Mickey Zucker Reichert - By Chaos Cursed (20 page)

Larson’s fall from Bolverkr’s wall filled his mind again. Repeatedly, he relived the crash of magics into his chest, the twisting stumble that had driven Gaelinar’s blade into the granite, the resisting, reversed-direction force of Bolverkr’s next spell striking the steel simultaneously. Then Larson’s mind leapt forward to his mental battle in the farm town. Fresh rage burned through him.
It’s time I started playing smart, not fair. Magic was discovered by a twentieth-century parapsychologist named Gary Mannix. If Bolverkr can use post-modern technology, then, damn it, so can I.

Al Larson cast aside guilt and indecision almost as quickly as they arose.
To use anything less than all the weapons I can create would be stupid. Bolverkr, let me introduce you to grenades.
Larson headed off to find suitable thighbones.

The sun swung westward, casting stripes through gaps in the clouds. Rain-smeared light settled over Al Larson where he hunched amid covered crocks, vials, and bones, extracting his third filtered crystallization of saltpeter. Firelight glazed the clearing to a hazy red. A pot dangled over the flames, heat waves dancing over a mixture of powder and boiling water. Larson’s limbs had cramped hours ago, but, intent on his work, he did not notice the pain. Winding strips of cloth about his hands to protect them from the heat, he removed the pot from the fire, strained the contents through finely-woven cloth and divided the remaining saltpeter into crocks to cool and crystallize. He shook off the pot holders. Gathering thread and candle, he lit the wick from the flames, sat, and set to interweaving linen with wax.

A presence glided into Larson’s brain.

Bolverkr.
Larson went rigid, dropping the makeshift wick in order to channel his concentration to this new threat. Mental walls slammed into place, surrounding the intruder.
Damn! Just a few more minutes and I would have had a real weapon.
Frustrated and enraged by the interruption, Larson blasted notions at the being who had invaded his mind.
Bolverkr, you fucking, cheating coward! You want to fight, come on out and fight like a man. Sword to sword! Fist to fist! I’m sick of this mind game shit!

No verbal answer followed, but the intruder radiated an aura of promised peace and friendship.

“Fuck it, Bolverkr.” Larson sprang to his feet, dumping the partially melted candle from his lap. “How stupid do you think I am?” He tightened the conjured barriers. “I’m not going to fall for some ridiculous promise of parlay. Get the hell out here, or I’m coming in after you.”

I’m afraid that would be impossible.
The soft reply whispered in Larson’s mind.

Larson hesitated, recognizing the voice, yet not quite placing it, knowing for certain the intruder was not Bolverkr.

The other fell equally silent.

Expecting further explanation and a chance to identify the presence, Larson found the quiet unnerving. Still, the decision to speak as little as possible identified the being in a way his voice had not.
Vidarr?

The presence strengthened, then returned to normal.

Driven to impatience by the morning’s events and the effort of holding his mental barriers, Larson sighed loudly. “Can the crap, Vidarr. That emotion stuff may work for your god friends, but I’m just a regular guy. I need words. Okay?”

Vidarr’s presence tingled with warning.

Larson granted no quarter. “What are you going to do? Kill me for asking you to communicate like a normal human being?”

I’ve told you before, just think what you wish to say. And I’m not a normal human being.

So I’ve noticed.
Larson tried to keep insult and sarcasm from sweeping to the forefront of his consciousness along with the words. He dropped the mental walls.
Look, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but...

... you are
, Vidarr finished.

I don’t mean to be disrespectful
, Larson started again,
but I’m trying to fight Bolverkr, and I don’t have time to waste discussing my bad attitude with a mute god. If you’ve come to help, I’m grateful. If not, I haven’t got time for one-way chatter.

I can’t help you.

Then go away.
Realizing that antagonizing a god, even one so familiar, might have consequences, Larson softened the command.
Please.
No longer needing to concentrate on holding walls, he sat, gathering the thread and wax.

Apology wove through Vidarr’s words.
You have to understand. Bolverkr is the prime source of Chaos in this world. His death would affect the gods.

Affect the gods? Affect the gods!
Galled, Larson abandoned caution. He inhaled a sharp breath in a mock noise of horror, no longer trying to hold back the sarcasm.
Well, excuse me if my self-defense interferes with your comfort. Bolverkr’s death may inconvenience the gods. My death would inconvenience me. As would the rape of my wife, the slaughter of my child, and the torture of my friends.

It’s not that simple.

No.
Larson’s fingers clenched around the wick.
I can see where a life of omnipotent idleness could get rough.

Stop this nonsense, Allerum!
Annoyance flowed freely from Vidarr.
I came to help. Don’t incite me. You won’t like the results.

Anger churned inside Larson, driving him beyond fear of consequences or vague threats.
Wake up, Vidarr. You’re a god of Law. There’s nothing you can do to me that Bolverkr hasn’t already considered. I’ve got nothing left to lose.

Except Silme.

Suddenly attentive, Larson turned his focus fully inward.
What do you mean?

Wake up, Allerum.
Vidarr borrowed Larson’s idiom.
Don’t you see what Bolverkr’s doing?

If I could see Bolverkr, one of us would be dead by now.
Now wanting to banter words, Larson clung to the point.
What does Bolverkr have to do with Silme?

Vidarr’s presence hovered, no emotion radiating from him.
I don’t know for certain. You’re the only one without mind barriers. I can’t read anyone else’s thoughts.

THE POINT, VIDARR!

Vidarr cringed at the intensity and volume of Larson’s mental reply.
Silme’s acting wrong.

Larson snorted.
Tell me something I don’t know. This pregnancy’s got her hormones in an upheaval.

Her hor
—
, what?

The proximity of the name Silme and the syllable “hor” bothered Larson. He made a gesture of dismissal, though Vidarr could not see it from within his mind.
Never mind. This pregnancy and the pressure’s made her crazy.

Is that what you think?

Obviously.
The implications of the question struck Larson.
Are you saying there’s something else going on?

You mean besides the fact that you’re all acting bizarre and irritable?

Yeah. Besides that.

I recognize the influence of Chaos when I see it.

Frustration rattled through Larson.
You’re not making any sense.

I know Silme as well as I know my brothers. That woman you were traveling with may have looked like Silme and talked like Silme. But she’s not acting like Silme.
Vidarr shifted, carefully avoiding the tangled tapestry of Larson’s memories.
Carrying a baby isn’t enough to explain a drastic change in personality. I’ve seen Silme pressured before. I’ve known only a few, gods included, as graceful when stressed.

Larson licked his lips, understanding the words but not quite able to form the conclusion.
Are you trying to say Bolverkr might have kidnapped Silme and replaced her with someone who looks like her?

Amusement fluttered through Larson’s brain.
Not a chance.

I didn’t think so.

Someone or something is intentionally driving a wedge between you and Silme. It seems only natural to blame Bolverkr. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’m willing to gamble my immortality that he’s doing something.

Larson suddenly felt cold.
Like what? What might he be doing? Give me some possibilities or examples.

I can’t.

The short fuse on Larson’s temper flared again.
You can’t? Or you won’t?

I can’t
, Vidarr repeated.
You know I’m not one of the gods who uses sorcery directly. I have to guess based on observation. From what I’ve seen, I can’t think of anything Bolverkr could use to change a personality. Her mind barriers would stop him. It just doesn’t make sense.

Gripping fear replaced Larson’s anger. He recalled Silme’s description of Bolverkr’s follower. Apparently, Harriman had been a diplomat before Bolverkr’s magic shattered his mind barriers, providing access for Bolverkr to manipulate Harriman’s thoughts. Larson tried to put his concern into words.

Vidarr responded to the idea, without waiting for a coherent question.
No, Allerum. As far as I can tell, Silme’s mind barriers remain intact.

Relief rose, and hope followed.
Maybe one of the gods who does use magic might understand what’s going on. Couldn’t you ask?

No.
Vidarr fidgeted. His back struck a coil of thought, sparking the familiar and unique odor of damp, jungle clay.

Larson cringed, willing the god to remain still.

If the others knew I was here helping you, they’d chain me to a rock and beat me till I bled.

Larson found sympathy impossible.
If it makes you feel any better, I’d be happy to tell them you were no help at all.

Very funny.

Larson picked up one of the hollowed thighbones and threaded the fuse through the tiny hole once served by a nutrient artery. Finished, he placed the bone aside and started on the next.
Seriously, if you’re not allowed to help me because Bolverkr’s death might affect the gods, and if just talking to me might cause them to hurt you, why are you here wasting my time?

You want the truth?

It seems likely. I can make up my own lies.

The truth is, I don’t know.

Larson smiled, certain he knew the justification. Vidarr had reasons to feel indebted to the man who had broken Loki’s spell and freed Vidarr from a lengthy imprisonment in a sword. Vidarr’s repayment, an attempt to stabilize Larson’s mental state against reliving traumatic experiences in times of new stress, against wildly irrational startle responses, and against night terrors, had proven only partially successful. And Vidarr’s coercing Larson to complete a second task against his will had shifted the balance of favors in Larson’s direction.

Though Larson did not qualify in specific words, Vidarr caught the gist of his thoughts.
I’m a god. I owe you nothing.

Larson struck home.
If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be here.

Sullen silence.

Larson continued positioning his wick.

Vidarr’s brooding turned to thoughtful goodwill.

Refusing to acknowledge any nonverbal communication, Larson ignored the Silent God.

You’re ungrateful
, Vidarr said at length.

Oh. So the pot’s calling the kettle black.
Larson set aside the second bone. Fumbling the vial of sulfur from his pocket, he slid a pair of empty crocks toward him.
I rescued you from imprisonment, and how did you thank me? You sent me on a task you knew was impossible, lying to me along the way.

I apologized.

Oh, well. That makes it okay, then.
Angered anew by the memories, Larson dumped half of the yellow powder into each crock. He reached for the charcoal, bitterness oozing into his mental communication.
Kensei Gaelinar died for your brother. Spare me the “I’m a god, you’re a measly mortal” speeches. I wielded you. That changes our relationship.
Larson measured out the charcoal, turning his thoughts momentarily to his work.
Four saltpeter to one charcoal to one sulfur.
He poured, returning to the conversation.
Don’t get me wrong. I’d appreciate your company. If you’ve come to help, I’m grateful. Really. In fact, it hurts to think about such a thing, but your aid against Bolverkr might even put
me
in
your
debt again.

Larson harvested the cooled crystals of saltpeter, mixing them into the two crocks in the proper proportion. He continued.
But if you’ve only come to whine about how you can’t help me because Bolverkr’s death might affect the gods, you can leave now. Don’t waste my time with excuses.

Vidarr sighed, the sound echoing through Larson’s head.
You don’t understand. Bolverkr is ultrapowerful. The other gods have the right to kill me for interfering.

Vidarr’s words sparked an idea too intriguing for Larson to suppress. Aware Vidarr could read his motivations and not wanting to seem as if he were plotting, he sent the message in direct words.
You’re a powerful being of Law. Perhaps your death could balance Bolverkr’s?

Stunned rage radiated from Vidarr.
Is that a threat?

Just an observation.
Larson turned his full concentration on Vidarr, alert for evidence of attack.
If I was scheming against you, why would I warn you? On the other hand, if the gods did kill you, I can’t deny I’d use the opening in the Balance to slaughter Bolverkr.

Vidarr’s fury turned to calculated understanding.
Don’t get too hooked on the idea. My death wouldn’t open the Balance nearly enough to compensate for Bolverkr’s death.

The confession startled Larson.
You’re saying Bolverkr’s more powerful than you?

Far more.

“Shit.” Larson stirred his concoction methodically.
No wonder Bolverkr seems invincible. What would it take to balance him? Every god on Olympus?

Olympus?

Larson scooped powder into one of the thighbones, packing it tightly.
Oops, wrong pantheon. Sorry. What’s the name of the gods’ world again?

Asgard.

Yeah. That’s it.

I can usually get that right.

Once powder filled the bone, Larson jammed a stone into the opening, maneuvering until he felt certain he had a seal.
Sarcasm doesn’t become you.