Alfheim Academy (Alfheim Academy

by S. T. Bende

  The anger bubbled again, fiercer. Hotter. “I’ll ask you one more time. What were you doing just now?”

  “If I thought you’d understand, I’d tell you. Just know that I’m acting for the real Alfheim.” Viggo’s hand flexed, and his dagger glinted under the filtered light of the forest. My hands balled into fists and I took a step forward. I didn’t have a weapon, but if that jerk thought he could silence me, he had another thing coming.

  Viggo stepped into my space, his chest inches from mine. I ignored the piney scent wafting off his training clothes and focused on perfecting my glare.

  “Go home, Glitre,” Viggo spoke softly into my ear. “Keep your perfekt little life in order.”

  Laughter tickled my throat. “Perfekt. Right.”

  Viggo leaned back just enough to meet my eyes. “Someone looked out for you from the minute you were born. From where I’m sitting, that’s a pretty good deal.”

  “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  Viggo shifted so our foreheads practically touched. Butterflies burst into flight in my stomach and at my shoulder blades. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “I know you’re the heir to the throne,” he growled. “I know you met with the queen last week. And I know you haven’t stepped up to challenge her. I can connect the dots as to which side you’re on.”

  A low whistle pierced the forest as I sucked air through my teeth. Viggo Sörensson had no freaking clue. “You know I’m going to tell Signy about this.”

  Viggo shrugged. “Go ahead. But for the record, I’m warning you to stay out of it. If anything happens, it’s on you.”

  “Noted.” I took another breath as Viggo leaned forward again. His shoulder brushed against mine as he walked by, and the nudging at my back became so adamant, I was positive something was about to crawl right out of my skin. But the jabbing ebbed as Viggo marched forward. He didn’t turn around until he reached the thicker tapestry of trees.

  Even at this distance, I caught the pop of his dimple. “Give Professor Bergen my best.”

  Then he turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving me with a litany of questions.

  What was Viggo Sorenssön up to?

  Chapter 13

  SIGNY AGREED TO TALK to Viggo about his obviously suspicious behavior. But she remained adamant that it was impossible hack into the realm.

  “That barrier is impenetrable. And so long as the last light branch sits on the tree, there is absolutely no way a non-native can enter Alfheim without authorization. Even with the help of a Key.” Signy shook her head. “What am I missing? Why don’t you like Viggo?”

  Because he calls me Glitre. And he’s got an ego the size of all of Alfheim. And every time he looks at me I get butterflies in my stomach and my back of all places, which is unbelievably awkward. And also, weird.

  But I didn’t share my thoughts out loud. Instead I muttered, “I just don’t.”

  Signy eyed me levelly. “I’ll speak with Viggo about what happened. In the meantime, it would serve you to be nicer to your training partner. You’ll be spending the next two years together—longer, if he takes on a role in your administration.”

  Ugh.

  Viggo and I regarded each other with extreme caution after the encounter in the forest. Our training sessions lived somewhere on the border of mortifying and irritating, as I tried to keep from blushing every time he pinned me, and he attempted to best me without ever actually making eye contact. He promptly disappeared at the end of every Verge class, and though I enlisted both Elin and Finna to help me track him, he was untraceable. It was as if he turned invisible as soon as his feet hit the forest floor. Finna assured me even the Elementär didn’t have that ability, and stressed that if anyone could have mastered using elements to manifest invisibility, it would be Alfheim’s resident science geeks. Like Signy, she’d given Viggo the benefit of the doubt, choosing to believe he was overwhelmed by the hormonal horde of Styra chasing him across campus, and simply seeking solace with a benevolent friend.

  “He could have been talking to a cousin in Vanaheim or something,” Finna rationalized. “Lots of students have relatives on other realms. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking.”

  Yeah, right.

  Only Elin believed me, whether out of friendship or her own assessment of Viggo’s character, I didn’t know. But with the Sterkvart still AWOL, we didn’t have time to worry about what my training partner was up to. Instead, we kept our heads to the ground, working with our hand-chosen task force to eliminate more regions from the vast list of places the crystal could be hidden. Thanks to the work of the animal friendly Dyr, who’d used trained birds to scour the forest regions, we knew it wasn’t in the woods near campus, the forest at the base of the mountains, or in the southern fern groves. Our search area was still massive, but every little bit helped, and we were grateful for what amounted to a crumb of progress.

  But as the days went on, my heart grew heavy. I’d never have admitted it out loud, but ours was beginning to feel like an endless battle—one we had no chance of winning. One night after dinner, Elin and I retired to the quad. My heart tugged at her sluggish steps across the grass. Not even the orange-tinted sunset could improve her mood—a sight my Musa friend would once have studied until twilight, then rushed home to paint. My own mood wasn’t much better—everything about this situation sucked.

  “I don’t know what else to do.” I rubbed my temples as I sucked in the crisp, evening air. “We’ve physically searched the grounds, the forest, and the meadow surrounding the tree. We’ve energetically searched huge regions of the realm and sent animals to examine still more. We’ve meditated for hours asking the crystal to reveal itself. We’ve asked advice from every teacher, read half the books in the library, and interrogated the entire Elementär department. I’m running out of ideas.”

  Elin didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to—the deep frown lines and heavy circles under her eyes spoke volumes. She’d barely slept during her mom’s absence. And if the way her skirt hung low on her hips was any indication, she’d barely eaten, either.

  “Come on, let’s get you some chocolate. You barely touched your dinner, and you need to get calories from somewh—why are you pulling my arm?”

  “Because.” Elin’s emotionless voice was barely above a whisper. “I think she wants to talk to you.”

  “She who?” A cursory scan of the quad revealed nobody paying attention to me—for once. In one corner, five Styra stood in a tight circle, scowling at a group of first years. In another, four Verge kicked around a tiny ball. Up ahead, a small gathering of Empati sat on the ground in silent meditation.

  “She, her.” Elin gestured to the column adjacent to the library. A raven-haired girl rested casually against the stone pillar, her kohl-lined eyes focused intently on me. Her slightly crooked nose and deep brown eyes were familiar, and I quickly sorted through the new faces I’d catalogued since my arrival at the academy.

  “I’ve seen her before. She’s a Bridger.” I nodded at the girl, and she ducked behind the column. A moment later she emerged, walking steadily toward the rear wall of the quad. When she reached the ivy-covered door, she looked over her shoulder, nodded back at me, and walked through. I wrapped my hand around Elin’s and squeezed. “Are we supposed to follow her?”

  “Highly likely,” Elin said dryly. “But I don’t make a habit of following goth chicks into the forest at dusk.”

  “Bridgers can communicate with energies the rest of us can’t.” I reminded my friend. “We’ve gotten nowhere on the crystal. Don’t you want to see if she has a lead?”

  “I want the lead,” Elin said. “It’s the energy communication I’m not so sure about. I don’t think it’s smart to talk to dead people.”

  My heart fluttered. While I was inclined to agree, a part of me wondered if the Bridger could help me talk to my mom. Actually hear her voice, since I couldn’t remember it; find out what she’d liked, what she hadn’t; if there
was anything she wished we could have done together; anything she wanted to say to me . . .

  “I’ll follow her. You can stay here.” I squeezed Elin’s hand again before walking across the grass.

  “Aura, wait.” I could practically hear Elin’s eyes roll as her hand-painted shoes pounded across the grass. “Of course I’m coming with you.”

  “You don’t have to,” I argued. “The Bridger’s been watching me for a while. She probably wants to talk alone.”

  “No,” Elin countered. “Friends don’t send friends into potentially hostile territory without backup.”

  I shot her a sideways glance.

  “What?” She shrugged. “There’s no rule that says I can’t read your Verge textbooks. You leave them on your desk.”

  “Fair enough. Come on.” I raced across the quad with Elin on my heels. At the edge of the grass, I pulled the ivy covering the wall to the side and ducked through the hidden door. The Bridger stood at the edge of the woods, her straight black hair hanging over her shoulders. When she saw us, she turned on one knee-high boot, and shuffled into the woods. Her regulation pleated skirt barely moved against her black tights as she ploughed ahead. She was either really graceful, or really good at trying to blend in.

  “Excuse me,” I called after her. Elin shot me another worried look. I wasn’t sure I blamed her—following a stranger into the forest while Alfheim was subjected regular portal checks for enemy infiltration, and the Kongelig made a habit of torching civic monuments, wasn’t the most prudent plan. “Could we talk out here?”

  The Bridger didn’t acknowledge my words. She kept walking until I could barely make out her shadow.

  Elin let out a sigh. “We’re going after her, aren’t we?”

  “Guess so,” I said.

  We began a steady march through the trees, with leaves and branches crunching beneath our feet. Every once in a while, we caught a glimpse of the Bridger’s khaki skirt, and we picked up our pace so we didn’t lose her completely. She moved through the woods, pausing when she came to the far edge of the forest. When she looked over her shoulder again, the fading rays of the sun lined her silhouette as if she glowed. She raised one arm, touched a knot on the base of a white-trunked tree, and stepped into the meadow on the other side of the forest. As her feet made contact with the grass, she disappeared.

  What. The. Actual. Helheim?

  Elin’s nails dug into my forearm. “Did you see that?”

  “Maybe we should turn back,” I hedged. Yes, I wanted to know where the crystal was so we could save Elin’s mom—if the Bridger could even tell us that. But I wanted to make it to seventeen, more.

  “No way. If that tree grants invisibility powers, I want in.” Elin tugged on my arm, and I reluctantly followed. When we reached the white tree, Elin bent to touch the knob.

  “Nothing happened,” I whispered.

  “Maybe the invisibility is tied to the ground. The Bridger walked onto the grass before she disappeared, right?” Elin drew a slow breath.

  “Right.” I nodded. If someone had told me two months ago that I’d be following a spirit-channeling goth elf with invisibility powers on a wild goose chase to maybe get some information about a stolen crystal on an alien planet, I’d have called them insane.

  Now I just called it Tuesday.

  “Hold my hand.” Elin clasped my palm. “One. Two. Three.”

  We stepped together into the meadow.

  “Nothing happened,” I whispered again. “Maybe the—good gods, what is that?”

  The ground beneath me shook with an intensity that matched my immediate surge of panic. I threw my arms around Elin, biting down on my bottom lip to silence my escaping scream. We clung to each other as the ripple passed through our feet, up our legs, along our spines, and through our heads. In an instant the meadow disappeared, replaced by a thick, deciduous forest. We were in a fresh sea of hundred-foot-tall trees, and when I looked back, a seamless line marked the former border of the forest. Trees blended into trees, as if we were simply in an extension of the woods we’d been in moments before. How was Alfheim still finding new ways to surprise me?

  “Look.” Elin pointed to a faraway figure. The pale skirt of the black-haired girl moved slightly as she pivoted to make sure we were still following her. She turned quickly, continuing on her path.

  “Come on.” I marched determinedly forward, following the Bridger past a decrepit cabin engulfed by an ambitious berry bush, over a log bridging a wide stream, and under a fallen tree. I was fairly positive we’d walked a good mile before the Bridger stopped in a clearing. Towering sequoia-like trees with glittery silver needles rose in a circle around her, and the forest floor was coated in ferns, low plants, yellow flowers, and a thick moss that crawled over every stagnant surface. The butterflies in my back nudged at my shoulder blades, and I immediately went into Verge mode, scanning the area for threats. But despite the insanity of my situation, nothing in my surroundings struck me as even remotely dangerous. If anything, there was something—or someone—I knew in this space. But what? Or who?

  “There’s something here . . . it feels familiar,” I whispered.

  The Bridger nodded.

  “But I’ve never been in the . . .” I fumbled for the words. “In the, uh, invisible forest?”

  The Bridger offered a shy smile. “We call it The Cloak.”

  “Why did you bring us here?” Elin planted her hands on her hips. “What do you want from Aura?”

  The Bridger studied Elin’s gaunt face, tight fists, and defensive stance. “I don’t want anything from Aura,” she said in a gentle voice. “But someone on the other side has something to share with her.”

  My heart pounded beneath my ribcage. “So, you can talk to spirits?”

  The Bridger shook her head. “I don’t talk to them. They talk to me.”

  “Sure.” Elin raised her chin bravely. But she rubbed her fingertips together—something she only did when she was nervous.

  The Bridger frowned. “If you’re going to be negative, you might as well leave. He won’t talk to me if he doesn’t feel safe.

  “He?” Elin looked over her shoulder. “Who is talking to you? Is he talking to you right now?”

  “He’s been talking to me for a while—ever since you showed up in this realm.” The Bridger dug the toe of her boot into the ground. Her soft voice quivered as she met my eyes. “Your dad is here, Aura. And he really wants to meet you.”

  Chapter 14

  “MY DAD? HERE?” I whipped around so quickly, the end of my ponytail slapped my face. “Where?”

  The Bridger’s eyes danced with amusement. “He’s behind you. Standing in front of that tree.”

  I spun around. My heart thundered against my ribcage as I stared at the thick trunk of a silver-needled evergreen. Somewhere over there was my dad. My dad—a man I’d never met, whose name I didn’t know. I’d never even seen a picture of him, though I’d imagined him thousands of times. In my imagination, he was tall; a sandy-haired light elf, with twinkling eyes and a booming laugh that filled an entire room with joy. When I’d grown older, and Signy told me my dad had been an off-worlder, I’d altered his race from light elf to human—because obviously, I was too tall to be half dwarf, and Asgard would have claimed me if I was a demigod. But I never had any way of knowing if my fantasies were close to reality. By the time my mom summoned Signy to take me to Midgard, the dark elves had already murdered my father. And my mother died before she could tell Signy who he was, which meant I’d grown up knowing nothing of my dad.

  Until now.

  My heart ratcheted in my chest, nerves flooding my body as my head drowned in a sea of questions. What was my dad like? Where was he from? What did he think of me?

  “Aura.” Elin placed her hand on my arm to steady me. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. My fingers shook as I ran them over my blazer to smooth it.

  “He’s just as nervous to meet you,” the Bridger said
softly. Her eyes met mine in a moment of understanding.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Wynter.” She held out a hand and we shook. “I’d ask yours, but your dad already told me.”

  “Well, I’m Elin.” My best friend raised an arm. “And if you or Aura’s dad have any intention of hurting her, then you should know—”

  “I told you before that if you continued to act this way, I’d ask you to leave.” Wynter kept her voice gentle, but her eyes belied her seriousness. “Negativity renders bridgings ineffective.”

  “I trust her,” I whispered to Elin.

  “Why? You don’t know her.”

  “I know, but . . .” My blood beat a frenzied cadence through my veins as I closed my eyes and tried to read the room. I felt my friend’s protective energy, Wynter’s compassion, and a third, unfamiliar presence that was a mixture of pride and nerves. Was that my father? My father!

  Maybe I wasn’t as bad at this whole Empati thing as I thought.

  “We’re okay,” I assured Elin, as I opened my eyes. “Trust me.”

  Elin set her jaw. “Fine. But if that girl tries anything funny, I’m going ninja warrior on her butt.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “If you two are done, Kegoth would like a word.” Wynter tilted her head toward the tree.

  “Kegoth,” I whispered. My father’s name was Kegoth.

  Wynter walked over to the tree and stood in front of a cluster of glittery white flowers that were shaped like lilies. Lilies. I studied the ground, noticing for the first time that the clearing was absolutely covered in them. Of course. These may have been more sparkly than the Midgard variety, but Alfheim’s counterpart bore a striking resemblance to my mom’s namesake bloom. My dad must have chosen this spot to honor her.

  To honor our family.

  My breath hitched as Wynter raised her left hand to the tree. With her right, she moved her fingers in a slow circle, as if she was turning the dial on a stove. A blue luminescence flickered in front of the tree, where a grainy image appeared in the light. It shifted slowly into focus, so that soon I made out the figure of a man. He was definitely tall—easily six and a half feet, if not seven, with dark hair and eyes that sparkled with joy. His lips parted in the same jubilant grin I got whenever Signy baked me a cake, or Elin made me laugh. For the first time in my life, I was looking at my father.