The Winter Riddle Page 24

  Volgha opened her eyes.

  “She’s fine,” Volgha told them. “She’s in our parents’ old tower, apparently sleeping off a massive amount of wine.”

  “That’s good,” said Krespo.

  “What do we do now?” inquired Matilda.

  “Chamberlain needs to answer for what he’s done,” said Volgha.

  “For the coup?” asked Matilda. She hesitated, and then added, “Does he really?”

  “What do you mean?” Volgha questioned, her brow furrowed.

  “I mean no disrespect,” said Matilda. “How shall I put this? Well … you know your sister.”

  “Of course,” said Volgha.

  “Well, it’s been very … peaceful since Chamberlain took over.”

  Matilda showed Volgha something that she should have seen all along: she has a blind spot for her sister. All these years, she’d seen Alexia merely as a true descendant of the royal lineage—a ridiculous twit who drank too much and never took anything seriously—but in reality, she was worse than that. She really hurt people, made messes of their lives. To say the very least, she wasn’t the sort of person who should be a queen.

  “I see your point,” said Volgha. “But did he seize power for the good of the people, or for himself?”

  “Does it really matter?” asked Matilda. “Besides, all due respect, but when was the last time Aurora had a monarch who was truly benevolent?”

  “Watch it. My parents were—”

  “Just as bad as Her Majesty! I’m too young to know myself, but I’ve heard the rest of the staff talk about them. They were just as ridiculous, if maybe slightly less sadistic!”

  “Fine!” Volgha threw up her hands. “My sister is a horrible queen! I even swore revenge against her myself not long ago, but Chamberlain usurped the throne and threw me in the dungeon for no crime. I can’t let that stand!”

  “Then we need another option,” said Matilda.

  “You could do it,” Krespo suggested.

  “What,” Volgha’s voice rose a few octaves, “me be the queen?”

  “Why not?” said Krespo. “You’re every bit the royal that your sister is, why shouldn’t you have a turn at the throne?”

  “That’s not the way it works. I had to renounce any claim I had to the throne years ago to get my sister to leave me alone.”

  “And how’s it been,” asked Santa, “your sister honoring the pact and leaving you alone all these years?”

  “That’s beside the point,” responded Volgha, who knew a weak argument when she heard one.

  “Renouncements can be undone,” said Matilda, “can’t they?”

  “Even if they could,” said Volgha, “I wouldn’t want it. I want to be a witch, not a queen.”

  “If you didn’t want to be involved, you should have stayed out of it,” said Santa.

  “Well, it’s too late for that.”

  “Then you’re involved,” said Santa. “You can’t just leave an unfit ruler on the throne—either one of them—and walk away.”

  “I know,” said Volgha, “but what you’re suggesting makes it all my problem.”

  “I understand,” said Santa. “But we may have much larger problems very soon if Loki is too late in putting the sun to rights.”

  Volgha nodded. It’s a horrible feeling, being unable to act in the face of too much to do.

  “Matilda,” said Santa, “how long has it been since Chamberlain took power?”

  “Half a dozen evenings or so.”

  “Then your sister’s not in any immediate danger. If he were going to hurt her, he’d have done it by now.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Volgha. “Let’s make sure the frost giant problem is averted, and then I’m going to take on Chamberlain. By myself, if I must.”

  Santa nodded. “We’ll do it together. After the frost giants. Can you see where they are now?”

  “I’ll need to scry into Niflheim,” she said. “Just a quick look, it won’t take long.”

  She reasoned that she only needed to look at the peak where she’d seen Gorsulak breaking up the ice to get to the Horn of Frost. She knew right where it was. She wouldn’t even need Redcrow this time. She’d be able to get close on her own.

  She swept away the circle of salt and rockwort and drew one from salt alone. Within minutes she was muttering the incantations, and effortlessly swept herself across the veil.

  The last time she’d scried into Niflheim, it had been like she was actually there; this time, it was more like seeing a very vivid painting of it that moved a bit from time to time. She could see the landmarks—or rather, landmark—but it just didn’t feel as real. She really missed the amplifiers on Howling Hill.

  No matter. She saw the peak not far away, although it took longer to reach this time. She moved as fast as she could, but it felt like she was barely moving at all.

  What are we doing in Niflheim? asked Osgrey.

  “Checking in on the Horn of Frost,” said Volgha. “Where have you been?”

  I’m not sure. It was all black. Ghasterly must have barred me from the tower.

  “You don’t have to worry about him any longer. We’ve defeated him!”

  Well done! Just don’t kill him. Never kill a necromancer, no telling what shades lurk within them.

  Osgrey was right. Killing a necromancer was like cutting open a big sack of snakes and spiders and lovelorn poets. It would probably be best to simply double-bag it and lock it in a closet somewhere.

  Eventually, she got close enough to see the hulking form of Gorsulak, still punching away at the ice around the horn.

  The winds and snow were blowing very hard, and his blows weren’t breaking enormous chunks away from the horn anymore, but he was still making progress. He had plenty of room to stand there. There were only a few feet of ice around the horn now, and that was rapidly receding. Barring a miracle, it did not appear that anything would stop him from reaching the horn. Soon.

  “Gorsulak!” she shouted. “Please, let’s talk about this!”

  It was no use. Even if he’d heard her, he wasn’t listening. It appeared that Loki had already moved the sun back to where it belonged, but the ice wouldn’t reform around the horn faster than Gorsulak could knock it away.

  She let herself fade from Niflheim, back into her body. As the inside of the tower shimmered back into view, she saw her comrades looking at her expectantly, hopefully.

  Sighing, she stood up. Santa hung his head and turned away.

  “Well?” said Krespo. “Were we in time?”

  “No,” Volgha answered, her expression forlorn.

  “How long do we have?” asked Santa.

  “It’s hard to say,” said Volgha. “Gorsulak will have the horn any time now. I don’t know how long it will take to rally the giants.”

  “But they’re coming?” said Santa.

  “Oh yes,” said Volgha. “They’re coming.”

  Santa said a swear word. “Then we have to act quickly.”

  “What about him?” Matilda tilted her head toward Ghasterly. Ghasterly sneered.

  “How about defenestration?” Santa suggested. “Quick and easy.”

  “We can’t kill him,” said Volgha. “Bad things come from killing necromancers.”

  “Did a necromancer tell you that?” asked Matilda with a smirk.

  “Well we can’t just leave him here. Do you have any idea what he could do with that if he got free?” Krespo was pointing to what looked like a case of bent spoons that had been sharpened and given a taste for blood. Volgha didn’t have the slightest idea what their use could be.

  “Of course I do,” said Volgha. “I know we can’t leave him here, but we can’t kill him.”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Santa. “He’s a vile sorcerer, the type who murders children!” Santa gestured toward Matilda.

  “You mean the type who threatens to murder young women,” countered Matilda. “Besides, Volgha is right. Defenestration is a very White Queen
way to get rid of a problem, and we’ve had enough of that sort of leadership here.”

  “Fine,” acquiesced Santa. “What then?”

  Everyone was silent for a moment.

  “We could do a wizard’s prison,” suggested Krespo.

  “A wizard’s prison?” Volgha raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” said Krespo. “His essence is stored in a bottle, and his body goes … well, I’m not sure, but I’ve read about them. It’s mostly Applied Thinkery, and it doesn’t sound that hard.”

  “You’re full of surprises,” Santa remarked.

  “Will it take long?” asked Matilda.

  “I don’t think so,” replied Krespo, “if Volgha can do the spirit bits, I believe I can manage the rest.”

  Volgha nodded and grabbed the red directory book. “What do you need?”

  21

  Bottling Ghasterly had been surprisingly easy. Krespo had done most of the work via Applied Thinkery, and Volgha only needed to walk his corporeal form across the veil. His essence remained in a bottle in the wizard’s tower, so his body just sort of complacently shuffled along behind her. His face did continue to sneer, though, proving his mother had been right when she’d warned him it would freeze like that.

  Volgha left Ghasterly’s body sitting against a rock. There it would stay forever, unless some ninny decided to uncork the bottle.

  Santa had gone back to the village. He had preparations to make. On the bright side, there was no need to hide from the White Queen anymore, so he could be there without endangering anyone.

  Wretched times we’re living through, said Osgrey. Not being hunted by a raving lunatic counts as a simple pleasure.

  Matilda had pleaded with Volgha to stay in the castle and help her get rid of Chamberlain.

  “Ghasterly’s out of the way,” said Matilda. “Without his power, Chamberlain will be vulnerable. If we don’t take him down quickly, he’ll do whatever it takes to strengthen his hold!”

  “I know,” said Volgha, “and I promise that I’ll return soon, but I have to do something about the frost giants. If they aren’t stopped, it won’t matter who’s on the throne when the walls come down.”

  Matilda sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll just have to … I don’t know …”

  “Get back to your regular job so you’re not suspected,” said Volgha. “Come up with a plan to get the servants out of the castle if things take a turn for the worse. Can you manage that?”

  “I guess.” Matilda rolled her eyes when Volgha mentioned going back to work in the kitchens. “You promise you’ll be back soon?”

  “I swear it on my pointy hat.”

  Volgha and Redcrow took flight for Asgard. She simply couldn’t stand for the folly of the gods to be the doom of everyone else. Odin had banished the frost giants once, surely he’d be able to do it again.

  As she rose up into the freezing winds, Volgha was left with no doubt that Loki had moved the sun back into place. Even her broom protested, prompting her to give it an extra threatening. It had to know that the forest was just silly with branches—did it honestly think she’d stand for a protest?

  She envied Redcrow. As they flew side by side along the last remaining sliver of purple sunset, she could tell that though he felt the cold, it did not rip through him the way it did through her. He always had a warm spot at his center, probably some gift of magical confluence. Lucky, fiery bird.

  She loved feeling close to the spirits of the winter, and by luxuriating in the warm airs of Loki’s temporary reprieve, she felt she’d grown soft. There was a distance between her and the winter, which was a state unbecoming the Winter Witch.

  She let go of her envy of Redcrow. She stopped shivering against the wind. She gripped the shaft of her broom, threatened it with a severe whittling, and leaned in toward the shadow of Yggdrasil on the horizon. The full gale force of winter’s power embraced her.

  By the time she touched down outside the golden doors of Asgard, she was chilled to the bone. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She felt half-dead but thoroughly satisfied.

  “Oh,” said the guard, “it’s you.”

  “Hello again,” said Volgha. “I need to speak with Odin.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “No, but it’s an urgent matter.”

  “Urgent enough to threaten me with boils?”

  Oh good, cawed Redcrow. He remembers.

  “That was just business,” said Volgha, “but this is urgent. Loki has made a mess of things—”

  “Ha! Loki. He won’t like the sound of that.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I don’t, do I? Is that because I’m just a lowly guard, meant only to stand outside and be threatened with boils by people who are far more important?”

  Here it comes.

  “Look, I know that I was—”

  “Rude? Demeaning? Yeah, I remember. I was there. I was the guy being threatened for no reason other than I had a job to do.”

  “We don’t have time for—”

  “It’s ‘we’ now, is it? I’m just the guy that watches the door, remember? You made my relative importance abundantly clear the last time you were here.”

  He’s got you there, cawed Redcrow. I wonder if he’s been thinking about this for a while. Maybe since we were last here?

  Volgha shut her eyes tightly, trying to suppress her frustration. It was everything she could do to refrain from unleashing all of her vitriol on this self-righteous twit. She had a world to save, and he’d had his feelings maligned! As ridiculous as it was, she couldn’t move forward until she’d soothed this enormous infant of a man.

  Just apologize, said Osgrey. He won’t listen to reason while his feelings are hurt. It’s human nature.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You don’t care. You don’t even know my name.”

  Volgha sighed. “You’re right. The last time I was here, I’d have melted you into a puddle to get what I wanted. I didn’t even bother to ask you your name, and that was rude. I didn’t respect that you have a very important job to do, and I didn’t care that breaking the rules would spell trouble for you. For all of that, I sincerely apologize.”

  The guard said nothing. His face had been so thoroughly overwhelmed by the frown that had seized it that Volgha wondered if she’d need a pry bar to unseat it.

  “Will you tell me your name?”

  Still nothing. She was dealing with a severe case of sore feelings. A fine thing to delay the salvation of the North Pole.

  Oh look, he’s pouting! cawed Redcrow, not caring to hide his amusement. Maybe he’s just a really big five-year-old. Do you have a sweetie in your basket?

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Volgha, “out of respect for you and your duty, I will refrain from threatening to use my magic to melt you into a puddle of warm goo, which would be no trouble for me at all. Instead, I will very humbly beseech you to admit me to see Odin. That’s your solemn duty, and I know that a man of your caliber takes his work seriously.”

  The guard fidgeted but said nothing.

  “Of course, a lesser man than you might refuse to do his duty out of spite. That sort of man would have no claim to the moral high ground over a petulant and selfish witch, now would he?”

  Not bad, cawed Redcrow.

  “I know what you’re doing!”

  “I’m not doing anything. I’m just figuring out whether you’re the honest sort of fellow who will do his duty despite his feelings, or the unscrupulous sort which requires a good face-melting to teach him a lesson.”

  A moment later, Volgha was led before Odin by an exasperated guard. In true father-of-the-gods fashion, he was sitting upon a golden throne.

  “The mortal witch,” greeted Odin. “You are welcome once again in the halls of Asgard! Speak your truth, that I might hear it.”

  Sounds like he’s in a god-almighty sort of mood, said Redcrow. Wouldn’t hurt to flower up your language a bit, I think.

&
nbsp; Volgha nodded.

  “Mighty Odin,” she said with a curtsey, assuming that asking a god for a favor would be best preceded by some flagrant flattery. “The realm of Midgard is soon to find itself in peril.”

  “Peril?” questioned Odin. “Go on, and speak true.”

  “It is the result of a folly gone awry,” said Volgha. “In an attempt to play a trick, Loki—”

  “Loki!” Odin bellowed. “That foolish sack of villainy and deceit! What’s he done now?”

  “That which he has both done and undone was to move the sun. Mighty Odin. Sir.”

  You’re nearly close enough to lick his boots, cawed Redcrow. I said flowery language, not sycophancy! We’re still the Wardens, show some dignity.

  “Done and undone? Then all is set to rights?”

  “I would that it were so, Allfather. The perilous effect of his foolishness will soon be felt in Niflheim, where the giants are very near to claiming the Horn of Frost!”

  “Fool!” shouted Odin. “A curse on his hide!”

  “I beseech you, mighty Odin, Allfather and greatest of the gods, to undo what Loki has very nearly done. Keep the Horn of Frost from the hands of the giants! Block them from returning, and let your banishment hold!”

  “What? Oh no, I couldn’t.”

  “What?” Volgha was confused. “Why couldn’t you? You’ve banished them before!”

  “Oh, I could,” said Odin. “It’s not a question of ability, but … well, you said it yourself. I’m the father to everyone. All of the gods, all of the Vikings, everyone!”

  He’s hit his limit of flattery, I think.

  “I don’t see the problem,” said Volgha. “Wouldn’t a father want to protect his children?”

  “Well, yes, of course,” he replied. “But there comes a time in a child’s life when a father must not protect it. From itself.”

  “What?”

  “What sort of father would I be if I shielded my children from every danger and harm that came their way?”

  “The good kind,” said Volgha. “The caring kind.”

  “The soft kind!” bellowed Odin. He stood up from his throne and pointed down at her. “The kind of father who coddles his children, lets them grow doughy and soft, and keeps them from their potential! Oh no, Volgha the Winter Witch. I will not be the sort of father who cleans up all of his children’s messes. This is one for them to work out on their own.”