The Children of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Colbey sighed. His leg had fully healed, a minor injury; and he always spoiled for a battle. Yet the conflicts the gods offered had turned from joyous challenge to bother. Hampered by the understanding that they attacked him out of ignorance, he dedicated himself to transporting rather than killing them. Their magic baffled him, threatening to destroy him unexpectedly and without glory. They had become annoying obstacles in a dilemma that now involved them only as they could become Odin’s directed toys. He suspected that one of these times the AllFather would back them. Already grossly unfair, the battle would tip wholly into law’s favor.

  The magic swirled around Colbey, tingling incessantly. He could continue to ignore the summons, but doing so would gain him nothing. The sooner he finished these nuisance battles, the quicker he faced Odin and the less likely he would lose his own struggle to burgeoning chaos. With a touch to his hilt to assure the chaos sword remained in place, he surrendered to Idunn’s call.

  Magic surrounded Colbey, the prickling barely more insistent than the constant tide on chaos’ world. Stagnant trees took shape on the horizon, followed by a blurry stretch of aqua. While he materialized, Colbey knew, nothing could strike him, not even the weapons of gods. But the instant the smear of color revealed itself as grassland, he dove sideways. Two swords sliced the spot where he had appeared, and he rolled to face Vidar and Vali at once.

  Fierce, hot joy charged through Colbey as he realized he faced a “real” battle. He howled a challenge, lunging toward the half-brothers even as they cut for him. He glided around Vidar’s blade to slam his sword against Vali’s. They crashed together, ringing tinny echoes across Asgard’s plain. He shouldered toward Vidar to disrupt a stab, only to slam against an invisible barrier.

  *Magic shield!* the sword/staff sent.

  Air whistled through Colbey’s teeth, and he eeled just far enough to turn Vidar’s death thrust into a painful skim across his right hip. *Thanks for the warning.* Keeping his shoulder against the barrier, Colbey rolled around it. A cut at Vidar sent the god leaping backward, and the support of the shield disappeared. Colbey turned a stumble into a graceful dodge that rescued him from a whipping slash of Vali’s blade for his head. Colbey riposted with a wild flurry of attack that sent Vali into a scurrying retreat. Then Vidar leaped in to seize Colbey’s attention.

  *Magic wielder’s two lengths off your left flank.*

  Colbey launched into a spiraling attack/defense combination that confounded direction. His sword belled against Vidar’s and Vali’s in rapid sequence, then he bore in on Vali. His sword slammed another solid, invisible barrier, jarring his arm to the elbow. He cursed. Vidar slashed for the opening, even as Colbey deliberately bounced from the shield. He parried the attack, gouging for Vidar’s wrist. The tip of his sword licked across the pommel stone, a perfect disarming maneuver.

  Before Colbey could savor his triumph, fiery pain pierced his chest, shocking through his entire body. Thunder hammered his ears, deafening. He collapsed. Vali charged him with sword raised in victory. Colbey’s nostrils were thick with the odor of ozone. He choked, forcing a roll from a body that obeyed sluggishly. Ringing filled his hearing.

  *It was the magic-wielder who hit you.*

  *Damn.* Colbey managed to wriggle around Vali’s strike, catching Vidar’s reclaimed weapon on a sword barely supported by a tingling arm. The force drove his own hilt into his face, and he barely managed to find his feet. *Can’t take another.*

  *Then move!* the sword screamed.

  Light slashed the corner of Colbey’s vision. He lurched forward, the movement more desperate crawl than evasion. Lightning stabbed the place he had lain, raising every hair. A painful tremor jarred through every part that touched the ground. He forced himself to his feet, his body nearly defying his will.

  *I’m transporting us back.*

  “No!” Colbey croaked aloud, surprised at the rasp of his own voice. He had never run from a fight. Never would. He managed an awkward parry of Vidar’s strike that weakened his grip. Then Vidar’s sword slammed Colbey’s, knocking the hilt from his hand. Colbey scrambled for it, only to find two blades in his face. He jerked backward, saving himself from one. The other sliced his forehead. Blood oozed, warm and stinging, into his eyes. For the first time ever, Colbey’s sword struck the ground. Without the contact of his hand, it could not force a transport.

  Though Colbey’s consciousness swam, he remained acutely aware of the position of all three of his enemies. He recognized an unformed spell at his back as he managed a defensive crouch. “I killed only Baldur. Odin—”

  “Save your last breath.” Vali rocketed in for the kill, Vidar joining him. Idunn’s spell rushed for Colbey simultaneously.

  Exhausted, Colbey measured the three, preparing his evasions in an instant. All possibilities fell short. He could dodge two attacks, but the third would surely claim him. Unwilling to surrender, he launched into a nimble sequence. He saw magic shatter the stillness, brilliant and wild. The swords sped toward him, their wielders’ speed more like flight.

  Though Colbey had sought this end since childhood, an honor to die at the hand of three gods, sadness tainted the glory of his moment. His doom would drag the world down with it. He whipped into a shimmering spin, his usually deadly speed ruined by pain. Then, suddenly, a burst of chaos cut the air around him. Idunn’s spell channeled directly to this interference. Vidar and Vali reached it nearly simultaneously. Light exploded through a savage spectrum, bolts shooting between them like javelins. The gods dropped silently to the ground.

  Jerking free of his frenzied diversion, Colbey whirled to face this new threat. His spiral revealed Idunn, too, lying still, facedown in Asgard’s grassland. He used mental communication, which allowed for more in less time. *Odin, you coward! Wiser to wait until they killed me, too. Or do you believe the one who’s figured out your game easier to handle?*

  The being who stepped around a sculpted copse of trees sported golden hair in seven war braids, handsome features, and eyes too much like Freya’s own. Suddenly, Colbey wished he’d chosen speech. He could have bitten off words, but he could not stop his sending in time. “Frey? You did this?” He made a broad gesture to indicate the fallen gods, using it also as an excuse to search for Odin and to locate his sword. “Why?”

  “I wanted to hear what you had to say.”

  Colbey blinked, still awaiting a trap. Odin had to stand behind anything that made absolutely no sense. “Enough to kill your own peers?”

  Frey circled Colbey without evident weaponry. “They’re not dead, Colbey. Is my sister?”

  “No.” The Renshai swiveled, following Frey’s movement without a step in any direction. “Nor Ravn, Modi, Sif, or Magni. You would have to ask Odin about the others.”

  Frey stopped at Colbey’s sword and bent to heft it.

  “Don’t,” Colbey warned.

  Gracefully stooped, Frey looked askance at Colbey.

  “The Staff of Chaos would love another wielder.” Colbey tried not to offend. “You’re likely strong enough to repel it, but why take the chance?”

  Frey rose. “I was going to toss it back to you. A show of trust.”

  Colbey read the situation accurately. “Your previous display was more than enough.” Again, he indicated Vidar, Vali, and Idunn. “And I don’t believe you’re the one who needs to win trust.” He did not disparage the gesture by pointing out that he could have Vidar’s or Vali’s sword in his hand faster than Frey would think to stop him.

  Frey retreated with a grand gesture intended to indicate Colbey should collect his own sword. A mild wave of uncertainty and need wafted from him. Frey worried that he had made a mistake, and he needed reassurance.

  Colbey had little to give. He had already attempted to win the gods’ trust, without success. Few moves remained to him. “It’s safer not to talk here. I could take you where Odin can’t overhear.”

  Frey shook his head. “I’m not ready for that yet. Convince me, and I’ll trust you enough to
go where you ask. Otherwise, I risk nothing by staying here.”

  The argument made sense. Colbey glanced about to make certain the others did not move. He collected his sword so as not to belittle Frey’s gesture, sheathing it immediately as an equally strong signal. “It’s as I said before. Odin plans to destroy us all to pave the way for a new world created by and devoted wholly to him. What he doesn’t seem to realize is the hold law gained over him.” Colbey pointed at an Asgard gone dormant, sprinkled with identical trees and grasses all exactly the same height and missing the once-intermittent breeze. “He will destroy our worlds for a new one that cannot sustain itself, devoid of newness and wonder, of creation and genius.”

  Frey shuffled a foot. “Is that Colbey talking? Or chaos?”

  “I’m not denying chaos has had an effect on me as well. The difference is, I didn’t bind. Dh’arlo’mé clearly did.”

  Frey could hardly deny the last statement. “Prove you haven’t.”

  Colbey sighed. Doing so would require Frey to grasp the Staff of Chaos, too dangerous to allow. “I can’t.”

  “Come here.” Frey beckoned with a toss of his head.

  Colbey obeyed, limping toward Frey with more difficulty than he expected. His insides felt charred, his consciousness tenuous.

  Suddenly, Frey lashed a hand for Colbey’s face. He jerked backward, too slow. The blow landed, leaving stinging, finger-shaped blotches of redness against the pale skin.

  “Ow!” Colbey stumbled but did not draw his sword. “Why in coldest, darkest Hel did you do that?”

  Frey massaged the offending hand with the other. “Because I just proved your point.”

  Colbey stared.

  “Nothing of law can strike pure chaos. I am a being of law. If you had bound . . .”

  Colbey finished, “. . . you couldn’t have hit me.” The simplicity of the affirmation floored him. “Why didn’t I think of that before?” His tone turned accusing, “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Frey admitted. “High emotions, perhaps. More likely, Odin masked it, like a lot of things. You and I seem less susceptible to his mind-powers. I can’t explain why for certain, but I believe defying him once breeds the skepticism to challenge again. I cheated him at the creation and gained life for the elves; you stress him daily.”

  Though Colbey wanted to hear the story of the elves’ beginning, especially the part where Frey bested Odin, he allowed his only ally on Asgard to finish.

  “I got suspicious when gods kept disappearing, but Odin’s brilliant plan never came to fruition. Then he wanted me to kill Sif with you when calling others in to help would have worked better. You saved me at the Ragnarok. Though you doomed the elves in order to rescue mankind, I owe you my life. And, given how the elves have forsaken me, I can’t help wondering if you didn’t push me into the better choice.” He lowered his head, deliberately and awkwardly changing tactics. “The others are alive?”

  “The ones I named. The ones Odin ‘handled’ in my name are likely dead.”

  Frey ignored the latter statement for the former. “Safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take these there, then.” Frey indicated the fallen gods. “And count me on your side. The survivors can take care of Odin together.”

  Colbey pursed his lips. “No.”

  “No?”

  “It would be too easy for Odin to turn them against me again during battle. He’s already an enemy too strong for me. Better I destroy him—or die alone.”

  “Now that’s chaos talking.”

  “No.” Colbey shook his head, wondering if Frey and his sister would ever understand. “It’s a matter of security and survival. Are you coming?”

  “No,” Frey said.

  Disappointment rocked Colbey. He had fully expected the opposite answer. “Then I’ll take these three. For their own protection.”

  Frey nodded. “Take them.”

  “And you?”

  Frey met Colbey’s eyes. “I can’t let you lock me up to save me any more than you would let me do so for you.”

  “Even I’m not insane enough to stay here. Odin surely saw every action, heard every word. It’s a wonder he’s not here now, attacking while I’m weak. Frey, he will kill you.”

  “He can try,” Frey said crisply, eyes betraying no fear.

  Colbey smiled. “You would have made a good Renshai.”

  Frey laughed at the sacrilege.

  * * *

  Clouds gathered over the Ífing River, smearing sunlight into a dense glaze. On its opposite bank, the eternal beauty of Asgard stood in splendid contrast to the bleary reality of Jötunheim, the world of giants. Centuries earlier, Surtr’s fire had scoured the land, leaving only a vast wasteland. Now fertile soil awaited the landing of a single seed to repopulate the shattered lands, without success. The river that separated the worlds allowed nothing to cross it; the gentle breezes that had once played across Asgard did not have the power to breach it.

  Standing on a barren delta with his companions, Tae studied a citadel that perched on neither plane, a crumbling edifice of stone that defined a world between the two. In Captain’s place, Marrih’s magic had brought the shard-seekers here, and El-brinith’s spell located the Pica fragment inside the only building of this tiny world. “What is this place?” he wondered aloud.

  To his surprise, Andvari had an answer; and he delivered it in song:

  “Between the arms of Ífing bright

  Lies Ugagnevangar,

  Dark Plain of Misfortune,

  And perched on it Loki’s estate

  Brysombolig.”

  Tae glanced at Darris. “Don’t tell me it’s contagious.”

  “Brysombolig,” Kevral translated, “means ‘Troublesome House’. It’s supposedly where Loki lived until the gods punished his deadly mischief by binding him to a stone in Hel beneath the dripping venom of a snake.”

  Though Tae had heard the myth before, he could not suppress a shiver at the image. “So, it’s long abandoned.” He ignored Rascal at his side.

  Ra-khir nodded. “It would certainly seem so. Though, if such a place existed on Midgard, I doubt it would stay empty long.”

  Chan’rék’ril studied the terrain. “No giants left to move in, and the gods have halls of their own. Even if they didn’t, I would think they would rather build one than use the outcast’s.”

  “I wonder,” El-brinith said, leaving the statement unfinished.

  Politely, everyone awaited more. When nothing came for several moments, Kevral asked, “Wonder what, El-brinith?”

  Though the elf had clearly intended to keep the rest of the thought to herself, when Kevral pressed, she continued. “I wonder if Alfheim looks like this.” She made a short, brisk gesture toward the ruins of Jötunheim.

  “Very likely,” Chan’rék’ril supplied. He turned El-brinith a sad look. “Do not entertain thoughts of recreating it. The plant life there was unique and its balance the reason for its lack of weather and its unparalleled cycles of nature. At best, we could turn Alfheim into a smaller version of Midgard.” He shook his head at the image, and his left cheek twitched. “Then would come the problems with portals, the need for transport . . .”

  Tae forestalled a long discussion on the relative merits of elves living among or separate from humans. It seemed equally likely that Alfheim had exploded into pieces as minute as the Pica shards. “So, nothing lives in Troublesome House. That should make things simple.”

  “That should make things simple,” Ra-khir repeated. “The last words of many men.” He smiled at Tae to show he meant no offense. “Much of this task seemed easy at first glance, but none of it has turned out that way.”

  Andvari took Tae’s side. “But this time we have an estate abandoned for centuries and nothing living anywhere nearby.”

  “Let’s go.” Kevral charged forward boldly. Within two strides, the ground collapsed beneath her, and she disappeared into a hole that widened before their startled eyes. An i
nstant later, Darris and El-brinith disappeared. The others managed to scramble backward fast enough to avoid the expanding edge. As Tae gathered his wits, Chan’rék’ril dove purposefully after the others.

  The hole stopped growing, and Tae crept cautiously to the edge. The sides swiftly fell away into a darkness as black as pitch. No sound escaped the opening, nothing to indicate that anything heavy had struck a solid bottom. “Gods,” he breathed, terror creeping over him. More than enough time had passed for his companions to have plummeted to their deaths or found a steady surface from which to shout or climb. Gingerly, he poked the side, worried about restarting the dilation. Clay crumbled beneath his touch, swallowed by the gloom. He did not bother to shout. The vibrations of his call could trigger an avalanche. He hoped that was what kept the others quiet as well.

  Ra-khir drew to Tae’s side. “What do you see?” Worry tainted his tone.

  Tae shook his head, saying nothing.

  “No,” Ra-khir whispered, adding nothing more. They all knew they could die on this quest, even as suddenly as this had occurred.

  Andvari joined them. “I’ve seen earthquakes, but never so quiet. Nothing like this.”

  Tae lowered himself to his haunches. “This wasn’t an earthquake.”

  Before he could explain further, El-brinith flew from the opening, clutching Darris against her smaller body. She panted, and sweat plastered her red-blond hair to her cheeks. Landing on the far side of the men, she dumped Darris unceremoniously to the ground.

  Tae, Ra-khir, and Andvari rushed to attend. “Are you all right?” they asked, nearly simultaneously.

  Neither El-brinith nor Darris answered, each assuming the three had addressed the other. El-brinith darted back into the hole, leaving them with only a haunting khohlar: *Have to try.*

  Darris finally replied, “I’m fine.” To demonstrate, he rose to legs shaky from shock, not injury. “If there’s a bottom to that hole, we never found it. I believe Chan’rék’ril went after Kevral.” He stopped at description; any speculation would require song, which seemed inappropriate at the moment.