The Fires of Muspelheim

by Travis Simmons

  It was Rowan.

  Leona sat straight up out of sleep, a gasp choking on her lips.

  Skye jumped. He shouted in surprise, the book fumbling from his hands to fall on the floor. He clasped a hand to his chest and laughed nervously.

  “Leo, you nearly scared me to death.”

  “It’s Rowan,” Leona said.

  “Who’s Rowan?” Skye asked, his eyebrows drawing down over his nose. “She’s attacking Haven? She’s after you?”

  “No . . . she’s my mother.”

  Leona couldn’t answer anything else, the tea was pulling her back down into slumber.

  “Mattelyn,” Dolan said, gripping her slender shoulders. He turned the white-haired woman to look at him. “It’s not safe here any longer. Our daughters need to go.”

  “No,” Mattelyn said. “I can get through to him.” She pulled away from Dolan. The bundle in her arms started to cry. She soothed the baby Leona with a rocking of arms and humming. When Leona had settled down, she turned to Dolan. “Fort is only doing what he thinks we want,” she said.

  “But it’s darkling wyrd, Matty, it’s dangerous!”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” She asked, holding up her gloved hand. “Don’t you think I know how dangerous this wyrd is?”

  “But you’re gaining control. He’s not even trying.”

  “We need to know what the darkling tide is doing,” she told him. “The numbers are swelling. Winter is holding on longer and longer with each passing year.”

  “And you’re worried that it might be some mythical end times!” Dolan tossed his hands into the air and turned away from Mattelyn to gaze out the opaque window.

  “Why don’t you tell me that I’m wrong,” Mattelyn fired back. “Tell me that hammer you brought with you didn’t belong to Hafaress.”

  Dolan didn’t answer.

  “That’s part of it. You will deceive them.” If Mattelyn was trying to get a rise out of him, elicit some response, it wasn’t working. “I’m talking to you, Olik.”

  “I told you to never call me that,” Dolan said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “That hammer is what’s dangerous. If Hafaress ever found you with it, he’d kill you. He may even kill your entire family at this point.” Mattelyn shook her head. “What would you do then?”

  “I took it to keep the nine worlds safe,” he turned to Mattelyn. There was a pleading look in his eyes. “And Fort is playing with dark powers. He’s calling them.”

  “He’s not calling them,” Mattelyn scoffed.

  “I can’t believe you’re allowing this,” Dolan said. “I can’t believe you’re letting him be consumed with the plague.”

  “We need to know,” Mattelyn said.

  “Is knowing more important than Fort’s life?”

  “You’re talking as if he’s giving himself over to the darkling gods,” Mattelyn said.

  “Isn’t he?” Dolan drew closer to her. “Isn’t he?” he asked softer.

  Mattelyn scoffed and turned away.

  “Well?” Dolan asked.

  “No, he’s not.”

  “But if the plague takes complete control of him, the darkling gods will be able to enter him at will,” he reminded her.

  “That’s speculation,” she said.

  “It’s fact,” Dolan said. “Is that something you can live with if it happens?”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Rowan said. She carried Leona from the room.

  “Sure,” Dolan said. “Keep telling yourself that.” Dolan turned back to the fire. “I won’t wait for that to happen.”

  “Your father was right,” Rowan said. Leona was back in the fog with her. They were alone. Abagail was gone.

  “You’re the reason Fortarian was bad!” Leona said. “You let him get taken!”

  Rowan hung her head. Were those tears in her eyes?

  “You said he was a darkling long before Gorjugan took him over,” Leona accused.

  “He was,” Rowan told her. “I didn’t lie about that.”

  “Because you let him become one!”

  “I tried to stop him,” Rowan argued back. “When I saw that it was getting out of hand, I tried to stop him.”

  “It was too late,” Leona said. The horror of what had happened sunk into her like a stone in her guts. “You let him be tempted. He couldn’t fight it, and you’re responsible for that.”

  “In part,” Rowan said. “But I was always there with him, guiding him, helping him back and helping him fight the darkling wyrd that came over him when he channeled it. I helped him remove the plague with good wyrd. He must have been dabbling when I wasn’t around.”

  Leona shook her head in disbelief.

  “But your father was right. He took the hammer, and he took the two of you, and he vanished. I thought he was cruel then, and I still hate him because I could have trained you both better, but he took you away and kept you safe. Who knows how safe you would have been around Fortarian in those later days?”

  Rowan looked into Leona’s blue eyes, but there was no pity there.

  “Would we have been safe around you?” Leona asked.

  Rowan sighed. After several minutes of silence, she spoke. “When Fortarian became too dangerous, I left. I went to the harbingers, changed my name in an attempt to distance myself from my past and from the family I lost, but it didn’t work. I was haunted daily by the loss of everyone I’d ever loved.”

  Leona opened her mouth to speak, but Rowan cut her off.

  “I know it’s what I deserved. I know that I’m responsible for that. You don’t need to remind me. I was young and foolish and that doesn’t excuse any of it, but it’s the truth.

  “We kept tabs on Bauer Hall and in time my two daughters came back to me. Your father did a great job on you,” Rowan said with a smile.

  “No thanks to you,” Leona said. “You sicken me.”

  It took very little effort on Leona’s part to rise up out of the dream. When she was firmly in her body once more she could feel the plague slithering across her palm and to the back of her hand.

  “Uh, Leo, we have trouble,” Skye said, peering out the window.

  Leona sat up and threw the blankets off herself. She stared at her hand, the plague spider webbing over her skin. Her stomach lurched at the sight and she was afraid she might lose the contents of her stomach. By a force of will, she kept her sickness at bay. Leona shoved her hand into her pocket and joined Skye at the window.

  Outside there was a glow from ten silvery scepters. They illuminated the grayish skin of dark elves.

  “They’ve found us,” Skye told her.

  In Muspelheim, the ground quaked.

  Abagail sat up in bed, some part of her alerted to the fact that this wasn’t normal. She checked her hand, now void of a glove, and knew that it wasn’t her doing it. Her plague was gone, there was only a silver point of light on her palm. This time the quake wasn’t her power taking control.

  Screaming in the hall urged her from the bed. She tugged on a pair of brown breeches under her orange nightgown. No sooner had she gotten the laces tied, the door slid open and Elyse and Dylan came pouring in. Outside the black hall was a flurry of activity as people ran to and fro.

  “It’s happening,” Elyse said. “Hilda is attacking Muspelheim.”

  The ground heaved again to punctuate her statement. Outside Abagail could hear stones rain down from the roof to rush against the floor like rain.

  “What do I do?” Abagail asked.

  “You leave!” Dylan said. He grabbed her arm and steered her toward the door. She tried digging in her heels to stay put, but Elyse was right there with her brother, pushing Abagail to the opening and into the frantic hall.

  “You need to go to Surt first,” Elyse said. “We will wait for you outside of the Forge to take you to the portal.”

  “But—”

  “There’s no time for buts,” Dylan said.

  Abagail couldn’t stop, the siblings were right beh
ind her, keeping her in line. Elyse was carrying the jacket she hadn’t needed since she’d left Agaranth. Dylan carried her sword and boots. They forced her around the spiral hallway.

  “Better get in touch with your wyrd,” Elyse said.

  “And take this,” Dylan said, handing Abagail her boots. They stopped long enough for her to pull on her boots and strap the long sword to her waist. The ground heaved again and she stumbled to the side, banging into the wall. Her knees nearly gave out, but Elyse was there, steadying her. Abagail checked her sword in the sheath to make sure it was easy to draw.

  “Where are they?” Abagail asked.

  “We better hurry,” Dylan said. His eyes were dilated with fear.

  They ran.

  When they reached the opening, Abagail could see plumes of blue fire sprouting up from the basalt walkway. Here and there the blue fire dappled the ground. She stood in awe, not sure what she was seeing when a huge ball of blue fire rocketed toward her.

  Dylan grabbed her and pulled her to the ground and out of the way. The ball of fire smashed against the ground, showering drops of liquid fire all around. Abagail was speckled with the fire. It clung to her clothes, and no matter how she batted at it, it wouldn’t leave. She screamed out, pushing further away from the fire, but Elyse was there with the jacket, and she smothered out the flames.

  “We need to hurry,” Elyse said, helping Abagail to stand. “They are getting closer.”

  A clash of steel on steel outside the door stiffened Abagail’s spine. A chill swam through her bones and she reached for the calming presence of the purple wyrd within her. She felt the wyrd reaching for her, and like long lost friends, they linked hands. Abagail shivered with a rush of wyrd as if filled every fiber of her being.

  Dylan pushed Abagail around the blue fire and out the door.

  “There!” Elyse said, pointing to Surt standing tall and ready for battle before the Forge. “Go!”

  “We’re right behind you!” Dylan said. He lanced a bolt of lightning behind Abagail. She didn’t look to see where it landed. She drew her sword and ran. She dodged around blue fire as it roared up in front of her. It wasn’t until the third plume of fire sprung up from the ground that Abagail noticed there was more to the fire than simple flames.

  A skeletal hand reached out for her, grabbed her shoulder, and sent her spinning. Abagail landed hard on her side, skidding across the ground. A large skeleton, a patchwork of several beings with one long arm, one short arm, and two stubby legs, lumbered toward her. A cudgel clasped in one hand. With a moan, the skeleton raised the cudgel.

  Abagail shouted, raised her hand, and blasted a bolt of fire straight at the skeleton. The creature burst apart and bones showered around her. Abagail pushed to her feet as Dylan and Elyse reached her. Their hands on her arms helped carry her over the bridge and to the center of the Forge.

  “Hilda!” Surt bellowed into the air, not focusing on any one point. The foundations of Muspelheim shivered with his cry. “Face me!”

  “Surt!” Elyse yelled, drawing to a stop at his feet. “We have her.”

  “All Father,” Surt sighed, sinking to one knee. “You’re safe.”

  Abagail nodded, not bothering to fight the name he insisted on calling her.

  “There’s no time to wait. You must leave here.”

  Abagail nodded in agreement. “Yes.”

  “But we must stay until everyone is gone before we leave,” Surt said. “You must take this.” He lifted the spear with the cruel hooked end: the other God Slayer. “This is what Hilda comes for.”

  Abagail sheathed her sword, her hands shaking as she neared the mythic weapon. The second version of the hammer no one ever knew about.

  “It’s safer with you, even if you haven’t fully mastered your emotions yet.”

  Blue fire rained down around them. Abagail watched the fire burn high.

  “There’s no time!” Surt thrust the spear at Abagail.

  Her fingers closed around it. She could smell blood. She was no longer aware of herself. She was in a different place. The Ever After. White clouds surrounded her; the floor beneath her glowed as a puddle of blood bloomed beneath her knees. The blood clouded the light. Tears stood in her eyes.

  A figure before her twitched. Her eyes followed the movement.

  Boran, she thought. The dark figure lay before her, his silken hair a brown cloud around his head. His pink eyelids fluttered closed over dazzling golden eyes. He reached a delicate black hand to her arm, but it wasn’t her arm. It was the child god he reached for. It was her as the All Father.

  “You did what you needed to do,” Boran breathed. He clasped his side where the hooked spear had torn through him. “I don’t blame you. I only thank you for giving me this life, no matter how brief.”

  A strangled cry chased Abagail out of the vision and into the courtyard of the Forge. Steel clashed on steel all around her. Lightning and fire burned the air. She turned in time to see a cudgel bearing down on her. She clasped the spear in both hands, blocking the blow. She staggered back under the immense force of the attack.

  She leaned into the attack, kicking out and into the misshapen knee of the skeleton. His leg collapsed and he fell. She scattered his bones across the ground, ending his animated life.

  “Go!” Surt roared. A spout of flame flared from his mouth, blasting back skeletons. There was a new horror, and they wouldn’t be so easily destroyed.

  Moaning rose up from behind Abagail. When she turned it was to see an army of corpses marching toward her.

  “What do we do?” she asked, calling fire to her hand. She clasped the spear with the other hand.

  “You need to leave!” Elyse said, pushing her toward the path that led to the portal. “Before it’s too late!”

  “I can’t leave you!”

  “You have the God Slayer!” Dylan said. “You can’t stay here with it. That’s what Hilda is after.”

  Abagail looked to the spear in one hand, and then to the army of dead converging on the Forge. During her vision more fire-etin had joined the struggle at the Forge. There was an army of fire-etins now facing an army from the Underworld.

  Helvegr. The word danced on the wind, drifting to Abagail’s ears and nauseating her stomach.

  She backed away from the group, the spear in one hand, a ball of fire in the other. She turned and ran up the path, up the hill that led to the portal. The army of undead surged forward, clashing with the army of the living. Abagail turned once to see Surt spit another torrent of fire into the attacking horde. Lightning flashed and danced from hands along the line of the living.

  Abagail backed away as screams of the living rose up to greet her ears. The fire-etin were losing their foothold. They were being pushed back.

  :Let them win,: a voice called to her mind. Before her she could see the ghost of a giant wolf. It was easily ten times as tall as she was with white hair, touched with silver streaks. She peered into Anthros’ aqua blue eyes. :Let them have the scepter, All Father. We can end this all now. What are you fighting for?:

  Abagail shook her head, clasping her hand tighter on the spear. She raised her fiery hand and pointed it at Anthros.

  :What are you going to do with that?: the voice asked her. There was a hint of laughter at the edge of his words. :I’m in Eget Row, bound to the tree. How are you going to kill what isn’t here?:

  She was wasting time. Anthros was trying to keep her here, trying to let the others have her. She turned and ran for the blue portal that glowed yards away from her.

  Abagail had nearly made it when blue fire rained down around her. From within the rings of fire, dead moans rose up around her.

  There was nowhere for her to go. Fire surrounded her. She couldn’t break through.

  Just wait, she thought.

  When the fire died down she was surrounded by a legion of corpses, all moaning, all reaching for her. The sight of their skin, rotting and sloughing off their frames, brought last night’s dinner up her
throat, but she wouldn’t let it spill out. She couldn’t afford the distraction.

  She threw her hand forward, blasting out fire. The first deadling stumbled back, allowing enough of a space for her. She slashed with the hooked spear as she charged through the opening.

  The dead were right behind her, shambling after her, calling for her flesh with their putrid cries to feed.

  She was nearly there when the moans behind her suddenly stopped.

  Clapping rose up behind her, a steady, slow, mocking clap.

  “Great job,” Elyse said. “Don’t you think so, Gorjy?”

  “Yes, great job indeed,” Dylan said.

  Abagail turned, the fire in her hand winking out.

  Elyse smiled at her and held out her hand. “Hello there, All Father. Gorjugan and I have come for the God Slayer.”

  “What?” Leona asked, dashing to the window. “What do you mean, darklings?”

  She pulled the curtain to the side, just enough to see. Outside there were at least ten glowing silver scepters. “You mean dark elves?”

  Skye pulled her away from the window with one hand, pressing her against the wall.

  “Bring us the harbinger, elf,” a female called from outside. The way she said elf made Leona frown, as if she doubted that Skye was truly an elf. “There’s no need for you to get hurt.”

  Laughter bubbled up from numerous throats and filled the air like hungry ravens come to pick away at the dead. Leona shivered.

  “I need to go get Olice,” Skye said. “She’s been preparing for something like this.” His voice sounded confident, but his face looked like he hoped she was prepared for something like this.

  “What about me?” Leona asked, her eyes wild with fear. Her heart was racing. She clung to his arm as if at any moment he would vanish.

  “They don’t want to kill you, they just want to capture you. I will go out the back window, I will be quick.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her near the stairs in the back of the house.

  Silver light flared and glass shattered. Skye rolled to the ground, bringing Leona with him. They tumbled together as bolt after bolt of silver light from the scepters tore through windows and walls. Plaster and mortar rained down around them, dust sifted through the air.