Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1) (10 page)

Arvid felt her composure beginning to crumble. Slowly she rose from her chair and looked in Noldir’s strange red eyes, but he didn’t move from the spot either. Between them was a tension that was almost physically perceptible.

“All I expect is the appropriate help to find a way back,” she blurted out. She was a bit smaller than Noldir and would have felt uncomfortable being so close to him, if she hadn’t been so angry. “Every year, people come to this world because they fall through your transitions. Most of them die somewhere out there! I am one of the few who had the luck of being found in time, and you find it appropriate to send me as a maid on a cursed farm! You are playing with spells you obviously can’t control, and then blame those that had the misfortune to fall victim to them!”

Noldir became redder and redder. From the corner of her eye Arvid saw two of the guards coming closer.

“You probably don’t realize that you’re facing a god!” thundered Noldir. His shoulders were shaking with anger, and his face was contorted into a furious grimace. “You would do well to face the superior forces with the necessary respect, or instead of a farm a prison will soon be waiting for you!”

“It would easy for you to help me, but you don’t!” shouted Arvid. “You call yourselves gods, but you are nothing but arrogant, narrow-minded tyrants!” She immediately knew that she had gone too far. She only had to look at Noldir to realize that her final accusation had been the last straw. It felt almost like a déjà vu. She watched in horror as Noldir struck out to slap her, but suddenly everything around her seemed to move in slow motion. She could not flinch, because she was still right in front of her chair, so she ducked and took two hasty steps to the side. Then everything normalized again and Noldir’s hand hit nothing but air.

The bearded god stumbled a step forward and gasped in surprise. For a moment he looked at Arvid in confusion, but then determination spread on his face. Arvid saw with sudden horror that several of the guards came storming at her, but before she or Noldir could do anything, something unexpected happened.

“Stop!” it boomed through the room.

The guards stopped in one fell swoop. All heads, including Arvid’s, turned in the direction from which the voice had come. Arvid realized that the long-haired man in the corner had stood up from his chair and slowly approached.

“Why do you interfere?” hissed Noldir. “We’re only wasting our time. This woman has no respect. The only thing she deserves is a punishment for all the insults.”

“You don’t seem to have the situation under control, Noldir,” the long-haired man said sharply. “You may withdraw.”

Noldir seemed speechless for a moment. His cheeks were still bright red and stood in hard contrast to his white beard. He was furious; at the same time he seemed to be extremely insecure after the other man’s intervention.

Finally, he gave in. “As you wish,” he growled. He disappeared into the corner where the other man had been sitting but didn’t sit down, instead crossing his arms and standing with grim countenance.

Arvid was confused. She looked from the long-haired man to Noldir and back again. Who the hell was he?

He was tall and slim, and in the Light World, she would have thought him to be about thirty. His more than shoulder-length hair was a dark, almost black color, and partly braided into narrow braids. He had tied the front hair back into a thin ponytail, but the truly exceptional thing was his clothing. Since Arvid had arrived in the Shadow World, she had seen people in cloaks and furs, in all colors, lengths and designs. This man, however, wore a long, black coat of a thin, pliable material which could have been directly from her world, even if the cut was unusual. Arvid’s amazement grew even more when the man suddenly changed to her native language and turned to the translator.

“What is said here is not to leave this room,” he said almost casually. “If Asgard should hear about it, not even the gods can save the lives of your family.” He spoke with a strong accent, but made not a single mistake. The young translator before him nodded vigorously.

“Good,” said the man and turned to Arvid. “Sit down,” he invited her, still in her own language. He waved to a guard, who moved Arvid’s chair close to the desk. Arvid hesitated, but then did as she was asked.

“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously.

Her counterpart grinned. “My name is Loke,” he said, “and I am one of those narrow-minded tyrants.”

“I see,” Arvid said. “How did you learn my language?”

“That’s not important. Much more interesting is the question of how you got the letter. I had not really expected you to show up here.”

“Noldir’s reply?” said Arvid, puzzled. “But it was… delivered.”

Loke raised an eyebrow. “By whom?”

“By a messenger, I suppose,” replied Arvid with burgeoning nervousness. “Horalf had it.”

“And he simply gave it to you?”

Arvid’s heart began to pound faster. “Yes, he… he did,” she said after a brief hesitation.

Loke folded his hands on the table and looked at her thoughtfully. He was handsome, and though he looked her over searchingly, he was still a thousand times more sympathetic than Noldir. Arvid didn’t like the direction in which the conversation had headed, though.

“You should work on that some more,” he said.

“Huh? On what?”

“Lying. That was really bad.”

Arvid swallowed and felt so caught that she could feel herself blush.

“Don’t you know you can be punished for stealing letters?” Loke continued gravely. “As little as the purloining of a simple letter can lead to a week in a dungeon of the city. The letter you have stolen, however, came from Asgard. Are you aware of what punishment this can entail?”

Arvid looked at him, startled. A drilling feeling of anxiety spread through her. “N-no,” she finally managed to say. “Is it… is it really that bad?”

“Oh yes. For such a crime you could be punished with torture.”

The sheer thought sent a shiver down Arvid’s spine. Loke knew about it. He knew that she had taken the letter from Horalf’s desk. What if the gods found out about the rest? What if she had accidentally killed the two farmers? Arvid felt paralyzed with fear and looked at her counterpart with wide, horrified eyes.

Suddenly Loke began to laugh loudly. Arvid was so confused by his reaction that she just sat there, petrified, and stared at him with her mouth half open.

“You should see your face,” Loke said, snorting with laughter. He spread his arms and let himself fall back in his chair. “Did you really think you would be punished for something like that?” He chuckled with delight. “Oh my goodness, you really don’t seem to have the faintest idea of this world.”

Arvid looked at him and did not know whether to be angry, disgusted or relieved. After everything that had happened since her arrival in the Shadow World, she felt so overwhelmed and emotionally torn that her hands began to tremble and she started to tear up.

Loke’s expression turned serious again. “Easy, nothing will happen to you,” he said soothingly. “It was just a joke. The letter was addressed to you; you have done nothing wrong.”

Arvid rubbed her hands over her wet eyes and took a deep breath to calm her wildly beating heart a little. For so long she had managed to stay strong, to fight and make the most of her difficult situation, but Loke’s tasteless joke had finally discomfited her.

“You have no idea what I’ve had to go through the last few weeks,” she said in a trembling voice. Now that she had gotten over the worst shock, Arvid could feel her anger at the gods grow stronger again. Loke might be different, but apparently he was no better.

“Not really, no,” confessed Loke. “Nevertheless, I am better informed than Noldir. Before I continue, I better let you know that you have nothing to worry about and that nobody will torture, imprison or punish you in any way.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don’t want you to get all hysterical again. I know that you’ve poisoned the two farmers. I just don’t know how.”

Now Arvid understood why Loke wanted to warn her. She was relieved that apparently nothing serious had happened with the two men, yet she instinctively looked over at Noldir, who was still standing in the background, arms folded on his back, and throwing her almost withering glances.

“It was rustnettle,” she said after a brief hesitation. “About thirty leaves.”

“Thirty?” said Loke and nodded approvingly. “You wanted to make absolutely sure, huh?” He grinned. “So what do you want?”

For a moment, Arvid was surprised by the abrupt change of subject. “What do you mean?”

“You’re here because you want something from the gods. Or did you just want to complain?”

Arvid’s thoughts were a mess, but she knew she had to pull herself together. Because of her lack of self control, she had almost nullified the chance of achieving something in this conversation. It seemed almost like a miracle that she now had another opportunity to bring her wish forward.

“I… I was hoping that you could help me to visit Vero-Maghen, so I can study the world transitions.”

Loke looked at her suspiciously. “You don’t really think you’d be able to find a way back?”

Arvid forced herself to look him straight in the eye. “Yes, at least… I hope to.”

“Don’t you know that this is considered impossible?”

“Yes.” She sighed deeply. “I just want to get a chance, you know? I want to at least be able to understand what these transitions are and why I ended up here. But… at the moment I can’t even read a book.”

“This is a tragedy indeed.” Loke ran his hand over his chin. “Tell me… do you have magical abilities of any kind?”

“Well, I’m… not sure,” confessed Arvid, “but I think I had some success with white magic.

“Show me,” Loke said.

Arvid felt nervousness rise inside her, because it would be difficult to focus after all the excitement. Still, she nodded hesitantly.

There was no fixed spot she could focus on, so she used the fingertips of her outstretched hand. Aeldjarn had warned her of doing so, but she knew that her light wouldn’t be hot.

Arvid was surprised when she immediately succeeded at creating a matte, flowing light spot. It wasn’t as clear as the one she had made in the hostel, but clearly visible. She tried to make it a little larger, but Loke had obviously seen what he wanted to see, because he began to rummage in the documents on the table.

“What about sparks?” he asked, his eyes still on the papers in front of him and probably looking for something specific. “That’s what you should start with, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s what I tried originally,” Arvid said. “But all I managed to create were those spots.”

“How interesting.” Loke had now apparently found what he was looking for, pulled the paper out from the pile and glanced at the text on it. After a while he turned back to Arvid. “You’re lucky that I was compelled to be present here today. You see, not all gods interpret the rules in the same way. Personally, I am not a supporter of this… free assistance.” He leaned back and put one foot against the front edge of the table before he went on. “However, I might be willing to help you. I can ensure that you’ll be able to visit Vero-Maghen and get access to all records about the world transitions.”

“But you expect something in return.”

“I wouldn’t word it that way. But if I should ask you for a favor one day, you would do well to remember my help. You understand?”

“What could I help you with? You are a god.”

“Oh, believe me, there is something,” Loke said. “Something that can’t be bought with money nor be taken by force—otherwise I would already have it, wouldn’t I?” He chuckled softly. “I believe you to have a particular talent, a magical gift, which could help me to implement a plan.”

“What kind of talent?” Arvid asked suspiciously.

“It is connected with white magic; you would not understand it. If I’m right, it will show over time. Then you will know what I mean.”

“And if you are mistaken?”

“I’ll take that risk.”

Arvid nodded thoughtfully. Loke’s offer sounded tempting, but perhaps a little too good to be true. An unknown feeling in her told her that she had to be on guard. When she looked at Loke, she had the strange feeling that he was up to something she’d rather not have anything to do with.

“Let’s assume I really have this gift,” she said, “What kind of favor will I owe you?”

“I don’t know exactly; my plan is not finalized yet.” Loke folded his arms across his chest. “I’m trying to eliminate the consequences of a… let’s say… accident. With a little help from you I might be able to straighten things out again.” He took his foot off the table and looked at Arvid. “So what do you say?”

Arvid thought. She felt uncomfortable promising someone a favor when she didn’t even know what that favor would be. If she took into account what Loke offered her, it was clear that it wouldn’t be a small favor.

But what was the alternative? If she refused, she had to fend for herself. She didn’t even have enough money for another night at the inn, and ending up as a beggar on the street wasn’t much better than a life on Horalf’s farm.

“Okay,” she finally said. “You help me to find a patron, and I’ll… do you a favor.”

Loke looked very happy. “Then we have a deal.” He pushed some of the papers aside and grabbed the pen and a blank sheet of paper. “If I may give you a piece of advice, do not spread around that I’m helping you.”

“All right… but why?”

“People tend to get suspicious when I’m involved.” Loke noted something and once again Arvid wished she could read what was written there. He wrote a few lines, put a red seal and put the paper aside.

“It might take a few days,” he said, reaching for another piece of paper. “Where are you staying?”

“At an inn, the Green Corner. But I have no money.”

“Stay there, I’ll pay for you. I’ll have to make a special agreement with the school, because you can’t and shouldn’t follow the normal courses. But don’t worry, I’m pretty good at convincing people.”

Arvid didn’t doubt that for a second. While Loke was writing, she looked over at Noldir again. He still restlessly walked up and down in the darkness between the rear pillars.

When Loke was done, he also put the second, much longer text aside and pulled out a single sheet of paper from the other wildly scattered documents. “Noldir,” he called without looking back, “you better tidy up here.” He now spoke Jördish again and rose from his chair. In unhurried steps he walked around the table, and Arvid stood up again, too.

“There will be someone picking you up and explaining everything to you,” Loke said. “You will live at the school, to be provided with everything. I also advise you to strictly adhere to the rules as long as you’re there.”

“Of course,” Arvid said indignantly. “Who do you think I am?”

Loke chuckled. “Well, after what I’ve heard about you…”

“What’s that supposed to be?” Noldir interrupted him at this moment. He had come up to the table and had begun to collect the documents. One of them he held in his hand. “You know very well that this is against the Council’s decision!”

Loke turned to the other god. Arvid could literally watch the expression in his eyes changing and becoming cold and hard. “The Council’s instructions are as moronic as most of its members,” he said contemptuously. “This matter is no longer your concern. You know my position.”

Arvid looked from Loke to Noldir with bated breath. He had turned bright red again and apparently struggled not to lose his composure.

“I assure you, the Council will learn of this,” Noldir finally muttered, then he continued to collect the papers from the table in jittery, almost aggressive movements.

“I bet they will,” Loke said scoffingly. “Anyway,” he said to Arvid, turned around and held out his hand, “we won’t meet again anytime soon.”

“Thank you for your help,” Arvid said. She shook his hand and was taken aback. His skin was as cold as stone, but she pulled herself together and went on. “I hope that one day I can show my gratitude.”

“I hope so too,” said Loke. His smile gave Arvid the chills.