by Ann Gimpel
* * *
I’m being pulled nine ways at once. Brand new mating. Brand new pregnancy. Stronger magic than I’m used to. The Nine Worlds are failing. Rot that began on Earth has spread to Vanaheim. Odin knows more than he’s telling us, and no one has any interest in working together.
The only thing everyone has in common is a sudden, weird fascination with my baby. The dragons want him raised on Fire Mountain. The Celts want us in Inverlochy Castle with them. Hel hasn’t weighed in, but I bet she’d like to see her grandson in Niflheim where she can dandle him on her knees every day.
If it weren’t for the catastrophe looming over our heads, Bjorn and I would escape to a distant borderworld and never look back. It’s always an option. Good to preserve as many of those as possible
Keep your fingers crossed for us. And our son. See you on the other side.
Dragon’s Heir, Chapter One, Rowan
Odin’s gallery in Valhalla was filled to overflowing with delegates from eight of the Nine Norse Worlds. Hel was there representing her realms of the dead and Niflheim. An outraged contingent of frost giants had also staked a claim to Niflheim as their domain. A predictable scuffle ensued that had shifted from curses to the ring of steel on steel. One of Hel’s serpents was with her, and its forked tongue lashed in and out, spraying poison at the giants.
Odin crashed a fist down on the scarred wooden table that ran the length of the messy hall. The place had clearly seen better days, and it didn’t appear anyone ever cleaned it.
“’Tis not why we are here,” he thundered and skewered Hel and three frost giants with his single fog-colored eye. His dark hair was in its customary braids and spilled down his back in many small plaits tied off with colorful bits of leather.
I’d never seen frost giants before, but I understood why they’d been named. Icicles clung to their whiskers and dripped down their chests. They wore skins, carried clubs and flails in addition to swords, and looked rather like my idea of caveman warriors. Big ones, though. Humanity’s predecessors had been tiny by Norse standards.
The remainder of the room’s occupants were interesting as well. I’d never laid eyes on a living dwarf, either, but I had seen the occasional elf.
Hel bowed in Odin’s direction. “I hear and obey, my liege.” Her huge, black cobra-esque snake slithered to her side and wound around her ankles much like a cat would have.
“Better.” Odin still sounded grumpy. “I’ll bring the Hunt in to establish order if I have to.”
“We doona want them here,” an elf shouted. Raspberry hair fell to his feet, and his gossamer wings were decorated with glittery patterns.
“No one does,” Hel told the elf, “which is precisely why Odin threatened us with their presence.”
“Ye concede Niflheim to us?” one of the frost giants boomed.
“Nay, I doona.” Hel’s response was acid enough to curdle milk.
Both Odin’s ravens took to the air, cawing as they circled the giants. “I said this topic is closed,” Odin’s voice was level and even—for once. “If ye canna comply, ye must leave. If ye do, ye will still be bound by today’s decisions even though ye had no say in them.”
Amid grumbling, the frost giants sheathed their weapons and lumbered to the edges of the hall. It’s ceiling was at least four meters tall and supported by rough-hewn beams.
Odin took a slug from one of the twin drinking horns draped around his neck. Thor sat to his left. Other Norse gods were arrayed around the table. No one had bothered with introductions after learning my name, probably because I was the only one there who didn’t know everyone.
Zelli, the copper-scaled dragon I’m bonded to—my right as a Dragon Heir—stood behind me. Dewi, the blood-red Celtic dragon god, was next to her. I felt the occasional flare of magic between them, and was certain they were chatting up a storm about me and my unexpected turn of events.
I quashed a mental wince. Even within my thoughts, I was so conflicted I was having a hell of a hard time saying the word pregnant. I’d done what I usually do when I feel overwhelmed: push the whole mess aside with promises to think about it later.
Not that I didn’t have some time. At least I figured I did. I’m part Celtic god and part dragon. Bjorn Nighthorse is sitting next to me. He’s my mate. Delight and pride and determination have practically oozed from him since the dragons sensed a hatchling within me. Bjorn carries Norse and dragon blood. I have no flipping idea what this baby will be. I mean, it will look human—probably—but the little creature will be magic incarnate.
We’ll probably have to ward the nursery to keep him contained.
I should be paying attention to the meeting, but Odin hadn’t said much after censuring Hel and the frost giants. Ha! Of course, I wasn’t focused. How could I be? I had so many questions. How long would I be pregnant? Would it be the normal nine months? Or some other variable? Dragons laid eggs. If I remembered right, it took them something like two years to hatch.
Sooooo, splitting the difference meant I had roughly sixteen months before the birth. Or maybe I only had nine. Or perhaps even less. Magical children have their own timetables. I chewed on my lower lip. Less was unacceptable. I had so much to do even eating and sleeping felt like luxuries.
Speaking of dragons, Quade is bonded to Bjorn. I neglected to mention him, but he’s huge and black and part of the dragon gabfest unfolding behind me. Probably, they didn’t see any reason to focus on Odin, either. So far, all he’d done was act as a referee. After a couple more transits of the hall, the ravens returned to his shoulders.
Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory, were beautiful birds. Twice as large as normal ravens, their black feathers glistened, and their dark eyes shone with sharp intelligence. If legends were true, they flew the length and breadth of the Nine Worlds acting as Odin’s spies and feeding him knowledge as they gleaned it.
“Why is no one from Midgard here?” one of the Norse women asked. Golden hair swept back from her high forehead and cascaded to the floor around her chair. Her eyes were the color of polished amethyst.
Thor shot her an annoyed look, but she faced off against him and turned her hands palms up. “Midgard is the focal point of the current attack. It’s turned into a wasteland. I assumed mortals would care about their fate, but apparently not.” An eloquent shrug held a “let them eat cake” flavor.
It annoyed me enough, I spoke up. “Humans didn’t believe in magic. Now they’re scared shitless of it. Do you blame them? From where they sit—or cower in ruins, more accurately—magic broke their world. Nothing is left of their old way of life.”
“Aye?” The unknown Norsewoman raised a golden brow.
An idea flashed through me. “I can secure a representative from Midgard. Probably two or three. They’re not mortals, but witches. Would that be good enough?”
Breath whistled through the woman’s teeth. “I suppose ’tis better than naught.”
I stood, preparing to leave, when Bjorn jumped to his feet. “You’re not going alone,” he said.
I twisted to stare at him. “Don’t be silly. I’ll return before you know it.”
He stared back. “How were you planning to transport the witches?”
It was a decent question. One I should have an answer for, except I didn’t. While I can teleport, witches can’t. “Uh, Bifrost?”
“Which is why you need me. The rainbow bridge barely tolerates your presence.”
I bristled. Granted, my first encounter with the bridge hadn’t been pretty, but it had been resolved courtesy of Zelli’s intervention.
“No one leaves,” Odin bellowed. “Not until we have crafted first steps to deal with the dark magic flowing unimpeded into Midgard. I’ve taken care of the witch problem. ’Tis well in hand.”
The back of the meeting hall grew indistinct, fluid, and shiny with reds and golds. When they cleared, Nidhogg stepped through a portal. The Norse dragon is pure gold with silvery green whirling eyes. A smaller blue dragon named Ysien followed him into Odin’s
halls.
The gigantic room was beginning to feel crowded with five dragons and a bevy of Norse gods.
“I heard that last part,” Nidhogg rumbled. “I agree with including a witch or two. Eyes on the ground and all that.”
Speaking of eyes, I resisted rolling mine. It always slays me when ancient creatures who’ve been around since the dawn of time spout modern jargon.
I expected the portal to wink out. Instead, it glowed brighter. Patrick and Hilda tumbled through looking frightened out of their wits. I was already on my feet and I sprinted to them. “It’s all right,” I shouted to get through to them.
Both witches zeroed in on me. Patrick’s harsh expression softened, and the taut set to Hilda’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “You brought us here?” he asked.
“Nope. It was Nidhogg. I don’t command that kind of power.” Reaching out a hand, I hauled Hilda to her feet first, and then Patrick. He’s short with thinning blond hair and blue eyes. Patched breeks came to knee level, and he wore a plaid woolen shirt. His feet were bare and dirty, which suggested he’d been working in the garden when Nidhogg’s magic caught him up.
Hilda is even shorter than Patrick with steel-gray hair that she keeps cut short. Her blue eyes hold a violet cast that’s always reminded me of a field of lupine. A navy blue denim skirt covered her legs and she wore a sleeveless red sweatshirt. Like Patrick, her bare feet were covered with dirt.
“Crap.” I shook my head. “The others will be frantic. They must have seen you disappear.” The spell I’d started jumped to my call. I’d teleport to the ruins of Inverlochy Castle and reassure everyone.
“I’ll take care of it,” Ysien said and vanished.
Eyeing the spot he’d stood, I muttered. “Maybe not the best idea.” Ysien was far from diplomatic, and I could see him scaring the witches worse than they already were.
“It will be fine.” Nidhogg turned his swirling gaze my way. “I instructed him to be gentle.”
Gentle and Ysien didn’t belong in the same sentence, but I kept my mouth shut and rode herd on my need to control everything. It’s always been one of my stumbling blocks.
“Why are we here?” Patrick asked.
“Ye have become the official representatives for Midgard.” Odin sounded as friendly as a cornered wolf. “And now the Nine Worlds are complete within these halls, we can begin. And we shall.”
“Official representatives to do what?” Hilda tipped her chin up.
I was proud of her. She had to be stunned by the sheer volume of power canting around the room.
“Why, speak with Midgard’s inhabitants. What else?” the blonde goddess said. “Tell them they must help.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I told Hilda and Patrick. Mostly, I wanted Odin to get on with things. In the grand scheme of how badly Midgard—Earth—was broken, I didn’t see mortals as playing any role at all.
Ysien shimmered back into view and the silvery gateway swooshed shut behind him. I wanted to grill him, demand a blow-by-blow account of his time with the witches, but I’d never get it.
I was used to the way the Celtic gods did things. Most of them hated meetings of any kind, so when they all gathered, it was always short and sweet. Didn’t take me long to figure out the Norse pantheon loved to hear themselves talk. The blonde goddess turned out to be Freya. I listened through a long-winded rendition from her of her last few scrying episodes.
Thor and the giants had been reminiscing about a hunting expedition for some mythical beast whose name I couldn’t pronounce when Odin’s shrill whistle brought their discussion to a halt. It must have signaled someone in the wings because platters of food materialized, carried in by dead warriors.
Many of them stayed and broke bread with us.
I admit I was hungry—feeding two and all that—but I was also frustrated. Not trusting telepathy not to be intercepted, I placed my mouth near Bjorn’s ear and murmured, “How much longer.”
A slight shrug told me he had no idea.
Patrick and Hilda sat at a small table off to one side, eating. So far, other than Odin’s statement about all the worlds being represented, I couldn’t see any reason to have disturbed their day.
Time passed. Quite a bit as the platters emptied.
“We have come to consensus,” Odin bellowed.
My eyes widened. We had? I didn’t recall any discussion at all—not about anything relevant.
“We will begin with the outer borderworlds and repair the damage to the barrier that keeps them separate from all other worlds.”
Talk about a long game approach. I nudged Bjorn. He shook his head very slightly, which was a warning for me to shut up. Meh. I’ve never been good with warnings or instructions.
I shot to my feet, unsure if I should raise my hand, or wait for Odin to acknowledge me, or just start talking. He didn’t so much as look my way as he rattled off assignments for a couple of groups to assess what needed shoring up. The away teams—for want of a better tag—were heavy on dwarves and elves.
I was done being quiet. “Excuse me,” I began. “Before you deploy dwarves anywhere, the last batch of evil we battled on Midgard included dwarves. There were also dead sprites, a dead worm-like monster, and huge bats.”
I may as well have announced Odin’s mother fucked donkeys. Every scrap of chatter died away. Every eye skewered me.
“Not possible.” A dwarf drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much more than a meter. “Ye should be flogged for spreading lies.” He was garbed in dark brown leather pants and a leather vest. His chest was bare beneath the vest. White hair fluffed around his head, and his eyes glittered like cut sapphires.
Bjorn stood next to me and bowed to the dwarf. “Well met, Gramoli.”
“Master sorcerer.” Gramoli bowed stiffly back.
Bjorn circled the table until he stood next to the dwarf. “Please,” he invited, “cast a truth net.”
“Ye’ve never given me reason to doubt you,” Gramoli muttered.
“Then you will hear me when I say Rowan speaks true. I saw dead dwarves with my own eyes. At least four. They were part of the enemy who attacked witches living in the Celts’ old stronghold beneath Ben Nevis.”
“Has darkness invaded Svartalfheim?” Odin cried.
Gramoli turned to face Odin and bowed so low, his white beard touched the ground. When he straightened he said, “Not that we ken, my liege.”
Bjorn inclined his head toward Odin. “As you well know, much of the surface of Svartalfheim is uninhabited, sire. The dwarves dwell in caves.”
“I see the problem,” Odin muttered. He extended an arm, index finger extended at Gramoli’s chest. “When ye return, ye will cease mining for however long it takes to do a thorough search for wickedness that may have invaded your world.”
“Aye, sire. And if we find aught that doesna belong, we shall kill it.”
The ravens must have approved because they broke into a stream of cawing. Odin batted them off his shoulders, and they flew around the room.
“We are done for today,” Odin announced.
“No. We are not.” I projected my voice, to make certain I didn’t miss anyone.
He pushed heavily to his feet. “Ye’re more trouble than that slutty mother of yours. What is it this time?”
I rolled my shoulders back and stood tall, facing him. Odin didn’t scare me. Maybe he should, but he didn’t. Ever since I’d outfoxed his Wild Hunt, I’d grown cocky. “While I agree with shutting off the gates at the far end so no more evil can enter Earth, uh Midgard, it will take a long time. Months, if not years. Meanwhile, Midgard may well crumple under the strain. You overfly it with your Riders.”
I stopped to take a breath. “You’ve seen how bad things are. How mortals have barricaded themselves into rubble piles. They’re starving to death, just like the witches were before we found food in Inverlochy Castle and began growing crops to take up the slack.”
Odin bared his teeth at me. “Next, ye’ll be
asking me to provide handouts, set up a welfare system for the poor mortals who were nearly the death of Midgard even afore the Breaking.”
I winced. What he said was true. Humans were a bunch of shortsighted fuckers who’d been intent on draining Earth down to fumes if there was a buck to be made.
“That world is gone,” I said. “Long gone. We have to deal with what’s left.”
“Deal with it, how?” He made hurry-up motions with one huge hand. Damn he was big.
“First off, we must create a permanent seal for the Breaking site. Bjorn and I worked out a stopgap—”
“It’s gone by now,” Bjorn cut in. “Never was meant to last.” He strode back around the table until he stood next to me again.
I nodded. “Once we have a permanent fix that will shutter the Breaking site, we can deal with whatever has already beaten its way through.”
I was on a roll, and I kept going. I was afraid if I stopped, Odin might order me from his halls. “The way I see it,” I went on, “is a three-pronged approach. Your outer borderworlds barricade plus plugging the Breaking site and doing a search and destroy for remaining evil.”
Dusting my hands together, I smiled at him to forestall the predictable: him calling me an upstart bitch and ignoring everything I’d lined out. He narrowed his eye at me. One of the ravens circled back, chittering double speed.
Odin’s expression shifted, developed an appraising aspect. Magic prickled as the smell of the sea thickened around me. Too late to ward myself. What the fuck was Odin about? I wasn’t especially worried. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunity, but Bjorn apparently didn’t share my sanguine assessment.
He raised a hand. Power shot from it forming a noose around the flow of Odin’s magic. “Leave her be. She is mine.”
I wanted to drop my head in my hands. “For the love of all that’s holy,” I shouted. “Both of you, stop. Odin’s not going to hurt me, and I don’t require a knight protector.”
“Smart wench,” Odin offered as close to a smile as he ever came. “Pregnant wench. May I offer my congratulations.”
