The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Logic should have told Ravn otherwise, if only through Harval’s willingness to fight. The sword of balance should have recognized the danger of siding against a force of such power, should have realized that destroying such a mass of chaos would tip the world irrevocably toward law. Yet, it performed smoothly in Ravn’s hands, its balance ever more flawless.

  For an instant, understanding seeped through, and Ravn paused. That split second proved his undoing. Colbey’s sword sprang through the opening, catching Ravn a head blow that toppled him and sent his consciousness swimming. Then, Freya stormed in to take his place, thrusting herself between her son and any death blow Colbey might deal.

  Ravn’s awareness faded into darkness.

  CHAPTER 20

  Justice

  In this new age, no man chooses the path of evil; he only confuses personal happiness with goodness.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  RAVN awakened with a headache that pounded to every heartbeat, his world a gray blur that bore no relation to the defining, uniform colors of Asgard. Ingrained habit sent him skittering to a defensive crouch, a hand falling to each hilt. The abrupt movement slammed pain through his skull, reducing vision to a thick, swirling curtain of dull spots. Detached from control, he felt himself vomiting and falling. He managed to maintain balance by dropping his center of gravity, but his lunch did not fare as well. The indefinable sixth sense of a warrior suggested no immediate danger. He lowered his head, attempting thought that remained just beyond comprehension.

  Ravn managed thought before sight, recalling the unreasoning rage that had driven him to a crazed assault upon his father. His mind sorted the tangible battle into the reality column and the fury into dream. It seemed ludicrous, a turnabout of possibility; yet, as he considered the whole in more detail, the division made more sense. The agony in his head and the lesser aches of his muscles confirmed the truth of physical conflict. The emotion, however, left no impression, its source outside him. Someone had manipulated him.

  That idea raised an anger all its own. Ravn recalled the voice in his head, beckoning him to abandon balance and the gods to join the cause of chaos. Then, he had believed that mind-voice Colbey’s without question. Now, that unconsidered certainty, in and of itself, grew suspect. *Things are not as they seem.* At the time, that gentle warning had disappeared beneath the demanding avalanche in his head. He now focused on this piece that jarred, though only for a moment. Another thought took sudden precedence: Fatally wounded. He clamped both hands to his ribs. His fingers wormed through a tear in the fabric, touching bruised flesh but no crusted blood or flaps of skin.

  Gradually, the spiraling shroud that ruined Ravn’s vision receded, and strength seeped into his limbs. He noticed his mother leaning against a gray expanse of wall, watching him. The room contained no furnishings, only four unadorned stone walls and a matching ceiling and floor. He saw no doors or entryways. He stared at his side, surprised to find exactly what his fingers already told him. He forced his memory back one more time, now realizing that the wound he had visualized never existed. Its foreignness now seemed as clear as the voice that had once filled his head.

  Freya walked to Ravn and crouched in front of him. “Are you well?”

  Ravn rose cautiously, prepared for a second round of vomiting or for pain to drop him again. This time, he managed to stand, moving away from his sickness with his mother at his side. “I’m all right. What happened?”

  Freya knew better than to assist too much. Like mortal adolescents, Ravn became annoyed by anything he perceived as parenting, though right now he would have secretly enjoyed a bit of worried mothering. “I’d like to hear your version.”

  Ravn understood. If Freya had suffered anything close to the war that had taken place in his head, sifting truth from illusion would require the input of everyone involved. He described the events from the moment of the first voice until he lost consciousness, to the best of his recollection.

  Freya listened to the entire story without comment. Only after he stated “and then I woke up . . . wherever we are . . .” did she finally comment. “Apparently, we’re on chaos’ world.”

  A gasp escaped Ravn before he could think or speak. He jerked backward, glad his headache had lessened enough to allow the swift movement. “I thought things of law could not exist here.” Realization struck a mighty blow. “Are we dead?”

  Freya smiled, though it looked strained. “No.” She moved her right leg in a circular motion before pacing a double step. The familiar habit soothed Ravn at time when separating reality from fantasy had become difficult and he could no longer trust even his own thoughts and emotions. “I didn’t see the wound you spoke of, but your reaction at the time convinced me Colbey had attempted to kill you. That’s when I joined in.”

  “The rocks?”

  “Right.” Freya turned back, pink circles etched against alabaster cheeks. “Didn’t have a weapon with me, and I didn’t want to waste time getting it.”

  Ravn shivered at the family transgression. “Father would have lectured you into eternity.”

  “He did.”

  “You talked to him?” Ravn settled back to his haunches. “Perhaps you’d better tell me your version.”

  Freya hunkered down beside Ravn. “That’s about it. After you went down, I attacked your father.”

  Ravn stared. “Without a sword?”

  Freya placed an arm defensively around Ravn. “Mothers protecting sons aren’t always thinking clearly. I was trying to prevent a killing blow.”

  In the privacy of this simple room, Ravn allowed, even cherished, his mother’s contact. “Why didn’t you use magic?”

  “Against chaos?” Freya shook her head. “It would be like battling the sea with spit.”

  Ravn knew too little of magic to comment.

  “Of course, I could never have arrived in time to save you if he truly wanted you dead, but I ran and hoped for the best. When I reached you, I glided into the edge of a mental battle. Caught a glimpse of the Odin-creature. Felt magic prickling toward us. Put up a shield, mostly from instinct.” Freya shook her head, golden locks gliding across her head like foam. “The backlash of that magic was massive. Whatever Odin’s spell, it might have killed all three of us. Then Colbey brought us here.”

  “To chaos’ world,” Ravn reminded, still wondering how they managed to remain whole.

  Freya’s blue eyes glimmered with concern. “As I understand it, we’re within a construct that protects us.”

  “A construct.” Ravn looked at his mother, trusting her knowledge of magic and trying not to consider the possibility that her presence, too, was merely illusion. “On chaos’ world?”

  Freya cleared her throat. “He says he can build anything he wishes here.” She returned Ravn’s stare deeply, as if to dredge the next question from him. She wanted his opinion, not merely to have him mull her own.

  Ravn did not miss the significance. “Creation magic.” He tried to imagine himself advancing from no magical knowledge to the most powerful of all. “Is that possible?”

  “Apparently.”

  Ravn slumped. “So he has bound himself to chaos.”

  “He claims he hasn’t.”

  Ravn tried not to hope. He turned his gaze to Freya’s once more. “And you believe him?”

  “After what I saw earlier, I’m inclined to.”

  Ravn said nothing.

  “And you?” Freya pressed.

  “I don’t know.” Now, Ravn rose. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He sighed. “I once believed my faith in my father unshakable.”

  Freya laughed.

  Ravn smiled. “All right. I didn’t always listen to him. I challenged him. I’m an adolescent; it’s my job. But . . .” He worked to place the paradox into words. “Against anyone but me, I’d battle to the death on his side.”

  “But things have changed since Odin came.”

  Ravn wiggled a finger at Freya. “Yes, that’s right.”

/>   “You find yourself doubting things that once seemed indisputable.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re uncertain what’s truth and what lie. What’s reality and what’s fantasy.”

  “Yes and yes.” Suspicion ground through Ravn, and he worried at the accuracy of his mother’s suggestions. “How do you know that?”

  Freya ignored the question for another. “Since Odin returned.”

  “Right.” Ravn deliberated. “He’s been messing with my mind a lot longer than I realize. Hasn’t he?”

  “Mine, too.” Freya finally addressed the original question. “I actually came to believe Colbey was the enemy. That he bound himself to chaos. That he wanted to destroy us. And that Odin organized all of us to kill Colbey.”

  Ravn paused longer than necessary, waiting for Freya to finish the sentence with “. . . because it was right” or “. . . because it was necessary.” But she did not. Only then, he realized she had completely changed her point. “Surely, you’re not doubting that Odin intended all of us to band together and kill Father.”

  “Surely,” Freya corrected, “I am.”

  Ravn could not believe he heard accurately. “Are you saying Odin doesn’t want Colbey dead?”

  “I’m not saying that at all.” Apparently tiring of talking up to her son, Freya also rose, immediately launching into the habitual pacing mode. “I believe he wants Colbey dead. But he organized that so-called plan of his to destroy us, not Colbey.”

  Ravn still did not understand. “‘Us’ meaning. . .?”

  “The gods.”

  Suddenly, things clicked into place. “You mean, the pieces of his plan don’t fit together, as he claimed?”

  Freya continued pacing. “I mean that he’s coaching us to face Colbey in groups of two and three, knowing that’s about how many Colbey can handle.” Her words tumbled over one another as she spoke her recent discoveries aloud. “Fewer than two or three might mean Colbey takes them alive, like us. More would result in Colbey’s death and leave the rest of us for Odin to handle.”

  Father was right. Odin does plan to destroy the worlds and create a new one devoted entirely to himself. Ravn finally joined in, “Which would put Odin in the position of facing all of us at once. Which he couldn’t win.” He stomped his foot, irritated that he had not come up with the idea first. “How did you figure that out?”

  Having reached a wall, Freya turned, easily reading the true intention behind her son’s question. “I had access to information that you didn’t. I know your father already captured Modi and Magni.”

  Ravn shook his head, marveling at the genius of Odin’s plan. He remembered the desperate outrage that had followed Baldur’s slaying. Each subsequent death would get blamed on Colbey, fueling the attacks against him and further securing the gods’ loyalty to Odin and, simultaneously, assuring their own demise.

  A knock sounded through the confines. Wondering at its source, Ravn spun, finding nothing. Colbey’s voice followed, gentle and contrite. “Is it safe?”

  Freya looked at Ravn. “It’s safe,” the boy called to the ceiling.

  A moment later, seams appeared in the far corner of one wall, muting into an opening beyond which lay a dizzying array of moving color. Rainbows leaped through one another like fish sluicing through particolored waterfalls, endlessly changing. Then the entryway dissolved, leaving only the slight, sinewy figure of his father. After Ravn’s glimpse of chaos’ splendor, Colbey appeared insignificant. The scarred face looked tired, the limbs powerless and quiet. Only the blue-gray eyes still held a spark of determination, and they studied Ravn quizzically.

  A rush of love struck Ravn’s heart, and the wish to embrace his father sped through him. Suspicious of abrupt and powerful emotions, he did not act upon the desire. Instead, he analyzed it, exploring its source, its nourishment, and its very existence.

  A smile crept onto Colbey’s face. Surely, he read Ravn’s internal battle, though he said nothing to indicate his knowledge.

  Soothed by his ability to contemplate his feelings, Ravn finally acted upon them. He approached Colbey. The two men stood, studying one another, for several moments.

  Finally, Freya devastated the hush and also the moment. “Now you sniff each other, piss on each other’s territory, and decide if you want to wag your tails or fight.”

  Ravn lost a nervous giggle he immediately wished he could have stifled. Undeterred, Colbey caught the young man in his arms and hugged him exuberantly. Ravn clung.

  “Even better,” Freya proclaimed.

  “I’m sorry,” Ravn sobbed.

  The smaller of the two, Colbey spoke into his son’s neck. “Sorry for what?”

  “Doubting you. Attacking you.”

  “You’re Renshai,” Colbey returned, daring to teach even in such a situation. “Don’t ever apologize for attacking.”

  Freya added, “You’re a thinking being. Don’t ever apologize for doubting.”

  Trapped, Ravn chuckled. “I’m sorry I apologized.” He slapped a hand to his mouth in mock horror. “Don’t tell me. I’m a god. Don’t ever apologize.”

  Colbey released Ravn. “I thought it was an adolescent rule: never apologize to parents.”

  “Another good reason.” Ravn sobered abruptly. “We’d better get back and warn the others.”

  Colbey straightened a tunic nearly as colorful as chaos. “No. Odin’ll invade your minds the instant you get back, if he even bothers. He chose you to die near the first for a reason. He doesn’t trust your loyalty to him nor his ability to turn you against me”.

  Ravn considered that, not liking the options.

  “What do you suggest?” Freya asked.

  “You’re safe here.”

  Ravn shook his head. “We can’t help you caged like prisoners.”

  Colbey reached over and fingered the hole the chaos sword had sliced in Ravn’s shirt. “If you leave, Odin will destroy you. Or he’ll find a way to make me destroy you. Either way you’re lost. Either way you can’t help me; and your deaths will devastate me.”

  Though Ravn saw the wisdom in Colbey’s words, he still hated the options. “I want to fight at your side.”

  “Of course you do.” Not a shred of doubt entered Colbey’s words or tone. No Renshai would wish otherwise. “But you can’t.”

  Freya found a more practical problem. “You’re the only one who can manipulate this chaos’ world construct. If you’re killed, we’re trapped forever.”

  “I thought of that.” Colbey grinned at a detail his singly focused warrior mentality might once have made him miss. “I’ve crafted a new material for the walls that will still protect you from chaos but will allow formed magic to penetrate.” The smile wilted. “There’re at least two flaws. First, I can’t trust Modi and Magni, so they will remain trapped. I’m not sure that’s a huge problem anyway. If Odin destroys me, he’d find a way to kill them, too. Second, if formed magic can penetrate it, then you’re no longer wholly safe.” Colbey did not elaborate, deliberately, Ravn suspected. Given Odin’s ability to exploit thoughts, it seemed better for Ravn not to question, though he could not completely suppress his own speculation. Apparently, if Freya could get them out, others with magic could get inside with them.

  Freya asked the necessary question. “Any chance you’ll link with chaos?”

  Colbey’s gaze jerked to his hilt, likely in response to the chaos sword. “I can’t say it’s impossible, but only if I can find no other way. If I don’t warn you first, it could only be because I chose to do so at the time of my own destruction. In that case, a warning won’t matter.”

  “Can it. . .?” Freya started, then swallowed, her gaze following Colbey’s. She obliquely requested his input on whether to speak freely in the mutated Staff of Chaos’ presence.

  Colbey anticipated the question or, more likely, read it from Freya’s unwitting projection. “I don’t believe it can overtake me unwilling, though it grows stronger daily. I’ll let you know before it becomes to
o formidable an enemy.” Freya gave Colbey a hard look that prompted him to add, “By your standards.” They all knew he never seemed to see anything as too powerful a threat. He looked at Ravn. “I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

  “I know that now,” Ravn assured. “But Odin kept me from thinking things through. He’s already too formidable an enemy for me.” A flash of anger made him toss his head. “I’m sorry I let him . . .” He broke off as both parents gave him admonishing looks. “Yeah, I know. Don’t apologize.”

  Colbey moved to Freya, taking her hands. “The sooner I face the remaining gods, the less time passes and the smaller chaos’ power when I battle Odin.” Ravn realized Colbey would have the choice of joining with chaos or warring against it and Odin/law in the end. Oddly, timing seemed the one thing on which the AllFather and Colbey would agree. Each must believe a prompt clash better for his own cause: Colbey because he would struggle against a weaker chaos and Odin because he stood a better chance against Colbey if the Renshai remained unbound or, if bound, to a feebler enemy.

  “Be careful,” Ravn said, the words a contradiction to Renshai training that he hoped his father would forgive. The end result of this battle allowed it since it encompassed more than just triumph or death in glorious combat.

  “Wait,” Freya said, sweeping an arm to indicate the barren room. “How about some furnishings?”

  Hiding his face from Freya, Colbey rolled his eyes to his son, a gesture that bespoke a single word: “women.” “At once, dear.” He could not resist adding mentally to Ravn, *If Odin had married before the worlds’ creation, we’d wait for it still.*

  Ravn forced a smile. And hoped he would see his father again.