Decimation, p.11
Decimation, page 11
As a counter, Vidar had formed TOM, where we fought against the same prophecies.
Only to discover a few years ago that the two of them—Vidar and Skuld, had pitted everyone against each other. There were no right sides, because the sides had been fabricated.
When Skuld was destroyed, Vidar shut this location down.
I reached the large gym without encountering trouble, and slipped quietly through a door, letting it swing shut softly behind me. It made me leery that I needed to walk to the middle of the room, with no cover, to reach my destination. This was a wide-open space, larger than a football field.
The more quickly I got this over with, the more quickly we could leave. I strode to the exact center of the entire building—it needed to be in order for the protections to work. There was a book mosaic in the concrete, a representation of a book of prophecies.
When I saw that the trap door in the middle was open, and the compartment inside empty, my gut sank.
Whatever had been in there was no more. Vidar had it. Why couldn’t I remember the significance?
“Who’s in here?” A barking voice bounced off concrete and made my heart slam into my ribs.
Running wasn’t an option in this space, but they hadn’t shot me yet. That meant their orders required them to wait.
Odd.
“Identify yourself.” A soldier stood in a doorway, assault rifle leveled at me.
I shouldn’t have to fear a gun, but it was likely he had god-killing bullets. The ammo worked best on gods who refused to admit who they were.
Given my current situation, I couldn’t think of a better way to describe myself.
Odds were high that once I told them who I was, I was dead. Holding back didn’t improve those numbers. I raised my hands above my head as I straightened up, and took a step toward him.
“At ease, soldier.” Was there any chance they didn’t know I was persona non grata?
A light hit me in the face, bright and blinding.
A woman laughed. “No shit. Vidar will love this.” That was a second soldier.
“Who’s with you?” the man asked.
“It’s only me.” I moved toward them.
The woman leveled her weapon at me and held it steady. “Don’t move while we call this in.”
The man stepped from the room.
With the light out of my eyes, I tried to be subtle about looking around. There was no way I could see to run. If I could get to Ronan… If he was still here.
The man returned. “Come with us, Sir.” He and his partner fell to opposing sides of the doorway and indicated I should pass between them and in front of them.
It seemed they weren’t worried about me blinking from one place to the next, but they did keep a few meters between me and them as they led me down the hallway.
Why were there guards here, but only two?
The structure had changed. There were features here that hadn’t been before. Structures. Walls. Why would Vidar be moving things in?
None of this made sense.
I tuned out those questions to focus on getting away. I wasn’t combat trained like my peers, but I’d watched students long enough that there were concepts I understood. Basic evasion, for instance.
Our path took us closer to where I’d left Ronan. There was cover in the doorways, if I could reach it. We turned a corner, and I sprinted away.
The wall next to me exploded in a shower of concrete shrapnel, and I kept running. Dodging. Avoiding.
These are long fucking halls, and using the narrow doorways to hide behind wasn’t idea, but in the dark, it made me a difficult target.
I was surprised to turn another corner and see that Ronan waited.
More gunshots sounded behind me, steady but rapid.
“Go,” I shouted at him. I didn’t know what these bullets would do to elves and fae, and today wasn’t the day to find out.
He reached out a hand for me instead, grasped mine, and yanked.
We fell through the door, and into an alley in Detroit.
Ronan stood and brushed concrete from his suit as he smoothed the fabric. “What was that?”
“I got caught.”
“I heard the gunshots. Disgusting weapons.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I owe you.” I meant that literally. His favor to me had been redeemed, and now I owned him one in return.
“I will collect in the future,” Ronan said. “Have a good day.” He stepped through the door again, which would take him to whichever exit he wished.
Did Vidar care enough to come for me? He wasn’t here yet, so I assumed not.
What did I just see? Was he returning to the base in Barbados? If so, why remove the protective seal?
What was he up to?
THIRTEEN
NICO
Seeing Magnus today—feeling what she was pushing out—reminded me intensely of Bragi in his early days of working with the students at TOM. I wouldn’t watch this happen again.
I doubted that the journals I had from Bragi would give me any insight, but I had to look. If I could combine his thoughts with my experiences from the outside, maybe I could help her in a way I wasn’t able to help him.
What if you could still help him?
I didn’t have an answer to my own question.
Instead, while Magnus was isolating herself, I searched her shelves for something to read. What little she had that was physical was on a small shelf in her bedroom. She’d pointed it out when she was giving me a brief tour of her apartment.
When she left TOM, she didn’t get to take much with her, and among her belongings had been a couple of books she’d read over and over on missions. It was easy to see which those were—the worn and tattered paperbacks at one end of the row.
The books were thick for modern publications. Each with a party of people on the cover, and a dragon in the background. I’d love to lose myself in either one, but didn’t dare, for fear of them falling apart in my hands.
Most of the remainder of the books were also the smaller trade paperbacks that had been popular for several decades now. Once upon a time, books like this would’ve been Bragi’s favorites. Wistful stories full of hopes and dreams and fantasies—both magical and not.
Magnus had told me a lot of these were from Brit, but a few were gifts from others. The artwork varied widely. There were scenic beach scenes, and some with objects like ties, and bedposts, and what might be the back of a leather bench. There was even one with a man wearing no shirt, and a wolf next to him.
What were modern stories like? I could pick one at random. The bare-chested man with the pet wolf perhaps.
As I reached for it, something at the other end of the shelf drew my attention. It didn’t look like a book at first, or at least not like the others. It was larger, thinner, and flat.
The cover was leather, with thin strips tying one edge together. Bragi used to have several of these as well. Usually bound by the author. The leather was patchy, unevenly cut, and stamped by someone unskilled in leather working.
The entire book radiated the love of either the creator or someone close to them.
With the bindings, I didn’t have the same concern about pages falling out of this one as the others Magnus had, and something about this called to me. I brought it into the living room, made sure the coffee table was clean, and set the book reverently on top.
The lettering on the cover had looked random in the dim lighting of her room, but out here, I could see the words, written in a language I hadn’t seen in centuries. The book wasn’t that old, but the words were ancient.
They didn’t hold any deep meaning. They simply said this was The Story.
As I opened the cover, I was greeted with stunning artwork. Ink on heavy parchment, which laid out a visual story. Correction—turning from one page to the next, it was clear this was multiple stories. Each only lasted a few pages, before the characters and their clothing styles changed.
I was three tales in, when a familiar representation caught my eye. The stylized images shouldn’t look like anyone specific, but they did. I was looking at a drawing of Bragi, with Vidar next to him.
Their clothing wasn’t modern, however it was close. Linens on their way to refinement. As many buttons as ties. An electric lightbulb illuminating one scene, and a woman I didn’t know, working on a machine.
At least, what would be a machine back then. Metal and gears and unwieldy components.
Why did Magnus have this?
It wasn’t important enough to interrupt her isolation. Unlike so many of the things we were dealing with, this wasn’t life-threatening.
I flipped through more of the book.
The scene with me, fighting Vidar and destroying myself to buy Magnus time to escape, nearly stopped my heart. Why was this here? What in the world was I looking at?
Anxious energy bled through me, and I found myself bundling the book up, walking to the apartment next door, and knocking, before I registered my own actions.
Dahlia answered, and gave me a tired smile. “Hey. Everything all right?”
I showed her the book. “I found this on Magnus’s shelves.”
“Ah. The old-fashioned comic. Trippy, right?”
“Quite a bit.” Should I be relieved that she knew what I was talking about and wasn’t concerned. “What is it?”
“We found it in an old house of Skuld’s. Apparently one of her children drew it, based on the images in their head.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.”
I’d been looking at dragon prophecies? “All of the events in it have come to pass?” I stepped into the apartment to find Fen in the living room as well.
He gave me a curt nod, but his posture remained unthreatened.
Dahlia walked next to me, as we moved into the living room. “I assume. We lived the last quarter or so of the book, which I’m guessing you saw.”
“I did.” Knowing the prophecies were real was a different experience from seeing that someone more than a hundred years ago, who I never knew, had drawn one of my deaths so accurately. This wasn’t a vague poem that could be interpreted in different ways.
Dahlia had given me the explanation I needed, but it wasn’t enough. “Will you take a look at another of the older stories with me? There’s something about it that’s nagging at me.”
“Sure.”
I set the book on their coffee table, and opened it delicately to the page that had caught my attention.
Dahlia and Fen leaned closer, gazes on the book.
“Oh, yeah.” Dahlia’s voice sparked with recognition. “That one was weird. But we figured since it was in the past, it wasn’t a priority. Plus, it’s Vidar and Bragi—who Magnus was done talking to—so it wasn’t as if we could ask them about it.”
“Who’s the woman?” I asked.
Fen glanced at me. “You don’t know her?”
“I didn’t know everyone he did.”
Fen leaned closer. “This would be around the time you were with him.”
I realized as much.
“The explosion in the last panel is kind of pretty and scary.” Dahlia turned the page. “Don’t suppose you remember anything like that happening?”
“No. But I wasn’t everywhere.” The thing that concerned me though was I would have been there. The images, the setting, this was when I was with Bragi. “And all of these things happened?” I gestured to the book in general.
Dahlia shook her head. “I’ve never been able to confirm, but the ones we found information about did, so I assume. We could ask Bragi.”
Fen let out a sigh-growl.
Well said. If it was the only way to get ans—
“What is that?” Dahlia pointed at the page, never making contact.
“You’re the mechanical wizard,” Fen said affectionately. “You tell us.”
She squinted and frowned and twisted her head one way then the other. “I don’t know, but I think… I’ve seen that in… Oh.” Her frown deepened.
“Where? Does the machine still exist?” How could it, if it had exploded?
Dahlia bit her bottom lip. “Not the whole thing, but this bit of it right here.” She pointed to a tiny but ornate amulet attached to the machine. “It’s on display in The Dragon’s Hoarde.”
I’d been there. Stories had been my one guaranteed companion through time. “Artura’s. You can ask her about it.”
The tsk sound Dahlia made, along her grimace, was unexpected. “She and I aren’t really on speaking terms. And…” She sighed. “It’s because she’s really bad at answering my questions.”
“Artura tends to be evasive and removed.” Fen’s explanation was kinder, but both sounded appropriate from what I remembered of dragons. Which was a lot more than before this life.
In my experience, the elder dragons weren’t difficult on purpose, they simply saw life in a different light than the people living it.
I understood where they were coming from, though it pained me to admit it to myself. I’d adopted a similar perspective for a long time. “Perhaps if I speak to her.”
Dahlia puffed out her cheeks and they deflated as she exhaled. “You’re welcome to try. If she kicks us out on sight, though… Not much I can do about that.”
Fair point. “Shall we pay her a visit?”
Dahlia took our hands, and their apartment was replaced with a narrow street, lined by stone buildings. The one in front of us was The Dragon’s Hoarde.
When we walked inside, I couldn’t help but inhale the scent of books. The rows that spanned in front of us whispered my name. I could imagine spending hours here with Magnus. Bragi.
No. Not him.
The woman behind the counter looked the same as she had when I last saw her, more decades ago than I cared to count. She was petite, with white hair pulled into a braid, and violet eyes that studied us. Though her expression was reserved, the downward tug of her mouth was as close as I’d ever seen her get to scowling.
When she turned to me, her expression shifted to curiosity. Not warmth. Elder dragons weren’t known for their warmth.
Seeing her helped me slot more memories into place that had been fragments up to this point. Something told me she didn’t remember the same things I did, though I couldn't say why I believed that.
“Verdandy.” I bowed. While Dahlia called her Artura, I felt it was appropriate to address her by the name I’d always used with her.
The dragon’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Nicodemus. It’s been so long.”
“Longer than I care for.”
Artura gave a brief nod. “Are you here for a recommendation?”
“I am. I’m also here on behalf of friends.” I gestured to Dahlia and Fen.
Artura wrinkled her nose. She’d become expressive over the years. “They’ve drawn you in, have they?”
“They have.” In so many wonderful ways.
Dahlia coughed and I glanced at her to see Fen rest a hand on her shoulder. Tension coiled through both of them.
I didn’t imagine this type of formality was in Fen’s comfort zone.
“How are you enjoying their antics?” Artura asked.
I smiled. “I was unsure at first. However, they’ve helped me adjust my outlook on the world.”
“What a shame.”
“Just because you’re a—” Dahlia clamped her lips shut and her nostrils flared.
“Yes, child?” Artura said.
Dahlia made a low growl, and the tightest shake of her head.
Fen stepped between the women. He didn’t appear to be protecting Dahlia so much as confronting Artura.
The older dragon looked him over, then turned back to me.
“I don’t mind at all.” It was true. The more time I spent with Magnus and her friends, the more I enjoyed it. “I understand why it’s not for all.”
“How?” Artura asked.
Her question didn’t line up with what I had said. “I don’t understand.”
“How do you tolerate the chaos?”
Dahlia moved forward again. “The chaos exists everywhere, regardless of whether or not you acknowledge me.”
I understood Artura’s question now. Though she was asking about chaos, there was a deeper meaning, and it was one I’d been confronting when it came to Magnus. By chaos, Artura meant how did I deal with being part of the world. I was setting myself up to lose people. To see those I loved slip away.
“I don’t know how I’ll deal with it when the loss happens,” I said. “What I know is that the experiences are ones I wouldn’t surrender, regardless of whether or not it brings me pain in the future.”
“Something for you to consider, ancient one.” Fen’s voice was cool.
Artura sighed. “I think about it more than you might believe. What actually brings you to my shop, Nicodemus?”
I glanced at Dahlia again, to let her answer.
She looked like she was preparing herself for battle, with her posture rigid when she moved toward a glass display case to her left. She reached for an amulet that hung around the neck of a stone bust. As her fingers brushed it, there was a spark and Dahlia yelped and jerked back.
“Only the person it was gifted to, the owner, can touch that,” Artura said.
Dahlia twisted her mouth. “Can you tell us more about it?”
Artura’s expression went blank when she turned to the bust. “Oh. That.” Her tone was flat, but not with disdain. All emotion had vanished.
Odd. “Can you tell us about it?” I asked.
“No. Before you fly into a snit, Dahlia, it’s not because I’m being difficult. I don’t remember anything about it, aside from the fact that it came from Skuld.”
“Oh.” Dahlia deflated.
Artura pulled the necklace from the bust, and held it in the air by the leather cord. She studied it. “Skuld would’ve been so disappointed in you.”
I assumed she was talking to Dahlia, rather than the amulet.
Fen growled.
