indigo court 05.5 - night shivers (9 page)

“So many questions. One answer at a time. Fenrick is not invulnerable, but he is too powerful for you to fight.
Yet.
There may come a day when you can take him on.”

I nodded. “Then, how did he get here?”

“That is easier. He had to have opened a gateway from Jötunheim. Therefore, it should still be open and active. My guess is that he’s scouting before the Jötnar decide to take action.”

“Then we have to find the gateway and push him back through, I guess. What about the vargr? Tell us about them.” It sounded easier than it was going to be—that much I knew for a fact. But still…at least we weren’t facing Myst again.

Thorn held up his hand, pointing at the ice wall behind him. An image appeared—that of a giant wolf, with inky black fur and ice-white eyes. He was huge—he looked shoulder high to me.

My wolf tattoo shifted, almost whimpered, and I reached out to take Grieve’s hand. He, too, was afraid. It occurred to me that anybody who
wasn’t
afraid of a creature like this would be a fool. Grieve gave my fingers a long squeeze as I took a deep breath, held it a moment, then slowly released it as I tried to relax.

“The vargr are more than standard wolves. Wolves, in general, are beautiful animals. They have neither good nor evil natures, and they respond as most creatures do, depending on how they are treated. They hunt when hungry, they have a tight pack structure. But the vargr have an intelligence that rivals that of yummanii or Fae. They don’t think like we do, but they are cunning and capable of solving problems and laying traps. Their blood lust is strong, and they delight in tearing their victims to pieces.”

“Like they did the Wilding Fae. But how did they sneak up on them? The Wilding Fae are strong. Far stronger than the Cambyra, and they have magic of their own.”

Thorn glanced at me. “The vargr can lurk in the shadows and move silently. They can also mesmerize. They can paralyze an intended victim, almost like a form of hypnosis. Therefore, never stare into their eyes.”

“Other than that, do they have any forms of magical attack?” Grieve leaned in, staring at the image, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Two forms, actually. The first is a form of ice magic—they can burn with their bite. You would call it freezer burn, Cicely.”

“That explains the wounds on the victims.” I glanced over at Captain Shell and he nodded.

“It would be consistent with what we found, yes.”

Thorn continued. “Their second magical attack is also dangerous. They can mimic voices, and lure their victims into danger through their tricks. The most likely is for one of the vargr to call for help in a child’s voice. When their intended prey comes running to the rescue, the vargr are ready to ambush. From there, it’s easy for them to mesmerize their victim and then tear them to shreds. Unlike wolves, the vargr also hunt for pleasure. They enjoy the kill, and they enjoy seeing others in pain. It’s rumored that the vargr are evil spirits come back in wolfen form.”

Thorn stood and crossed to where the image was still plastered across the ice wall. He pointed to the area just below the wolf’s throat. “This is their most vulnerable place. They have an Achilles heel. Right in this place—at the base of the throat—is a magical regulator that allows them to travel to other realms besides Jötunheim—it controls metabolism. Pierce the area with an arrow or spear or dagger, and it will short-circuit the magic. You won’t kill them, but you will send them back home and they won’t be able to return unless someone heals them. And healing is not likely, given the nature of the Jötnar. They tend to feed on the wounded, rather than help them.”

“Oh, the frost giants are sounding better and better.” I shivered. “I really don’t want them over here, now. So any advice on actually
killing
the vargr?”

“The same way you kill anything—heart and brain are the best targets.” Thorn snapped his fingers and the image vanished.

“If Fenrick is a disgraced priest of Hel, is there some way we can approach her for help?” Captain Shell asked.

I started to say “Not a chance in hell,” but Thorn beat me to the punch.

“I would advise against it. Approaching the goddess of Death is akin to trussing yourself on a spit for a group of hungry cannibals.” Thorn arched his eyebrows—something I’d never seen him do before—and snorted. “The best way to approach the goddess of Death is to give her a wide berth and hope she doesn’t notice you. She seldom strikes bargains with the living and her price would be more than you want to pay.”

“So, we have to drive Fenrick back through his gateway. How do we close it off afterward? And how do we get him there in the first place. Also…what about
The Wave Catcher
? What about the spirits that we are seeing? They seem to be caught in a loop, and now we know that it was Fenrick who destroyed them.” There were still so many questions and not enough answers. I was feeling terribly frustrated and powerless.

“Don’t forget—how do we find this gateway? What will it look like?” Grieve folded his hands on the table. He looked as worried as I felt.

The shaman waved his hand toward the ice wall again. An image flickered into sight, an archway formed of a blue fire, with ripples of energy crossing between the arches.

“This is what the gateway will look like. We do not know its specific location, but it cannot be far. The brutal weather in our realm gets worse the farther out you go and even Fenrick could not exist too far away from the Barrow and its surrounding protection. The realm of Snow and Ice is mostly uninhabitable, with only the Ice Elementals and snow creatures able to exist in the wastelands. Your Majesty…you have never been out that far, and it would not be wise until you have ruled over this realm for centuries. It will take that long for you to fully adapt.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that. I thought I had adapted.”

Thorn once again held my gaze. “Cicely,” he said. “There will come a day when you are as cold and stark as the realm itself. Just as Lainule would have eventually been as brilliant as the Court of Rivers and Rushes — living within the very heart of the fire—very few of the Fae Queens ever reach that stage. And the few who did became one with the realm, forever part of its essence. Most choose to return to the Golden Isle before they ever reach that point.”

It was then that I understood. If I were to stay here long enough — for millennia— I would lose myself and merge into the core of Winter. That a few of the Fae Queens had chosen this route left me both awed and humbled. I honestly didn’t think I would ever have what it took to let myself get to that point. But these were thoughts for another time. Another question came to mind.

“How did Fenrick affect
The Wave Catcher
when it was out at sea?” I told him what I had seen, the face in the wave.

“Fenrick is a powerful sorcerer and he can send his spirit out far ahead of him. Call it a form of bilocation. You see now why I say you are not strong enough to defeat him?”

A little part of me—the egotistical side—wanted to protest that I had managed to defeat Myst. But truth was, we had paid dearly to bring down the Queen of the Indigo Court. We had lost many lives in doing so. I still thought she had to be stronger than Fenrick, but then I forced myself to stop thinking along those lines. The shamans were a better judge than I was. Fenrick had strong magic—magic we didn’t even know about at this point. Whatever he had practiced during his time as a priest of Hel would most likely be the magic of death and destruction. I didn’t want to chance my men against such an unknown factor.

“Yes, I understand. So once we find the gate, what do we do?”

Thorn frowned. “You must lure him to it. Tempt him with bait. Then, literally—shove him through. Immediately after, destroy the runes that mark the sides of the archway. There will be three runes in particular that you must deface, preferably with fire.”

Once again he waved his hand and the wall of ice cleared. Another image shimmered into view, that of three runes, glowing with a faint light. “You must destroy the runes in this particular order.” He pointed to first one, then the second, and finally—the third. “If you make a mistake and destroy them in a different order, the gate will never close unless Fenrick himself chooses to destroy it.”

Captain Shell tilted his head. “You said we should destroy the runes with fire. Does it matter what kind of fire? Does it have to be magical?”

“That is a good question,” said Thorn. “Magical fire is best, and I would suggest you seek one of the Wilding Fae who lives in the village of Whitecroft. There are at least two who can wield the destruction you need. Consult with the Snow Hag to be sure.”

“They lost two of their members to the vargr. They may be willing to help us without additional payment, but whatever they request, we will grant.” Part of me wanted to stay right here. I didn’t want to go back and deal with all of this. But responsibility won out. “One last question. What about the spirits on the shores of the ice floe? What can we do to ease them and send them on to their afterlife?”

The shaman rubbed his chin. “The shamans will need to perform a ritual, but until Fenrick is dispatched from this realm, it will do us—and the spirits—no good. He not only drained their life force, but that gave him a hold on them. He is keeping them bound to the ship. And since the ship is at the bottom of the Crashing Sea, the spirits will wander the edge of the ice floe until they are freed from their servitude.”

“So he is keeping them bound, feeding off of them even though they are already dead. It wasn’t enough that he stole their life force, but he is using their spirits to fuel his power even in death. Which is why they didn’t feel like ghosts. Their energy is being drained elsewhere.”

Of all the things Fenrick had done since he arrived in our realm, this angered me most. It was bad enough to kill, but to then source power through their spirits afterward? Evil.

We stood. I turned to Thorn. “Thank you. Once again you have been of great service.”

He nodded. “That is our purpose. We serve the realm of Snow and Ice. We serve the Court and the Queen. If you need us further, you know we are always here.”

And so we turned and left, facing a battle I dreaded fighting.

Chapter 5

Our first order of business was to find the gate. I sent my men out in small groups, with a warning to keep alert. We briefed them on how to dispatch the vargr, and told them to steer clear of Fenrick if they should see him. Meanwhile, Grieve and I took a trip to Whitecroft. I had never been to the village of the Wilding Fae before, and I didn’t know what to expect. But when we got there, I was surprised by how beautiful it was.

The Wilding Fae lived in burrows, and it made me think of
The Hobbit
, which I had read when I was fifteen. While I had seen a number of the Wilding Fae from a distance, the only one I was familiar with was the Snow Hag. But they were as disparate as the colors of the rainbow—not one looked like another. They varied in size, they varied in colors, some looked like walking twigs with arms and legs and a head. Still others were shaped like humans, but they might be sporting an extra eye or an extra limb, or they might be short and squat with no neck. And still others were even stranger, as though all the goblins and gremlins from legend and lore had taken a trip through Picasso’s brain, emerging in reality-defying forms.

Their burrows were dug into the snow, the door the only sign that it was not a simple mound of snow. As we entered the village, I saw that the walkway was lit by balls of glowing light that hovered in the air, bouncing lightly around us. I reached out to touch one and got a surprisingly strong shock as my finger met the pale pink light.

We were soon surrounded by a train of Wilding Fae, who followed us as we proceeded through the village while I sought out the Snow Hag. And then she was there, without ceremony.

“Perhaps a Queen might seek one of the Wilding Fae in her own habitat, with a request to make.”

I knew that voice. I turned to see the Snow Hag coming up behind us. She dropped in a quick curtsey and then stood. Here, in her own village, she seemed more regal and her power, more apparent. I gave her a gentle nod and smiled.

“Perhaps a Queen might indeed seek one in particular in the village of the Wilding Fae. Perhaps a Queen has a question. And perhaps one of the Wilding Fae with whom she has built a friendship might have an answer.”

The Snow Hag cocked her head to the side and laughed. “A Queen has become adept at speaking with the Wilding Fae, and this might please her subjects. One of the Wilding Fae who claims friendship with a Queen might inquire what it is that the Queen seeks.”

I looked around the village and then back at the Snow Hag. “A Queen might seek one of the Wilding Fae who possesses the ability to create magical fire. A Queen might seek aid in destroying a magical gateway through which a deadly killer has emerged.”

“One of the Wilding Fae might inquire whether this killer has attacked any in the village of Whitecroft.”

“The answer to such a question would be yes. Or perhaps, the killer’s servants are to blame.”

The Snow Hag fell silent for a moment, closing her eyes.

I waited patiently. It never served to rush the Wilding Fae. They moved as they would—fast or slow—and no force in the world would change their pace. I got the distinct feeling that the Snow Hag was communicating with the others. There was a crackle in the air—a whisper on the slipstream that I couldn’t quite catch. I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but as we stood there waiting, the snow fell silently around us, dusting the ground and filling our footprints.

Finally, she opened her eyes. “One of the Wilding Fae might introduce a Queen to the one she seeks.”

She turned and began walking through the village unhampered by the snow flurry, or the drifts around her. We followed. The flakes fluttered down to kiss my hair, my shoulders, my eyelashes. The snowfall muted the sounds from the village and it felt as though we were walking inside a snow globe that was perpetually being shaken—where the flurries never stopped falling.