AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He laughed, and the sound was so rich and full, it eased some of the tension that held my guts in a knot. It was an echo of the Torsten I’d loved years ago. The man he’d been before the heavy mantle of destiny had settled over his broad shoulders and made him whatever he was now. It was good to know that man still existed somewhere deep down. If we survived, there was a chance I could see him more often.
And all we had to do was step into a raging fire and hope for the best. Super.
“I’ll step in first. Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand, okay?”
“Right,” I said, my voice coming out on a tight whisper. I wasn’t sure he’d heard it over the sound of the billows. Either way, Torsten took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped off the ledge and into the forge. He breached the flames first, pulling me along with him. And…
Gods, the pain.
The human brain had a remarkable capacity to forget just how unpleasant an experience was once it’s over. I’m convinced it’s the only reason a woman would put herself through labor more than once. Somehow, over the course of a few hours, I’d managed to blunt the memory of my journey here. Now I was getting a refresher course in pain, and cursing myself every second of it.
Stepping through the flames was a pain so horrific, it rendered me silent. No screams broke through the crackle of the coals. I writhed and trembled, sucking fire into my lungs with every breath. My skin cracked, my lungs baked, my eyes felt like they were going to bubble out of my sockets, and then…
White light too bright to comprehend spread across my consciousness, my soul pouring like cool water into a newly formed body. My old shell burned away, leaving any memory of that body in Muspelheim where it belonged. The absence of pain was such a heady thing that I wanted to laugh, to spin around Fyrcat’s parlor in sheer exultation. We’d done it! Torsten was free, we were alive, and that much closer to defeating the Winters.
But when my eyes opened of their own accord, I didn’t find myself in back in Fyrcat’s parlor with the tapestry clutched to my chest, as I’d firmly expected. Instead, I was in a room with the dimensions of a broom closet, a dirt floor, and a sagging roof.
Oh, and it was on fire. Because of course it was. Things could never be simple. Torsten panted beside me, hands on his knees—apparently the journey here had been as painful on him as it had to me. His eyes wheeled around, trying to take stock of our location, even as flames licked along the walls. He coughed up a pile of dark soot, and reached for his chest to tug a shirt over his mouth and nose, belatedly realizing he was naked.
“Oh, for the love of the Gods,” he coughed. I had the sense he’d have been shouting at the sky if he had the breath. “Where are we now?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, tugging his elbow. I pointed toward a half-open door. Cold was pouring in through the gap. “We have to go. Where’s Ogun? Did he come through behind us?”
As if the question had summoned him, the fire behind us opened like a curtain and Ogun fell ass-first onto the floor. He cursed and swatted at the tiny flames that scorched his clothing. Like Torsten, he couldn’t resist looking around, but appeared more befuddled than scared. I supposed that wasn’t surprising, given where he’d grown up. Fire was sort of a given when you lived in Muspelheim.
“Is this Midgard?” he asked, standing shakily, brushing his knees free of dirt. “I thought it would be less… you know… flame-y than Muspelheim.”
“This isn’t normal, trust me,” I panted. The choking smoke was clogging my mouth and nose. If we didn’t get out soon, I’d pass out. “Come on. Outside, both of you.”
“You’re naked again,” Ogun pointed out to Torsten. “Your tablecloth get burned up?”
“Something like that,” Torsten growled in response.
Then Ogun looked at me. “You both are.”
“We have bigger things to consider at the moment,” I answered.
“Wonder why I’m not naked,” Ogun continued, shaking his head in obvious wonder.
I pushed Torsten out ahead of me and dragged Ogun behind. If I let him gawp at… wherever we’d ended up, he’d end up deep-fried dwarf, and that wasn’t something his uncle would be inclined to forgive. I didn’t want Brisingr as an enemy. Besides, Ogun had grown on me in the short time we’d known each other.
We sprinted out the door, just as the already unsteady ceiling collapsed, burying a small shack and everything inside in flaming wreckage. I couldn’t help but stare. This was definitely not where we’d started from. Where was the mantle? The carefully cultivated opulence of Fyrcat’s domain? How had we ended up naked and shaking, feet-deep in snow?
I was so preoccupied that it took me a moment to realize that a pair of familiar voices were sniping at each other from just behind us.
“You couldn’t have contained the flames?” Skarde half-growled. “You’re a damned witch, aren’t you? Now our shelter is gone.”
“If you wanted shelter, we should have stayed in my home,” Fyrcat hissed back. “If we had, the mantle I enchanted over the course of months could have withstood Muspelheim’s flames. That little hovel didn’t stand a chance, especially depleted as I am. This entire farce is your fault, berserker.”
I half-turned, wrapping my arms around myself in a vain attempt to protect my modesty. Not that it mattered much, in the long run. At this rate I’d get frostbite someplace unfortunate either way. But the sight before me was enough to make me forget the biting cold for a few seconds.
Skarde and Fyrcat were nose-to-nose, bloodied, bruised, and completely disheveled. And yet, neither of them was attacking the other. In terms of witch-berserker relations, it was practically like they were hugging it out. This was nothing short of a miracle. What had happened while we were away?
Chapter Eleven
Jovi
Skarde snorted contemptuously, glowering down at the sorceress.
