by Alane Adams
The next day, Loki sat in a tree above where the children were having a picnic under the watchful eye of a nanny. He trilled a merry song.
The boy’s brown head came up. He dropped the ball he was playing with and walked over to the tree.
“Hello, little bird,” Kaleb called up.
Loki hopped down to a lower branch and let the boy stroke his feathers. He reached for Loki, but Loki took flight, landing on a tree farther down the path.
Kaleb ran after him. His nanny called out, minding him not to wander off, but she was distracted with the girl.
Loki flitted from tree to tree, calling to the boy, letting him get close before taking flight. Before long, they were deep into the forest. The brush grew thicker, the sounds of the palace muffled by the dense woods and the thick moss that hung from the branches. Trees towered overhead on massive ironwood trunks. Finally, Kaleb stopped and turned around, realizing he was surrounded by endless forest.
“Nanna?” he called, standing still and cocking his head to listen. Loki flew behind a tree and let himself shift into human form.
Coming around the trunk, he appeared dressed in a heavy gray cloak. The hood was pulled over his head, hiding his face.
“Nanna, there you are,” the boy said with relief, running toward the cloaked figure.
Loki held out his hand, gripping the boy’s fingers and silently leading him away.
“I followed the bird, Nanna, did you see? It called to me.” The boy babbled on, telling Loki all about his inane thoughts. “I had a brother once. He got lost in the snow. I won’t get lost, will I, Nanna?” Joran’s son stopped and looked up at him.
“Nanna, why don’t you speak? You’re so quiet.” His voice sounded hesitant. A thick snowflake landed on his cheek, quickly melting. Looking up, the boy eyed the sky through the trees. Gray clouds had moved in, and snow drifted down in large clumps. The temperature dropped the same time the boy shivered.
He tugged on Loki’s arm. “Please, Nanna, say something. I’m scared.”
Loki threw his hood back, revealing himself.
Kaleb drew back in fear.
“You—you’re not my Nanna. Who are you?”
“I am Leyes of the Eifalians, and I am going to kill you,” Loki said. He had made his hair appear long and white and his oversized eyes the aqua blue of the young Eifalian delegate.
The boy didn’t cower. Befitting the son of a king, he kicked Loki hard in the shin and then turned and ran, darting like a deer through the trees. Loki let him go, nursing his bruise, and then laughed loud and long, letting himself transform back into his own physical form.
Fear coiled in Joran’s gut, clawing at his heart, leaving him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t lose his son. Not again. It was like déjà vu, the sense of horror when the nanny had come running into the council meeting and burst into tears. He had nearly killed the frantic woman on the spot for taking her eyes off Kaleb.
His wife, Reesa, had calmed him, quietly reminding him that finding Kaleb was more important. Joran had his entire army searching the woods. The faint footprints had been quickly covered by the thin layer of falling snow. They spread out, calling the boy’s name, walking shoulder to shoulder so as not to miss a tree or hollow the boy might have hidden in.
His firstborn son, Jorri, had been lost in a storm. The memory filled him with such torment he nearly cried out. A shout from one of his men had him crashing through the woods. There, in a clearing, stood Kaleb, out of breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. He ran and threw his arms around Joran’s legs.
“I’m sorry, Papa. I followed the bird.”
“It’s okay, Kaleb.” Relief flooded Joran. He lifted his son, holding him close. Taking the horn from his side, he let out three loud blasts to let his wife know the boy was safe.
He cupped his hand to his son’s cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. How did you come to follow a bird so far?”
“It was so pretty. And then when I was scared, my Nanna was there, only she wasn’t Nanna, and when I asked her who she was, she took off her hood and her hair was white.”
Joran turned to stone as his men pushed in closer. Every man knew what that meant.
Eifalians.
“What did she say?” he asked quietly, not wanting to scare the boy.
“She wasn’t a she,” Kaleb corrected. “He said his name was Leyes of the ’falians and that he was going to kill me.”
Angry murmurs and rumbles came from Joran’s men. The Eifalians had been their sworn enemies, ever since the dawn of Orkney when they had been brought into the Ninth Realm and made their home to the south of Rakim and named it Torf-Einnar.
The only thing that kept them from going to war was a blood treaty signed generations ago. This treaty had been broken once in the last year, when the Eifalian king, Einolach, had followed a young girl and her companions into Rakim. Einolach had sacrificed himself to restore the treaty. Were the Eifalians getting their due back?
“I kicked him hard, like this.” Kaleb showed Joran how he kicked the man. “And then I ran. Did I do good, Papa?”
Joran smiled, his eyes moist with tears as he brushed the boy’s hair from his face. “Yes, my son, you did very well. You will make a great warrior someday.”
Looking over his son’s head at his men, he jerked his chin at the woods. They spread out. He didn’t expect them to find the filthy Eifalian, but if he was still in the area, they would catch him.
And tear him in half.
Chapter 6
The stables were quiet as Sam made his way up the ladder to the loft. He had spent the afternoon dodging Rego and his long list of chores, and puzzling over the strange little carving Fetch had given him. Perrin and Mavery perched on a bale of hay. Damarius lay sprawled, paws in the air as he scratched his back on the rough boards. Jey slouched against a post. Howie swung his legs from atop a stack of crates, chewing on a piece of straw. Lingas sat on her perch, eyes closed as she snored softly.
“What’s the plan?” Jey said, straightening. “Whatever it is, I’m in,” he added, rolling his shoulders to flex his muscles.
“Me too,” Howie said, jumping down to stand next to Jey. “Look, I get that we’re not powerful witches,” he waggled his fingers. “But we aren’t going to just sit around and let you have all the fun. We’re going with you after this Helva zombie.”
Sam hesitated, knowing his next words were going to disappoint his best friend. “You can’t come.”
Howie’s face fell. “Why not? Sam, you’re not leaving me behind again. We need an epic adventure together!”
“We’re coming, like it or not,” Jey added, his cheeks flushed with anger.
“Look, I’d love for you both to come,” Sam said, taking a step away to run his hand through his hair. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it all day, but Captain Teren needs Howie here. If Skara Brae falls, everything falls.”
Howie slumped, but he nodded. “I get it. I am the Great Protector after all.”
“Why do I have to stay?” Jey asked angrily. “I am a Falcory warrior. I can fight my way into the underworld better than anyone.”
Sam stared Jey down. “Because I’m not leaving Howie alone. Not again.” Sam held the boy’s gaze until, finally, the Falcory slouched back, muttering how unfair it was.
“One problem: the imp doesn’t know where Groll is,” Perrin said.
“It’s a big rock in the middle of the ocean with a giant wolf chained to it. How hard could it be to find?” Sam joked.
“And we need a boat,” Perrin added, “which we don’t have.”
Sam took the tiny wood carving out of his pocket and fingered it absently.
Mavery jumped to her feet, nearly knocking Perrin over as she lunged for the little boat. “Where did you get that?” she cried excitedly as Sam held it out of her reach.
“Back off, little witch, it’s mine. I ran into Fetch in the marketplace. He said it was a gift from Odin. It’s fragile, so don’t touch.”
Mavery hopped up and down, reaching for it. “It’s not fragile. Give it to me.”
Perrin unfolded her legs and stood, her brow pinched into a frown. “Let me see that.”
She took the boat from Sam and held it up to an oil lamp, then brought it to her face, inhaling its scent deeply. She held it out to him. “This boat has magic.”
Sam took it, turning it over in his hands before handing it over to Mavery. “Okay, what is it?”
The girl cradled it on her palm, looking at it with wide eyes and something close to awe. “Mighty Skidbladnir,” she whispered, “mightiest of ships, large enough to hold the gods, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, take me where I might go, over land, over sea and in the air, like a swift-moving cloud.” She climbed up on the bale of hay and threw the chute doors open, exposing the bright moon to her face. She held the ship over her head and cried out, “Skidbladnir, I command you to take us to Groll.”
For a moment, Sam almost believed she was telling the truth. But the seconds ticked off, and nothing happened.
“It’s just a toy,” Jey scoffed.
Sam was about to agree when the ship vibrated on her palm, spinning in a circle slowly at first, then faster and faster until it was a blur.
The ship lifted off her palm and rose into the night sky. It spun, creating a cloud around it. The cloud grew thick, white, and puffy, engulfing the ship as it grew larger and larger. There was a loud pop, and then the cloud thinned, revealing a full-scale ship complete with riggings, masts, and crisp sails. The sails flapped in the light wind as it floated in place, waiting.
Mavery clapped her hands and chuckled with glee. Sam had seen a lot of strange things since he’d come through that stonefire to Orkney, but this was a whole new level of magic.
“Cool beans,” Howie whispered.
Perrin arched an eyebrow. “I guess we have our ship.”
Mavery grabbed on to the rope ladder that hung down and scrambled up like a monkey.
They had no provisions, no idea of their destination, but it didn’t seem they were being given a choice. The ship rattled its timbers like it was eager to take off.
“You ready?” he turned to ask Perrin, but she was kneeling by Damarius.
She buried her face in his fur. “I’m sorry, mutt. You can’t come with me.”
The Shun Kara’s eyes glistened with outrage as it howled. She grabbed its snout, pinching it closed.
“Quiet, fool, do you want all of Skara Brae to hear us?”
The wolf sat on its haunches and raised one paw, silently pleading with her.
Perrin’s eyes misted, but she shook her head, rubbing his ears. “You’re a knucklehead. A ship is no place for a wolf. This one,” she pointed at Howie, “will watch over you.”
Howie paled. “Me? Last time I got close to a Shun Kara, it tried to eat me.”
The witch glared at him, and Howie sighed. “Okay, fine. Just tell him not to bite the hand that feeds him.”
Perrin straightened, pointing her finger at Howie until the wolf slowly moved to sit by him. She didn’t give the Shun Kara another look as she stiffly climbed the ladder, but Sam could see it cost her.
Howie slapped Sam on the shoulders. “Ditching me again. Some best friend you are.”
“I know. You should really replace me.” Sam saluted him with a grin, then stepped off and put his feet on the rungs. Immediately the ship began sailing through the night, making him sway on the rope ladder. He looked down over the towers of Skara Brae as the ship climbed into the sky.
He wanted to whoop with joy but thought better of rousing the sentries. They might think it was Surt launching an attack and shoot them down. He settled for punching his fist in the air and then began climbing the ladder.
As he vaulted over the rail and dropped onto the deck, the ship swayed slightly. They were headed west. He grabbed on to the rail and moved his way across the deck.
The ship was like a giant schooner. The three tiny masts had grown as thick as telephone poles and towered high in the sky. The sails snapped sharply as they found a stiff breeze. Mavery’s face was plastered with a silly grin as she sat on the back of the captain’s perch, her feet on the wheel as she steered.
Sam explored, admiring the details, from the brass fittings down to the neatly coiled ropes. He lifted a hatch, and light spilled out from below. He dropped down and found bunks fitted with soft beddings and a galley. Perrin was in there, rooting through the cupboards.
She looked at Sam in awe. “I’ve been around magic my whole life, but never have I seen anything like this.”
Sam opened the pantry door. Provisions were stocked to the brim. Dried meats, jars of preserves, spices. Another cupboard revealed bins of fresh vegetables and fruits.
“How?” Sam asked, but Perrin just shrugged.
Grabbing a red apple to snack on, Sam followed Perrin up to the deck.
They were several hundred feet off the ground. The night was clear, and the moon shone down, half full. They had left the island of Garamond behind and were headed out to sea. The boat drifted lower until it settled down onto the water. Foamy white waves rolled them forward.
Sam sat down next to Perrin and bit into the fruit. It was as sweet and crisp as any he’d ever had. “How did my little ship turn into this?” he asked, waving his apple at the sturdy vessel that carried them.
“Skidbladnir is not a little ship,” Mavery said from the helm. “Jasper told me all about it. It was his favorite story. It was made by the black dwarves of Gomara for the god Frey. He wanted a ship that could fit into his pocket, to take him places.”
“That’s some magic,” Sam said, looking up at the riggings. “And it flies?”
“It can go anywhere. And it always finds wind,” Mavery said eagerly.
“And you’re sure it’s taking us to Groll?” Perrin asked.
In answer, the ship rattled, shaking its timbers. Sam grinned, looking around. “You offended it.”
The sleek ship cut through the water, hardly rolling to the side as the waves swelled. They were moving fast, faster than the light wind would account for.
Perrin jumped up and went to the rail. She held her face up to the moonlight. After a long moment, she turned back toward Sam. “Something feels wrong.”
“Wrong?” Sam went over to the railing and leaned against it, folding his arms. “How so?”
She shook her head, running her fingers lightly over the rail. “I don’t know. It just seems a little convenient. We needed a ship, you got one, and here we are.”
“Odin must have known something bad might happen that day,” Sam laughed, still excited about the wonder of it. “Maybe this is his backup plan. He is a god, after all.”
“Well, then I’m wrong,” Perrin snapped. She waved her hands in the air. “This is not going to end in disaster, and you’ll be a hero. Happy?” She shoved past him and went down below.
Sam shook his head. Sometimes girls made no sense to him. “Did you catch that?” he asked Mavery.
The little witch just shrugged. “Maybe she’s scared of Fenrir. He is a giant wolf that will probably tear us to pieces and use our bones to pick his teeth.”
Sam glared at her. “Really? That’s a big help. I feel soooo much better.”
Mavery just grinned and spun the wheel with her feet.
“What good does steering do? I thought the boat had a mind of its own,” Sam grumbled, slumping against the railing.
“Every ship needs a captain,” Mavery answered cryptically, like she knew more than Sam.
That irritated him, and he was already teed off. He got up and shoved her off the perch harder than he intended, making her land on the deck with a thump. “Then move it. Because no way you’re captain of my ship.”
Mavery picked herself up and stuck her tongue out at him, then yawned widely. “Fine, be a big jerk, I’m tired anyway.” She skipped over to the hatch and disappeared down below.
Sam mentally kicked himself. A
bed sounded really good right about now. The ship had its own course. What did he need to stick around for?
He took his hands off the wheel, and immediately it spun wildly, tilting the hull sharply to the left. Snapping his hands back on the wheel, Sam righted the course and the ship smoothed, moving forward again. The imp was right, which was annoying: the ship needed a captain. Sam hunkered in for a long night, wondering if Fenrir was really as big as Mavery said he was.
Chapter 7
Beyla, servant to Frey, God of the Elves, lifted her skirts and began to run, her broad feet pounding on the stone floor as she crossed the hall to the vaulted temple where the assembled gods and goddesses were seated in a circle of thrones.
Behind the high gods, the Valkyrie stood watch in their gilded armor and golden breastplates. Queen Frigga sat on the highest throne, as befitted Odin’s wife. On her right sat Iduna, the gentle Goddess of Youth. To her left, her son Bragi, God of Poetry and Mirth, stroked his lyre softly. Beyla sought out the eye of her master. She flushed with embarrassment as all turned to stare at her abrupt intrusion.
Geela drew her sword and stood in front of her, barring her way.
“What business do you have here, woman?” she demanded.
“Let her pass,” Frey said, rising from his seat to peer at her. “Dear Beyla, what brings you running? Has something come to pass?”
Beyla curtsied at him, then at Frigga and the rest of the gods. “Yes, your godship, something terrible has happened.”
“What is it, woman?” Frigga demanded irritably. “We are in the midst of an important conversation.”
“It’s gone. Gone, your lordship.”
“What’s gone?” Frey asked, coming to her side and gently taking her arm. “No harm will come to you; speak freely.”
She flushed with shame. “Your little ship, sire, the one you keep next to your bed.”
“Skidbladnir?” His hand flew to cover his shocked gasp.
The gods murmured and rustled about in their seats. Geela frowned. How could someone steal from the gods here in Valhalla? It was unheard of.
