a ruby and a large yellow diamond into his hands. “Take these to remember me by.”

  “You will return to us. Believe in yourself, Rowan—and in your magic. ’Tis better than half the battle.”

  I blinked back more tears, clinging to a ragged edge of control and losing the fight. “If the goddess blesses us, I shall return. And when I do, it will be for more than a few minutes.” My voice only shook a little. I was proud of that.

  Bjorn wrapped an arm around me. I felt him build a spell and sweep Geir and me into it. Would I ever see my witch family again? They were so dear to me I couldn’t stand the thought of never laying eyes on them again.

  The Ben Nevis caves should protect them, but only if they didn’t play hero and venture outside. Eventually, they were bound to poke their heads out. I had to make certain Midgard was safe by then.

  The dragons’ travel channel formed around us. Once Bjorn had the spell well in hand, he laced his fingers with mine. “We will repair the damage to the Nine Worlds.”

  My eyes had moved from swimming in tears to hot, dry, and gritty. “How can you know?”

  “I never said it would be easy. We have a long, difficult road ahead. But the Nine Worlds cannot fail. They will not.”

  Geir chirruped in wordless support.

  The struggle between discipline and maternal instinct was ripping me in two. It took all my self-discipline not to divert Bjorn’s spell to a distant borderworld. I didn’t care where. A spot we could wait out the carnage. Where nothing would touch us if the army of undead marched right over all the magic everyone threw their way.

  But I wasn’t a coward. Or a quitter. The witches were counting on us. And even though they had no way of knowing, mortals were as well. Absent our efforts, those who’d survived the Breaking were slated for certain destruction.

  I wanted a safe haven for my child, but the child in question wanted to fight. I turned to him. “Tell me,” I demanded. “Tell me about the beyond. The place you were before you came here.”

  Chapter Fourteen, Bjorn

  I listened to our son, fascinated by his tale. Dragon essence existed in a place beyond time and space, a spot where there were no laws of physics to get in the way. Separate, yet bonded by one shared fabric, music linked them, soothed them.

  “Aye,” Geir went on. “Sometimes, not often, the music changed, turned into an order. This time, the part of the shared essence that was me understood it was my turn. I was needed.”

  “Did you know your parents were not full dragons?” Rowan asked.

  Geir nodded. “Neither am I. My corner of the shared spirit world never included full-bloods. I was not the only hybrid.”

  We fell silent, each lost within our respective thoughts. Rowan seemed more settled than she had been. Leaving the witches—again—couldn’t have been easy for her. Standing by while our son marched into battle with us was another brain twister. I’d have loved to leave him in the witches’ care, but he would never have stayed.

  Fool that I was, I’d taught him to teleport as a hedge against being trapped. If I’d insisted he remain with the witches, he’d have waited until we were gone and shaped his own travel spell.

  Subtle changes in the feel of my casting alerted me we were nearing Fire Mountain. “Before we go inside,” I told Rowan and Geir, “I want to experiment a bit.”

  “With what?” Rowan tried to sound interested, but I knew her well enough to recognize an anxious note beneath her question.

  “We need to see how our magic works when we join it.”

  “But we already know,” she said. “We’ve fought together enough to recognize how powerful we are together.”

  I nodded. “Aye, but we haven’t included our son.”

  Her expression de
veloped a stony aspect, but she didn’t say anything.

  Geir whooped with delight. Clearly, my idea pleased him.

  I tucked a hand around Rowan’s upper arm. “In a better time and place, I would have left Geir with the witches, and—”

  “Noooo,” he cried. “I wouldn’t have stayed.”

  “I know,” I told him. “It was one of the reasons I didn’t insist.”

  “Why are you so worried?” he asked.

  Rowan jerked away from my grip and rounded on him. “Because we’re your parents. Because there are many bad things that would delight in hurting you.”

  “They can’t kill me.”

  The pride in his young voice made me cringe. Before Rowan could say anything else, I jumped in. “And that is precisely the problem. You can be captured, imprisoned, tortured. And there is a way to kill dragons. It may have been secret once, but now every Celt and Norseman knows about it since they’re a relentless bunch of gossips.”

  “Which means the secret has passed beyond the boundaries of the Nine Worlds. You must not take risks.” Rowan picked up the thread of my parental lecture about the time the journey channel spit us out in front of the caves on Fire Mountain. Heat hit me like a wall. Probably that part would never change, but I no longer dissolved into a pool of sweat.

  I wasn’t totally ready for the transition, so we thumped onto the ground harder than we might have if I’d planned better. A quick scan confirmed all the dragons were inside, unusual because they adored the hot, dry air in this world.

  “I don’t understand,” Geir said. Thank the goddess he wasn’t off on a defiant rant. “How can I fight without risk?”

  “You can’t,” I said bluntly. “Rather than beat this to death with words, open your magic to me and let me see what tricks I can weave with it. Your mother and I have worked as a team. Adding your magic will affect how we do things, and I’d prefer to find out how that’s going to work now, rather than doing a field test when we’re under attack.”

  “What will we use for targets?” Rowan asked as she scanned the vista of cracked earth peppered by boulder fields.