by Ann Gimpel
I looked around at thick forest with even denser underbrush. Birds cawed. Insects hummed. A small chipmunk-like creature with pointy ears chittered madly at us.
“No one lives here,” I said.
“I sense Cadir,” Rowan said in a studiedly neutral tone. “Wonder what he lived on. Dragons need more than the odd rodent.”
“He probably moved about,” Hel said briskly. “Three worlds lie in reasonably close proximity to this one. Shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, she strode along a faint path I hadn’t noticed.
“Have you been here before?” I fell into step behind her with Rowan between us.
“Nay,” Hel replied. “Blood calls to blood. Loki walked this track.”
“Cadir too,” Rowan muttered. “Or rather, he flew over it.”
Flowering shrubbery smelled like a cross between roses and violets. A mellow sun floated overhead suspended in a pale-green sky. I was impressed by this borderworld. It was as beautiful as any I’d visited, and I had no idea why it was uninhabited. Perhaps its proximity to the outer borderworlds was a deterrent. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that had to be why it remained empty.
Hel doubled back and turned hard right. We walked beneath an archway fashioned from boughs twined together and into an open meadow. A small, neat cottage sat at the far end. My eyes widened. “I had no idea dragons could build houses.”
“Loki made this one,” Hel said. “’Tis his style of craftsmanship.”
“Was that how he conned Cadir into working for him?” Rowan asked. “By building a home for Ceridwen?”
“We doona know—” Hel began, but she quit talking.
Dragons didn’t live in houses. They wouldn’t fit for one thing. Rowan pushed around Hel and trotted smartly to the front door. Power shone around her as she shielded herself before twisting the knob. Polished wood suspended by tarnished brass hinges swung inward.
If I’d had any doubt before about who’d inhabited this cottage, it departed fast. The place reeked of Loki and of Cadir, even though I was certain the dragon hadn’t done more than poke his snout inside.
“Hold up,” I called to Ro and hurried to her side.
We peered through the open doorway into a sparsely furnished space. It looked a lot like my home with a corner bed, a kitchen area, and a small table. Hel crowded behind us. I didn’t sense foul magic or any snares, so I said, “It’s okay to go in.”
Rowan walked to the table and tapped it with a fingertip. “Look. He was telling the truth about building a home for Ceridwen and me.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears.
Someone, probably Loki, had carved names into the tabletop. Cadir. Ceridwen. Runa. “He preferred your dragon name,” I said.
“Of course he did,” Hel snapped. “Damn Ceridwen. She and Loki pushed Cadir over the edge.”
“Did you know him before?” Rowan asked.
“Aye. Most dragons pass through the Nine Worlds. He was no exception. Always a bit of a social outcast, if I’m remembering correctly. His magic was strong, but his isolation rendered him vulnerable. ’Twas how Da got his claws into him.” She shook her head until her black hair shimmered like liquid midnight and addressed her next words to Rowan. “That slut of a mother of yours had no principles, either.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Rowan blew out a heavy breath. “Let’s leave this place. It makes me sad.”
Hel stepped next to Rowan and placed a hand over the dome of her stomach. “Know this, child,” she said in the dragon’s tongue, “your grandsire would have loved you.”
“He understands,” Rowan said after a short pause.
It was petty, but I wanted my son to talk with me too. When Ro and I had a private moment, I’d lay my hands on her belly and greet him properly. We walked slowly from the cottage and shut the door behind us. “At least we have a place to look for Loki if he escapes,” I said.
“We do,” Hel concurred. “And ’tisn’t if, but when. I plan to make certain Odin knows about this cabin.” She angled her head to one side as if she were listening. “We still need to hunt for runaway dark power. I doona sense aught. Do either of you?”
“Would Cadir have cast seriously wicked magic near where he wanted his love and child to live?” Rowan asked.
“Good point,” I replied and turned to Hel. “You mentioned three other borderworlds in close proximity. Can you make a guess which of them might have served as a launching point for the invasion that followed Ceridwen’s Breaking spell?”
“Follow Loki’s trail.” She eyed me with asperity. “I’m not the only one to share his blood.”
I winced but didn’t hesitate to pick up the banner she’d tossed squarely in my court. With a hand firmly tucked beneath Rowan’s arm, I shepherded us along the faint track leading from the cottage.
“Almost wish I hadn’t seen this little place,” Rowan murmured.
I understood exactly what she meant. “Easier when you can hate cleanly, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “I guess no one is 100 percent bad, but—”
“Loki is,” Hel tossed out from behind us.
Ro slid from under my grip and twisted to face her. “All right. Absent Loki—and Ceridwen—most villains have at least a smattering of redeeming qualities. Cadir had enough, it’s going to be hard to keep the hate flame burning.”
“Probably better to let it go out,” I said. My words were accompanied by blistering insight about Loki. Despite his lack of any compensatory graces, resenting him would eat me up.
Hel shot me a knowing look from under lowered brows.
“Stay out of my thoughts,” I growled.
“Och, child, we’ve always been linked. When the glamour shielded you from who ye were, ye wouldna have sensed the connection, but if ye look for it now ye’ll locate it.”
“Later,” I muttered, and then added, “I didn’t like it when Nidhogg stuffed a spying moonstone down my craw. I also don’t care for the idea of you being a permanent resident in my head, and—”
“Not the time for this,” Rowan cut in. Bending, she withdrew her dirk from its thigh sheath and handed it to me.
I took the blade from her. The two I carried were major overkill for something as simple as a five-centimeter gash. A quick chop across the base of my thumb, and blood flowed freely. I shaped a few blobs into a line of willing volunteers and healed my wound. Ro took her dirk back.
The next part would be hard; my spell curdled on my tongue twice before I managed to name Loki kinsman and instructed my blood to follow the bond. Perhaps because there was no competition when it came to Loki’s blood, the ruby balls stretched into an obvious line.
Hel nodded. “Would have been my first supposition.”
“What would have?” Rowan asked.
“The realm that lies to the north of us. ’Tisn’t as pleasant a place as this one, but it lies closest to the barrier separating the outer borderworlds from all other worlds.”
“Wonder how that project is coming?” Rowan mused.
“What project?” Hel asked.
“Didn’t Odin send out a few work parties to seal the rifts? The places Cadir chewed through to free himself?”
“He did,” I answered her.
“Aye, they should be done by now,” Hel said.
I wasn’t at all certain of that. If shutting the breaches was so simple, Odin would have taken care of it long since. Rather than giving voice to my concerns about Odin viewing the teams as unimportant, and possibly collateral damage, I summoned a casting to move us in the direction indicated by my blood.
“Ward yourselves,” I said and kindled the spell to track my blood. In a burst of caution, I called the crimson drops back to me and obliterated them as soon as I’d carved out a path. Blood is a funny thing, and I did not want any of mine running about loose. It was a good way to give something malevolent a free ride directly to my magical center.
“Doona hold concerns about me. I shall meet you there,” Hel s
aid and left in a cloud of Norse magic with its scent of the sea.
Rowan joined her power with mine. The edges of my spell swept us away, but the trip was exceedingly brief. Cadir’s world had barely faded when another formed around us. This realm was as barren as the last place had been verdant. Pockmarked by boulders and cliffs, its cracked dirt spread around us.
A blast of wickedness so pervasive my hair stood on end met us before my casting had fully faded. I smelled decaying flesh and the stench of too many long-unwashed bodies in close proximity. The reek twisted my stomach, but I couldn’t see its source.
“Feels like the right spot for something corrupt,” Rowan said briskly.
Hel joined us and wrinkled her nose. “Gah. Horrible.”
“Where’s it coming from?” I asked.
“Doona know.” She turned in a full circle, power pulsing from her.
I had perhaps a nanosecond’s notice before the nearest cliff face blew outward. The noise was horrendous, as if the very bones of the world beneath our feet were being ripped asunder. Our shared power blazed to life, and I dragged the longsword from its sheath. The blade caught fire, blazing with magic and purpose. I’d compliment Hagar on his skill—if I ever got back to Vanaheim.
“Wait!” Hel cautioned. “Let us see what emerges.”
Rocks the size of my head were still shooting out of the crumbling cliff. Some blasted outward; others surged straight up in the air, reverberating when they hit the ground. Was this how it had developed all the gouges?
A deep rumble turned to a pissed-off roar. The ground shook.
“Something’s coming out of there,” Rowan shouted and upped the ante as our magic swirled together. White-hot jets of energy pulsed from her extended fingertips, adding still more damage to the growing chasm.
A low hissing snarl emerged from Hel. “Goddess curse them all. ’Tis a Draugar. I thought I’d crushed them all, cleaned out their nests to make certain naught remained.”
“What’s that?” Rowan asked.
“Nine Worlds’ version of the undead,” I told her.
“But isn’t everyone in Niflheim, and all those dead warriors in Valhalla, undead?” Ro persisted. “And the Wild Hunt.”
“Aye, but they stay put,” Hel retorted. “Draugar are the ones who escaped my bonds to prey on the living. ’Tis why the carnage at Arawn’s Ninth Gate was so serious. The Celts have their own version of Draugar, and—”
The rumbling intensified, morphing into a battle cry as an enormous skeleton garbed in battle armor pelted into the open, axe at the ready. Bits of flesh clung to his skull, and fat, white maggots crawled here and there.
“As I live and breathe,” the man boomed. “I never thought to lay eyes on you again.”
Bands of glimmering white shot from Hel’s hands and circled the Draugar. All he did was laugh. “Ye canna touch me. Your da’s magic is stronger than—”
“We shall see about that, Bjarke.” Hel said as her power swirled faster, kicking up dust where it contacted the ground.
“Och, ye remember my name.” He aped a low bow
“I remember far more than that. Ye stand accused of many crimes. Among them the rape of female children.”
He shrugged; armor clanked. “I did naught but what the Hunt does, but when I applied for a seat with them, Odin turned me down.” He took a few steps closer. “Because of you.”
Hel offered a smirk. “I have an odd way of doing my part to keep the Hunt pure.”
Next to me, Rowan made a choking sound. I culled up a memory of her bargaining with Odin to protect Tansy from turning into fodder for the Huntsmen.
The whirling vortex around Bjarke was moving closer. Near enough to touch him. He shied away from contact with it. It didn’t appear my blade was needed, so I sheathed it.
“I propose a bargain,” Hel announced and strode until the leading edge of her spell was right next to her.
“I might be interested,” Bjarke replied.
“Listen and listen well,” she said. “’Tis my right to imprison you, hold you in the ice cells far beneath Niflheim, but my offer is this. Ye may roam free within my domain—in exchange for information.”
“Ye canna force me back.”
The flow streaming from Hel’s outstretched hands intensified. I directed some of the power I shared with Rowan into Hel’s spell. The vortex snugged around Bjarke until the edges of his tarnished armor took on an insubstantial appearance.
“Aye, I can,” Hel said.
“I am not the only one here,” he warned.
“How many?” I spoke up.
He laughed uproariously, but his mirth turned into groans as armor flowed into itself, clearly melting.
“How many?” I shouted.
“Too many to count,” he gritted, followed by, “I accept.”
Hel infused more power into her casting. I didn’t blame her. Given an opportunity, Bjarke would probably make a dive for whatever subterranean nest he’d claimed for his own. Or leave entirely.
“Are all the Draugar here?” Hel asked.
“Nay.”
“Most of them?” Hel persisted.
“Nay.”
“I am not in the mood to drag information from you bit by bit. Do I make myself clear?” The shining nimbus of her power closed on him, and he grunted with pain. Or with something. I thought the dead had moved past the point where anything affected them.
“We are all in this region,” Bjarke screeched. “But not on this world.”
“Keep talking,” Hel said, and then added, “Loki is imprisoned on Jotunheim. It will be a while afore he is free to sow chaos.”
Bjarke may have looked surprised. Tough to tell when all I had to work with was bones. “The dragon. He opened channels between the outer borderworlds and this small group. Our job is to keep them open.”
“For what purpose?” I moved to Hel’s side along with Rowan.
“We were promised Midgard.”
“By whom?” Hel thundered.
“Loki. He wanted allies close at hand.”
“Is it just Norse dead here?” Rowan asked.
He shook his head hard enough to dislodge a few maggots. Undeterred, they slithered back onto his armor-clad form.
Hel chopped a hand downward. “Why did Loki open a channel for evil to invade the Nine Worlds?”
“He has plans, and that is all I shall reveal.” Bjarke tossed his mail-clad head back.
Fury streamed from Hel, adding a reddish mist to her spell. The whirling vapor closed around Bjarke, spinning faster and faster until nothing was left but a blur. When it cleared, the Draugar was gone.
Hel lowered her hands. “I still doona know how they escaped.”
“I’m guessing Arawn’s bunch from behind the Ninth Gate joined them,” Rowan muttered. “Arawn was complaining about how Loki had penetrated his realm. I bet it was for the express purpose of breaking the locks on the Ninth Gate.”
“How many Draugar were in your care?” I asked Hel.
She turned her dark gaze on me. “Hundreds.”
Rowan’s head snapped up as if she were listening intently. She took off at a dead run for the hole, shouting, “Hurry.”
“What is it?” I called after her. When she didn’t answer, I bolted after her with Hel right behind me. The broken cliff face led to a tunnel so low I had to crabwalk to get through it. I heard Hel cursing; my guess was she’d had to crawl.
The shaft had a downward cant and smelled of wet dirt. The rot smell was more pronounced here; the presence of so many dead had to be the source. Something about decay stuck around, even after the source had left.
The passageway opened abruptly. Rowan had kindled a mage light, and its bluish illumination cast the interior of an underground chamber in stark relief. Bodies had been scattered about like so much debris. They smelled clean by comparison.
“We were speculating about the groups Odin sent this way,” Rowan said, her tone a study in controlled fury. “Well, here
’s one of them.”
I bent closer to an elf. His throat had been hacked open with a crude blade, and his fair hair was caked with dried blood. Death had come quickly, but he’d been in agony.
Hel moved from body to body. “Odin deployed three groups. Hopefully, the other two meet with a better fate.”
“It’s a nice fantasy, but I bet they’re just as dead as this bunch.” Rowan fisted a hand. “With hundreds of undead, this was scarcely a balanced contest.”
“When Odin sent them here,” I spoke slowly, “he thought they’d be closing portals. He never counted on an army of shades.”
“An army of shades led by Loki.” Hel’s nostrils flared. “No wonder my father has been in such a cheerful mood here of late. He had plans. Big ones. Monumental ones. His confinement on Jotunheim won’t be more than an inconvenience.”
Leaving the six dead went against the grain. They’d died doing their liege’s bidding. I dragged a dwarf over by the elf. Hel and Rowan helped until the bodies were stacked together. “We should burn them,” I said, “but outside.”
Hel nodded. Her magic circled us all, living and dead. When it cleared, we stood close to the spot where we’d interrogated Bjarke. She began a familiar chant. The Norse ode to the dead. I joined in. Before we got to the second verse, the bodies caught fire. Hel’s flames burned clean and true. Soon only ashes remained.
“Their spirits are in Valhalla,” she told us.
When I looked at Rowan, her belly was bigger. Somehow, our son sensed the presence of evil and knew he was needed.
“So long as we’re close,” Rowan said, “Shall we hunt for the channels pumping poison to Earth and close at least one or two?”
“Aye, splendid idea,” Hel replied and raised her hands. I felt her cast a seeking spell, and wove Rowan’s and my enchantment with hers. The riddled labyrinth that formed before my eyes was so much more extensive than I’d imagined, apprehension gripped me.
I chucked my alarm aside, replacing it with fury for the senseless deaths of the men and women we’d just immolated. They deserved our efforts to avenge their passing. Next time I was in Valhalla, I’d make certain to find them and tell them what we’d done.
