18. Chapter Eighteen
“ Six Flags?” Phin repeated. “The theme park?”
“That’s the one.”
The silence was a little longer this time. “I don’t need to know,” Phin muttered at last. “He’ll be there. Look for a rainbow-colored beater with a decal of a mustang on the hood.”
And I was the child here? “Um…okay.”
“Don’t cast stones, Cillian. How long before you’re there?”
Given that I desperately didn’t want to get pulled over again? “Say two, two and a half hours.”
“Fine. I’ll let him know. Call Marisol once you’ve got a new phone.” Phin ended the call on that note, and I left the payphone in a slightly better mood. Lone wolfing it: never again. Not when I had willing—or at least mostly willing—friends who could step in to lend a hand. Thinking I could handle everything by myself was the root of a very deep problem with me, and I needed a reminder every now and then that no, I wasn’t a fucking superhero and it was okay to get help. Not that I wasn’t racking up a lot of debts in my ledger—I knew Andre was going to take the repairs for his car out of my hide—but that was better than failure.
I headed back into Denny’s and interrupted Soren in the middle of what had to be his third waffle. The waitress hadn’t left, just stared at him like she couldn’t quite figure him out. Was he a student getting ready to crash after cramming for a test? A tweaker who’d been up all night on drugs? Maybe someone with an eating disorder, or just a guy with a ridiculous metabolism?
“Check, please,” I said. She nodded and finally walked off, and I turned back to Soren, who was licking whipped cream off his fork. “I guess you like waffles, then.”
“They’re delicious,” he said. “I could eat them every day.”
Nudge nudge, wink wink… “We can probably work that out, but you’re going to have to explain to Soren where his waistline went when this is all said and done.”
The landv?ttir shook his head. “That won’t be a problem. Human food doesn’t affect me in such a way, and Soren doesn’t need it anymore.” He stuffed the last quarter of a waffle straight into his mouth.
The waitress dropped our bill of at just that moment, naturally. She cocked her head and asked, “Y’all cosplaying or something?”
“Yes,” I said absently, glancing at the total. This was the most I’d ever spent at a Denny’s. I laid down the cash for the meal and a tip and then got up. “Time to go.”
Soren stood with me and followed docilely enough, but once we were out in the car again and headed down the road, he asked, “What’s cosplaying?”
“It’s…” I tried to come up with an explanation that would make sense to him. “It’s making yourself look like someone else, usually someone imaginary. Then you pretend to be that person. I think.” I’d dated a guy for a while who had a special Captain America wardrobe for cons. He’d told me I’d make a great Loki under the right circumstances. If only he fucking knew , I thought, a little bitterly.
“Why did she think I was doing that?”
“Probably because you were talking about human food like you weren’t human, and regardless of what’s going on in there,” I waved one hand at him vaguely, “the point is you look human right now. So yeah, it comes off a little strange.”
“But I could simply be touched.”
“Touched…what do you mean?”
“Touched.” Soren pressed his fingertips to the center of his forehead. “Touched by a god and changed because of it. Or inspired to prophecy, like you. Or even cursed. Why not assume one of those?”
Oh man, tricky. Especially for someone who longed to be a devotee of the scientific method but didn’t have the stomach to lie to myself like that.
I took the time to think about it and give him a decent answer. “People in America—okay, I don’t know how it is in Iceland, but most people in America don’t believe in that kind of direct connection between gods and humans. Or if they do, it’s in a very strictly religious context, not just something that can happen to anyone. People who claim otherwise tend to be labeled mentally ill.” Like my mother, back when I was taken away from her the first time.
“But what about those who are genuinely possessed, like Soren? Or those who truly are seers?”
“We lie about it,” I said wryly. “We lie our asses off or we call it luck or we hang out with people who are like us and understand these things. That’s one of the reasons I rely on Marisol and—” I stopped, not wanting to bring them into the conversation unless I had to. It was one thing to work with others. It was totally different to expose them to unnecessary risk just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“Why don’t you use your ability to garner power?” Soren asked. “It would be easy, wouldn’t it? You are framsynir ; you look into the future. This should enrich you.”
“Just because I can do something, doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for every occasion.” Vegas had taught me that.
“Ah.” Soren sounded knowing. “This is related to last night. You handled that policeman, but you were unhappy afterward.”
“Yeah.”
“This quest would be much easier on you if you were properly motivated, like Egilsson.”
Now this was an opportunity I wasn’t going to pass up. “Tell me about that,” I said, turning the radio down some. Getting a better handle on my enemy trumped NPR. “Why did ólafur Egilsson make a deal with you in the first place? There’s a geas on him—it’s like a curse, isn’t it? What are your terms for curing him?”
“Something like a curse,” he agreed. “Very well, I will tell you. He knows about your abilities, so it’s only fair that you know about his as well. ólafur’s family line is afflicted with a geas of might and insanity. Long ago, when the gods traveled the world, Thor came to the home of ólafur’s ancestor. He only asked to stay the night, but the ancestor refused to allow him to rest there unless Thor could defeat him in a wrestling match. He was a very stupid man,” Soren said reflectively, “but very strong.”
“Of course Thor defeated him and then told him that, as punishment for his pride and ignorance, the ancestor’s strength of body would slowly overwhelm his mind. The more he used his might, the less control he would have over it, until one day he would lose himself altogether. Thor left, and the ancestor didn’t think much of his threat, but the next time he got into an argument with someone, his rage overcame him. When he came back to himself, he realized he had killed the man.”
I’d seen as much in ólafur’s eyes. “This is some sort of berserker geas, right?”
“Yes, exactly. It doesn’t begin to affect those of the blood until they start to quicken to adulthood. The longer they live, the stronger they become, but the easier it is for their bodies to get the better of their minds. They have tried to break the curse for centuries to no avail.” Soren made a little face. “As if anyone other than a god can remove another god’s curse.”
“Then I don’t understand,” I said. “How can you break the curse? You aren’t a god.”
“Not at all.” Soren sounded almost affronted. “Gods wax and wane with the passage of time. I am spirit. I am land. As long as my land exists, so do I. I haven’t broken the curse, I’ve merely…” He searched for the word for a moment. “Absorbed it. Like I did with your wound.”
“You’re holding back their familial madness?”
“I am. And it isn’t easy,” he added with a frown. “The geas is a strong one. That’s why I needed one of ólafur Egilsson’s bloodline to strengthen me so I could contain it. The fact that I get many of the things I want out of being one with Soren is just another sign of ólafur’s cleverness in making this deal. He is much smarter than his ancestor was. I can see why he doesn’t want to give up his mind.”
“I guess I can too.” ólafur Egilsson was a conniving motherfucker, but he’d really planned this shit out. Put into context, I was a wrench in the gears that he wasn’t going to tolerate. It made my spine prickle with paranoia just thinking about it.
“I protect ólafur, and his remaining sons, in exchange for the freedoms I told you about,” Soren continued on blithely. “The youngest is his sacrifice, and the eldest is his second. They are united in their desire to see the family line remain whole.”
There was a term I hadn’t heard before. “Second? What’s a second?”
“The second has the power to speak for the primary supplicant if he becomes incapacitated, and to offer counsel during negotiations. If ólafur lost his reason, his son Jakob would step into his position.” Soren shrugged. “It was a wise precaution, but not a necessary one. Your fight for me won’t be compromised for lacking a second of your own. It didn’t help ólafur. He took his son’s sacrifice for granted, without caring about the love behind Soren’s offering. That offends me. That’s why I’m allowing you to make your play for me.”
Soren smiled. “If you win, you will understand what I am and I will have your respect and fear. If he wins, he will see that he cannot rely on my patience and humility to keep me in line. I am one with his son, but I am not his son.”
“Very clearly.” Fuck, I could barely speak past the sudden dryness of my throat. “If—if Soren hadn’t offered himself, what was ólafur’s next play? How would he have gotten another son to go along with this?”
“ólafur Egilsson has four children, all males. Two of them have married and produced offspring of their own. He kept the truth from them for a long time. Had Soren not given himself to me, ólafur would likely have leveraged the future of his grandchildren as a means of getting another son to offer himself as a sacrifice. They are loving parents, from what little I’ve observed.” When I glanced over at him, Soren’s eyes had gone that misty purple color again. “He is determined to get what he wants. I hope you are equally determined, Cillian Kelly.”
Yeah, I hoped I was too.