The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  The gods looked toward the interruption. Vidar occupied the head of the table, once Odin’s seat. Awe for the AllFather had kept that place empty until Colbey had deliberately taken it a few months earlier. At Vidar’s either hand sat his half-brothers, Vali and Baldur. Colbey’s half-brothers, Modi and Magni, sat together, Thor’s mighty hammer between them on the floor. To Magni’s left sat the goddesses Sif, Idunn, and Loki’s widow, Sigyn. Blind Hod lounged beside Vali, Honir beside him, then Colbey’s brother-in-law, Frey in the next position. Colbey’s gaze darted naturally to Freya, his wife; and he went breathless. Months ensconced in chaos had robbed him of the details of beauty so primal it defined the very word. Her golden cascade of hair outlined large blue eyes, a straight, perfectly sculpted nose, and a strong chin. Her every movement bespoke grace. At her side sat their son, Raska “Ravn” Colbeysson.

  Every eye swept to Colbey and froze there. Frowns scored many faces. Vali sprang to his feet, yellow braids in disarray and short beard bristling. “You’re not welcome here.” His voice held deadly warning. “You know that.”

  Vidar nodded once. This time, not even he would defend the Prince of Demons. “Colbey, you agreed not to return.”

  Even Ravn’s hand stole toward his sword. Colbey noted the various threats but acted upon none of them. If challenged, he would fight, though many gods would die before, and if, they defeated him. “Please. Hear me out.”

  Vali fairly growled. “We have no time or patience for chaos’ lies.” He repeated, “You’re not welcome here.”

  Colbey glanced around the room, at the pale Northern faces. Aside from his wife and child, he discovered only hostility in expression and radiated emotion. Freya pursed her lips, uncommitted. Ravn fidgeted. The strongest of the gods had died at the Ragnarok, extremes the world no longer needed. “Please.”

  A lengthy pause followed the request that only Vidar could deny or grant. Colbey still cursed the gods’ infernal patience; he did not share it.

  “Speak your piece,” Vidar said.

  Vali whipped his head to his brother so fast his war braids flew. He turned the leader of the gods an expression rife with anger. Nevertheless, he sat.

  “Thank you.” Colbey shut the door, remaining near it. Too many would read even a cautious approach as attack. He looked directly at Ravn. Blue eyes so like his mother’s swiveled to meet Colbey’s. The boy licked his lips but said nothing. “You need to know . . .” Colbey started. After taking up chaos, he had passed control of the balance to his son. “. . . that the entity of bound law and Dh’arlo’mé now calls himself Odin.”

  Modi’s fist crashed against the table. His name literally meant “wrath,” and Renshai had always called upon him when injured in battle or desperate for a second wind. “Blasphemy!” Rage slashed the room, the other gods less demonstrative but equally bothered.

  “No.” Colbey kept his voice low and calm. “He calls himself Odin because he is Odin.”

  The goddess the Renshai worshiped, Sif, found her voice first. “The AllFather?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Gray Father?” Baldur queried.

  Colbey waved dismissively. “We could list his many names all day, but it won’t change anything. My enemy is Odin.”

  Shock filled the room, accompanied by everything from belligerent doubt to joy. Colbey did not bother to identify which emotion came from whom.

  Vidar’s eyes flickered in agitation as he, apparently, considered the possibilities. “How can that be? Even the near-infinite powers of the staves should not be able to turn one being into another.”

  “He’s lying,” Vali grumbled. “Everything he says is suspect.”

  Vidar made a curt gesture that silenced his half brother.

  Colbey explained, “Odin’s contingency plan. He placed a trace of himself in the Staff of Law in case something went wrong at the Ragnarok. Which, of course, it did.” Colbey fought down a smile. He had bested the AllFather only this once, battling aside Odin’s attempts to convince him that he had existed for no other purpose than assisting Odin against the Fenris Wolf at the Ragnarok. In the greatest of all wars, physical prowess had played a greater role than magic and mental influence. “It took centuries, but the spark sequestered in the Staff of Law grew. Once Odin became powerful enough to recognize himself, he chose and dominated his champion.”

  Sigyn’s eyes narrowed. “And the Staff of Chaos?”

  Colbey swung his attention to her, glad the gods had chosen to listen, no matter how suspiciously. “Grew in opposition, I believe. Even without a champion, the world tends toward balance.”

  Sif grinned, her obvious delight direct contrast to her squinty-eyed, scowling companions. She shook back metallic gold tresses, replacement for the natural hair stolen by Loki long ago. “This is good news.”

  “If we believe it,” Vali grumped, though a light flickered in his blue eyes, disrupting his otherwise mistrustful glare.

  “Odin,” Sif said loudly to indicate she had not finished, “can put this all right.”

  Colbey suffered a brief pang of pain at the intimation that he had badly bungled the balance and championing chaos. Even after centuries among the gods, an insult from the goddess he had worshiped throughout his mortal years stung. Discovering Thor’s indiscretion with a mortal Renshai, she had torn Colbey from the dying woman’s womb and planted him inside his mother. As Thor’s betrayed wife, Sif could have despised Colbey, yet she had watched over him instead. More often than not, she had taken his side in the gods’ disputes.

  Unconsciously, Colbey executed a gesture of respect, which he had not done for the others. “Under ordinary circumstances, I might agree.” He placed a foot on an empty chair and leaned toward Sif. His light tunic and breeks, though simply cut, sported a frenetic panorama of shapes and colors. “But Odin has discovered an ancient prophecy.” Colbey cocked his head, warrior-short locks barely slipping with the movement. “It claimed he would survive the Ragnarok, as he did, then obliterate all the remaining worlds and creatures to pave the way for a new world devoted entirely to him.”

  Wordless noises followed, gasps, hisses, and grunts of disbelief. Magni huffed out a coarse laugh. “Madness.”

  Freya spoke her first words since Colbey’s entrance, softening the proceedings, though her expression revealed nothing gentle. At least, his wife did not wear the mask of distrust that most of the others seemed to share. “Colbey, you know better than anyone that the exact wording means more than any interpretation.”

  Frey added, voice turning singsong as he quoted:

  “The Eighteenth Dark Lord

  Will obtain in his day

  A pale-skinned champion

  To darken the way.

  One destined to betray

  The West and his clan,

  A swordsman unmatched

  By another mortal man.”

  Colbey’s fists clenched at the words, and he turned Frey a dense glare.

  Frey did not heed the obvious warning. “You remember, don’t you? The Wizards tried to destroy you for that prophecy, even before the Staves of Law and Chaos came into this world. But you were not mortal then, or now. And the prophecy was not about you.”

  “Do you think I could forget?” Colbey said, voice turning harsh and stance deadly.

  Frey could not miss the obvious and intense irritation. “I’m just agreeing that we need the precise wording of the prophecy to understand it. And even then, we might miss the detail that changes its apparent meaning.”

  “Lies!” Vali bellowed.

  Colbey ignored his blood uncle, tone evening as he cast aside old irritations for new, “You’re missing something more important. Prophecies don’t just happen. Someone must deliberately fulfill them.”

  “Odin?” Freya reminded.

  “He can’t fulfill it if he’s dead.”

  Modi lurched to his feet. Magni slammed the table with Thor’s hammer, and several jerked away from the impact aching through their fingers. Usually gra
cious Idunn spoke the words on many minds, “You arrogant dullard.”

  Vali intensified. “Bastard.”

  Colbey glanced at Ravn. His son returned his gaze without judgment, hands idle on his lap.

  More accustomed to her husband’s boldness, Freya took it in stride. “You wouldn’t be the first to attempt to thwart prophecies by slaughtering the subject of them.”

  Colbey nodded stiffly, lips pursed at another unpleasant memory. Not only had Wizards and friends hunted Colbey for the prediction Frey had cited, but enemies had earlier killed a promising student for a prophecy they had attributed to the younger man rather than properly to Colbey.

  Colbey turned his attention to the most rational among the gods. “This is different, Freya. First, even if Odin and I have both misinterpreted the prophecy, he intends to fulfill it that way. And the balance dictates that he die, with or without the prophecy.”

  “Exact wording would still help.”

  Colbey tossed up his hands. “I was battling Odin. I had more important things on my mind than memorizing something that, ultimately, matters only in that it’s driving Odin to destroy the universe.”

  Even Freya’s features gained a crinkle of skepticism. She did not have to remind him that Odin had crafted the current world as well. “Are you certain he plans to do that?”

  Colbey placed both hands along the back of the chair on which he balanced. “I confronted him because he attempted to summon a kraell, the most powerful of all demons. He made no attempt to bind it; he intended it to scour the living worlds: men, elves, gods.” A thought struck Colbey. “And I might be able to dredge up the exact phrasing you want.” Alert for retaliation, he placed a hand on his hilt, deliberately not grasping it.

  Chaos filled his head. *Hard-brained idiots.*

  *Drop the insults. I need—*

  It interrupted. *I know what you need. I always do.* Colbey could not miss the warning in that statement, an unspoken reminder to bind that, as always, he ignored. Without further prodding, it fed him the words to the prophecy.

  Colbey repeated in slow phrases, pausing between them to consult the staff in sword form:

  “The Father shall avert his fate.

  Then the worlds should celebrate.

  But far into destruction hurled

  Law’s vast plan is then unfurled:

  A new world to create.

  All must die to pave the way.

  A single god to rule the day.

  The only enemy will make

  One small lapse; a fatal mistake

  Leave the world at the mercy of Gray.”

  A prolonged silence, even for gods, trailed the final stanza.

  “And before you ask,” Colbey added. “Father was capitalized in written form.”

  “Difficult to misinterpret,” Freya admitted.

  “Indeed.”

  Vali fairly exploded. “Am I the only one who can see the obvious?” He rose, joining Modi. “If we dare to believe the Staff of Law and its champion have become Odin, then the Staff of Chaos and Colbey can only be . . .” He paused, allowing the self-evident to glide naturally into every mind.

  “. . . Loki,” Baldur finished. His handsome features thinned, clearly stricken. Of them all, he had most reason to despise the late god of mischief who had tricked blind Hod into slaying him. Though resurrected at the Ragnarok, he had suffered millennia in Hel, amplifying that hatred.

  Vali continued, “And Loki would say whatever fueled chaos. Truth interspersed with lies, he’s trying to turn us against Odin. If he only splits our loyalties, he’s done harm enough. Gods against gods. Another Ragnarok.”

  Colbey moved from the chair into a more defensible position, buffeted by waves of others’ emotion. Everyone in the room considered Vali’s position, though their reactions spanned a gamut. “All reasonable and plausible, Vali. Had I bonded with my charge, I would have essentially become Loki.” He added pointedly, “But I didn’t bind.” Colbey glanced at Ravn then, believing he had proven that well enough at his last visit, at least to his family.

  Ravn met his father’s gaze, saying nothing.

  “I don’t believe it,” Honir said softly.

  Idunn added with more diplomacy, “Colbey, I believe your intentions good, but no one could resist the power of the Staff of Chaos.” She lowered her head with clear sympathy. “You may not even realize it yet, but it has you.”

  Patronized, Colbey fought irritation. “I did not bind.” He swept the room for some sign of wavering, one god or goddess who might stand at his side. Everywhere, he found the same stony disbelief, except on the faces of Freya and Ravn. Yet even there he found no true reprieve. Moisture blurred Freya’s sky blue eyes, and Ravn’s lids closed in sorrow. “I didn’t bind!” he shouted, as if sheer volume could convince where words had failed. “That’s the ‘fatal mistake’ of the prophecy—or so Odin believes!”

  *All believe you bound already. Why not accept the knowledge? The power?*

  Colbey jerked his hand from the hilt he had forgotten he held, irritation further fueled by Chaos’ suggestion. He wrestled desperately with rage; losing control would only harm his point. He needed the assistance of the gods to face Odin again. The father of gods had magic that Colbey had no means to counter, and Odin’s mind powers vastly exceeded his own. Only at physical combat did he believe them equally matched. If the gods refuse me, I’ll have little choice but to bind. The idea grated. He had not won the battle against chaos only to surrender to it for the weakness of his peers. Yet, he realized, if Odin bested him, the world would collapse into ruin. The gods might deserve the doom they courted, but elves and mankind did not. He might have to sacrifice self for immortal fools who blinded themselves to danger. For, once bound, Colbey Calistinsson would no longer exist. Binding would assure the ultimate destruction that he would likely endure anyway when he forced the extremes of law and chaos to shatter one another.

  *You have nothing to lose by binding and everything to gain. If you don’t, you assure total annihilation.*

  And, if I do, I lose control. Colbey kept the idea to himself, the bare edges of terror clawing at his mind. As a part of chaos, he would become genius and betrayal, fresh idea and patternless lie, wholly bereft of intention. Even in the most frenzied war, he had maintained mastery of every motion. Though he championed balance, he was, in every way, a creature of law. *Silence,* he demanded. *Your distraction will only hinder me. And, ultimately, you.*

  The Staff of Chaos obeyed, though not without a wild tremor of irritation that disparaged Colbey’s intelligence and sanity.

  Vali jabbed a finger toward Colbey. “Be gone, Second Father of Lies! You’re not welcome here.”

  Colbey back-stepped, counting silently to contain his anger. Only when he found full composure did he bother to speak aloud again. “I can prove I haven’t bound.” He freed the chaos sword and slammed it to the tabletop before anyone could think to feel menaced by the draw. Ravn stiffened, and others shocked back from the sudden movement. Baldur and Sif lurched to their feet, bringing the number of standing gods to four. The surprise radiating from his son overpowered other thoughts and emotions bombarding the room. Ravn dared not believe his father, the consummate Renshai, had not only handed over his only weapon but had dishonored it by banging it down on a dirty surface.

  Though he felt alarmed and naked without a weapon, Colbey knew no remorse for his action. The honor that governed handling swords was based on a Renshai’s respect for his weapon. He only wished the chaos-blade interpreted the gesture as fully as Ravn. He trained his icy gaze fanatically on Vali. “He who doubts my word need only heft the current form of the Staff of Chaos.” It was a desperate challenge, the only one left in Colbey’s arsenal; and he hoped the gesture alone would regain the gods’ trust. Unlike Captain, the gods might prove a worthy substitute for Colbey, and the staff could attempt to bind with any who grasped the hilt. None shared his odd mind powers; they would have to deliberately block its intrusion for as lon
g as it took him to snatch the sword back.

  Again, Colbey’s gaze circled the room. Movement at the corner of his eye sent him into a startled crouch. Vali plunged over the table. His sword hacked the space where Colbey’s neck had been an instant earlier. It spiraled, gathering momentum for a lower strike. “Get Loki while he’s still unarmed!”

  Dirty coward. Resisting the natural back-step, Colbey sprang forward. Vali’s blade skimmed his back, opening his tunic. Cold air kissed the flesh beneath, and Colbey dove for the table. He rolled across the top, seizing his hilt even as Vidar did the same. Strong fingers crushed Colbey’s, threatening to steal control of the weapon. Changing his course, Colbey allowed momentum to sweep him into Vidar’s lap. The collision sent the gods’ leader tumbling. His hand jerked from the hilt with enough force to claim Colbey’s grip as well. The sword flew in a wild arc, crashing against the wall behind Idunn. She scrambled aside as it plummeted. Another sword sped for Colbey’s face even as Vali’s cut a stinging line across his buttocks.

  Unable to wholly avoid it, Colbey pitched sideways, dodging the whetted edge. The side of the blade caught him a ringing clout across the ear. He jerked up an arm that hammered its wielder’s wrist, parrying the sword harmlessly aside for the moment.

  Sif cursed. In the moment it took her to regain control of her weapon, Colbey leaped for his sword again. Snatching up the hilt, he skittered under the table. Air whooshed past him, stealing his balance. Then, Thor’s massive hammer smashed a crater into the golden wall where the Sword of Chaos had fallen. The gods’ meeting room quaked, and a rain of candles toppled to the tabletop.

  “Stop!” Freya screamed, a savage voice of reason that went unheeded.

  Colbey rose to meet three swords, wielded by Vali, Sif, and Modi. The great hammer shifted, grinding against metal, then flew over their heads back toward Magni’s hand. The blades plunged toward Colbey at once. He evaded Vali’s and caught the other two on his own. The combined strength of goddess and god ached through his forearm, yet he still managed a rabid return of weaving metal that gained him moments and space. From the edge of his vision, he could see that Frey had also drawn, though he did not attack. Freya and Ravn avoided the battle, their loyalties clearly torn.