Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  “Let’s see how the conjoined magic feels first,” I said and began plucking and threading strands together. Unlike when it was just Ro and me where our power slotted like two halves of a puzzle, Geir’s magic—at least at this stage—was mostly all fire. It kindled fast and burned hot.

  “Careful,” Rowan warned him. “If you run wide open, you’ll exhaust your power.”

  “It will come back,” Geir said cheerfully.

  “Not without food and rest, it won’t,” she told him. “If we’re dealing with hordes of the undead bearing down on us, you won’t get rest breaks.”

  Geir dialed back his output, which made integrating it much easier. I finessed a few simple maneuvers. “All right,” I told them. “We’re going to trade off. I’m passing the reins of our shared magic to Rowan. And then it will be your turn.”

  “Really? I get to play?” Geir crowed.

  Once I’d handed off the spell, I bent my knees a bit and snared Geir with my gaze. “This isn’t play. Guiding another’s magic is a big responsibility. I want you to feel what it’s like to have magic beyond your own to shape.”

  His excitement shifted to a somber expression, one that didn’t belong on any child. My heart hurt for him. Rowan hadn’t had a childhood because Ceridwen had been a self-centered bitch. Geir wouldn’t have a childhood because he’d come to us in the midst of war.

  This wasn’t something where we could backpedal afterward—assuming we won—and surround him with toys and games. He’d find them juvenile and uninteresting. Magic ebbed and flowed from me as Rowan tried different moves.

  “This was a good idea,” she said at length. “Including Geir is different. It makes us stronger. Keeping him and his magic close makes me feel a little bit better about the whole thing.”

  “Stop worrying about me,” Geir groused.

  “I will always worry about you,” Rowan told him. “Mothers are like that. Except mine. Your turn. Get ready.”

  “Bad Grandma.”

  Rowan nodded. “She started out as a bad sorceress, went on to become a bad goddess, and she was worthless as a mother. If she ever talks with you again, you tell me. Right away.”

  Geir straightened his shoulders and held his forelegs in front of him. His eyes whirled faster. I followed the course of our magic as Rowan paid it out a bit at a time, stopping at about the halfway mark. Shamelessly, I inserted myself into Geir’s mind and watched his progress.

  He struggled at first with the infusion of my predominantly earth and water mix and Rowan’s earth and air, but it was good for him to learn the other elements. So far, fire was his go-to place, and, while it was powerful, it had drawbacks too. A skilled water-worker could easily annihilate him.

  The undead were masters with both water and earth.

  “Give him more,” I told Rowan.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye. Keep feeding it gradually until he has half again what he’s shaping now.”

  I moved to her side, and both of us monitored our son. If he hadn’t had his claws full to the brim, he might have resented us for being overbearing. As things stood, he was so occupied finding ways to deploy what must feel like alien magic, he didn’t even notice our presence.

  Magic arced from his talons in a barrage of color as excess power bled from him. His jaws were slightly open, emitting smoke and ash as he rose to the challenge we’d presented him with.

  I let him run with it until the glowing aura common to all dragons developed tarnished edges, and then I nodded to Rowan to reel things back in.

  “You did great,” I told Geir.

  He turned to me, his movements sluggish. “That was hard.”

  “Everything worthwhile is.” I paused for a moment. “What was the most difficult for you?”

  “Water and earth wanted to put out my fire. Balancing them was…” He shook himself until scales clanked against each other before going on. “I’d think I had it, but then it got away from me, and I had to do it all over again.”

  Rowan smiled. “Yeah. Magic is like that.”

  A swoosh of wings brought my head snapping around.

  Nidhogg’s golden bulk was hurtling toward us, and he landed heavily. “Why are you out here?”

  I muffled a snort. No hello or how are you or how was Midgard.

  “I did the spell,” Geir announced, pride shining through his words.

  “What spell?” Nidhogg rumbled.

  I stood straighter, unsure if the dragon lord would approve of what I’d done, but I didn’t report to him. Or to anyone except perhaps Odin, and even that wasn’t a certainty. “I wanted us to practice blending our magic,” I said.

  “Bjorn and I have had ample opportunities to work as a team,” Rowan tossed out, “but we hadn’t included our son.”

  Nidhogg shrugged, unimpressed. “Waste of time. He’ll be fighting with dragons.”

  Irritation blasted me. “What do you think Rowan and I are?” I demanded.

  His whirling eyes rolled in annoyance. “I’ve come for Geir. ’Tis high time for him to learn how to fly and fight as a dragon.”

  Rowan planted herself in front of Nidhogg. “No. If you training him means you’re planning to wrest him from my side in whatever is bearing down on us, I forbid it.”

  Fire roared from Nidhogg. Geir flew between them screeching, “Don’t hurt Momma.”

  Nidhogg bugled a warning, but Geir beat the air with his wings, not giving ground. “I said, you will not hurt Mother.”

  I was proud of him, but appalled too. Nidhogg was deserving of respect, and Geir had just flipped him off. I moved closer, hands extended. “I’m certain we can talk about this.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” Rowan snarled. “I am not letting him”—she jerked her chin at Nidhogg—“turn our son into some kind of latter-day warrior. I’ll never see him again.”

  “Of course you would.” I was still trying for diplomacy.

  If we couldn’t get along among ourselves, what hope did we have to present enough of a united front to vanquish the undead and their masters? So wicked they’d been exiled to the outer borderworlds, I could only imagine what the flotsam and jetsam from every world would be like.

  Our enemy had to be ruthless, totally without compassion or conscience, but even my most vivid imaginings probably fell short of reality.

  “Stand down. All of you,” Nidhogg roared.

  Geir landed next to Rowan, keeping wary eyes on Nidhogg.

  The dragon lord may have been trying for steam, but all he managed was ash and smoke. “I propose a compromise,” he said at length.

  “What kind of compromise?” Rowan asked.

  “Your son is a dragon. He must be taught how to fight as one.”

  “Why?” I countered. “We were doing all right sharing defensive magic before you got here.”

  “Because,” Nidhogg began, but then apparently changed strategies. “Banking on the chance the two of you may locate your dragon forms at some point,” he said smoothly, too smoothly, “I am extending my invitation to include all of you. We will be waiting in the arena.”

  Rowan opened her mouth. Before she could chuck what was truly an enormous concession back in Nidhogg’s snout, I said, “We accept. With humble thanks.”

  Rowan shot me a you’ve-lost-your-mind look. I let it wash over me. “Where is the arena?” I asked.

  “Has your magic grown so feeble ye canna locate me?” Nidhogg countered, clearly out of sorts with the turn of events.

  “We’ll find it,” Rowan said. Thank the gods she stopped shy of flapping her hands in dismissal.

  “Now. Not an hour from now, but right now,” Nidhogg said just before he shimmered to golden streamers as he teleported away.

  “You won, Momma,” Geir chirped.

  “Don’t let Nidhogg hear you say that,” I cautioned.

  “But she did,” Geir persisted.

  “Yes, well, a good life lesson is never rubbing someone’s nose in a fight they lost,
” Rowan said.

  “Shall we find the arena?” I made my tone upbeat and built a spell designed to track Nidhogg. He was my father. We shared blood. When the day came I couldn’t locate my own blood, I needed to hang up my spurs.

  “What about your blades?” Rowan asked.

  I glanced at them. Last time, the dragons had insisted I leave the enchanted steel outside. I decided to let magic be the deciding factor. If it bounced back and slapped me, we’d walk to the cave entrance, and I’d remove the blades. My spell proceeded apace. No boomerang effect. When it was close to its zenith, I motioned Rowan and Geir close.

  The transition was fast and seamless. One moment we were standing beneath the harsh beat of Fire Mountain’s twin suns. The next we were in an enormous cavern deep beneath the world’s surface. Designed much like the old Roman gladiator arenas, this one sported an elliptical field surrounded by raised areas where spectators could squat.

  Nidhogg, Dewi, Quade, and Zelli were there. No one looked particularly welcoming. I was certain Nidhogg had told them what happened. No matter how they felt about him, he was their leader. No dragon would have stood up to him. Not one firmly grounded in his senses. Cadir had forced a confrontation, but he was already well on his way down the rathole of insanity.

  Would he have sunk so deep without a good, hard push from Loki?

  I’d never know, and it didn’t matter. Not really.

  Geir stuck close to Rowan and me. “Go ahead,” I urged. “It is an honor to have teachers such as these.”

  “Oh for Christ’s fucking sake,” Rowan muttered into my mind. “Lay it on thick, why don’t you?”

  I’d have told her to knock it off because the dragons could hear her, but she already knew that. At least no one had said anything about the blades hanging off my body.

  Geir extended his wings and sort of floated across the arena to the other dragons. “I am ready,” he said.

  I motioned to Rowan to join me on the raised seats ringing the arena. I expected her to pass on my suggestion, but she marched across the field until we were positioned roughly halfway between the far end and the spot where the dragons and Geir had taken to the air. When I gazed upward, I couldn’t see the upper limits of the cavern, which made it perfect for aerial maneuvers.

  I debated my words, but they needed saying. It didn’t matter whether I spoke out loud or used telepathy. If the dragons wanted to listen in, they would. “Uh, Rowan. I love you. A lot.”

  She waved me to silence. “What I did was dumb, but I was furious, and I’ve never been any good at modulating my temper. I inherited that from Mother.” A muscle along her cheekbone twitched as she clenched her jaw. “I don’t like this. At all. But I shouldn’t have gotten in Nidhogg’s face, either.”

  “What bothers you the most?”

  She looked askance at me. “Planning on a career as a psychotherapist?”

  “Just answer the question, Ro.”

  “Gosh. How can I narrow it to one thing? I didn’t get to be pregnant very long. Geir was an infant in my arms for all of maybe fifteen minutes. Since then, he’s grown so fast it’s worse than watching time-lapse photography. When Tansy urged him to shift, I kind of expected—”

  “A toddler?” I cut in.

  “Oh hell no. I guess I expected he’d still be a baby. To see him as a kid late in childhood was a shock. He’s beautiful, and he’ll be a comely man, but where did my baby go?”

  “He was never destined to be a baby.” The words hurt me to say them. I’d longed for an infant to coddle and hold too, but giving voice to my smashed hopes wouldn’t help anyone.

  Rowan nodded, the skin around her eyes pinched with sorrow. “I keep telling myself to be grateful for what we have. And how Geir is exactly what he needs to be. What would we have done with a real baby?”

  “We’d have left him with the witches, but he would have been so helpless and vulnerable it would have ripped our hearts out. Remember how you felt leaving Ben Nevis today?” I pressed, not wanting to scratch scabs off her heart, but needing her to understand we hadn’t had any good choices.

  “Yeah. It would have been a million times worse. I’m not sure I could have walked away and left a four-week-old infant, no matter how much I love and trust the witches.”

  “You wouldn’t have had a choice.”

  “That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it,” she muttered. “We haven’t had any choices at all ever since Mother instigated the Breaking spell. Doesn’t matter if it wasn’t her idea, or if she wasn’t working alone. We’re stuck with the consequences.”

  As we’d been talking, the dragons swooshed by shooting fire and smoke and ash. Because he was smaller than the others, Geir was infinitely more maneuverable. His jaws were parted in a smile, and I could tell he was enjoying the hell out of grasping his birthright with his bright-red talons.

  “Do you suppose we’ll ever discover our dragons?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Would you like that?” She turned her golden eyes on me and added, “You’re closer than I am. Your eyes already spin.”

  “I’m not so sure about being closer,” I said. “There have been lots of times when I’ve sensed your dragon nature pushing for ascendency.”

  She patted my hand, and the remaining tension whooshed out of her. I felt the energy in the room take a dramatic turn toward Norseland and wasn’t surprised when Odin and Thor stalked the length of the arena.

  Thor whistled, but the dragons ignored him.

  “Nidhogg!” Odin bellowed.

  The golden dragon lord flew around Odin’s head a couple of times before landing more or less in front of him. “I left the air because I wanted to, not because ye summoned me.” He shifted his gaze to Thor. “And certainly not because ye whistled as if I were your dog.”

  Thor had the grace to incline his head. “Apologies, Dragon. I wasna whistling at you.”

  “Everyone is assembled,” Odin said. “Your presence is needed. None of the dragons will discuss anything without you there.”

  The scents of rosemary, baked clay, and the sea rolled around me. When they cleared, the Norsemen and the dragon were gone.

  Zelli, Quade, and Geir landed near where we sat. When I looked for Dewi, she’d left as well.

  “They said I did good,” Geir told me.

  “Of course you did.” A smile softened the harsh cast to Rowan’s features.

  “Teaching him to blend his power with yours was brilliant,” Zelli said.

  “Aye,” Quade agreed. “It gave him alternatives not open to the rest of us. Impressive ones.”

  I quirked a brow, wanting to hear more.

  “No time right now,” Zelli said, “but his ability to call on elements beyond fire will come in verra useful.”

  “He wields both Norse and Celtic twists.” Quade nodded his big head in approval. “They will deepen and grow richer given time.”

  I got to my feet. Rowan did the same. “When we first showed up down here, you were furious with us,” I said. “I take it you’ve moved past that?”

  The dragons didn’t waste time—or insult my intelligence—by denying their earlier ire. “We were angry because of how Nidhogg was disrespected,” Quade rumbled.

  I’d known as much, but it was good to get these things out in the open.

  “Aye,” Zelli concurred. “We must pull in the same direction. What we face is grim and enormous and unprecedented. Our enemy would like naught better than for us to lose ourselves in petty infighting.”

  “I owe Nidhogg an apology,” Rowan said. “I’ll find time to make it happen after the assembly is over.”

  “I fear we shall be leaving here verra soon,” Zelli told me. “The only purpose of today’s gathering is to hash out our strategy, team up, and be gone. Yggdrasil’s roots are eroding faster. And the giants are having a horrible time keeping Loki in his prison. Odin and Thor fear he may already have escaped.”

  Breath whistled through my teeth. “Damn. The Morrigan was loos
e. If Loki broke free and teamed up with her, the army of shades would have new leadership. Where Cadir hadn’t been totally corrupt, the Morrigan had made a full commitment to the dark side of the street.

  “Same meeting hall?” I asked.

  Quade nodded.

  “We should teleport,” Rowan said. “It’s faster.” She held out an arm, and Geir walked near her. Between two blinks her spell moved us to the meeting hall where Nidhogg had presented us to the dragons.

  Filled to standing room only, the large chamber felt cramped. Celtic and Norse gods milled about at the front of the room. The blind seers flanked Nidhogg. Ysien stood nearby. Dewi bugled to establish order and instruct everyone to cut the side conversations.

  “We go to war,” Nidhogg thundered.

  Dragon bugles all but drowned him out.

  “At least someone is happy about it,” I whispered to Rowan and stole a glance at Geir. Dragon to his core, he bounced from one large hind foot to the other. I listened while Dewi and Nidhogg described the constituency of the undead army. Arawn spoke for a few moments about the dead he assumed had signed on with them.

  “One unknown,” Dewi said, “is who is leading the undead. Our guess is the Morrigan has her oar in this.”

  “Perhaps she managed to free Loki from our prison,” Odin spoke roughly, the words clearly costing him.

  One of the blind seers shuffled forward. “We have seen such in our glass,” he announced. “Great, slithering darkness led by a crow.”

  “Did ye see Loki as well?” Odin asked.

  “I did, but the timing was unclear.” A blonde goddess stepped forward. When light fell on her, I recognized Freya. Seer in her own right, her divinations were rarely wrong.

  Odin rounded on her, hand raised as if to strike.

  “Not a good idea,” Freya snarled.

  “Why did ye not tell me?” Odin slowly lowered his arm to his side.

  “Better.” She tilted her chin at a defiant angle. “As I said, the timing was unclear. I might have viewed a scene from the past.”

  “’Tis a task we should have addressed together.” Bran detached himself from a bank of shadows.

  Freya offered the tiniest shrug. “Ye’ve never offered us the slightest respect.”