by A. K. Morgen
She was out there, wasn’t she?
Ronan eyed me for a long moment and then he climbed to his feet. “Get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll head to Dayton and then cut through to the university tomorrow.”
I watched in silence as he walked toward the door, frustrated at him for not believing me, and upset at myself for not being able to prove him wrong. I’d expected Dace’s doubt when I told him about Fenrir because Dace didn’t accept anything about our destiny, but I thought Ronan, at least, trusted me to know the difference between the subconscious rumblings of my mind, and a message from the other half of my soul.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
“He’s tired,” Chelle said, her soft voice full of apology.
“Aren’t we all?” I muttered, laying my head against the chair back.
Chelle shot me a sympathetic smile. “Do you need your pain medicine again?”
“No,” I lied. I did need it, but I didn’t want to take it again. Not when Dace wouldn’t be here to wake me from the nightmares sure to come this time. I sighed heavily. “I didn’t just dream her, Chelle.”
Chelle smiled at me, but I saw the doubt lurking in her eyes, turning them a softer brown than usual. She didn’t believe me either, and why should she? I couldn’t prove anything. I didn’t even know where to begin proving it. Unlike Ronan though, Chelle was too polite to argue with me.
“We should get some sleep,” she said instead. “Ronan will want to leave early.”
“How’s your research going?” I asked my dad the next morning, clutching the phone to my ear with one hand and trying to pack my things back into my bag with the other, all while keeping a watchful eye on Fuki.
He’d given up on trying to get into the bathroom with Chelle for the moment, and was sitting at the foot of her bed. His gaze tracked back and forth across the television screen. His thoughts were a jumble of confusion as he tried to understand why little people were trapped inside the flat screen. I didn’t try to explain the intricacies of film and technology to him, content to let him try to work it out himself.
My head still throbbed, and I’d barely slept. Doubts plagued me all night, making me question everything. Why I left. What I saw. What the hell I thought I was doing out here, running from place to place with no real plan.
“It’s going slowly,” Dad said. “I tracked down a genealogy professor at Boston University, but she didn’t have anything particularly insightful to contribute.” He sighed into the phone. “She thought I was joking when I told her what I was looking for. I doubt she gets calls like that every day.”
“Probably not,” I said, rolling up a sweater and shoving it back into my bag. “So she wrote you off as a hack?”
“I think so. She said she’ll look, but I’ll be surprised if she calls me back.”
“Damn.” I really hoped my dad found something we could use, or, at the very least, something to offer a little kernel of hope.
“I’m sorry, hon,” Dad said. “I know you were hoping I’d find something on Sol, but maybe there isn’t anything to find.”
“Maybe there isn’t,” I sighed, sinking down onto the bed. So far, nothing seemed to be going our way; why should this be any different? The Sun god’s descendants were probably already dead, sacrificed by Sköll and Hati and an ancient prophesy Sol’s lineage probably didn’t even realize affected them. I hated destiny.
“You all right, hon?”
“Yeah, I’m―” I broke off, shaking my head. “No, not really.”
“What’s going on?”
Where did I begin?
“I had a… dream about Freki.”
“What happened?”
I hesitated for a long moment. I trusted my dad to keep my secret from Dace, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to put him in that position. It was bad enough I convinced Chelle and Ronan to say nothing about the flowers or Idun. How many others was I going to pull into lying to Dace for me, all so I didn’t have to deal with reality?
“Talk to me, hon,” Dad said. “Let me help.”
“I think Idun’s here, Dad.”
I held my breath, waiting for his response.
“Idun? The goddess?”
“Yes.”
He grunted as if I knocked the breath out of him. “Well, that’s a surprise,” he said then.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, relieved to hear genuine acceptance in his voice alongside surprise. Part of me kept expecting him to throw up his hands, call me a freak of nature, and walk away from this entire mess. Probably the same part of me that wanted to do the exact same thing and pretend none of this was happening to me. But I couldn’t walk away, and I think that’s why Dad didn’t either. I couldn’t, so he wouldn’t.
“That’s not all though. I think she’s with Sköll and Hati.”
“She’s playing for their team now?”
“No, I―” I stopped, my eyes widening. I hadn’t thought of that possibility before. Had she switched teams willingly? “I don’t think so,” I said, doubt coloring my tone. She was a captive in my dream, not a willing member of Team Evil. “I think they’re forcing her to help them.”
My dad sighed. “Dace wondered if that might be the case.”
“He what?” I blinked, completely stunned. Dace already knew about Idun? When? How? What the hell?
“There’s a dark side to every belief, Ari,” Dad said. “Religion and faith divide as often as they unite. Look at Christianity or Islam. The religions brought a lot of good into the world, but not without a price. Cults, fringe groups, extremists, wars…. There are always those out there willing to side with the dark in any given holy war.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Fighting a holy war?”
“Some think so,” he said, his voice gentle.
I groaned. I didn’t even want to consider things in that light, not really. Trying to stop the apocalypse was enough. No need to draw the holy war line in the sand, too. But I did understand what my dad meant. For every religious person who tried to live a good life, there was one who twisted the belief to suit his or her own corrupt purposes. Why should Ragnarök be any different?
“Not everyone agrees with what the Æsir did to Fenrir. They blame Odin for the Ragnarök prophecy, and that belief isn’t without merit. Had Odin left well enough alone, it’s possible we wouldn’t be in this mess now.” My dad paused. “Fenrir hadn’t caused any harm when he was bound, but Odin bound him anyway. Not everyone believes Fenrir’s escape from his chains will be a bad thing. Some view his escape as justice.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to destroy the world, Dad,” I said, squeezing Dace’s balled up t-shirt in my hands. Since leaving, I’d slept in the wrinkly tee every night. It made me feel close to him in some pathetic, girly way. “That’s not justice. That’s revenge. The entire world shouldn’t have to pay because Odin messed up.”
“I agree, but not everyone else does, hon. Some people genuinely believe Fenrir is the victim here. Those with a more extreme belief in his cause―those who worship him―would be more than willing to help Sköll and Hati free him from his prison if asked. Dace knew that was a possibility all along. He’s had Thomas and Naomi keeping an eye on some of the more extreme Ragnarök cults out there for a few weeks now.”
I stared at the shirt in my hands, feeling sick to my stomach. How could anyone willingly help destroy the world? Didn’t they know they were going to die, too? That everyone they cared about would die? Or did they simply not care? “That sucks,” I finally muttered.
“It does, but history is full of crappy situations and misguided choices. You should know that.”
“Yeah,” I sighed again, refusing to dwell on the little seeds of guilt threatening to sprout and grow inside me. “So Dace thinks some of these people are helping Sköll and Hati. What about Idun? She’s a goddess, why would she help them?”
“If he knows anything about Idun, he hasn’t mentioned her to me, but I imagine a goddess would help them free F
enrir for the same reasons a human would. Not all the Æsir believe Odin’s desire to remain in power was worth the prophecy he set into motion. You have to remember the Norse gods are slave to the same fears and flaws as we are, and they have as much to lose because of Odin’s choice as humans do. If there’s a chance they can survive Ragnarök by supporting Fenrir and the Jötunn, it’s possible some will take that chance.”
I sat in silence for a long moment, trying to absorb that. I couldn’t imagine turning against my family simply so I had a chance to survive. It sickened me that a god, a being supposedly superior to humans in every way, would be so cowardly. I couldn’t say I was surprised though.
I’d read story after story about the gods since Dace burst into my head and thus, into my life. The Norse myths were full of pettiness, vanity, cowardice, and trickery. I guess I expected the gods to behave differently when it came to the final battle. When it really counted, I expected them to be, well, gods. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently so.
“So there may be gods fighting on Fenrir’s side,” I said. “Great. Just great.”
“We have to assume so. That doesn’t mean Idun is one of those gods though, Ari. If Freki gave you reason to believe she’s being held against her will, I’d take that into consideration. Your wolf hasn’t led you astray before, has she?”
“No,” I said, no more certain than I was yesterday. And we couldn’t afford for me to be wrong. But… we couldn’t afford for me not to take the chance either, could we? If there was even a remote possibility that Idun could help us, I had to try to find her.
“How is Dace?” I asked, unable to keep from torturing myself. I wanted to know, even if knowing hurt. I gripped his shirt tightly, barely breathing as I waited for my dad’s response.
“He’s okay, hon. He misses you.”
“Is the pack okay?”
“They’re fine,” Dad promised me. “Dace is looking after them.”
“Is he… Has he gotten any better?” I ran my foot over a small burn hole in the carpet, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I missed Dace and Buka so much.
Heavy silence met my question.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded, my heartbeat gaining speed.
Fuki lifted his head to look at me, his ears perking up.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Dad said.
“Dad….”
He blew out a sharp breath, causing the phone to crackle. “He’s having a little trouble with Geri.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Communication difficulties.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, and set the t-shirt aside. “He can’t communicate with Geri without me there, can he?” I whispered. Regret stung like a blade. Even without me there, Dace struggled. I ran, just like Ronan said. I got scared and I ran. And now Dace and Geri suffered for it.
“It’s not so bad, Ari.” Dad tried to soothe me. “It’s a little harder for him without you here is all.”
Fuki whined as if to ask what was wrong.
I offered him a tremulous smile.
“He’ll be okay,” Dad continued. “You do what you have to do, and don’t worry about him. He will make this work.”
He’ll make it work.
I hated that Dace had to make anything work. I desperately wanted to believe Odin knew what he was doing where we were concerned, but the more I learned about him, and about me and Dace, the harder keeping the faith felt. I didn’t want to resent that Odin chose us to do this thing, but I did resent it, and I resented him. Geri remembered Odin enough to remain loyal, but I didn’t. The lure of power blinded Odin, and he put the whole world at risk. His greed threatened to destroy everything.
I felt helpless, powerless, and so damn angry, I wanted to rage at Odin. Scream and cry and demand answers. Why even bring me into this life if all I did was cause Dace pain? Why put us through all of this over and over again?
Maybe feeling that way made me petty or childish or selfish, but so be it. I hated Odin. I hated being his guard dog. I hated being stuck. I hated watching Dace suffer. And I hated that I couldn’t change any of it. All I could do is what I stupidly agreed to do eons ago, in some other life when I hadn’t realized how big the cost would be or how much it would hurt. All I could do was pray for a way to save the damn world. Again. Because, apparently, doing it a thousand times already wasn’t sacrifice enough.
“What are you going to do about Idun?” Dad asked.
What was I going to do?
“Try to find her, I guess.” Whether she sided with Sköll or Hati on her own or was a prisoner, forced to help them, Freki wanted me to find her for a reason. I had no faith left for Odin, and no faith left in my human side. I had to trust my wolf. Had to believe she knew how to help Dace, because I didn’t.
“Where will you start?”
“I don’t know,” I said, then paused. “Please don’t tell Dace.”
Dad hesitated for a moment and then agreed. “I won’t tell him,” he said, “but Ari?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Be careful, hon.”
“I will,” I promised. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
inter clung to Ohio as tightly as it did Arkansas. Dead leaves twirled and danced across the road in intricate swirls before the savage breeze shredded them in midair. Bare branches twisted this way and that. The pale rays of the sun lit our way as we pushed toward Dayton and on to Bloomington, Indiana and the university there, but they did nothing to warm the frigid air. No one complained about the incessant cold. We were each still lost in our own thoughts, too caught up in our own worries to protest the lingering weather.
I couldn’t help but wonder how bad things really were for Dace. Did he miss me as much as I missed him? Was he angry with me for leaving? Did he blame me for what was happening to him and Geri now? I didn’t know the answers to any of those questions, and the walls I’d erected to hold them at bay refused to stand firm now that I knew the truth. Dace struggled as much without me as he did with me there.
Knowing that only scared me more.
I exhausted myself trying to force my way through the wall dividing me and Freki, but came no closer than a single flutter from her, as if she sighed through a miniscule crack. I kept trying though, until I couldn’t concentrate anymore, and then I slept.
Once again, Dace looked at me with accusation in his beautiful eyes, demanding to know why I left him. When Chelle shook me awake a little later, tears dripped down my face. She didn’t ask questions this time, and I didn’t offer answers. She knew as well as I what haunted my dreams. Whatever she thought about it, though, she didn’t comment.
She merely squeezed my hand in hers, and then turned back around in her seat.
“Where are we?” I asked, rubbing tears and sleep from my eyes.
“An hour from Dayton,” Chelle said. “We’re stopping for a few minutes.”
“Oh.” I tried to pull my hair into some semblance of order, but the auburn strands hung limp and lifeless in the messy ponytail I scraped it into. Even though I had showered before leaving the hotel, I felt dirty, inside and out, like all the doubt and guilt clung to me in telling streaks. No matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn’t seem to get clean again.
Ronan pulled the Yukon into a rest stop. A handful of cars were scattered around the parking area, their owners ushering small kids toward the restrooms. Ronan parked at the far end of the lot, away from the heaviest foot traffic.
I climbed on wooden legs from the SUV with Fuki scrambling out behind me. He raced across the grassy picnic area and into the tree line, grateful for the opportunity to run free for a little while. He hated being cooped up in the vehicle all day, but like the rest of us, he tolerated it as best he could.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ronan said, leaning back against the Yukon as Chelle stumbled her way toward the restrooms.
I wrapped my arms around myself, not taking my eyes off Fuki. “About what?” I asked.
“I didn’t think you believed me.”
If Ronan heard the bitter edge in my voice, he didn’t comment on it. “You said Freki knew her.”
I nodded reluctantly.
“Did you recognize her?”
Fuki loped out of the woods, dashing across the grass in the opposite direction.
“Doggie!” a little boy standing near an Accord shouted, breaking away from his mom. He took off running across the grass toward Fuki, his baby legs wobbling beneath him.
“Aaron, get back here!” his mom yelled, chasing after him.
Fuki heard the commotion and stopped running, nearly skidding as he pulled up short. When he noticed the toddler racing in his direction, the little wolf sat back on his haunches. He tilted his head to the side in that familiar, questioning way.
I felt nothing but eager curiosity in the thoughts Fuki shared with me, but I started to step forward to call him back to me anyway.
Ronan put a hand on my arm to stop me. “Wait a minute,” he said.
The little boy stopped a few feet from Fuki. They stared at one another for a minute, both tilting their heads side to side.
“Hi, doggie,” the little boy said.
Fuki yipped and thumped his tail against the ground.
“Pretty doggie,” Aaron giggled, peals of babyish laughter echoing around the rest stop.
Fuki yipped again.
The boy’s mom caught up to the wayward child and grabbed him as he reached out toward Fuki with one chubby hand. She gasped audibly when she got a good look at the wolf, no doubt recognizing he wasn’t the domestic doggie her son thought him. “Aaron, get away from him!”
“No, mommy! Doggie! Doggie!” The little boy squealed, still reaching for the nearly grown wolf.
His mom ignored his cries and lifted him into her arms to carry him to safety.
Fuki lowered himself to the ground and whined, as if asking her why the funny boy couldn’t touch him. The woman watched Fuki warily, seeming caught between a desire to protect her son and curiosity over Fuki’s friendly demeanor. The little wolf didn’t run away or threaten the boy. He merely whined again and scooted toward the woman on his belly.
