by J. M. Briggs
Brokkr was a smith and a very good one. Not as gifted as he was of course, but the Dvergr was very impressive. Ever since they’d helped him escape from the Dark Elves tunnels he’d been all but locked up in Thor’s forge. It was a bit small for the two of them even with Brokkr’s small size. They needed to make another forge for him to work in as Brokkr wasn’t exactly helping to meet the village’s needs right now. He was making weapons, lots of weapons, but his father had been all too happy to remind him that life went on.
Yet while he could still see the collection of wooden homes and small work yards, Thor couldn’t deny that the village had been changed by the recent events. When he’d been a child there had been no need for the half circle of long wooden houses to be enclosed by a wall, but the Dark Elves had made it necessary. The twisted and poisoned Sídhe creatures that had forced their way into his world were paying for it dearly. Yet, they’d still gotten into the Iron Realm despite the Iron Gates and the best efforts of Merlin, Morgana, and this previous Iron Soul life Arto. Thor didn’t think much of his first life whose life’s work had failed, but would never say such to Morgana.
He shook his head and pushed himself off the stones to his feet. Dusting off his tunic, Thor reached up to check that his hair was still neat. It needed a good combing when he got home but was clean enough. Wringing his hands for a moment, Thor debated heading for home or seeing if he could take back his forge from Brokkr. The latter option was certainly preferable but seemed unlikely as the Dvergr was throwing himself into work with a ferocity that astonished him. He chuckled under his breath, rested his right arm on the hammer and started down the hill.
It didn’t take him long. Thor’s feet were familiar with the landscape surrounding his home. As a boy, he’d relished any chance he had to flee the village for a short time and explore. He’d gotten into plenty of trouble, such as the time he’d fallen into a deep crevice in the mountain. Shuddering, Thor pushed the memory aside even as his stomach tightened at both that incident and the worry that he’d be returning underground soon to face the Dark Elves. Their great weakness to the sun forced them to stay in the caverns beneath the mountains in a twisted little realm that his father had already begun to call Svartalfheim.
Thor paused at the doorway of the long wooden house he shared with his family. The smell of the livestock hung thick in the air and the pounded dirt floor beneath his feet was stable and familiar. However, his stomach turned a little as he caught sight of the expressions on the faces of his father and brother. For a moment no one said anything as his brother Arvid’s eyes dropped to the hammer hanging on his belt. By some instinct, Thor shifted his hand over the hammer and gave his brother and father a small smile. He walked over to one of the long wooden benches that lined the walls of the house and quickly located a large bowl of water beside a carved comb.
He started by splashing some water on his face and did his best to ignore the heavy gaze of his father and brother on him. Combing out his long red hair and carefully cleaning his short red beard, Thor took several deep breaths to calm down. His family meant well. He knew that of course. They couldn’t understand how it felt, what it was like to feel the power of the world rushing up through you and making your visions real. How could they even begin to comprehend being a mage and knowing that the world depended on your power and your choices? Releasing a shaky breath, Thor nodded to himself and splashed some of the cold water on his face to ensure the grime of the day was gone. He studied his hand for a moment. They were strong hands and showed signs of his work as a smith. There were small burns scattered about on his palms and the backs of his hands and up his arm. There were scattered cuts from his earlier days when he hadn’t been so careful sharpening the new blades and axe heads. These were good strong smith hands and now they were the hands of the Iron Soul.
Thor didn’t even bother trying to temper his sense of pride. He didn’t understand why he should. He had power and a stronger connection to the Iron Realm than even Merlin and Morgana. He’d poured so much magic through his hammer that he’d imbued it with great power. It was a bit embarrassing that he hadn’t realized the significance of what he had created at first. A strange thing for a blacksmith.
“Thor?” his father called, breaking the silence hanging in the longhouse.
“No, Father, not tonight,” Thor said. “Brokkr is just fine where he is.”
“Thor,” his father tried again. “Surely you can understand our hesitation. Those beings aren’t human. That… thing using your forge, just beyond this wall, is not of this world!”
“We’re just concerned that you haven’t thought through all the repercussions of these actions.” Arvid laid a calming hand on their father’s arm.
“I understand that you’re worried.” Thor schooled his features into a neutral expression even as his hand moved to touch the warm metal of his hammer. “And you are right to be. This is all very strange and dangerous, but it is necessary.”
“Why?” His father straightened up in challenge. “The Dark Elves attacked first, yes, that’s true, but since then they’d kept to their caves. They can have the below and us the surface.”
“You can’t be serious?” Thor demanded, pleased to note that his brother looked a touch alarmed by their father’s suggestion. “They are not shifting to peace, Father, they are rallying themselves and preparing for war!”
“Thor,” his father half scolded-half scoffed. “Do you imagine that you are going to save the world? That you will stop these Dark Elves?”
“Yes.” Thor squared his shoulders. “With the help of Odin, Sif, Frea, Merlin, and Morgana. I have allies, Father. It isn’t some impossible task.”
“It sounds impossible,” Arvid muttered giving Thor a doubtful look. “What strategy do you have?”
“Brokkr is going to help us.” Thor didn’t like the tone of the conversation and his patience was slipping away. “He’s been in the tunnels. His people are still being held there.”
His father and brother exchanged a look and Thor pushed down a flush of anger. They’d clearly been speaking together and planning how this conversation should go. Did they honestly think that just ignoring the Dark Elves was the answer?
“What would you have me do?” Thor demanded. Distantly, he heard the roll of thunder as his fingers tightened around the hammer. “What is your solution, Father? Just ignore them. Their very presence has an impact on our world!”
“So do those other creatures,” his father said. Arvid made a sharp move to step between them. Both Thor and his father ignored him. “The gods!”
“They aren’t gods,” Thor heard himself say with a scoffing laugh that surprised him. He was channeling Morgana now. “And yes they impact our world’s magic, but they make an effort to remain peaceful.”
“Thor!” Merlin’s voice snapped from the doorway behind him, making Thor hiss in alarm at the realization that the other mage had snuck in behind him. “Calm down!” Merlin ordered and Thor spun to face him just as a flash of lightning illuminated the house. “You’re calling up a storm.”
Blinking, Thor’s anger and frustration vanished as he listened to the howl of the wind. He’d heard the thunder before but suddenly realized that he could smell the scent of lightning in the air and hear rain beginning to pound down on the roof. Merlin’s shoulders were wet and the man’s curly hair was flattened to his head. He looked down, surprised to find that at some point he’d pulled the Iron Hammer from the loop on his belt and was grasping it tightly.
“You need to calm down,” Merlin tried again as he gestured to the hammer in Thor’s hand. “When you hold that… well, its ability to call a storm seems very tied to your mental state.”
“You see?” Thor looked back at his father and brother with a slight smirk. “I hardly have a choice in the matter.”
The thunderous expression on his father’s face that faded into worried resignation made Thor hesitate. He offered his father and brother a quick nod before turning and striding to t
he door. Merlin stepped aside to allow him to move out into the cooling evening air. Sucking in a deep breath, Thor walked further from the house as dark clouds churned above them.
“Your family means well,” Merlin murmured. Thunder rolled in the distance after a sharp crack. “This is never easy.”
“What was your family like?” Thor asked, grasping for something to get his mind off his own storming emotions and being careful to keep his hand off of the Iron Hammer.
“My mother was a priestess.” Merlin’s staff hit the ground as they moved through the rain which was easing quickly. “She was not a mage, but was capable of using some magic through rituals.”
“And your father?”
There was a long pause and Merlin coughed lightly. Thor was certain that there wasn’t going to be an answer even as he perked up in curiosity at Merlin’s reaction. Morgana insisted that they were quite old so how would it possibly matter.
“My father was a Sídhe Rider,” Merlin said with a sigh. “My birth was very unusual in that regard, normally no children are produced from such a… union.” Shaking his head, Merlin didn’t look at him and added, “Needless to say I have no idea of which individual Síd it was. I suppose I might have siblings in Sídhean, but I suspect that any Sídhe connected with me have long since been executed.”
Thor had not expected that answer and dozens of questions flew to his mind, but he could tell it was a dangerous subject. Deciding not to think about it, Thor drummed his fingers on the leather wrapping of his hammer. He could feel the hum of the magic through it and focused on that. With a nod to Merlin, he stepped into the house he shared with Morgana and braced himself for a lecture.
4
Sense of Dread
Alex had never spent time in Eugene. It was the sort of town that she’d driven through with her family on trips before and maybe stopped for lunch, but nothing more than that. Now she found herself at Bran’s small house that was located right behind his family’s bakery near one of the major streets of the town. The smells of the bakery seemed to have seeped into the wood walls of the one-story green house because Alex would have sworn that she smelled fresh sweet rolls as they sat in the living room. Under better circumstances, she’d have teased Bran about growing up in a place that smelled like this all the time, but there was a nagging sense of worry that she couldn’t shake.
It was a bit odd to be popping in for a visit with Bran’s mother after all but driving through Portland that morning without giving Lance a chance to see his own family. They’d stopped only long enough to cast the blood spell and thankfully that had been enough for Lance. With a little luck, they’d be back in Ravenslake tonight and get some news from Morgana. Her fingers twitched just at the thought. She desperately hoped that their theory that the Iron Hammer made by her previous life Thor would be able to break the connection between the dark power of the Iron Chain and the enslaved Sídhe creatures.
Just thinking about it made Alex feel ill. She could remember the confusion when she’d first pulled on the magical connection only to use the power to destroy it a few moments later. The knowledge now that she’d killed something that had just been freed from a spell was bitter. No wonder one of them in Wales had asked her what she’d wrought. Her previous life as a slave ship captain had created something truly horrible with his low levels of magic, but it was enough that it as haunting them now. The knot in her stomach tightened and Alex leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees in an attempt to suppress the discomfort.
“Oh, Bran,” a high sweet voice called. “Help me with these sandwiches. You mustn’t be a poor host!”
Alex was pulled from her darker thoughts with relief and looked up to see Bran rushing into the kitchen just off the small living room. He returned only a moment later with a large jug of bright red punch and a stack of glasses. With an amused smile, he set them on the small table that all but filled the space between the long couch beneath the window, the love seat, and the pair of armchairs stuffed into a small nook in front of a massive bookcase. Alex offered Bran a smile as he pushed a loose strand of his brown hair out of his face.
“I need a haircut,” he muttered before sitting down on the couch.
“Right there with you, bro.” Aiden tugged at a longer strand of his own dark brown hair that was hanging into his face. “Maybe we should do what Lance does and just get a buzz cut.”
Lance raised a dark eyebrow at them and chuckled from his place on the loveseat next to Jenny. “I’m not sure you two could pull it off.”
Soft laughter from the doorway made Alex look towards the kitchen doorway as Bran’s mother entered. Jinsung Fisher was a blend of adorable and terrifying. The small pretty Asian woman with gray beginning to appear in her hair and warm brown eyes was apparently a fierce hugger. While she wasn’t aware of the full story about magic, she knew enough to be grateful for her son’s leg being healed. She set the tray of sandwiches down on the coffee table next to the jug of punch with a beaming smile before sitting down on the couch next to her son.
“It is so nice that you all stopped by for a visit,” Jinsung said. “I haven’t seen you since that BBQ that Aiden’s parents hosted.” She looked over to Aiden and asked, “How is your family? That scare you had at Christmas must have been horrible for them.”
“It was,” Aiden agreed. “But they’re doing alright now.”
“It’s just horrible, something no parent should go through,” Jinsung insisted with a pained expression before turning her gaze towards Jenny and Lance. “And now I get to meet your other friends.” She paused and glanced at Bran asking, “Are they…”
“No,” Jenny said. “We’re not mages, nonmagical friends.”
“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “We’re just traveling with them while they do the protection spells.” Bran’s eyes widened, but Lance didn’t catch the look. “We just finished the one here before we came over.”
“A protection spell?” Bran’s mother straightened up and looked at her son with alarmed eyes. “Why is that necessary?”
“It’s just a precaution Mom,” Bran said quickly. “We aren’t the only beings with magic and some may react violently towards us or our families.”
A frown appeared on Jinsung’s face and her eyes darted over to the mantle of the fireplace where a photograph of a man, who had a strong resemblance to Bran, and a folded American flag were displayed. Bran shifted uncomfortably and Alex was reminded of why Bran hadn’t wanted to tell his mother about the magical war, the Sídhe or Arthur. She’d already lost her husband to a human war and would no doubt be terrified of losing her son to a magical one. Lance seemed to catch on and gave Bran an apologetic look.
“I just want the peace of mind of knowing there is a protective spell around you,” Bran assured her, taking her hands with a forced smile. “And there is one in Ravenslake so you don’t need to worry.”
“I suppose.” Jinsung gave her a son a searching look. Her eyes dropped to his leg and she nodded. “Well it can’t be bad, can it? That vision you had in the car saved our lives and now your leg is healed.” Her smile returned and she reached over to pat her son’s cheek. “Are you going to play soccer again?”
“Maybe, I’m going to start with fencing club next year actually,” Bran replied with a smile. “All the others are in it… well, not Lance and Jenny.”
“I’ll probably join next year,” Lance said with a shrug. “Won’t be able to do much during football season, but it sounds like a good idea.”
“I’ve got spirit squad,” Jenny added with a small smile towards Lance. “But yeah it might be nice for the spring.”
Alex straightened up and fought back a smile. They hadn’t talked about next year and last time it had come up with Jenny the other girl had been talking about transferring. She’d tried not to let the idea bother her. After all, Jenny and Lance had been through a lot the last few years. As the reincarnations of Gwenyvar and Luegáed, the inspirations for the story of Guinevere and Lancelot, they’
d been used by Arthur as part of his charade that he was the Iron Soul. The news that Jenny was considering staying in Ravenslake made Alex shiver in relief. Her former roommate caught her eye and offered her a small smile, probably aware of her reaction to the announcement.
They settled into a calm conversation about the rest of the year and plans for next year. It was going to be their junior year, but Alex was having trouble processing that fact. In some ways, it seemed like an eternity ago that she had started college with concerns about making friends and doing well. That had fallen apart quickly with much greater problems taking its place. Alex rubbed her hand over the thin pale red mark left from her casting the blood spell earlier. It had been even easier this time and yet there was a sense of foreboding that she couldn’t pinpoint.
Shifting uneasily, Alex bit her bottom lip before licking it again. She could already feel them becoming chapped, but couldn’t explain the worry weighing down on her. Rationally she could connect it to the odd peace they’d had the last couple of days. Since Arthur’s large-scale attack and their decision to protect their home cities nothing unexpected had happened. Yet she didn’t have the sense that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, this was more like something was tugging at the corner of her mind, like something fluttering around in the corner of her eye. It was driving her crazy and she was at a loss.
