Dragon’s Call: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  Tansy’s green-eyed gaze skittered away. “You’re going back—to that monster.”

  “What I’m doing—or not doing—is none of your affair. You will go to your pallet and prepare for bed. If anyone asks why you were so late returning, tell them you lost track of time. Apologize for your carelessness. Assure them it will never happen again.”

  Tansy bobbed her head once in acquiescence. “What if they ask about you?”

  “You never saw me. Got it?” I dropped my hands onto Tansy’s shoulders, wincing at how the young woman’s bones almost poked through her skin.

  “Got it.” Tansy scraped her gaze off the floor, her eyes widening. “Your eyes. They’re golden. Why did I never—?”

  “Because I employ a glamour. Now go.”

  Tansy hesitated. Her eyes filled with tears, and she threw her arms around my back, hugging me hard. “You saved my life. How can I go on knowing you gave yours in return?”

  I wanted to hold Tansy, offer what comfort I could. Instead, I pried the child loose. “You will keep going. Anything less than your best effort will squander my gift. Besides, no one knows the outcome of anything until the game is done. Don’t count me out yet.”

  Adopting a jaunty expression I was far from feeling, I watched Tansy hurry the length of the cavern and vanish from sight. While I waited, I untangled the rest of the spell I hid behind to mute my high forehead, stark cheekbones, and taller-than-average height. Borrowing from the remains of magic powering the glamour, I teleported to the small side cavern I’d claimed as mine.

  I didn’t have either the time or inclination for questions from anyone, so I muted my presence—and sealed my door. We’d all been existing on the ragged edge of annihilation for years. Dodging evil day and night made it impossible to grow food. We’d raided stores vacated by scores of dead humans, but that resource wasn’t limitless. Beyond that, we hunted. Rabbit. Deer. Racoons. Rats. Meat was meat, and we had to survive.

  No one knew whose side anyone was on, so we distrusted other magic-wielders. Annoyed by how the witches had painted themselves into a fatal corner, I lifted the spell that concealed a plain wooden box. Not just any wood, though. Hawthorn. My mother had fashioned the box, and I hated to leave it behind. The wood warmed beneath my touch, almost as if the tree were still alive.

  Who knew? Perhaps it flourished on some borderworld where Mother and the other Celts had sequestered themselves after the misshapen spell broke all that was pure and good on Earth. Scents I associated with Ceridwen—mint, vanilla, amber—soothed me as I removed an onyx amulet on a golden chain and placed it around my neck. I slid a ring with a matching stone over my index finger. Lastly, I draped a small, golden circlet around my forehead.

  I took my time letting go of the box. It reminded me of warmth and home. What a fool I’d been to walk out on the pantheon. And then I reminded myself what a wasteland it had been. I’d left because I had no choice. Not really. If I’d remained Mother would have finished killing off my soul, sucking me dry as the mood struck her.

  I settled my mouth into a resolute line and tucked the box away in a dark corner. Absent my magic, its glow would fade. Ready as I’d ever be, I kindled a spell and visualized the spot on the moors where I’d last seen Odin.

  Maybe because I’d held it at bay for so long, Celtic power jumped to my command. The earthen walls of my grotto fell away, replaced by open moorland. So far, the sky was empty, but it hadn’t yet been an hour.

  What would I do if Odin didn’t come back? Pick up the tatters of my glamour and go on as if nothing had happened, while we all slowly died of starvation? I shook my head, filled with sadness and determination.

  Someone had to do something. I’d known it for over a year. The someone had to be me, and maybe tonight’s confrontation was the beginning—

  “Yeah, but of what?” I mumbled. Before I launched into a buck-up-buttercup lecture, the distant sound of horse hooves reached me. I stood tall, proud, every inch my mother’s daughter. Hood back, my hair gleamed in light from Arianrhod’s moon. Seeing me without my glamour would give Odin grist for his mill.

  I might be a lot of things, but I would never become one of his lackeys.

  The swoosh of wings beating fast made my head swing around. Wings had no place here. I gave myself a brisk mental slap. Valkyries rode with the Hunt. They decided who lived and who died in battle, but I’d always suspected they picked off the pretty ones to ravish at their leisure. According to lore, they were maids, but the lore often overstated such things.

  A pair of the winged warriors, fair hair streaming behind them, bore down on me, landing a few meters away. “We propose a test.” The one with silver armor angled a speculative gaze my way.

  “What kind of test?”

  The other Valkyrie brayed laughter, displaying a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “What other kind is there?”

  I took a measured breath. “Are you proposing I fight both of you?”

  The Hunt roared into view and formed a rough circle in the air above us, the men jockeying for prime positions where they could have the best view.

  “Never mind.” I muttered. “I withdraw the question. Will I have a weapon? Both of you have spears. And armor.” While I talked, I began weaving an illusion, one that would create two more of me.

  Might be enough to even the playing field.

  “Aye, the wench catches on fast,” the first Valkyrie said.

  The one with bad teeth made a face. “I thought this was stupid when Odin ordered us to do it. Should take less than five seconds start to finish.” She dusted hands with cracked, dirty nails together and cackled like a mad thing.

  “You’re absolutely right,” I crooned as I put the finishing touches on my working and readied myself to fight. “I thought Odin wanted me to ride with him.”

  “He has us,” one of the duo hissed. “And our sisters.”

  “Aye, he has no need of you,” the other winged warrior chimed in.

  I was ready. I whistled once, the cascade of notes a linchpin. Air shimmered and swirled, forming an opaque curtain amid guttural curses from the Valkyries as they tried to figure out what I was up to.

  Waiting was a bad idea. I jumped on my small advantage. Spinning to one side, I gripped the amulet to concentrate my power and set wheels in motion to animate my doppelgängers.

  “What in the bloody fucking hell?” one of the Valkyries bellowed and charged, spear extended.

  “Not that one,” Odin shrieked from his aerial perch. “She’s on the left, stupid.”

  I gritted out a string of Gaelic curses. Of course he’d be able to see through my ruse. Of the bunch, he was the only one whose magic was strong enough.

  Keep going. Ignore him. Maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.

  I nimbly traded forms with the twin he’d fingered. I could do this for a while—and fight too—but not for very long. The dual castings pigged up power like mad. I sidestepped the charging Valkyrie and aimed a blast of magic at the back of her neck.

  It bounced off her helmet. With a roar, the woman twisted and charged, her face screwed into a mask of hate. I switched places with one of my twins right before the Valkyrie drove a spear through the illusion. It reformed a few meters away, grinning merrily.

  “Fuck!” The other Valkyrie twirled in a circle, spear extended in front of her. “Which one is her?”

  “They’re all me.”

  I skinned my teeth back from my lips and took careful aim. The armor must be spelled, or my magic would have penetrated it. I jumped to one of the doppelgängers, sighted, and let a lethal blast fly from my outstretched fingertips.

  Augmented by magic, my aim was true. I hit the small, exposed spot beneath the Valkyrie’s chin, and she crumpled to the ground.

  “Now that’s more like it,” I muttered and hopped to the doppelgänger nearest the other Valkyrie. Driven by fury, bloodlust in her eyes, the woman ran full tilt toward the place I’d just been, driving her spear through illusion—agai
n.

  The Valkyrie raised a fist skyward. “I’m done. That’s no witch.”

  “Hold. I did not release you.” Odin flew lower.

  “I don’t care. If I remain, that bitch will kill me.”

  “Truer words were never spoken. The next piece of magic is all yours.” I tightened my grip on the amulet.

  The Valkyrie threw down her spear. “I surrender. You killed my sister. I’m the last of my line, and—”

  I lowered my hands and cut the flow of magic powering my likenesses until just one of me remained. “Go. I understand about being the last.” No longer worried about the winged warrior, I raised my gaze to where Odin hovered in the air above. The Valkyrie may have been an enemy, but she’d given her word, and I’d heard truth in it. To murder her after she’d surrendered wasn’t my style. Odin’s, perhaps, but not mine.

  Odin circled lower and lower until his steed’s feet touched the earth, and then he jumped down and strode to where I stood.

  “Ye’re Ceridwen’s get. Do not deny it,” he growled.

  I inclined my head. He’d speared me with a truth spell and caught me dead to rights. Nothing to be gained by lying. “True enough,” I snarled. “Why is it important to you?”

  “She has unpaid debts.” He slitted his eyes.

  “They’d be hers, not mine. I walked out on the Celts eons ago. Before the Breaking.”

  “Aye, but ye know where she is.” His expression turned shrewd. “I propose a bargain.”

  I had no idea where Mother was, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “What kind of bargain? I’m not generally the bargaining type.”

  “Ye’ll like this one well enough. I shall release you from your blood-sworn oath to join the Hunt.”

  I pursed my lips, not bothering to mention there’d been no blood-swearing anything. “What do I have to do?”

  “Get what your mother has that’s mine and return it to me.”

  “Care to offer up a clue as to what it is?” I angled a sidelong glance his way. “Mom can be cagey when she wants to hang onto something.”

  “She’ll know. Ye have until this time tomorrow night.” He turned toward his stamping black destrier.

  “I don’t think so.” I planted myself between him and the horse, ignoring the animal’s angry whinnies and hoping to hell it didn’t take a chunk out of my shoulder. With its eight legs, it was capable of moving in unexpected directions. “I need at least a week.”

  Odin pushed around me and jumped astride his horse. “Two days. Final offer. Take it or leave it.”

  “Deal,” I shouted after his retreating form and then kicked myself. Bound by my word, I had to comply. If I’d refused, though, he’d have insisted I join the Hunt. I’d have pointed out the niggling problem about him forgetting to bind me with blood. He’d have gotten angry, and we would have been off and running.

  Yeah and maybe he’d have taken me hostage—until Mom ponies up whatever she stole from him.

  The Hunt circled where I stood before flying north. The Valkyrie must have taken her fallen sister because the moor stretched around me was empty.

  Two days.

  I sank into a crouch and dropped my hands onto the damp, rocky earth seeking answers. The Celts were on a borderworld, but which one? There were hundreds, most sporting unbreathable atmospheres. If I guessed wrong, I might be in search mode for two years, not two days. Meanwhile, Odin would decide I was the cheating, conniving whore he’d labeled me, and the next time I set foot on Earth, he’d be waiting for me.

  Hell, he’d probably set snares keyed to my energy that would tell him the second I arrived. A long, annoyed breath steamed through my teeth.

  Never mind it was needle-in-haystack territory, I needed to get moving. Straightening, I gripped the amulet, letting magic boil around me. I’d start with the only borderworld I knew and take it from there. The minute the airless void between worlds surrounded me, I remembered how much I hated travel away from Earth.

  Breathe through the amulet.

  Easier said than done, but it was the only game in town. Not that lack of air would kill me. Last I checked, I was still immortal, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t suffer just like if I were human.

  Feeling beleaguered and thoroughly disgusted with Mother for whatever she’d screwed Odin out of, I settled in to wait out my teleport spell.

  Chapter Two, Rowan

  Blech. Norse pantheon. Celtic pantheon. They weren’t much different. I assumed if I ever stumbled across gods from the Roman or Greek ones, I’d have the same reflex antipathy.

  I’d had a weak moment back in the witches’ grotto, but it was easy to forget what arrogant assholes my family were when I hadn’t laid eyes on them for a long while. Beyond that, Earth could have used a spot of divine aid after the Breaking.

  Did anyone bother to show up?

  Hell no. Not the Norsemen, unless you counted Odin, and he was only passing through trolling for spoils. Certainly not my kinsmen. The Celts had been absent since right after the world broke.

  My lungs seized reflexively as I sucked nonexistent air.

  I’ve always been a bit of a black sheep. Or maybe more than a bit of one. Mother didn’t exactly parade me around. Nope. The antithesis of a proud parent, she hid me away—until I was old enough to escape from her gilded halls. She never admitted what she was doing, the sequestering me part, and it took me a while to figure it out.

  I assume I wasn’t the result of immaculate conception. Even the gods require assistance producing young. But I knew nothing about who my father might have been. I asked. Many times. Ceridwen either changed the subject or left the room.

  It used to worry me. The only reason she would have been so secretive was because she was ashamed. My father might have been a monster. Or a demon. Once I tried to call up an image of him in the cauldron. It blew up in my face—my casting, not the cauldron—in more ways than one. First and last time I tried my magic on that piece-of-crap urn.

  When I finally snuck away and left Mother’s home, I felt guilty. I might have been about ten at the time. I knew I’d done something wrong, but I wasn’t willing to give up my only taste of freedom, either. I kept expecting Mom to show up and drag me back by the scruff of my neck.

  Never happened.

  Finally, I got hungry and made my way back to her domain. The Celts all lived in something like the Faeries’ version of Underhill back then. A world within a world that humans had no idea existed. To mortal eyes, it was the ruins of Inverlochy Castle, but behind the illusion protecting it, the enormous, rambling stone structure was hale and hearty.

  I anticipated a reprimand or at least a question about where I’d been. Nope. Mother just glanced up from her cauldron and then went back to it. When I thought about it later, I was certain she’d known precisely where I was. The magic urn would have told her.

  After that, I left whenever I pleased. Eventually, I moved in with the witches. I felt more at home there than I ever did with my own kind. They accepted me without a whole bunch of questions, but more about them later.

  Ducking my face into the folds of my cloak, I willed oxygen molecules to jump from the fabric to my lungs. It helped—a little. The choking sensation lessened, and I rolled out onto rocky ground. Standing creakily, I gulped air and crossed beneath the rune-carved arches of my first choice. I blinked, but nothing came into focus. The world had gone dark, but at least I could breathe. It didn’t take long for me to determine no one was here. Not even shades.

  I visited three more borderworlds in quick succession, finding exactly nothing. Hunger nagged, but thirst dogged me. I’d been a real dumbass not to bring a water bottle. This world was inhabited, so I set off in search of a stream. Besides water, I needed a better plan than random guessing.

  I was crouched by a small brook, drinking from my cupped hands, when a flaxen-haired elven youth joined me. “Who are ye?” he asked in archaic Gaelic.

  I swiped a hand across my mouth and stood up. “Ceridwen’s dau
ghter. Do you know which borderworld the Celts occupy?”

  “Left at the first star and straight on till morning.” He giggled, pleased by his own joke.

  I grinned. “I know The Little Prince too, but I need to find my mother.”

  “They bide on the next world southeast of us,” he told me.

  “Thank you.” I tossed my arms around the elf and hugged him hard. His startled expression was priceless and made me laugh. “Who lives on this world?” I asked. So long as I was prowling about, I may as well learn something about nearby realms.

  I hadn’t even considered leaving Earth since the Breaking. Maybe it had been a bad idea. After zero aid was forthcoming from any quarter, perhaps I might have unearthed ideas if I’d gotten off my duff and gone exploring. I exhaled noisily. I hadn’t left because survival was so uncertain. Not for me, but for the witches. I was afraid if I left them for long enough to accomplish anything, they’d succumb to some unnamed danger.

  They’d been kind to me, treated me like family. And so I’d remained, offering help as I could. If I’d wanted to leave, the time would have been shortly after the Breaking. Before rations thinned and foul magic grew far bolder.

  “My lady?” The elf nudged me.

  I nudged him back playfully. “Yes, I still want to know who is here.”

  His open expression developed suspicious edges. “Why?” The planes of his face and his tone reminded me he only looked like a child. He could be centuries old.

  “I live on Earth—” I began.

  He bent two fingers into a sigil against evil. “The bad place,” he said firmly, as if he knew all about it. “The place evil runs free.” The elf made shooing motions as if my presence would sully his world. “Go away. Leave.”

  He whistled shrill, high notes. A unicorn galloped toward him, and he swung onto its back. I stared after the horned horse. Even though I’d been spurned, the sight of the magical creature, shimmering in shades of white and gold, heartened me.

  What the hell? Had Earth developed a reputation as a devil’s world? The elf had acted as if I would wreck his world too, if I remained very long.