Empty Altars
Authors: Judith Post
Tags: #Fantasy, #paranormal romance, #norse, #Paranormal, #ragnarok, #Romance, #greek, #witch, #mythology
Table of Contents
Empty Altars
by
Judith Post
To Joyce and Abe
Our Friday night dinner friends for too many years to count
For my 2 Anns—
Ann Wintrode and Ann Staadt,
Who always see my writing when it’s rough
To Paula and Mary Lou
Who never let me take short cuts
And to Scribes,
The perfect writers’ group for me
Chapter 1
The runes on the side table called to her. Diana sighed. Why now? She was stretched on her green, leather sofa, gazing out the bank of windows that overlooked Central Park. A glass of red wine sat on the coffee table, untouched. Noir had jumped beside her, curling his body to fit hers. She stroked his smooth, black fur, rewarded with his purr. Their favorite time of day—when the sun blazed on the brink of the horizon, painting the sky deep hues of rose. The runes’ hum intensified. Part of the goddess gig.
She pushed herself to her feet and went to throw the bones. The minute she touched their pouch, air rushed past her. Everything blurred. Her condo's khaki-colored walls bled into cities, then forests. The temperature dropped, making her shiver. She landed on her knees in a meadow, disoriented; she turned in a slow circle. Where had the runes sent her? To the back of beyond? No lamps blazed in windows, no smoke curled from chimneys.
A hillside stretched before her, dotted with rocky outcrops. She saw the shadows of trees in the distance and a bridge beyond that. The bridge glowed with many colors. Fire danced across its surface. Diana stared. A burning rainbow? What next? Follow the Yellow Brick Road?
A sliver of moon glazed grasses that thrust through thin soil, their blades thick and coarse, almost sharp. And a scent… She inhaled deeply. Fecund. Strong. And something else. Something foreign.
She squinted, straining to see. Where were streetlights when you needed them? What were the runes thinking? She tucked their pouch into her jeans pocket, then wrinkled her nose. The stench of sulfur accosted her nostrils.
Something prowled out there, and she didn't think it was friendly.
Diana crept behind a pile of rocks. Whatever preyed, moved with stealth, each paw planted with care. Grasses swayed, but no breeze stirred. Interesting.
She focused on one spot. Shadows rippled across the meadow, blending with their surroundings—nearly invisible. An obscuring spell—a clever trick Diana knew well. She was the mother of magic. All spells began with her. She chanted a string of words, and beasts took form.
Hellhounds. She'd trained many of her own. She never guessed she'd have to battle someone else's.
No matter. She stretched to her true size—her huntress form, discarding her mortal guise. When she reached to remove a fistful of arrows from the quiver on her back, the beasts sensed her movement and broke into a run, ready to attack.
She notched five arrows. At the touch of wood and string, the shafts flared with brilliant light, illuminating the entire area. The arrows' tips burst into flames. She gritted her teeth and held her ground. When the hounds closed on her, she fired.
Each arrow found its mark, but she'd notched only five. Two more hounds leapt at her. No time for niceties. She yanked a pair of long, curved knives from the sheaths on her belt and gutted the dogs in midair. A spray of blood dyed the grasses crimson. Her hands were coated a slick, sticky red that dripped down her bare forearms. She wiped them on her tunic, wrinkling her nose. This blood stank worse than usual.
One last hound cowered. It tucked its tail between its legs. It took a few steps backwards, hoping to retreat.
Diana reached to her quiver—in goddess form, always with her, always full—and pulled out a single arrow. Another kill. She listened for whimpers or whines. Silence permeated the area. It pressed on her ears. Her hands trembled. She lowered the bow and took deep breaths. No huntress panicked when faced with danger, but now that the battle was done, she sagged with relief. Eight hellhounds! Who'd sent them? And why?
She notched wood to string once more to light her way. The gutted hounds sprawled closest. Diana went to the nearest and stooped to study the corpse. Yellow eyes stared vacantly. A mustard-colored tongue lolled in the grass. A double set of gleaming fangs rimmed its mouth, its bulk too large to be a regular breed.
Water splashed in the distance. She glanced up. Someone was crossing the river under the rainbow bridge.
She placed one knee on the ground to brace herself and raised her bow. Her target towered over her with bulging muscles and wild, red hair. A Viking. One of the old gods. He carried a giant hammer in his right hand.
"You there." He stopped when he saw her weapon. "Explain yourself."
He was almost as rude as the hounds. It was clear she was a goddess. He should show some respect. "Were the beasts yours? Did you set them on me?"
He sniffed, dismissing her. "You're a girl, a Roman one at that. We'd have stopped these." His voice rumbled when he spoke.
"The runes differ." She considered the Norse a fractious lot, but they could care for themselves. Not this time, or the runes wouldn’t have sent her.
The Viking bristled with temper. Thunder rolled overhead. Like that would scare her! Jupiter had thunder and lightning too. They caused her no harm. "We were on guard," he snarled. "No enemy gets past us on the bridge."
"You wouldn't have seen these."
The Viking poked his toe at a nearby body. "A little hard to miss."
"They were under an obscuring spell. They'd blend with their surroundings."
"Witchcraft?" He stroked his fiery beard, surprised.
"My specialty, but you're mistaken. They weren't heading to the bridge. They were going in that direction." She pointed.
"To the village?"
"I didn't ask."
A second Viking crossed the bridge, every bit as powerfully built as the first. He gave the impression of age, even though his appearance belied it. He carried a huge shield in his left hand, and when he stretched out his right arm to greet her, Diana bit back revulsion. His wrist ended in tattered, mangled flesh. This one took a minute to silently study her. "We thank you for your assistance and offer you godspeed home."
He, too, was trying to get rid of her—the sooner, the better! She pushed herself to her feet and tilted her head to meet his piercing gaze. "I've heard of you—Tyr, the sky god. You stepped aside to let Woden reign. No Roman gods would give up their power without a struggle."
Tyr’s lips tilted in irony. "Our religion's not as optimistic as yours. Every Norse fights the good fight, but ultimately, we know we'll lose. The Earth and heavens will be no more. I know who'll kill me, and how I'll die. So does Donar."
"Impossible. Gods are immortal." Weren't they? Roman gods were. Why would Norse be different?
"It's our destiny. It's foretold." He shrugged, accepting the inevitable. "Power seems less addicting when you're aware it's futile."
Diana waved off his cynicism. "Fine. Have it your way. Lose in the end, but I didn't come here to suffer defeat." Clearly, these gods had enemies. The mortals who lived here must too.
Before he could respond, a small buzz of energy caught their attention. An unnatural darkness gathered and grew, multiplying rapidly. The dark chaos gusted toward the village.
Diana smelled magic in the air, the dark kind. "Screw that!" When Tyr's brows furrowed in confusion, she said, "Modern lingo. Don't ask."
She raised her bow and waited. When the black energy was directly overhead, she shot a dozen arrows—one for each major deity—straight into the sky. Sparks sputtered. Explosions of light bounced from cloud to cloud. The heavens trembled, and the clouds dispersed.
"Heid." Tyr readjusted his shield, clearly troubled. "One of her spells."
"Who in Hades is Heid?"
"A Norse witch of black magic." Tyr's gaze swept the meadow. Diana searched too, her eyes finally adjusting to the dim light. As far as she could see, only five longhouses dotted the rugged landscape. A village stood near the rocky shoreline, a high, log fence surrounding it. A steep cliff dropped in all directions, making the meadow a floating island of sorts.
She returned her attention to the Vikings. They gleamed with vibrancy—sky-blue eyes and skin tanned to shades of gold. Diana swallowed a knot of jealousy. She felt drab beside them with her own woodsy coloring of chestnut hair and hazel eyes.
"Where are we?" She slung her bow over her shoulder. "What country?"
"We're between Asgaard, land of the gods, and Midgard, the land of mortals," Tyr said.
"Midgard?"
"The world of modern men." He frowned, glancing toward the tree line, at the spot the magic storm had come from. "Heid's here. If we try to find her, she'll be gone before we reach the trees. Three times we killed her and burned her on the pyre. Three times she rose, reborn, like your Phoenix."
"You know of the Phoenix?" Diana asked.
"I study many religions, including the new ones. Mankind may have deserted us, but we haven't deserted them."
Curiouser and curiouser. Diana spread her hands at the barren surroundings, confused. "Why would anyone stay here? Nothing's changed. Where are the modern conveniences? Electricity? Plumbing?"
"This is
our
kingdom. It's protected from the rest of the world, the modern times. The few mortals who remain stay to serve us."
"Why?"
Donar answered, his square jaw rigid with temper. "This is where the final battle will start."
At Diana's look of bewilderment, Tyr explained, "When the giants storm the bridge and destroy Asgaard and the World Tree, we’re all doomed."
"Like the two trees in the Garden of Eden?" For the first time, Diana wondered if they still existed somewhere, guarded so that mankind couldn't reach them.
"Two trees?" Donar growled.
"The tree of life and the tree of conscience." Tyr knew his stuff. Diana was impressed.
She chewed her bottom lip, thinking. "So what happens if Asgaard falls? Your race is destroyed?"
"Ragnarok, the final days. Similar to the Christians’ Armageddon. The end."
"Of everything?" Not likely. How could a Norse myth affect everyone?
"Unless this is just a play for power." Tyr stopped to consider that. "Heid might be vying for control. If she and her allies defeat us, people will pray for death."
Was he serious? Why were Vikings and Christians so pessimistic? And if he
was
serious, why was she standing here, willing to help, arguing with two Norsemen who clearly wanted to be rid of her?
A ball of energy flew toward them. Tyr raised his shield, reflecting the magic skyward. His biceps bunched, and his expression set in anger. "Enough!" He started to the tree line.
A horse whinnied. Hooves sounded in the distance.