Dragon’s Call: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  She leveled a glance my way. “You never did answer me. What about you?”

  I stood straighter. Last thing I wanted was for her to feel sorry for me—or view me as a magical inferior. “I’ll be along. I want to run Hel down before I leave.”

  Her expression had been open, unguarded. At my words, she smoothed it into neutral lines. “As you wish,” she said, not adding anything about believing we were partners.

  I might not have wanted her pity, but neither could I let her believe I didn’t value the way our magic wove together into an amazingly viable whole. “There is a magic-imbued passageway running through the Nine Worlds. I have sufficient power to utilize it, but not yet enough to teleport.” Anticipating her next question, I added, “The passageway is actually forbidden to any but the Norse gods. No one ever complains when I use it, though.”

  A corner of her mouth quirked into half a smile. “But they’d notice me, huh?”

  “You bet they would. Celt magic sticks out like a sore thumb here.” I didn’t mention her dragon blood would provide a clarion call of its own. It was possible our blended magic would be enough to transport both of us to Midgard, but I wasn’t positive.

  And I wasn’t willing to chance it.

  Rowan had far more pressing reasons than I did to return quickly. If we gambled—and lost—she’d be stuck in Niflheim right along with me until we built up our power stores again.

  “It’s fine,” I told her. “Go ahead. I’m sure we’ll run into one another back at the Breaking sooner rather than later.”

  Her half smile deepened into a full one. It softened the lines of her face, and her beauty shone through even more brilliantly than it usually did. “I’ll look forward to it.” Power bubbled around her, filling the air with the scents of Celtic magic. Mint. Amber. Vanilla.

  I stood for long moments, fixated by the spot where she’d vanished. Whatever drew me to her, I had it bad, and I needed to find a different focus. As if on cue, the dragonstone warmed and throbbed where it sat in a pocket. I hadn’t forgotten about it, but neither had it been in the forefront of my mind.

  “What?” I mumbled and hoped to hell it didn’t switch up to emitting its previous waves of cold. Niflheim was chilly enough without add-ons from Nidhogg’s gift. I rolled my eyes. Not a gift. He’d given me the stone as a way to keep tabs on my whereabouts. And to push me in directions that met his needs.

  Free will was a joke. Just because the gods had left me alone most of the long years of my life was no reason to believe they couldn’t exert their sovereignty over me whenever they chose.

  I turned to leave. Before the stone got riled enough to do more than vibrate. I’d walked about twenty paces from the mouth of the cave where we’d sheltered when Hel glided out of the mist. She hadn’t bothered with a glamour. No reason to. She and I were well acquainted. Half the bones of her body were exposed. She’d been born that way, and I always suspected it was why she’d ended up queen of the underworld. Her appearance was unsettling.

  Long black hair shielded some of her exposed skeleton, and she regarded me out of dark eyes. Hel was at least half a meter taller than me, but her mother had been a giant, so I was surprised she hadn’t turned out bigger than she was.

  “Visiting?” she inquired archly.

  I understood exactly what she craved. News of the world above. She wasn’t exactly a prisoner in Hel and Niflheim, but when she left her magic gradually faded. Worse, the dead grew unruly. If she was absent too long, they migrated away from her realm, angering both Odin and Thor.

  “Not precisely,” I replied. “This was the closest place for me to transport us once I broke us free of Ceridwen’s spell.”

  Hel craned her long, bony neck around. “Us? I see only you.”

  “I was with a woman who is half Celt and half dragon. She’s Ceridwen’s daughter.”

  “Ooooh, there’s a story behind all that.” She strode closer. “Tell me.”

  I’ve always liked Hel and felt a little sorry for her. So I hit the high points of what had happened prior to our ending up in her lands.

  Long before I was done, she slitted her eyes. Whenever she does that, she looks so much like her father, Loki, it makes me cringe. I’ve come to loathe him because his presence always bodes ill for everyone nearby. Her two serpents slithered to her side. Long, black, and deadly, their forked tongues flicked in and out as they scented the cold, damp air.

  Hel crouched and stroked their scaled heads as if they’d been dogs or cats. When she straightened, she said, “I must go. Please. Visit more often.”

  “I will try.” It had been a long while since my last sojourn to Niflheim, and I didn’t want to raise false hopes. “The other worlds keep me busy, but if you ever have need of a sorcerer—”

  She rolled her dark eyes and waved me to silence. “I will never put you to work, Bjorn. Consider my realm a place you can be invisible for a bit. Betimes, such is useful.”

  “Thank you, Goddess.” I bowed my head. When I looked up, she and the snakes were gone.

  A quick scan told me I had enough magic to teleport, but I headed for Bifrost. It was just as fast and required zero expenditure of effort on my part. The stone had upped the ante. Still warm, it was vibrating faster. Left to my own devices, I’d have headed for my humble stone cottage to clean up and regroup. I was still hungry, and I had food there.

  Deciding to test the waters, I exited the bridge in Vanaheim. The stone wasn’t happy, but it was only a stone. There were limited ways it could express its displeasure. As I hastened to my home, I raised my mind voice. “Nidhogg. If you’re available, we need to talk. If not now, please let me know when might work better for you.”

  I blew out a breath. Maybe my plea would work. I hadn’t requested anything beyond an audience. At the dragon’s convenience. I’d moved beyond the mists shrouding the rainbow bridge and located the track that would lead me home. A few twists and turns later, I noticed the dragonstone had turned back into an inert lump.

  What did it mean? Was it done bothering me? I hoped so. Beyond taking care of my own needs, I was certain work had piled up. People left me notes—magical and otherwise—when they required my services. Normally, I was almost always at home. That I’d been gone for well beyond a day didn’t bode well.

  Head bent in thought, I wasn’t paying close attention until the unmistakable baked clay smell of dragon hit me broadside. My head snapped up. Sure enough, Nidhogg sat in front of my cottage, golden wings folded behind his back, whirling eyes staring right at me.

  I stopped a meter away, remembered my manners, and bowed my head while murmuring, “Thank you so very much for—”

  “What did ye want to talk about?” The dragon didn’t sound overly annoyed, but neither did he sound happy. Or I could have read him all wrong. It’s not as if I’ve spent much time in the company of wyrms.

  Questions danced in my head. He probably knew them all. Dragons were adept mind readers, but Nidhogg just stared at me. He wasn’t going to make this easy by plucking queries from me at random.

  I wanted to invite him inside, but he wouldn’t fit through the door. With my head still partially bowed, I murmured, “I would very much appreciate more information about why you wish my presence in Midgard.”

  I longed to ask about Rowan but didn’t. Just because I asked something was no reason for Nidhogg to answer me, so I stuck with a general question and hoped for the best.

  Smoke and ash puffed from his open jaws. “What ye really wish to know is why ye were caught up in a Celtic spell with Ceridwen’s get. ’Tisn’t a question I shall answer. Not yet.”

  I stole a glance at him and took a chance. “She has dragon blood. A lot of it.”

  The dragon nodded amidst ash and fire. “Astute of you.”

  “Anyone with enough magic would notice.”

  “Nay. Not anyone. Her origins are shrouded by spells.”

  I blew out a breath and stood straight. “Then why were they obvious to me?”
<
br />   He tilted his great head, eyes whirling faster. “Because ye have power that’s a direct complement to hers.”

  “How?” I sputtered, followed by, “Why?”

  Rather than answering me, Nidhogg spread his wings and let the air currents carry him upward. It wasn’t very breezy, and I didn’t understand how he gained height and remained airborne. Not that I’m any expert on the habits of dragons, but it was obvious he was done talking with me.

  I waved a hand skyward—a sign of respect and farewell—and strode into my house. For once, the dragonstone was inert. It didn’t even protest when I removed it from a pocket and placed in on my table.

  As I heated water and made a meal, two things were clear. Nidhogg not only knew about Rowan. He also recognized I had a connection to her, but he wasn’t about to make anything simple.

  I’d have to do some serious digging and figure things out on my own.

  I smiled and tucked into a pot of grains I’d hurried up with magic. I was the original figure-it-out-myself guy, and Nidhogg has just handed me my favorite kind of puzzle.

  Chapter Ten, Rowan

  I fretted and fussed and fumed during the time it took me to return to Earth and quest about with magic to figure out whether I should go to Inverlochy first or the witches’ original lair beneath Ben Nevis. Many things were bothering me, not the least of which was running into the rough side of another of Mother’s nasty spells.

  Were more lying in wait for me?

  An unsettling thought surfaced. Had she spirited me away to do damage to the witches who’d sheltered me and become my family? It was very like something she’d do. Hurt those she knew were dear to me. I added a healthy shot of magic and teleported to Inverlochy, heart in my throat.

  A good, deep sniff reassured me no Celts had been here since my ill-timed visit with my mother and Odin. Damn! Who could I appeal to? Mother was as close to the top of the pantheon as anyone. I couldn’t come up with a soul who’d bring her to heel.

  None of them knew me well at all, so I didn’t expect Bran or Gwydion or Arianrhod or Arawn to take up my cause. One of the downsides of living forever was relationships went full circle. From lovey-dovey to full-blown ire and back again. Rinse and repeat, endlessly.

  They’d see Mother’s bad behavior as a phase, pat me on the head, and reassure me she’d get past it. Well, it had been a very long time, and she wasn’t anywhere near past it yet. In truth, things seemed to be getting worse. As if she’d nursed a grudge since the Breaking and was only interested in forcing my hand.

  Chivvying me back to her side, so she could ignore me.

  “There you are!” Patrick’s raspy voice rang from somewhere above. I’d aimed for the courtyard on purpose, in order to plot a strategy if I needed one. “Where were you?” he asked as he joined me. His sparse blond hair was even rattier than normal, and his blue eyes had circles beneath them. He’d traded his usual breeks and flannel shirt for a long black-and-green tartan layered over a frayed linen shirt.

  “It’s a long story. Is everyone all right?”

  He angled a pointed look my way. “Yes. We even arranged a foray into town and brought back seeds. One of the garden shops had a cellar that hadn’t been discovered—or disturbed. Is there any particular reason you’re worried about us?”

  I couldn’t not tell him. “Mother is on the warpath. Everyone needs to be extra careful.”

  “Was that what happened to you?” He added narrowed eyes to his already-pointed expression.

  “Yeah. I ended up in Niflheim.”

  A shocked look crossed his face. “’Tisn’t good news. You escaped. How?”

  “I was with Bjorn, and—”

  “The Norseman from the other night, right? The one who pretended he was a witch long ago.”

  I nodded. “The same. He got swept up in the casting, and he’s why we ended up where we did. I have no idea if I could have broken free of Mother’s spell without him. Or where I would have landed once I finally extricated myself from it.”

  “Were you over by the Breaking site?”

  I nodded again. “Got to keep an eye on it. Turns out Bjorn has been doing the same thing. I’m surprised we haven’t run into one another, but both of us have been extremely cautious, leaving at the first hint anyone else might be near there.”

  “Mmph.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Not sure I meant anything by it.” Patrick exhaled noisily. “We’re all here. All who were planning to move. We can set wards—”

  “Don’t. Anything you do that disturbs the feel of this place from the outside might alert my kinsmen.”

  He curled a hand around my upper arm. “Are you certain this is a good idea, lass?”

  I shut my eyes for a moment. They felt hot and dry and gritty. “No. But I don’t have any better ones. We need to be able to grow food. Right now, we can’t. This is as protected a spot as we’re likely to come across.”

  “We might try one of the deserted fields.”

  “No. All the bad things are still out there. They’d figure out quick enough we need to tend to whatever we’re growing, and they’d ambush us.”

  “Aye. Same reasons we’re not doing it now,” he mumbled.

  More witches clattered down the stairs. Hilda and a couple of other women gave me a quick hug. Walking around us, they picked up an assortment of garden tools and a bag of seeds that sat off to one side. I motioned to Patrick to follow me outside.

  Once we exited through the crypt, I turned to him. “Be sure to let everyone know to be cautious. If you can hurry a crop along with magic, do it. We don’t need to remain here forever. Just until we can harvest enough to dry or preserve by canning. Then we’ll go back to our spot beneath Ben Nevis until we need to plant again.”

  “Safer there,” he agreed.

  “And more defensible. Speaking of which, I’m going there now to check on everyone else. Mort will give me hell for being gone. Once I’ve mollified him, I’m going to eat and sleep.”

  Patrick wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Take care of yourself.” He hesitated before adding, “You don’t have to remain with us, yet you do. We very much appreciate your help.”

  I squirmed out from under his arm. “Eh, you did the same for me. You took me in without a bunch of questions, and you’ve treated fairly with me. Blood doesn’t make family. Actions do.”

  Before he could thank me again, I pulled magic and teleported to the cave at the base of Ben Nevis. It took longer than I expected, which told me my reserves were still pretty thin. If I’d been paying closer attention, I’d have understood how tapped out I was.

  I hustled through the complex, avoiding much beyond “hello” or “good to see you.” Someone had thoughtfully placed a dish of gruel in my tiny room. I ate mindlessly, touched almost to tears by the small kindness. A strident mrowwww announced Mort seconds before he launched himself into my lap and proceeded to dig sharp claws into my threadbare clothing as he climbed my body to the spot he preferred draped across my shoulder blades.

  He did his damnedest to remain aloof, but after the first purr leaked out, I knew he’d forgiven me. Reaching up, I stroked his matted fur, and the purrs intensified.

  “Missed you too,” I murmured and wished human interactions could be this simple. I hadn’t thought about Bjorn on purpose. Something about him called to me at a soul-deep level. I had no idea what it was. I also didn’t understand why our magic worked so well together. Back during my days with the Celts, my power had never blended quite so seamlessly.

  With anyone else’s.

  I hadn’t been offered a chance to share power very often, but my memories of the few occasions weren’t pretty. Once Arianrhod had turned her odd eyes—one silver, one gold—on me, cursed me roundly, and chased me from her studio. She’d been making magical arrows for her mighty yew bow at the time, and I’d asked if I could help. I wanted my own power-imbued arrows, so I’d been curious what she did to streng
then hers.

  If Arianrhod’s ill-temper wasn’t enough, when I next ran into Mother, she’d rebuked me for bothering the other Celts.

  I guess I was hoping she might have apologized for Arianrhod’s abruptness. Softened the rejection by explaining it away. That incident was quite a while before I gave up and left. Funny how long it takes to abandon the dream of a normal childhood and a mother who actually cared about me.

  I washed my dinner down with water and moved to my pallet, Mort still curled around my neck. He licked me with his rough tongue, probably because I tasted salty from sweat. After relocating the cat to one side, I plopped down on my back and folded my hands beneath my head.

  Bjorn was an enigma, and a damned attractive one. If he’d been short and squat and swarthy, my life would have been a whole lot simpler. His blond locks begged to be touched. They had a way of escaping his braids and the leather thongs he tied them into place with.

  I muffled a snort. His hair might look as if it needed a woman’s smoothing hand, but he was abrupt and snappish. He’d had a graceful moment or two after he decided to play Sir Galahad and rescue me from Mother’s perfidy, but it hadn’t lasted long. By the time we were ready to leave Niflheim, he’d all but chased me away.

  He’d made an offhand comment about maybe running into one another again at the Breaking site. I should have nodded and left, but I must have appeared quite the fool when I told him how much I’d look forward to it.

  Arawn’s balls but I was a prime idiot. Bjorn hadn’t given me even one flicker of an indication he wanted to see me again. Given his almost total lack of interest, I suppose I was lucky he’d taken pity on me and latched onto my body when it was clear if he didn’t, I’d be sucked into a funnel leading goddess only knew where.

  “Fine,” I mumbled. “He has a chivalrous side. He’d have aided any woman in dire straits.”

  Mort meowed a time or two, as if he totally agreed with me.

  I shook my head to clear it. My exhaustion hadn’t gone away, and my magic was still on the low side. I’d caught Bjorn looking me over a couple of times when he thought my attention was elsewhere. Not that I’ve had many men in my life, but I know the difference between an appraising glance that leads to a seduction attempt and the other kind.