Wanderers: Ragnarök

by Richard A Bamberg

  I leaned my head back against the tree’s bore and tried to relax, to recharge, and let my healing begin.

  “So, Raphael, are things interesting enough for you?”

  I opened my eyes to find Ophelia standing a few feet from me. I leaned away from the tree and stepped closer. “Yes, quite interesting.”

  “You’re injured. I could heal you if you came into my lake.”

  “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll manage.”

  “What’s the matter, Raphael? Don’t trust yourself around me?” Ophelia asked and moved slightly. My pulsed jumped.

  I smiled and let my eyes rove over her body. “Your charms are many and a dalliance would give me memories for my old age, I’m sure. But I fear a dalliance with you would not be a simple affair and Fate’s business is pressing.”

  She laughed, high and musical and the surface of the water rippled while she laughed. “Well said and correct. My cousin, Gwen, told me you turned her down today also, but I had to ask. I’ve never had a Wanderer and I expect you would be a memory to long cherish.”

  “You’re too kind,” I said and dipped my head at the compliment.

  “I’m glad you came back for a visit, but since it isn’t for what I hoped, what has brought you to my water?”

  “The other night you mentioned signs and portents and then today Gwen and Pibby suggested something that has me troubled. I thought, perhaps, you could enlighten me.”

  “Ah. Yes, I thought that might be it,” she stepped out of the water and came to me. Her green slippers were still her only garment. She raised her hands to either side of my face and kissed me.

  Her lips were cool, but the kiss warmed them. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it did offer promises of limitless passion, of nights and days locked in a warm embrace with one of the most desirable creatures ever to walk the earth. It made me want all those and more and yet it had none of the compulsion I’d felt when I first met the naiad.

  She dropped her hands and then stepped back from me. I wanted to seize her and pull her back to me but want and need rarely agree in a Wanderer. I wanted her, but I needed answers.

  She studied my face for a moment and then gave a sad little smile. “All right, Raphael, I see Fate has your soul in her keep. I’ll not try to sway you, but if you ever...no, never mind. I understand. So you want to know about Ragnarök?”

  CHAPTER 19

  “Ragnarök?” I repeated.

  “It’s coming, Raphael. As sure as the planets have their orbits, the great battle is coming.”

  “But Ragnarök? The battle that ends the world? Surely you jest.”

  “Not necessarily the end of the world, but the end of the world as you know it,” Ophelia said.

  “There’s a difference; I mean other than sounding like a great song lyric?”

  “Creation isn’t coming to an end, but man’s reign over the earth may be. Someone is trying to open the Gates.”

  “Gates? As in the Gates between the worlds? No damn fool would want to open the Gates.”

  “Not just any damn fool. The Gates separate the demon and the faerie worlds from the world of man. Someone has learned there is a way to open those Gates and bring about Ragnarök.”

  I read a lot of comics growing up and Thor was one of my favorites. I knew what Ragnarök was. “Ragnarök is the Norse version of Armageddon, but it has more to do with the destruction of the gods. How does this relate?”

  “The one who opens the Gates will put all the worlds into conflict. The worlds considered myth will be open to the human world on a scale not seen in your history. Conflict will follow, Raphael, and when it comes you will have to choose a side.”

  “A side? I’m human, what decision would I have to make?”

  “Born human, but Fate’s tool. Fate is going to be a player in the battle. Will you remain her tool or fight with the humans?”

  “I don’t understand any of this. Who’s going to be opening these Gates and how are they planning to accomplish this?”

  Her lips pursed and for a moment, she didn’t speak. Then she said, “Who is unclear, but the how is through a spell written centuries ago. The spell was divided and scattered to the four corners of the earth by an early Wanderer.”

  “Really? Why didn’t he just destroy the spell?”

  “Because he didn’t have the power to destroy them. Once the spell had been written, it became part of prophesy. As prophesy, it cannot be destroyed.”

  “All right then, where’s this spell? If I can’t destroy it then at least I can make sure no one cast it.”

  “The spell was written in seven parts. Each part is on separate pages from the original grimoire. Each will loosen a portion of the locks on the Gates. Which locks will be loosed is unknown to me, but as more locks are released, more and more of the Gates will stand open until when the last spell is cast, Ragnarök will arrive. Know this, also, Raphael, once set in motion the spell becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy.”

  “Self-fulfilling? What do you mean?”

  “Once one of the spells is cast, then it’s only a matter of time before the remaining parts are cast.”

  “That negates self-determination. Sounds like Fate’s bailiwick. Well, I’ll just have to make sure the first part remains hidden. I don’t suppose you happen to know where this part is hidden?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Raphael, you’re sweet. Naïve, but sweet. Do you think we’ll be on the same side when the war comes?”

  “What? No, well...I haven’t given it any thought, but I thought you’d want to help me stop the war from happening.”

  She stepped close again and kissed me once more. Stepping back, she backed into the lake. “Raphael, when you know which side you’ll be on you’ll know whether you really want to stop the war or not. Many of the brethren believe the war is the only way to stop what the humans have done to us. Many of us long for Ragnarök.”

  “You can’t mean that,” I said.

  Floating ankle deep in the water the naiad gave me a wry smile. “When the time comes, come back and see me, I’ll help you understand which side you should be on. I can be most persuasive.”

  “Wait, don’t go yet,” I said reaching for her.

  She blew me a kiss and sank out of sight.

  “Hell and damnation. Now, what am I going to do?”

  Since no one was within earshot, I neither expected nor received a response to my rhetorical question.

  I hurried back to where Beast waited alone by the curb.

  He growled as I approached. “You look worse than when you went to see the naiad.”

  “Yeah, surprise and shock do that to me. What do you know of Ragnarök?”

  He was silent. I swung onto his back and donned my shades. As I settled in, he remained quiet. Beast is rarely loquacious unless he’s talking about himself. However, this was not normal.

  “All right, talk,” I ordered.

  “Ragnarök is the end time. The war of the gods, if you follow the Norse religion, but they didn’t get it right.”

  I hit the starter and raised the kickstand. “They didn’t get it right? Then what’s the truth?”

  “Prophecy says that the Gates will open between the worlds and there will be war. War between man and the real owners of the earth.”

  “The real owners? I thought humanity owned the earth. Isn’t that why we’re here and everyone else is, well, elsewhere?”

  We pulled away from the curb and idled back toward the Nuevo Retro.

  “The Gates were put up long ago and rules were set governing when and how non-humans could move about here. We used to share this world with the humans, but were driven out. Personally I believe that’s when your Garden of Eden myth came about,” Beast said.

  “Say what? You’re kidding; you think we were all in the Garden of Eden together?”

  “Not what the Judeo-Christians call the Garden of Eden, but once this planet was a paradise for all. Then someone or something forced almost all of us out
of this dimension and saved it for the humans.”

  “How come you’ve never mentioned any of this before?” I asked as I pulled to the curb on the north side of the courthouse square, opposite the Nuevo Retro.

  “Look, Wanderer, for a human, you’re not bad people, but you’re still human and my people were forced out of what we considered Paradise to make room for your kind.”

  “Hell, if you feel that way about it, why’d you agree to become my familiar?”

  “Because it’s the only way I can visit this realm for any length of time.”

  “Sounds like a weak excuse for putting up with being stuck in monster bike mode most of the time. Is your world that unpleasant?”

  “No, it’s not unpleasant.”

  “Then why,” I had to stop to allow a couple who’d just left a restaurant near our parking space to get out of earshot. “Then why do you put up with this familiar gig?”

  “It’s interesting and I’ve always had a bit of the wanderlust. Besides, my mate grates on my nerves if we’re together too often.”

  “Ah, now the truth comes out. The little woman approves of you being gone almost a year at a time for what, nearly forty years now?”

  “Yeah, I go back when I have to. Manticores mate for life; we just don’t feel the need to spend that life together.”

  “Really? So, ah, don’t you get a little lonely?” I asked.

  “Our mates are not in heat year round like you humans. We have our time.”

  That explained a lot. Beast always returned to his world about the first week of November, stayed gone for a week to ten days, and then returned for another year. While he was gone, my Harley was just a Harley, well, just a ‘65 Panhead Harley Electro Glide.

  “You’ll have to give my regards to your wife,” I said finally getting off Beast’s back.

  “Not likely, she thinks you’re restraining me here. If she knew I could quit at any time, there’d be hell to pay. Besides, she likes the taste of human flesh.”

  “I guess that kills my plans of having her come over for a cook-out.”

  He laughed appreciatively but broke it off when an elderly man started and then looked for the source of the laughter.

  “Wait here, Beast. I’ll be back in a few.” I walked south around the courthouse, stopping to sit on a bench that rested beneath the large maple. The bench gave me a view of the front of the building where Nuevo Retro was.

  Thirty minutes passed as I ruminated on Ophelia’s story before Cris came out the front door, alone. I watched her walk down the street toward Abigail’s house. The downtown was occupied at this time of night so I couldn’t summon Beast to me. I went back, mounted up, and followed Cris. I caught up with her a couple of blocks later. She’d passed Abigail’s house without stopping.

  Cris heard Beast and cast a glance back over her shoulder as I pulled to the curb. “Rafe. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. How much did you tell Abigail?” I asked without getting off Beast.

  “I didn’t tell her anything. Wait. How’d you know I was talking to Abigail?”

  When I didn’t reply, she added, “You were still out there, weren’t you? I thought your tire tracks ended somewhat sudden. You were using a glamour.”

  “It seemed prudent to see who found the body.”

  “And see if I would divulge anything about your background?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “I promised you I wouldn’t tell,” Cris protested.

  “I know, but after another murder I thought you might have second thoughts.”

  “Hell, nobody trusts me,” she grumbled. “I’m getting the same kind of treatment from Cynthia. She knows I learned something from you and is miffed that I won’t tell her what it is.”

  She moved toward me as she spoke and then she flung a leg over the back of Beast and slid up against me. As her arms went around my waist, she said, “Since you’re here, you might as well give me a ride.”

  “Okay. Where to?”

  “Not far. Straight ahead three blocks and then four to the left.”

  I nodded and pulled away from the curb.

  It was a short ride and I never got above thirty. I pulled into a driveway at Cris’ direction and stopped outside a brick ranch shaded from the direct moonshine by tall sycamores. A light breeze rustled the remaining leaves casting moving patterns of shadow against us. I waited, but Cris continued to hold onto me.

  “Were you getting off?” I asked.

  “Not even close,” she said softly, her breath warm on my nape.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Cynthia was blushing when she told me about your ride to Guntersville. I expected something a little more.”

  “Guntersville is a long ride at high speeds, hardly the seven block trek we just took.”

  “Still, I expected more,” Cris said.

  “Tonight? I’m sorry, but I’m beat. I don’t think I can handle another long ride.”

  “Aw.” She squeezed and a little gasp of pain escaped my lips.

  “What’s wrong?” She released her grip and slipped off the bike.

  “I’ve been used and abused. The last twenty-four hours have been pretty rough.”

  She stepped close and raised a hand to my face. Then she leaned in until I could feel her breath against my lips. A second later, her lips touched mine, hesitantly, gingerly, with the feathery lightness of a butterfly’s wings. The kiss ended with the same hesitant caution and I was unsure when our lips actually parted.

  “You should come inside,” Cris said.

  “I hate to disappoint, but I really am pretty sore. I don’t think…”

  “Hush, I’m not trying to seduce you, yet. Just come inside. You can rest for awhile and if you feel like it we’ll talk.”

  How could I refuse? I dismounted and followed her in.

  The house was dark when we entered. She flicked a switch at the doorway and lamps lit in a small living room to our right. Cris put out her hand and I took it. She led me to an overstuffed sofa across from a wide brick fireplace. I sat at one end. It made it easier to keep from falling over.

  “Would you like a drink?” Cris asked.

  “I sure would.”

  “I have bourbon and wine. Which shall it be?”

  “Bourbon, over ice, if you don’t mind.”

  She draped the same thin shawl she’d worn the night before over the back of the sofa near me and left the living room through the entry hall, the only way out of the room.

  I heard ice clinking in glasses.

  I was nearly too tired to think. This strange young woman had been able to read me and probably knew more about me than anyone living. But if that was the case, why was she so damned agreeable? My past actions haven’t always been lily white and I’ve had to put some people down, deservedly so, but still I was a killer. Cris was a therapist. The kind of person who usually believes people can be cured of their anti-social tendencies. Why hadn’t she told her cousin about me? Was she was afraid of how I’d respond?

  Cris came back before I made a decision about her one way or the other. She bore two glasses, each with three fingers of bourbon that barely floated the ice. She offered one glass to me and I took it. As I raised it to my lips, she sat down beside me, cheek to cheek. I turned and gazed at her, and then remembering her talent, I looked away.

  “I won’t try to read you again unless you want me to,” she said.

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “What? You didn’t think I’d be able to keep your secret?”

  I stared at her eyes. “I thought you said you wouldn’t read me again.”

  “That’s not reading your soul, Rafe. That’s reading your body language. Men are much easier to read than women.” She chuckled lightly and sipped at her bourbon.

  I watched her for a moment and then took a healthy swig from my glass.

  “What happened out there tonight?” Cris asked.

  I looke
d her in the eye. She wasn’t doe-eyed now. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  Her lips pursed and then she nodded. So I told her. She listened intently while I spoke. I tried not to go into the dirty little details, but she stopped me from time to time and asked questions that brought out feelings I try to hide. Of course, she was a therapist. I hadn’t thought about that at first, but by the time I finished I realized that she was not only seeking information, but was also offering up a catharsis for the emotional damage I’d picked up in the battle. That was weird. I hadn’t had anyone I could really open up to since my mentor’s death thirty-five years earlier.

  By the time I finished, our glasses contained only slivers of ice.

  “A woman. My God, you suspect someone in the coven,” she said.

  “It would almost have to be,” I said. “I’m sure Abigail would know if there was someone outside the coven with that much power. No, one of the women in Abigail’s inner circle must be responsible.”

  “But…” Cris hesitated and cocked her head to the side as if listening for something.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Cynthia told me that last night all of the women in the coven had shown up with Abigail at the murder scene.”

  I thought back and tried to remember if anyone was missing. But I was too tired to think. I sighed, leaned my head back against the sofa, and closed my eyes.

  “You poor dear, I shouldn’t be grilling you when you’re obviously so tired. Look, I’m good at healing. If you want, you can take a bath while I prepare.”

  Earlier I’d removed the dirt from both my body and my clothing with the same spell I’d used to rid myself of the demon odor, but that didn’t work on my own sweat and blood and I was well past the limits of what my hygiene spell could accomplish. I could use a good soak in a sauna or a tub and a lot more bourbon.