“No.” Kim shook her head. “So that’s two of them. What are the others?”
“They are much as you would expect, my dear. There are godly worlds and worlds of dwarves and elves. Those worlds do not matter to you. What matters is the world of Jotunheim because that is where the owner of the sword has been locked away.” He pointed into the cave. “Within that cave you will find a man with as many faces as there are between now and eternity. He is the middle road and the temperate day, and in that balance lies his power.”
“You took me to the land of the frost giants to retrieve a sword from a guy? Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you?” Kim snapped, rubbing her arms in a futile effort to restore some heat to them. Already her fingers were numb.
“As I have said, this is where your enemy awaits. The one with the sword you must bind to your soul.” The man shrugged as if to say, “Hey, it isn’t like I want to be here either.”
“Why is he in a goddamned frozen wasteland if his powers are based on moderation? It’s cold as hell here,” Kim said and her words came out as a blast of white fog.
The man shot her an amused smile. “He has made a tragic mistake. He has sought to bind the fire within ice. It’s not a bad plan really, but in doing so, has limited his own power. Go in, free the sword. He will be too weak to stop you.” Her companion reached out and rested one enormous hand on her shoulder. Warmth that reminded her of when her friend Ian’s cat used to curl up on her chest filled her, stretching out to encompass the whole of her being. Only there was nothing curling up next to her now. At least, nothing that she could see. The thought made her shiver.
Kim glanced at the huge man next to him, and while he seemed as harmless as a giant man with snow clinging to his hair and beard could, something about him gave her the feeling she was being tricked.
For one, she could practically taste his excitement in the air. She shut her eyes, extending her senses outward toward him, but as she did so, the vile taste of fear filled her mouth. Whatever was within that cave was afraid enough to drown out every other sensation. She didn’t know why there was such fear emanating from the cave, but she was going to find out. After all, it didn’t seem like there was something scary inside. No, it seemed more like whoever or whatever was inside was absolutely terrified.
“Why can’t you take the sword yourself?” Kim asked as she shut down her magical senses so she wouldn’t get overwhelmed by it. The power had come about recently, and she still wasn’t used to use it. “Surely, you’re more formidable than I am.”
“Alas, it is not my place to battle the middle lord. I cannot help you.” He shrugged. “Destiny would not make things so easy. If I could just go along slaughtering my enemies, they would all be dead.” He patted her on the shoulder and the faintest smell of wolf tickled her senses. “Go on. I have perfect faith in you.”
“Awesome,” Kim muttered sarcastically before taking a step toward the cave entrance. As she moved closer, she felt the temperature around her change. Heat spilled from the mouth of the cave like an exhaled breath, covering her with moist air. As she reached the entrance, she glanced back, but her burly companion was gone, leaving her all alone on a snowcapped mountain. “And here I thought things couldn’t get any better.”
She had to go inside and retrieve the sword. She had to stop Surt, had to keep his fires from consuming the world. This was the only way. How strong could the middle lord be? Not terribly strong at all, she hoped. It had taken all of them to stop the snake god, Jormungand. Now she was alone, and what was worse, she didn’t have Mjolnir either. The weapon had been left behind in that desolate alien world with Malcom. Part of her had wanted to take it with her, but something told her Malcom would need it wherever he was going.
Still, the mighty weapon would have been a comfort now. With it, she could have controlled the storms. Then again, she was heading into a cave. A storm wouldn’t be much good inside. That left her with her fists and her mantle, and while that should have comforted her, it didn’t, not really.
Unlike the others, she’d never quite understood what her mantle did exactly. Malcom had controlled Death. He had thrown around green fire and pulled the souls of his enemies from their bodies. Ian had been blessed by Famine, and as such, could call upon the hunger of winter. If he was here now, he could have used the cold to smash his enemy into twain. In the frozen wasteland of Jotunheim, he would be unstoppable.
Amy, of course, had been given the power of War, and as such, had somehow gained the ability to fling around lava. If she was here, she could have probably subdued the fire within Surt with a thought. Yet, none of them were here. It was just Kim, standing alone in the mouth of a cave. Her mantle had not given her any special powers over the elements.
It was just as well. She was conquest after all, and while the others had individual powers, in theory, she ought to be able to wield them all. That’s what she had learned. Whereas the others had natural gifts, hers was destined to smash them all down and take what she wanted. If she was strong enough she could cover the earth in ice before burning it to cinders. If she was strong enough, she could conquer death.
A smile curled upon her lips. Defeating the middle lord and claiming his sword would be the first of her spoils. Afterward, she would conquer fire itself and stop Surt from dousing the world in flame. Then, for fun, maybe she’d knock the edge off winter. You know, as long as she was fantasizing. Kim took another step forward, and the ground beneath her feet shook.
“I know you are out there, girl. Come in at your own peril. For once you do, you will not be able to get off this train until it reaches its destination.”
Yeah, she was totally going to die.
Kim 02:03
Kim stepped into the cave and found herself standing inside a restaurant. Vintage pictures of magicians lined the lime green walls as she stood there dumbfounded. Hadn’t she just entered a cave in a frozen tundra? A chime sounded behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see a glass door swing shut. A little silver bell sat just above it, designed to ring when someone entered.
She turned back around and stared at the black podium in front of her. An open reservation book lay atop it next to a pile of those little buzzers restaurants give you when you’re waiting in line. She swallowed and stared at her beat up white tennis shoes. They were a startling contrast to the marble floor. Black veins ran through it, pulsing as she watched, making them seem like the veins of some giant beast. Wherever this was, she was extraordinarily under dressed.
“Hello?” she called, but the only answer she got was her own voice echoing back at her. “Is anyone here?”
Kim moved past the podium and pushed aside the red curtain to her left, revealing a room filled with sleek modern steel tables and chairs. They were situated in a crude semi-circle around a black stage that took up most of the far wall before jutting into the center like a deranged Tetris piece.
“Well, this isn’t what I expected at all,” she muttered to herself, but even though her voice was quiet, it felt like an intrusion in the silence of the room. She rubbed her arms as the chill of being all alone in a strange place settled over her. “Not at all.”
The bulbs above the stage flicked to life, dousing the room in sapphire light. Kim stepped backward in shock, throwing her hands up in front of herself as the bulbs strobed on and off so everything seemed jerky and distorted.
“Welcome to Magic Eaters,” a voice boomed from behind her. “How can I help you?”
She shrieked and whirled around, heart hammering. A man in a blue sequined suit stood there, one white-gloved hand on his waist, the other flared above his head. Even though his face was covered by black kabuki mask with a confused “o” for a mouth, he was staring intently at her.
“Come, come,” he said, and his voice floated through the air between them like blue mist, slipping into her nostrils and choking her with the scent of raspberry slushy. Before she could respond, the man stepped forward and linked one arm through hers
. He led her toward the center table, the one just in front of the jutting portion of the stage. “I’ve saved the best seat in the house for you, my dear.”
He glanced at his wrist, and while there had been no watch on it before, one appeared before her eyes. It was huge and gold with little cartoon mouse arms for hands. “Still, you’re early. Much, much too early. I thought I’d have more time. You always think you have more time.” He tilted his head and his mask had changed to one of those sad kabuki masks. “Could you perhaps come back another day?”
“Who are you?” Kim asked as they reached the table, and while it hadn’t been covered with a white tablecloth before, it was now.
“Why, I am the magician.” His mask changed into a grin. “The lord of all things in between. The man of a thousand faces and two extra besides.” He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit. “Please, my lady. We have much to discuss before we begin our unsightly business.”
“What unsightly business?” Kim sat because she wasn’t sure what else to do. As soon as she did, he scooted the chair under the table and whirled around it in a flourish, his blue coattails flapping.
“Why, the part where I die.” He shook his head. “That is what you’re here for, is it not, harbinger? You have come to right the wrong I have tried to right but have instead created a dastardly wrong.” He reached up and began twisting at a thin curly mustache that had appeared on his mask so he looked sort of like Snidely Whiplash. “But before we get to that unsightly righting of wrongs business, I want to speak with you as teacher to student.”
He slid across the floor, his blue shoes eliciting a tone like the last sparrow’s song of the season before flopping haphazardly into his chair and leaning forward, elbows on the table. He steepled his hands and tapped his forefingers together.
“Speak to me about what?” Kim asked as the man snapped his fingers. A carafe of red liquid appeared in between them along with two half-filled glasses.
“About your role in the end of all things. See, my death will trigger an unfortunate series of events.” The eyebrows on his mask raised once, but she didn’t respond. “Eh?”
“Okay?” she replied, not sure what he was getting at. “What’s so bad about them? What makes you so important?”
He let out a huge sigh that shook the room before grabbing his glass violently off the table. Red liquid sloshed over the edge, spattering the white cloth with maroon droplets. He ignored the spill and put the glass to his mask and tilted it back. Liquid poured down along the surface of his mask before sloshing onto the table in a wave.
“Anyway,” he said, setting the empty glass down on the table, evidently unconcerned by the mess he’d made. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Ragnarok, my dearest girl. If you haven’t, let me just reiterate what that is. It is the end of the world, the end times, and the part where no one gets to go home because everyone is dead. It is preceded by several signs, but once it had begun there is a curious thing that happens. The god Freyr perishes at the hands of Surt. Do you know why that is bad?”
“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” Kim replied, trying to remember what exactly the huge guy who had ripped her from her car had said earlier. Something about Surt destroying the middle lord. If this guy was telling the truth, then the middle lord was a god named Freyr. That left just one question, and she almost felt silly asking it. “Are you Freyr?”
“I see the wheel hasn’t stopped spinning in your brain, but I fear your hamster has left for the day. All that’s left now is the slow rotation of inertia. Too bad.” The man sighed and whipped out one hand. The snap of it was like a thunder crack across the sky. A gnarled tree branch appeared in his hand. He dropped it on the table between them, and it hit with a thud that shook the foundation of the building. “But to answer your question in a word, yes. To add a few more, I am Freyr.”
The branch began to rise in the air all on its own, and as it did, a shimmering sheet of white fabric filled the space beneath so it was almost like watching a projection screen rise from the table. When it reached the ceiling, images began to flash across its surface. The first showed Surt, the dark giant she had seen before, only he was a vague outline.
“This is Surt,” Freyr said, gesturing at the figure. “Like most of the giant lords, he was banished to his home world eons ago.” The god spread his hands wide, and a boy of no more than nineteen appeared on the screen. He had shaggy blonde hair and a scar trailing down the side of his face. He was a big guy, well built and full of touchable muscle that strained at his blue tank top. “That boy called Surt from the fire world Muspelheim. It was not an easy thing to do because Muspelheim is the counterpart to Jotunheim and is the furthest of the nine worlds from this point.” He grinned, which was weird because the face on his mask actually shifted into the expression.
The scene rolled on, and Kim watched as the boy shrank in size until he couldn’t have been more than ten or so years old. He took a step forward, placing one hand on a huge broadsword almost as big as he was. The boy’s eyes were closed as he chanted in a language she couldn’t understand. Fire began to dance along his fingers as the air around him darkened.
“What is he doing?” Kim asked, watching the boy grip the sword in one hand and heft it into the air as liquid flame ran along its edges, filling the entirety of his world with fire.
“He is completing the most important ritual of his people. The calling of the spirit to the sword. See, among his kind, each warrior tries to bind the strongest spirit they can to a weapon specifically crafted for that purpose. Some are only able to call on nymphs and pixies. Others bind great warriors who have long since passed.” He gestured at the screen. “And sometimes, if they are truly powerful, they call upon the gods themselves.”
“So that boy bound Surt to a sword, and that sword is what will kill you and start off Ragnarok?” Kim asked, looking away from the screen and staring at Freyr. The god tapped his cheek with one slender finger.
“More or less, but more, more and less, less.” He shrugged. “It is why I have bound the boy within me.” He reached up and pulled off his sequined top hat and placed it upon the table, leaving his windswept red hair to fall around his shoulders. “So that he cannot use his sword to kill me.”
“Okay, wait a second.” Kim shook her head and fought the urge to push herself from her seat in annoyance. “If you have bound him, why is there a problem?”
“Because this boy is a god in his own right.” Freyr stood and opened his sequined coat to reveal a solid blue dress shirt. Only the shirt was completely burned away over his abdomen, revealing skin that bubbled and popped like boiling water. A splayed hand reached out, trying to push through his flesh like something out of a horror movie. “Given enough time, he will break free, and when he does.” Freyr dropped his shirt and put his thumb to his neck before drawing it slowly across. “Curtains.”
“So by binding him within you, you’ve pissed him off to the point where he will kill you?” Kim asked, shaking her head. It was pretty much the dumbest thing she could imagine. It was like trying to save the last piece of chocolate by eating it yourself. She’d outgrown that kind of thinking by the time she was four years old.
“Pretty much,” Freyr said, flopping down on his chair, and as he did so, he looked tired even through his mask. “I did it to keep the trickster god Loki bound when the forces who would release him started to rise, but I fear I have only hastened the march toward doomsday. Do you know that saying about no good deed going unpunished? There you go.”
Something about the way he spoke made her blood run cold. She’d heard stories about Loki, about how he was the father of Jormungand the world serpent, Fenris the wolf who would devour both the sun and the moon, and Hel the keeper of the restless dead. She remembered how Jormungand had wanted to free his father so Loki could lead his forces into Ragnarok and destroy the gods. Now, Freyr was telling her, the world would end in fire anyway? Well, that was unacceptable.
“And what
can I do to stop it?” Kim said, biting back her fear and moving toward Freyr. She knelt down beside the god and placed one hand over his abdomen. It was like placing her hand against a frying pan, but she ignored it, blocking out the pain. “It seems like the best thing to do is to keep you alive.”
“I can no longer be saved. Even if I am not killed directly, I have already been dealt a death blow. I am living on borrowed time. The only thing to do now is make sure Surt’s fires cannot vanquish the world. Only that also is impossible.” He placed his hands flat on the table. “That is his destiny.”
“So we’re screwed then? How can we already have lost?” Kim cried, suddenly angry. What was the point of her coming here, of her being granted the power of conquest, the power to stop the apocalypse if there was nothing she could do to avert Ragnarok?
“As the phoenix rises from its ashes, so too must the world. That is where you must stop death from consuming us all, stop the fires from ravaging the earth and beat back the hungering winter. You must conquer it all, else all will be lost.” Freyr reached up and grabbed his mask with his fingers. “It all rests on you, Kim. All of it. The only thing to do now is to start.” With that, his mask slipped from his face and hit the ground with an empty clang.
“I believe in you,” Mr. Matthers, her high school calculus professor said before a hand burst through his stomach, splattering her with crimson.
Ian 02:02
Sabastin sat on one of those cheap metal folding chairs Ian remembered using for family gatherings when he was little and there were too many people for the nice chairs to come out. Still, he got the distinct impression, Sabastin had been sitting in that chair for a long, long while despite how uncomfortable it looked. This struck him as a little odd because Sabastin had an entire city to himself. He could have pulled the city’s throne in here if he’d been so inclined. Was it some sort of Murphy’s law thing? Was he using the chair because he hoped his daughter would wake up soon, and he could just toss the chair aside?
War and Famine: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Revelations Book 2) Page 4
