Raine’s body turned translucent. The ebony floor could be seen through her form. Then the spirit got to its feet, brushed herself off, then slowly walked across the room. She exited through the open double doors that led into the garden, following in the footsteps of the Goddess.
Hel wandered through the garden, fairly humming to herself. She cared little of what was happening outside; it was immaterial to the final result. Once in the realm of the dead, her pain had disappeared, and she was already savoring the revenge she would unleash once healed. She was startled by the presence of another.
The Goddess stared in disbelief and growing delight at what stood before her.
“What you have done?” Hel said. She stared at Raine, then at the arrow, unable to believe her good fortune. “You are now in my realm permanently. True,” she said, half to herself, “you will eventually bend to my will and be entirely in my control, but that may take centuries. And even as my thrall, you will bring me pleasure.” Hel was thoughtful. “As much as I have enjoyed your resistance, I weary of it and will revel in your subservience.”
Raine did not appear that interested in this soliloquy. She plucked a flower from a stem, satisfying herself that the dead could indeed interact with the plants as she surmised. When she finally spoke, she changed the subject almost at random.
“My immunity to magic,” she said casually, “has always been my greatest gift.” She tossed the flower aside and plucked another. “One very common misconception, however, is that I deflect the spells that are cast my way.”
Although the subject of conversation was extremely arbitrary, Hel was content to let the mortal ramble. Death often scrambled the brain.
Raine paused for a moment, absorbed in yet another flower. “Scinterians deflect magic,” she continued absently. “Arlanians, on the other hand, Arlanians absorb it.”
Raine turned around and gave Hel a very hard look.
“Guess whom I take after?”
Hel began to listen to what the mortal was saying. A danger was in there, lurking somewhere, but Raine was not going to wait for her to figure it out.
“Do you know what that means?” She plucked another flower and threw it aside. “For three hundred years, every spell that has been cast my way, every item that I have disenchanted, every seal that I have broken, every bit of that magic, is contained within my being.”
The danger was beginning to coalesce, and what the Arlanian was describing was daunting, even to a god. Still, Hel was dismissive.
“You cannot use it,” Hel said defiantly, “you are immune to it.”
“I cannot use it,” Raine agreed, pausing, “but the one that I am bound to can.”
And from behind the mortal stepped Talan’alaith’illaria, Queen of all Dragons, her golden eyes glowing with molten fury. Her expression was so formidable Hel actually took a step back as Raine’s words and their meaning sank in.
“You are bound to one another?”
“We are,” Raine continued as Talan took another step towards the Goddess. “Which means that my soul could not leave the living realm without her. Which freed her from the prison you made for her by pulling her into this realm.”
All of the implications converged on Hel at once, but Raine summarized them for her anyway.
“The Dragon’s Lover,” Raine began, “felled by the closest of allies.” She looked with disdain at the arrow in her chest, pulled it from her torso, and threw it to the ground. “Carries into death without dying,” she cast a significant glance at Talan, “that which saves all worlds.”
Raine turned her gaze back to the Goddess, and there was no pity in her ice-blue eyes, only absolute judgment. “You see, I did know the translation of the final line of the prophecy. I have always known it. And it is my destiny to be the Consort of the Queen of the Underworld.”
She paused before she delivered the final blow.
“That’s just not going to be you.”
With a roar, Talan struck the Goddess, channeling all of her rage, all of Raine’s suffering, and three hundred years of magic, into an insurmountable weapon. The strike sent Hel to her knees, not only pummeling her but beginning to drain her as well. And as Hel’s power diminished, Talan’s power grew. The power exchange was reflected in Talan’s appearance, for her garb changed, gradually transitioning into a stunning combination of Hel’s robes and her own dragonscale armor. Her headdress was magnificent, Hel’s crown intermixed with dragon horns. When the transfer of power was at last complete, Talan stood resplendent, the dragon as Goddess, while Hel was curled in a ball on the floor.
Raine looked at Talan approvingly. “Now that,” she said with appreciation, “is a look.”
Talan raised her own hand and with an imperious wave that put Hel to shame, changed Raine’s garb as well. Now Raine was clothed in a perfect blend of her Scinterian armor and Arlanian clothing, the lovely purple garments providing the underclothing for the gleaming Scinterian leather.
“Now that,” Talan said, “is what my Consort should wear.”
And the dragon took her lover in her arms, kissing her with a passion that was unmatched in any realm. The kiss took Raine’s breath away, caused her head to spin, and erased every ugly action that had been perpetrated on her with its pure love. Truly, the two could have stood there forever in one another’s arms, were there not more pressing matters at hand. The silver-haired woman drew back from her young lover.
“Shall we go finish this?”
Raine grinned, loving the confidence, the regal elegance, everything about her soulmate.
“We shall.”
Talan held out her hand and for once, Raine assumed the position of escort willingly and with pride. She walked at the side of the Goddess, her heart bursting in her chest.
The bed chamber was empty, for all within had moved to the terrace to continue the fight. The demon army had been pushed down the steps, so the terrace itself was nearly empty.
“Is that Talan?” Rika said, looking up in disbelief.
All those near her, Feyden, Dallan, Lorifal, all looked up at the mesmerizing sight of Talan. She was dressed as none had ever seen her, in a manner that was truly god-like. She glowed with a fiery, reddish-gold light, and her amber eyes looked out over her kingdom with disdain. Skye was ecstatic to see Raine at her side, who was also dressed in an extraordinarily beautiful manner. Both emanated an astonishing power.
Talan raised her hand, a scepter appeared, and with a single wave, she demolished the armies of the Underworld. Demons went up in flames and turned to ash, crumbling to the ground or winking out of existence. In the red and black courtyard, Hyr’rok’kin screamed in agony, turned to stone, and then crumbled into dust in one single motion. The mortal troops in the courtyard stood staring in confusion as the enormous army just disappeared into piles of rubble and dirt. As the echoes of the cries faded away, Senta prodded at a pile of the ash with the tip of her sword.
Drakar landed and transformed, followed by Kylan. They both glanced around at the soot and ashy remains, trying to grasp what had just happened. Drakar knelt down and rubbed some of the dust between his fingertips.
“Why,” he asked, both sardonic and hopeful, “do I have the feeling this my mother’s doing?”
Kylan just smiled.
A great cheer went up in the throne room of the Goddess of the Underworld. And the newly anointed Goddess took her Consort in her arms and kissed her, eliciting an even greater cheer from all present. The Alfar and Tavinter were joined by their excited brethren, the Ha’kan, imperials, and dwarves, who poured into the hall behind them. Many joyful reunions took place as Bristol hugged his fellow Knight Commander, Senta found her Princess and future First General, and Lorifal was pummeled by a throng of his fellow dwarves. Feyden was surrounded by his Alfar soldiers, who proudly stood at his side. Elyara and Dagna found one another, and Dagna lifted the slender
elf off her feet in a bear hug. Kylan and Drakar entered the back of the room, and Drakar stared up in wonder at the terrace above.
“Is that my mother?”
Talan, unwilling to release Raine, gathered her daughter into their mutual embrace. Skye stood some distance away, next to Ingrid, then cast her a sideways glance.
“I knew you weren’t completely evil.”
“Not completely,” Ingrid agreed.
The throne room of the Goddess of the Dead had never seen such revelry, and Fenrir stood in the shadows, the only one with concern on his features. It was not long until his concern was justified.
Lightning began to flash across the night sky above them, then a blinding bolt flashed downward accompanied by deafening thunder. Everyone stood blinking and covering their ears, many having crouched down to avoid the unknown.
The Allfather stood at the bottom of the stairs. His long beard and long gray hair flowed with the violence of his arrival, and the gold crown atop his head glinted with painful brightness to eyes already blinded by lightning. His handsome, craggy features expressed a myriad of emotions as his piercing blue eyes swept out over the assembly. He wore gleaming gold armor and auspiciously bore a scepter in his hand rather than the sword that hung at his side. No mortal present had ever seen him before, but all recognized him instantly. The assembly as one went to a knee, all save Talan and Raine, who remained standing as they guardedly assessed his arrival.
“What is this?” the Allfather said, his eyes again sweeping the crowd, his voice booming much like the thunder that had accompanied his entrance. His piercing gaze flicked to the bed chambers above, as if he could see right through the walls.
“A god has fallen? Mortals in the Underworld?”
His chastising gaze fell upon Fenrir. “God against god? Brother against sister?”
His gaze at last settled upon Raine and Talan. Surprisingly, any rebuke or admonition he held was not directed at them. In fact, his expression was one of slight admiration.
“Talan,” he said. “One of my very favorite creations.” He started up the steps toward her.
Talan watched his approach with equal parts wariness and respect. She was uncertain what his presence meant.
“Talan,” the Allfather repeated. “Is it truly your wish to be the Goddess of the Underworld?”
Talan did not have to think long on this question.
“Of course not,” the dragon said. “I did this to save Arianthem, and to save my love.”
The Allfather nodded, as if this were evident to him. “Then I shall make you a deal.”
Now Talan was even more wary as she awaited the Allfather’s words.
“If you return the Underworld to Hel, I will guarantee that she will trouble the mortal realm no more. I will return you to Arianthem, as well as everyone here, safely, in the blink of an eye, to their homelands. And if you do this, I will give you your greatest heart’s desire.”
With this final phrase, the Allfather glanced to Raine, as did Talan.
“My greatest heart’s desire?” Talan queried, as if testing the Allfather to see if he truly knew what she wanted.
“Yes,” he said with supreme confidence. “Your greatest heart’s desire.”
Talan mulled the offer. She did not wish to be a god and did not wish to live in the Underworld. In fact, she did not wish to ever see it again. Raine stood quietly at her side while Talan considered the proposition. Raine was uncertain what exactly was being traded, but she herself had no desire to stay in the Underworld, although she would have consented to such a fate to stay with her love.
“Then I accept your offer.”
Gasps accompanied the response and the Allfather was nearly jovial. “Then so be it.”
With a wave of his hand, Talan’s garments returned to her normal dragonscale armor, and she wore only a simple, elegant circlet on her head. Raine assessed the change with a critical eye.
“You’re right, I like that much better.”
Things were happening so quickly that it was hard for everyone to process the events. A heady joy, even elation was beginning to settle on the crowded room. They would all soon be home, safe and protected. This elation was dashed as Hel strode back onto the terrace, fully healed and fully clothed in her robes once more, her expression furious. She took a menacing step towards Talan and Raine, neither who budged.
“You will stop yourself now,” the Allfather said sharply. His tone brooked no argument and was filled with disapproval. His granddaughter had displeased him, and in the unpredictable logic of the gods, he was more disappointed in her because she had been defeated than because of the wickedness of her actions. Had she been successfully evil, he might have been more inclined to overlook her deeds.
Perhaps it was this moral ambiguity that Hel appealed to in her next maneuver. “All may return to the mortal realm as you have decreed,” Hel said bitingly, “but Raine is dead.”
The implication in this caused Talan to put her arm about Raine as Hel continued.
“She may not belong here, but nor does she belong in the mortal realm. She must go to Valhöll, Vólkvangr, or even the Holy Mountain, but she cannot return to Arianthem.”
Talan saw with a sinking heart that the cleverness of this argument appealed to the Allfather. “That is true,” he mused.
A multiplicity of dangers hid in this suggestion, Talan knew. Raine occupied a strange space of being right now, and their bond might no longer keep them together. Not only might Raine be separated from her, but she could be sent to places where Hel could walk without restriction. She would not allow the Allfather to renege on their deal, and was furious at Hel’s trickery and the Allfather’s potential duplicity.
“I have already defeated one god today,” Talan said in a low, dangerous tone.
The stunning threat took the Allfather aback, and he was again awash in the mercurial moods of the gods, uncertain whether to be proud of one of his greatest creations or to strike her dead on the spot. And although he wouldn’t admit it, a very small part of him wondered if it was a legitimate threat.
“You would stand against me?” the Allfather asked, as if speaking to a recalcitrant child. “You are formidable Talan, but not even you can defeat the Allfather.”
Hel smiled coldly, for she was already unraveling the victory that Talan had won, but a calm, soothing voice froze the smile on her face.
“She will not stand against you alone.”
An extraordinarily beautiful woman stepped out of the shadows onto the terrace. She had alabaster skin, glowed with a soft golden light, and wore, long white robes that draped the graceful curves of her body. She had startling deep blue eyes, and for some strange reason, she looked familiar to Raine.
“You would stand against me in this matter, Sjöfn?”
“I would,” the Goddess of Love said.
“Why?”
Sjöfn’s eyes settled on Raine. “The Arlanians were the most cherished of all my children, and Raine the most cherished of all Arlanians.”
The Allfather seemed entertained by this turn of events, but steadfast.
“Although your charms and wiles are formidable, Sjöfn, you are not known for your skill on the battlefield.”
“I, however, am.”
An ebony-skinned giant stepped from the shadows on the opposite side of the terrace. He was a perfect specimen of physicality, heavily armored, muscles bulging, a number of scars attesting to past battles. He was fiercely handsome, his dark eyes glowing with a dangerous light beneath his golden helm.
“Tyr,” the Allfather said, “and you would stand against me as well?”
“I would,” the God of War said. His fierce gaze settled on Raine. “The Scinterians were the most honored of all my children, and Raine the most honored of all Scinterians.”
The Allfather considered this re
bellion with far more equanimity than would be expected. It seemed that both Tyr and Sjöfn had made arguments more compelling than Hel’s. At long last, he simply shrugged his shoulders.
“Only a fool battles love and war at the same time.” He turned back to Talan. “Hel will return as Goddess of the Underworld. You will return to the mortal realm and receive your greatest heart’s desire, and Raine,” the Allfather at last turned to the one so favored by his pantheon, both to her benefit and detriment. “Raine, I will give you a very special gift. You may walk in all realms, the Underworld, the mortal realm, Valhöll, Vólkvangr, the Holy Mountain, even Ásgarðr itself.”
Raine bowed very formally in acceptance. “Thank you, Allfather. But I think I will return to the mortal realm.”
And once again, the throne room erupted in cheers.
Chapter 37
Raine stirred from sleep, and her first thought was that she was warmer than she had been in quite some time. As her eyes opened, she realized that was because she was cocooned in soft hide blankets and furs in a giant nest, curled about her dragon lover. Weynild gazed down at her, content upon awakening to simply gaze upon the young woman at her side.
“We are home,” Raine breathed out, her eyes as violet as the lavender in the fields.
“We are,” Weynild said, brushing the fair hair from those eyes.
They were in Weynild’s mountain keep, little more than a gigantic cave in a mountainside, but also Raine’s favorite place in the world. This was where she had first come across the dragon decades before, falling in love with the creature upon first sight. It was where Weynild had taken the Arlanian Scinterian to bed, astonished that such a one had never bedded another, and where they had completed the Ceremony of Binding so that they could never truly be apart.
“Do you think the others made it home?” Raine asked.
“They probably woke up at home in bed, just like we did, wondering if the whole thing was a dream.”
The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII Page 19
