by S. T. Bende
“Brynn! Get down!” Tyr’s roar pierced the air, and I threw myself onto the charred dirt. A flash of orange and a burst of heat let me know I’d been this close to getting singed by an angry dragon.
Again.
“Come on,” I muttered, my thumb jamming the button in a frenetic repetition. On my twentieth attempt, a steady light burst from the top of the closer. It was so strong I snapped my eyes closed, grimacing as the bright beam seared through my lids.
“Hurry up, sötnos! Getting kind of—ouch!” Henrik’s yelp set my teeth on edge. “Kind of burned over here!”
“I’m working on it!” I called. My teeth ground together, and I dug my elbow into the soot, careful to keep the closer as far from my body as possible. The light was meant to be a hologram—not a laser. Gods only knew what it would do to my skin if I angled it the wrong way.
I forced my eyelids open and thrust the closer in the general direction of the portal. The green pulse that shot from the container was too intense for me to see around, and I seriously hoped it was shooting at its intended target.
“Look out, Brynn!” Tyr roared again.
Heat seared my back. I cried out in pain. It took everything I had to retain control of the device as I rolled on my back to extinguish the blaze.
“Get that dragon away from me!” I screamed.
“Just close the förbaskat portal already!” Tyr yelled back.
“I. Am. Trying!”
A coppery taste filled my mouth as my molars sank into my cheek. Gripping the closer with both hands, I wrenched it to the side and glimpsed the door in the sky. It was only partially open now, with flames lapping around its edges. A barbed tail whipped thorough the frame, extending the opening another foot. The doorway shook as the owner of the tail slammed into it, then raised its scaly head and shot a massive stream of fire toward me. I flung myself to the side, ignoring the rock that pierced the skin atop my bicep and rolling with my arms outstretched so as not to trade dragon burns for laser ones.
“Brynn!” Henrik hollered.
“On it!”
I raised my hands and angled the closer directly at the door. The dragon pushed its head through the frame, but before it could open its mouth again, the closer’s green light morphed into a rectangle. It shimmered, adjusting to match the specs of the portal, then surged forward. Thank gods.
Light coated the door, the dragon, and the lingering sparks in a thick goo that hardened before emitting one final flash. The structure converged on itself, shrinking to the size of a golf ball—not the planned-for pebble, but hey, who didn’t love a fix-it project? With a plink, the ball dropped to the blackened ground, all trace of the portal it had once been contained within its tiny sphere.
Mission accomplished. Now to retrieve the evidence.
I transferred the closer to my other hand, and took off. As I ran toward the pile of soot where the golf ball had fallen, I plucked the stone from my shoulder. A thick red ooze quickly coated my jacket, and I pressed my palm to the wound. My injury would heal itself quickly enough, but right then it hurt like a mother. Stupid dragon.
A high-pitched shriek and prolonged gurgle from behind made me turn my head. The knot in my gut released infinitesimally at the sight of Tyr atop a slain dragon.
“Mine’s dead,” he said unceremoniously. I kept running as Tyr withdrew his dripping sword and charged toward the spot where Henrik battled his reptilian attacker. “Don’t worry, Andersson. I’ll pick up your slack.”
The roar of an angry beast muffled Henrik’s retort. As much as I loved watching my man literally slay dragons, I needed to finish my job so I could help the guys with theirs—and if need be, evacuate the misguided teenager who was still breathing fire onto that poor baby dragon.
“Okay, little ball. Where are you?” My gaze roamed the ground until it came to rest on a green-tinted sphere slightly buried beneath black ash. “Gotcha.”
I snatched up what was left of the portal, and popped the hatch on the closer. The ball fit snugly inside, and I sealed the door shut, pressing my thumb to the latch to activate the fingerprint seal we’d installed. Odin forbid this thing fell into the wrong hands, Henrik and I hadn’t wanted anyone not on our team to gain access to it. Tyr, Henrik, Forse, and I were cleared for operation. If we all lost our left thumbs, the worlds were out of luck.
I shoved the closer into the pocket of my cargos and spun on one heel, intending to help Henrik and Tyr take down the remaining dragon. But the boys had the situation in hand—Henrik’s broadsword made one decisive swipe through the creature’s neck, slicing its scales and relieving the reptile of its head. Tyr’s repeated stabs to its chest were suddenly rendered moot.
“Hey, War. I think it’s dead,” I called out.
Tyr served up his grunt with an award-winning glare.
“Seriously. It’s hard to stay alive without your head,” I pressed.
“But not impossible,” Tyr countered.
Point, Fredriksen. We’d definitely seen stranger things.
“Heartbeat’s gone, kille. That’s both of them.” Henrik wiped his blood-soaked sword on the dragon’s cheek before stepping back to apprise our handiwork.
The dragons were dead and the portal was contained…but the meadow now boasted six additional bonfires, and the lone tree we’d spotted on arrival was no more. Whoever unleashed the beasts on Alfheim hadn’t intended to leave any survivors.
Henrik lifted his head. “Do we know who we’re dealing with?”
I closed the gap between me and the boys while Tyr jumped off the headless corpse. He raised his palms to the waterfall, and redirected the water so it extinguished the blazes lighting up the landscape.
I raised one eyebrow. “Showoff.”
“Jealousy’s not your best look.” Tyr winked. “And no idea. I’m assuming Hymir’s behind it, but Odin only knows where he’s hiding out. And like we said, these dragons definitely weren’t from Nidavellir. Still…”
Almost as one, our gazes swept toward Hyro. She still hovered over the small dragon, but at least she’d stopped breathing fire on it.
Finally.
“Hyro.” Henrik’s boots kicked up soot as he marched to the fire giant’s side. “We need to get you out of here. We’ll, uh, take care of that dragon.”
“You can’t kill it! I fixed it.” Hyro blinked up at Henrik with wide eyes. “It’s good now!”
“Excuse me?” Henrik and I shared a look. Crazy teenager said what now?
“I burned the evil out of it.” Hyro drew her shoulders back, her chest lifting.
“That’s not how evil works,” Henrik offered gently.
“It is with feyndrals! When they’re young, they don’t have an affiliation—light or dark. They get to choose for themselves. Most of them go dark because, well, if you lived in Svartalfheim you’d go with the only thing you ever saw too, right? But—”
“Svartalfheim? There aren’t dragons in Svartalfheim anymore.” Tyr’s authoritative tone carried a slight question. There hadn’t been native dragons in Svartalfheim in recent history—Asgard had wiped them out during a war some centuries ago, though the occasional rogue reptile made it in via a portal…or was snuck in alongside a particularly vicious perp. But if any of the native species had survived…if they’d gone into hiding…
“Hyro, how do you know about feyndrals? They’ve been extinct since way before you were born.” Probably. I still hadn’t quite worked out the math on how fire giants aged.
“Two came through Muspelheim when I was really young.” Hyro stroked the red neck of the little dragon beside her. “My parents took me to the forest to see their nest. They told me how rare they were, and that the dragons would be in danger if I told anyone they were there—dragon scales were worth a lot of money on my old realm. And they had three eggs…”
As touching as Hyro’s story was, I needed to stop her from inciting some kind of a war with the feyndrals—if they even existed. We’d already killed two adults—granted, i
t had been in self-defense. But if Hyro was wrong about these creatures having the agency to choose a side, flambéing a baby definitely wouldn’t help us keep the peace.
“Why do you think you can burn evil out of that dragon?” I asked gently.
“My parents told me I could.” Hyro’s eyes shone with such trust and innocence, for a moment I wanted to wrap her in a hug. Her parents had been killed a few years back in a volcanic explosion. She’d lived on her own in the forests of Muspelheim until our team found her and relocated her to Alfheim. She rarely spoke of her family—the pain of losing them was still too raw. And while I hated to disabuse her of one of her memories, I couldn’t have her burning baby dragons in a misguided attempt to save them from themselves.
Henrik caught my eye, and I nodded.
“Listen, Hyro.” He dropped to his knees so he could look her in the eye. “My parents told me a lot of things when I was young, too. But most of the stories they told me were just that—stories. Do you think maybe your parents were trying to make you feel better about those baby dragons you saw? I mean, since feyndrals are evil and all, your folks probably had to kill the monsters to protect you from—ow!”
Henrik rubbed the elbow I’d just kicked.
“Tact, Andersson,” I hissed.
But Hyro shook her head emphatically. “My parents didn’t kill the babies. When Surtr’s guards visited the forest a few days later, we saw the feyndrals take to the sky to defend their nest. The guards killed them almost instantly, and my parents ordered me to stay in our house while they went to check on the babies. Sure enough, the guards weren’t smart enough to see why the feyndrals attacked them—and they never realized they were protecting their young. My parents kept the babies in our house for as long as they could, and when they were old enough to pick an affiliation, two chose the light while the third chose the darkness. My dad was a healer, and he showed me how to isolate the dark threads trying to root in a soul, then burn them out. Like I just did with this guy.”
We all stared at the small dragon lying peacefully on the ground. He’d nestled his head lovingly in Hyro’s lap, and his round belly rose and fell with deep breaths of sleep.
“What happened to the babies after that?” I asked.
“They couldn’t stay on Muspelheim—the guards would have found them and killed them for their scales. When they were big enough, my dad contacted a friend in Svartalfheim. That was the feyndrals’ home world before they went—well, before we all thought they went—extinct. Dad got the babies off-realm, and apparently, there were others like them.”
“Others who just tried to cook us for lunch,” Henrik grumbled.
“It wasn’t their fault! They grew up in the dark realm—they’d never seen any other way of being. But this guy…I can show him how to be good. Honest.” Hyro looked lovingly at the now-snoring dragon in her lap. Tiny puffs of smoke burst from his nose on each exhale. It was kind of cute.
“That’s a big responsibility,” Tyr cautioned. He stepped closer to Hyro, his broadsword still drawn.
“I can handle it.” Hyro raised her chin. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
Henrik and I exchanged another look. We’d known the älva of Alfheim had been less than thrilled to have a fire giant planted in their midst, but I’d thought the meadow elves had been pretty welcoming. Even so, it was clear Hyro was lonely. And now she’d found a pet…
“Okay, here’s the deal.” I rubbed the stiffness in my neck. “Hyro, you can keep the dragon if you teach it to be on our team. We’re going to need all hands on deck now that we’ve got random portals from Svartalfheim popping up in friendly realms.”
Henrik reached for my neck, replacing my hand with his own and pressing lightly. My tension ebbed. “Seriously.”
“Are you sure you can handle this?” Tyr pressed.
“I can handle it,” Hyro asserted. “I promise.”
I nodded. “Tyr, we’re good here—you can go debrief Odin. Henrik and I will stick around and make sure everything’s secure. We’ll relocate Hyro somewhere closer to the meadow elves’ village, and make sure they administer extra doses of, uh, goodness to…are you going to name the dragon?”
“Marshmallow,” Hyro said without hesitation.
“Marshmallow?” Tyr raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. His little breaths look like marshmallows.”
I watched the white puffs coming from the dragon’s nose. Hyro wasn’t wrong. “Right. So you and Marshmallow will come with us. We’ll get you settled in a new place, since this one’s no longer secure—or habitable—and then we’ll take off. Did any of your stuff survive this fire?”
“I moved it all behind the waterfall,” Hyro said. “Forse warned me Ragnarok was triggered, so I figured better safe than sorry.”
“He did?” That was news to me. I hadn’t realized he’d continued running communications while grieving the loss of his father. That selflessness had probably saved Hyro’s life.
It had definitely saved her stuff.
“Okay, grab your things, and we’ll get you relocated. Tyr, that okay?”
“Yes.” War nodded curtly. “I’ll return from Asgard as soon as I can. But hurry. I don’t like Mia being unattended for this long. Especially with everything going on.”
“Agreed.” Henrik eyed the snoring reptile on the ground. “Do we have to pick it up, or…”
“If you guys grab my stuff, I’ll carry him. Everything’s just behind the waterfall.” Hyro pointed.
Henrik and I hurried to the water, returning quickly with far less than we’d expected. “We only found the two bags,” I apologized. “If you tell us where the rest of it is we can—”
“You got it all.” Hyro lifted the dragon in her arms and cradled him while she walked.
I raised an eyebrow at Henrik. “You only have two bags?”
Hyro’s shoulders rose and fell. Whether it had been a shrug or a sigh, I couldn’t tell.
“Hurry,” Tyr called after us.
“We will,” I promised.
As Henrik and I followed Hyro over the charred field toward the wooded village where the meadow elves had lived for centuries, I made myself another promise. We’d failed Hyro when we relocated her. Once Ragnarok was behind us, I was going to find her the best home in all the realms—one where she could have a friend-family every bit as wonderful as ours. She’d just stripped the darkness from a dragon, for Odin’s sake. She deserved that much…and more.
I would find a way to give it to her.
CHAPTER SIX
FREYA
DON’T PANIC. JUST DON’T panic.
“So, you’re saying…what exactly?” I gripped the arms of my chair, as if digging my fingertips into the leather would down the tornado of fear in my gut. Lornara hadn’t given an outright diagnosis yet. My anxiety was ungrounded.
For now.
Alfheim’s High Healer pursed her lips. “What I’m saying…well…” Her wings fluttered as she turned to shoot Elsa a pleading look. “Maybe you can explain it.”
Elsa knelt so her white-blond head was level with Lornara’s raven curls. Both wore identical expressions of concern. Elsa opened her mouth, her clear blue eyes not quite meeting mine. “The thing is…uh…”
This was ridiculous. “Just tell me if I’m dying or not.”
Elsa’s sharp inhale ricocheted across my bedroom. “You’re not dying,” she said vehemently.
“But you’re not thriving, either,” Lornara cautioned. “Reach into your heart again—are there any reserves of love there?”
I checked my heart for the third time in as many minutes. The well had been mostly dry since the pool tournament, when I’d been so excited to be able to send something, anything, to Forse. Now…“Still just a few drops.”
“Mmm.” Lornara opened my palm and removed the gold–orange stone she’d instructed me to grasp. “And tell me truthfully, have you felt any different since we connected you with this?”
“No,”
I admitted. “Sorry, Lornara. I know you think rocks are magical, but—”
“Crystals,” she corrected. “Crystals are healing—when the source of the injury is energetic, as I still believe yours to be.”
Right. And I could be fixed by squeezing the magic rock. If Brynn were here, she’d have rolled her eyes with me.
“But she didn’t respond to the peach aventurine at all,” Elsa murmured. She pushed herself to her feet and paced at the foot of my bed. “I watched her centers—thought for sure the movement near the heart was a positive response. But whatever’s clouding it still hasn’t cleared, and if that stone didn’t work…and my cleansings, essence applications, and affirmations failed too…”
“You’re out of options,” I said dully. So, I was dying, after all.
“No. Not out. Try these.” Elsa shoved two more rocks into my hand. “I haven’t paired clear quartz and black tourmaline yet. The former should channel energy into the tourmaline, and clear any negativity or toxicity to maximize the pair’s healing capabilities.”
I wanted to retort that I was neither negative nor toxic, but Elsa’s eyes held such hope that I simply closed my lids and waited for the magic rocks to do…
Nothing. I loved Elsa, but this whole crystal thing was about as helpful as a scorned dwarf.
“How’s it going, Freya? Any shift at all?”
I shook my head. “None.”
“That’s not good,” Elsa whispered.
“So now we’re out of options.” I handed the not-so-magic rocks back to Elsa.
