The Winter Riddle Page 26

  “Er, hello, Volgha.” Krespo had managed to sneak up on her, whether he’d intended to or not. That’s good, Volgha thought. Speed and dexterity, that’s what she’d need from him.

  Volgha smiled at him. “Hello, Krespo.”

  “Santa said you needed me for something. To tell you the truth, I was hoping to stay out of the fighting.”

  “You won’t need a sword or armor,” said Volgha. “But you’ll do your part to bring the fight to the giants, that’s for sure.”

  23

  It was bitter cold atop Howling Hill, which is what one should expect after night has fallen—assuming, of course, that the sun was in its proper position, which it was, once again. The frost had already started to reform on the magical amplifiers, but they still howled with the full force of the winter winds.

  It was lucky you found these, said Osgrey. I didn’t know there were any left!

  Of course, you’d know what they are, cawed Redcrow. I imagine they’re nearly as old as you.

  Far older, replied Osgrey, either oblivious to the insult or not caring to fight a bird over it. A rare find, not many left in the world.

  “Who made them?” asked Volgha.

  “Beats me,” said Krespo, not taking his eyes off his work.

  What Krespo lacked in bravery, upper body strength, self-confidence, conversational skills, lower body strength, martial prowess, jawline, and panache, he made up for in accuracy and attention to detail. The spell that Volgha had pieced together from a few pages of the Grimoire required a lot of things to happen at the same time, and she’d never have been able to do it all on her own. She needed either several weeks to prepare, or a trusty extra pair of hands to work out the herbs for her. She’d seen how deftly Krespo had made his way through her sister’s closets when they were searching for the pearls, and she knew that he’d be the man—or rather, elf—for the job.

  “How’s it coming with the powdered moonstalk?” she asked.

  “Nearly there.” Krespo was working the pestle with his left hand while he tried to shake the feeling back into the right.

  “I need more salt,” Volgha told him.

  “It’s in the other bag,” Krespo replied. “No, the other one. No, the other one. Oh, just let me.”

  Volgha said a swear word. They were running out of time.

  He thrust a small bag of salt into her hands and got back to work on the moonstalk, hardly breaking his pace. As fast as he was, Volgha was worried that the battle would begin before they were ready.

  “Tell me the sequence again,” she requested as she made the special squiggly in one quadrant of the circle that would keep her from going mad. She never gave herself time to wonder whether she’d know if she’d ever forgotten to draw that squiggly. Some things are best left unconsidered.

  “A pinch of gravelmoss,” said Krespo, “a handful of iceroot, two sprigs of rockwort, and five earthbloom petals. Grind them together, sprinkle counter-clockwise into the bowl.”

  “And whatever you do?”

  “Don’t let the flame go out.”

  “You’ve a real talent for magic, Krespo.”

  “Thanks.” Krespo smiled.

  Redcrow was arranging a makeshift nest with a blanket in a wooden crate. He’d been so exhausted after the last time they’d done this, he demanded that Volgha’s “elf servant” be made to carry him around in it afterward until he’d regained his strength. Krespo was on board with the idea, in no small part because Volgha had left the “elf servant” bit out when she’d asked him.

  “It shouldn’t be necessary, though,” said Volgha. “Part of the mixture was crafted to give us both extra strength.”

  Better safe than sorry, cawed Redcrow. And tell the servant not to jostle the box. I’m a light sleeper.

  Volgha finished triple-checking that she’d drawn all of the necessary squigglies on the salt circle, then looked up to the cloudless sky. The moon was nearly full, the stars were bright, and the Aurora Borealis shimmered green, blue, and gold beyond the mountains. The bitter chill cut through her, but she didn’t mind the cold—partially because she’d started going numb in her extremities, but also because this was her element. This was her time. Witches spend years and years growing, drying, and grinding herbs, leafing through old books, talking to rabbits, and evaluating their leavings; not only because that’s thrilling stuff, but because it’s building toward something. They don’t often know what it is, and some unfortunate witches live lives so peaceful that a great purpose simply never comes to them, but if and when it does, they get to see the fruits of all of their labors in one fell swoop.

  This was that time for Volgha. The years of seclusion, the endless herb work, the bonfire vigils—that had all been great fun, but now it was all for something. It was time to use her magic for the benefit of everyone. Everyone but the frost giants, that is.

  Good luck, said Osgrey. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do what I can.

  “Thanks,” said Volgha. She hadn’t found any sort of empowering-the-retired-druid-who-inexplicably-resides-in-your-mind spells in the Grimoire and just hoped that he’d be all right.

  Oh, don’t worry about me, he said. As long as you make it through this, I’ll be fine.

  Volgha smiled. Osgrey had always been kind to her. She was glad to have him on her side.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, looking at Krespo.

  “There’s still a lot to do,” said Krespo, “but I’ve got it under control.”

  “Then let’s begin. Remember, no matter what happens, don’t break the circle.”

  Krespo nodded. “Good luck.”

  She didn’t need luck, not really. The last time she’d done astral projection from up here, she’d done the bare minimum and ended up a super hybrid version of herself and Redcrow. This time, she had Krespo to help her, a big pile of herbs, and she’d added a fire spell to her retinue that just might turn the tide in their favor.

  She started making the oddly stiff motions that contorted her fingers and whispering the incantations under her breath. She quickly and effortlessly found herself merged with Redcrow again, hovering over Midgard.

  It was different this time. She felt more focused, more powerful. If she’d had an ounce of this when she’d gone up against Ghasterly, he’d be a pile of ash now.

  She looked out onto the field where the Vikings had erected their defenses. It was hard to miss, what with all of the bonfires.

  She saw the twin columns of Santa’s troops approaching in the distance, the wolves loping ahead of them. They were being hailed by a group of King Harald’s officers when the first blast of the horn sounded.

  It was impossibly loud. A thunderclap inside of her own head would have been drowned out by the sound from the Horn of Frost. Vikings and elves alike fell to their knees and threw their hands over their ears.

  And just like that, there it was. A hole in the fabric of space with glowing blue edges. It was a hundred feet wide, and snow and ice flew from it on gale force winds.

  Another blast issued forth from the horn, still impossibly loud but less so than the first one. The lion’s share of the noise had apparently come from the portal ripping open, not from the horn itself.

  The note was low and undulating. As its echo rattled her teeth, a great bridge of ice issued forth from the portal. Once the edge of the bridge had touched the ground, frost giants began to pour from the portal. They bore great icicle clubs, enormous boulders, and scowls like Volgha had never seen before.

  Volgha recognized the first one through as Gorsulak. He held the horn aloft and greeted the Vikings with a terrible roar as his horde marched forth.

  Volgha turned to look at Santa. His columns had turned, and were quickly marching toward the Vikings’ bonfires. Santa himself had dismounted his horse and was walking toward the middle of the field. With little more than a thought, Volgha rocketed across the distance between them, stopping scarcely a foot from Santa’s side.

  Surprised by
her sudden appearance, Santa said a swear word.

  “Volgha! Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Of course not,” said Volgha.

  “Then don’t do that! My heart is still strong, but it needn’t be tested so vigorously!”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Where are you going?”

  “To the parlay,” said Santa. “It’s tradition before a big battle.”

  “Do the frost giants know about the tradition?”

  “We’re about to find out.”

  It was then that Volgha noticed that she was significantly taller than Santa for a change. Even allowing for the fact that she was hovering about a foot above the ground, she was half again his height. She reasoned that was a reflection of her amplified power.

  The stopped in the middle of the field, just before King Harald got there.

  “Volgha?” he said, obviously surprised to see her. “The last time I saw you, you were just an average-sized woman. My, look how you’ve grown!”

  “Thank you, uncle,” Volgha said mockingly.

  King Harald laughed. “Your magic is powerful. I’m glad I welcomed you into my hall before.”

  “I’ll need every bit of magic I can muster to see us through this,” said Volgha.

  King Harald’s lips and eyes narrowed as he considered her. “Perhaps. In any case, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  The ground shook under the weight of Gorsulak’s final steps. Even in Volgha’s magically enlarged state, the frost giant still towered over her.

  “Hello, little bird,” said Gorsulak. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Gorsulak,” said Volgha. “You should have stayed in Niflheim. Bad move coming here.”

  “Well that’s rude. I came over here for a friendly chat before we commence with the war-waging. Aren’t we all friends here?”

  “Hardly,” said Santa. “You cannot win this. Why not save the lives of your kinsmen, and give up now?”

  “That’s more like it,” said Gorsulak. “If it’s terms of surrender, we’ll hear yours anytime!”

  “Your pride will be your downfall!” King Harald drew his sword and waved it menacingly at Gorsulak. “Better you should tuck tail and run, and nurse your wounded pride until the sun rises again, than be crushed into dust against our shields!”

  “These fields will run red with Viking blood before we start to feel weary,” said Gorsulak.

  “Your kind don’t belong here!” said Volgha. “Go back to where you came from, and leave these decent people in peace!”

  Gorsulak and King Harald both took a step backward from Volgha and stared at her.

  “Really now,” said Gorsulak, “that’s just an ugly and hateful thing to say!”

  “Volgha, please,” said King Harald. “I expect better than that from the people I count as my friends!”

  “What?” Volgha was perplexed. “How is what I’m saying any different from what you’re saying?”

  Santa seemed as confused as she was.

  “Trash talk before a fight is one thing,” began Gorsulak, “but you sound a lot like Odin right now.”

  She looked at King Harald. He had an eyebrow raised, and seemed to be nodding in agreement with Gorsulak.

  “Odin,” Volgha repeated. She pointed at King Harald. “Your Allfather. The chieftain of your gods, who drove these evil monsters from—”

  “Oh, will you please stop?” King Harald’s voice had risen a full octave. “Yes, he’s right! You sound like Odin! Gods, you seemed so normal, I thought you were better than this!”

  “I’m missing something,” said Santa. “Harald, aren’t you here to drive the frost giants back into Niflheim, whence Odin banished them?”

  “Of course not,” replied King Harald. “I’m here to have a war with them!”

  Gorsulak nodded.

  Santa’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m still missing something.”

  “What’s the matter?” said Gorsulak. “You don’t want to have a war with us just because we’re frost giants?”

  “I don’t want to have a war with anybody! I want to go home and invent things!”

  “Could have fooled us,” said King Harald, “what with the whole marching-your-troops-to-battle thing that just happened, and the pre-war trash talking.”

  “So you just … want to fight each other?” Volgha’s stare moved back and forth between Gorsulak and King Harald. “You’re not trying to wipe each other out?”

  “We’re playing to win,” answered Gorsulak, “but we’re not bringing old bigotry into it.”

  “Well said.” King Harald nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think anyone had the nerve to talk like that anymore, even if they believed it.”

  “Believed what?”

  “That frost giants are just unintelligent monsters,” said Gorsulak. “We have feelings, you know.”

  “But Odin banished them from here,” said Volgha. “A long time ago! Your Allfather!”

  King Harald sighed. “That’s true, but we don’t go around celebrating it. Odin is …” Harald looked around, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s old. He’s set in his ways. He belongs to a generation that lived with those segregationist ideas for their entire lives.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Gorsulak. “If the likes of you and Odin had your way, we’d be shipped back to Niflheim without a second thought.”

  Volgha held up her hands. “I’m not saying—”

  “They’re no different from us!” said King Harald.

  “They’re made of solid ice!” said Santa.

  “It’s not what’s inside that counts,” said Gorsulak. “Literally, I mean. Figuratively, it’s what’s inside that counts.”

  “Fine,” said Volgha, “you are people! But you’re different. You people—”

  “Oh, come on!” Gorsulak tossed his hands up in the air. “What do you mean, you people?”

  There was a long, awkward silence. Gorsulak and King Harald stood there with their hands on their hips, staring at Volgha. Santa looked confused and uncomfortable. Volgha was at a loss for words.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, eventually. “I guess I really had the wrong impression of what was going on here.”

  “It appears that way,” said King Harald.

  “As did I,” said Santa. “I was brought up to believe that the frost giants were savage beasts who threatened our very way of life until Odin came along and banished them to Niflheim.”

  “We were all taught that,” replied King Harald. “Luckily, most of us were able to see the truth and break away from the old, ignorant ways of thinking.” He looked at Volgha. “Most of us.”

  “I really am sorry.” Volgha looked up at Gorsulak. “You’re the first frost giant I’ve ever met, and I’ve only been told that you were monsters.”

  “Well, now you know different,” said Gorsulak.

  “Yes, I suppose I do,” said Volgha.

  “Me too,” said Santa. “Thanks for setting me straight.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said King Harald. “Now, how about that war?”

  “Hang on,” said Volgha. “If you’ve got your heart set on war, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  24

  Volgha had given up on trying to stop Krespo’s screaming. It wasn’t much farther to the castle now, and it was probably helping him keep warm. The fear was encouraging his white-knuckled grip on the broom as well, and that was as good for his safety as anything else she had at her disposal.

  The clouds had moved in, blocking the light of the moon and providing some very fortunate cover for their approach. If the sky had been clear, she’d have cast a spell to call the clouds for just such a purpose; and had anyone asked her if she’d had anything to do with the all-too-convenient cloud cover, the Witching Way would have insisted she take credit.

  Claiming credit for naturally-occurring phenomena was a cornerstone of Perceptive Witchery: an art that was more marketing than magic, but all witches needed to know a
bit of marketing.

  “Seriously, you need to stop now.” The silhouette of the castle crept darkly onto the horizon ahead.

  “Aaaaaaagh!” said Krespo, or rather he ceased to stop saying so.

  “You’ll get us caught. Please don’t make me drop you.”

  “Aaaaaaagh!”

  “We’ve been up here for hours now, how are you still this afraid?”

  “Aaaaaaagh!”

  “I thought you’d have acquired some courage by accident, given all you’ve been through since this started.”

  “Aaaaaaagh!”

  He was a cowardly little screaming machine whose switch had gotten stuck in the “on” position. Unfortunately for Krespo, Volgha was more curious than vexed at this point and had resolved to take him for another ride when all of this was over. She wasn’t sure what practical application she could find for Krespo’s indomitable cowardly fury, but the mystical realms beyond the veil often demanded some eccentric tools. It was as likely as not to come in handy someday.

  “Aaaaaaagh!”

  Unfortunately for Volgha, they were rapidly approaching the castle, and she had to figure out a way to get them in quietly. The belfry was her preferred entrance, but even with the cloud cover, a screaming missile would have attracted unwanted attention.

  “Ugh, fine,” she said, and started taking the broom down toward a little copse of trees. It was nearly a mile from the castle, and she could see that there were patrols milling about in between. Chamberlain was less trusting than Alexia, which Volgha found offensive. Just one more reason to overthrow him.

  Once they were on the ground, she took a minute to assess the contents of her basket while Krespo gathered what few wits he still possessed. He stared wide-eyed and unblinking at nothing, twitching occasionally.

  “This is terribly inconvenient,” she said to him.

  Krespo nodded. “S-s-sorry.” He was wrapped up in Volgha’s shawl, trying to stop shivering.

  That’s top notch cowardice, cawed Redcrow. He chuckled. It takes a brave person to be seen shrieking like that. A real devotion to the cause of milquetoasts the world over!