Dragon’s Call: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  The other witches drifted in from wherever they’d been exploring. One carried a pair of well-worn leather boots. Another had a warm, woolen cloak draped over her shoulders.

  Should I tell them to return the spoils? Something in me rebelled. The Celts probably had no idea what they’d even left here. No reason for the items not to see some use.

  “We will return and hold a whole coven meeting,” Patrick said. “Everyone will vote on how they would like us to proceed. I believe this place is goddess sent. Perhaps Ceridwen’s unexpected appearance had a secondary purpose.”

  While I followed his line of reasoning—witches didn’t believe in coincidences—still I had a tough time believing Mother’s untimely visit was linked to jarring my memory about these halls.

  Mort was still draped around my neck, and he began to purr. The deep, throaty rumble soothed me as I crawled through the tunnel and back out into daylight. A spot of engineering work would make getting into and out of Inverlochy simpler.

  A small frisson of unease filled me. This was my idea. What if the witches jumped on it and it blew up in their faces? I walked faster. I’d be part of the meeting, and I would make certain everyone knew Inverlochy Castle wasn’t a risk-free venture.

  Neither was our current location. In all fairness, I’d have to provide a full disclosure about it as well.

  My breath formed clouds around me in the chilly air. By the end of the afternoon, we’d have a direction. I said a quick prayer to Danu we’d pick a path that would keep us all alive. And then I chided myself. I’d live no matter what, but I didn’t want another witch death on my conscience.

  I’d stood by while one after another had slipped away. Weakened by short rations, disease had picked them off. Sometimes my magic had made a difference. More often, it hadn’t.

  I still couldn’t believe Mother was behind the Breaking. Every time I thought about it, my vision hazed red and I wanted to kill her.

  Not productive, I lectured myself. Focus on today.

  It was how I’d lived since the Breaking, by dealing with what was in front of me. I’d done it for a long time, and I would keep doing it until things got better and I could risk letting my guard down for a while.

  We went our separate ways once we returned. Patrick said he’d gather everyone in the common room in an hour. Since I had a spot of time, I picked up my discarded jewelry, dropped the items back in the wooden box, and tossed the whole mess down one of the many shafts dotting the caves beneath Ben Nevis.

  It might be stupid and shortsighted on my part because the amulet concentrated my power, but I didn’t care. If I never touched anything Celtic again, it would be too soon. Once I’d rid myself of the last remnants I had from Mother, I changed my clothes and headed for the common room.

  Chapter Five, Bjorn

  I would have liked to have eaten more, but before I was halfway through my supper, the moonstone started acting up again. Travel between the Nine Worlds is straightforward. Yggdrasil extends to all of them, and it is climbable, but that’s quite a waste of time. Those of us with strong magic use Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge. Myths would have you believe only the gods can use the bridge, but it simply isn’t true.

  Long ago, I leveraged my power to travel to many worlds outside our realm, but I never found reason to remain. My exploratory jaunts grew shorter, and finally I retired to my stone hut with my lore books and my spells. Other than sparring matches with Jarle to maintain at least a semblance of physical conditioning, I lead a rather lonely life.

  Except it doesn’t feel that way to me. Magic has its own draw, and it’s filled every nook and cranny in my heart and soul. I’ve worked diligently to develop my skills until my ability is stronger than some of the gods. Not that I would ever tell them—or anyone else—that little tidbit. What better way to have Odin smite me with lightning or Thor with his hammer?

  I had some time to think about things over my rather truncated meal. Nidhogg had chosen me specifically. He’d said he overheard my conversation with Jarle, but I understand dragons. No matter what he’d overheard, he’d never have deigned to land unless he had a plan in mind.

  One he’d been working on for a while. Dragons are deep thinkers. No off-the-cuff, spur-of-the-moment decisions for them. Beyond that, his comments about Midgard told me he’d been watching me for a while. When Odin ignored the dragon’s concerns, he went looking for another emissary, one who might be a bit more malleable.

  I bit back a laugh. That would be almost anyone except Odin. He and Thor and their cohorts who wandered through Asgard answered to no one. And wasted huge amounts of magic bickering among themselves.

  I tossed on a jacket. Night was falling, and while Vanaheim was usually warm, Midgard had seasons. Right now, it was winter in the Scottish Highlands, which meant short days and long nights. One of my dirty little secrets was I’d spent a few years living in Midgard before the Breaking.

  More than a few.

  I liked humans, and it was a simple enough matter to pass as one. What finally drove me back to Vanaheim was it hurt watching mortals make choices I knew full well would create problems for them. Naturally, I hadn’t anticipated the Breaking, but even I could see that unchecked breeding would eventually strain finite resources.

  Beyond that, mortals had no idea Midgard was part of the Nine Worlds. They assumed their world, their Earth, was its own entity. When things they did to it caused Midgard pain, her unhappiness rippled through to the other worlds. I tried to make a difference, but there were limits to what I could do without revealing what I was.

  Even if I had, no one would have accepted my words. Men had stopped believing in magic at least a century ago. Most of them, anyway. And now none of it mattered. So many were dead, I rarely saw them anymore.

  Colors washed over me as I transited the bridge. Timing was everything with Bifrost. It was easy to overshoot or undershoot my destination. Tonight, though, I was paying close attention. I had no idea what the moonstone would do if I misjudged, and I didn’t particularly want to find out.

  One of my first tasks once I returned would be figuring out how the bloody thing was linked to me and loosening its ties. I assumed I could do that, but maybe I was wrong.

  The chill damp of Midgard closed around me. It was pitch dark because clouds occluded both moon and stars. A fine sleet drizzled down on me. Normally, I made my scouting runs in daylight, but the dragon’s gem clearly had a plan for me. I opened my magic to it, hoping it would tell me where it wanted me to go.

  Sure enough, a route formed in my mind, although it was on the creepy side to be controlled like that. If I hadn’t linked to it, the infernal thing probably would have zapped me every time I took a wrong turn. Better this way. Following a hunch, I probed a certain way and thought I sensed dragon energy hovering.

  But maybe I was wrong. I’ve always had a hell of an imagination. It’s a prerequisite to wield power since I have to visualize the outcome I want before it happens.

  Bypassing the moonstone, I scanned empty fields stretching around me. Tonight, I was in Scotland, but it was where I usually went. For one thing, it was where the Celtic casting that had broken the world still pulsed weakly. Someone—not me—had done their best to defuse the spell.

  I searched for magic. For anything out of the ordinary. For something I could report back to Nidhogg, so the dragon didn’t label me a slacker. Sticking to my moonstone-approved route, I covered the ground between me and where a coven of witches lived. They’d taken up residence in an old Celtic citadel beneath Ben Nevis, although they’d been damned lucky to find it in the midst of the Breaking.

  Witch magic was weak, but the occasional practitioner pulled off a miracle.

  A flicker of something dark pinged the edges of my seeking spell. I turned toward it and fed more magic into that particular sector. Nothing too obvious, but I wanted to see if anything was really out there.

  I stilled my breathing, blended into the darkness, and let clues flow to me. The sto
ne must have augmented my ability because I wasn’t working as hard as usual. Goblins were about, along with one troll.

  I may have mentioned, I’m far from a warrior. Normally, I’d have teleported far from the wicked creatures. Nothing good ever came from trafficking with such persons. But tonight was the beginning of a different life. I edged away from where I’d sensed the goblins to see what would happen.

  The moonstone stabbed me hard enough I nearly yelped.

  If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought one of Nidhogg’s claws was in my pocket. “If you want to know what’s going on so badly,” I muttered, “you should be here yourself.”

  I waited to be struck down by dragonfire, but it never happened. The goblins were on the move. I couldn’t find the troll anymore. One of the many lochs dotting the Highlands seemed to be where they were headed. I split my seeking spell and understanding kicked me in the gut.

  Humans had taken up residence in crumbling ruins that had once been row houses. They’d make a tasty meal for the goblins, who preferred human flesh above all else. I remembered the dragon’s instructions. He’d said to call for him if need arose, but would a dragon show himself in Midgard?

  That part wasn’t my problem. I’d been tasked to observe and call in help if it was needed. While I’d dillydallied, the goblins had nearly reached the human encampment. Gripping the moonstone, I used telepathy to alert the dragon.

  I started toward where the mortals were, intent on at least warning them, when a roaring filled my ears. I checked the stone still clutched in my hand, but for once it wasn’t ordering me about. It wasn’t even warm. I fought an inane desire to chuck it as far away from me as I could, but a slight pulse brought me back to my senses.

  The roaring turned into a cacophony of noise and the sky lit as a hole ripped in the ether. Nidhogg—or some other golden dragon that looked just like him—leapt through, fire hissing from his open jaws. Beneath him, the goblins were lit up clearly. Easily double the number I’d sensed, so they must have been masking their foul magic.

  Something about the dragon immobilized the creatures. I expected them to flee. Instead, they stared upward. The troll I’d lost track of lumbered into view and screeched something at the goblins in a language I’d never heard. Whatever it was, it got through, and they scattered.

  The dragon bugled and painted crazy paths of fire between the goblins, cutting off their retreat. They’d run in one direction and hit a line of fire. Turning and going the other didn’t yield any better results. It dawned on me the dragon was playing with his victims.

  Making them miserable before he finally killed them.

  The troll bellowed and shook his fists skyward. He was made of stone, so fire couldn’t harm him, but if he was caught outside in daylight, he’d become inert like the standing stones that peppered moors all through the British Isles. They’d all been trolls once.

  The dragon didn’t need me. He had this well in hand. When I tested walking away this time, the moonstone sent waves of approval washing through me. Nice to have its support. I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going, so I was surprised when I ended up a stone’s throw from Ben Nevis and the witches’ lair.

  I heard raised voices from within, followed by a woman saying, “I’ll see what’s wrong. The rest of you remain here unless I call for aid.”

  On the heels of her words, the Celt burst into the open. I wasn’t surprised to see her, but I’d never viewed her like this. Oh I’d known she employed a glamour, but I’d never expended magic to pry beneath it. I assumed she shielded her real appearance for a reason. Never in my wildest imaginings did I suspect she’d hidden herself because she was beautiful enough to lure men to their deaths.

  Not that she hadn’t been stunning before, but now she shone with an inner light. Magic spilled from her as she sought the source of the disturbance that had drawn her out of doors. Her hair was the same. Brilliant red shot with gold. But her face held the unmistakable stamp of the Celtic gods. High forehead, sculpted cheeks, full lips, and golden eyes.

  She was taller than I’d thought, and strongly built. Slender, but muscular. I’d run into more than a few of the Celts over the long years of my life, and she was a dead ringer for Ceridwen. Was this the Mother Goddess of the world? I risked a small bit of magic, checking.

  Two things happened so fast, they shocked me. The woman must have felt my probe because she pelted toward me at top speed. Meanwhile, my seeking spell told me the woman wasn’t Ceridwen. Far from it. Mixed in with her Celtic origins, she carried dragon blood.

  A lot of dragon blood.

  How was that even possible? Dragons almost never mated outside their own kind. I was almost positive it was forbidden, and the very few falls from grace had all been Norse-dragon pairings.

  Living, breathing proof I was wrong was nearly upon me.

  She stopped about a meter away; magic flashed and flared from her raised hands. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And why are you spying on us?” Her voice was low and lyrical. I could have listened to her read the dictionary and been captivated.

  I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. Meanwhile, the damned moonstone was practically purring, almost as if it recognized the woman standing before me. A skirt that looked as if had been sewn from rags hit her at knee level, and a black woolen cloak with many holes swathed her upper body. She hadn’t bothered with shoes.

  “Either you answer my questions, or I’ll trap you where you stand until you do.” She took a step closer, and I felt magic seep from her and begin to form a circle around me.

  I could have defeated her spell easily enough, but I didn’t want to alarm her. “My name is Bjorn,” I said adding a smattering of a calming spell to my words.

  “All right, Bjorn”—she paused after my name for emphasis—“what the fuck are you doing here?” She slitted her golden eyes. “While we’re at it, what are you? You have the stink of a Norseman.”

  “Aye, lady, and you smell of the Celts,” I countered, less than pleased about her slur aimed at my kinsmen. I wasn’t overly fond of Odin or Thor, but I’d defend them to the death from insults.

  She twisted her mouth into a disgusted expression. “Fine. Odin sent you.” She waved a hand skyward. “Where’s the Hunt? I thought only dead things visited Earth.”

  “Odin did not send me,” I protested. About that time, Nidhogg chose to overfly where we stood. He must have polished off the goblins—and the troll. He didn’t remain long, just cut through the sky once before he turned around, presumably heading back to the gateway he’d used before.

  The woman stared upward. “Fuck me. A dragon.”

  It would have been a perfect opportunity for me to escape, but I didn’t want to leave. “Have you not seen one before?” I asked.

  “Yes, but not since I was a child.” Her chin was still tilted, and she twisted her head back and forth. The flow of her magic was directed at where Nidhogg had been flying as she sought information.

  The Celts had their own dragon named Dewi. I considered asking if that was who she’d seen, but we’d barely met. She lived with witches. Maybe she hid her dragon and Celtic natures.

  Why else would she have covered up all her charms with a glamour that made her look far more ordinary?

  Finally, she glanced at me once again. “If you were a threat, you’d have tried to jump me. How about if you just leave? I have enough problems without figuring you out.” A weary undernote lay beneath her words.

  “I gave you my name,” I pointed out.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m Rowan.”

  Somehow, it didn’t quite fit. “Has that always been your name?” I winced. “Sorry. It’s none of my affair.”

  “You’re right. It’s not.” Her nostrils flared. “Something is burning. Crap. What did the dragon do?”

  Before she took off running, I said, “It’s all right. I located goblins and a troll intent on a group of humans. The dragon took care of them. I assume th
e goblins are what you smell. The troll may be immobilized. If so, daylight will finish him off.”

  As I’d been talking, she’d folded her arms beneath her breasts. “What are you doing here?” she asked again. “We’ve never had a spot of aid from any quarter since the Breaking. Why you? And why now?”

  I didn’t have the answers to either question. Not really. And I had no idea how much she knew—or didn’t—about either her Celtic side or her dragon one. She did admit to having seen a dragon before, which likely meant she knew full well what she was. But why hide out with a coven? She could be with the other Celts—wherever they’d run off to.

  “Rowan?” a man’s voice called from a few meters away.

  “I’m all right,” she called back.

  I peered around her and funneled magic to see who was there. I didn’t like the idea of a man being interested in her wellbeing. Was she married? To a witch? Why hadn’t she aimed higher?

  I cut my train of thought off cold. What she was or wasn’t, and what she’d done or not done marriage-wise was absolutely none of my affair. I was here to spy for Nidhogg, nothing more and nothing less.

  I hadn’t been paying close attention, so I wasn’t prepared when she tossed a truth spell over me. I tried to slice through it, but the weave was quite fine. Not that I couldn’t have defeated it with magic of my own, but it would take me a while. And force me to reveal just how much power simmered within me.

  “Do you know who the dragon was?” she demanded.

  Trapped between her spell and the moonstone, I opted for silence. I was certain the stone wouldn’t approve of me telling her much of anything at all. Contrary to my expectations, it warmed, almost as if it were urging me to say something.

  “I believe so,” I replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m here on the ground just like you. What I saw was a large, male golden dragon. It could have been one of several candidates.”

  She absorbed what I’d said for a moment before she muttered, “So there’s more than one of them. Where are you from, Bjorn?”