Addictive Nightshade (12 page)

Chapter 17

Emma
:

Propped on my pillows on my old bed, it's too small after experiencing the space in Mac's bed. His made me feel like a ten year old the first time I experienced sleeping in a double bed all to myself. But that was just the once, at Sandy's house. Lucky bitch.

As a child I had an uncomfortable single bed that belonged to the Cold War, an archaic design of interlocking iron springs which had slept bodies tons heavier than mine, leaving the springs lax and distorted, forcing me to sleep on a board shoved across the metal frame to keep my mattress from slumping in hammock style when it molds to the destroyed springs.

My own bed is familiar, a slice of normal, but a normal that is now as alien as living on gas and having a thorax. I hate everything it represents because it burdens me with the weight of what I've lost, because I reacted like a drama queen.

In hindsight I have to admit I overreacted. I have anger accumulated from so long ago I just lash out, any pain to my heart at all is enough to tumble the carefully stacked breathing room and the whole barn of past transgressions come crashing down to stifle me – and then I freak out.

I did.

And now I'm alone in a strange place without even a firefly for company, to keep the impenetrable black at bay. They could have at least left me with a colony of glow worms. Something!

The dark is so complete it's suffocating. I've not held a fear of the dark since a young child. Hitting my teens I discovered the night was a vista of sophistication and fun.

I longed to be old enough to go out for dinner to restaurants, to wear high heels and sexy skirts, to receive flowers and dance the night away. But it's a long wait because it's a societal age-ladder we have to climb, rung by crusty crumbling rung. First we have to haunt pool halls, frequent dodgy bars and nightclubs, before graduating to upscale jaunts.... the sleek cars and romance is something that just doesn't happen... well it didn't, not for me. And yet I always kept an outfit in my closet for just such an occasion. And now I'm too buxom and tall for it.

That's my life in a nutshell, a wardrobe of opportunities which pass as they become redundant.

This room is a shrine to a history that isn't me. I've been more alive in the recent twenty-four hours than I have in all the twenty-nine years leading up to this apex. I've reached my sell-by date, Guy running away pretty much surrendered me to a spinster life where I'd start painting watercolor postcards and taking group holidays so I have some old fart to share vacation photos with.

Alcohol was a refuge for a short interlude, hiding in the dark recesses at the Fallen Fraternity gave me a semblance of belonging, but romance is personified by Macala. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand, the way he carried me as if I was the most precious gift he'd ever found when he brought me here.

Screw Kake!

Sneaking out of bed I rebelliously tiptoe barefoot across the floor until I find wall, scavenging my way around the cave inch by painful inch, blindly feeling my way with sensitive fingers, following the labyrinth into the tunnel, creeping along until the dim light of his suite of caverns burns a twilight into the dark.

Running for it I sprint right to his bedroom, disappointed to find it vacant, everything exactly the way it was when I passed out. My love crystal glows warmth on the bed and I stroll to it, stroking the facets the way I would caress his face if he was here. Then I'd say I'm sorry, and cry, and climb into his lap and ask for a hug, and I know deep inside he wouldn't say no. He wouldn't hold a grudge or make me grovel.

He has no conditions.

Sighing miserably I heft the heavy crystal into my arms, checking the bathroom, dining nook, and his lounge, before giving up, dawdling despondently back to my room with a light that's truer than the rumor of heaven.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” I ask the darkness, wondering if he's one of the shadows dancing in grotesque distortion against the tunnel arch now that I hold my stone of light.

It's a balsamic mural, turning even my shadow into a  monstrosity that would terrify children. I've become the devil of nightmares. I'm a giant, a myth, and as miserable as the child I was back when the dark scared the sweat out of my body.

*

Macala:

Settling into the raven's nest, I volunteer for tonight's guard duty.

I know I'll seek her out if I'm indoors. I'll hurt her because of Kake's adherence to protocol. Emma won't understand if I leave again, following orders, and that will permanently crack the fragile foundation we've built.

It's better to be a blackbird for a night, sleeping in the brisk night air, clearing my head and getting the foresight I need to plot my next steps with the utmost care.

Chapter 18

Emma:

I'm left to my own devices for what feels like days. Company appearing in the form of strangers bringing food to a prisoner. They come and go like breezes on the ocean, sometimes too shy to even announce their presence, arriving and leaving as shadows. Am I such a bitch?

Arghin finds me in my bedroom in the 'morning' of what I think is my fifth day here. It's hard to tell, being underside instead of topside. I'm deep in the underworld, which would usually thrill my inner Goth, but not so much right now. My room is full of old stuff that no longer fits my new life. Everything I held dear, everything that seemed important no longer seems to matter one iota. Arghin nudges his head, “Wanna read the book?”

“
What book?” I grumble, aggravated to the tips of my toenails.

“
The Book of Shadows. You, me, all of us, we're shadows.”

Blinking in denial, I attempt to halt my runaway careening fear of the implications that he's casually spewing, as if it's no biggie. “Dude,
what
?!”

“
That big book your blood wrote in, the day you arrived, Odin's book, it's the book I'm referring to sweetcheeks.” He shrugs nonchalantly, “Hey if you don't wanna go reading about Mac's lineage and shit, it's no sweat off my back.”

Oh hell yeah!

“Sure thing!” I say quickly, pouncing off my pity pot and meeting him in the doorway, walking in a hurry to keep up.

“
After this we'll have your first training session, then you go to Gudmund for botany lessons.”

“
What do I need botany lessons for?” I snap, annoyed all over again.

“
So you can live off the land. He has three caverns at different temperatures, where he grows our supplies. It'll teach you a lot,” he nods, as if fate has already been written and there's no point struggling against what will be.

Examining the corpus splayed before me I find Mac's story incredible. His mother died in childbirth and he was raised here in these mountains, sojourning often into the modern world on supply gathering and reconnaissance, looking specifically for me.

His father, like mine, is the giant. His mother human.

He knows what it's like to walk in my shoes but let me rant like a snotty brat instead of revealing that he understood. Would the exposing of that secret have killed him?

Reading faster I find his reasons much further down the page, writing in a bold script full of ornamental flourishes. His page is a thing of beauty, the attention to detail minute. Mirroring the man.

He respects my journey, knowing I needed to purge what's eating away at me, so instead of nullifying my experience with his own he simply absorbed it, being the proverbial shoulder.

Aw! See, once your perspective changes you simply fall harder for mister perfect. He is, truly, gorgeous, in every way possible. But I'm going to kick him for letting me ruminate on my agony and wallow in the shortcomings my parents embodied.

Clearly bored, Arghin interrupts, “Come on Emma, we've got stuff to do.”

Petulant, I glare at him, left no choice but to follow him to the gymnasium where a big oaf waits on the mats with a bunch of armory.

“
Emma this is Vigorn, he'll be helping me demonstrate the moves to you.”

“
Okay,” I mumble.

“
So you're Mac's new guest?” he says, way too enthusiastic.

“
Yup,” I nod, looking around at the items on the floor as we reach him.

“
Nice to greet you,” he says, grabbing hold of my hand and yanking me in for a kiss, on the freaking mouth!

Ugh!

Leaping back, I'm ready to dislocate my hips kicking the bastard in the groin, but hell I want to!

He gives me a leery smirk, releasing my hand.

“Let's start with the basics,” booms Arghin's baritone.

Shifting to face him I prop hands on hips and wait for the big revelation.

Scratching his head, scooping his long bangs out of his eyes, he looks me over with his freaky eye, “Can you change into your avatar?”

“
What's an avatar?” I volley.

“
Your bird form. Or animal form, to be more specific.”

“
Nope,” I shake my head. “Wouldn't that be better taught by a woman?”

He shakes his head, “Nope. It's a fallacy that we lose our clothing when we change form. It's a gift from Odin, we are always prepared for battle, we're never vulnerable like that.

“Oh,” I nod, appreciating the intel.

“
Okay, how about shadow? Can you shadow yet?” he delves, scratching at his cheek now.

I shake my head again, beginning to feel inept.

Exasperated Arghin looks across to Vigorn, who's ogling me blatantly.

As if to distract me from the lecherous prick, Arghin takes my hand, pulling me into the center of the mats, “Okay Emma, this is easy. Anyone can do it. Just close your eyes and feel the air pressing in on you.”

He stares pointedly, waiting for me to comply.

Sighing, I close my eyes, trying to feel 'air'. Oddly I
can
feel the air. That's new.

“
Now inhale, focus on pulling that air around you, being its center of gravity.”

Inhaling, it feels as if I have a heavy duvet I'm pulling over myself, it's a bit of an effort but I concentrate hard, yanking on it until it feels too weighty to hold.

“Holy
uskit'r,” exclaims Arghin, which pops my eyes open only to be standing in a cocoon of bright white fog.

“
Fuck,” I bitch. “No, I can't pull shadows in. This happened the other day too.”

“
It's fine, you're a rare white shadow. We get them every once in a while, but they usually belong to the wolf clan.”

“
Why the wolf clan?” I grumble, exhaling and waving my arms, trying to free myself from the mist.

“
Just release it,” orders Vigorn. “In your mind scatter it free.”

The way Vigorn stares is obscene. Ribald bastard.

But I do as he commands, feeling better when the vapor dissipates as strangely as it coalesced.

“
Wolf and Skadi have an interesting history,” winks Arghin. “We'll let Mac tell you that story.”

Stepping away from me, he lifts a sword, the blade lighting up like a love crystal the second his hand touches the hilt. “When the gods embrace you, you'll get your own valhalla sword. This is mine. And this is why we have to teach you to fight with a sword, okay?”

I nod, fascinated with the truth of the legend. It's awesome!

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he beckons Vigorn closer, casting his sword back to the ground and adopting a sparring stance. “Emma, I will show you the move with Vigorn, and then you repeat it with me. Alright?”

“Yes!” I snap, wishing this day was over already. When am I going to get Mac back?

He takes me through the paces, until I can kick, punch, strike, block, throw, and vanish into mist when I'm attacked. That part rocks, but I'm exhausted.

I hold up the timeout T, breathless and with a stitch in my side.

He nods, “Okay, while you get your breath back I'll show you the weapons.” Looking to Vigorn he nods, “Thanks for your help. We'll meet up with you at lunch.”

Oooh, they both look short tempered. Arghin is obviously PO'd with Vigorn's endless visual licking of my body, and Vigorn is pissed because he has to fuck off now. Up yours you ugly oaf.

I watch as he saunters off the way you expect a drug dealer to coast down the street with a gun in his pocket and a hypodermic in the other.

What a shifty character.

I want Mac! Stat!

Now I'm annoyed too.

Chapter
19

Emma:

“
When harii warriors spar, we call it
leikr
.”
He lifts up the broadsword, explaining, “This is a mækir.”

“
A maker? It looks like a sword to me.”

Arghin drops it so the point is next to his foot and sighs dramatically at me, “You're determined to be an outsider aren't you? Learn our words for things because in the heat of conflict you won't understand a shout of warning if the guy guarding your back is speaking the old dialect.”

“Fine!” I snap, giving him my best 'crawl back into your hole and suffocate on your own stink' stare.

Clearly moody, he points at the spear, “Geirr.”

“Gee-er?”

He nods, “Geirr is a spear.” Then he points at the arrows, “Oddr, are arrows. The shaft is gísil.”

“Odir,” I repeat diligently. “Geezil.”

He nods, flicking me an approving stare. Lifting the sword up he runs his finger along the sharp edge, “The blade of your sword is brandr.”

“Brunder?” I repeat.

He nods, “You get the bigger picture now as you see how root words have affected modern language. Somehow telling someone to meet their maker means a whole lot more when you understand a mækir is god's sword. We always laugh when we hear modern folk call someone an ass, because in our language it means a god.”

With the channel of communication open, I query, “So what does T'ach'aa mean?”

“
In a word? Excelsior. Ever upward. It's a native phrase which means 'the very direction'.”

“
So why do they call you that?” I say.

“
Because we are the direction to the life wheel, the key to the rainbow path which leads directly to Wankan Tanka and the Happy Hunting Grounds.” He seems to diminish as he gives up his quest to teach me, choosing to sit down and continue, “Basically the Tinglit understand the spirit is separate to the body, they are not one. They call it xh'aséikw, which means the essence of life. It's the same thing the Chinese call chi. There is a greater force at work within us, and this aspect of life
anima
tes, but it continues long after death, to the Old Man, the Great Spirit, what we call the realm of Asgard because to us it's still as real as you and me.”

“
So why do you adopt their name?” I challenge.

Arching bushy eyebrows into his mane of hair, he says, “They are matrilineal as a society. That is why we abhor the modern world because it's got the world upside down and fucked up. They remember Raven, Wolf, and Eagle, they keep truth even though d
léit khaa have tried their damnedest to destroy all native folks and their historical legacies. They remember us, we honor them in return.
”

It's odd the weird shit that runs through my mind these days. Anima, it's the spirit within which drives the body, but when I break it up the way my mind just did, you get ani-mate anima-mate, which basically should mean soulmate. Maybe all this time we search for soulmates not realizing the body is the mate to the soul?

The shadows thicken behind the screens at the sparring mats which distracts me while I attempt to discern if there's someone there or not. It's like deciphering smoke in a mist, pointless.

Blinking, I look back at Arghin, “What is d
léit khaa?”

“
White man.”

“
Oh,” I mumble, knowing by his expression he wanted to say white man - black heart.

“
They call Raven
yehi
. Wolf is
goch
, and Eagle is
nehadi
.”

I throw my hands up in despair, “Dude, none of this is going to sink in. I will never remember all this shit.”

“It could save your life.”

Smirking, I lift up my wooden sword from when we sparred, “No, this is going to save my life.”

He seems disgruntled as he stands, “Vigorn is waiting. Let's go eat. We'll continue training tomorrow.”

Thank fuck for small mercies.

“Alright!” I smile, dropping my sword where I stand and stomping over the thick matting to the edge, glancing back at the lurking shadows.

Mac, is that you?

It's automatic, I softly press a thumb into the valhalla triangle on my hand, smirking to myself when the shadow flicks with a brief twinkle of starlight when his eye reacts to the connection.

*

Sitting with Arghin and Vigorn at the end of the long feast table I stare unenthusiastically at the gray sludge served in a wooden bowl. It looks like wet ready mix concrete.

The two of them don't hesitate, picking up their ladles and scooping up the dross like two growing boys. Following their example I pick up my spoon and poke about in the slurry, unable to find the will to try it.

They're halfway through before Arghin notices my reluctance, “You not hungry?”

“Nope,” I mumble, dropping the spoon the way one waves a flag of surrender – dramatically.

“
Did you even taste it?” asks Vigorn. He makes eating sound like a personal challenge.

Staring moodily down the table I search the sea of unfamiliar faces, looking for the one I know and miss.

Vigorn grips my hand, shoves my spoon handle in it, closes my fingers in an iron grip and spits in soft rage, “Eat!”

“
You can have it,” I snap, trying to get my hand back, straining my tired muscles.

“
Andi!” Vigorn yells so loud the low level ambient chatter stills and all faces swivel to my end of the feast table. Disapproval oozes my way while the minions wait for retribution to be delivered because I don't want to eat concrete.

Goliath stomps our way, his body naked from the waist up, exposing shoulders as wide as most double beds, and a hairy chest that makes me even less inclined to consume muck.

Thick legs as long as doorframes stop next to me, the gargantuan man leaning over me as if I'm not even here, accosting my sense of smell with spices and sweat, “Yes?”

Vigorn points righteously at me, “New raven doesn't want her soppa. She insults the chef.”

The silence is overwhelming me with trepidation and my pores are exploding with adrenalized heat. The man looks down at the people on my right, waving his hand in a 'scoot' manner, then plonks down right next to me the way a cat does with a field mouse.

Tugging my bowl to front and center he dips the spoon in, grabs my head in the helmet of his hand, and shoves the spoon in my mouth hard enough to smash my teeth.

Thatched hair which is angelically curly-blond has droplets of perspiration clinging to it, his eyes iceberg cold, both of his eyes with Odin pupils.

Withdrawing the spoon he vices my jaw closed as easily as he'd squeeze a grapefruit, looking calmly at me when he says, “Swallow.”

Fear has me by the throat and I try to swallow but end up choking, half of it going up my nose, burning my nasal cavity with something like allspice. It's peppery and brutal.

He starts laughing as gray goop is expelled out my nose, my eyes watering, looking like I just snotted down my face.

Grinning with amusement he releases me, lifting his apron and wiping my face like a toddler who has a drooling problem.

Propping an elbow on the table, crunching up muscles the size of beach balls, he surveys me, “Was that so bad?”

“Stuff you,” I mumble under my breath.

“
What is this child's name?” he asks Vigorn.

“
Emma.”

Fucking traitor!

Andi looks back my way, leering ominously over me, our noses so close I can smell the faint scent of cherry tobacco on his six o'clock shadow, “Emma, I do not serve poison. You will eat what the gods provide whether you want to or not. Understand?”

I nod, once, my nape tight with tension.

Pushing my bowl to me he nods at it, “Eat, I watch.”

Glowering at Vigorn I lift the fucking spoon again and sip at the hot cement.

Andi taps his finger in front of my bowl, “This is blåbärssoppa. It is a bilberry soup thickened with purple potatoes  and spiced. So why do I serve this? You think it unappetizing? You think you prefer McDonalds?”

Ten points to the bully for knowing what Mickey D's is.

He turns to glare at the other diners, bellowing, “This is not your concern! Eat!”

Everyone looks down and complies to the order. So, the Dominator has a reputation. He's probably done this to all of them at one point or another.

Turning back to me he gives me a sly wink before glaring at Vigorn, “You too lombungr.”

Vigorn immediately starts shoveling slop into his big mug again, unable to look away from my humiliating interaction the way assholes rubberneck car accidents.

Dutifully spooning in the moldy looking porridge stuff, it doesn't taste as bad as it looks.

“
You need this because bilberry boosts your immune system, helps you cope with stress. You're growing at an exponential rate which is why you need as many carbs as you can fit in that tiny body, and the spices I use obliterate germs and viruses, bacteria and plague. It makes you strong, Raven. My job is to make sure this army is ready for anything, invincible in body and mind, I take my role seriously because your fates all lie in my hands. Understand? When you sit down at this table you eat what I serve.”

I nod, too afraid to argue, half impressed he takes the science of food to such an extreme.

“What is bilberry?” I finally ask, when he stops to stare at me like I'm a fascinating curiosity.

“
Blueberry you call it. Power food, super food, us Norse make soup with it. If it's good enough for Odin it's good enough for you, am I clear?”

I nod again, harboring murderous thoughts toward Vigorn.

Looking at the dregs in the bottom of my bowl I now understand why it's icky gray. Blueberry and purple potatoes would do that to any dish. It looks like shit.

Slamming his palm down in front of me with such force it
bounces my bowl and spatters all of us with soup roadkill, he snarls, “I see your thoughts, Emma.” He points to his luminous pupils, “Insult me again at your own peril.”

Fuck!

Nodding, I start humming mentally, nanananana – na naaaa na na na na na naaaaaa.

Satisfied he's bullied me enough he stands, taking our empty bowls with him back to the kitchen.

Vigorn smirks with charcoal bits stuck in his teeth making them look decomposed and gross, “Andi is a god. He was Odin's chef. You're one stupid dame.”

“
Why don't you go fuck yourself?” I snap, getting up from the table before I spit at him, marching back the way we came, ready to hide in my bedroom and have a quiet cry.

The sense I'm being followed is making me paranoid and I turn as fast as I can, often, trying to catch the sneak out.

Giving up I stomp to my room, flinging myself on my bed to exhale exasperation at the ceiling of my cavern.

“
What the fuck does lombungr mean?” I grumble at nothing.

“
Moron,” answers the shadow in the curve between the dresser and the wall.

Pegging upright I stare at it, knowing that voice. “Where the hell were you?”

“It is enforced, I must not be caught fraternizing with you until Kake says we may.”

“
But why!” I shout, fed up with this dictatorship.

“
Shhh elskling, they'll hear you. He'll grow bored soon and let us reconvene. But I'm watching, and I am happy with your progress.” The shadow inches closer, sitting on my bed as nothing more than a wisp of diaphanous darkness. Something glints in the dark smoke and nail clippers are dropped on my bedspread. “Cut your nails. You can't fight with long nails.”

“
Andi's a right prick,” I bitch to my ally.

“
I know
Andhrímnir is intimidating, but he's one you can trust.”

“
Vigorn's an even bigger wanker!” I bemoan, plucking at the bedding with nervous agitation.

The shadow appears to nod, “Be careful of that
hrafnasueltir.”

“
What the hell does that mean?”

“
Directly translated it means raven starver, but it indicates
coward
.”

“
Tell me how to tell him to go fuck himself in your language.”

“
Just call him ormstunga bacraut and he'll get the message.”

“
Huh?” I smile now, despite myself.

“
It means serpent tongued asshole. He is. I've never liked him and he's clearly enjoying making you suffer in my absence.”