13. Got It. Magick Tree.
CHAPTER 13
Got It. Magick Tree.
Melinda Mayweather
As the five guys create a ring around me, I’m hit with a mix of awe and a touch of claustrophobia. This is probably what famous people feel like when they’re escorted places, except instead of dodging paparazzi, they’re hiding me from… I’m not entirely sure yet. Hawke is leading our little parade,, confidence oozing with every step he takes. His brother hot on his heels. Ares is to my right, giving off major I’ve got your back in a bar fight vibes. Then there’s Fenrir on my left, all mysterious and vague warnings, like a fortune cookie come to life. And Wraith? He’s this towering dark presence right behind me. Still keeping quiet about what exactly he is…
"Kellan won’t be able to find me. He said to wait.” I try to sound convincing.
“He knows exactly where you are, milady,” Ares answers, his voice smooth and somehow reassuring despite the sound of seriousness. “That dragon on your wrist tells him.”
I glance down at my wrist, watching the glittery green tattoo do its slither thing. Up a little, down a little, never past my elbow. It’s weird, but I’m getting used to it. It’s sort of comforting, actually. Plus, like Ares said, Kellan can find me anywhere because of this little magickal GPS. Some might find it invasive, but when you’ve spent your life being hunted and hidden… well, a protective stalker bodyguard doesn’t sound so bad.
I hear weeping before we enter a huge open hall, but I’m distracted by the beauty of the place. The room is elegant and stunning. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight. It’s like stepping into a history book or one of those European castles you see in documentaries but never dream of visiting. The ceilings stretch up forever, intricately designed, and the floor is polished to a mirror sheen. The walls and the ornate doors interspersed on them add to the impressiveness, especially that one door at the very end with the metal snakes acting like some kind of ancient security system.
I’ve spent more hours than I care to admit buried in architecture books and helping my mom research everything Avalon, but standing here? It’s like living inside one of those photographs, except no picture could ever capture the scale or energy this place gives off. It’s so much more than I could’ve ever imagined.
Another wail of anguish cuts through the air and I cringe, backing up a step and bumping into Wraith. I step forward quickly and bite back a squeak of surprise. The mom’s cries for her missing kid. They’re gut wrenching.
Hawke turns to me and reaches for my hand. The sadness in the air melts away the moment our hands connect. “I have to help manage this situation. Please stay with my fellow Knights. They will keep you safe.”
I lean forward. “Help her.”
“We will do our best.” He releases my hand and it the physical loss of his touch is almost painful.
Hawke walks toward the people crowded around the nearly hysterical mother. Her pain is gasping for air. It’s like I can see it bleeding on the floor and smell its utter despair. I’m not a parent. But I’ve felt that type of pain before. Watching my mother burn at the stake during a publicly televised execution? Yeah, that’s a trauma I’m not sure I’ll ever completely unpack. Losing someone you love is the worst pain imaginable, but I’m guessing losing a child tops even that. My mother died in my place, rather than lose me…
If my stepdad hand’t drugged me right after they lit the fires, my magick would’ve gone nuclear. Everyone there, the neighbors, anyone within a half-mile radius would’ve died.
We moved after that. To a small isolated farm. My emotions were easier to control there. I never turned on a TV again after that day. Didn’t listen to the radio unless it was the classical music channel (turns out Mozart doesn’t trigger magickal meltdowns). I didn’t go to the store. I was a hermit with Wi-Fi, spending my time researching online or studying through our massive library of physical books. Mom’s book collection would’ve made a university librarian weep with joy. Now all those books are just sitting in that farmhouse, collecting dust.
And I’m here. Standing in Avalon. The place my mom searched for her entire life. The place she’d always hoped would be able to help me control my magick.
And I have Kellan. And he’s helping. And there’s Hawke and I don’t understand my connection to him, but it’s there and it’s strong and I know I need him.
I lean closer to Ares. “Where are we?”
“Welcome to the Hall of Realms, Milady. This is the place where all eight worlds intersect. Each doorway opens to a bridge through space to another planet.”
“Only eight?”
“Do you know of a ninth, milady?” His grin is teasing, but also curious, like he’d take me seriously if I said I did.
No, I... it felt off. Sorry." I don’t know what to tell him, except that when he said eight worlds, it felt wrong. Which is ridiculous. I’m certain no expert on multi-world theories.
He shrugs and shakes his head. “No apology needed. Yggdrasil or as some call it, the World Tree, connects all eight worlds. It is also where we all draw our magickal energy.
“What did you say? Egg-what?”
“Ehg-drah-zil,” he says, slowing it down. “The World Tree. All magick comes from Yggdrasil.”
“Got it. Magick Tree, like from Norse mythology?”
“I suppose it could be.”
“Now, these doors… they’re Einstein-Rosen Bridges? Wormholes.” My heart does a little stutter-step and I take a deep breath. I’m no physicist, but when your mom makes it her life’s work to study the possibility of other worlds existing, you pick up a thing or two.
“I’m not familiar with that human terminology. It’s been too long since I’ve visited Earth. Not since that door was locked. We simply call them portals.”
“Why was it locked?” That explains why I couldn’t get through the one in the cave. Except there wasn’t a keyhole. Or a handle. “How do you unlock the doors?”
“Milady.” Fenrir edges closer to my other side. “That is a very long complicated story.” He glances up at Ares and shakes his head. The exchange is brief, but it’s quite clear he’s telling Ares to keep his mouth shut.
“You must find my children.” A huge, angry male voice bellows from across the massive hall. “Where are the Valkyries? What is taking so long? My children are out there… somewhere!”
“That’s my brother-in-law.” Wraith explodes from the corner our group tucked into and rushes after Hawke.
“Fuck, it’s Sahsa’s children.” Ares takes a step forward, but stops himself. With Kellan, Hawke, Destrien, and now Wraith gone, it’s only him and Fenrir standing with me in the shadows, hiding me from… who knows what?
“Who is Sahsa?” I ask, feeling like I’m constantly playing catch-up in a game where no one’s explained the rules.
“Wraith’s sister. The missing children are his niece and nephew.”
“Oh.” The word slips between my lips with a heavy thud. “Why are they looking for Valkyries? And do you mean actual Norse mythology-type Valkyries?” I ask, peering around Ares’ shoulder toward the panicked crowd on the far side of the hall. I can see Hawke’s silver-streaked black hair and Wraith, with his long onyx black hair right next to him.
“Valkyries can fly outside the portals, in the darkness of space between the planets,” he answers, like he’s telling me water is wet.
“They think the children were pushed out of the bridge into space?” My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles and bile crawls up my throat. “How?”
Fenrir steps closer and speaks this time. “The magick has been unreliable for a long time. It did get worse after the Earth door was locked, but there were incidents with the portals even before that happened.”
Ares nods and makes soft humming sounds of agreement.
Movement to my right makes me turn. Walking into the hall through the main entrance are two women who look like they could’ve stepped off a high-fashion runway, if that runway was back in ancient Norse times and sponsored by a precious metals blacksmith. Both are tall, have this glowing, almost unreal blonde hair, and carry themselves with a kind of confidence that makes me want to stand up straighter just from looking at them.
They’re decked out in the most elegant armor I’ve ever seen–golden chainmail that shimmers with every step, sleek breastplates that catch the light, and leather and gold-plated war-skirts that somehow manage to look both fierce and refined. Their greaves and bracers are gold plated as well. But the winged golden crowns sitting perfectly on their heads are what really bring home the kick-ass shield-maiden vibe.
Every piece of art or old document I’ve ever studied always paints the Valkyries as these battle-ready angels, wings and all. But these two? They didn’t need wings to announce they were something otherworldly. It’s like watching a piece of ancient Norse mythology come to life right in front of me.
“Those are Valkyrie’s right?” I look up at Ares on my left.
He nods. “Sigrún is Queen of the Valkyries and the other is Bryn, her second in command. It isn’t often that Sigrún comes to Avalon herself, but the missing children are royalty and she’s likely here for the Changing of the Guard Ceremony.”
I continue staring from beneath the hood of the cloak Ares covered me with. “They’ll be able to find the children?”
“If the children are out there. They’ll find them.”
“I hope they’re not,” I say, the words a prayer under my breath.
“Aye, so do we all.”