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“Treasure that love. Nurture it and never let it die.”
Hel glanced up and saw the quick flash of pain cross over Baldr’s face. She knew that emotion well, experiencing it every day since Émilien and Shalendra had left for Midgard. It was soul-searing and unrelenting in its endlessness. In the beginning, she had tried to help by letting Baldr’s wife, Nanna, enter Helheimr for visits, but it only seemed to worsen her obsession of freeing him.
It was rumored Nanna had even sought the aid of Loki, trying to force the beginning of Ragnarök, so they would all be set free. It was also the worst thing to do. Yes, there was a playbook on how the end of the Nine Worlds would commence, who would die and live, and even how the worlds would survive, but none of that was set in stone. She didn’t understand why Baldr’s wife would risk all their lives like that when she had access to her husband.
“And time heals all wounds, my friend,” Fenrir said, his gravelly voice almost a soft whisper. “We have all suffered from love in one form or another. Life continues and, if you allow it, you heal. Accept what has been to grow into what will be.”
Baldr exhaled. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”
Fenrir scowled. “A what?”
Baldr chuckled. “It’s a sugary treat on Midgard that has a piece of paper cooked inside with a wise saying written on it for whoever breaks open the cookie.”
Hel frowned at him. “How do you know about those?”
“Freyja takes pity on me and sometimes lets me watch her God’s Glass. Did you know the cookies aren’t Chinese at all, but Japanese? Chinese fortune cookies are so ingrained in the American culture, they’ll never be able to change it to Japanese fortune cookies.”
Hel nodded. “Sad, but true. America is a young country and has a lot of growing up to do. It must be difficult to live in a world where everyone else is thousands of years old while you’re not even three hundred. They have difficult times ahead of them.”
“Growing pains,” Baldr mumbled.
“Definitely. Now, why are you here?” Hel asked. “I didn’t summon you.”
Baldr laid his hand over his heart. “Oh, the love. Can’t your only friend visit you?” Hel glared at him, stone-faced. He rolled his eyes. “One day that impenetrable wall you’ve erected will crumble, and you’re going to fall apart. You will need me then.”
Hel smirked. “Key word in that sentence is ‘impenetrable’, meaning it will stay right where it is without any problems.”
“You have a sickness, you know that?” He pulled a single chair away from the nearby wall. Flipping it around, he sat and folded his arms across the top rung along the wooden back. “Like before, we still have a problem, and it seems to be growing.”
“Where is everyone? There were, at least, a few people wandering the streets. Now there are none.” Hel stared out the window again, hoping this time would be different from the last two, but it wasn’t. “It’s like a graveyard out there.” She gave her brother with a wry smile. “Pun intended. Baldr, when did you notice this?”
“Two days ago. At first, it was only a few people throughout the village. But, by the next morning, half of them were missing. Same with the warriors. I’ve never seen the battlefield empty, and standing in the middle of it now is eerie. No sound at all, not even the wind.” He pursed his lips, indecision warring on his handsome face. With a quick exhale, his muscles tensed, as if bracing himself. “And the River Sliðr has gone quiet as well.”
Hel paused, not sure what to say, much less how to react, but sure enough, silence surrounded her. The noisy waterway had never, in all her existence, quietened. She couldn’t remember a single instance the clanging of weaponry in the river’s violent wake hadn’t echoed throughout Helheimr. Turning to her brother, she frowned in confusion. “What does this mean?”
Fenrir shook his shaggy black head. “It can’t be good, whatever the meaning. I suggest you call a conclave of underworld rulers. We need to figure out if this is happening in only our pantheon or if it’s affecting other pantheons as well. If it’s just ours, that’s one thing and possibly easier to resolve, but if it’s many or all death realms, then we may be looking at Ragnarök.”
“I agree with your brother, Hel,” Baldr said, laying one hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid we don’t have much time. Helheimer won’t continue to exist without its inhabitants. If the river has calmed, we can’t afford to wait.”
Hel wanted to scream. This had her father’s touch written all over it. She wouldn’t put it past him to ruin all worlds in his quest for power. She rubbed her hands over her face, then pressed her fingers into her throbbing temples, wishing gods weren’t immune to alcohol. A huge fruity margarita or maybe something stronger like a shot of whisky—no, make that four or five shots, lying on a beautiful white beach with the sun warming her body, and only the crashing of waves and the squawking of birds to soothe her nerves.
She dropped her hands with a loud exhale. “All right. I doubt the others will know much, but I’ll ask them to come here, so they can see my kingdom firsthand.” She left the throne room and made her way to her private chambers. Closing the heavy wooden door behind her, she leaned against it and stared at her dark room. With a single thought, candles sprung to life over the marble fireplace, the glistening black veins looking like flowing rivers through the white expanse. The logs in the deep maw popped, and a tiny spark of flame appeared at the center of the pile.
Pushing away from the door, her pace slow but steady, she walked across the room to stand in front of the copper disc hanging above the mantle. The warmth from the building flames seeped through her chilled skin to inch up her legs and into her core, warming her entire body. Closing her eyes, she willed the God’s Glass to life.
Opening her eyes, she gazed into the metallic brown depths. The rich color swirled, turning golden. More colors bled into the mix, and, at the center, a lush green valley spread out. Muted sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees, and she marveled at the lushness. Everywhere she looked, a kaleidoscope of colors exploded. There were so many flowers and other plants and bushes, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. While her realm was pretty, other death kingdoms were magnificent. In her opinion, the Celtic Otherworld was at the top.
“Hel, what’s wrong?” A deep voice said, its owner just out of her view.
Turning the focus of the Glass in her mind, the scene swung to the left to show a tall man, his gray eyes filled with worry. She noticed Arawn’s handsome, almost Elven features had changed since the last time she had seen the Otherworld’s king. Instead of a clean-shaven face, he now sported days’ old facial hair. His black hair was parted on the side and cut short, almost shorn, as if he’d taken a razor blade and hacked at it. On him, though, it looked good.
Dressed in his typical long, gray leather coat, tight black pants and black shirt, a flash of silver at the base of his neck told her he still wore his triquetra-shaped amulet, the beautiful silver chain visible in the vee of his shirt. The obsidian at the charm’s center channeled the massive amount of power he needed to strip the soul from a body and reanimate it inside his kingdom. Each death lord had a similar piece,centering their unique powers.
She held up her hand, the candlelight flashing over the deep purple stone set in a silver-filigreed setting. Émilien had fashioned the ring for her, only a few days after they’d met. Turning the ring around, she grasped the jewel in her fist, feeling the tiny sliver of Emilien’s Elven magic in its depths. The magical surge gave her a much-needed boost of strength and calmed her ragged nerves.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Arawn, but I need to call a conclave. Can you break away for a few minutes to meet here?”
With a slight nod, typical of the softhearted god, he smiled. “You are the last person who disturbs any of us,mo ghràdh.Give me a few minutes to finish here, and I will transport to your throne room.”
