Veiled Enchantments

by Deborah Blake

  “Wow. That sounds like a big deal. I’m surprised they didn’t plan it further ahead of time.”

  Astrid grimaced. “It was originally scheduled for after Thanksgiving, so the clans could set up the winter solstice summit, where the Ulfs from each clan could be counted and the new leader for the year chosen. But apparently we’re not the only ones having issues, so the current Chieftain decided to move up the meeting so they could address that too.”

  “Wait, you mean other towns are having problems with ghosts too?” Donata said. She started chopping carrots for what looked like the world’s largest pot of stew, already bubbling away on the top of the giant woodstove.

  “Apparently. No one wanted to admit it—including us, of course—but word leaked out. So now the Thing is being held tomorrow, since it is the only Saturday left before Thanksgiving and therefore the only time the Ulf candidates will be free to attend and tell their stories. Since it was already scheduled to be held in Gimle this year, we have to prepare to host a hundred or more hungry Ulfhednar for a weekend.”

  “Crap,” Donata said with feeling, and started chopping faster.

  “Exactly,” Astrid agreed, and handed her another bunch of carrots.

  She didn’t get a chance to talk to Magnus that night. When he came in from the day’s training session, the family gathered together briefly for dinner, and then everyone was put to work preparing for the onslaught of guests.

  Each of the Ulfhednar households was expected to put up at least one or two people, and the larger compounds, the Torvalds’ included, might have as many as three, depending on how many folks showed up. There were guest rooms to be cleaned and set up, and Donata had already been told that they’d be needing her room on Saturday night and to plan on sleeping with Magnus. He’d just given her a big grin at that announcement, of course. Since in theory they were engaged, she couldn’t exactly protest. She’d settled for kicking him under the table, which only made his grin widen.

  Once dinner was over, Donata was dragged back into the kitchen. Even Erik and Enar were put to work, despite their feeble protests. Halvor chopped wood for both the stove and to contribute to the large bonfire that would be part of the proceedings on Saturday night. Only Magnus was excused, because of his long, grueling day. Which didn’t stop him from chopping wood alongside his father until long after dark.

  By the time they all went to bed, midnight had come and gone, and Donata crawled into bed and was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. Any brooding and fretting she might normally have done succumbed to the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

  In the morning, she heard Magnus leave his room and head down the hallway before she got out of bed; not that she thought this particular day was the right time to tell him. In fact, sometime overnight her brain had sorted through things and decided that the news of her pregnancy was going to have to wait until she’d solved the Ulfhednar’s problem. The information that the hauntings were affecting places other than Gimle cast an entirely different light on the situation—although sadly, that light didn’t illuminate anything for her other than the knowledge that she was even more out of her depth than she’d previously thought.

  Plus, of course, she now knew that her magic might be undependable for the next month or two, and she didn’t have that long to wait. She was going to have to come at the problem from a different angle, and she was pretty sure what she had in mind would still work despite the baby. It wasn’t exactly magic; more of an innate gift. But first she wanted to see if she learned anything from the other Ulfhednar at the Thing tonight. Assuming, of course, that she was allowed to attend.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Of course she will be going,” Magnus was saying when Donata approached the kitchen. The aroma of breakfast—which this morning seemed to be a gigantic pan of scrambled eggs and enough bacon, sausage, and ham to block the arteries of a small army—warred with the smells of cooking onions, roasting turkey, and a huge kettle of soup that simmered in a large cast-iron cauldron hung over the massive fireplace at the end of the room. The cauldron made Donata suddenly homesick.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kari snapped back at him from where she was stirring the soup. Her normally pale face was red from the heat, or possibly indignation, and she wore a spattered apron over her usual jeans and flannel shirt. She waved a dripping spoon through the air to make her point, flying droplets sizzling as they hit the hot hearth. “She’s not Ulfhednar. I admit, she’s not as bad as I thought she was when I first met her, but the others will never accept the presence of a Witch at the Thing.”

  “They’ll accept her,” Magnus growled. “She will be there not just as my fiancée but also as the one we called in to help us get to the bottom of this ghost nonsense. Which, since it is now known to be affecting other clans as well, makes it even more crucial that she attend the Assembly.”

  Kari opened her mouth to argue some more and Halvor, who had been devouring a bacon sandwich with the speed of a man who wanted to be anywhere else as soon as possible, said decisively, “She’s going. Halfrida has said so.”

  And that was that.

  Donata strolled into the kitchen as if she hadn’t heard the entire conversation, and everyone else there pretended the same. Kari stared into the pot of soup with a frown, as if the contents held the meaning of life, or at least a good clue.

  “Can I help with anything?” Donata asked Astrid.

  “After you eat,” Magnus’s mother said, putting a ridiculous amount of food on a plate and setting it at the table along with a cup of tea. “Here. You need to eat more. You’re too thin.”

  Ha. That isn’t going to last long. Donata shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth, suddenly starving. Magnus swallowed the rest of his breakfast, kissed her on the forehead, and headed out the door after his father. The twins were nowhere to be seen, although the hellions were tucked out of the way in a corner of the kitchen, squabbling over some kind of game played with what looked like bone dice while they chewed on hunks of buttered bread.

  Once Donata had eaten as much as she could manage, she took over the soup pot from Kari, who wiped her sweating face with the clean edge of her apron, handed the spoon to Donata, and said with obvious relief, “I’m going hunting. Father said we could use some more meat for the feast. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” She popped out of the room and then popped back in wearing her jacket, a black wool hat pulled down over her blond hair, and carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over one broad shoulder.

  “You two, stay out of trouble,” she said to the children. After a moment’s thought, she nodded at Donata. “You too. You’re going to cause enough later.” Then she slammed out of the room.

  “Maybe I should stay here after all,” Donata said with a sigh. “I wouldn’t want to upset people.”

  Astrid’s usually cheerful face took on a grim cast. “Sweetheart, I think you are probably going to be the least upsetting thing about this meeting. I predict it is not going to go well.”

  “Not well” turned out to be an understatement.

  The meeting hall was crammed full with visitors from all the various clans—bear, boar, wolf, wildcat, elk, and badger—as well as the group from Gimle, which included Halfrida, Halvor, Astrid, Donata, Magnus, and all the Ulf candidates, plus about ten of the other town elders. Donata thought there must be almost two hundred bodies in a space meant for perhaps two-thirds of that at most. It was hot, and the air was redolent with the mingled scents of sweat, musk, anger, and fear.

  A fire blazed in the pit in the middle, a miniature version of the larger bonfire already going in the meadow where they would be holding the feast after the Thing was over.

  She wished she were anywhere else.

  Some of the out-of-town Ulfhednar ignored her. The rest either stared suspiciously or glared at her periodically. So much fun. Magnus stood next to her, his face blank, but from time to
time she would see his muscles bunching under his heavy shirt as he resisted the impulse to punch someone.

  This year’s Chieftain, a huge man named Thorsen, whose bushy salt-and-pepper beard and wild black hair made him look much like the bear he was, had taken charge of the speaking staff at the start of the Thing. He’d summed up the issues briefly and then had each of the clans step forward and describe what their Ulf candidates had been experiencing. More than one clan had reported a serious injury, and in one case a Wolf clan member had died. Thorsen’s scowl had deepened with each recitation, and the hall was filled with the sound of low-voiced growls and grumbles.

  Eventually Thorsen reclaimed the staff. “It seems,” he said loudly, “that while not all the clans have had problems with ghosts, those who have are those who are most likely to produce enough Ulf to be in contention for leadership next year. I find this very odd.”

  “Ha!” said a smaller man with a jutting beak of a nose that sat over a flaming-red beard. His hair was cut short to reveal a partially missing ear and a vivid white scar next to it. He snatched up the staff. “Dag speaking for the badgers. And I say again, ha! We have had no incidents with ghosts. Our beloved ancestors are calm and at peace. Yet we have many Ulf. I say to you, there is nothing odd about who has been abandoned by Odin and who has not.”

  Shouts rang out across the room in protest, but Thorsen held up one massive hand to quiet them. His glowering visage made it clear that he was no happier with Dag’s words than anyone else, but the one with the speaking staff had the right to say what he wished.

  “What are you suggesting, Dag of the badgers?” Thorsen rumbled.

  “Suggesting nothing,” Dag roared. “Saying it clear! There are many among the Ulfhednar who have abandoned the old ways. Who no longer respect the traditions and values of the Ulfhednar people. Look at your own Magnus Torvald,” he said, practically spitting as he pointed in Magnus’s direction. “First he runs away from his Ulf training when he is a young man, then, when he returns to complete it, he brings a Witch to make his wife. A Witch to interfere with our business. The bears should be ashamed. No wonder our god has turned his face from you.”

  Magnus ground his teeth together so loudly that Donata could hear it even over the noise in the room. His father, standing next to him, placed a restraining hand on Magnus’s arm to keep him from leaping across the space between him and the badger leader.

  “What’s more,” Dag added, speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd. “What’s more, I say to you that we should consider abandoning the Ulf training entirely this year, since it is taking such a toll on some of the weaker clans. Let Odin decide who is the most worthy to lead all the Ulfhednar. Clearly, this year, that is the badgers!”

  The sound of outraged roars rose up to shake the ceiling, and all the other clans protested in unison. It took Thorsen ten minutes of banging the staff on the ground to finally get something approaching silence.

  Into that sudden quiet, Magnus stepped forward and grasped the staff in both hands, thumping it once on the floor in front of him.

  “I agree, we must speak to Odin of this. That is why I brought Donata here. She has the gift of speaking to gods besides her own. She will speak to Odin for us.”

  Crap. It would be too bad if it turned out that Magnus was the father of her child . . . because she was going to have to kill him.

  The Thing didn’t last much longer after Magnus’s stunning announcement. Between that and the badger’s outrageous suggestion, any chance of rational discussion had pretty much flown out the window. Thorsen managed to get everyone to agree that the winter solstice summit would take place at Gimle, mostly because no one could come up with a better idea through all the yelling. None of the clans were willing to stop the Ulf training, despite the multiple incidents, so it looked as though things would go forward as usual. Assuming that any of them made it that far.

  Later, at the feast, Halfrida stopped by the blanket where Magnus, Donata, and most of the Torvalds were seated cross-legged to eat their dinner. Astrid was at the serving tables with some of the other women who had prepared most of the food, and Halvor was off having serious discussions with various elders from different clans.

  “Well, that was quite the bomb you dropped, Magnus,” the Lawspeaker said, stepping carefully over the hellions, who were wrestling on the ground perilously close to a jug of homemade hard cider. “I know that you’d planned all along to see if Donata could contact Odin if her attempts to speak to the dead were unsuccessful, but was it really necessary to announce it to everyone at the Thing?”

  Donata glared at him, something she’d been doing with studious consistency since he’d opened his big mouth. “Yeah, Magnus, was it really necessary?” She tossed a gnawed chicken leg in his direction. “The answer, in case you hadn’t already figured it out, would be a big fat no.”

  She gave Halfrida an apologetic half smile. “That really was my next plan, since nothing else has worked. But I was hoping to do it quietly, without anyone knowing, in case I failed at it like I’ve failed at all the other things I’ve tried.”

  “I am certain you will do fine,” Halfrida said in a kind tone. Then somewhat less warmly to Magnus, “Of course, if you don’t, the Gimle Bear clan will be the laughingstock of all the Ulfhednar, and we will have lost any chance of Halvor getting the Chieftainship for the coming year. That would be most unfortunate.” She nodded at them both, stepped back over the hellions, and walked off to talk to the people on the next blanket over.

  “Great,” Donata said bleakly, looking at the sparks flying up into the night sky from the roaring bonfire, and wishing she could fly up with them. “So no pressure then. Terrific.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Donata prayed under her breath that calling on a god wouldn’t be considered magical work by her confused body. In truth, it was more of a gift, although one that was rare enough among the Witch population, and nonexistent in any of the other Paranormal races. Donata regularly spoke to Dhumavati, the wretched and unpleasant matron goddess of the Ghouls, as part of her job. It mostly required a properly respectful attitude and the appropriate gifts. Those she certainly had. Now she just had to see if Odin would come for her when he wouldn’t for his own people.

  She stood in the meadow where the feast had been held, although on the Monday morning after the Thing, it was quiet and abandoned. The only trace of two nights of guesting were the tiny embers still smoldering where the giant bonfire had blazed for two nights running. But the energy from so many Ulfhednar lingered on, which was why she’d chosen this particular spot.

  The predawn silence was broken only by the twittering of birds and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. The sacrifices were aligned neatly before her. It was time.

  “Behave yourself, baby,” she whispered to her belly. “I really need this to work.”

  Taking slow, deep breaths, she allowed herself to slip into a light trance state. The new wood she’d placed on the fire suddenly flared up as she threw in a set of rune stones she’d had Magnus carve for her. Holding up a sacrifice before her, she called Odin’s name three times.

  “Odin, lord of the Ulfhednar, hear me! Your people need you!

  “Odin, king of the Norse gods, hear me! Your presence is required!

  “Odin, mighty and wise, hear me! I have brought gifts for you!”

  The air in the clearing shivered and grew thicker as the universe magnified her call and sent it out over time and space and into the lands of the gods. But there was no answer.

  She reached deep, perhaps deeper than she had ever reached before, pushed on by her desperate need to help Magnus and his friends. Despair at her failures roiled in her gut, but she pushed it back down and called on her faith instead. Her great-aunt had always said that Donata had more power than she realized—if that was true, now was the time to find it.

  In her mind’s eye, she pictured Magn
us, magnificent in their shared passion, bloody from battle, bruised from his encounter with the ghost of his old friend. Images of Freddy, battered and limping, Lora lying white and still in her hospital bed, Astrid with her open smile, and Kari displaying her fierce devotion to her family ran through her head and heart.

  “Odin,” she shouted. “I summon thee!”

  The smoke from the bonfire billowed up like storm clouds, first gray and then black, eventually transforming into a pair of ravens cawing as they surrounded her, flapping their impossibly large wings and clacking wickedly sharp beaks. Then, with the sound of thunder, a man appeared in front of her.

  No, not a man. A god. No man born of woman had ever had that kind of energy and power. It radiated off the figure like heat from a burning building. He stood perhaps ten feet tall, with flowing gray hair and beard, one eye covered with a leather patch. His face was stern and slightly perturbed.

  “Who dares to summon Odin?” he bellowed. Then he looked down and saw her. “Hmm,” he rumbled. “Nice gifts.” He gazed at the overflowing cup of mead and the plate with the huge steak and nodded in approval. Then he shrank a bit, until he was a mere eight feet high, and pulled back on his energy until it felt milder, like the warmth of the midday sun. “But why is a Witch calling my name? Where are my people?”

  Donata blinked. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised by the fact that it had actually worked or by the god’s puzzlement. Gods are rarely puzzled.

  “They have been calling to you for months, All-father. The Ulfhednar here and many other places have petitioned you with their prayers and asked for your guidance, and yet you have not come to them. So finally, in desperation, they asked me to try.” She bit her lip. “Well, in all honesty, a couple of them asked me. Not all.”