A Dragon's Rising (The Dragon Series: Origins Book 1)

by Tina Glasneck

  “Dragons.”

  “Dragons? No one has seen one of them since Ymir’s heart was taken.”

  “Yes, but there is a woman.”

  “Oh, that is the cause of most problems here in Asgard—women. They seem to make us gods silly, foolish even.” Loki drained his latest stein anew and ordered another one.

  “This woman is the best woman I could ever hope for. She has a heart filled with bravery, courage, and generosity. I feel that she cares for the world she lives in, and not about those who might seek to pull her down.”

  “You speak as if you know her.”

  “I’ve dreamt of her for what seems like years, and every day this relationship progresses. I look forward to seeing her again.” Baldr grinned broadly.

  “Bollocks. You’re living too much in your head and need a real-life adventure, instead of only thinking about some strange woman you’ve never met, who is in another realm, and who could not possibly care about you.”

  “This is not a joking matter of me finding a bedmate.”

  Loki nodded his head and leaned forward. His voice lowered to a whisper. “If what you say is true, they could unseat Odin?” Loki asked.

  “I know, and that could be seen as treason. If Father was ever to know—”

  “Such a threat is not one to be taken lightly, godson. If I can see this threat, surely the others can, too, and they will seek a way to shut your children away. No longer will they be allowed such freedom, but be tethered or annihilated for existing. But you need not worry, for as long as I am offered a place at the table, I will continue to fight for what is right.”

  “That is absurd,” Baldr countered. “These wonderful guardians will help us retain command and would never do anything to hurt their home.”

  People, and even the gods, seemed to fear that of otherness. He’d seen it long ago with Loki’s children: Lady Hel, the goddess of Helheim, Fenrir, the slightly insane wolf that was kept chained up in one of the caves, and Jörmungandr, who was almost erased from existence, simply tossed into the waters of Midgard and told to fend for himself.

  “Loki, how is it that your children have had to singlehandedly survive unsupported by you? If the dragons are such an otherness, as you declare, then they will not be accepted.”

  Loki grew quiet, uncomfortably so. The jovial smile that had once lit up his face disappeared to be replaced by a fleeting moment of sadness.

  “As soon as their usefulness is gone, the gods will find a way to ensure that they, too, are either punished or locked away. That is what they do.”

  “Are you speaking of yourself, too?”

  Loki grimaced. “In all of my time here in Asgard, I have done everything to help—from providing the best of tools, to being able to undo messes that might have otherwise ended badly. Without me, would Thor have Mjolnir? Would Odin be riding on the back of my son, Sleipnir? Would even the walls that protect us be completed? As you see, and feel in the air, the gods grow weary of my help.”

  Baldr scowled. Loki’s words were, in fact, true, but he’d forgotten the mischief he’d caused along the way, too.

  “If you wish to find the truth, then you must locate this woman who will bring forth the dragons for you. It seems to me that you are smitten with this dream of her and need to find her.”

  “Has this ever happened to you?”

  Sadness caused his shoulders to slump. “Just like you, I, too, have what appear to be memories of a woman I have yet to meet.” He flicked his fingers together, and a blue rose appeared. Just as quickly as it materialized, it vanished. “We’ve sat here long enough with our sad faces. Where is Thor? For surely, he will have an idea of what trouble we can quell tonight.” Loki pushed his still-full stein away.

  As if on cue, Thor bounded into the pub. Tall, brawny, and with flowing red hair, he was hard to miss. “There you both are. I’m headed down to Midgard for Summer Solstice. You know the people love to see you there, Baldr. Aren’t you coming along?”

  “Last time you went, you ended up fathering a son,” Loki said.

  “Are you jealous that my dear son is now the king of Norway?”

  “He’s not your son; he’s your father’s.”

  All eyes fell on Loki at that outburst. He shrugged. “We all know the truth.”

  Baldr knew that Odin had a thing for wandering Midgard before he settled down with Freyja. “Yes, Mother was not happy to learn the news. She’s threatened to start her own reverse harem if he dips his quill into another inkpot.”

  “And what did Odin say?”

  “That she should start with the mighty dwarves. At least then, they’d get some more useful trinkets.”

  Chapter 7

  Baldr

  In the Viking village situated on the banks of the fjord, a large bonfire grew in height and depth, as the faithful uttered words of faith and sang songs of praise to the gods, but still surrounded by such beauty and delight, Baldr couldn’t take it all in. Thor laughed with the people, while Loki stayed close to the fire as if warming himself, despite the summer night’s warmth.

  Today was a holiday for him. Wreaths hung adorning the area, including in the nearby fields, while some held on to their corn dollies to later light them in his honor.

  Still, the air held a secret. Something was amiss.

  Seated in their place of honor, Thor drank from an offered tankard, and Baldr leaned back into his seat. His vision glazed over, lost in thought.

  “Death will find you, dear Baldr, son of Odin,” a wiry whispered voice of an old woman echoed in his ear, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her retreat back into the shadows.

  Baldr shot up straight from his seat and gave chase.

  The dark dreams wouldn’t leave him be. If the gods could be haunted, he might have believed the odd words, but until now, no one had died, and death was never an option.

  He shuddered. He might be the first.

  Light could not die or be squelched out. Still, the memories of the dream would not let him go, gripping tightly onto him like a dog gnarled and growled at a bare bone.

  He bounded into a sparse house where an old woman sat making more corn dollies.

  “My lord,” she said and nodded her cloth-covered head.

  “Which of the Norn sisters are you that you speak to me of the future?” he demanded.

  She waved him to a chair. “It is wise of you to see beyond what is present and that which still will come.”

  “I am to die?”

  Instead of answering, she retrieved a stick of wood from her pocket and began to carve it with a knife. The Norns could decide the fate of all beings, even the gods. No one was above their powers, not even Odin himself.

  She remained quiet.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his brow. He panted, unable to breathe, while his heart thundered in his chest.

  “What is this strange emotion? What have you done to me?”

  “I have allowed you to sense your mortality, as invincibility is what you’ve always known, but worry not, you shall not die by normal means. Your destiny of greatness will live on, but you must also walk the path set before you, as you have dreamt them to be.”

  “The dreams? They are real?” he asked.

  “In a way, they shall be.”

  “What must I do?”

  “From here, you are to head to the Phoenician pantheon and meet with Melqart.”

  Baldr crossed his arms. He’d never had quite as good a relationship with Melqart as he had with the Greeks, like his friend Apollo. Plus, Melqart always seemed rather content in mischief, and he’d had enough of that with Loki.

  “What shall I do there?”

  “Through him, you will find the woman you seek.”

  “But why her?”

  “For she is the one we have deemed to be your mate. The one who can help to carry your burden, a helpmate who you are worthy enough to love.”

  “Is she worthy of me?”

  “Now that is the wr
ong question to ask, Baldr. She is not less than you. She can reflect the light you shine and use it as a mighty weapon to champion both of your causes. She will shine brighter than any star in the sky for you, for when you see her, you will know that she is indeed the one you need.”

  “Why must the dragons come?”

  “Oh, is it your death that now scares you, or that your children will be ostracized by your kin?”

  “Both.”

  She dropped the corn dolly onto the heap of dollies already created.

  “What you must understand is that neither will require a hero, they require only you. As you are light, they will also be part of that light.”

  “I don’t need to fear them destroying Asgard?”

  The old woman tilted her head to the side. “As long as you are alive, Asgard will retain its sanctity. But should anything befall you, then a great fire will assault the city. For you are light, and no darkness can remain where light must be.”

  Baldr clenched his fists and jerkily exited out the way he had come. The sounds from the forest nearby did nothing to erase the panic that inched up his back, as if hugging him in darkness—a responsibility he’d never had weighed on him.

  He walked to the fjord’s edge and cupped some of the icy water into his hands, in hopes that it would wash away his trepidation and cement him back into this world of Asgard, the home of the gods, where everything glittered, and death was hardly an option.

  Chapter 8

  Freyja

  In Odin’s presence, the High Council in their hologram form convened; twelve gods seated on their thrones in a grand circle, and each looked on their speaker, Freyja, as she took the floor.

  “I have seen what is coming and we must prepare ourselves,” she urged. Her golden locks cascaded over her shoulders, and her usually bright white gown, with its elegant train, seemed dingy today, as if she’d taken less care. Under even closer scrutiny, one might also notice the heavy bags that she’d attempted to cover under her earnest gaze.

  The gods began to murmur, until Odin banged the bottom of his spear onto the marble floor. “We shall listen to what my queen has to say,” he announced. His words were enough of a warning to silence any dissension.

  Tyre stood. His brown hair pulled back into a tight knot, his white and gold clothes perfectly balanced, the white cape with black fur fastened into place with an iron brooch. In a voice that relayed calmness and a keen sense of understanding, he spoke, “We cannot be afraid of what the future shall bring, even if you have seen this, dear Queen, as to try to stop what the Norns have ordained, will only harken it sooner to us. Ragnarok will not be stopped.”

  “But it can be delayed,” Freyja stated. “What is coming neither of us wants—a death that will wipe all memory of us from this place, as well as destroy all that we have created. What is coming will spark not only unrest here in our realm, but will pit god against god, pantheon against pantheon, friend against friend. It will be because of one’s arrogance, and another’s foolishness and folly. If…if we do nothing, then we deserve all of the heartbreak that the Norns shall bestow upon us.”

  “My queen.” All eyes turned to Odin. “Our warriors are ready for anything that might trespass or transgress against us.”

  “But as gods, we are not.” Freyja jutted out her chin. “We’ve depended on the bravery of our warriors. We reason that they shall fight with us, for us, but what is to be when the gods themselves are to battle?”

  “We have been preparing for such a time as this. They will lay down their weapons for us if we should decree it, just as they will fight until the true end.”

  Freyja shook her head.

  “We are to move forward as warriors, my king,” Tyre responded, “filled with grace, honor, and a desire for justice, and not harp on a dream that you may have had. What will come will come. If we turn tail, we are not fit to rule.” The gods who were assembled, nodded and affirmed Tyre’s words with clapping and the stomping of their feet.

  Odin turned to Freyja and stretched out his hand to take hers within his grasp. “Our Queen has some wise words.” His voice was too calm. She waited for the truth to come forth, despite his desire to be pleasant. “But one bad decision will only produce another, and if we are too quick to act, we risk breaching the peace between the realms. Until there is a reason, not a vision or a dream, for us to act, then we will do so. We will walk in honor, and proceed to war, only when we must.”

  The other gods gathered, both male and female, nodded their agreement with Odin’s words.

  Freyja had failed.

  She waited until the chamber had emptied. “Love?”

  “I have made my ruling, dear wife,” Odin said. He pushed himself up from the throne and set the ceremonial spear back in its place on the veiled mahogany wall behind him. Raising his hand, he sealed the spear in place with a runic sigil that shimmered in a variety of blues and reds.

  “Yes, and I do not wish to counter that, but would you do me the tiniest of favors, to assure me that all is okay? I truly hope that these premonitions are incorrect, but if you’d look, you’d see them, too.”

  Odin grimaced.

  “You need not head to Midgard but send the ravens,” Freyja continued. “I feel it in my womb, the same womb which carried your seed and produced your heir, Baldr, that something is afoot.”

  “If I do this, will you let the matter rest? Talk of war only breeds reasons for war.”

  Freyja threaded her fingers with his. “I will even have Kara accompany them, as I know it, something is quite wrong.”

  Odin sighed, and allowed a small smile to cross his stern face. “I will allow it and have them go and scour Midgard for news and to report back here upon completion.”

  Freyja wrapped both of her hands around his large one.

  “Worry not, my love. Whatever happens, I’ll be ready for it.” She leaned back and saw his jaw tighten. It wasn’t easy to walk that political tightrope, but she knew her Odin. He was never one to be afraid of bloodshed. After all, he and his brothers slew the giant, Ymir, and created the worlds from his remains. Odin wasn’t this genteel ruler who everyone saw on the throne. Right now, he only bided his time. But if the threat of war came, they’d all get to see the mighty warrior in action—where even Thor would be no match to the might-wielding All-Father.

  “Now we wait.”

  Chapter 9

  Baldr

  Baldr traveled through to the realm ruled by the Phoenician pantheon to seek out Melqart as the Norn had advised him to. And the missive he’d sent advising Melqart of his visit was heartily welcomed.

  Baldr maneuvered through the streets of rose gold until he reached the large red-stone temple. The reddish-colored columns, highlighted sparingly in blue, yellow, and purple, were a complete difference to the abundant golden city he knew.

  He found Melqart in his temple, observing the sailors in Carthage as they danced in rhythm, bending and falling on their knees in ceremonial praise. A servant fanned him with a giant ostrich feather, and another presented him with fresh bounty harvested from the sea.

  Here the veil between worlds seemed quite thin. It was almost as if he was there, in Carthage, instead of in Melqart’s court. White sand drifted into the temple as a breeze of fresh saltwater air moved through the high columns.

  Baldr hesitated. “Thank you for receiving me,” he finally said, leaning forward and clasping Melqart’s forearm in greeting.

  “You are running a little behind. I almost thought you’d decided against it. All are speaking of your tiff with Minerva. But that is neither here nor there.” Melqart rose from his throne and walked toward the image that rested in a semicircle three steps down from his throne. His purple cape fluttered behind him. “It is about time you came to see me, and just in time, as the faithful have come to bestow me with much praise.”

  Melqart’s boyish charm rang through. In this form, he appeared no older than twenty human years, with night black hair and keen hawk eyes that
seemed to take in every nuance of movement.

  Melqart waved his arm over his dancers, as if highlighting their skill and prowess.

  Baldr refused to compare this handful of dancers to the Sommer Solstice that was celebrated in his honor. It made no sense to compare pomegranates and apples. “How long have they been dancing? Am I interrupting?”

  “No, not at all. This is just a normal day here, where they seek my blessing and help for a safe voyage. Tomorrow will be another day when help is requested, as the faithful will surely request my assistance.”

  “The High Council recently met. It seemed quite intense,” Baldr stated.

  “Yes, but that is what happens with godly politics. We’ve all known each other for eons and have staved off any conflict for years, besides the usual bickering.”

  Baldr agreed. Yes, they did bicker, especially when it came to the godly rights and how they could self-govern, but then again, nothing created more chaos than when the pantheons intermingled.

  “Are you apt to give them your blessing?” Baldr asked.

  Melqart threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, you Nordic deities have a sense of humor I do not dare comprehend. Of course, I seek to help all in need, even the lowliest. It all depends on if they call my name.”

  The power of a name was not lost on Baldr, as the name had the ability to invoke the gods, a plea that they all heard to appear. And when one god was called, no other was allowed to show up, as such would have dire consequences.

  The prayers of the faithful kept the pantheons and their respective cities of the gods going. Poaching of believers was strictly forbidden, as decreed by the heads of each of the pantheons.

  “What has brought you here?” Melqart asked.

  Baldr shifted his weight. He’d known Melqart for a long time, as long as their pantheons had been on the Council together; in fact, they’d played together, chased women together, and broken hearts along the way. Their friendship had withstood all interference, even the Roman goddess, Minerva, who’d sought to come between them.