Realm of Fate

by Kelly N. Jane

  “He’d better be all right,” Selby mumbled as they continued forward.

  Jorg hurried down the steps after Bremen. He and Galwain hadn’t stopped when the others did, so they were out of sight though they could hear Bremen’s boots as they thudded against the stone.

  “This way.” Bakkan gestured to a wall of arches when they’d all reached the bottom of the tower.

  Following his red hair into the large darkened area, their pace slowed. Ten steps later, sconces flared to life around the space. Firelight bathed the grand room in an orange glow and revealed a dais along the front wall. High above the floor, sitting in a lavishly carved throne, was Jarrick.

  The group halted. The warriors formed a semicircle with Galwain at their backs. Weapons at the ready, they faced the dark elf.

  “Hello again,” Jarrick said. His voice carried through the room and echoed off the smooth black tiles glittering with flame. “Bakkan, can I assume you are not escorting my prisoners back? Has my brother chosen an ill-advised attempt to involve himself in my affairs?”

  Bakkan bowed at the shoulders without releasing his stare. “He is outside, Your Highness. If you’ll allow me, I’ll finish my duties here and ask him to join you.”

  Jorg let his eyes flutter in a slow, exasperated blink at the chivalrous behavior. Jarrick didn’t deserve such respect. His grip tightened on the carved handle of the dagger, and the ivy design sank into his palm.

  “That won’t be necessary. No one is leaving,” Jarrick said as he rose to his feet. With slow, measured steps he descended the dais and sauntered toward them. His posture was tall and strong as always, but there was a hint of something else.

  Agitation and wariness etched his face. Jorg watched as he scanned the group in a heartbeat and clamped his mouth tight.

  “Where is she?” Jarrick directed the question to Jorg.

  “Gone.” Jorg saw no reason to give any details. He knew his father meant Ingrid, and Jarrick knew why she’d have left.

  With a deep inhale, Jarrick closed his eyes with what appeared to be an attempt to calm himself. When he returned his stare to the group, his eyes glinted as black as the stone encasing the room.

  “She knew the consequences. I wouldn’t have guessed her to show such disregard.”

  Jarrick stretched his fingers, and the crackle of magic sizzled into the air.

  42

  Ingrid

  Ingrid rushed out the main doors to the castle and stumbled as she jerked to a stop. Chaos had erupted. Guards in Thelonius’s colors fought against massive ruvars. Growls and snarls, from both elf and beast, tore through the air. As she stood frozen, absorbing the scene, part of her relished the awe. It was a battle unlike any she’d witnessed.

  In her world, there was a uniqueness in Jorg’s speed and grace, but in this realm, bodies blurred into a mass of living tissue—one being, breathing and killing. It was music and poetry come alive in a fabulously terrifying way.

  When she remembered to breathe, the other reality in front of her settled. Despite the speed and skill of the elven warriors, the ruvars had the upper hand. They would win. Their size and mindless vengeance powered forward without mercy.

  Could she help? She’d accidentally slammed a dragon out of the skies once. Would she be able to send the ruvars into the trees of the forest that surrounded the castle?

  Before she could decide, another sight tore all thought from her mind. A single combatant withdrew from the others and loped in her direction. Plintze! She hadn’t known he’d come with the others. Something inside her cracked.

  The sight of the dwarf who’d once saved her from a dragon, rushing forward to save her again made tears flow down her cheeks. She did nothing to stop them as she hurried down the steps to meet him.

  As they neared each other, Ingrid stretched out her hand, intending to wrap it around Plintze, but instead he grabbed it. He twisted mid-stride and rushed them away from the battle. They headed for the trees, and the dwarf surprised her once more with his agility as she fought to keep her feet under her.

  Standing between two overlapping pine branches, Ingrid saw Vimala. Her glowing white body a beacon against the darkness of the forest. She tapped the ground with her front hoof and shook her mane. The silver horn sparking an echo of light as it moved.

  “Hurry, that dragon is here,” Plintze said, his chest heaving from exertion.

  “Thank you.” The words came out in a squeak as Ingrid’s throat clogged with emotion.

  Plintze squeezed her hand between both of his, eyes glistening with emotions. Then he released her and disappeared back to the fighting.

  Come, Ingrid, we must go!

  Snapped back to the present, she hurried to the unicorn. As a shriek boomed through the skies like thunder. Ingrid pumped her legs harder and threw her arms over her head, for all the good that would do. Voxx’s shadow blanketed the sky overhead.

  Drop to the ground, Ingrid! Vimala’s words rang into Ingrid’s mind.

  She didn’t hesitate and let herself drop into the snow. The dragon’s claws ruffled the back of her tunic, barely missing her. When the shadow passed, Ingrid jumped to her feet and sprinted once more for Vimala.

  She peeked into the skies and watched as Voxx curled around like a snake, ready for another strike. The dragon had eyes only for Ingrid. She was not out to stop the battle, but to destroy Ingrid.

  Within five strides of Vimala, sulfur and blistering heat crackled into the air. Ingrid screamed as she slipped on the icy surface, stumbling and costing precious time.

  I won’t make it!

  Vimala left the cover of the trees to meet Ingrid just as a gale of wind whipped the snow into a fury. The unicorn arrived an instant before the visibility became impossible. Grabbing mane, Ingrid hoisted herself atop Vimala, and they bolted at breakneck speed into the forest.

  Twisting to see over her shoulder, Ingrid saw Aguane hovering in the air, eyes a blinding silver. Voxx’s fire beat against a thick wall of ice held in place by the sylph. A sigh of relief escaped her chest, both because she’d made it into the cover of the dark forest and because Aguane appeared to be whole again.

  The feeling immediately turned cold when she realized she should have known Urkon couldn’t destroy the sylph. She’d made a poor decision. That was something she could no longer afford to do.

  Gliding over the forest floor, trees blurred by like a crowd of shadowed onlookers lined up to bid her farewell. Her battle wouldn’t be for gold or gems; it would be for realms and redemption.

  Will you take me through the Grimnir? The thought occurred to her that, even though she trusted the unicorn implicitly, she didn’t know where they headed.

  No, dear one. I must leave you at the entrance. You must face the passage alone to prove yourself strong enough to cross the realms.

  What? The book had told her no such thing. How would she prove herself? What did that even mean? Before she could voice her questions and concerns, Vimala slowed to walk, then stopped.

  Ingrid felt her eyes grow wide. The page she’d seen in the book came alive in front of her. An arch of black branches, crusted and old with ragged thorns and twisted limbs, loomed. Only the opening was clearly visible, and beyond the first few feet, a mist shrouded the pathway. It was eerie and dense and cloaked in secrets.

  Ingrid wasn’t ready. Entering such a place alone and unarmed, made her resolve drain down her body and leak out the bottom of her feet. One roughly carved dagger still clung under her tunic at the base of her neck, but it would be no better than a child’s toy pitted against the monstrous task before her.

  You are stronger than you understand. Within yourself is all the power you need to face any fear. Stay focused on what you must accomplish. It will guide you to your destination.

  With shaking limbs, Ingrid slid from Vimala’s back. Her veins felt like they’d turned to tunnels of ants racing under her skin as every part of her shuddered. Rooted to the ground, she stared.

  Vimala must have
moved, but Ingrid hadn’t noticed. A soft muzzle nudged her in the back, and hot breath like a kiss of confidence tickled her neck. Before she realized it, she’d stepped closer. With a start, she realized she hadn’t thanked the unicorn or said goodbye. Twisting around, she glimpsed a sparkling white feathered tail as it disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

  Alone, Ingrid turned back to the archway. Dim light emanated a slight glow in the mist from some far-off place just enough to see the path. She set her shoulders, swallowed hard, and strode forward.

  43

  Ingrid

  The forest had been damp and cold. The kind that could seep into bones and no fire could thaw. As soon as Ingrid stepped under the arched branches, the misty swirls encircled her. She shivered so deep in her core she thought she’d turned to ice. Two steps onto the path, she peeked behind her and only saw a wall of white. In front of her, the mist parted to view the next few steps as she moved forward, but no farther.

  Gingerly, she crept, one step after another. The surrounding branches rustled. Not from wind, but as if giant raven’s wings had created the path rather than twigs and thorns. Then, somewhere in the distance, Ingrid heard a voice. Small and tentative, it called to her. She drew in a breath and held it, listening, waiting, but there was nothing.

  Two more shaky steps, another held breath. Had she imagined the sound? Chiding herself, she clenched and unclenched her fists. There wasn’t any time to waste. Her friends, the king, everyone battled while she dawdled. The Yggdrasil tree and the fate of the realms were at the end of this path.

  Then she heard it again. This time, she recognized the voice. Even though she knew it couldn’t be real, her heart skipped a beat. Her mother’s voice seeped through her resolve, and she gasped. Her name echoed around her, razor sharp, and it sliced her heart.

  A figure stepped out onto the path ahead of her. Ingrid peered through the mist. Golden hair flowed in a breeze that didn’t exist as her mother smiled at her. The air was still, stagnate, and it confused her as she looked on—but none of that mattered. Her lungs turned to mud and her feet to stone. She wanted to run, to fold herself into her mother’s arms. Willing herself to move, she closed the gap, inch by inch.

  The woman smiled such a warm, inviting smile with the same turquoise eyes as her own. Perhaps it was her mother? She was also a descendant of Freya. Had she come to help? Ingrid reached out, her fingers splayed open. Her mother’s smile suddenly grew cruel, and her eyes darkened to black pits. A vetter cackled in her place.

  A scream stuck in Ingrid’s throat and choked her as she jerked her hand back to her chest. Stumbling backward, Ingrid tripped over a raised tree root. The branches closed in to trap her as the vetter edged closer. The witch’s mouth open in a twisted, wicked grin, showing pointed teeth as if they’d been sharpened with a file.

  Twigs slapped at Ingrid’s arms. Her tunic tore where thorns sliced at her skin. She fought to free herself and run, but she tangled within the vines. Stuck in a vice-like grip, Ingrid’s feet rose into the air, and warm breath scraped against her neck. Sulfur mixed with body odor shrouded her senses. Not a branch, but a muscled arm covered in scales locked her in place.

  Ingrid froze like a deer in the woods waiting for the arrow. She forced herself to concentrate. Beyond the mist, through the passage, she had a purpose.

  Face my fears. This isn’t real.

  How could she do that? Ingrid’s chest heaved as she stared ahead into the unknown. Fear gripped her by the throat. Had she truly ever helped anyone?

  Like specters rising from the grave to reach out for her, images assaulted her mind—her unconscious brother on the moors, Jorg’s side impaled by a spike, Lazuli’s severed wings fluttering to the ground, Selby hanging limply on a dungeon wall.

  She’d caused pain to so many. When would it stop? Every time she charged forward to prove herself, someone she loved paid the price. When she’d chosen to come with Jarrick, she’d left those in the courtyard to burn in dragon’s fire. Was that what she’d done again? Would the ruvars kill the king and allow Jarrick to rise in his place? Did her friends travel through the realms only to die after all?

  No! Imagined fears were worse than real fears. Creating scenarios in which she failed only paralyzed her from moving forward. There wasn’t any way to know for sure what would happen. The risks to herself, her loved ones, and the realms were real, but doing nothing only insured success for her enemy.

  Ingrid slid her foot forward. The arm locked around her fell away. She couldn’t control the actions of others. Another heavy step. Pain was part of life. Her shoulders lightened, and she moved ahead another stride. One foot, then the other, she kept moving forward.

  Hope swelled inside her like a beacon. It wasn’t skill or cunning or chance that would keep her safe. She was the healer born of Freya. It was the confidence to believe in the truth of her task that would bring her success whether or not she could envision the outcome.

  Ingrid inhaled. Acceptance bolstered her resolve, and she strode forward. No longer hesitant, her destiny lay at the end of the passage. Whatever happened next, she’d face it and know she’d given everything she could.

  The tunnel illuminated, the mist giving way to a shock of blinding light. Ingrid shielded her eyes but didn’t stop. The outline of something shone ahead. What was it?

  The end of the tunnel!

  She sprinted and fell to her knees in delight when the path spilled her out into an expanse of green grass.

  Water bubbled as it flowed over rocks into a deep pool on her left. A stag, majestic and proud, watched from her right. But ahead, reaching higher than she could see, and larger around than a hundred arm spans, was the Yggdrasil tree. She’d made it.

  Ingrid rose to her feet. Peace embraced her and soothed her heart like chamomile and honey. With a smile, soft and sure, she glided forward and placed her hand on the smooth bark. Vitality pulsed under her palm. With her other hand, she lifted the runes and the bead over her head. She slid to her knees, sitting on her heels.

  Spilling the smooth gray stones onto the ground, the etched lines facing up, she read them out loud. “Othala and Thurisaz. Home and protection.” They represented everything that mattered.

  The bead hummed and grew brighter. The amber light swelled until it encompassed Ingrid within its glow. She reached out and pressed it against the tree, covering one hand over the other. With her eyes closed, she watched the golden thread of her magic sway as if in a dance.

  Returning to its life-giving sap from within the tree, the amber mixed with the gold, boundaries forgotten as each swirled together. Then other threads appeared; brighter and stronger. The loose ends of the spell created by Freya and Odin.

  Her power swelled. Ingrid embraced the ebb and flow as the threads blended with the power of the Yggdrasil. The spell held the power of protection, and the tree held the power of life. Ingrid floated in the space between.

  She took hold of one frayed cord, gently wrapping her fingers around the magic. Then she reached for the other. A jolt shocked her body, painful yet gratifying. As she held the golden ribbons, they pulsed like a heartbeat. When she brought the two close, power surged through her.

  Light flashed, her body melted. She gasped but did not let go. The threads of the spell stretched and extended into Ingrid’s chest, twisting over her magic and weaving together in an unbreakable cord that was no longer distinguishable separately.

  Like bringing an anchor up from the bottom of the river, Ingrid’s thread rolled out from her body and restored the circle between the others. Lightning crackled, sizzling through Ingrid, then cooled. When the bond completed, she let go and floated in the amber sea—at peace. Her destiny complete.

  The realms would survive. As if to offer proof, a vision opened before her. Children laughed and played along the shores of a river. Hammers thrummed with steady beats as buildings grew. Two men helped hoist a beam high into the air and set it in place, forming a section of the roof on a new longhou
se.

  It was Klaus and Hagen, Ingrid’s father and brother, smiling and slapping each other on the back as they built their new lives. A new village would grow and thrive. They would continue their lives in freedom.

  When the vision ended, Ingrid rested.

  44

  Jorg

  Jorg stared at Jarrick, watching the magic rise from his fingers and roll between them like an eel swimming in the shallows. He looked to his right, then to his left. There were eight of them, but he knew they were no match for Jarrick and his magic.

  “You’re bothered that Ingrid didn’t stay? She’s defied you, I understand that, but it’s more. You thought she wanted the same things as you.” He’d said he wanted a relationship with Jorg, to build that father-son bond. Perhaps, in his twisted way, he’d tried to replace that sentiment with Ingrid. “Father . . . I can call you that right?” Jorg asked.

  “At one point, nothing would have made me happier,” Jarrick said with a sigh.

  “I’m willing to try if you are.” Jorg shifted on his feet and peeked over his shoulder at Galwain. Was it worth it to let her know what kind of family had raised him? Besides, was it that bad? It wasn’t, not really. Right then, however, it was about saving lives and nothing more.

  “A father and son relationship is special,” Jarrick said, stepping closer to the group. The elves on either side of Jorg raised their weapons and prepared to attack.

  Jorg hurried forward and met Jarrick face to face. He wanted to diffuse the situation before things went too far if that was possible. “I had a good family. They loved me, mostly.” Jorg flicked his eyebrows and shrugged. “I had to hide who I was, which I didn’t understand when I was small. When you’re different from everyone else, you learn pretty quickly that other kids can be cruel—adults can be worse.”

  “You should have grown up here.”