The cave walls were made of crystal, not stone, and glowed with soft blue light. Luminescent creatures, the size of dragon flies but distinctly humanoid, darted through the air on buzzing wings. One of them flew straight at me, stopped an inch from my face, stared at me, shrugged, then flew away. His eyes were black orbs, and his mouth was filled with needle teeth. He wore a loin cloth made of leaves and moss, and his body was covered in mud tattoos.
Fast-paced, almost frantic folk music came from deeper inside the cave, growing louder as I descended into the heart of the mountain. Eventually I reached the end of the corridor. I stopped, gathered the Æther to reinforce my armor, and stepped out of the passageway. I emerged in an enormous cavern, a hundred feet high and easily two football fields in diameter, lit with the same eerie blue crystals.
The music was almost deafening here, and the frenzied pace had only grown more hectic. A pool ran around the edge of the cavern, surrounding an island at the center, with a narrow walkway leading out over the waters. There, in the center of the cavern, Holda held court.
She sat on a white throne, which may have been marble or could have been bone. She was still using Ashlyn’s body, and dressed in a flowing, semi-transparent gown. The women of the Asatru were before her, dancing with men whose skin was the color of ash, whose hair was the color of linen, and whose ears were long and pointed. A great feast was laid out; giant kegs of ale sat amidst towering plates of fruit and cheese, and pigs and lambs turned on spits. Four servants attended the Asatru, barefoot and naked from the waist up, dressed in flowing brown skirts. Their eyes had been cut out of their heads.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. The witches were being attended by the rest of the Asatru, by the men Ashlyn and her cohorts had murdered in order to summon Holda.
I don’t believe in the afterlife. The Mashiach told me too many lies for me to trust any promises about mansions and streets of gold. As far as I know heaven and hell are just myths, stories we tell to comfort the grieving and admonish the guilty.
But our thoughts create ripples in the Æther, echoes, and under the right circumstances those echoes can take on a life of their own. That’s what most hauntings are: echoes of a particularly traumatic death reverberating in the atmosphere.
Most echoes are nothing more than an endless, thoughtless loop, but sometimes a death is so terrible, or the echoes in the Æther so strong, that a person’s actual consciousness can manifest after their death. That, apparently, was what Holda had done to her sacrifices. The Matron of Witches had bound their echoes, forcing them into an eternity of servitude.
I pulled in one last measure of power, readying myself for the coming battle, and strode forward, prepared to bring the entire cavern down on Holda’s head if necessary. As I crossed the bridge I saw reflections flickering in the still waters, images of men being torn asunder in battle, burned alive in giant pyres, and harried by demons. A shiver ran down my spine. There was no doubt that this was the domain of the dead.
My vision began to flicker as I walked. The food, so delicious and appealing, appeared rotten, then became enticing anew. The Valkyries shimmered and took on the form of demons with feline eyes and needle teeth, then became lovely again. Holda herself appeared as a terrible hag, with cracked gray hair, wrinkled yellow skin, and tusks like the boar I had just defeated, but then the air around her wavered and she took on Ashlyn’s comely form once more. Holda’s entire court was wrapped in a glamour, shrouded in illusion. The terrible reality of Holda’s domain–and Holda herself–was hidden from anyone without the ability to see through the Æther.
The music stopped abruptly as I neared Holda’s throne. The Valkyries and dark elves turned to stare at me. Holda herself leaned back, threw one leg over the arm of her cathedra, and clapped. “The champion has joined us for dinner! Please, let my servants fix you a plate!”
“I’m not here for pleasantries,” I said. I summoned blue flames that danced around my arms. “I’m here to kick your ass.”
Holda rolled her eyes. “Oh, how droll.” She gestured toward me lazily. “Kill him.”
The echoes of the Asatru turned their eyeless faces toward me, then marched forward in lockstep. I readied my magic. Feral rage overtook the ghosts’ faces as they approached and they broke into a run, swarming over each other to get to me. Mini-Thor shoved his partners aside and reached me first. He locked his hands over his head and screamed, trying to crush my skull with a hammer-fist blow.
I ducked to the side, channeled the Æther into a ball around my fist, and leapt into the air, doing my best to put my arm right through his face. I connected with his chin–he had corporeal form, but I’m not sure if Holda had jammed his echo back into his corpse or formed a body out of Æther–snapping his head back and launching him into the air. “Tiger uppercut!” I shouted.
My celebration was short lived. The men–all of them–tackled me, crushing me to the ground. I fell near the edge of the bridge, my face close to the water. The spirits that lived in the water’s reflection saw me and swarmed toward me like sharks drawn to chum. The water was thick with them, and the vague reflections were becoming more and more tangible by the second.
I threw an elbow behind me, knocking aside one of the Asatru, and struggled to flip over. Once I was on my back I grabbed Jersey Shore’s hair–he still had product in it, which either meant he was a reanimated corpse or Holda had a sick sense of humor–put my hand flat on his chest, and blasted a hole right through him.
The corpse clawed at the air, trying to grab hold of me, but the force of my spell threw him across the bridge and into the moat. The water creatures thronged over him, shrieking, and tore him to pieces.
“Okay,” I said as I pushed myself to my feet, “don’t touch the lava. Who’s next?”
Mini-Thor had recovered from my assault and was charging at me like a bull with a bee in its ass. “Oh come on,” I cried, “that was totally a finishing move!”
I guess Mini-Thor wasn’t into video games, because he completely ignored my very valid complaint and tried to rip my head off my shoulders. We locked up like Olympic wrestlers, vying for a dominant position. Despite the magic flowing through me, I struggled to match his raw physical power. I pirouetted, keeping him between me and the rest of the Asatru. I threw a knee into his ribs, which didn’t really seem to faze him, then dropped my weight backwards, pulling him into a roll. I ended up on top of him, a knee on his throat pinning him to the ground, and unleashed my magic. He shrieked and disappeared in a brilliant, blue-white flare. When the magic subsided, nothing but a charred skeleton remained. I stood up and kicked his remains to the water spirits.
The last two ghosts attacked, one from the left and one from the right. I summoned the Æther around me, creating a ward, but the corpses fought through the barrier. That should have been impossible, but I was in Holda’s domain, in her strongest place, and her magic was more than a match for my own.
Pain erupted between my eyes and I staggered back. The ghosts seized me, trying to tear me limb from limb. I grit my teeth, jerked my arms, and smashed the Asatru together. The impact didn’t even stun them, but it was enough to shake them off my arms. I grabbed Cyrano de Bergerac’s face like I was palming a basketball and threw a blast of light at him, taking his head off completely. The other corpse grabbed me again, but I whirled around, delivered a crushing blow to his skull, and grabbed him by his belt. I drew the Æther into my muscles and smashed him into the bridge with all my might. The stone cracked and crumbled, and the corpse fell to the spirits in the water.
I lifted my hands up like a prize fighter. “That’s right, bitches! Winner and still champion, the undefeated king of–” The bridge rumbled beneath my feet and started to collapse. “Ah, crap.” I turned and ran, heading toward Holda’s throne, the bridge caving in behind me. The water spirits thrashed and roiled, leaping up out of the water and grasping for my heels. I fired light as I ran, blasting them out of my way, and made it to Holda’s dais just as the bridge finishe
d collapsing.
The spirits fumed just beneath the water’s surface. I brushed myself off and turned toward the Snow Queen. If she hadn’t just sent a pack of reanimated corpses after me, I might have noticed how transparent her gown was, and how immodestly she sat. “What,” I asked, “Warren wasn’t good enough to reanimate?”
Holda sat back and turned an imperious gaze on me. “Matthew Warren was an arrogant fool. And,” she made a funny face, like she was trying to remember an esoteric piece of trivia, “he was a three pump chump? What the hell does that mean?” She shook her head. “This girl is still flitting around in here. It’s kind of distracting. Regardless,” she arched her back, doing a passable impersonation of Ashlyn’s cat stretch, “that was quite impressive.”
I cracked my knuckles, then my neck. “It was a good warm up, I guess. So, as the good guy I’m contractually obligated to offer you a deal. Leave this town, never return, yadda yadda yadda, and I’ll let you live. What do you say?”
“I say,” she leaned forward, “that I want you to fight for me.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d–what?”
“You defeated my Einherjar with ease. Even my Valkyries,” she gestured toward the possessed girls, “would be hard pressed to claim your spirit. You would make a worthy champion for my cause.” The weird expression flickered over her face again. “And you’ve got a cute ass.”
“Um, thanks. But why in the nine Hells would I want to fight for you?”
A Cheshire Cat grin spread over Holda’s face. “I’ve been alive for a long, long time, Caden. Many men have offered themselves to me. Many men have fallen on their knees before me, begging me to take their lives, pleading with me to have my way with them. I know a great deal about the needs of men, my love. And I know a great deal about you. The solitary warrior, homeless, friendless, alone in this cold world. I can give you your heart’s desire, Caden. Whatever you want. Power. Women. Wealth. The world will be yours, and all you have to do is bend your knee to me.”
“Huh,” I muttered. “So when did you start begging for help?”
“Watch your tongue, mortal,” Sandra–or whatever was controlling Sandra–spat.
Holda extended a hand. “It’s all right, Sister.” She turned back toward me. “I was an object of worship once, Caden. These girls were the first to recall my majesty, and their sacrifice has given me access to your world, but I am still limited. This body,” she stretched, going through a series of captivating contortions, “is so limiting. Soon I will regain my power, but until then a champion would serve me well. And even after I am made fully manifest, well, sometimes it’s just fun to watch a strong man fight, you know what I mean?”
I frowned at her. “Hey, I like pro wrestling as much as the next guy, but aren’t you kind of the no dicks at the chick party type?”
Holda smiled at me. “I don’t hate men, Caden. I hate lazy, ignorant, boorish men. Men who run off to play while their women stay at home to toil. Men who promise their fidelity but philander with the first milk maid who glances their way. Men like my husband.”
“Well I’m all about–wait, your husband?”
Holda’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I was the mother of the Vanir, the gods before the gods. The Aesir attacked, led by Wotan and his sons. The fields ran thick with the blood of my children. Most of my people died that day, Caden, and the rest of us were taken captive. I am not merely Wotan’s wife. I am his prisoner.”
Well damn. Everything about this was confusing. The fact that I kept seeing Wotan and meeting Holda was the thing that really threw me, but it was possible that Holda’s energy was similar enough to Wotan’s that I saw the Asatru’s intentions rather than their deeds. But this, this was just incredible. The old gods, before people got on their one-perfect-deity kick, were flawed, petty and cruel, but this … “Jesus, this is like Jerry Springer or something.”
“Who is this … Springing Jerry?” Holda asked.
“Never mind. Look, I’m sorry that your kids are dead and your husband’s a dick, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to help you destroy Mirrormont.”
“Oh Caden. You are such a true warrior. Destruction is the only end your mind can entertain, isn’t it? I don’t want to raze this city. I only wish to collect believers, to regain my power and my glory.”
“And then destroy the city.”
Holda sighed. “Should they reject me, of course they would be punished, but that can hardly be laid at my feet, can it? Wotan’s destruction is my true aim. I will bring him forth, drag him from his throne, and throw him into the dirt of this mortal land. And when he is weakened by his mortal shell, I shall destroy him. We shall destroy him, you and I, together.”
The words hung in the air. The Valkyries smirked. Sandra grabbed an apple from the banquet table and started munching happily. A maggot crawled out of her mouth and fell to the ground. Sandra didn’t notice.
“Our goals aren’t so different, Caden. Your visions–yes, I know about your visions–brought you to this place so that you could fell the Lord of the Hunt, no? Imagine how much easier that would be with my aid. And imagine,” she moved in her seat, the translucent fabric shifting alluringly over her skin, “the rewards.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “You’re right. It would be easier to take on Wotan with your help. Here’s the thing, though. We made you, Holda. The Vanir, the Aesir, Mithra, Zeus, Jesus, all of you. We thought you up and gave you life, and you’ve kept us prisoner ever since. You don’t want followers. You don’t want worshipers. You want slaves. Batteries. Men and women fueling your magic with their faith and their sacrifices and their zombie boyfriends. No thanks, Holda. I didn’t kiss one god goodbye just to sign up with another.”
Holda leaned back and threw her legs over the arm of her throne, ankles crossed. “A pity,” she said. “I had hoped you would be reasonable. Perhaps you will reconsider once Wotan’s horde rides through the night.”
I prepared to fight, but Holda merely waved her hand. Snow that came from nowhere swirled around me, blinding me, and when it was gone I stood back in the clearing that served as the entrance to Holda’s Otherworld.
December 24th
Chapter Seventeen
“She just threw you out?” Miranda asked. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, wrapped in her puffy ski jacket and a long-eared knit hat. We met at the Asatru’s old ritual site, because it was conveniently located and conducive to magic.
“Yeah. She expelled me from her domain with a wave of her hand.”
Miranda shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Guess she doesn’t like being turned down.”
“Gods generally don’t. Ready?”
Miranda furrowed her brow. “I think so.” She looked around, even though there was nothing to be seen. “Yeah, do it.”
I opened my senses, revealing a curtain of emerald flame separating me from Miranda. “Okay, here it comes.” I opened my hand, palm facing her, and threw a blast of light her way.
She flinched, but the ward flared to life, stopping my attack dead in its tracks and shattering it into a thousand shards of crystal. Her spell, I noted, behaved differently than mine. My wards manifested almost like super thick air, slowing and dissipating attacks. Miranda’s were more aggressive, more violent.
Miranda jumped to her feet. “Holy crap! It worked!”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t have tried to blow you up if I wasn’t sure you could stop me.”
“How gentlemanly of you. Come on,” she held up her fists like a bare-knuckle boxer, “hit me again.”
I shrugged. “All right.” I opened my palm again, sending another blast of light her way. The ward burst into visibility once more, sending my magic ricocheting into the sky. I hoped no one called the fire department.
“So what do you think her plan is?” Miranda asked.
I tossed another spell her way, this time from my left hand. “Well, she’s not at full power yet, so that’s probably her first goal.”
Miranda
deflected the attack. “And what does she have to do to get to full power? Is there some ritual she has to perform, or some trial she has to endure?”
“I don’t think so.” I threw light from both hands, but Miranda’s wards withstood both attacks easily. She had a real, natural talent. “Stuff like that is usually reserved for the Saints, for people the gods are thinking about anointing with their power. The gods themselves,” I threw another attack at Miranda’s shield, this one a bit stronger, “just need people to believe in them.”
Miranda took off her hat and stuffed it in her coat pocket. “So what, like Tinkerbell? If everyone believes in faeries and claps their hands, Holda can take over the world?”
I thought about that for a moment. “Well, yeah, kind of. The gods only have as much power as we give them. The Asatru’s ritual brought her back because they believed it would. Their faith channeled power to her through the Æther. But they’re only ten people. Well, four, now that the men are dead and Ashlyn is a meat suit.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah. Anyway, Holda is used to being worshiped by hundreds, thousands of people. To do any real damage, she’s going to have to get more people to believe in her.”
“What, she’s going to send people door to door or something? Holda’s Witnesses?”
“Heh. No, nothing like that.” I examined Miranda’s ward and discovered a flaw in the spell she had constructed. “Hey, your shield. It protects you, but what would happen if I attacked it instead?”
Miranda’s face clouded with doubt. “I really don’t know.”
I grinned at her. “That’s a problem. In magic, if you don’t know what’s going to happen, the answer is either ‘nothing’ or ‘the worst possible thing, except a little more horrible.’” I threw magic her way, but instead of trying to hit her, I attacked the spell protecting her. Miranda’s ward burned a brilliant, sparking green, then shattered.
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