Chapter 19
19
“Well, that’s a Debbie Downer, isn’t it?” Loki smirked. “Have to admire his lofty aspirations, no matter how misguided. So, what are you going to do about it? I would recommend making up your mind sooner rather than later because I have no idea if the disease that idiot just injected into Shalendra will progress or stay in stasis as she is. It’s a crap shoot.”
Cyran's brow rose. “Has anyone ever told you your blasé attitude is annoying? No one knows where you stand about anything.”
“Tell me about it,” Zel said behind them.
Loki gave him a crooked smile, ignoring the demon blending in with the room’s shadows. “That’s my plan. If they don’t know me or what I think, no one can use it against me, can they? I have had more fights than most and have learned that keeping people at arm’s length is the only way to get through it.”
Cyran tightened his lips and shook his head. “What a sad, lonely life you must lead. I had a horrible childhood with Haman, yet I opened up to people and was rewarded with their love and care. I am the person you see today because of King Glanduil, his sons, and my mother. Life may have been difficult, but I learned how to love and be loved in return.”
“Yet, you also pushed people away. Why?”
Looking back at Shalendra, Cyran shrugged. “Secrets will do that, I guess. For five hundred years, I kept what I had done to Haman to myself, never letting anyone discover how I spelled him to sleep and trapped him in his underground laboratory. His disappearance was a mystery, and I wanted it to stay that way. I also feared someone would discover my actions, and I would lose everything and everyone I held dear to me. I didn’t realize they could forgive such a terrible act.”
“I guess it depends on who you are,” Loki said. “If I had spelled the Elven healer, I would have been thrown into the deepest, darkest pit in Nifleimer for eternity. You? You were best friends with royalty, and people like you usually make good decisions. I think you should be grateful to those who care for you. It’s a great gift.”
Cyran smiled. “You aren’t as terrible as everyone says.”
Loki grimaced. “Keep it to yourself. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Loki…” He glared at the god, then turned back to his task. He had no clue how he was going to save the woman holding his heart and kill the man who broke it. He was surprised but grateful when Loki’s hand rested on his shoulder.
“You are my granddaughter’s mate, and for that I am happy. I will support you in this fight, Cyran. I won’t let you fail.”
He faced forward, staring at the man who had held such control over his life, and gave the god behind him a single nod. Time unfroze.
Shalendra had never felt so ill. The closest she could compare to was when she lived with her parents in Niflheimr. She had almost died then and wished she could now. Not truthfully, but she felt horrible.
Haman loosened his grip on her arms and began muttering to himself. She had no idea what he was saying. To her ears, the language sounded low and guttural—and evil. Maybe even demonic.
She placed one hand over her abdomen, splaying her fingers to ease the roiling of her stomach. Her body burned as if a blowtorch were cooking her from the inside out.
Concentrating on Cyran’s face grounded her in the moment, allowing her to shallowly inhale and exhale as she rode the waves of nausea.
Her lungs quivered with each movement, and her heart raced as sweat beaded on her forehead. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep. Fighting to stay awake, she covered her mouth with her other hand and coughed as if coughing up her toenails.
“Cyran.” She swallowed several times. Whatever you are planning to do, please hurry. Haman is muttering words in some evil tongue I don't recognize. I can't take much more of this. I feel horrible.
She didn’t like the worried expression on his face—fear in the depths of his eyes, which were now more blue-gray.
Describe your symptoms. I have an idea which viruses Haman spliced, but if he added something more, your symptoms would help me figure out what he did. You were with Castien the longest. Are they anything like his?
She gave him a subtle nod. Very much so, and maybe a few extra. Unless this is like ordinary influenza, which changes a little depending on the person’s DNA and health?
It could be. That’s a good thought. Now, I need to finish this once and for all with my stepfather. I can’t let him do this to anyone ever again.
He turned his whole attention to the man behind her. Haman stood stooped, muttering to himself like a doddering old man, but something about the sound of the words stopped him cold. Haman was trying to summon a demon. Was he trying to summon Zel?
Moving his hand behind his back, Cyran motioned for Zel, who was still hiding in the shadows behind them. Hearing his light step behind him, Zel’s scent reminded him of a spice store on Midgard.
“What do you need me to do?” the demon whispered in his ear.
“Listen to what Haman is saying. I believe he is trying to summon a demon,” he said, his voice so soft, Zel had to lean closer to hear him. “Is it you?”
Zel’s attention turned to Haman as he stepped forward, even with Cyran. From the edge of his vision, the demon’s features darkened, his tanned skin turning ruddy and his eyes glowing red. “He is trying to summon me, but since I am already summoned, it isn’t working. It will be only a matter of seconds until he tries another name.”
Zel faced Cyran. “Whatever you are going to do, do it now. If another of my kind shows up, we will all die.”
Ever since he learned how Haman reversed the stasis spell, it was never far from Cyran’s thoughts as he tried to figure out a new version. Tweaking the original spell and adding more of his own touch to the incantation seemed the best move, but could he risk doing it now? What if it alerted his stepfather to what he was trying to do?
Haman was not a stupid elf, nor was he inept in magic. Cyran’s biggest fear was the depth of black magic Haman had acquired over the centuries.
His problem, however, was that if the new spell worked and Haman was forced back into a more permanent sleep state, what would he do with him then? He could not send him back to his laboratory, but maybe Freyja or Heimdall might know of a secure location.
He was surprised to discover he did not want to kill his stepfather. He had killed many people during times of war and strife, but unless Haman attacked him or, worse, Shalendra, he would not kill the man who raised him, no matter how much he hated him. To do something like that would be stooping to Haman’s low level, and Cyran wanted to be a better elf than that.
Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and exhaled. Calming his mind, he whispered the spell.
Take this elf, give him rest.
Slow his body, stop his quest.
Arrest the pain given to others.
Allow for healing, all sisters and brothers.
From stasis he arrived, to stasis he will go.
His plans revised, everyone’s foe.
His future gone, a healer no more.
His spirit bound, standing at death’s door.
A brilliant light formed around Haman, who grabbed Shalendra by the throat and pulled her back to him, his ceremonial knife pressing against her throat. “Stop what you are doing, Cyran, or your female will only die faster. Many things have been set in motion, and you cannot change fate. We are so much more than simple healers. We have the power of life and death at our fingertips. Join me! Help me make our world right again. Help me take back Alfheimr and make it great again.”
“I’m sorry, Haman. I, too, have set plans in motion that can't be changed. You never understood the most important emotion above all others—love. Love is what will heal our people, not hate. Love will unite us as one race, as it should have been these many centuries. Lamruil and Ailuin will achieve this feat, not you. You will be no more.”
He slammed his hands together, the single clap echoing in the room. “Haman Daralei, once healer to the king of all elves, your spirit is bound for all time.”
His stepfather’s eyes widened, and the ceremonial knife clattered to the stone floor. His mouth opened, whether to speak or scream, they would never know. The light brightened until the room was bathed in golden sunlight, and everyone’s eyes snapped shut.
After a few seconds, the brilliance faded, and Cyran’s eyes opened to find his stepfather’s body frozen, like a statue, his eyes wide and mouth open as if in a never-ending scream. The expression was typical to him—one he had witnessed during his youth.
“It is done.”
“Cyran,” Shalendra whispered as her body slumped forward.
In a single leap, he reached her just before she hit the hard rock and pulled her into his embrace. She was burning up, her skin on fire, but her face was almost transparent, reminding him of the twin ghosts they had rescued.
Reaching up, he lifted one eyelid. Her eye was glazed over, yet red, and her pupils were dilated. When a narrow stream of blood seeped from her nostril, he fashioned protective gloves over his hands.
“Can you save her?” Zel squatted beside him.
“Don’t get too close. Elves do not get sick, much less from human diseases, but I recognize these symptoms, and if Haman mutated them, which I believe he did, this might have the capacity to kill us all.”
“I recognize what may be causing the blood to flow from her eyes, nose, and mouth,” Zel said as Cyran wiped more blood escaping from the outer and inner corners of her closed eyes. “This reminds me of what the Africans on Midgard call Ebola. I was not affected and was in direct contact with contaminated people.”
Cyran nodded. “Yes, Ebola is one of the viruses.” He pointed to her swollen neck lymph nodes and the clusters of red spots on her chest and forehead. “The swollen lymph nodes are from the black plague, and the red spots are smallpox.” He glanced at Zel, then Loki. “Have either of you been in direct contact with those?”
Zel shook his head and scooted back, but Loki nodded. “I was sort of responsible for the plague symptoms escaping. I was with Tamerlane in 1396 after he defeated the Golden Horde and convinced him to sell artifacts to people around the Mediterranean Sea. Unfortunately, I didn’t know about the plague, which migrated with fleas on the ships. Lots of death.”
Cyran’s brows rose, disbelief on his face. “Seriously? It killed sixty percent of the humans.”
“I didn’t do it intentionally, but I have immunity. I came across a family suffering from the disease. Their five-year-old daughter reminded me of Hel, and I couldn’t let her or her parents die, so I showed them how to care for each other. I checked on them years later and discovered the young girl had grown up and had a family of her own. She still practiced the cleaning techniques I showed her as a child.”
Cyran smiled. “So, you do have a heart. People would like you more if you showed that side of you.”
The god shrugged. “Shalendra told me the same thing. My way allows me to do the things I want without interference.”
“Until everyone comes down on you and you are thrown into J?tunheimr prison for eternity. Can’t do your favorite things then, can you?” Zel said.
Cyran’s gaze refocused on the woman in his arms, amazed at how important she had become to his life. She was the very breath he took and the light in his eyes. How had that happened? She was his everything.
I love you too, Cyran. Her whispered voice in his mind was so faint, he almost didn't hear it.
Hold on, nín gilgalad. I promise I will figure this out. There has to be a countercurse to what Haman has done to you.
You told Zel your stepfather’s spells were always convoluted, and simplifying them was the way to reverse them. Focus on that. I will hang on with everything I have. If the choice is taken from us and the worst happens, I love you with all my heart.
Please tell my parents I love them—and Castien too. Also, tell my mother Loki has always watched out for her and Fenrir. She needs to know her father loves her.
You will tell them all of this yourself. I know the viruses he injected. What is your body telling you? There was a lengthy pause, his fear rising at what she might say to him.
Honestly, I don’t feel any worse than I did. It’s as if my body is adjusting and fighting the concoction. Besides what happened to me in Helheimr, I have never been sick, so this is new for me.
He brushed his gloved thumb over the red bumps, which seemed to have faded slightly. “Shalendra, what if it’s as simple as using your magic? When a body experiences a sickness, the immune system builds antibodies to fight the illness. After what you went through as a child, that immunity and your magic may be the answer.”
Her skin seemed less flushed than it had, giving him hope. “You brought me back from death—maybe that’s what everyone means about the potency of your magic. Remember the story about the rabbit? Use your magic on yourself, and I will add mine.
Her eyelids fluttered and cracked open, her beautiful teal gaze holding his. Seeing your handsome face and the love in your eyes gives me strength. With effort, she moved her hand onto his arm and wrapped her long fingers around his wrist.
“I’m here for you, nín gilgalad. I will always be here for you.”
Loki leaned over Cyran’s shoulder. “While you may not like it, I, too, will be watching over you.”
Zel shook his head and groaned. “I can’t be the only one not to have your back, princess. For your aunt and uncle, I will also protect you. After all, no one ever wants to mess with a demon.”
Her lips curled up, but her gaze never left Cyran’s. Tied to her as he was, he sensed rather than felt the surge of her powers as she focused them on killing off the virus spreading through her body much faster than usual. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and upper lip, but she never blinked.
He summoned his medical bag and pulled out a soft white cloth with his free hand, using it to wipe away the moisture as he sent her his power and strength. Her black eyebrows twitched then bunched into a frown, her grip around his wrist weakening as her strength waned.
So tired… Her eyelids closed, and her hand slid from his arm, dropping to the floor. He pressed his fingers to the side of her throat but couldn’t feel her pulse.
“You must keep fighting, Shalendra!” He gripped her shoulder and pulled her to his chest, his chin resting on her head. Not knowing what else to do, he threw every ounce of his healing magic into her, visualizing his powers filling her slender body so she could continue healing herself.
Their powers touched, creating an explosion of magic as the strands twisted around each other and expanded. A bright white light surrounded them, filling the room with its healing glow and removing all the shadows Haman had constructed.
The energy roiling inside Shalendra’s body beat at him, pulling his attention back to her struggle as he held the growing power inside of her. Suddenly, the ball of their combined power expanded, filling his body.
He first noticed their hearts, beating as one. Then, oxygen began to move in and out of their lungs. He floated along in a sea of pain, experiencing Shalendra’s agony.
Breathe, nín gilgalad, he whispered in her mind, although rising above the overwhelming sense of death was the most challenging thing he had ever done. His admiration and pride for the woman in his arms grew even more.
Time seemed to speed up, swirling around them like a tornado. He sensed a tiny change, a slight lessening of pain. As the minutes passed, Shalendra breathed easier. He sent her every last bit of his magic, draining his body, but he could do nothing less to save the woman he loved.
As if in a haze, the weight of a hand lay heavy on his shoulder, and raw power, more than he had ever felt, flooded his body.
“Cyran?”
He felt a slight tug on his gloved hand. As if from a long distance, Shalendra’s voice called to him, pleading with him to come back to her. It took him a moment, but he slowly turned his head. His gaze met hers. She now sat on her knees in front of him, worry in her teal gaze.
“Why are your eyes red?” Her eyebrows drew together as she studied his face.
“That would be my fault,” Zel said. “He gave you all his magic, and before he faded, I sent him, let’s call it, a boost to bring him back and ground him once more.”
Cyran glanced up at Zel and nodded. “Thank you. I felt her powers fading as she fought the viruses. I did the only thing I could think of and gave her mine.”
“Oh, Cyran.” She raised her hand and cradled his jaw, her thumb caressing his cheek, then threw her arms around his neck. “Never do that again. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
Feeling her heart beating strongly against his, he never wanted to let her go. “How do you feel, nín gilgalad? Did it work? Did we kill the viruses?”
“Yes, my love, they are gone.” She kissed his cheek. “In your arms, I have never felt more alive.”
A throat cleared beside them. “It’s getting a little awkward in here—” Zel complained.
“Don’t sugarcoat it—it’s gross—making me nauseous,” Loki grumbled, lightening the moment and reminding Cyran he and Shalendra were not alone.
He glanced around the room, noticing the differences now that Haman no longer controlled what they saw. His workspace had taken on a darker atmosphere with body parts and organs inside the jars.
Strange organisms were swimming inside the thick, yellow liquid in several large jars on the top shelf. In front of him stood a large cage with thick black metal bars. Inside lay the crumpled bodies of two people.
Pulling away from her a few inches, he smiled. “Congratulations. Your quest is now complete.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “My aunt and uncle? We’ve found them?”
Cyran pointed to the cage. “I believe we have, but you must prepare yourself, sweetheart. We have seen what Haman and Fer-Diorich do to their prisoners. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“They live,” Zel added, “barely.”
Shalendra scrambled to her feet, her body weaving a little, but she waved Cyran off. “It’s nothing. Just a little dizzy. I always am after using a lot of magic.” She grabbed Cyran’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “I'm terrified at what we will find.”
Side by side, they walked toward the cage. Zel reached around them, clasping something behind the wall lantern, and pulled out an old-fashioned skeleton key.
Pushing it in the cage’s locking mechanism, he turned it, the clink of the tumbler sounding loud in the room. He swung open the metal door and leaned in, picking up a disheveled woman in his arms and transferring her to Loki. Cyran eased his arms under the male, emaciated and skeletal, and removed him from the cage.
Zel fashioned a bed next to the cage, and they laid them on the firm mattress side by side. Shalendra stared at her aunt’s pale face and wild hair, letting out a soft whimper as she tried to finger-comb the messy strands.
Cyran leaned over the female and examined her, then turned to the male, who was in worse shape. After a few more tension-filled minutes, he leaned back and shook his head.
“I can’t do much here. I refuse to use anything in this room. We need to get them to Idunn, especially Jessica. She has more experience healing humans, and for some unknown reason, Jessica is still human. I can heal Olivier with basic healing and nutrition, but I don’t want to separate them, and from the way Zel is glaring at me, he agrees.”
“Cyran, we can’t leave Haman here,” Shalendra said. “He has to come with us to Asgard.”
Loki moved to stand in front of the statue and tilted his head. A few moments passed before he turned to face them, a slight grin on his face. “I have a better idea. I am going to deliver him to my daughter in Helheimr. I will suggest she take him to Sutr in Muspelheimr, where he can rot in hell.”
Zel nodded. “I like how your mind works, Loki. I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Resting one arm around Shalendra’s shoulders, Cyran pulled her to him, tucking her against his body where she belonged, and smiled down at her upturned face. “Let’s heal our family, nín gilgalad, and then go home.