Arctic Dawn (The Norse Chronicles Book 2)

by Karissa Laurel

  Before I could put my question to words, Skyla pounded her fist against the door, a thunderous knock. “Tori Ito, we know you’re here,” she yelled. “Come out and face us. Don’t hide behind your pitiful little god.”

  Skyla pounded on the door a few more times, but either Tori had decided to hide from us, or she wasn’t home. Skyla rattled the doorknob. “Locked.”

  I looked at Val. “This is where you come in.”

  Val huffed but complied with my request. He peered through a crack in the window blinds near the front door. The air popped in my ears, and he disappeared. The front door opened an instant later, and Val smiled and motioned for us to come in.

  Skyla and Val fanned out through the house. I let Embla and Naomi in through the back-porch entrance. They took the upstairs while Skyla, Val, and I searched the downstairs.

  “Clear!” Skyla called from her corner of the house.

  I found Skyla in the living room and motioned to the kitchen. “It’s clear in here, too.”

  Val returned from searching the other downstairs rooms. He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Embla and Naomi tromped down the stairs and rejoined us.

  “Nothing,” said Naomi.

  “What game are they playing?” Embla asked.

  Through the kitchen window, beyond the yard, somewhere on the dock, the sudden glimmer of a flame arced through the sky.

  “Look.” I pointed. “I guess they’re playing capture the flag, er, sword.”

  The flame waved, leaving a contrail of bright, burning plasma, like the color guard in a demonic high-school marching band. Come and get me, it said.

  “If they want a fight, they’ll get a fight,” Naomi said, growling.

  Skyla grabbed Naomi’s arm and stopped the Valkyrie from charging forward. “That’s what they want. They want us to go rushing out there, rash and unprepared.”

  Naomi was the smallest of us all, but she wore the most vicious expression: teeth bared, eyes sparking with fury. She drew a long blade from a sheath at her hip. I had learned in my previous training at the Aerie that the Valkyries’ weapons carried an extra bit of power in the form of runes, gifted to them from Odin years ago. The Valkyries imbued their blades with the power of those runes, and it gave them the necessary edge to defeat mythological creatures. Perhaps even the gods.

  “I’m not unprepared,” Naomi said.

  “You’re talking about fighting a son of Thor,” Val said. “Grim might not have Mjölnir or Thorin’s other enhancements, but he won’t go down easily. There’s a reason the Viking berserkers worshipped Grim before going into battle. He got his battle rage from his father. You don’t stand a chance against him when he makes up his mind to fight. He’s a brawler, and he’s lethal with just his bare hands. He’s had to be because he has nothing else to fall back on.”

  “But say we got lucky anyway,” I said. “You can’t kill Grim and expect there won’t be repercussions from the other Aesir.”

  “Solina’s right.” Val squeezed my shoulder. “Thorin won’t take kindly to you poking lethal holes in his only brother.”

  Naomi huffed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, I won’t try to kill Grim. Not unless he forces my hand.”

  “Embla,” Skyla said, “if you, Naomi, and Solina focus on the fire sword, then Val and I will keep an eye out for Grim. He has to be here. He obviously lured us here.”

  I pursed my lips at Skyla and huffed. “I thought you said I didn’t stand a chance against Tori and that I was a danger to myself.”

  Skyla lowered her gaze and looked away. “I have a feeling your fire might be our best chance against that sword.”

  “Glad we can agree on that.”

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but we were armed and somewhat prepared. As long as Grim and Tori had the sword, and as long as we wanted to take it from them, they would have the advantage. I didn’t mean to let them keep it for long.

  An arc of fire blazed in the distance again, tempting us like cheese enticing rats to the trap.

  “Sometimes, you just have to take the bait,” I mumbled to myself.

  Through the back door and out into the yard, Embla, Naomi and I moved toward the lake, tentative and wary but focused on the sword and its wielder. Val and Skyla hung back, anticipating Grim’s approach. We reached the dock, and I stopped to look back, to verify that Val had taken his place behind me as promised, but a cry of alarm and the sick thwack of battered flesh announced that something had gone terribly wrong.

  Val cursed. Another, deeper voice barked out a harsh word. A crack was followed by another shriek that sounded like Skyla in pain. Someone cried out again, and a limp body flew through the darkness before splashing into the lake, beyond the end of the dock.

  What the hell?

  Skyla grunted, and I raised my fire. She and Grim were knotted together like Olympic wrestlers. He twisted and slammed her to the ground. Skyla’s head rocked back and cracked against the ground, and she fell still and silent at his feet. Oh, God, no… Val had tried to caution us, but his warning failed to adequately prepare us for the truth. If Val, a full-blooded Aesir, couldn’t stand up to Grim longer than he had, the rest of us had even less hope. We’d never really stood a chance against Grim, against a son of Thor whose ultimate weapon was his own two hands and an insane lust for battle.

  My ears popped, and an instant later, a set of powerful arms wrapped around me and squeezed. I called out my fire and cranked my internal torch full throttle. Grim yelped and dropped me, and I turned to face him. In the circle of my light stood a large man who I might have mistaken for Thorin if not for the brutality in his face. Skyla had crumpled, lifeless, at his feet, and Val was gone.

  Grim’s lips split into a sneer. Cruelty shone in the gleam of his teeth. Grim watched me with focused attention, possibly searching out my weak spots. I had them, for sure, but he wouldn’t find them without a fight.

  “What do you want, Grim?” I asked, crouched in a defensive stance.

  “Your death by Skoll is a great threat to my well-being,” he said.

  Where had I heard that before?

  “I survived Ragnarok once. I will not take my chances again.”

  “There’s no mistaking whose brother you are.” Besides looking a great deal like Thorin, Grim also sounded just like him.

  “Magni is soft. He has failed in his duty to his race.”

  “But not you. You’re going to kill me and assure your perpetuity. That’s how your brother put it.”

  Grim smiled, and his iciness brought goose bumps to my arms. “I am most certainly going to kill you. Just not right this minute.”

  “You won’t touch her. Not now, not ever.” Naomi appeared from the darkness and moved into my circle of light. She had drawn her sword and pointed it at Grim.

  “Put away your toy, Valkyrie,” Grim said, condescension thick in his tone. “You are my servant. You will do no harm to me.”

  Embla stepped up beside Naomi. She raised her weapon, a long, dark blade the perfect length for throwing. “For too long we’ve been your servants. We have fulfilled your desires and demands at your whim—at the whims of all Aesir. In return, we have been used and discarded— shoved in a corner and forgotten. For centuries, we have trained and prepared. We held ourselves ready, but for nothing. The days when we were your servants, your whores, are over.”

  I expected Embla’s words to outrage Grim. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed. Embla’s grip tightened. Naomi leaned in closer. Animosity and the promise of violence sparked through the air like static electricity.

  “I have cared for you,” Grim said, “provided for your every need. I have celebrated your success, and in your despair, I gave you support. I have always been faithful to you. In return, you betray me.” Grim pulled himself up tall and straight.
He threw his gaze into the distant darkness. “All have forsaken me, except one. Only she has remained true.”

  A streak of light blinded us. The Valkyries cried out, and Embla threw her knife as a wall of fire erupted through the night, cutting between the Valkyries and me. Naomi shouted my name. I called to her, trying to reach for her, but the flames were too hot.

  “Fight fire with fire, they say.” It was the voice from my dream—and it belonged to Tori.

  No big surprise, but the fact she would turn on me like that stung my pride.

  “Tori!” Naomi screamed over the roar of the fire. “Why are you doing this?”

  Naomi lunged closer, ready to strike, but Tori swiped her weapon, Surtr’s sword, and sent a literal rain of fire falling over the Valkyries. They shrieked and fell back.

  Tori’s attack on the others had absorbed her attention. Taking advantage of her distraction, I prepared to strike.

  Grim understood my intent and called out, “Tori, watch it!”

  Tori spun, and the sword vomited flames over me. I had yet to develop my ability into much of an offensive weapon unless someone stood still long enough for me to give them a bear hug made of fire, but my abilities provided for a pretty terrific defensive shield. I raised my fire and created a barricade, a protective wall that resisted the scorch of Surtalogi’s flames.

  Voices yelled and cried out around me, but my own fight required all my concentration, and I had no attention to spare for the others. I let down all my walls and engaged Surtalogi fully, pouring out my flames. The sword took everything I gave and more. I pushed harder, fearing that I was treading close to the threshold between corporality and supernova star power, when I would convert to that other state of being. But that moment never came. The sword sucked away my heat and light until my well ran dry.

  “Tori, that’s enough,” Grim said.

  Tori turned the sword aside, throwing a fiery wall up between me and the Valkyries who might have helped me. I fell to my knees and slumped to the ground. A dark and bitter chill filled the place where my fire had lived. A void opened in me and drew me toward a frigid, bottomless abyss. I had nothing left with which to resist. Naomi cried out my name once and fell silent.

  Strangely, the face I saw in the dimness of my fading consciousness wasn’t hers. No, in those last moments, my gaze fell on a shadowy figure standing in the gloom behind Grim, watching my defeat with a cold, detached expression.

  I reached out and pointed, willing someone to turn around and see him—to verify he was real. But the darkness came, and I passed out, not knowing if I had really seen Rolf Lockhart or if my imagination had made him up.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A blackened and ancient city loomed over me—a skeleton left out in the elements to age and decay. In the distance rose a monstrous mountain range, crowned by snow. The sourness of old smoke lay heavy on my tongue and stung my eyes. I walked the dead city’s streets, dodging broken stones and bricks, fallen pillars, and shattered glass. A frozen wind tore through the torched and ruined landscape, carrying the shrill cries of ghosts.

  One voice rose above the others, mournful and wrecked. I searched for it, stepping over and through piles of rubble and ash. The voice called higher and louder. Like a siren, it screamed and wailed until I could no longer bear it. I crouched, covered my ears, and squeezed shut my eyes.

  I stayed like that for an eternity before the sound faded. When I finally pulled my hands away, an echo rang in my ears, but the horrible noise had faded away. The place where I’d stopped was the courtyard of what had probably once been a fine home. A few beams and doorframes remained, teetering on a foundation of besmirched stone. In the yard beside me stood the burned-out remnants of a tree, little more than a twisted, blackened stump.

  Compelled to touch the charred remains, I went to the tree and flattened my palm against its cold, dead bark. At the instant of my touch, new shoots sprang from the blackened body. I gasped and pulled my hand away, and the new growth withered. I touched the stump again, and the shoots recovered and grew. The roots beneath me stretched and wriggled in the ground like a child waking from a long sleep.

  Branches unfurled, and tiny green buds sprouted on their tips. The buds grew into leaves and sweet white blossoms. I held my hand to the tree and watched it shed its black skin, revealing warm brown bark underneath. The flowers fell off, and in their place formed little green bulbs. The bulbs grew into apples that turned bright yellow before deepening into burnished gold.

  Finally, the tree stopped and rested. I took my hand away to test what would happen. The new growth remained, the fruit sparkling in the sunlight. I grasped an apple and plucked it free. The air around me went still. The breeze died. Every leaf on the tree froze in place. The whole world held its breath, waiting for me to take a bite.

  I rubbed the apple’s skin over my lips, teased it with my tongue, and sank my teeth into its flesh. Its juices dribbled down my chin, and I knew I was eating the apple from my dream—the sweetest, brightest flavor I had ever tasted. The breeze returned, but with a freshness that hadn’t existed before. I heaved in a deep lungful, and the coldness of it stung and cramped in my chest. I gasped and coughed and fought for air, but it was frozen, and I could not breathe.

  Darkness surrounded me. I rubbed my eyes, but none of my visions returned. No tree, no burnt city, no imposing mountains. Nothing. I tried sitting up, but dizziness washed over me.

  Haven’t I been in this situation before?

  But no stony arms were binding me in place. My own weakness was keeping me immobile. Grim had done me the courtesy of providing a thin blanket to cover my bare flesh, but it left my extremities cold and numb. I envisioned my toes turning black and falling off. The one comfort in that horrible situation hung heavy around my neck: the gold chain, Mjölnir’s lanyard. It had survived the firefight.

  “Does Sleeping Beauty finally awake?”

  “Grim?” My words came out in a rasp from my dry and frozen throat.

  A match struck, and a lantern flared to life. Light bounced off Grim’s face, but the shadows drew harsh lines that turned him into a haggard and haunted creature. He grinned, the lecherous beast, and leaned closer. Heat from the lantern supplied the only relief from the frigid air, and I wanted to hug it, but raising my hand would’ve required strength I didn’t have.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “Meddlers.”

  “What happened?”

  “Surtalogi feeds on fire. It sucked yours away until you were empty.”

  “Why is it so cold?”

  “Ice.” Grim patted the walls. “A whole cave made from it.”

  He wore a fur-lined parka. The hood hid his hair and made his resemblance to his fairer brother more pronounced. It creeped me out, big time.

  “I-I’m going to freeze to death,” I said, my teeth chattering.

  Grim clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No, you won’t. Not yet.” He passed me a cup of something hot and steaming. “Drink this. The cold should keep you too weak to use your fire, but you’ll be able to generate just enough heat to keep yourself alive.”

  “Why? If you kill me now, Skoll will be out of luck, Helen’s plan will… Oh, I see. Helen is the whole point of this. Right? I’m Helen bait.”

  Grim nodded. “Surtalogi is one of the few things that can defeat her, and her death is long overdue.”

  “What happened to Val?”

  “Last I saw, he was broken in two, lying at the bottom of Mineral Lake.”

  “Dead?”

  “Probably not, but he’ll be useless for a while.”

  “Skyla?”

  “That new Valkyrie bitch? She’s out of luck. Brave, fierce, but still ultimately no help to you.” Grim shifted
and moved away, taking the tiny bit of lantern heat with him. “Drink that syrup and go back to sleep.” He moved farther away. “It’s the only escape that will offer you any comfort.”

  “Wait,” I said.

  Grim paused. He didn’t turn around, but his stillness indicated he was listening.

  “Are you working with Rolf Lockhart?”

  “Lockhart?” Grim asked, his back still to me. “Never heard of him.”

  With that, he disappeared into the darkness. I tried getting to my feet, but my legs refused to cooperate, and the shivering took over so that I could barely move at all. After sucking down the contents of the cup—sweet, warm, and thick—I reached into my wellspring of fire and found a sorry dribble of energy. I brought it to the surface, and the faintest light glowed from my skin, like foxfire generated by the honey fungus on dying trees.

  Mani had taught me those kinds of things when we went camping as kids. He was such a Boy Scout. I closed my eyes and revisited the camping trip with Mani when he’d first showed me the foxfire, little mushroom bundles growing on decaying trees. From a distance, their glow looked like the eyes of enchanted creatures watching us from the forest shadows. I wanted to pick them and take them home. Mani wouldn’t let me.

  “They won’t glow if you pick them,” he said. “They’ll die, and their lights will go out.”

  I snagged an apple from a low-hanging branch and ate it as I toured the remains of the house. Ash, charcoal, and a pile of heavy rocks littered the floor and surrounding yard, but little else remained. No knickknacks or personal items, no crockery or furnishings. When I finished my apple, I tossed the core out the window frame and thought no more of it. But when I returned to the yard minutes later, a ring of fine, green grass had sprung up around the apple core. Hmm?