Black Pool Magic (Rune Witch Book 3)

by Jennifer Willis

  Heimdall patted Thor on the back. “I admire the way you’ve embraced this quest. Even the old spirits approve.”

  Thor’s mood lightened. He thought back on the dozen ravens perched in the high branches over the deerskin lodge and calling down as Thor and the others had entered the sweat.

  Odin nodded. “An auspicious sign.”

  It was rare for Odin to speak of ravens, ever since Huginn and Muninn had abandoned him for the native woods as soon as the Norsemen arrived in the Pacific Northwest. While Heimdall had smiled at the common ravens outside the sweat lodge and clapped Thor on the back in encouragement, Thor watched a dark quiet settle over Odin as he turned his one-eyed gaze to the cloudless summer sky and followed a pair of birds taking flight.

  Heimdall wiped a river of sweat from his brow. “But I agree with Rod. The old lady is messing with you.”

  Thor kept quiet.

  “Okay, last round.” Tim poured another ladle of water over the steaming rocks, tossed a few handfuls of dried herbs into the hearth, and started to chant.

  Sally emerged from the hot spring flushed and a little dizzy. The shock of the cool morning air had her breaking out in head-to-toe goosebumps. She’d spent only about twenty minutes in the steaming outdoor pool, sheltered beneath evergreen branches and surrounded by moss-covered rocks, but it had felt like at least an hour of brewing in hot water that stank of rotten eggs and felt slick on her bare skin.

  She stumbled through the process of drying herself off and putting on her clothes. Then she had to sit on her backpack to rest. Her head was reeling from the vapors coming from the pool a few yards away.

  But Opal, who had spent just as much time in the sulfur pool, looked positively radiant as she pulled on her jeans and a green Portland State University sweatshirt. Kneeling to lace up her hiking boots, she smiled across the pine-needle carpet at Sally.

  “That, I must say, was absolute heaven,” Opal sighed. “It seems a shame to leave the water at all. I could have spent all day luxuriating in there.”

  Sally closed her eyes as a wave of nausea hit her. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “It was a bit warm for me.”

  Opal handed her a water bottle. “You’re probably dehydrated.”

  Sally fumbled with the twist-off cap until Opal took pity and opened it for her. Sally whispered her thanks and then sucked down half the bottle’s contents.

  Looking perfectly content, Opal sat cross-legged in the dirt. “If this is what it feels like just to soak in that water, imagine what it must be like to drink from the well.”

  Sally didn’t respond. She concentrated on drinking down the rest of the water, and on not throwing up.

  Frigga had said the hot spring pool was fed by the same water source as the sacred well Maggie and Rod had dug. Sally found it hard to believe that the same water could be hot and smelly in one place and cool and refreshing in another. But there was a lot she didn’t understand about the wilderness magick of the Pacific Northwest—which was precisely why she and Opal now sat at the edge of the forest with their backpacks.

  “Not that they’re offering us a taste or anything,” Opal added.

  Sally slipped her socks over her heat-flushed feet. “I don’t imagine they would.”

  Maggie’s well was supposed to be the next incarnation of Mímir’s Well back in Scandinavia. Assuming Iduna’s mantle as the Goddess of the Grove, Maggie had elected to dig the well after she established a new orchard of immortality-granting apples in Oregon.

  Would the new well grant the same mystical knowledge that Odin had gained from Mímir’s Well? Would Maggie’s Well be a source of shamanic wisdom, since the aquifer spanned the boundary between Odin’s property and the Warm Springs Indian Reservation? Maggie wouldn’t say, even when Sally wondered aloud if the well might accord her some greater measure of confidence before she marched into the forest for an extended nature hike with Opal.

  Sally had at least resisted the temptation to simply sneak out to the well and taste the water for herself.

  She slipped her feet into her brand new hiking boots and tied the laces. She wasn’t feeling quite as dizzy now. She focused on her breathing, inhaling through her nostrils and pushing the air out through her mouth, and that helped.

  Opal was still beaming. “Aren’t you excited? I barely slept last night.”

  Sally managed a small grin. As soon as their Indian guide arrived, Sally and Opal would hike into the forest for four days. Far away from parents and research papers, they would get hands-on with native plants, connect with indigenous spirits, and maybe even build relationships with an elemental or two. It was no wonder that Opal was nearly jumping out of her skin with anticipation.

  Still, Sally was curious why neither Frigga nor Freya had pushed her in this direction before. It would have been simple enough to drag her into the forest and insist she become acquainted with the magick of her home turf.

  In Ireland, Sally had learned the hard way how very much can go explosively wrong when local energies are ignored. Her roommate had paid the price of her own ignorance and hubris, in blood. And all the time Sally had been practicing magick in Oregon, she’d ignored the native energies running beneath her feet. She hadn’t even thought about it. It was nothing short of stupid.

  Maybe, despite all the show Frigga made of training and grooming Sally, the truth was that her role as the Rune Witch wasn’t all that important.

  Sally shook the thought away. She was here now. She remembered what Niall had taught her about working with the land: Soil is soil, no matter where it comes from. It might have a different flavor, but earth elements the world over served much the same purpose.

  She got up from her pack and unzipped the main compartment to confirm that her two bottles of soil were in place and sealed tight. One tiny jar was filled with dirt from the base of the White Oak Yggdrasil that sat on Odin’s property. The other held the rich earth Sally had scooped up from outside the Oweynagat cave in Ireland, where Sally had last seen Freyr’s shade. Both were secure.

  “Good idea to double-check.” Opal unzipped her own lightweight hiking pack and checked its contents. Her pack was full of empty bottles held in place by strips of black elastic sewn onto felt-covered boards. Side pockets were stuffed with plastic bags and a few grease pencils. Opal was stocked for an extended sampling spree.

  “You know we don’t have to bring everything back with us.” Sally nodded toward Opal’s impeccably organized mobile laboratory. “We can always come back later, if you need something.”

  “Or find another source closer to home,” Opal recited with a familiar edge to her voice. “Yeah, I know. Frigga’s been saying the same thing. But I can’t help it.” Opal checked the batteries in her handheld GPS device—so she could log the location of every plant they were to learn about.

  Sally scanned her own supplies—flashlight, water bottles, sleeping bag, knife, Book of Shadows, clean underwear. Her parents had insisted on helping her pack. It had taken a few years, but Sally had finally told them the truth about her magick and her role as the Rune Witch—first, attempting the revelation on her own, and then with backup from Freya and Frigga.

  To say that her parents had been stunned would have been an understatement. At first, they gave Sally a wide berth when she was home in Portland, especially at night; Sally hadn’t yet told them that a witch is just as strong in the light as in the dark. She’d overheard their whispered conversations about whether she might need rehab—or worse, a psychiatrist. And then they’d peppered her with questions.

  Did being a Rune Witch mean that Sally was going to Hell, to Heaven, or to Valhalla? What exactly was a rune? Could she turn the chairman of the rotary club into a toad? Was Odin running a Viking biker cult? Did Sally go flying around on a broomstick on Halloween? If Sally was the Rune Witch, did that mean that somewhere there was a Candle Witch or a Wand Witch or a Crystal Witch, too?

  Sally was curious about that last question herself, but she hadn’t yet gott
en a straight answer from anyone at the Lodge.

  It had been exhausting. Sally was relieved when it had come time to return to Dublin for her spring term. And a few months into Sally’s second semester abroad, her parents stopped texting, emailing, and Skyping at all hours to ask about magick wands and inquire after her safety.

  It was a sudden shift, and Sally puzzled over what had finally gotten her parents to relax: An invitation to Odin’s Lodge for the nine-day festival of Walpurgis and Thrimilci—complete with bonfires, feasts from Frigga’s hearth, and endless steins of spiked mead—had done wonders to bring her parents into the outer circle of the Norse fold.

  Now the Dahls—buttoned-down, proper citizens of Portland’s conservative minority—sported bumper stickers like “Keep Portland Weird,” “Odin For President!” and “My Other Car is a Broom” on their vehicles. And they’d combed through the Portland State University course catalog to highlight classes they thought would support Sally in her training. At the top of their list were Scandinavian Myths and Legends, Ancient Norwegian 101, Modern American Alternative Religions, and an environmental protection seminar series.

  But Sally had an entire summer to get through before she would start at PSU as a sophomore. She zipped up her pack.

  “What do you think our guide will be like?” Opal asked. “Obviously, someone knowledgeable, a master of herbs and traditional lore.” Opal touched each of her empty bottles before closing up her pack. Sally had no doubt Opal would be the star student of the expedition.

  Sally was nervous about being led into the woods by someone she didn’t know—even a guide hand-picked by Freya. She’d need time on her own to complete her private memorial for Freyr, and she didn’t like the idea of a stranger watching over her shoulder while she honored her fallen friend.

  “I just hope it’s someone who isn’t too strict,” Sally said.

  Opal laughed. “You make it sound like we’ve been sent to see the principal. I think we’ll be put through our paces, though.”

  Sally frowned. Was their guide going to demand that they make—and eat—an indigenous salad to prove they’d been paying attention to what was poisonous and what wasn’t?

  Opal pulled her long, dark hair back into a ponytail and secured it with an elastic tie. She made the unconscious motion of pushing her glasses up her nose—an old habit that remained even after her laser eye surgery six months earlier. Opal’s face brightened as she looked over Sally’s shoulder, and Sally glanced back to find Frigga approaching.

  “How was your soak, then?” the goddess asked.

  “It was awesome!” Opal tugged at her sagging socks. “I’d love to come back and do it again.”

  Frigga nodded. “That might be arranged. What about you, Sally dear?”

  Sally shrugged. Most of the nausea had passed, but she was still feeling uncomfortably warm. “It was good,” she said.

  Frigga’s smile faded at Sally’s flat tone. “I take it the hot spring didn’t agree with you.” She rested a hand on Sally’s shoulder. “The waters seep into your skin to rid you of impurities as you embark on your journey, and to prepare you for new wisdom. Not everyone will have the same reaction, of course.” Frigga knelt in the dirt next to Sally. “What are your symptoms?”

  Sally forced a smile. “Maybe I just didn’t sleep too well last night.” She gestured toward Opal. “You know how excited we are.”

  Frigga studied Sally’s face, and the Rune Witch tried not to squirm under the goddess’s intense gaze. Finally, Frigga rose to her feet. “This is an important next step in your training.”

  Opal nodded with enthusiasm. She was three years older than Sally, and she’d benefited from Frigga’s tutelage while Sally was in Ireland. She’d stood bravely against Managarm at the Battle of the White Oak Yggdrasil to protect both Odin’s Lodge and the World Tree. Long before that, when Sally was a fledgling witch who hand’t even dreamed of meeting a Norse immortal in the flesh, Opal had proven herself a dedicated witch, and a good friend.

  But seeing Opal bask in Frigga’s favor rubbed Sally the wrong way. Sally was the Rune Witch, not Opal. Shouldn’t Sally be the sole focus of Frigga’s attention? Or was Opal being groomed as Sally’s replacement? The Rune Witch was born, not appointed, and it supposedly wasn’t unusual for the mantle to skip many generations before landing again on a young witch’s shoulders. Sally didn’t think she could just be replaced. But Sally was still in the dog house for her rebellions along the way—like smuggling Køjer Devils scales out of Norway, and for not asking for help sooner when things started going wrong in Dublin.

  “Before you head off into the forest today,” Frigga continued, now resting her hands on her generous hips. “I think the time has come to officially install Opal as the Assistant Rune Witch.”

  Opal’s face fell. “Assistant Rune Witch? What does that even mean?”

  Frigga reached up and patted her short, black hair. She turned to Sally. “Opal will assist you in your magickal work. It’s an unorthodox approach, you might say, as there’s never been such an office before. But you can’t argue that Opal doesn’t deserve it. She can help you by doing research, preparing your more basic oils and brews, fetching your supplies. That sort of thing.”

  Opal rose slowly to her feet. “Fetching her supplies?” she asked in disbelief. “Preparing her more basic brews?”

  Sally’s stomach twisted, and she shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the kind of help I need.”

  Opal’s mouth fell open as her eyes shot hot daggers at Sally. “So I’m not good enough to even be your servant?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” Sally said.

  “Assistant, dear.” In a distinctly maternal gesture, Frigga ran her fingers over Opal’s long ponytail. “It’s an honored position, created specifically for you. You are in no way indentured to Sally. Not really. The two of you will figure it out. In time. Now, best finish up your preparations. I imagine you’ll be leaving shortly.”

  Frigga left the two young witches staring uneasily at each other.

  Opal crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m older than you are. I’m more experienced.”

  “I don’t know about that last part,” Sally retorted. “I mean, I have battled Køjer Devils. I’ve faced Frost Giants and ancient Irish deities.”

  Opal scoffed. “You faced one Irish deity, and she backed down before anything happened. And you said yourself that the Frost Giants turned out to be harmless. Or practically harmless.”

  Sally stood up. “I faced all three of the sisters of The Morrigan, Opal.” She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and worried that the nausea from the hot mineral soak might return. “And there’s plenty that happened. My roommate died.”

  Opal dropped her gaze but kept her arms crossed. “Okay. I’m sorry. But still. You know what I mean.”

  Sally exhaled in a short huff and looked away into the trees. She did know. None of this was Opal’s fault. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know Frigga was going to do that.”

  Opal’s mouth was hard. “No?”

  “Sometimes I think it would better if I weren’t the Rune Witch at all.” Sally sniffed back quick, unexpected tears.

  Opal kicked at the dirt with the toe of her hiking boot. “That’s ridiculous, Sally.”

  “So is you being my assistant!” Sally threw her hands in the air. “You’re a grad student. You’ve done way more stuff that matters, like cleaning up the rivers. You could probably lead this plant hike without any guide at all, where I can barely tell the difference between clover and poison ivy.”

  The corners of Opal’s mouth sagged. “Which makes me the perfect choice to be your freaking magickal sidekick.” She hoisted her pack over her shoulders, buckled the hip belt, and adjusted her shoulder straps. “It’s no big deal, Sally. Like Frigga said, we’ll figure it out.”

  She stepped past Sally and headed toward the sweat lodge, following the open path through the trees that Frigga had taken.
>
  Sally sighed heavily and looked down at her pack. “This is just great,” she muttered to the dirt. “My one real friend, and Frigga has to go and ruin it.”

  Sally kicked the side of her backpack and heard the jars inside clink against each other.

  When Sally approached the stark border where the dust and dry grass of the open field met the cool humidity of the woods, she found Frigga chatting with the newly arrived guides. Opal, still wearing her overstuffed backpack, leaned against a tree and laughed at a joke Sally had missed.

  Their guides were a tall, skinny man and a short, rounded woman, both sporting long, black hair and deeply tanned skin. Looking them over, Sally wondered if faded blue jeans, flannel work shirts, and beat-up boots were some kind of native guide dress code. Freya was nowhere in sight.

  Sally glanced at the sweat lodge a few yards away. Wisps of smoke rose from beneath the layered deerskins. She was curious about what was going on inside, and she pondered whether she might have enjoyed the sweat more than the hot spring soak and subsequent witch spat. A bunch of sweaty men probably smelled better than the mineral pool, too.

  Frigga was suddenly at Sally’s side, gesturing her toward the edge of the forest where Opal stood with the guides. “You go get acquainted. I’ll fetch the boys.”

  Sally made her way toward the others but kept her eyes on the lodge. When Frigga threw open the animal-skin covering, a thick cloud of smoky steam and a ruckus of surprised shouts issued from within. Frigga coughed and waved the steam out of her face. “Just thought you’d like to know that your guide has arrived, dear. So, whenever you’re ready . . .”

  Frigga dropped the skin back into place and wrinkled her nose. “Awfully fragrant in there.”

  The guides mirrored the goddess’s smile. Sally thought the effect was kind of creepy, like those ghost girls from The Shining.

  “Wouldn’t be a proper sweat otherwise,” the woman chuckled.

  Thor emerged from the deerskin dome and pulled his damp towel tighter around his thick waist when he spotted Opal and Sally. In all the varied rages Sally had seen the thunder god fly into, she had never seen his skin quite the same shade of burning pink his entire body was flushing now. But instead of his usual growl, Thor offered a respectful nod to the group beneath the trees and then strode purposefully to the back of Heimdall’s pick-up truck to retrieve his clothes.