Chapter Four
The rune.
It had lain quiet the entire time James and little Jim sat in shock. Now, as James stood, determined to save his family, it flickered to life. Warm, comforting rays of gold reached for him.
James stepped closer. The cursed medallion cost him everything, and yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting it. Every breath he drew without the rune weight in his hand felt like drowning. His body ached with the need of it. How had he let it fall away for so long?
Another step.
All would be whole again with the rune. It knew just what to do. It always knew.
James leaned over to pick up the glorious savior and felt a great pain in his leg. He turned to see Jim, tears streaming down his face, wailing as if he’d been doing so for a long time.
The rune spun in a circle, casting rays of golden light against the backdrop of their modest home. The voices rose up once more. James hadn’t even realized they were calling him until that moment.
Against every rational thought and the sound of his lad’s ragged breaths, Odin help him, he still yearned to take it in his hands and make the world go away.
“Now there, lad.” James comforted both Jim and himself. “I willna leave ye. Come now.” James led a shuddering Jim down the hallway to the room he shared with his dear Margaret, until the night before. Every footstep beat like a fading drum and before long, the rune’s beckoning released him.
In the bedroom, after assuring Jim the door was locked, and shoving the lounge chair under the handle to be cautious, James knelt beside the bed and prayed.
Achanaidh Comhnadh
Iomain fein sinn do chleidh's do chaimir,
Seun sinn fo do bhrot riomhach reidh;
A Sgeith dhidinn, dion ri 'r mairionn.
Bi-sa do chlaidheamh cruaidh, cosgarra,
Chon sinne dhion a irinn arrais,
Bho fhigeirich is bho fheadaine frinne fuara,
'S bho dheathach ruadh an aigeil.
M' anam an urrachd an Ard Righ,
Micheil murrach an comhdhail m' anama
Then, James repeated the rite in English in hopes the lad would join in. Though he was the only voice echoing in the bedchamber, the lad did seem to rouse a bit as he spoke.
Prayer For Protection
Tend Thou us to the cot and the fold,
Sain us beneath Thine own glorious mantle;
Thou Shield of protection, guard us for ever.
Be Thou a hard triumphant glave
To shield us securely from wicked hell,
From the fiends and from the stieve snell gullies,
And from the lurid smoke of the abyss.
Be my soul in the trustance of the High King,
Be Michael the powerful meeting my soul.
Once finished, James kissed Jim on the forehead and promised to bring his mother home safe. Then, he did the one thing he swore to never do. James strode across the room and pulled the treasure box out of its hiding place.
King Ase was livid. He'd allowed the vile despot Raynor to best him in battle. Now here he sat, huddled in a cold damp cell with his loyal soldiers, barely a scrap of leather to share between them. Not only had King Raynor stripped them of their rune, and their land, but half their clothing, too.
Ase’s teeth clenched as he replayed the final moments of the battle over again. He saw the fear and anger in his men’s eyes as the rune slipped from his hand and into the clutches of his mortal enemy. Every life lost ‘til that moment had been wasted. Every drop of blood for naught.
Evil had won out and his remaining men were here beside him now, doomed.
What could he have done differently to change their fate? And what could he do now to avenge his men? To save his kingdom?
Ase stood from the scant warmth of his fellow men and paced the room. He felt around the cramped cell for anything that could help them escape. The stone walls dripped icy water and sludge. The air tasted stale. They had to be far below ground with no chance of fighting their way to the outside world.
Dejected, Ase dropped his wet hands to his side, and felt the inviting rough strap of his sword, Gwrinhan. At first, he didn’t believe it. What would possess Raynor to strip the men of their pelts but not their weapons? Did he expect them to cower in a corner and freeze in one shivering bare mass? Or was the sword at his side a token of false hope?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, he would take that hope and shove it down Raynor’s despicable throat.
“Rise,” Ase commanded.
Though clearly freezing and pained, the soldiers obeyed.
Ase whispered to his raised sword, “Aotrom,” and light filled the room. Then as quickly as it had appeared, it was swallowed by dark shadows slithering down from the torches.
Still, the momentary flash of pale gold was enough to breathe new life into his men. Through the pitch black, Ase heard his men fumbling for their own swords, then the familiar shings of metal slicing through air.
The hair on Ase’s neck and arms prickled. He could smell the need for battle raging inside his men. “Some of us may fall here today, but he can’t take us all. We shall fight with everything we have. In Odin’s name, we will vanquish this evil.”
By the time he finished, the soldiers had clustered around him. Snorts and grunts sounded off from every direction as they lathered themselves up for war.
The chill had left them. Ase’s own chest burned with the fire inside him. It was time.
There came a knock at the door and all heads turned. The men rushed to the noise, yelling and growling. The knock turned to an insistent pounding.
One wooden door stood between the kings and their soldiers. Yes, one had a dragon under his spell, but the other had honor and the gods. “Breech the hold, ye coward!” King Ase taunted his foe.
“We’ll take yer heads!” came an embittered howl from the crowd.
Another blow glanced off the large wooden door, like a battering ram.
The various cries from the men turned to one unanimous call for the heads of Raynor and Sabadtein.
Flames engulfed the cell.
Chapter Five
If she strained hard enough, Margaret could hear the sounds of voices echoing from a distance. She followed them, stumbling and crashing into furniture along the way. The only light in the vast room had been the dragon’s green fire, and now that was lost to her.
Margaret pressed her hands together and spoke softly into them. They began to warm. A pale yellow light glowed between her fingertips. She spread them wide, letting the ball of light breathe. Before it could rise far enough into the air to illuminate her prison, a wisp of shadow snuffed it out. Margaret rubbed her hands and tried again. And again. Each time the orb grew strong enough to lift off, the shadow engulfed it.
Still, Margaret found her footing with each spark of new light, until she saw a door. She ran full speed, protecting the orb for as long as possible. The shadow caught them as Margaret’s hand tried the intricately carved golden handle.
The urgent voices on the other side became frantic. Men called out and threatened to destroy King Raynor if he breached the barrier.
Margaret hurried, trying in vain to open the locked door. She wanted to answer their cries, assure them that it was her, not Raynor. But to do so would mean immediate discovery. She would have to take her chances.
Margaret's fists pounded on the thick wood until bruised. Her shoulder ached from ramming into the magically secured door. Her men continued to cry out in mutiny on the other side.
When she was about to stop pounding long enough to conjure another orb, a great wall of green flames barreled toward her. The heat from the dragon’s fire melted the metal latches beneath Margaret’s fingers. But the light, before being snuffed out by black flame torches along the walls, crept far enough down the corridor to show Margaret a way through.
Dark pewter armor stood against the wall beside her, so close, and yet unseen in the pitch black ro
om. Margaret felt around the empty armor in search of a sword. Finding none, she ripped the chest plate off and climbed inside. Another blast of heat blew through the hall, culminating in a mushroom cloud where she’d been standing seconds ago.
The door frame buckled in on itself and Margaret’s men forced their way through the rubble.
Raynor, outnumbered even with a dragon, and his own army at his command, retreated into the dark.
“This way,” a familiar voice ordered the newly freed troops. King Ase waved the men on, to chase Raynor.
At the sound of Ase’s voice, Margaret leapt from the shadows, forgetting her suit of armor.
Twenty swords swung to greet her, each pointing at a different vital organ. Ase’s sword, Gwrinhan, took aim at Margaret’s throat.
Chapter Six
James took a moment to steel himself before placing a trembling hand on the ornate puzzle box. He ran each finger along the seams, tracing the golden filigree crosses etched there. When he was certain he’d gotten the pattern correct, James pressed the metal replica of Thor’s hammer adorning the lid. Under his breath, he recited the secret oath to Odin and waited for the pewter hammer to warm. Then, he closed his eyes and ran his thumb across the hidden compartment beneath the box.
With a flash of blinding light, it slid open. Inside, a small metal horsehead waited, smiling up at him.
James slammed the box shut and stepped back. Ancient charms were notorious for misfiring. Could he risk opening a portal on the wrong end of Valonde, or worse yet, a different realm altogether? James knew the answer before he finished the thought. What choice did he have? The rune, still calling him from the other room meant swearing fealty to King Ase... again. It meant never coming home.
James checked on the lad one last time, told him he loved him and he would bring their beloved Margaret home. Then he went solemnly to the kitchen and picked up the telephone.
“Wilfred?” James asked into the receiver.
“What time is it, Sir?” Wilfred asked back.
“I dinna ken. I’m sorry. I need ye to keep watch over the lad fer a spell, please.”
Wilfred, though woken from sleep, did not hesitate. “I’ll be right over.” Then, before hanging up, he added, “Is this about the other day? The... whatever you did to... Believe me, I’m truly grateful but... The men said you’re magic, James.”
“Na, I’m no magic.” James almost left it at that, but not knowing what was to come, added, “I ken people who are, and one of them’s got Margaret. I hae ta...” James broke off.
“I’m coming,” Wilfred answered and the telephone clicked.
James replaced the receiver and waited. He took a calming drink of water, which didn’t work, and paced the room, which did. When he heard Wilfred’s boots on the porch, James looked to his lad once more. “I’m doing this fer you, lad. Please dinnae be angry.” At Wilfred’s insistent knock, James wrapped the horsehead charm in both hands and disappeared.
Chapter Seven
“Ase, either ye remove that sword, or I’ll remove yer hand.” Margaret grinned inside the plate helmet as she watched the shock flit across her king’s face.
The sword fell and Ase dropped to his knees in a regal bow. “My Queen?” he said, more as a question.
Margaret extended a metallic hand. “I need a weapon.”
Still stunned, Ase hesitated before offering Gwrinhan.
“Oh, no. I ken how unruly that thing is.” Margaret looked past Ase as he stood. “Anyone else?”
From somewhere in the back, a long thin sword rose into the air. Margaret nodded and took it.
Ase spread his arms to hug Margaret, an awkward display in any circumstance, made more uncomfortable by the plate armor clanking between them and the crowd of shocked troops surrounding the pair, some still with swords drawn.
“How?” he asked, after giving up on the futile attempt at physical contact.
Margaret shrugged. “He didna want me, that’s for sure.”
Ase hung his head. “’Tis all my fault. I called your James forth, and then...” King Ase motioned around the room. “Raynor took the rune and tossed us in here.”
Margaret raised her new sword in the air. “Aye, let’s make him regret both those decisions.”
The men all yelled in agreement and charged down the hallway.
Margaret, held back by the heavy armor, marveled at how safe and fearless she felt inside the contraption. Raynor’s quest for the elusive metals under Elnar made more sense. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder how Raynor compelled Sabadtein to pillage another dragon’s final resting place. It was a magic she had never seen.
A cry rang out. Margaret ran to catch up, using the dim green glow from the dragon’s fire to guide her way.
In an open, damp, cavernous room, stood King Raynor, holding a sword to Ase’s neck. Behind him, Sabadtein towered over both men, with a sword to his own neck. And brandishing that sword, was James.
Chapter Eight
One minute James was standing in his bedroom, whispering to his Grandfather’s horsehead charm, and the next minute he was flat on his back in a dark room. All around him, torches burned black, pulling wayward strands of light up and away.
James expected to smell smoke, from the torches, and from any direction which could lead him to Raynor’s dragon. Instead, the familiar scent of electrically charged air caught him off guard. He was instantly transported back to the memory of the pit. His skin began to tingle and his soul felt lighter. The sickening pull of separation radiated from his center.
The InBetween. As the realization dawned, James felt the last of himself blink out. He was nowhere and everywhere. Tendrils of his self floated down every tunnel at once.
Somewhere deep in the part of him that stayed him, he knew one led to his dear Margaret, one led home to his traumatized lad, and oh so many meant certain death.
James let the mist of himself go, tentatively feeling out every possibility. More than once, a piece of him disappeared, lost in the haze of nothing.
Dead ends.
He wouldn’t know which parts of himself he’d sacrificed until he was whole again... if he was whole again.
Eventually, after near infinite simultaneous journeys, James’s self came upon two promising passages. Both felt ominous and wrong, which could only mean evil lurked on the other side. But which kind of evil? The kind that would lead to the man holding his wife? Or the kind that would leave his family to always wonder what happened to him – if he had been killed in the rescue attempt, or worse.
James took a moment longer to say a quick prayer and gathered his self at the doorway of his choosing. A large, wooden slatted slide-bolt latched what had to be a dungeon cell.
His hand, which felt foreign to him – how long had he been mist – brushed against something metal when reaching for the bolt. Cool steel and warm leather. His fingers curled perfectly around the hilt of a long sword. An omen or blessing? Only one way to find out.
James flung open the door onto a maelstrom of swords and bodies and blood all moving and churning as one. The air smelled of iron and ozone and...death. None of it made sense. All James knew for sure was his Margaret was not one of them.
Part of him wanted to turn back, choose the other door, but these men needed help. Which men, however, was the question. Until he heard his name.
“Sweyn! Sweyn!” In the middle of the chaos stood King Ase, smiling at him as blood dribbled into the man’s eye. One hand raised in the air, Ase signaled for James to come fight at his side.
James waded through the crowd, still unsure who was safe to attack. Before he made it to Ase, a long writhing neck rose out of the distance. A flash of green light and intense heat filled the room, followed by the choking smoke he’d expected when first transporting to this realm.
Where there was a dragon, there would be Raynor. James charged toward the flames, sword drawn. As he did so, King Ase let out an awful noise. James turned to see King Raynor raising a bloody sword t
o deliver another blow to his rival.
Raynor caught sight of James and faltered long enough for Ase to roll out of the way. But Raynor quickly recovered and held the tip of his sword to Ase’s throat. The dragon roared and opened his mouth to let out another rain of fire when James leapt onto its back.
“Raynor!” James growled, his sword at the jawline of the bucking dragon. “Where’s my wife?”
King Raynor’s lips widened in what could not be considered a smile. “Gone,” he hissed.
“As will you be.” James pushed the tip of his blade under Sabadtein’s scales.
The battle raged on around them, except for the small radius where they stood, locked in an armistice.
Then, out of nowhere, a hulking metal man came marching toward them. In its hand, James saw a long sword, a near perfect match of the one he now held at the dragon’s throat. Since when did Raynor’s magic work on metal?
James didn’t know whether to keep his sword trained on the dragon or point it at the knight coming his way. When the dark knight began swiping down men left and right, clearing a path directly to him, James raised his sword.
Chapter Nine
Margaret stood in mute shock at the sight of James atop the dragon, sword drawn, jaw clenched in fury. She hadn’t seen this side of him in ages. She wondered how much of him missed the thrill of battle. How much of him regretted fleeing his post with her and the baby?
A sharp blow glanced off the side of her armor, bringing her back to the here and now. With ease, Margaret sliced down the man at her side. She realized, after delivering the blow, that the devious king had dressed his army in her kingdom’s leathers.
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