Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  “Appreciate the help.” Bjorn nodded Gwydion’s way. “We need to get moving before more folks show up.”

  “Aye, but Odin should assign another to this particular task.”

  “Who?” Bjorn furled his brows and bent to stuff his feet into his socks and boots.

  Gwydion shrugged. Magic flashed from him, and I recognized a sealing spell.

  “You’re locking us in?” I inquired caustically, confident I could break through anything he built.

  “Nay. Locking them out.” He snatched up a mug and poured himself a cup of tea. “Thanks.”

  “Oh my goodness, you’re so welcome, esteemed—”

  “Rowan!” Gwydion thundered.

  Bjorn stepped between us. “You will not raise your voice to my mate.”

  “Ye’re absolutely correct, but she’s a thick-headed wench. Stubborn just like her mother.”

  “Oh yeah? And you’re an ass,” I shot back.

  “This buys us naught,” Gwydion said in a more or less normal tone. “I canna apologize more than I already have for my failings while ye lived amongst us. I am sorry. Had I paid better attention, not been diverted by Ceridwen’s spells, your early life might have been better.”

  “None of that matters now,” Bjorn said and poured himself a mug of tea. He sounded tired. It would take more than a few hours to bring us back up to full strength.

  “Nay, it doesna,” Gwydion agreed. “We face an unknown enemy. They are strong enough to corrupt the binding between the Nine Worlds. I fear they stretch far beyond Odin’s realm as well. We were feeling…oddities afore we left our borderworld.”

  He addressed his next words to me. “We go to war, child. ’Tis everyone’s war, and we canna afford to be sidetracked by petty squabbles and leftover hurt feelings.”

  I started to protest I was far from a child, but it wasn’t the point. I dished the eggs into three bowls and slapped the plate with sliced bread on the table. Why was it so bloody hard for me to let go of my leftover hurt feelings? His assessment had been accurate. The only realistic path was for me to admit the truth and move on. Nothing to be gained by being sulky and bitchy.

  Except it was kind of my go-to place. If I let go of the anger I’d swathed myself in, what would be left? We ate in silence. When I was done, I set my spoon down and said, “You’re right, Gwydion. I will try to do better. Mother poisoned a lot of wells, including me. I’ve been erecting walls to hide behind my entire life. The only thing that saved me from turning into something like the Morrigan was the witches.”

  “Och, ye’d never have been like her.” He rolled his blue eyes. Blond hair had been braided into a Celtic warrior pattern with many small plaits, and he wore his customary robes. Pale-green today and sashed in black. His intricately carved wooden staff sat near the door, glowing with a light of its own.

  “Did ye even know her?” he went on. “Seems to me, we’d sent her away afore ye were born.”

  “You did, but the rest of you talked about her so much, I got quite a feel for her less savory personality traits.” Holding up a hand, I counted off on my fingers. “Arrogant. Bitter. Ran roughshod over everyone. No loyalty, except to herself—”

  A brisk bugle from outside made me smile. Zelli was here. Presumably, Quade as well. Gwydion’s eyes shone with enthusiasm—or maybe it was relief to leave the topic of the Morrigan behind. Far as I knew, she was the only Celt who’d ever been exiled.

  “Always wanted a dragon of my own, but they dinna react well to my requests,” Gwydion was saying.

  “It’s because they read minds,” Bjorn said. “Any dragon worth his salt who got a whiff of ‘dragon of my own’ would die before he’d take you on his back.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” Gwydion finished what was left in his bowl. I wondered if I should apologize for my lack of culinary skills. A cook, I am not, but everyone had eaten what I made, and apologies have never been my style. I got up, grabbed the dishes, and ferried them to the sink.

  “At least the dragons should keep the crowds away until we leave,” Bjorn muttered. “I’m extremely concerned about this turn of events.”

  “Does Odin know?” Gwydion asked.

  Bjorn shook his head. “Complaining about something never makes much of a difference to him. I already made a bid for him to assign someone else in my stead.”

  “I take it he refused?”

  “Nidhogg did. Said something like my talents were underutilized.”

  “Regardless, Odin needs to understand—”

  “Things are going to hell fast?” I broke in. Gwydion screwed his features into a scowl, but he didn’t rebuke me as I’d expected.

  “I’m certain Odin knows what’s happening,” Bjorn said. “His magic is linked to the Nine Worlds. There’s some type of loop that includes Yggdrasil.” He looked at me. “You’d asked why Odin convened delegates from each world. I believe he did so because he sees what lies ahead far more clearly than we do. The gathering yesterday was more about him reassuring himself his kingdom was still whole than listening to what anyone else thought.”

  “That’s not particularly encouraging,” I muttered and addressed my next words to Gwydion. “What are all these tasks that require our attention today?”

  “Why, settling in at Inverlochy Castle. What else? Once ye’re all moved it, we’d planned an all-Celt meeting to plot out our next steps.”

  I glanced at Bjorn in time to see him shoot a pointed look my way. If I was reading him right, he was telling me Gwydion was my kinsman and to handle this.

  I shuffled through various approaches. If I came off too strong or sounded angry, Gwydion would write me off as pregnant or hysterical or some other not-to-be-paid-attention-to label. Sucking in a breath, I blew it out and said, “Thank you for your offer. It’s very kind, but Bjorn and I are not moving in. We have two homes already. His and the chamber I maintain beneath Ben Nevis.”

  The beginnings of a spell shimmered around Gwydion. Before he could open his mouth and try to convince me of the error of my ways, I plowed ahead. “Next point is, you’re correct about this being everyone’s war. What that means to me is you should be meeting with Odin and his merry band. They just held an assembly without you, so they’re equally negligent.”

  “What was the outcome of this Norse conclave?” Gwydion asked.

  I offered him points for focusing on the most important element. That decisions had been made absent Celtic input. Decisions that might alter the outcome of dealing with our unidentified enemies.

  “I’ll cover it,” Bjorn said.

  “Thanks.” I pumped water over the dirty dishes while he outlined Odin’s plan of attack with the outer borderworlds, and mine to close off the Breaking place once and for all before we engaged in an all-out search-and-destroy for whomever was stuck on our side of the broken barricade.

  I’ve mentioned that one of Gwydion’s titles is warrior magician. He has strengths on the battlefield and is known to be a shrewd tactician. I shut off the water in time to hear him say, “What was Odin thinking? I understand why we’d want to amputate the flow of whatever is attacking us at its source, but only after we’ve taken care of breaches in our own borders.”

  “Which is precisely why you should all be in the same room for important decisions,” I said and dried my hands on a scrap of towel. “Dragons too.”

  “Our plan,” Bjorn said, “was to return to the Breaking site and explore it more thoroughly. Last time, we slapped a temporary fix together, but then we ran into a trapdoor. It sucked us into a strange spot I didn’t recognize before I redirected us to Niflheim. I have no idea if that spell is still active or if, once tripped, it won’t bother us again.”

  “If I’m right and Ceridwen laid that snare, she did it to fuck with me,” I told them. “Presumably, her absence means the spell is dead.”

  “Not necessarily,” Gwydion said, followed by, “I shall accompany you.”

  “We do not require a babysitter.” I grimaced. Damn it.
My caustic side was plenty close to the surface, near enough to slither through if I didn’t watch it.

  “I thought we had moved past your distrust of me,” Gwydion said. “Bjorn and I work well together. Ye and I would as well. If ye’d been able, ye’d have disabled the Breaking place when ye tackled it last time.”

  He got to his feet. “Which dragon shall I ride?”

  “Neither,” Bjorn and I said almost in unison.

  I have to hand it to Gwydion. He laughed. “And here ye chided me for hoping for a dragon of my own. It appears ye’ve staked ownership claims to the duo outside.”

  “It’s not the same,” I said stiffly. “Zelli volunteered to bond with me. And Quade picked Bjorn.”

  Zelli bugled again. It sounded different, urgent, and sent me bounding out the door with the men right behind me. She and Quade stood over a lengthening laceration spreading through the dirt.

  I readied magic, intent on shutting it before something hideous could emerge. My experience lately with holes in the ground hasn’t been good. Granted, they’d all been on Earth, but Vanaheim appeared to be next on the hit list.

  “Hold,” Quade rumbled.

  “Why?” I shouted back. “We need to shut that fissure.” Power crackled, arcing between my hands.

  Bjorn ran in front of me and knelt on the ground, placing his hands on either side of the widening gap.

  “Don’t let it get any bigger,” I yelled.

  Gwydion looped a hand under my arm. “I doona recognize the energy, but ’tisn’t evil.”

  I wasn’t at all certain of that, so I didn’t defuse the destructive power I’d summoned. Not yet. A gnarled length of what looked like wood poked through the opening, followed by another. As far afield from the power I held as possible, calming energy flowed from Bjorn. One of the wood-things crept across his knees. The other followed suit.

  More of the shoots, this time with a greenish tinge, joined the first two, winding around Bjorn as if he were a Maypole.

  “What is it?” I didn’t want to get any closer. In case I had to bail Bjorn out, distance would be my friend. No point in both of us becoming trapped. Holy hell, had something mesmerized him?

  Bjorn raised his head, the look on his face a mixture of wonder and horror. “Yggdrasil,” he answered me. “This is the One Tree.”

  Gwydion hurried forward and knelt on the other side of the fissure. “Would it mind if I touched it?”

  “Be still,” Bjorn counseled. “If the One Tree wants your energy, it will let you know.”

  I felt like an ass with power arcing between my hands, so I reluctantly let it disperse. A shower of sparks fell to the ground around me. “What do you think?” I asked Zelli and sidled nearer the dragon.

  “Yggdrasil seeks untainted soil to nurture its roots,” she replied.

  “When the ground first opened, we weren’t certain what was happening,” Quade said. “We feared a repeat of the abominations from Midgard, but neither of us sensed evil.”

  “If we had,” Zelli added, “we’d have showered the gash with our own magic.”

  I twisted my mouth into a sour expression. “You and I, we went to the same school.”

  “What do ye mean?” Zelli asked.

  “We’ve both learned that bad shit comes out of holes in the ground.”

  “’Twasn’t always true until verra recently,” she corrected me.

  “Well it still isn’t a hundred percent.” I jerked my head toward where the men sat in the midst of a veritable garden of tree roots. They were beautiful and frightening.

  I trotted until I stood behind Bjorn. “Do you believe Yggdrasil sought you out, or was this random?”

  He glanced up at me. “Not random. The tree is drawn to my energy, but at least now it makes more sense. It discerns my direct link with Odin.”

  “Aye, and your dragon blood,” Quade said.

  Gwydion looked humble and awestruck, two descriptors I’d never have associated with him before today. He patted a root, and it wound around his little finger.

  “Should we, uh, water it or something?” I asked. Vague memories of houseplants and landscaping from before the Breaking ran through my head.

  “Nay,” Gwydion replied. “The One Tree needed a break is all. A place where the air isna tainted.”

  I struggled with a visual of the Nine Worlds. Before, I’d assumed they were sort of a metaphorical construct, but it appeared Yggdrasil was a physical reality that strung the worlds together.

  “Does this mean the bottom of the Nine Worlds has been compromised?” I asked.

  “Probably.” Worry laced into Bjorn’s answer.

  “Is there a way we can go there and look for ourselves?” Gwydion asked.

  “We can,” Bjorn said, “but Bifrost will like as not eject you.”

  “Mmph. That bridge thing, eh?” At Bjorn’s nod, he continued. “Aye, when we arrived in Asgard, Odin and them stuck pretty close.”

  “Did you take the bridge?” Bjorn asked.

  “Nay. Teleported, but we came out near Bifrost’s entry point. Odin was quite clear we had to give it a wide berth, but he dinna elaborate as to why.”

  “If ye wish a better view”—smoke oozed from Quade’s jaws—“Zelli and I can fly into the void beneath the Nine Worlds. We canna remain long, though.”

  As gently as if he were handling fragile artifacts, Bjorn untangled the roots that had coiled around him, and stood.

  “I will watch over the tree’s roots whilst ye’re gone,” Gwydion said.

  My head snapped around, and I stared at him. I’d fully expected him to head back to Inverlochy Castle, but his tone had been tender, paternal even. As if the tree had hypnotized him into ensuring its survival.

  “It’s good at taking care of itself,” Bjorn spoke into my mind.

  “If we’re gone too long for your taste,” I told Gwydion, “feel free to take a look at the Breaking site.”

  “I’ll wait until ye return,” he said in the same dreamy voice.

  It worried me, but I didn’t say anything. What would I have said? Christ, Gwydion, get a grip? If I told him he’d been suckered, he’d have ignored me. That’s the thing about being a bit player. None of the Celts have ever paid the slightest attention to me. It might be changing, but not when something had one of them caught up in thrall.

  Dragon magic snagged me and somersaulted me onto Zelli’s back. “This will be like travel between worlds,” she warned me.

  “No air, huh?”

  She puffed ash and smoke. “Worse than that. ’Tis rather like a vacuum.”

  Bjorn vaulted to Quade’s back and asked, “Will it be safe for Rowan?”

  “What you really want to know is if it’s safe for our baby,” I growled. “We already know nothing can hurt it, and—”

  “Rowan.” Bjorn’s tone cut like a bullwhip. “You’re my mate. My wife. I will do everything in my power to protect you, keep you safe. If that’s a crime, you’d better cut me loose now because it won’t improve with time.”

  Shame swamped me, followed by its kissing cousin, guilt. Bjorn was a good man, better than I deserved. Sarcastic twit that I was. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Let’s get moving. I have a feeling we won’t be gone long.”

  “We can’t be.” Bjorn angled his gaze at Gwydion.

  I switched to telepathy. “Tree has him in thrall, huh?”

  “Yeah, Yggdrasil can be very persuasive.”

  I readied myself as much as I could by taking huge lungfuls of air and gripping my amulet. Breathing through its prismed surface helped. Bjorn’s courtyard dropped away, replaced by blackness.

  I’ve never been scared of the void between worlds. I don’t like it much, but it doesn’t frighten me. I kept trying to reassure myself this would be like a hundred other journeys, but every instinct I had urged me to teleport off the damned dragon and make a run for it.

  Chapter Four, Bjorn

  I was plenty worried about Gwydion. The One Tree had snapped him up li
ke low-hanging fruit. He’d opened his magic to it as he explored its rich inner life and plethora of memories, but the tree had taken advantage of his trust and goodwill. By the time it became obvious I should have warned him, it was too late to intervene.

  Maybe too late. In truth, I knew less than nothing about the Celtic gods and their abilities. I’d deal with Gwydion after we returned. I vaulted onto Quade, not wanting to hold everyone up. Almost before I was seated, the baked-clay scent I associated with dragon power surrounded me. We’d leave as soon as Quade’s spell reached sufficient velocity.

  I was worried about Rowan too. She was skittish and snappish as a starving wolf, and it took almost nothing to set her off. We needed time alone with each other, but stolen moments would be progressively harder to come by. We hadn’t exactly been alone during what had been left of last night. Gwydion had been there.

  Something had worried him enough to compel him to remain. If I hadn’t been dead on my feet, I’d have mined for his reasons. I suppose I could have floated the topic over breakfast, but I hadn’t. After dealing with what felt like hundreds of magical emergencies between last night and this morning, I hadn’t wanted to think about any other problems.

  A common thread was emerging amid all the magic-gone-astray complaints. Several people had voiced the same progression of events. They’d summoned power, often for something rather trivial. As soon as the channel to their magic was open, they’d sensed something ominous take over. The transition was subtle, and it happened fast. Once it was done, their magic was polluted and uncooperative.

  After fixing the same issue multiple times, I’d begun counseling people not to call upon their power unless they were in dire straits. Predictably, my suggestion wasn’t well-received. Those who live within the Nine Worlds—except Midgard—are mostly all magical beings. They cut their teeth on employing magic for everything from hunting food to cooking to repairing garments and boots.

  “But my music store,” an elf had complained. “All the instruments will sound sour unless I hand tune them every day.”