Dragon’s Blood: A Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  Dewi angled her head to one side; fire flashed from her jaws. “Aye, but that mother of yours did. ’Twould be a lie if I said I dinna notice ye were different as a hatchling, but I never took the time to look more closely.”

  More fire flew, and she shook her head from side to side. “I trusted Ceridwen. We have history, she and I. No more. I have wiped her from my mind. If I have my way, she will be expunged from the rolls of the Celtic deities. She doesna deserve to be part of our pantheon. Not after what she did.”

  “I’m guessing that’s the consensus from others at the council meeting?” Zelli jerked her head toward the draw we’d just flown through.

  Ash and smoke blew past Dewi’s jaws. “’Tis about the only common ground we’ve established: a mutual hatred of Ceridwen. She’s already begun her punishment—and her banishment shall become permanent. I tried to tell everyone further words were a waste of breath.”

  “It’s simpler to excoriate someone who isn’t there than to face the bigger problem, which is what our next steps are,” I spoke up. Three sets of whirling dragon eyes zapped me.

  Before I could stammer through an apology, Quade said, “He’s correct. Have ye made aught in the way of progress?”

  Dewi shook her head. “Odin spent the first few hours telling us what a bunch of witless fools we were. After he’d thanked us for coming.”

  “I’m surprised my erstwhile kin sat still for a dressing down,” Rowan muttered. “It’s nothing like how I remember them.”

  Dewi crossed her forelegs over her scaled chest. “Ye got a raw deal, child. Ye never saw the power and the glory of what it means to be a Celtic god. Regardless, we should return. I doona trust what type of deals will be dealt in my absence.”

  “We weren’t exactly invited to this meeting,” I said.

  She blared laughter. “Since when did that ever stop you?”

  I had no idea how to reply. She made it sound as if she knew me from somewhere. I’d have told her she’d mistaken me for someone else, but she might have seen it as rude. I drew magic around me, intent on teleporting to the far side of the draw and Valhalla.

  “Uh-uh.” Quade shook a talon at me. “Onto my back. A show of strength shall ensure us a seat at the table.”

  “Pfft.” Dewi spread her wings. “No one will tell you to leave. If they try, I shall name you my guests. Besides, since when do dragons concern themselves with others’ opinions?”

  “We doona,” Zelli said. “Neither Quade nor I held concerns about ourselves, but Rowan is a living reminder of…many failings.”

  She stiffened next to me. “None of those failings are mine.”

  “While we agree with your assessment,” Quade replied in about as mild a tone as I’ve ever heard from one of the beasts, “others may not.”

  Rowan stepped away from me and tossed her head back, standing straight. “I will teleport into the castle and find my way to the meeting room. I won’t ride in on Zelli’s coattails—or anyone else’s. According to Mother, whatever is brewing includes both Bjorn and me. We will see you inside.”

  No need for me to add to what she’d said. I went back to putting a spell together. Nothing fancy. We weren’t going very far. While I liked the idea of more time on Quade’s back, I appreciated Rowan’s arguments. Neither of us were gods. She was a hell of a lot closer than I’d ever be, but still the Norse-Celtic bunch had to accept us on our own merits.

  Or not at all.

  Dewi had said she’d force their hand by claiming guest rights. Such an action would allow us to sit and listen, but not necessarily to open our mouths. No reason to be there if we couldn’t forward opinions. I had a few. I’d probably spent far more time in Midgard than anyone except Odin. His ventures there with the Hunt had a whole different slant than mine.

  He was on the prowl for spoils while I was trying to keep Midgard from decompensating further.

  My casting was ready. I beckoned to Rowan, and she moved next to me. Draping us in power, I loosed my enchantment. Before the meadow dropped away, I saw all three dragons, wings spread, flying toward Valhalla.

  “Gutsy,” I told Rowan and draped an arm around her to hold her next to me through our brief travel jaunt.

  She fisted a hand and punched the air. “I’ll be damned if I end up beholden to anyone. I respect Zelli, but I’m not about to let her start scripting my moves. If I fall into that trap, there was no reason to leave the Celts.” She paused for a beat. “Do you know where we’re going once we’re inside?”

  “No, but I trust my magic to lead us right to them.”

  Rowan laughed, and it lightened the tension flowing from her. “No kidding, huh? All that power concentrated in one room will be impossible to miss.”

  I tweaked my spell and brought us out on one of the castle’s upper floors. The sound of voices reached us as I unwound my casting. “Ready?” I asked.

  “Never readier,” Rowan replied.

  Together, we walked along a scarred wooden floor. Battered armor lined the walls; a collection of mismatched tables and chairs were scattered at intervals. From below me, the voices switched to a raucous drinking song punctuated by the sounds of shouts and scuffling. It had to be the dead who also lived in these halls. A quick scan yielded thousands of souls, all vying for position. I’d heard Odin corralled them in a lower level. Quite a contrast to Hel; the dead entrusted to her care wandered freely.

  Maybe a valiant death wasn’t such a coup after all. Given my druthers, I’d rather be with Hel than here. At least she allowed her charges unrestricted run of her realm. Most of them, anyway.

  A solid door blocked our way. “It’s been spelled shut,” Rowan said.

  I’d figured that same thing out but recognized the binding. “I can neutralize it,” I told her.

  “Do it,” she urged. “It’s better than knocking like a couple of beggars. Both Zelli and Quade were big on the whole show-of-strength idea, and I agree with them.”

  Extending my hands, I felt for the ends of the working that sealed the tall wooden doors. Unlike the ornate ones that barred the Celts’ council chamber, these were a far simpler design. But the doors weren’t my concern. As I expected, whoever had sealed them hadn’t taken a whole lot of care.

  Why should they? Asgard had its own set of built-in safeguards. It wasn’t the kind of place that encouraged folk to drop in. If Bifrost didn’t snare you, Valhalla’s main gates held power of their own.

  Today was the first time I’d seen them standing open. Perhaps on the way out, I could get a closer look at the moat. If the lore was correct, sea serpents swam in it, and the water was so deep it touched Yggdrasil’s roots.

  I located the end of the magical latch and tugged. The high, double doors snicked open with far less fanfare than I’d expected. One moment, they were shut. The next, they swung inward on huge brass hinges.

  Rowan grabbed a door handle and strode into the room with me next to her, winding in my magic as I went. Heavy footsteps and the overpowering smells of hot clay told me the dragons were right behind us. How long had they been there? Had they actually exercised restraint while I unraveled the enchantment holding the doors shut?

  Restraint was very undragonlike, but not my primary concern at the moment.

  The meeting room was as utilitarian as the rest of Valhalla. About twenty gods and goddesses from both pantheons sat at a long, shiny table made from either mahogany or cherrywood.

  Every head turned our way. Every eye appraised us. I felt the sting of magic multiple times as those in attendance took my measure.

  “Oh for the love of the Fae, stop it,” Rowan sputtered. “You all know who I am.” She jerked a thumb my way. “He’s with me, and he’s done more to ameliorate Midgard’s problems than any of the rest of you.”

  Nidhogg lumbered forward from where he’d been standing near the far wall. Zelli, Quade, and Dewi crossed the large room with its rough-hewn wooden beams until they stood near him.

  “Is it your habit to leave doo
rs standing open?” Odin snarled. “Ones ye found closed and forced your way through?”

  I resisted snarking back at him and sent a jet of magic over one shoulder. The satisfying thunk of slamming doors reached my ears. I dusted my hands together. “There. All fixed.”

  Where were the birds? And then I remembered I’d seen them in an open courtyard along with Odin’s horse, a couple of unicorns, and furry creatures that begged me to bury my fingers in their thick pelts.

  “Apologies for being late.” Rowan stood tall. I was proud of her.

  “I doona recall inviting you at all,” Gwydion said. Today, the master enchanter was garbed in a white robe sashed in blue.

  “Nope,” she agreed cheerfully. “I invited myself. If there’s a prophecy in play, and it involves me and Bjorn, we need to be here. Don’t you agree?”

  Gwydion didn’t answer.

  Odin let his gaze rest on those seated around his table, moving from one to the next.

  “At least ye’re not squabbling like a pack of hyenas,” Dewi told them. “’Tis an improvement over when I left.”

  “’Tis as much your fault as anyone’s,” Thor thundered. His hammer was strapped across his back, and he wore the same type of leather jerkin as his father. Fair hair fell down his chest, and huge hands with thick fingers splayed in front of him.

  Odin thumped a fist on the table. “Not productive. We canna go backward. Aye, we have a Dragon Heir in our midst. Our august companions missed that pithy item for a few years, but we’ve had well over a century, and we dinna figure out who she was, either.”

  He rose slowly to his feet. Crap, he was huge. And imposing with his single eye that happened to be focused on me. Should I offer to leave? Still in my pocket, the dragonstone pulsed encouragingly. I wished the damn thing could talk. Was it pushing me to depart? Or to remain.

  Slow, lazy, as if he had infinite time, Odin’s magic began at the top of my head and tracked to my feet and then back again. The desire to erect a protective ward was strong, but I probably couldn’t block him. And any efforts along those lines would piss him off. I felt marked, somehow. It was confusing, but I’d sort it later.

  He nodded and blew out a long breath. “’Tisn’t just the Dragon Heir’s recently claimed power in play,” he announced to the group. “Bjorn Nighthorse, our primary sorcerer, has been so effective because he is a Dragon Mage. I’ve known about him forever, but he seemed to have found a niche that fit his talents, so I never worried how best to deploy his ability.”

  My eyes widened; I fell back a step. “What the hell is that?” I ground out. Despite all my reading and study, I’d never come across such a term. Before Odin could answer, I blundered on. “You’re mistaken. It’s impossible. My da was a tradesman, my mum a seamstress.”

  “They’re who raised you,” Hel agreed from her spot on Odin’s left. “But they dinna birth you.” Black hair fell around her shoulders. Wrapped in skins that covered most of the exposed bones in her body, she offered the closest she ever came to an encouraging smile.

  Rowan gripped my forearm. “Steady,” she hissed.

  I wasn’t having any of it. Except Odin’s words held the stink of truth. And I’d always thought it odd how little magic my parents commanded. Not odd enough to mine for details though.

  In that moment, I understood I’d been afraid of what I’d find.

  Chapter Nine, Rowan

  I did my best to infuse confidence into Bjorn. Odin’s revelation had shaken him to his bootstraps. Never mind I had no fucking idea what a Dragon Mage was. One thing was certain, though, something about the Dragon Heir-Dragon Mage combo packed a hell of a one-two magical wallop.

  Were we the first? Had there been other Mages who’d teamed up with the Norse version of me? I kept my mouth shut and my questions shuttered. Bjorn needed to take the lead here, not me.

  “What in the unholy hell is a Dragon Mage?” Andraste growled. Tall. Blonde. Broad-shouldered. She was garbed in buttery-soft tan leather with a bow strapped across her back. “Is anyone going to answer me?” She narrowed her green eyes and surged to her feet.

  I remembered the goddess of war all too well. She’d kicked me out of her way a time or two, as if I’d been an errant mongrel. Anger surged. “Now you want answers?” I skewered her with my gaze and held tight. “After pretending I didn’t exist for sixteen years.”

  “Pfft. Blame your mum for that. We followed her lead. Besides, ’tisn’t answers about you I’m after.”

  “Stop discounting my existence. No matter what Ceridwen may have said or not said, are you incapable of thinking for yourself? Mother’s example doesn’t excuse your actions.” I resisted an urge to hustle to where she stood and punch her dead center in her patronizing face.

  A thread of fire ran in front of me with another near enough Andraste to make her hair smoke. “Stand down!” Dewi shouted. “We have bigger problems than your hurt feelings.”

  More fire arced in front of me. Why wasn’t the floor burning?

  Arawn pushed to his feet too and turned until he looked both Bjorn and me square in the eyes. “I would know more about Bjorn Nighthorse as well. I am widely read, unlike others within my kinship circle”—he sent a pointed glance at Andraste—“and such a term has never crossed my path. I’d have remembered if it did.”

  Odin rose from his spot at the head of the table and strode to the dragons. “Nidhogg?”

  The Norse dragon lowered his head until it was nearly level with Odin’s. “What?” His golden scales took on more of a burnished copper tone in the muted light filtering through dirty windows. Keeping things clean had been relatively high on the Celts’ list. Never cost them much since they employed magic to tidy up. Apparently, the Norse deities didn’t share a need for sparkling windows, clean floors, or dust-free surfaces.

  My mind was skittering off on tangents to avoid the sparks flying between Odin and the dragon lord.

  “This is your tale to tell,” Odin announced. After a quick glance over one shoulder at Arawn and Andraste, he snarled, “Sit down.”

  Color me surprised when they complied. I’d expected them to ignore him—or teleport out of the room.

  Nidhogg raised one scaled brow, and his eyes whirled faster. “Ye’re who blabbed,” he observed.

  “’Twas long past time for him to know,” Odin countered.

  “If the him is me”—Bjorn shook me off and stalked nearer the group—“I agree. I don’t give two fucks about who tells me, but one of you will before I leave this room.”

  “Watch yourself.” Odin transferred his one-eyed stare to Bjorn.

  He rolled his shoulders taller and stared back. “Why should I? If this long-buried secret concerned you, you’d want to know about it.”

  “That’s different,” Odin sputtered.

  “Nay, ’tisn’t.” Bjorn switched to Old Norse, perhaps to make a point.

  Long moments ticked past. Magic thickened in the room, some protective, some aimed at ferreting out secrets. Hel flowed to her feet, and she walked heavily around the table. I remembered reading somewhere her mother had been a giant, and she stood somewhat taller than Odin, although not nearly so broad.

  One of her eyes gleamed red, and truth shimmered about her in a misty cloud. “Shall it be ye or me?” she asked Nidhogg. “We knew a time would come when we could no longer hold our knowledge secret.”

  “Ye may have known,” the dragon said amid smoke and ash. “I hoped that particular bit of divination would never come to pass.”

  Glancing from one to the other, suspicions formed, but I kept my mouth shut. Right now, no one was focused on me, and I rather liked it that way.

  Hel set her mouth in a grim line; the exposed bones in half her face lent her expression a forbidding aspect. “For the Celts who may not be well-versed in our legends, I am Hel. I rule over both Niflheim and Hel, our realm of the dead.

  “Once I walked these halls, but my kinsmen”—she spread her arms wide and a bitter laugh bubbled from her
—“dinna care for how I looked. ’Twas how I ended up tending the souls who dinna die courageously in battle.”

  “Ye could have remained,” Odin growled.

  “Your memory is short,” she retorted. “Ye’re who banished me.”

  He glared at her but didn’t contradict her statement.

  “Shall I continue?” She arched both black brows, but she wasn’t asking a question. Not really. I had a feeling Hel did what she wanted, perhaps a byproduct of being fathered by Loki, the original my-way-or-the-highway god.

  “Nay. Since ye’re determined, I shall pick up our story.” Nidhogg pushed around Odin and shuffled to where Hel stood. “I visited Niflheim on many occasions. Hel and I grew…close.”

  “Ye were there because I called off the serpents and allowed you blood from the murderers and thieves in my care,” Hel noted in dulcet tones.

  Nidhogg held out a foreleg. Hel reached up to clasp it. “At first, aye,” he agreed, “but after a while, my visits were because of you.”

  Her harsh expression softened, and I looked away. Whatever passed between the two of them felt personal, private. I shouldn’t even be here to witness it, yet I was but one of many. Every eye in the large room was on Hel and the dragon. The din of side conversations had died away.

  “I was lonely,” Hel went on despite Nidhogg’s pronouncement he would be the one to tell their story. “One day—”

  “Aye, and I recall it verra well,” the dragon rumbled.

  “One day,” she went on, “I borrowed liberally from my father’s magic and tricked you. We dinna mate. Such is forbidden, but I cast a spell and took your seed—”

  “Are ye trying to tell me ye’re my mother?” Bjorn’s voice cracked. He couldn’t have looked more flummoxed if a meteor had flamed to life in a corner of the room.

  Hel nodded. “At first, I planned to keep you, raise you, but ’twasn’t a fit place for a child.”

  “Why do I remember nothing?” Bjorn demanded.

  I started to go to him but changed my mind. We weren’t that close—not really—and he’d just been handed a bigger chunk of dead sea fruit to absorb than my whole Dragon Heir thing.