Chapter 10: Chapter ten

“Please, please don’t do this.” 

Ignoring the soft whimpers of the autumn haired Pixie who groveled on the floor of the dressing room, I finished buttoning the denim jeans. Honestly, anyone listening from outside would think I was torturing the girl as opposed to putting on a pair of human-made pants. 

Dresses weren’t exactly proper training attire, and the Pixie hadn’t brought any suitable outfits for tonight's festivities with her so I was left with no other option then to pull on a pair of denim jeans, and a black long sleeved shirt. 

“Please my moon, can’t you wait for the Skjald-borg? They are bringing supplies, and more clothing is among those items.” A teary eyed Sorcha pleaded. 

“In the human world this brand of clothing is very fashionable,” I commented as I adjusted the buckles of the sheath strapped to my right thigh before sliding my dagger into place. 

“They have no concept of fashion.” She hissed, her tiny fingers pinching at the denim that encased my right leg. “Feel how heavy, and rough this is! How can such a material be fashionable!” 

“You’re being over dramatic,” I sighed, extracting my leg from the Pixies hold. “Are you joining us, or remaining in the enclave?” 

Sorcha’s nose crinkled. “I shall remain here to continue working on your gowns, and later I will be unpacking the items that will arrive with the Skjald-borg.” 

Leaving the sulking Pixie behind in the dressing room, I exited my quarters with Æsa at my heels and Helma at my back. 

The three Skutilsveinr who stood guard in the hall surrounded our small group as we walked through the halls, a soft hum of mægen flowing between them to form an unseen barrier. 

Once outside the enclave I took a moment to enjoy the moonlight caressing my skin, which became luminous. Head tilted back, I relished in the feeling of the mægen which flowed through me, cool and familiar. ‘Máni, sensuous cohort of the night, hear my plea! Shine unhidden this night, so the brightest silver your children may glow.’ 

In response to my silent prayer the gentle caress of power grew stronger, and clouds which were once attempting to obscure the moon dissipated, leaving a clear unobstructed view of the full moon shining above the city.  

Shouts, and the ringing clash of blades striking against each other filled the air as we arrived at the outdoor training area. My Skutilsveinr fought in groups, with a few guardians scattered around the outskirts watching them cautiously. 

Bright flood lights lit up the grassy field, their harshness bringing a grimace to my lips. The Dökkálfar needed no artificial light to see in the darkness of night- we were the light. 

Channeling a wave of pure mægen through the purple stone embedded in the hilt of my dagger, I lashed out at the lights, shattering the globes. The field plunged into momentary darkness, before brightening once more as the Dökkálfar, who skirmished against each illuminated the area with their luminous glow. 

Finding an empty section of the training area, I spun on my heel to face Helma who watched me with barely concealed amusement. 

“It has been some time,” she said, her lithe body moving with predatory grace as she circled around me. “Let us see if you have improved any.” 

Helma lunged for me, giving no warning of her impending attack. I spun away from the Víðarr, bringing my dagger up to intercept her blade a second too late as it brushed past my cheek with a stinging kiss. Wetness trickled down my cheek, the thick scent of blood filling the air.  

“Too slow.” The Víðarr growled, pointing the tip of her sword towards the ground.  

I inclined my head. “I have no excuses.” 

The Víðarr lunged again, her movements a fraction slower. This time I intercepted the blade, parrying back the blow. We continued in that manner for several minutes before Helma stepped away, and sheathed her sword. 

“Moderate improvement.” She evaluated. 

It was a far kinder evaluation than Maitane would have given me. The Húsvættir wouldn’t have let me off with only the one bloodletting either. 

“You went easy on her.” As though summoned by thought, the Húsvættir appeared beside me, her expression scornful as she looked at the Víðarr. 

Helma didn’t respond to Mai’s scolding as her attention shifted to a commotion at the far side of the field. I followed the Víðarr’s gaze to where several guardians stood arguing amongst themselves.

Monroe stood in front of the group, her arms crossed as she glowered at a man who gestured wildly as he shouted at her. I didn’t need to draw on their shadows to listen in on the conversation, I could tell from the expressions on the faces of the nearby Skutilsveinr that the man spoke insults to our people. 

“They are resistant to training.” Nyx said as she approached our small group, her words bringing my attention away from the arguing guardians. “Half are not suitable for the position they hold, their mægen is weak to the point they can not even draw from a pebble.” 

Mægen, was the spiritual life force that permeated the universe, it is in everything, it is everything, but it isn’t all the same. All mægen carried traces of where it was drawn, and because the source from which mægen could be drawn left their imprint on the mægen itself, there were limits to what you could do with it. It may be possible to start a fire with magic drawn from stone, but would be extremely difficult because it still carried with it the magical properties of the stone – and none of that involved heat or fire. Stone mægen is best used for strength, or protection.  

“This is Manna-heim,” I reminded her. “The mægen here is weak, thus the difficulty of drawing from something like a pebble is increased. Give them a stronger source for the test.” 

At its most basic level, magic was performed by a person drawing mægen from a source into their core, where they shaped it to their will before redirecting outwards. Doing this of course required one to possess a mægen core, located within a special fifth chamber of a vættir’s heart.

The absence of this fifth chamber in humans prevented them from forming a mægen core, and thus prevented them from being able to draw mægen into themselves. It might be possible for a human to use an artificial core, but their inability to sense mægen would make using the core extremely difficult. 

Among the vættir, the development of a core began at conception, with our personal mægen sparked into existence from the combining of our parents' mægen. We were born with the innate ability to sense the mægen around us, although it took many years for a child’s personal mægen to develop, with most manifesting their cores once they reached maturity. 

“My moon, we gave them pebbles collected from the coast beyond the veil.” Nyx said, holding out a smooth fist sized stone. 

Taking the stone, I held in my grasp for a moment, searching for the mægen within it. The stone thrummed beneath my touch, the firmness of its mægen reluctant to answer my call. I could take if I forced it, but to draw from a source that was incompatible with your personal mægen was taxing on ones core. This stone was of the earth, while I was a being of night, and winter. 

I delved deeper into the stone, searching for the faint traces of the sea which had smoothed, and shaped it. 

There! 

The water mægen within the stone rose to my call, seeping into my skin. I closed my free hand over the hilt of my dagger, channeling the mægen through my body and into the dark purple core. It tried to deviate, seeking out the partially formed core within my heart, but I forced it away. 

When the last of the water mægen ebbed out of the stone, I tossed it back to the Stallari. Her mauve eyes gleamed brightly as she inspected the stone. “You drew the water, yet left the earth.” 

“I needed to wash the blood off my face,” I said casually, shaping the water mægen into a marble sized droplet of water that rolled over my cheek, washing away the dried blood from the shallow cut. The wound itself having already healed with the moon's mægen empowering my body. 

With a flick of my fingers the marble of blood tainted water splattered onto the grass as I discarded the mægen from my control. 

The Skutilsveinr who formed my personal escort appeared impressed with the display, which admittedly wasn’t an easy thing to achieve. It required a high level of will, and practice to separate two mægen as I did.  

“Were those who failed to draw from the stone unable due to lack of compatibility?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the group of guardians milling around with sour expressions on their faces. 

“We offered four sources of low leveled mægen to draw from.” Nyx said, her gaze following mine. “Those who failed did so because they were unable to sense the mægen. One even claimed there was none to sense, because mægen is found only in living beings.” 

Frowning, I turned back to face the Stallari. “Give them a slightly stronger source, and if they fail again, dismiss them from the guardian force. In the coming days I want to begin recruiting new members to the force, and the enclave as a whole.” 

“As will it, my moon.” Nyx said, her body tilting forwards in a half bow. 

Two months. That was how long I had to repair the damage Lord Fergus had done to the enclave, and find a suitable lord to rule in my stead. The first step- eradicate the vermin infesting the city. 

From there I would need to train the current guardians, and bolster the force with new blood. I needed to contact the other lords, informing them I was opening up our enclave to new members, and offer incentives to bring people to New York. 

Should I temporarily lower the residence fees? I wasn’t fully aware of the enclave's current financial situation, but I knew it wouldn’t be good. Which meant lowering the fees might not be viable, as the enclave needed that money to sustain itself. I could add to the enclave's funds with my own, but that seemed too easy.

If I fixed everything using my position as the Smártungl, how did that demonstrate my ability to rule? 

“How much does a goblin core sell for these days?” I asked, not speaking to anyone in particular. 

“Between ten, and fifteen silver crescents, my moon.” Helma answered. 

Not a lot, but it would be a start in the right direction to recovering some money towards hiring on new guardians.  

 Categorized as a lesser fae of Unseelie origin, goblins were a short-lived prolific race that are deemed to be only a step above vermin by the more intelligent races of the vættir. Chaotic and violent, the goblins were one of the few sapient races that were not unified, preferring to live on the fringes of civilization. Goblins bowed to no sovereign, they served only their own self indulgent desires. 

Each kingdom had their own ways of dealing with goblins, some such as the Unseelie permitted the creatures to reside in undeveloped regions, allowing them to breed in high numbers before culling their population and harvesting their cores. Others killed the goblins on sight, unwilling to risk allowing the quick breeding race to gain a foothold within their land.

Svartálfaheimr was somewhere in between, hosting annual hunts to cull out the goblins, but it was a never ending cycle. Those that managed to escape, or migrated into Svartálfaheimr from other kingdoms would soon repopulate in great numbers. If left unchecked, the goblins could devastate the local ecosystem, as they had little concept of sustainable hunting or harvest. 

They weren’t completely unintelligent so to speak, but they weren’t smart either. Goblins understood basic concepts of speech, could use simple hand tools, weaponry, and some even possessed enough will to shape the mægen of the world, but their short life span didn’t allow their society to develop much beyond their primitive state. Despite having a life span of five cycles, goblins rarely lived that long. If they weren’t killed and eaten by stronger goblins, one might live to reach an age of three or four cycles, but once their body weakened with age they would be preyed upon by the strong. 

The sound of bestial roar ripping across the air like crashing thunder shattered my internal musings. The Skutilsveinr on the training field ceased their practice duels to take up defensive stances. I felt a wave of mægen coming from above us, the ebbing flow of power carrying with it the sense of something dark and deadly. 

It appeared amidst the night sky, blotting out the moon's silver light. The sound of the roar grew louder, disturbing the peaceful silence of the night as the behemoth floated over the city. 

Multicolored lights shimmered above Central Park as the protections surrounding the enclave flared to life, before like a soap bubble being popped, they faded from existence. Yet another thing I would need to fix. 

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Recognition hit as the ship drew closer, and I caught a glimpse of the banners decorating its hull. This was the Herborg, the flagship of Svartálfaheimr’s air-force. The dark hull was adorned with opulent silver, and purple banners, each bearing the sigil of the royal hirð. Despite its military purpose, the vessel was slick and graceful as it descended to land. 

As the sound of the ships engines decreased to a non-deafening level, I turned to face Nyx who stood beside me with a weary look in her eyes. “Who gave permission for the Herborg to breach the veil?” 

“I do not know, my moon.” The Stallari’s voice carried a note of concern as she gazed at the ship which lowered itself onto a ball field located in the human side of Central Park. “They were to anchor in Cathmor, and travel by Peryton from there onwards.” 

“Bring the ship's commander to me in the dining hall,” I ordered, before spinning on my heel and striding back towards the enclave. 

Once we arrived at the entrance to the castle, Maitane broke off from our group heading for the dining hall whilst I continued on to my rooms. 

Sorcha was already waiting for me when I entered, a beautiful black dress in hand. 

“Not that one.” I said, as I yanked the black cotton shirt I wore over my head. “Silver or purple.” 

For this I needed the royal colors, nothing else would suffice. 

The Pixie darted away, returning moments later with a dress in a shade of dark magenta. It was a beautiful dress with a corseted bodice that looked painted on, with two thin lines of sheer lace that graced my pale shoulders rather than covered them. The front of the skirt was short, its length only just enough to cover my panties, while the back was full and thick, spilling behind me in a long train of ruffled lace. 

Sorcha had even modified a pair of my shoes, adding lace over the leather in order to hide what she deemed as low quality workmanship. 

“Gangway down.” Helma announced, her gaze fixated on a small scrying mirror in her hand. 

My heart pounded within my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my veins making me feel lightheaded. I took a brief moment to lean against the dresser with the pretense of touching up my make up. 

After checking my appearance in the mirror above the dresser, I left the dressing room with Helma following close behind.

 As I passed through the receiving room, I noticed the large scrying mirror, and chaise were missing. They had been there when I entered the room several moments, which meant someone moved them whilst I was in the dressing room. 

Entering the dining hall, I discovered the long tables which filled the room were gone, and the high table had been replaced with the chaise taken from my rooms. My scrying mirror sat off to the side, angled in such a way that it showed a view of both the chaise, and the front of the hall. 

Maitane waited for me on the raised dais, a half full glass of Rasira wine held in one hand. 

Reaching the dais, I draped my body across the chaise schooling my expression into a look of boredom as I took the glass Maitane handed me. Æsa rose out of the shadows beneath the chaise, the Garmr’s dark form stretching out on the stairs leading up the dais. 

Not long after my own entry, Lady Isabel glided into the room with a graceful stride, her body draped in a gown of deep red. Without falter the beautiful Aos sí woman settled on the stairs leading up the dais, her body reclined in a way that showed off her figure to the fullest extent. She exuded an aura of sensuality, and poise that only came with years of practice. 

Tension filled me at the sight of her reclining on the stairs, her crimson hair falling over her shoulders in delicate curls. At this angle I couldn’t see her face, and for a brief moment the image of my aunt was replaced with another red haired woman.

Lady Isabel’s head turned, just enough to allow me a glimpse of her face, shattering the illusion. Emerald eyes glimmered with warmth beneath the yellow light cast by the chandelier above us, and full red lips curved into a coy smile. The woman before me was a summer rose in full bloom, my móðir on the hand- I sighed, bringing my wine glass to my lips. 

If I were to compare móðir to a flower, she would have been a Nerium oleander, beautiful and deadly. She was an untouchable beauty, surrounded by courtiers drawn in by her allure, but get too close and your life would quickly meet its end. 

How could a mere rose compare? I lowered my gaze to the magenta colored wine, swirling it around the glass as I contemplated the Aos sí woman. 

 They were flowers from the same garden, but it was the vase of the Unseelie high queen that Lady Isabel occupied. I could not allow myself to forget that her loyalties belonged to another.

Cheek resting on my palm, I maintained a languid demeanor as the rhythmic sound of footsteps drew closer. 

Two Dökkálfar marched into the hall with a fist over their hearts, and heads held high. On their head were a pair of black antlers, with no less than three prongs on either side. Their thick knee-length coats were a dark shade of grey with silver trimming and two lines of silver buttons from the neck down. The pants were rich black material, with a silver stripe on the sides, the legs were tucked into their knee-high black leather boots. 

Their shoulders were adorned with silver epaulets, denoting these men were of high rank. The one on the left wore a crescent shaped badge on his collar, whilst the one to the right wore a badge with silver antlers. That meant the former was a Styrimaðr, the commander of an airship, whilst the latter was a Stallari like Nyx.  

I dropped my gaze to the wine glass I held, ignoring the greeting offered by the men. The hall fell into silence, and I waited, curious to see if either one would be brave enough to speak. 

Time passed agonizingly slow, but unsurprisingly, the men were well trained enough to remain stoically awaiting my attention. This kind of scene wasn’t one they would be unfamiliar with, as faðir often used such a tactic in court. The idea being that those at fault would eventually break the silence, seeking to speak words in their defense.       

Head still resting on my palm, I gazed down at the Styrimaðr who commanded the airship. “Who ordered the Herborg to breach the veil.” 

“You did, my moon.” He answered, his silver eyes unwavering as he met my gaze. 

“How strange,” I hummed softly, taking a slow sip of my wine. “I do not recall such an order passing my lips, nor have I ever spoken with you. So how exactly did you receive this order?” 

“Stallari Hannis, of the Smártungl’s Riddari contacted the Herborg as we made ready to set anchor in Cathmor, stating that the Smártungl felt it would be burdensome to unload and manually transport her possessions through the veil, and expressed concern items may become damaged during this process. Thus we were to proceed directly through the veil.” The ship's commander reported. 

“And of course you proceeded without question.” Sarcasm dripped like acid from my lips, and I fought to keep my expression impassive as I stared down at the two men. “Did you not think to confirm this order?” 

“My moon.” The Styrimaðr’s lips thinned into a grim line. “The Herborg is your personal craft, I did not think it strange you would seek to have it close at hand.” 

His words startled me into silence. The Herborg- my personal craft? Since when did such a thing occur? 

“Regardless of the Herborg’s decommissioned status, it is still a vessel of military capability. To bring such a vessel through the veil could be seen as an act of aggression to the Seelie, and a breach of the Vígvöllr Réttr.” Lady Isabel said, smoothly providing the information I lacked. 

I hadn’t been aware of the Herborg’s decommissioned status, though it wasn’t surprising considering the ship was  well over fifty cycles old. However, Lady Isabel was correct in that bringing such a vessel into Manna-heim could be seen as an act of aggression, or even as a breach of the Vígvöllr Réttr. 

The movement of military assets through Manna-heim was a breach of the Vígvöllr Réttr, the battlefield treaty of the Nine. This was for a variety of reasons, the first and foremost being to avoid anymore conflicts between the nine spilling over into the human realm. 

Hundreds of cycles, the Æsir had used Manna-heim as a means to stealthily move troops into Jǫtunheimr during a long fought war, this eventually led to a confrontation between the two kingdoms within the human realm. 

The damage wrought by the warring kingdoms had a devastating effect on the humans, weakening the veil and allowing many creatures of Níu Heimar to slip into Manna-heim. In the aftermath of the war, the addition of the Manna-heim protection treaty was added to the Vígvöllr Réttr, and the Nine each took responsibility for certain lands in the human realm. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a soft musical sound coming from the scrying mirror. A quick glance at the polished surface of the mirror showed the image of my faðir seated regally on a large silver throne. 

The call was not unexpected, however I didn’t think it would come so quickly. Maitane appeared beside the mirror, her hand reaching out to grasp the remote from its cradle as she answered the call. 

A soft, almost inaudible squeak escaped my throat as I smothered the protest that I had been about to voice in response to her actions. 

The musical ringing fell silent, the image of my faðir in the mirror becoming clearer. Seated on his throne, with a glass of wine in hand, the Ríkrtungl spoke no words of greeting as he swirled the contents of his glass with slow languid movements. 

I said nothing, instead turning my attention to my own glass, mimicking his actions. For several long minutes I amused myself with mirroring my faðir, taking a sip each time he did, and doing my best to match his every movement. 

“Did you order the Herborg to travel into Manna-heim.” The Ríkrtungl asked, his patience waning after we emptied our second cup of wine. 

“No such order passed my lips, however there are some who claim differently.” I said, repeating the words spoken by the Stallari. 

My faðir leaned against the armrest of his throne, his expression showing the barest hint of anger. “Víðarr, retrieve Stallari Hannis.” 

A dark figure appeared out of the shadows behind the Ríkrtungl’s throne, and I caught a glimpse of the hulking form of Oddrún before he moved out of sight. The Víðarr did not take long to return, and as he knelt in front of the throne, holding out a bloodied lump to the Ríkrtungl, I released a tired sigh. 

“I assume that is the Stallari’s heart?” I asked, watching as my faðir tossed the bloodied hunk of meat into the gaping maw of a Garmr who poked its head out his shadow when the Víðarr had returned with the morsel. 

“Your assumption would be correct, dóttir.” My faðir said, arching a brow at his protector. “No body?” 

“No, my moon.” Oddrún confirmed. “The heart was located on the Stallari’s desk, with no body or sign of the death occurring within the office. I have patrols searching with Garmr, and investigators checking the office as we speak.” 

The Ríkrtungl nodded, gesturing for his Víðarr to retake his previous position behind the throne. “Dóttir, Helvern is currently smoothing things over with the high king, whilst he is not foolish enough to believe this was an act of aggression on our part, he will not fail to take advantage of this situation.” 

“I understand faðir,” I said, biting the inside of my lip to hold back the words I so desperately wanted to speak. 

“For now the Herborg will remain at anchor in its current location. You are not to move it even an inch until Helvern or I say otherwise. Do you understand, dóttir?” 

“I understand faðir,” I repeated. 

Without another word he made a gesture in the air, and the mirror returned to it’s reflective state. 

After taking a moment to process the brief, yet informative conversation with my faðir, I dismissed the two officers with orders to return to the Herborg, where they would await further instruction. The goblin hunt would have to wait until I knew the outcome of the situation with High King Locryn. 

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