“We’ll need to continue on,” I spoke, though my voice sounded tired and I held back a yawn. My muscles ached from the swim, and I was beginning to feel a sharp pain in my temple that was no doubt the beginning of a headache. “We can’t stay and relax. We have no time.”
A couple of groans came from the pile of sleepy goblins. “I get that,” Rose said. “Truly I do, but give us a moment. The water takes a lot out of us. You and Diaval are lucky. Even Seppo’s got the muscle strength of a particularly limp noodle right now.”
“You’re a limp noodle,” Seppo muttered.
“He’s not lying,” Soren said. “Running water is awful.”
“She’s right,” Diaval said, standing. “We don’t have time for this.”
“You weren’t affected the same way; you don’t get a vote.”
Diaval raised a finely shaped eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware we were voting.”
“Technically, Soren’s the king, so even if we were going to pull that card, Soren would come out on top,” Seppo said helpfully.
Diaval sent the poor goblin a withering glare for his effort.
“No,” Soren said, heaving himself up. “She’s right. We’ll feel better the farther away we are from the water, and we can’t relax on the banks of Helheim, anyway.”
Well, he was right about that. I scanned this side of the riverbank, trying to figure out where we possibly needed to go next and hoping that all it involved was walking and not fighting some infernal creature or passing another test of strength. Stag or not, I was pretty wiped out from my experience in the water, and my muscles felt like heavy lead.
Rosamund stood, shaking. “Can’t you feel it?” he asked. When we met eyes, I was shocked to see his pupils blown so large that they almost engulfed his entire iris. “We’ve got nowhere we need to go. No need to travel to any place. We’re already there. Anywhere we want to be. We’ve passed; we’re at the dwelling. If you look, you can see the roots.”
Anyone who remained on the ground stood with a new, burning fire as we looked at Rosamund with confusion in our faces. Even Seppo, who knew him better than anyone else, was confused at the blown-out pupils and rambling words that had come out of his boyfriend’s mouth.
Rosamund lurched forward, taking a step and then another before reaching his hand out.
There was a shimmer and the world surrounding us shook and turned. My feet nearly fell from under me when the glamour in front of us was physically forced open by Rosamund’s hands as he yanked and pulled it apart like a piece of tough meat from a bone.
“Rose—” Seppo said but that was all he had time to say as with a loud grunt a ripping sound sent shivers down my spine and the glamour faded away.
There was no river around us now, nothing but the fields of brown grass, and the massive roots of a tree where a skeletal goddess sat watching us with amusement on her half-rotten face. She was terrible and she was beautiful; somehow managing to be seductive with the side of her face that hadn’t gone to rot, the beautiful alabaster skin and a shining blue eye, the golden-white hair flowing down one side, tucked behind one ear with her milk-white hand and shimmering nails. And then the other side of her body, a hollowed-out corpse, shot through with rot, like a carcass that’d been picked nearly clean by dogs. Dead flesh hung from her face and her eye socket was dark and empty, other than the maggots crawling out of it.
The goddess lounged on the roots of the world tree, delight in her single shining eye. “Oh, I was wondering when it would hit you, dear brute,” she said with a laugh that managed to sound both like a hyena and tinkling bells.
Rose’s eyes slowly turned back their normal green, and I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing whatever had happened, it’d passed. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m past the age where it would’ve first developed. It’s impossible to have it now.”
Have what? I mouthed to Seppo, but all the halfling did was shrug and shake his head to indicate he too had no idea what his boyfriend was talking about.
“Did you not tell them?” Hel said, amusement in her tone. “Did you not tell them the truth of why you wanted to come?”
“I came to help my friends,” Rose growled. “And that’s what I’ll do.”
“But that’s not all you came for, right?” Her voice was an impossible dichotomy of soothing and taunting, soft and harsh, dark and light, like her own body.
“We all came for the same person,” Rose said, his growl a little deeper. “If I had personal reasons, those are my own.”
“Wait.” Seppo took a half step toward his boyfriend. “What do you mean? Rose?”
“Yeah,” Soren said, in a much less friendly tone than Seppo. “What do you mean?”
Diaval’s head tilted to the side like an interested cat, yet she said nothing.
Deep inside my gut, something churned. The feeling of not-right and darkness, anticipation of betrayal, the idea that one of my friends could have some ulterior motive … Had I grown too complacent? Had being the stag lulled me into some false sense of security? Out of the group, Rose was always the one with the littlest to share. He, like Diaval, didn’t participate on the Hunt, but like Diaval, he’d pledged his services after. He had an uncanny ability to nearly predict my moves before I made them in a fight, but swore it was years of talent, and had no family to speak of.
But there was something more, and my stomach lurched painfully as a shimmering spirit emerged, trapped in the roots of the world tree.
His face was haggard, his once-luscious blond hair limp and tangled, and his bones jutted out from his skin like a skeleton’s. His once-nice clothes had been torn and ripped almost to shreds, and there were bruises littering his skin. Some were dark blue, new and growing darker, while some were yellowing and fading. A large cut marred one of his cheeks and ruined the perfect skin he’d once possessed.
He gripped at the roots holding him in place as if they were iron bars, and they might’ve well been as they held him securely to his prison, some even running through him in painful penetrated areas where blood oozed and mixed with green sap.
This was the fate we’d elected to give him when we didn’t give his body funeral rights. This was the fate that Hel elected to give him for his deeds in his life. Slowly being consumed by the world tree, demolished until there was nothing left.
I wanted to throw up but was stopped in my tracks as Lydian’s catlike green eyes met mine and then slid right over to the staring figure of Rosamund.
“Hello, son.”
12
SINS OF THE FATHER
BLOOD SHOT LIKE frozen water through my veins. Son? Rosamund was Lydian’s son? My gaze bounced between the two of them. They resembled little of each other, Lydian being lean where Rosamund was stocky, and of course Rose had his telltale red hair. But the eyes … both men had the exact same color eyes in the exact same shape in their faces. That alone could be proof enough. It wasn’t like Rose was denying it.
From beside me, a low growl built up in Soren’s throat, and I grabbed his wrist, running my thumb over the fingernails that were slowly lengthening to claws in hopes that they reversed the transformation. Luckily, the soothing gesture worked, but who knew for how long. The upset wouldn’t get any better with claws out.
I glared at Lydian, who while still in his painful prison managed to look very amused with himself. The damn brute was impaled by thorns and still managed to rile up everyone in the group with his words without even being a threat to us physically. I took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my head that was becoming an ever-constant headache.
“You have no right to call me that,” Rosamund said, voice in a deep growl. He turned to Soren and me, green eyes pleading. “Believe me when I say there is no sort of relationship between the two of us, not in the way you think. Not in any way.” I wasn’t sure who was more upset in the moment, him or Soren.
Soren’s bloodlust was palpable, but even he could hear the truth in Rosamund’s words. The truth and the pain behind them. Blood or not, Lydian�
��s revelation held no type of positive emotion for Rose. No goblin could lie without the other one knowing, and both of them could tell he was speaking the truth. He couldn’t hide his true feelings.
“The only way that monster is my father is that one night he and my mother both had too much to drink. I’d barely ever laid eyes on the brute my entire life,” he said, voice rough. “My mother hates him. I’ve seen him maybe thrice in my entire existence, and it was never good. I’ve spoken to him personally once. The fact that he calls me son so casually makes me feel sick. I came here as a member of your guard. I joined your guard to protect you two, not for him.”
“That’s not fully true, though, is it?” Diaval asked quietly, for once all the emotion and teasing gone from her voice.
Rosamund shut his eyes tight.
“What does she mean, Rose?” Seppo asked, looking slightly like a hurt puppy.
Rosamund shot a glare at the goblin being slowly impaled by the roots of the world tree and the goddess sitting on the throne they made. “I bet you’re loving this.”
Lydian shrugged, wincing in pain as the movement ripped his skin. “I’ve been without amusement for far too long. And well, here it is for me right now. How can I not indulge?”
If we hadn’t needed the brute for our mission, I would’ve killed him a second time right then and there.
“I needed to see if it would happen,” Rosamund said after a moment. “They always say if latent abilities don’t wake after seeing the world tree, they never will … I needed to make sure…”
“And you are, now, aren’t you?” Lydian’s own voice was poisonous. “Congratulations, son. You have the ability that I drove myself mad to get.”
“You were always mad,” Soren spat as Rose said, “Don’t call me son!”
Soren turned to Rosamund once again. “What ability? Are you claiming you’ve got the sight?”
“It was in bits and pieces before now,” Rosamund said. “Just little things. Knowing reactions to things that hadn’t happened yet. Knowing someone’s moves before they happened. I could see Lydian’s shade hanging around Janneke sometimes. But nothing full on … like that.” He indicated between himself and the now-visible world tree, to the veil he pulled off. “Until now. But you have to know that while that was a benefit of this, it was not my goal. My goal is to serve and protect both of you to the best of my abilities. You know that. I need the sight like I need a hole in the head. It should be obvious how I feel.”
And it was, because we could hear it resonating in his voice. But still. How much I’d shared with the son of the monster who tormented me, about what his own blood had done. I felt strangely violated, though I couldn’t figure out in what sense. Rose hadn’t done anything to hurt me or Seppo or Soren; he’d kept a fact from us. And did it matter if Lydian was his father if he’d had such a little role to play in Rose’s life as he’d said? It didn’t matter who Seppo’s father was. Seppo had been raised by his mother, same as Rosamund had.
While he hadn’t told us of his heritage, I could hardly blame Rose for the sins of Lydian, especially if they barely knew each other. From what I knew, Soren was raised by his father, who was not a good person and someone who did not care about the pain and suffering of others and who treated those weaker than him cruelly; someone who treated his own son cruelly enough for Soren to murder him for his seat as lord without so much as a single doubt. But I couldn’t blame Soren for his father being cruel. And what about my own father? Who while good-hearted and well-intentioned instilled in me a self-hatred I fought every day because of his hatred of the Permafrost? Was I really one who could judge Rose?
No, as much as it made my stomach flip and sink, and as much as I wanted to be outraged, I couldn’t. It wasn’t like any of us had a choice who bore us, and in truth, I could see why Rose hadn’t shared the knowledge. I don’t think any of us would’ve let him near us had we known, and then I wouldn’t have a friend, and Seppo wouldn’t have his boyfriend.
“I understand,” I said.
Soren turned to me, frowning. “Just like that?”
“He’s not Lydian. Why punish him for what Lydian did?” I replied. “You’re not responsible for your parents’ crimes. We have more important things to worry about than Rose’s parents. We can discuss his withholding of information after we’ve done what we came here to do, but I doubt it’s necessary.”
Soren nodded but still had a sour look on his face. Seppo looked visibly relieved if still a bit hurt. Diaval looked bored. She’d known about this too—how? Was it part of her magic?
Hel smiled, and the way the rotten half of her face moved made me shutter. “Yes, what did you come here for?”
“I think you know,” I said, nodding toward the trapped Lydian. “Considering you’re dangling him in front of us like a lure.”
The monstrous goddess of death cocked her head to the side in a coy gesture. “I have no idea what you mean.”
The frustration and anger coming off my companions was nearly palpable. “We want Lydian’s shade. We need it released out of Helheim. He doesn’t have to come back to life, necessarily, him and his shade will do,” I demanded, and hoped I sounded a lot more sure of myself than I truly felt.
Hel threw back her head and laughed. The sound was like nails against a chalkboard, like shattering glass, and I fought not to cover my ears. “YOU,” she said, laughing. “You and your ragtag bunch of heroes think you can demand from me the shade of a member of my realm? What right do you all have to do such a thing? Even the mighty Frigga couldn’t bring Balder back from death and away from my realm. And yet you think you can offer me something the goddess queen could not, in return?”
I focused on breathing steady, keeping my body from tensing up. I shot furtive looks at the members of my party and they did the same as well as they possibly could. No one said this was going to be easy and being mocked by Hel was probably something we all should’ve expected. There was no use in getting angry or offended or even irritated by her. We had to keep pressing our point.
But it was impossible to stand in front of Hel and not feel incredibly intimidated by her size and features and the strength of her voice. Her straightened and squared shoulders as well as the way she almost lounged on her throne only proved how confident in her power she was.
“Frigga may be the goddess queen, yes,” I said, “but I am the stag, and as such, my jurisdiction is much different than her majesty’s.”
Hel let out another ear-splitting laugh. “Yes, you are the little stag who can barely control or use even an eighth of the power the real stag possessed. You may bear the mantle and you may have the name, but you are nothing—nothing—compared to the great beast the original stag was. Why should I concern myself with the opinions of a weak fawn?”
The goddess of death knew to hit me right where it hurt. Yeah, sure, I’d managed to do something in the water that I hadn’t before. I saw that trapped soul, her pain, her past, her grief, and set her free so she could pass across the water, but that was literally the only thing I’d yet to do with the stag’s powers that came directly from my own ability. She was right. I was less a stag and more a little white fawn. Weak and trembling in a world too strong for her.
No. I couldn’t let myself think like that. That’s what she wanted me to think. To feel weak, to give up, to lie down in her hall somewhere and let the water and mud take over me and turn me into stone. I needed to stop pitying myself about my powers not working right. It didn’t matter. I’d find a way, and Hel wasn’t going to stop me.
“If you don’t concern yourself with her,” Soren spoke up, his voice in a low growl, “perhaps you’ll concern yourself with the Erlking. Like it or not, we have power and a place in this cosmic game you gods like to play.” He stood with his arms folded across his chest, glaring so sharply, it could probably break glass.
“You at least offered Frigga a trial,” Diaval said, “a way to prove whether or not she was worthy of taking Balder and bringing
him back to life—to have every being ask for his existence back, and it would’ve worked if not for the trickster god, Loki. We’re not even asking for you to bring Lydian back to life. We want his shade. We’re not asking for a god either. Just a lowly goblin!”
“Hey!” Lydian objected from his cage of roots.
The goddess sat back on her throne with a smug smile. “Oh, yes, and I’m sure you’ll do nothing that could ruin my own plans with him now, will you?”
I held out a hand to keep the others from speaking, knowing that we’d almost fallen into her trap. Hel couldn’t know why we wanted Lydian’s shade. In the prophecies surrounding Ragnarök, she was always one of the ones who brought it forth, fought against the gods. There was no way she’d give us Lydian back if she knew what we planned to do with him.
I stepped forward, hands on my hips. “And what do you care what we do with a simple shade?” I asked tauntingly. “You have so many others to deal with, after all, and so many things to attend to. We have his heart beating in the Erlking’s palace in the Permafrost. Perhaps we want to taunt him, hurt him. You must’ve known what he’s done to me. Maybe I’ve decided I haven’t had enough revenge.”
The lies slipped through my teeth like millions of tiny snakes, but better they came from me than from the others who couldn’t carry such a hoax. Their curious stares lingered on my back, but I was happy enough to know they trusted me for whatever I was planning on doing.
“Diaval is right,” I said. “Are you so scared of a little fawn you won’t even give her a trial?”
Hel narrowed her eye, and I held back a flinch at the way the rotting side of her face moved. “Hmm. We could do a trade. Direct blood for direct blood.” She pointed a finger at Rose who stood frozen to the spot when he realized what she meant.
Thank the gods no one here considered it. “No,” I said. “Rose is our friend and we won’t exchange a fully living being for the shade of another. That’s an unfair trade and I’m not willing to kill him so you can technically have his shade. No, you’ll give us a trial like you did Frigga.”
Goblin King Page 12
