Raven Quest
Valhalla volume 4
Jennifer Willis
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Wait!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Jennifer Willis
Copyright © by Jennifer Willis 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover artwork design by Steven Novak.
Author photo by Rachel Hadiashar.
Published by Jennifer Willis
Portland, Oregon
Jennifer-Willis.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or deceased), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you did not purchase this ebook, or it was not purchased for you, please visit your online retailer to purchase your own copy. If you would like to share this ebook with others, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting and supporting the hard work of this author.
For Tuffy,
Who should know why.
(And if she doesn’t, she should call me.)
1
Thor’s wet face burned. His entire body dripped with sweat. He tried to rub the salt out of his eyes, but that just made the stinging worse and he still couldn’t see worth a kerling’s tongue through the thick, fragrant steam. He shifted on the rough, wooden bench and tried to keep his towel from bunching up in uncomfortable places.
But he didn’t complain.
Tim Wallulatum tossed another handful of dried herbs and leaves onto the rocks beneath the dome of deerskin. The sweat lodge guide hadn’t said much before Thor and his kin entered the cramped, dark space, and once the hide covering the narrow opening was pulled into place, he’d said even less.
Flickering light from the heated rocks played over Tim’s features. Seated on the ground, the man appeared ethereal and almost angelic one moment, then dark and demonic the next. The rocks’ red-orange glow was the only light in the steamy lodge, save for a bit of sunlight peeking between the deerskins and the dirt floor.
Thor squirmed, still trying to find a tolerable sitting position. Benches weren’t customary to the sweat lodge experience, it had been explained to him, but were added for the Norsemen’s comfort. He thought he’d prefer the dirt, where he wouldn’t have to worry about getting splinters in his butt. Probably.
He breathed in the heady smoke of sage and sweetgrass. His nasal passages burned. Thor didn’t know much about herbs, but he did know this particular smoke wasn’t nearly as pleasant as Frigga’s apple and sage sausages. But then, he was beginning to feel a bit like a smoked sausage himself.
There were other scents and tastes in the air Thor couldn’t identify. Freya had assured him there wouldn’t be anything hallucinogenic in the mix, but he wasn’t so sure.
Tim poured another ladle of herbed water over the rocks. A fresh cloud of steam hissed upward, and Thor’s skin took painful exception to the new wave of heat hitting him full in the face and chest. Thor’s lungs were getting seared from the inside out. He pulled at a corner of his towel to wipe his drenched face, but the cloth was already saturated. He balled the material in his fist and squeezed a few teaspoons of salty moisture onto the dirt floor.
Heimdall leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. His back, chest, and legs glistened rosy pink. He sat next to Thor, but not too close. The lodge was sticky enough without shared body heat.
“Not exactly the hot springs of the Old Country.” Heimdall’s voice was rough with smoke.
“Our people have always enjoyed a good sauna.” Two yards away on the opposite side of the hearth of hot rocks, Odin and his leather eye-patch were slick with sweat.
Sitting next to Odin, Rod chuckled and then coughed. Frigga’s human handyman was always well-dressed and expertly groomed, and even in the active sweat lodge he was the prettiest man Thor had ever seen. But he was also a warrior of Odin’s Lodge and a worthy companion in this bit of male bonding prior to Thor’s impending quest.
The smoke was getting to everyone but Tim, whose silver hair gleamed against his leathery skin in the orange glow of the lodge. Thor choked back a cough, and he could have sworn he saw Tim smile.
“You get a lot of newbies?” Thor asked.
“Plenty of city folks want an authentic native experience,” Tim answered with a smirk. “They come to sweat, to chant, whatever. Then they drive their hybrid cars back to their condos and flat-screen TVs and congratulate themselves on their spiritual adventures.”
Tim tossed another handful of mystery herbs onto the hot rocks. Heimdall knocked Thor with his elbow as he tried to rub the stinging smoke out of his eyes.
“But this is the first time I’ve had Old Ones in my lodge.” Tim ladled more water over the rocks, and his face disappeared behind a thick cloud of steam.
“We are grateful for your hospitality,” Odin replied. “You honor us by allowing my kin to participate in your traditions and pay our respects to your gods.”
Thor sat up straight, and his scalp scraped against the wood lattice of the dome. No one had said anything to him about interacting with Native American gods. He’d had no real dealings with the local spirits in his many years in the Pacific Northwest. He told himself he was embarking on just a couple of days in the woods, but he knew things could go unimaginably badly in less time and in less fertile settings.
“Same here.” Rod smiled and leaned forward with a subtle flex of his perfect pectorals. “I’m honored to be included.”
“Happy to have you here, Rod.” Thor’s eyes widened when he realized he’d been the one speaking. He thought about his own belly—solid and strong, but big—as Rod ran his hands over his chiseled face, shook the sweat from his fingers, and then pulled his white smile and tanned muscles back into the shadows.
Tim produced a large plastic jug, swirled its contents, and unscrewed the lid. He took a long swig, then passed the jug to Thor. Thor peered warily into the open container.
Tim laughed. “It’s just tea.”
“Yeah, but what kind of tea?”
“Just drink it,” Heimdall said.
Thor took a large gulp and was relieved by the sweet taste of honeyed herbs mixed with black tea. It was hot, like everything else inside the sweat lodge, but the infusion of fluids was welcome. He gulped greedily until Heimdall elbowed him in the ribs.
“There are other people.”
With a grunt, Thor passed the jug.
“How much longer?” Heimdall took a few smaller slurps and passed the jug to Rod.
“As long as it takes.” Again, Thor was surprised by his own reply.
It wasn’t that he was enjoying the sweat—he absolutely was not. He was sticky and hot. His scalp itched and he was having trouble catching his breath in the humid smoke. With all of his wriggling on t
he bench, his towel was sticking to him in a suggestive and unattractive fashion, and he was pretty sure he had splinters in his butt after all. But this infernal sweat and the trials to follow got him that much closer to Sunday afternoon with Bonnie.
Heimdall looked at his brother with weary, red-faced admiration. “You’re really committed to this.”
“It’s important to Bonnie.” Thor sniffed the hot, herb-smoked air and wondered if he might have third-degree burns inside his nostrils. “At least, it’s important to her grandmother, and her grandmother’s blessing is important to Bonnie.” He massaged his face with his thick fingers, trying to work the smoke out of his sinuses. “So. Here we are.”
Odin finished off the tea and handed the empty jug to Tim. “You can’t blame the old woman for wanting to keep her people’s ways alive into the next generation.”
Heimdall cleared his throat. “No, but you have to admit this whole thing is pretty hard core.”
“Hard core, and all kinds of awesome,” Rod said. He seemed to be the only one enjoying himself. Thor made a deliberate effort not to entertain any prejudiced thoughts about gay men and saunas.
Odin tipped his head back. “We all have to make decisions about what we wish to survive us.”
“So, next you go out in the woods, right? By yourself?” Rod asked.
Thor sniffed hard and immediately regretted it as the sage steam burned his sinuses anew and clung to his mucus membranes. “My vision quest. But I’ll have a guide.”
“And the goal of this quest?” Heimdall asked.
“I’m not as clear on that part.”
Rod laughed. “I think the old lady is messing with you.”
Odin straightened his spine. He had impressive muscle definition in his chest and abdomen for an old god, though his body hair was a distinct mix of gray and silver. “The goal is for Thor to undertake some of the rituals of Grace Red Cliff’s people. To have these experiences become a part of who he is, and part of the family Thor and Bonnie will build together.”
Thor frowned at Grace’s surname. Bonnie had told him how her grandmother left the reservation with her husband when they were newlyweds. How the young Red Cliff family became the Radcliffes to get better jobs. How Grace’s son—Bonnie’s father—married the granddaughter of Italian immigrants and built a comfortable, middle-class life in Portland. How Grace’s grandchildren grew up knowing barely anything of their Indian ancestry.
Thor tried to imagine his own children not knowing a broadsword from a bowie knife. An unpleasant shiver tickled his shoulders, even in the humid lodge.
Grace’s children had left home. Her parents and then her husband died, and Grace returned to the reservation to care for an elderly aunt. Bonnie didn’t have the details, but Thor had it on good authority from Odin that Grace’s extended visit had left her shaken. The sharp contrast between big city necessities and the meager amenities and rhythms of her old family home nearly incapacitated her. Then frustrated access to medical and dental care and the bone-numbing aimlessness of so many unemployed and drug-addicted souls had her crying into her pillow at night.
So Grace moved onto the reservation permanently and embraced her family’s heritage. And she was none too happy about her granddaughter marrying into a family of Norsemen, immortal or not.
“It still sounds pretty extreme,” Rod continued. “But, I mean, this sweat isn’t so bad. With the herbs and rite of passage stuff, this part is actually kind of nice.” He glanced across the rock pit to Tim and shrugged.
Tim dipped his chin but remained silent.
“But then you’re supposed to hike into the forest to, I don’t know, find your spirit guide or forage for some enchanted tree moss or something?”
“It’s not like that,” Thor replied.
“No?” Heimdall jumped in with a smile. “You’re going to hunt down a, what? Sitco?”
“Siatco,” Thor said.
“What’s that? Like some kind of otter?” Rod asked.
“More like a sasquatch,” Odin said.
Rod laughed. “You have to go looking for Bigfoot?”
Thor glared at Rod over the hot rocks. Tim kept his head down and his mouth shut, but Thor could easily spot the smirk on the man’s face.
Heimdall patted Thor on the back. “I admire the way you’ve embraced this quest. Even the old spirits approve.”
Thor’s mood lightened. He thought back on the dozen ravens perched in the high branches over the deerskin lodge and calling down as Thor and the others had entered the sweat.
Odin nodded. “An auspicious sign.”
It was rare for Odin to speak of ravens, ever since Huginn and Muninn had abandoned him for the native woods as soon as the Norsemen arrived in the Pacific Northwest. While Heimdall had smiled at the common ravens outside the sweat lodge and clapped Thor on the back in encouragement, Thor watched a dark quiet settle over Odin as he turned his one-eyed gaze to the cloudless summer sky and followed a pair of birds taking flight.
Heimdall wiped a river of sweat off his brow. “But I agree with Rod. The old lady is messing with you.”
Thor kept quiet.
“Okay, last round.” Tim poured another ladle of water over the steaming rocks, tossed a few handfuls of dried herbs into the hearth, and started to chant.
Sally emerged from the hot spring flushed and a little dizzy. The shock of the cool morning air had her breaking out in head-to-toe goosebumps. She’d spent only about twenty minutes in the steaming outdoor pool, sheltered beneath evergreen branches and surrounded by moss-covered rocks, but it had felt like at least an hour of brewing in hot water that stank of rotten eggs and felt slick on her bare skin.
She stumbled through the process of drying herself off and putting on her clothes. Then she had to sit on her backpack to rest. Her head was reeling from the vapors coming from the pool a few yards away.
But Opal, who had spent just as much time in the sulfur pool, looked positively radiant as she pulled on her jeans and a green Portland State University sweatshirt. Kneeling to lace up her hiking boots, she smiled across the pine-needle carpet at Sally.
“That, I must say, was absolute heaven,” Opal sighed. “It seems a shame to leave the water at all. I could have spent all day luxuriating in there.”
Sally closed her eyes as a wave of nausea hit her. She took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. “It was a bit warm for me.”
Opal handed her a water bottle. “You’re probably dehydrated.”
Sally fumbled with the twist-off cap until Opal took pity and opened it for her. Sally whispered her thanks and then sucked down half the bottle’s contents.
Looking perfectly content, Opal sat cross-legged in the dirt. “If this is what it feels like just to soak in that water, imagine what it must be like to drink from the well.”
Sally didn’t respond. She concentrated on drinking down the rest of the water, and on not throwing up.
Frigga had said the hot spring pool was fed by the same water source as the sacred well Maggie and Rod had dug. Sally found it hard to believe that the same water could be hot and smelly in one place and cool and refreshing in another. But there was a lot she didn’t understand about the wilderness magick of the Pacific Northwest—which was precisely why she and Opal now sat at the edge of the forest with their backpacks.
“Not that they’re offering us a taste or anything,” Opal added.
Sally slipped her socks over her heat-flushed feet. “I don’t imagine they would.”
Maggie’s well was supposed to be the next incarnation of Mimir’s Well back in Scandinavia. Assuming Iduna’s mantle as the Goddess of the Grove, Maggie had elected to dig the well after she established a new orchard of immortality-granting apples in Oregon.
Would the new well grant the same mystical knowledge that Odin had gained from Mimir’s Well? Would Maggie’s Well be a source of shamanistic wisdom, since the aquifer spanned the boundary between Odin’s property and the Warm Springs Indian Reservation? Maggie w
ouldn’t say, even when Sally wondered aloud if the well might accord her some greater measure of confidence before she marched into the forest for an extended nature hike with Opal.
Sally had at least resisted the temptation to simply sneak out to the well and taste the water for herself.
She slipped her feet into her brand new hiking boots and tied the laces. She wasn’t feeling quite as dizzy now. She focused on her breathing, inhaling through her nostrils and pushing the air out through her mouth, and that helped.
Opal was still beaming. “Aren’t you excited? I barely slept last night.”
Sally managed a small grin. As soon as their Indian guide arrived, Sally and Opal would hike into the forest for four days. Far away from parents and research papers, they would get hands-on with native plants, connect with indigenous spirits, and maybe even build relationships with an elemental or two. It was no wonder that Opal was nearly jumping out of her skin with anticipation.
Still, Sally was curious why neither Frigga nor Freya had pushed her in this direction before. It would have been simple enough to drag her into the forest and insist she become acquainted with the magick of her home turf.
In Ireland, Sally had learned the hard way how very much can go explosively wrong when local energies are ignored. Her roommate had paid the price of her own ignorance and hubris, in blood.
And all the time Sally had been practicing magick in Oregon, she’d ignored the native energies running beneath her feet. She hadn’t even thought about it. It was nothing short of stupid.
Maybe, despite all the show Frigga made of training and grooming Sally, the truth was that her role as the Moon Witch wasn’t all that important.
Sally shook the thought away. She was here now. She remembered what Niall had taught her about working with the land: Soil is soil, no matter where it comes from. It might have a different flavor, but earth elements the world over served much the same purpose.
Raven Quest (Valhalla Book 4) Page 1
