Dragon’s Blood: A Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

When the dragon screeched, “This one is mine! I name her Dragon Heir, and ye shall allow her passage,” I knew I’d been right about Bifrost and Rowan. The bridge had done something, but the dragon’s power short-circuited its attempt.

  Would it be a permanent fix? Or would Rowan always have trouble with Bifrost? Time would answer that question. I turned my attention to our destination. Had the dragon ever been there? Would she take it amiss if I asked?

  I didn’t care. I needed to know. “Have you been to Jotunheim before?” I used telepathy because as I’ve already said, even my presence on Bifrost is far from a foregone conclusion. I use it, but it’s kind of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell proposition.

  “Aye,” Zelli answered in kind. “Wait until we exit Bifrost, and then we shall talk.”

  Wise of her. I admit I wasn’t fond of any of the dragons who’d taken to camping out on my doorstep, except the black dragon I’d ridden. Zelli seemed to be cut from a different cloth, though. For one thing, she was firmly in Rowan’s court. Anyone who befriended Ro was worthy of my trust.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them. Hot, gritty, dry, they appreciated the brief break. The last time I’d traveled to the giants’ realm, it had been to address a sickness that had attacked the trees. Unfortunately, none of the giants had thought to call in assistance until the blight, which turned out to be a magical type of fungus, had wiped out nearly half of a forest.

  As I resurrected the memory, a few errant chips slotted together. Trees had roots, often times deep enough to reach the same underlayment the One Tree took its nourishment from. Yggdrasil wasn’t ill, but nor was the One Tree its usual vibrant self. Not if it was asking for help from the likes of me.

  Perhaps this was how the demise of the Nine Worlds would begin. Through rot spreading from the One Tree’s roots. They extended to all the worlds. Jotunheim would be particularly susceptible because 90 percent of that world is thick forest, usually blanketed by snow since winter reigns year round. In the giants’ defense, snow had been unusually deep that season and had done a masterful job hiding the blight-stricken trees.

  How long ago had that been?

  “Get ready.” Zelli’s words knocked me out of my thoughts. Another fire-rimmed portal took shape. She gestured me to run through ahead of her and Rowan, who still perched on her broad back.

  A tiny part of me was jealous. Riding the black dragon had been such an unbelievable experience I’d lacked words to describe it. I could still feel the heat from its scaled hide and the exhilaration as we’d blasted through the skies. Fighting with my feet planted on land would always be lacking from now on, but while Rowan was a Dragon Heir, I am not.

  Dragon Heirs from the past had all bonded with dragons, and they’d gone into battle together. Of course, they’d been Norsemen. I waited a couple of meters from the portal for Zelli and Ro. Cold surrounded me; snow drifts rose on all sides, some as high as three meters. A brisk wind pushed chilly air into every chink in my clothing.

  If I’d been thinking, I’d have insisted we stop by my house to get warmer garments for Rowan and myself. Well, perhaps not for her. She had Zelli. I cleared my mind before jealousy established too deep a grip. I wanted my own dragon, but I may as well want Vanaheim’s twin moons delivered on a platter for all the good it would do me.

  And it wasn’t as if Zelli belonged to Rowan. We were fortunate the dragon had found us worthy of her attention. Rowan jumped down and tromped over one of the smaller snowdrifts to where I stood.

  “Brrr,” she said. “Not as cold as Niflheim, but not far off, either.”

  I started to take my jacket off, but she pushed it back onto my shoulders. “Absolutely, not,” Rowan said firmly. “You’re not dressed any more warmly than I am. No point in you turning into an icicle.”

  Zelli moved in front of us and lay on her belly on the ground. It brought her head about to my eye level. The baked clay smells of dragon magic formed a dome around us, and the air warmed immediately. “I doona know how long we have afore the giants sense our presence and send a greeting party,” she said, following it with, “To answer Bjorn’s question regarding whether I’ve been here before, I have, but I dinna remain long. More often than not, the giants decide they should be able to turn us into steeds.”

  “Seems like a common problem,” Rowan muttered, “since the Celts did much the same.”

  “Aye, ’tis. And none of us are overly fond of it,” Zelli replied. “The giants have horses. They’re as big as houses, and slow as slow can be. Mayhap ’tis why the giants yearn to fly.”

  “Do you suppose all the giants were part of the dark magic that snared Bjorn?” Rowan asked.

  The dragon shook her head. “Nay. Giants are as slow as their horses. They aren’t quick thinkers, either, and they often miss what’s right beneath their noses.”

  Remembering the dead trees, I tended to agree with her about them missing the obvious. I narrowed my eyes and forced my tired brain to function. “Do you suspect other than giants live here?”

  “I doona know,” she replied, “but ’tis a prime location where evil could flourish unnoticed. The one spot in the Nine Worlds that’s rarely visited because the weather is so hideous.”

  “It’s nothing to write home about in Niflheim, either,” Rowan muttered.

  “Aye, but Hel keeps a close eye on that realm,” Zelli retorted. “Not much gets past her and her serpent guardians.”

  I thought about Zelli’s assessment of giants as dull-witted. I’d met King Thrym a time or two, and he was far from stupid. Quite the contrary, he’d been bright enough to scheme Thor out of his hammer. The type of power the giants used was different from any other in the Nine Worlds. Because of that, people tended to underestimate them, which was a mistake.

  I felt the inexorable pull of that unusual power as giants approached. Not Thrym, but a greeting party made up of lesser nobles. I’d never totally figured out the giants’ pecking order. They kept it under wraps for reasons of their own.

  No more time for talk. I drew myself up tall and let magic spill through me. Giants respected strength. This wasn’t a time to creep on my belly or pretend to be humble.

  Sure enough, the crash and rumble of two—or perhaps three—giants moving nearer filled my ears. It might piss Zelli off, but I planned to take the lead. Hopefully, these would be giants I’d known and worked with before.

  Noses working like truffle-sniffing pigs, two men tromped out of the thick tree cover. Standing better than three meters tall, they towered over us all. I noticed Zelli wasn’t on her belly anymore, but standing, and the lovely canopy that had warmed us was gone.

  Luck was smiling on me. I knew both giants. “Krivar! Brios!” I bowed low. When I straightened, I said, “It’s truly good to see you once again.”

  “Ye as well, Master Sorcerer,” Krivar rumbled. His voice was deep and low and reverberated in the pit of my stomach. Black hair tumbled around his shoulders, and dark eyes sat beneath thick, hairy brows. A broad, flat forehead, hooked nose, square chin, and blunt beige teeth gave him a doltish appearance, but I wasn’t fooled. He had a mind like a gilded trap.

  Brios was quite fair. White hair that had once been blond was skinned back from his forehead and captured in a length of leather. His eyes were an unusual icy blue. When I’d first met him, I’d assumed he was blind, but he isn’t. Both men wore leather breeches topped by shirts made of some furry hide. Their feet were encased in wooden clog-like affairs.

  “Why are ye here?” Brios asked. “Did ye come to offer us a dragon as a sign of goodwill from Vanaheim?” Laughter burbled from him, sounding rather like the beginnings of an avalanche.

  Zelli tossed her head back. Fire shot from her mouth. Every single scale screamed outrage. Before she redirected her fire at the giants and their hair went up like a torch, I hurried to say, “I fear we bring difficult news.”

  “Aye? What manner of ill tidings?” Krivar asked.

  Brios had stopped laughing. He resettled his feet, an
d the ground shook beneath me. My feet were well on their way to freezing, so I wriggled my toes and added a small stream of magic to keep the blood flowing.

  “Something from Jotunheim slipped quietly into Vanaheim not far from my cottage. It was a stealth maneuver, and they spirited me into a void. I escaped by linking with Yggdrasil.”

  Probably sick of remaining silent, Zelli added, “I tested the residue myself. It was Black Magic, and it began here. I do not believe it originated with the giants because I did not find your energy within it.”

  “Impossible,” Brios sputtered. “If other than our own kind were here, we would know.”

  “Are ye doubting my word?” Zelli’s eyes spun faster.

  I stepped between her and the giants. “All we were hoping was that you’d check through your realm for anything…unexpected.” Because giants are second only to the elves in terms of their love for gossip, I added, “Midgard is in trouble. Serious trouble. It may founder.”

  Krivar swung a great arm sideways until his fist connected with a nearby tree. It rocked on its roots, and its boughs soughed louder. “Ye must needs say more than that, Sorcerer. What kind of trouble? Why has Odin not addressed it?”

  Rowan stepped out from Zelli’s shadow. “I’m afraid the trouble is my fault. Ceridwen is my mother, and—”

  “Ceridwen, the Welsh sorceress?” Brios rumbled.

  “The same,” Rowan told him. “Although she identifies herself as a Celtic deity.”

  Krivar elbowed Brios and guffawed so loud I wanted to cover my ears. “Same wench who came looking for hot cocks a time or two. I remember her. Not my type.”

  “I wasn’t as picky,” Brios told him. “Ye missed out on a decent time. Too small to fuck, but her hands and mouth made up for it.” He patted his crotch.

  A sidelong glance at Rowan told me she was ashamed her mother had been such a slut, but Ceridwen’s bedroom proclivities weren’t on the table here. I chopped a hand downward. “That good-time wench is who broke Midgard. She was trying to force her daughter back to the Celtic pantheon and cast a spell that got away from her. Over half the mortals are dead, and evil is leaching in from somewhere. I need to make sure it’s not spreading to the other worlds as well.”

  “Ceridwen may have said the spell spiraled beyond her control, but it might not be quite true,” Zelli grumbled.

  I’d wondered if Ceridwen was trying to whitewash her perfidy too, but I hadn’t given voice to my doubts because of Rowan.

  “Say more about this Breaking,” Krivar urged. “Word of it has filtered into Jotunheim, but we would have details.”

  “Piss on details,” Brios broke in. “Why has Odin not fixed things?”

  “He’s tried,” I said. “He rides with the Hunt most nights to keep an eye on Midgard, but the damage grows deeper with each passing month.”

  More fire arced from the dragon. She was doing a reasonable job of steering clear of the treetops. Ash rained down. “Dragons have kept ourselves removed from the affairs of other magic wielders. The threat facing the Nine Worlds is serious enough, Nidhogg has instructed us to take whatever steps we deem necessary.”

  Krivar whistled, creating a windstorm that intensified the bitter cold. “I’ve never known him to lift a talon for aught beyond dragonkind.”

  Zelli nodded briskly. “My point, precisely.”

  “Could you please hunt through your realm for whatever invaded Vanaheim?” Rowan asked.

  Brios squatted and looked at her. The stone-like feel of giant magic blasted toward Rowan. “What else are you?” he growled.

  “She is a Dragon Heir,” Zelli said firmly.

  “Nay.” Brios pushed creakily upright. It was akin to watching a tree pick itself up. “She doesna have the feel of any other Dragon Heir.”

  “Besides, there have been no new Dragon Heirs for a thousand years,” Krivar said.

  “I am Celtic and dragon,” Rowan told the giants. “It’s probably why my blend of magic feels unusual to you.” She hesitated. “From what I understand, there’s never been another like me.”

  “Who was her da?” Krivar asked Zelli.

  Interesting the giant hadn’t asked Rowan. Perhaps he intuited she didn’t know. Giants were reasonable mind readers.

  “We are not free to disclose that information,” Zelli said stiffly. “Ye willna ask a second time.”

  The giants looked at one another, and the crackle of power shimmered between them as they shared thoughts. I wanted to eavesdrop, but they wouldn’t take it well, and they’d feel my incursion no matter how subtle I kept my casting. Apparently done conversing, they turned away.

  Giants don’t do anything fast. Before they got halfway around and started walking away, I said, “Does this mean you’ll honor Rowan’s request, which is mine as well?”

  “We will take the matter to King Thymer,” Brios replied.

  “Aye, he shall decide our next steps,” Krivar added.

  “Doona take too long,” Zelli cautioned.

  Krivar halted his slow about face to say, “Odin has known of this since it happened. He’s in no rush to address it. Why should we be?”

  “Because darkness from your world targeted me.” I put steel behind my words. “I’ve done naught but good for your people and have asked nothing in return.”

  Brios was facing me again. “Ye’re requesting a boon? In repayment for all ye’ve done for my kinsmen?”

  Oh-oh. Slippery ground. “Partial repayment,” I said smoothly. I didn’t want them to make a meal—or a prisoner—out of me the next time I showed up. It wasn’t a secret that Jotunheim was at the bottom of my priority list, and I only came here when my slate from the other worlds was clean.

  A slow grin lightened Krivar’s face. “I’ve always liked you, Master Sorcerer.”

  “Thanks. You’re not a bad fellow yourself. Now about my request—”

  “We shall honor it,” Brios said. “Our first stop will be the palace.”

  I bowed my head for a brief moment. When I raised it, I said, “Tell your king there is a gathering in Asgard. The Celts are there, and plans are being crafted to deal with the threat facing the Nine Worlds.” I hesitated and then winked. “Don’t tell them how you know about it.”

  Krivar chuckled. “We protect our sources. Many thanks from our king.” He and Brios moved slightly faster this time and vanished into the woods. I felt the tug of their power as they teleported away from where we stood.

  “Smooth,” Zelli told me. “Ye gave them a wee bit of information. It should make them more willing to comply with hunting down whatever has invaded this world. I feel it here. The same malevolence I sensed clinging to the moss on that rock.”

  Power spilled from me reflexively. No need to hide myself. The giants knew we were here. At first, I couldn’t feel anything beyond the giants’ magic. It pervaded everything on Jotunheim with its damp stone scent and slight prickly feel. Zelli had sounded certain, so I dug deeper. I’d nearly given up when a faint pulse reached me. When I tried to chase it, it shattered. Almost as if it knew I was hunting it.

  I reeled in my seeking spell. “If we can find it,” I muttered, “the giants should be able to as well.”

  “Aye, but ’tis elusive,” Zelli said.

  “Elusive, but present,” I retorted.

  “You know,” Rowan said. Her words were directed at the dragon.

  “Ken what, Dragon Heir?” Zelli’s response was glib, polished. I girded myself. Rowan valued candor. The dragon had hedged, and it would piss her off.

  “You understood me perfectly,” Rowan said. “You know who my father is.”

  “I do.” Zelli nodded.

  “But you won’t tell me,” Rowan persisted.

  My heart hurt for her. Pain and persistence took turns shaping her expressive features. My own parents had been kind, supportive. Neither possessed much magic, and I’d often wondered how the combination had yielded me, but such things weren’t totally unheard of. Da had been a leather worke
r, Mum a seamstress. I was their sole offspring. Both were long dead, and my cottage was the same one I’d grown up in.

  My folks always made me feel loved and valued. I understood why Rowan yearned for at least one decent parent.

  “Nay, I willna,” Zelli was saying.

  “Why not?”

  “Such is for Nidhogg to reveal.”

  “Why not my father? He can’t be dead. Dragons live forever.” Rowan wasn’t going to let this go, and it wasn’t my place to tell her to move on.

  “He is no longer part of the Nine Worlds,” Zelli said, “and that is the last I will say about this. Shall we return to Vanaheim?”

  Rowan nodded morosely. “Yeah. We have a council meeting to crash.”

  “Is that a euphemism for show up uninvited?” I asked.

  “Something like that.” She still sounded glum.

  “Do you feel up to tackling the bridge again?” I asked her.

  She shook herself and stared at me. “You know?”

  “Of course. Not much gets by me. What Zelli did fixed the problem. The only thing we don’t know is if it will remain fixed.”

  “If it does not, I shall remedy it,” the dragon said. Magic sheeted from her as she called a portal into being.

  Rowan’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t like her to be dispirited, so I wrapped a hand around her upper arm and murmured, “It will be all right.”

  “Will it, now?” She twisted to look at me. “Contamination from Earth is spreading. Once Zelli pointed it out, I sensed it here too.”

  I’d figured she was upset about the dragon’s refusal to disclose her da’s identity, but her sorrow ran far deeper than that. Soothing words jumped to my lips, but I didn’t utter them. I wouldn’t lie to her.

  I’d begun to shiver, and I’d long since moved past where I could feel my feet. I’d have directed more magic to warm myself, but I’d been afraid to dilute my already watered-down reserves.

  In case we needed to make a point with the giants. Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that.

  Zelli’s portal was slower to form than before, but I was grateful when it opened and I could escape to Bifrost’s relative warmth. This time, I went first and kept a sharp eye on Rowan.