The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1)

by Victoria L. Scott

  Andrew ignored my colorful comment. “In fact, Odin is known to history and legend more for his attributes of magic, wisdom, and poetry, but I suppose, yes,” Andrew said, his tone dry and matter of fact, “if you wish to be pessimistic, you could say a death god adopted you.” He finished buttoning his shirt and looked up at me.

  “I am not being pessimistic,” I said. “I killed a woman today, clearly following in my adoptive father’s footsteps.”

  “In self-defense,” he countered. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  “Molly Silver didn’t start out as the… thing… she was in my hotel room tonight. Obscurati made her that… and I ended her life in the blink of an eye.” I let out a brief, bitter laugh. “There was no ‘magic’ or ‘poetry’ in it… only the calculus of a knife’s throw and the spray of blood on my skirts. I’ve never used my ability to harm another living creature until today. The fact that I did it in self-defense doesn’t make the act less unpleasant, and it doesn’t make her less dead.”

  “You can’t focus on what the woman was like before tonight, Ariana,” he said, trying to comfort me. He stood up and stood in front of me, facing the Pirates poster. “Dark magic killed who she was long ago. That isn’t your fault, and you’ve the right to defend yourself. Surely you know if Molly Silver had succeeded, they’d have done bad things to you?”

  I held up my left hand and pointed at my wrist. “There’s something in there,” I said, teeth gritted in revulsion. “I felt it twitch before Molly Silver found me.” I dropped my hand. “Bad things have already been done to me. What I want to know is why? Laufeson and the Obscurati or whoever the Hell these people are, don’t want me because they have a fondness for sonnets, Mr. Michaelson. I dare say they want me because of my association with Odin’s other, more deadly aspects. Isn’t that so?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said reluctantly. “We think so.”

  “Of whom is Laufeson an heir?”

  “Loki, the Norse trickster god. He was a consummate liar and betrayed people at every opportunity. He engineered the death of one of Odin’s sons just to show he could. Odin punished him with an eternity in the underworld chained below a snake dripping acid venom on him.”

  I stilled. “That’s what Mellie said,” I muttered, surprised. “She told me ‘Laufeson’ meant ‘Son of Loki.'”

  Andrew shrugged. “Sometimes the enemy sits in plain sight. The heir of Loki has many aliases, of course, but he decided to be more overt in his initial attack. That alarmed Miranda, so she sent me to keep an eye on you.”

  “My aunt orders you around?”

  Andrew smiled warmly. “Your Aunt Miranda is the seneschal, or commander, of the Pessarine Consortium. She orders all of us around. From what I’ve seen, she orders everyone around.”

  I snorted. “That’s true enough.”

  “I’m her second in command.”

  I took that in. “So are you really a graduate student with Dr. Maitland, or was that a lie to allow you to get close to me?”

  “I am, but we’ll see how long it lasts.” He shrugged and looked down at me with sparkling blue eyes. “Have to see you safe first.”

  I looked at the floor. Part of me liked Andrew being so close to me and looking down at me like that, but part of me was uncertain what to make of his regard. “So,” I said, moving around him to stand by Hugo at the sink, “Laufeson holds a grudge? That’s why he kidnapped me all those years ago, put this thing in my wrist, and is now trying to get me back? Some glorified attempt at revenge against Odin for what he did to punish Loki?”

  Andrew turned, looked at his hands, thinking, and then turned his gaze up to meet mine again. “While Laufeson held you over those three days, he put many devices inside your body. Some of them were… diabolical and nasty. Then he put you in Odin’s path by hanging you on the World Tree so you’d end up as you are now,” Andrew continued.

  The memory of the dream I’d had with the huge pig bloomed in my thoughts. “The goddess Freya,” I said. “She came to me in a dream with her boar and showed me the World Tree. She wanted me to know it as it knew me.”

  “You bled on it. Blood is a very powerful magical substance, particularly when it’s shed in sacrifice. That’s how the tree knew you.”

  That made me stop and stare at Andrew for a moment. “Sacrifice?” I said. The images the World Tree had placed in my mind loomed up in my thoughts. I saw the girl bound, in pain and dripping blood hanging in the branches of the tree. “Oh God. That girl I saw… was me?”

  “Indeed,” Andrew said grimly. “The Pessarines saved you from dying on the World Tree and carefully removed all Laufeson’s devices. That took days, since some of the devices,” he paused, frowning, “moved around like living things. You nearly died. Between the efforts of my grandfather Jeremiah, the prior Heir of Khonshu, and the rest of the Pessarines they managed to catch all the devices except the one in your wrist, and they did what they could to disable that one.”

  I rubbed my upper arms, feeling my skin crawl as I thought about the thing in my wrist. “Why did he put all those things in me and then hang me in a tree?”

  Andrew cleared his throat. “The Norse sacrificed people to Odin that way. Odin hung himself in the World Tree for nine days in sacrifice. Putting you there, bleeding, made you a sacrifice—“

  “—to Odin,” I finished, “or like Odin? Or both?”

  Andrew nodded. “We think Laufeson wanted Odin to adopt you with his devices inside you. Once you came of age and started connecting to Odin’s claim on you, he sought you out, intent on using the connection to Odin by controlling you.”

  I shook my head. “But I didn’t even know who Odin was until today, and I don’t remember being kidnapped or sacrificed. How could I connect with Odin?”

  Andrew’s shoulders slumped. “You started throwing darts.”

  “Sorry?” I said, not certain I’d heard him correctly.

  “Your parents did what they could to keep you from anything associated with Odin’s powers, on Miranda’s advice. That’s why they encouraged you to study mathematics and limited your exposure to literature. They turned you away from any games that involved throwing anything accurately. Then—”

  Realization dawned. “I came to Cambridge, met Max, joined the Bosch crew—“

  “—and won every dart game you played,” Andrew finished. “In the legends, when Odin throws his spear, he never misses.” His smile was wry. “Neither do you. When you throw darts, and in Penzance when you told those stories, it wasn’t you doing those things. It was Odin. He used his connection with you to sort of… well, hijack your body, I guess you’d say. The more you threw darts, the stronger the connection became—”

  “…and the more he put on my body like shrugging into a suitcoat,” I said, annoyed, “wandering about as he pleased, bold as brass. Lovely.”

  “True,” Andrew said, “but his intervention has saved you more than once, and made you nearly enough money to start your aeronaut business. He is protective of you… very much so.”

  I couldn’t keep the annoyance from my voice. “I think you’ll agree, Mr. Michaelson, if I’m under constant attack, it’ll be singularly difficult to maintain a storefront, much less live my life as I wish. As it is, my taking the Tripos in June looks increasingly unlikely, if I’m even able to return to Cambridge and Towson House. I’ve no idea what I’ll tell my parents about all of this,” I indicated the ship around us, “much less explain my pagan adoption, my ability to throw darts, my use of magic, and my killing someone. Yet you speak of this odd circumstance as if it’s some sort of interesting, but helpful, twist of fate. At this point, I don’t know whether to weep or knock you sideways.”

  Hugo trilled and flapped his wings though I wasn’t sure how to interpret his actions.

  Andrew looked sharply at the raven. “What?” he said, alarmed, and then the Bosch lurched suddenly to starboard, knocking all three of us to the floor. I landed with an ooompf on top of Andrew.

  “A
h,” he said, breathless, “looks like ‘knock me sideways’ has won the day.” He moved my elbow out of his chest. “And please,” he wheezed, “call me Andrew.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Andrew and I struggled to our feet while Hugo flapped his wings and squawked in alarm. “Hugo,” Andrew gasped, still trying to catch his breath, “go to Miranda now—tell her we’re under attack!” Hugo squawked agreement and promptly disappeared into thin air.

  We opened the door to my cabin just as the Bosch tilted alarmingly to port. We held onto the door and managed to keep our feet until the ship righted itself again.

  “This isn’t normal weather phenomena,” I said, gasping as we stepped into the hallway. I put my hands out to brace myself against another rapid roll to one side or another. Andrew did the same.

  “Bridge!” he declared, and we made our way to the command center of the ship, hands out on the walls to hold us steady as we moved.

  The phosphorite globes on the bridge swung wildly on their ceiling hooks, casting odd shadows across the consoles and stations manned by my friends. Needle and Max struggled visibly to hold the wheel steady, while Lizzie frantically monitored the propellers and engines. Griff, I knew, was down with the engines, no doubt swearing a blue streak at the sudden rapid movements of the ship. The engines groaned under the strain. Oddly, the vista outside the front glass windows was placid—no sign of clouds or any atmospheric disturbance. The night sky was clear and full of stars, with the moon high in the sky. Andrew ran to the window to peer out into the darkness, pulling his gold pendant from his shirt.

  I dashed to the navigation console and stared in amazement as the gauges and dials spun wildly. None of my usually very reliable instruments functioned properly. I had no clue as to the source of the rough buffeting we’d experienced—The Bosch flew upward, pushed by a sudden gust of wind and I hit the deck, the air knocked out of me again. —are experiencing, I thought with a groan.

  “Ari! Report!” Max shouted.

  I grabbed the edge of the console and pulled myself up to a kneeling position, staring in dismay at the wild, impossible readings. “Navigation is completely knackered,” I told him. “All gauges and meters unreadable. I’ve no idea what the Hell is going on.”

  Max swore under his breath. “Understood. Andrew—what do you see?”

  Andrew turned to look at Max, his face drawn as he gripped his pendant tightly. “Persian wind demons,” he said. “Servants of Pazuzu and thugs of the Obscurati.”

  “What in blazes are they?” Lizzie demanded, “and what can be done to stop them swatting us about like a shuttlecock?”

  Andrew’s gaze grew distant as he concentrated on something far away. “What are they? Nasty,” he said grimly. “They’re trying to encourage us to land without killing us just yet.”

  They want me alive, I thought, my anger blazing up.

  “Are these mortal creatures?” Max asked, his face set. “Can they be killed?”

  Andrew’s attention returned to the bridge. “They used to be people until they allowed the demons to possess them. Now they look nothing like humans, but the core of the…” he grimaced, “...creatures is eminently killable.”

  “How many?” Max asked.

  “Four,” Andrew replied. He brought a hand to his temple, closed his eyes and concentrated. “I’m telling Gregor and Ahisa mind-to-mind now,” he said. “We’ll see what we can do magically to stop the attack.”

  The ship lurched downward and I braced so I didn’t fall down again.

  Max looked at me. “Ariana,” he said. “In the closet of my cabin you’ll find a harpoon gun and a gas canister backpack. There are twelve small harpoons in a belt next to the gun. Grab the gear, suit up and head to the deck. I want you to shoot the monsters out of the sky.”

  There wasn’t any other choice, of course, but the idea I’d be killing more attackers wasn’t a pleasant one, though I knew if I didn’t there was the distinct possibility we’d all be killed. What Max asked of me wasn’t easy. With the demons knocking the ship about, even with my ability to hit anything I wanted I could inadvertently puncture the Bosch’s envelope, which might also kill us all.

  Andrew, done communicating with Gregor and Lady Sato, met my eyes. He didn’t need to read my mind to know what I thought. He knew the danger as well as I did – as well as we all did.

  “On my way,” I said and headed out, arms outstretched and ready for the next wild movement of the ship around me.

  “Shall I call battle stations, Captain?” Andrew asked as I crossed the bridge.

  “Aye, Andrew, and get a parachute to the Duchess just in case,” Max ordered, then grunted as the ship lurched again. He and Needle reset their feet and readjusted their grip, straining at the wheel.

  I hit the hallway and moved as quickly as I could to Max’s cabin, entered it, opened the closet and the harpoon gun fell out, the business end, thankfully unloaded, aimed at me. It was a very long, very big rifle. The barrel was bronze with a wooden stock. It was front loading, and a nozzle at the end of the stock showed where the gas canisters that propelled the harpoons attached to the gun. The leather backpack with the steel gas canisters leaned against the back of the closet, next to the canvas belt with the harpoons attached. A flexible metal pipe in overlapping segments that reminded me of a centipede lay on the floor next to the belt.

  The handles to open the pressure valves were on the sides of the canisters rather than the tops, along with nozzles for the flexible metal tube, so the operator could open and close the valves easily as well as switch canisters when one ran out of pressurized air.

  The ship shuddered as another blast of wind hit it and I staggered, holding on to the closet door for support. As the ship righted itself, I grabbed for the equipment. The backpack was heavy, and I struggled to get the buckles tightened around my torso. My corset helped me stand straight despite the weight of the pack. Once I’d managed that, I screwed in the tube to the right side gas canister, picked up the ammunition belt and tied it around my waist, and finally grabbed the gun, screwing on the other end of the flexible tube into the bottom of the gun’s stock. The ship lurched again and I fell back into the closet, the weight of the canisters on my back affecting my balance. The closet door shut with a slam, and I was lucky not to get my fingers smashed by the damnable thing. I got myself out of the closet with a grunt and made for the hallway and stairs that would take me to the deck and the open air, grabbing a rope on my way.

  The deck was windy and cold. The moon illuminated the wooden planks beneath my feet that were not obscured from the light by the cigar-shaped envelope above me. My hair billowed out, sending the remaining pins flying, and my red curls writhed in the gale like a living thing. My skirts mimicked my hair and I struggled to stay upright. Andrew, Gregor, and Lady Sato stood on the starboard side of the deck holding hands and concentrating, presumably working some sort of magic to assist in our eluding the wind demons. Focused as they were, they didn’t see me.

  A quick look around told me we’d lost altitude. I cursed silently. Bending over to lessen the effect of the wind on my movements I moved to the port side of the ship and tied myself to the rail so I wouldn’t get knocked off the deck. I looked up and around, seeking our assailants, grateful the width of the envelope was so narrow. From the side of the ship, I’d have a greater open space within which to aim at the demon-creatures attacking us. Since the envelope curved above me at a steeper angle on the side of the ship than at the front or rear, I figured my chances of popping a hole in a ballonet by accident and blowing us into the afterlife were somewhat reduced.

  I pulled a harpoon out of my belt and holding the gun between my skirted legs, I shoved the rear of the bolt into the barrel of the gun until I heard something catch on the inside. Taking care to hold the sharp pointy end away from myself and the envelope above me, I turned the gun so the pointy bit faced outward. Then I opened the valve on my right hand side and felt the flexible tube stiffen with the pressur
ized air from the tank accompanied by a sort of pop inside the gun itself. I brought the gun up so I could sight down the barrel and scanned the sky. Despite the light of the moon, I couldn’t see much. I felt a gust of wind and was grateful for the rope I’d used to secure myself to the ship, feeling the poor old girl shudder violently and dip downward, losing even more altitude.

  Andrew popped up beside me and grabbed the nearby rail with a white-knuckled grip. “There’s a demon at each of the cardinal points,” he shouted in my ear, pointing up and to the left. “Can you see them?”

  I squinted and willed my eyes to bring the creatures into focus, but only saw grey smudges. I shook my head.

  Andrew held up his right hand. “I can show you where they are,” he said, “but it means mucking about in your brain a bit. Since the moon is out I can see the demons far better than you can.”

  I ground my teeth and nodded to indicate he had permission to ‘muck about’, realizing the necessity of the intrusion but still not liking it much.

  Andrew reached up and put the palm of his hand up under my waving hair so he touched the back of my head.

  Vision functions are in the back of the brain, he explained telepathically. This won’t hurt, but you may find it somewhat disorienting. Brace yourself… three, two, one—And suddenly the night sky became more focused and detailed, as if it were daytime and I had on the most amazing spectacles ever invented. I gasped, took a second to get my bearings and saw the demons.

  My initial impression was one of abomination and deformity so profound that I felt my gorge rise as I looked at the awful monsters. I swallowed convulsively and looked away. Shoot first, then vomit, Andrew suggested pragmatically.

  I sought the demon in the sky again and held back my nausea as I looked at the creature. Andrew had said they’d been human once, but I wasn’t sure what to call what I saw now. The demon hovered off the port side flapping two sets of wings: one set resembled those of a bat while the other wings resembled those of a vulture. It had elongated, ugly taloned feet like a huge bird of prey, but rather than having a bird head, this demon had the head of a dog with red eyes that burned like coals in a fire. There were no arms to speak of, just writhing tentacles dripping ooze. Scales covered its torso and a whip-like tail cut the air back and forth as the dog head opened its mouth. A gust of wind hit the Bosch, knocking the ship to starboard. Andrew and I held on until the ship stabilized again and I took aim with the harpoon gun.