Earth's Hope (30 page)

“You won,” she grumbled. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Tamping down triumph, the young black dragon furled his wings wide. “Come close,” he instructed, “and mind link with me. We’ll be gone from here very soon.”

“Will we go directly to Mother and Father?” the copper dragon asked.

Young Nidhogg considered it. “No. It would be faster, but since this is our first time, we’ll go from here to Earth and see if we need to fine-tune anything before we tackle the dark one’s realm.”

Dragon magic rose in a glittering arc, a blend of all their colors. The black dragon dug deep, plucked the memories he needed, and guided them into the teleport spell.

* * * *

Kra, Berra, Gwydion, Andraste, and Arawn exchanged glances with Odin, Thor, and an assortment of Valkyries, and Norse warriors. The humans and bond animals had formed small groups, grumbling among themselves. A foul wind blew hard, bringing the odor of a charnel pit with it, and Gwydion knew this world was about to change yet again. The same putrid smell that twisted his stomach into a pounding knot of nausea had presaged the other shifts too.

The borderworld had looked like a reincarnation of the movie Waterworld when they’d arrived, switched to a darkened cave, complete with a damp, dripping, low-hanging ceiling, and then formed a barren desert. Hideous animals had come with each iteration, but the sea serpents had been the worst, because they had a nasty way of winding themselves around your body in a hammerlock. His magic didn’t work as well underwater—especially not in this world—and he wasn’t interested in testing it in that environment again.

“I doona believe the dark gods are here,” Gwydion said.

Andraste shot him a long-suffering look. “I told you that an hour ago, but ye dinna believe me.”

“I know the plan was to return to Inishowen, but I believe we should go directly to Perrikus’s world afore we get mired in another battle with whatever crawls out of the ether next time the landscape changes,” Arawn muttered.

“It’s as if someone’s trying to hold us here,” Kra said, blowing an irritated looking cloud of steam. It dissipated instantly in the dry air.

“We’re more than ready to go,” Timothy said. “I speak for all of my kind. We discussed it—thoroughly. At least we haven’t lost anyone, but I fear if we remain, our luck won’t hold. That last attack from whatever those things were was much more vicious than either the serpents or the slimy things in the cave.”

Gwydion clacked his jaws together. Those things had been fear gortachs. Hunger ghosts straight out of Irish legend. They fed on humans, taking up residence in their bodies in times of famine. Because all of their group were well fed, the gortachs had been easy enough to defeat. There’d been a few acepheli too, but the headless ones were more nuisance than problem. And some acheri, Native American spirits in the form of small girls who brought illness.

“What I’d like to know,” Gwydion muttered, “is why we’re facing horrors from diverse mythologies. Ye’d think they’d stick with one.”

“Why?” Arawn asked pragmatically. “If I had the ability to cull help from different times and different cultures, I’d do it too.”

“We can debate philosophy later.” Andraste rolled her eyes.

The reeking wind blew harder. “None of this matters. We waste time.” Berra blew steam and added, “You Celts always were prone to endless discussions.”

Gwydion glanced about and his gaze landed on Odin. “Ye’ve been quiet.”

“Aye.” The Norse god nodded and narrowed his eyes in thought. “I can see the wisdom in checking the other borderworld, yet I believe some of us should remain here. For one thing”—he swept his mail-clad arms wide—“we’re killing things that have no right to live, no matter what world they inhabit.”

“Are ye volunteering?” Arawn asked.

Odin nodded. “If the magic behind the changes here dies down, and we can see the bedrock world and assure ourselves no further threat exists, we’ll join you.”

“And will ye remain here forever, otherwise?” Gwydion cracked a very thin smile.

“Of course not. If we don’t see you before you return to Earth, find me in Asgard, and we can compare tales. And share a few tankards of ale as well.”

“Good enough,” Arawn said and the air around him took on an incandescent aspect as he built a teleport spell.

“We’ll go together,” Gwydion said and motioned to the humans and dragons to move close. He stuck out a hand; Odin clasped it and then moved up so they held each other’s forearms. He let go, and Thor did the same thing.

“Until later,” Gwydion said. “Victory in battle.”

“Until later,” the Norse god echoed. “Glory in battle to us all.”

The other Norse warriors and Valkyries took up the chant. “Glory in battle to us all!”

The last thing Gwydion saw as the borderworld dimmed around them was it shifting into dense jungle and Odin and his troops fanning out to deal with whatever might crawl out of the thick undergrowth. The master enchanter suppressed a shudder. He’d dropped by Southeast Asia briefly while the United States was fighting the Viet Cong. Between heat, mold, bugs, and a booby-trapped jungle, it hadn’t impressed him.

At least ’tis familiar. He wondered what the hell lay in store for them on Perrikus’s world. Despite not flushing out any of the dark gods, D’Chel’s world held a carefully choreographed aspect. If both the dark gods were on the other borderworld, how much worse could things get? Deciding he didn’t want to know the answer to that question before he had to, Gwydion closed his eyes and waited out the teleport spell.

* * * *

Fionn stood in a large, rather barren hall with Rune and Bran flanking him. Two ratty chairs sat in a corner with a table made from stone blocks between them. Nidhogg snuffled, borrowing Fionn’s nose until the mucous membranes ached. The dark gods had a moldy smell that permeated the place and made him feel dirty. Grubby rugs were scattered over the stone floor, and the ceiling rose in a curved arch until it flattened above their heads. He tried to get his bearings and figure out how the fortress was laid out.

“She’s that way.” Rune jerked his chin toward the wall to his right. “Where are the doors?”

“There don’t seem to be any,” Nidhogg rumbled through Fionn’s vocal chords.

“Or windows,” Bran noted. “Look at this.” He walked to an oval mirror leaned against one wall.

It was about six feet tall, and when Fionn joined Bran to get a better look, he realized there were actually four matching mirrors spread out at ninety degree angles to one another. While the surface looked silvery, like a looking glass, it didn’t reflect his image.

“Do ye know what these are?” he asked Nidhogg.

“Gateways. I’d be careful touching them if I were you. We could get sucked into somewhere we don’t want to be.”

“Did ye hear that?” Fionn touched Bran’s arm.

The god of prophecy nodded, and his features screwed into an exasperated scowl.

“There’s no way out of this room.” Rune trotted back to Fionn. “Teleport us to where I sense Aislinn.”

“Send me an image.” Fionn felt tired and edgy. It was possible this would be as far as their magic would move them into Perrikus’s stronghold.

“Got it,” Nidhogg said. “Let me control the spell this time.”

Fionn almost pointed out that the dragon had controlled it last time, but he nipped his reservations in the bud. No point casting doubt. Magic was sensitive that way, and believing in the outcome was almost as important as the spell itself.

The air glittered. Rather than another of the stronghold’s rooms, Fionn ended up back outside, but much nearer the moat this time. A prehistoric-looking monster reared a black, triangular-shaped head and bared triple rows of four-inch, red teeth.

“Goddammit!” Fionn followed the English curse with a string of Gaelic ones. If Nidhogg couldn’t bend his magic to move them where they wanted to go, it was unlikely either he or Bran could do any better.

Bran grabbed his arm and dragged him backward. “I doona like the looks of that water,” he mumbled. “At best, ’twill burn if it touches us. At worst, it could be poisoned.”

A wrenching sensation shot through Fionn, turning his nerves into live wires and Nidhogg formed to one side. “Christ!” Fionn glared at the dragon. “Next time, give me a bit of warning, eh?”

“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.” Nidhogg shook himself and furled his wings. “Apparently, we can’t use magic to get any farther inside the fortress. My spell was flawless.”

“If it was flawless, why are we back outside?” Bran quirked a brow.

“Excellent question.” Fionn gritted his teeth.

“I just told you.” Nidhogg sounded pissed, his voice full of sharp edges. “There’s something inside that subverted my casting.”

“Mmph. So even if we waltz back through the front door, how well will our magic work once we’re in there?” Bran asked.

Nidhogg clacked his teeth together. “It’s the mirrors. They gather power, hold it, and turn it back on itself.”

“Let’s go back inside and break them,” Rune said.

“If it were that easy,” Bella pronounced from her perch on Fionn’s shoulder, “we would have done it the first time.”

Fionn winced at the raven’s highhanded tone. “We dinna know,” he chided her. “Even if we’d suspected, Nidhogg said not to touch them.”

“Glass breaks,” the wolf persisted. “Throw something at it.”

“Those mirrors don’t break,” the dragon said. “It took me a while, but I recalled where I saw their like.”

“We doona need a history lesson,” Bran said.

“Och aye, just tell us how they work,” Fionn cut in.

“They’re how you travel inside the fortress, but I’m certain they lead to other worlds as well. The trick is what you do once you’re inside them.”

“Say more.” Bran stepped closer to Nidhogg.

The dragon’s eyes whirled faster. “I fell into one thousands of years ago. I’d followed Odin and Thor into Persia to wage a campaign against the Infidels. After months of battle, we established a fragile truce and the Persian ruler invited us to share a meal. I didn’t trust him, but Odin said we must go or it would look like bad faith…”

Fionn curled his hands into fists; he felt like chewing a hole in his cheek. Aislinn was trapped inside that hall of mirrors hellhole. Maybe D’Chel was having his way with her even now. He latched gazes with Nidhogg, silently urging him to get to the point.

“…and so my tail brushed up against one of the mirrors and suddenly I found myself in a place I’d never been. A hideous place filled with fell creatures and bloodsucking undead humans.” Fire belched from the dragon. “Fortunately, between my size and my thick hide, they gave up after a while, and I could focus on getting myself out of there.”

“What made it difficult?” Bran asked.

“My magic was bent, perverted by the glass. I had to find where the threads twisted and set them right before my teleport spell worked.”

“You said the mirrors were also gateways into other parts of the stronghold.” Fionn rolled his shoulders, but tension etched into them, holding him rigid. “How do we manipulate them to remain in the stronghold and not get catapulted to a different world?”

“Too bad Odin isn’t here,” Nidhogg said. “He understood how the mirrors—but he called them silvers—worked.”

“We have to do something,” the wolf whined.

Bella cawed agreement and Fionn snorted. Apparently, the bird was done siding with him.

“Can you talk to Aislinn?” Fionn asked Rune.

“No. It stretches the Hunter bond to find her.”

“Has she moved?”

The wolf shook his head. “Not since I located her.” He bit the air in frustration. “What good does it do, knowing where she is, if we can’t get to her?”

Good question. Fionn hunkered next to the wolf and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will find her, laddie, if ’tis the last thing I do.”

As if it understood his words and rose to the challenge, a sea serpent hooted from the moat, blasting nasty-smelling red water their way. It fell short, but not by much. The ground smoked where rancid water splattered it, and the air filled with a burned stench.

“I say we go back inside, by way of the front door,” Fionn said. “If all roads lead to the room where the mirrors are, so be it, but at least this way we’ll know. Once we’re back inside, we can pick which mirror to tackle.”

“Brace yourself.” Nidhogg blasted steam and smoke just before he merged with Fionn.

The sensation wasn’t quite as unpleasant as it had been the first time, and Fionn loped toward the fortress. When they got near the moat, he lobbed a jolt of power at the serpent, still coiled well above the waterline with its jaws gaping. Nidhogg fused power with Fionn, and the monster exploded in a haze of blood mixed with bits of bone and scales. Another rose to take its place, but warding glittered around it.

“Doona waste your magic on these watchdogs,” Fionn snarled and pounded across the drawbridge.

The front door had shut, but it creaked open on stone hinges. While the fortress had wooden beams, no doubt a carryover from when this world still had living trees, most of it was constructed of stone, including the door. The front hall was lined with portraits of the six dark gods, looking like well-fed royalty dressed in archaic finery. Because there were no choice points, no doors leading off from where they walked, Fionn followed the wide hallway. It disappeared beneath an arch, and he found himself back in the room with the mirrors.

When he spun to look, the doorway leading into this room vanished, shutting them inside. Rune growled, hurtled himself against where the door had been, and pitched up against a solid wall. He glared at the wall and snarled.

“Neat trick,” Bran muttered. “Next time I design a castle—”

“Not now,” Fionn snapped. “Help me figure out what to do with these mirrors.”

“Nidhogg”—Bran faced Fionn, but addressed the dragon—“what happens once we’re inside?”

“Try projecting an image of where you want to go. Since we’ve never seen the rest of the interior of this building, perhaps holding images of Aislinn and Dewi will be the best we can do.” The dragon borrowed Fionn’s vocal chords to answer and jerked Fionn’s head from side to side as he looked from mirror to mirror. “It’s not accidental there are four,” he said at last. “We must pick the correct one.”