Harbinger (The Bleeding Worlds) (28 page)

“What you should have done,” Elaios said, “was forget this whole world and run away with Pridament. You would’ve survived a little longer then.”

Gwynn turned to face her. Elaios’ face hardened.

“So why are you still here?” Gwynn asked.

“One last, most important task.” The air sparked as her fists burst into blue flame. “You need to die.”

§

Hodur twisted the
spear. Waves of pain crashed through Pridament’s body.

“Before we end this,” Hodur said, “I just want to know one thing. Was it worth it—throwing away a godhood?”

“I only have one word for you.” Pridament rasped. He coughed and tasted blood in the back of his throat.

“And that would be?” Hodur’s eyes filled with a delighted greed and desire to mock whatever he might say.

Pridament locked his gaze on Hodur. “Mjollnir.”

Hodur’s eyes widened in horror. A loud thunderclap sounded and lightning erupted from Pridament’s right hand, throwing Hodur across the floor.

Cool steel pressed against his skin and the familiar weight in his hand. It sent a joyful energy through him. He tore the spear from his side. He had little doubt that he should be in pain, but a thunderstorm tore through his veins that would rob even death of its sting.

“That’s impossible.” Hodur stammered. “You had a seal placed on you when you deserted Asgard. No one breaks a seal of Odin.”

Pridament hefted the hammer, its electric blue glow filling his vision. “You forget brother, I’m dead in this world, and the seal died with me.”

The air smelled of ozone as Hodur drew two battle–axes from the Veil.

“That’s more like I remember.” Pridament said. “Enough trick spears. You want to take me down? Then see if you can with your own power.”

Hodur charged. The battle–axes sliced through the air. Pridament stepped aside with ease. Hodur’s momentum carried him a step further. Pridament slammed the hammer into Hodur’s back, rewarding him with a loud crunching noise.

Hodur stumbled and fell to the floor.

“You want to know why I left Asgard?” Pridament asked. “You want to know if it was worth it?”

Hodur huffed; his chest heaved with every breath. “I told you.” He gasped. “I wanted answers.”

Pridament moved to Hodur’s side and knelt down to see his eyes.

“I left because I loved my family. I left because of the bitch you’re working for.”

“Elaios?”

“That wasn’t always her name. I’m sure you remember who and what she was before becoming a Fallen.”

Hodur coughed, his eyes dazed. Was he in any shape to recall?

“A Vala.” Hodur groaned. “A seer.”

“Not just any Vala. The one who told Odin of Ragnarok.”

“She was the one who saw the end of the gods?” Hodur spat blood. “As if any such thing could happen now. What did she do to you?”

Pridament drew a long breath. It found all the wounds that refused to heal, sending shivers of pain through him. Mjollnir was mighty, but it didn’t prevent Hodur from healing himself with the Veil. How long would he play the game of having mortal injuries? Still, it didn’t matter. A weight lifted from Pridament. How long had he wanted to explain? Too many years had gone by with him carrying his burden alone.

“She did nothing to me. Only told me a prophecy. One that she gave me proof enough to believe.”

“That made you abandon us?”

Warm tears built up to rush down his face. “She told me that I would be responsible for starting Ragnarok. I thought if I left that I could avoid it and save everyone. I was wrong. The end is coming anyway.”

Pridament drew a deep, ragged breath. He stood and took five paces backward. “You can stand up Hodur; I know you’ve all but healed yourself.”

Hodur turned his head toward Pridament, a sly smile crossing his lips. The battle–axes faded back to the Veil and he stood, brushing himself off.

“The possum defense never was much use against you, was it?” Hodur said. “Is it true, what you’re saying? Could she really have convinced you that you would start Ragnarok?”

“She did. I’m still convinced. All I can do now is try to stop it.”

Hodur shook his head and let out a dry and humorless laugh. “Well, I have my answer. It’s too bad it changes nothing. If you truly feel you’re the cause of the twilight of the gods, then lie down here and die with this world. That should prevent the curse from troubling the rest of us.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it. If Ragnarok
has
started, it’ll play throughout the entirety of creation. No world will be safe.”

“Thanks for the warning brother. But when the spawn of Loki come knocking, I’ll have a whole world ready to end them. It helps to be a lone and great god. Stay here. Your end will be far less painful and bloody.”

Pridament reached out, but a wave of energy slammed into him and smashed him against the wall. Squinting against the intensity of the white light, he saw wings enfold Hodur. A final flash forced him to turn his face away and heat pricked his skin and his open wounds burned. A minute passed before the floor plunged into darkness again.

Pridament was on his hands and knees. Warmth spread across his abdomen where blood continued to spill from his wound. Maybe Hodur was right, maybe it would be easier to just lie down and let the end come. After all, there might be another him. Maybe that version had managed to get life right. Maybe he had found a lasting love and held tight to his child. Here in the quiet dark, it was easy to see the disaster his life had become. Surrender seemed so simple.

A sound like an explosion came from above, sending cables and debris spraying from the ceiling.

Maybe he had lost his son. Maybe the him who had lived in this world abandoned his son for the embrace of death. But fate had drawn them together—the orphaned son and broken father. Perhaps this was his hope for salvation.

Pridament searched for the spear. When he had it, he pushed open the stairwell door and went to save the son that wasn’t his.

§

Fuyuko slammed the
Fallen into the rail. From the corner of her eye, she caught Gwynn make it through the door.

The Fallen shoved. Fuyuko’s feet left the ground, the sight of descending stairs passed beneath her. She reached within herself and touched the part of her within the Veil. The cold vastness opened within her.

In the times when she severed herself from the Veil, she felt so small, closed, and powerless. But the enormity of the resource in the Veil, that was somehow also her, felt limitless. She drew on it, focused the power into her arms and her spear. She rammed it into the wall, halting her descent. Momentum continued her moving. She swung around the shaft of the spear and came to rest crouched on it.

The fallen stood motionless, stunned.

She wanted to gloat and laugh at his obvious underestimation of her. She wanted this moment to be a story she would talk boisterously about when she returned to Suture.

She wouldn’t do any of those things. That would be dishonorable.

She didn’t do this for fun or thrills. She did it out of a sense of duty and birthright. The moment you took too pleasure in it, when pride blotted out common sense, was the day something put you to an end.

She swung down to the floor, pulling the spear free. The Fallen made for the door to pursue Gwynn. Fuyuko dashed up the stairs and drew on the Veil. The familiar chill filled her core. She imagined it coursing through her, up to her hands. Such intense cold, she often marveled at the fact it didn’t burn her. Fuyuko curled her fingers as though she were holding a ball. In that space, she focused the energies coursing from the Veil through her. The moisture in the air froze. Years of practice compressed complex actions into fractions of a second. A moment later, she hurled the ice dagger toward the Fallen, who stumbled back to avoid it.

She reached the tenth floor landing and slashed with her spear. The Fallen leaped over the rail and landed with a thud on the stairs on the other side.

Fuyuko slammed the door to the tenth floor shut, filling the lock and gap around the door with ice.

The Fallen charged up the stairs toward the midway landing beneath Fuyuko. Before his feet touched the landing, he jumped upward and pushed off the wall, sending him propelling toward Fuyuko, cleavers first. She used her spear as a pole and vaulted up and over the Fallen. As she did, she swung the spear downward, producing a satisfying strip of crimson across the man’s back.

Fuyuko landed in a crouch. The Fallen stood above her. Despite her impression that she had inflicted serious damage, he gave it little notice.

The air crackled. The cloak that concealed the Fallen danced and shred apart. The Fallen stood revealed, his flesh a red and purple bruise. Fuyuko’s stomach gave a lurch as the man’s muscles rippled, expanded, and split as sharp metal protrusions forced themselves out of his skin.

The Fallen howled and flung his arm forward. Several razor shards hurtled toward Fuyuko.

She twisted to her right to avoid one, and then fell backward to the floor avoiding another. More razor projectiles sent her rolling across the floor to avoid being shredded. She leaped to her feet as a dozen sharp projectiles flew toward her. She ran back toward the wall and used it to propel herself up and over the shards. She flipped over and tucked her arms in as she fell straight down the central shaft of the stairwell. Fuyuko let her spear flow away and then drew on the energies of the Veil. She reached out and grabbed a rail to cease her descent.
Her
arms would’ve ripped from their sockets, but the arms holding the rails were not her own. Instead, they were a bluish tinge, large and muscular. She had only ever allowed the Veil this much of her body, and only in the most dire of circumstances. As much as the thing in the Veil might also be her, she feared allowing it too much control.

Fuyuko flipped herself up onto the stairs. Below, the battle between the members of Suture and the Curses continued. Above, the massive Fallen crashed its way down the stairs toward her.

She laid her hands on the stairs in front of her and prayed she had time to do the job right. It had to be just the right layer of ice. The Fallen approached, maybe too close to get the job done.

Fuyuko sensed the moisture in the air just above the stairs. Maybe, just enough. She pushed harder. Maybe she had another ten seconds. No eight, five.

The Fallen stood above her. She didn’t stop or hesitate. She let loose with a melee of ice daggers. She didn’t need to hit him, just force him closer, and distract him from looking at the steps. Another foot. Maybe six inches. The energies she dragged from the Veil started to weigh on her. If this didn’t work, maybe there would be nothing left but to give herself completely to the other. Maybe it would have the strength to finish the job. But would she be able to come back from that? Still, it was preferable to defeat.

The Fallen stumbled. His foot hit the ice, and he fell forward. She breathed, felt the movement of time—waited for the right moment.

The beast rushed downward. Fuyuko tore into the Veil and spun, putting all the momentum she had into the downward swing of her spear, passing it through the Fallen’s neck. The body slammed into the wall with a sickening thud.

Fuyuko ran up the stairs, her feet sure and secure on the ice, as the stairwell behind her was painted red with the Fallen’s blood.

Fuyuko made her way back to the tenth floor. She sensed movement and struck out with her spear. It met another, much older, spear.

“Glad to see you’re still alive.” Pridament said.

Fuyuko nodded. “You too. You’re wearing that different face. Finish what you had to do?”

His eyes were distant. “Not really. Gwynn?”

“Upstairs, closing the tear.”

“Chances are he’s not alone. We should hurry.”

Gwynn
batted a ball of flame aside with Xanthe. “Why? What makes me so important?”

Elaios drew a deep breath and ceased her assault. “Why? You really don’t know, do you? Tragic, to have so much weight on your shoulders and not even know. Fine. The truth is, before I joined the Fallen, I was a Vala, one who could see the future. So powerful and accurate were my visions that Odin himself sought my counsel on when he and his kin would meet their end. Have you ever heard of Ragnarok?”

A chill coursed through Gwynn’s spine.

Elaios didn’t wait for his answer. “Chances are you have. All the details don’t matter. What matters is the dragon. Did you know that when the dragon appears, it would be the harbinger of the end? It’s not just the Aesir that have that in their end times prophecies. Christianity and numerous others have seen the dragon as the bringer of the end times. Tell me Gwynn, have you faced the part of you that resides in the Veil? Have you gone that far in your development?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughed. Mirthless, mocking. “He hasn’t explained it all has he? Crafty, that father of yours. He’s already lost you once. He won’t risk you falling through the cracks again. It’s how you cross the Veil. You need to draw into that part of you that exists there. You must become part of it and then be strong enough to separate yourself again. Most Anunnakis that try it go mad; numerous others become lost in the Veil, never being able to regain themselves. Facing yourself, the thing that is the true you, it can teach you more about yourself than anything else. You boy, I’ve seen your true face in visions decades ago. You are the dragon. You will bring ruin to everything. There’s no place for the serpent in Eden. You must be ended here.”

Gwynn shook. “Liar. I would never do that. I’m here risking my life to save everything.”

“The greatest evil starts with the most pure of intentions. Lucifer fell because he loved God so much he refused to bow to flawed humans. I wonder what will finally have you expelled from Heaven. Maybe the memory of your sweet blond friend having her head pulped by a Curse?”

Gwynn roared. He charged forward, Xanthe lashing out to close the distance between foes.

Elaios grabbed Xanthe’s blade and held it firm. Gwynn continued and crushed his fist into her face.