“Thanks.”
Asher took a few steps away then turned and looked back. “And you’re wrong about the homestead thing.”
“I am?”
“I was never a Viking. Only those who went out on sea raids got to call themselves that.”
“But didn’t you die in battle?”
Asher nodded. “Leading my father’s army, defending our land against the neighboring king’s attack.”
“Did you win?”
Asher’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “I wouldn’t be here if we had.”
“What is it like, dying?” Lucas asked, then felt his jaw slacken. Where had that come from?
“Painful,” Asher replied, as easily as if Lucas had asked him what it was like to drink mead.
“Did you…were you scared?”
“Are you scared when you’re on a mission?” Asher asked curiously.
“Sure, when I was younger. Now, not so much.”
“What are you, then?”
Lucas laughed. “Concentrating, mostly.”
“Yes,” Asher agreed. “And when the moment came, all I felt was anger, because I had failed. Because they were going to win, and I had run out of time to stop them.”
Lucas drew in a breath. “You’re still doing it, too.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting pissed about running out of time to do things like wipe the Alfar from the earth. And here you are with eternity to get it right.”
Asher shook his head slowly. “I don’t get eternity.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Yes, I get a very long time. A lot longer than a human life. But eventually, everyone runs out of time.”
“Like Stefan?” Lucas asked softly.
“Like Stefan,” Asher agreed, with a sigh.
“Is that why you’re here with Charlee instead of with the Kine?”
Asher opened his mouth, but didn’t answer. He pushed his hand through his hair. “I … guess, yes.” He gave a shrug that seemed almost embarrassed.
Lucas let out his breath. “Thank you. I really had trouble believing a price on your head would send you of all people diving down a rabbit hole, no matter how comfortable the hole was.”
Asher nodded and headed back toward the kitchen. Lucas shut the bathroom door and almost tore his clothing off, so anxious was he to get beneath hot running water. When he found the gently scented shampoo in a glass jar on the shelf he mentally kissed Charlee for her vast talents and Asher for being Einherjar enough to know how to make a shower work.
It was the best shower of his life. Period.
* * * * *
Charlee shaded her eyes against the western sun and watched Torger trot among the thigh-high grasses and bushes that were once the Meadow. Central Park was becoming wilder each year. Central Wilderness would be a more appropriate name for it now.
She kept her back to the tower reaching up into the sky behind her. Doing so was automatic. From the middle of the tower upwards, where observers might be located, she and Asher would look like small dots, but they remained cautious anyway. She kept her hair covered with a straw hat she had found on a model in Neiman Marcus a few months ago. The scavengers had gone for food, tools and equipment. Clothing was a distant fourth on everyone’s list of priorities, and pretty accessories were ignored.
Asher was keeping a careful eye on Fudge, who was still young enough to break out and do something silly. The dogs knew that when they reached the park, they were allowed to roam and play, one at a time. Torger was taking full advantage of the opportunity even though he couldn’t move as fast as he once did, now that arthritis was stiffening up his back legs. But his instincts as a working dog were still exceptional, and he didn’t mind pulling Fudge back into line as needed.
Charlee had bought several bags to collect anything ripe and edible. It was late summer, and all sorts of goodies could be found growing wild now, if one knew where to look.
Most of the trees in the park had grown completely out of hand, their leaf litter turning the paths underneath into soggy, unrecognizable tunnels, while the benches had faded and warped, the wood turning green with mold and the seats covered in a blanket of leaf litter. But deeper in, there would be ripe herbs and juneberries, and wild raisins. Rosehips were in season, and they made a delicious dessert, and they had medicinal properties as well. There were crab apple trees all over the park, and native persimmons to be had.
There was also a tree that provided berries that could be dried and ground to make a naturally decaffeinated coffee, the closest they would come to real coffee while caught behind the shield.
There was wild ginger growing in the north of the park, and there were all sorts of greens that would make good salads, including wild spinach, chickweed, sorrel, garlic mustard and field garlic. It was as bountiful as any supermarket would have been, and it was fresh and organic, to boot. Because the park was so close to the tower—almost tucked underneath the northwest curve between the north and southwest feet—most humans tended to shy away from it, using the smaller parks and gardens that had gone wild to forage for food. Central Park was just too much of a risk.
Asher was keeping an eye on the sky overhead. Because it was late summer and ripe food was simply hanging for the plucking, birds tended to circle endlessly when no one was around. A hawk or an owl would be a real treat. Unfortunately, seagulls were virtually inedible, even though there were more of them every year, along with the squirrels, which they ate whenever they could trap them.
Torger’s slow meander brought them closer to where Asher and Fudge stood guard. “Can we head into the trees for some nuts, later?” she asked Asher. Neither of them went in among the trees unless they were together and fully armed. She had her bow over her shoulder and Asher was carrying everything including his sword, which was fully extended and pushed into his belt.
“Sure, but let Fudge stretch his legs for a moment,” Asher said.
Charlee looked at Torger. “Front, Torger!”
Torger took up position next to Asher and sat, his tongue out and panting. He began to scan the park.
“Off, Fudge,” Asher said softly.
Fudge gave a little yip, then took off, instantly at full speed as he took the gentle curve of the footpath. Then he dived happily into the grass and weeds, startling the insects and making the grass sway as he pushed through it.
Asher pulled Charlee closer, dropped his arm around her shoulders, and kissed her temple. He wore a small smile.
“Something on your mind?” Charlee asked. He had been quiet all morning, even though he had come to bed with her after they had pulled the sofa bed out for Lucas and wished him good night. Even Lucas had not insisted Asher stay up and drink with him, which had become something of a tradition with the two of them. She guessed it was Lucas who got poured into bed more often than Asher, for Asher had centuries of practice drinking mead. But last night they had both been quite sober and didn’t seem inclined to change that.
They had crept out of the warren mid-morning, leaving Lucas still passed out on the sofa. Charlee wanted to collect whatever she could from Central Park while Asher was at home.
“You’ve been very quiet all morning,” Charlee pointed out. “Did Lucas say something to you last night that got too deep?”
“Yes.” Asher’s gaze wandered around the park. Even when he was relaxed, he was on guard. Charlee stayed silent. She had learned long ago that it was better to let Asher get to his point at his own speed. Battering him with questions wouldn’t produce his answer any quicker. He was too used to keeping his own council.
“You painted a picket fence on the wall in the museum,” he said.
Charlee frowned. “That’s what Lucas said?”
“No, but it made me start thinking. Then last night....” He sighed and looked down at her. “Lucas said you were happier than he’s ever seen you.”
“Yes, I am,” Charlee said instantly. Truthfully.
“Is that why you painted
the picket fence?”
She hadn’t been aware of it when she painted the silly fence image, but now she realized that it had been in the back of her mind the whole time. The picket fence Asher had spoken about. Their dreams of happiness, that had always seemed to be just out of reach.
“I suppose, yes,” Charlee answered Asher. “Do you mind?”
“That you’re happy?” He smiled and shook his head.
“That I’m happy in the middle of all this. All the human suffering and chaos.”
Asher’s smile faded. “Lucas asked me last night if I had deliberately chosen to cut myself off from the Kine not because the Alfar want us both, but because it was the only way we get to be together.”
“That’s a devious thought,” Charlee breathed.
“He was right, though. I didn’t know it until he asked, but he’s right.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “I could stay right here forever, Charlee, as long as you’re right here with me. I can’t even begin to think of what life would be like without you. Just trying makes my blood run cold.”
Charlee gripped the edge of his armor, wanting to pull him even closer, but it would take their attention away from their surroundings. So would kissing him, and she wanted to do that, too. “Are we both completely insane to be blissfully happy living right beneath the Alfar themselves?”
“If love makes you mad, then yes.” His voice was rough. Thick with emotion.
Charlee drew herself up so that their lips were nearly meeting. The need to kiss him was overwhelming, but the danger was too great. “How long will this last, Asher? How long until you have to leave me?”
He brushed her hair away from her face, then cupped it again. “It doesn’t matter. Time doesn’t matter. Only now matters and you’re here, now. I think that’s the one thing I’ve learned as an Einherjar that really matters. Now is all the time anyone gets.”
Charlee nodded. “No matter what happens, then?”
“No matter what happens.” He touched his lips to hers, then stiffened. “There’s someone in the trees. Behind us.”
Charlee’s heart leapt. “My bow is over my shoulder. I can’t get it off without them seeing it.”
“It’s your right shoulder. Your left is toward the trees.” Asher’s eyes had taken on the distant, flinty expression they did when he was thinking hard and making decisions. He pulled at the string of the bow, bringing it down her arm. “Slide your arm out and take it,” he said.
Charlee gripped the center of the bow so the string lay against her forearm. “I’ll have to shoot left-handed.”
“I’ve seen you use your left. You’ll be fine.” He reached around her thigh and withdrew an arrow from the quiver that hung along the back of her hip, bringing it up under her right arm and easing the notch against the string. The arrow hung vertically, but as soon as they moved apart, she would be able to bring it up to bear on the treeline.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and stepped away, bringing the arrow up to target the trees. They both moved forward, walking fast, drawing closer. Then she heard what Asher had heard: a distant crunching of leaves. She glanced at him. “They’re not even trying to hide their approach.”
“Torger, point,” Asher said quietly.
Torger ran toward the trees silently, his tail up and the coarse, grey hairs fluffing out in the ancient canine instinct to look as big as possible.
Charlee gave a soft whistle, and Fudge came slinking out of the grasses right next to them. “Fudge, point,” she breathed. Fudge stepped up beside her thigh and kept pace, his snout pointed ahead.
Asher drew out his sword and the pistol that lived on his hip.
Someone was walking along the same path they were following, but deeper inside the trees. They were making no attempt to move silently. The leaves crunched under their steps, which were regular. They weren’t running or hurrying. They were strolling, almost.
Charlee looked at Asher. He shook his head. He had no idea, either.
They crept closer to the treeline. Now, Charlee could see the bend where the path turned and disappeared, perhaps twenty yards inside the trees. She could only pick out the path because the thick leaf litter was flat and undisturbed between the trees.
She saw the flicker of movement and lifted her bow, pulling it almost all the way back. She could see Asher’s gun aimed from the corner of her eye. His finger was on the trigger, too.
Torger growled, somewhere ahead.
“Good dog! Good doggie. Gonna let me through? I gotta talk to your fellow.”
Torger’s growl rolled like miniature thunder, a continuous rumble.
“Hey! Wanna call your dog off?” The hail came loudly through the trees. “I just wanna talk!”
Asher whistled, a short, sharp, two-note sound. Torger barked once and came hurrying out through the trees.
“Torger, point,” Asher muttered, and Torger turned and placed himself next to Asher.
They kept their weapons trained on the path, watching.
The man who appeared was short and middle-aged. He was greying around the temples. He lifted up his hands when he saw they were aiming at him and gave them an easy smile. “Really, you ever seen an Alfar my height, with my color skin?” he asked reasonably.
An Alfar as short as him would be considerably darker-skinned—a Blakar. This man had clear white skin and dirty blond hair, where it wasn’t grey.
“Name three of the Seven Dwarves,” Asher told him, not lowering the gun.
“Happy, Grumpy, Dozy, Sleepy, Doc and the little one with the big, red nose.” The man grinned again. “I haven’t seen Snow White since I was a tyke.”
The Alfar—the Myrakar in particular—had tried to infiltrate human enclaves more than once, but they were easy to detect once humans had figured out they didn’t understand humor or story-telling. A joke or a question about Grimm’s fairy tales would confound them.
Asher lifted up his gun, and Charlee relaxed her pull on the bow string and straightened up. “You’re alone, this close to the tower?” she asked.
“Figured you’d be more comfortable if I came alone.”
“You’re looking for us?” Asher asked sharply.
“I’ve had scouts watching out for you for a few weeks now,” the man said. “I heard you’d walked through the tunnels yesterday, coming from this direction, so I put a couple more scouts on the tunnel and they let me know when you headed out to the park.” The man lifted his brows. “Most of the old gang managed to make it through the slaughter when the Alfar first descended. They’re good, reliable soldiers now.”
“Gang?” Charlee repeated. “Is that just a figure of speech?”
“No.” The man held out his hand toward Asher. “You’re Asher Strand, also known as Asher Brynjarson, or Askr, son of Brynjar. You’re the top Einherjar around here, and I’ve been waiting to talk to you for a while now.”
Asher didn’t take the offered hand. “And you are?” It didn’t show, but Asher was on full alert and would switch into lethal action with little more prompting.
Charlee lifted the bow and the arrow that rested notched against the string up under her elbow, so she didn’t have as far to lift it if she needed to shoot quickly.
“You don’t know me.”
“No,” Asher said flatly. “And if you know who I am, then you know the Alfar are looking for me. The clock is ticking. Who are you?”
“About twenty-five years ago, there was a punk kid who thought he was hot shit because he controlled some little turf sitters up in the Bronx. He came down into my territory. Did the right thing. He negotiated passage and all, and that got my attention. He was all hot to deal with a suit working in a bank on Wall Street.” The man’s language had changed, even his posture had shifted. He looked like he had put on an invisible swagger. “Guess who the suit was?”
“Me,” Asher said flatly, standing up and lowering the gun. “You controlled the Comanches.”
Comanches? Charlee tried to p
ut it together, but she had too little information.
“Very good,” the man said. “You know more than I thought you would.” Then he shrugged. “That was a long time ago. Whole world has changed since then. Except for you. I’ve been watching you since then. Laughed myself into a hernia when it turned out you were one of the top Einherjar in the world. Should have figured that out after you dealt with Sergio.” He shook his head admirably and his gaze flickered toward Charlee.
Sergio? Charlee started at the name. That had been…that really had been twenty-seven years ago. For the first time in several years, she was reminded of the scar on her face, and it seemed to pulse with heat the way it had when she had first got it.
She studied the man. He had deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Smile wrinkles, or perhaps he squinted a lot. His face was very tanned, which spoke of long hours outdoors. She put his age at around fifty, although with the leathery complexion it was hard to be very precise.
Asher held his sword point down, both hands fisted around the hilt. He didn’t quite rest the point on the ground. It would drag if he had to pull it up quickly. He was still cautious, but he had put the gun away as a signal to the man in front of them. “Do you have a name?” Asher asked him.
“Koslov.” He held out his hand again. “It is very good to meet you face-to-face after all this time.”
Asher shook his hand, but Charlee could see that he was still wary. “And why have you been looking for me, if it isn’t for the free walk out of here?” he asked.
“Because you’re Einherjar and as far as I can figure, you’re pretty high up in the command chain.”
“I might have been, but I haven’t been in contact with the Kine since the occupation.”
Koslov studied Asher frankly. “You know that your leader died, right? Stefan?”
“Yes.”
“I figure you’re not too many places away from the top. You were always on TV, leading the charge. And I figure not too many Einherjar made it through the occupation, either. So you’re probably top dog now.”
“Go on,” Asher said warily.
“Well, man, we’ve been waiting for you!”
The Branded Rose Prophecy Page 67
