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  “I’m right here, talk to me, and why do you keep calling him John?”

  “You chose well,” the man said with a smile.

  Richard sat next to Reign. He had the look he got when he was gathering his thoughts. He was never quick to anger, or to speak, so his emotions, while on the surface, did not boil. Even the two or three times they had argued, he’d never once raised his voice to her.

  “Reign, the wolves, my people, we were created through magic. Our father, his name was Fenrir, and this is his father; his name is Loptr, some people know him as Loki.”

  Reign’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

  “You see, dearie, the world is much stranger than you thought.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Like in the movie? God of tricks and all that?” Reign’s mind attempted to grapple at the idea of Norse gods alive and well on Earth. The rational part of her brain, the part that told her werewolves were some sort of biological infection, and that vampires couldn’t be real, rejected the idea of the man.

  “I love those movies, don’t you? Yes, something like that, though the details are very different. Lets just say, dearie, that the modern idea of Asgard, of the Norse gods, sprang from a source, and I, and my ilk, are that source. I know it’s a lot to swallow, but I’m sure you can adjust,” he said with a sly smile.

  “How did you get in my dream?”

  That got Richard’s attention. “You entered her dreams? That’s dangerous; you shouldn’t have risked it without asking.”

  “Tsk tsk boy, I had to know, either she was Fade capable or not, and if not, then there would have truly been nothing I could do. As it is, I can only help her do what needs to be done.”

  “Okay, okay, stop, both of you, you're acting like I know what either of you are talking about. Someone, anyone, start from the beginning, give me the Cliffs notes version, and fill me in.” Reign stopped being in awe of what and who she was talking to, and started to get more annoyed than anything else.

  “You see,” Richard started, “a long time ago, around the time of Charlemagne, the protectors of the Norse were concerned that their people would be subjugated, so they created guardians, men and women who could take on the identity and appearance of Fenrir, to protect them.”

  “‘Twas a good plan, too bad they forgot the number one rule of magic,” Loptr put in with a smile.

  “Magic? You mean like hand wavy, Gandalf the Gray, magic?” Reign asked.

  “Something like that; even Tolkien knew. You see, dearie, magic, real magic, the kind that changes lives, for good or ill, always comes with a price. And the men and women who volunteered for Fenrir’s blessings, well, they paid that price.”

  “A lot of us died from the bite; of those that lived, well, many went mad. A few of us, though, we made it through. We were forced to put down the ones that were dangerous, but by the time we could control what we are, enough to do any good, it was over. The people who still believed in us were all dead; we had no one to defend.”

  “Wait, you’re one of the original... but you said around Charlemagne... how old are you?”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was some lecherous old man, or a braggart, I just wanted you to love me as much as I love you,” he said, his cheeks turning ever so red.

  “Oh, Richard, or John, or whatever, there is no way I could love you less, I can only love you more.” She reached out to him, pulled his head to hers, and kissed him, and in that kiss she put all her love, all her warmth, everything she had that was special to her, and she gave it to him. She felt the splash of tears on her face as his mixed with hers.

  “How touching, you make me sick,” Loptr said playfully.

  “Now listen, the both of you,” he continued once she had stopped kissing Richard, “you can enter the Fade, Reign, that is what the dream was about, but I must warn you, its danger cannot be understated.”

  “What is the Fade?” she said.

  “It’s a world, like ours, parallel, but different. Emotions and thoughts are very real there, it’s the source of all magic, and you humans enter it when you dream. Normally, you can come to no harm, but when you enter it purposefully, like you will need to do, you can die in there, and if you do, you die out here.”

  Reign gulped, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and steadied herself. It was a lot to take in.

  “And if you die in there, it’s gonna get messy out here. The magic they are using to suppress your birth will protect the baby, but if you die, well, it will get out...” he let that hang. She didn’t want to think about that, what could happen.

  “Okay, I get it, but why? Why do I need to do this thing? Can’t you just...” she waved her hands in the air, “and break the spell?” She cringed inwardly at even using the word.

  “If it were that easy, anyone could do it, dearie. No, you must break it, they cast it on you, after all. Once your in the Fade, just keep your mind on what you need to do, try not to let it wander, or you could be lost, then, well, same result, just in four days.”

  “I understand, I think.” She didn’t, not really.

  “Well, at least, you know you don’t know,” he said with a smile. “Remember this, it's a real world, but if yer strong enough of will, it can be your world. And you seem pretty willful to me.”

  “Thanks, I think,” she smiled.

  “Reign, listen, if there were another way, I would do it, we would all do it, but Loptr is it, and I can’t help you in there.” Richard held her hand, his brow furled with worry. “Try to hang on to what’s real, its easy to get distracted.”

  “Can you come with me?”

  “No, I went once, when I became what I am, but we can never go back, its just for humans.”

  “You mean, you don’t dream?”

  “Not in a long time. Like he said, magic always comes with a price.”

  250

  He touched her face with his hand, kissed her one more time, before standing to give Loptr space.

  She hadn’t noticed the coffee shop was empty, there had been customers when they entered, now no one was there, the sign said closed, and drapes had been pulled.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded. “Remember, focus on the baby, you want her born, don’t let anything, no matter how pleasant, or painful, distract you from that.”

  With that, he touched her forehead, and the pain began.

  *

  The crack of the whip emphasized the burning sensation down her back, like a line of fire that ran from her shoulder to her buttocks. Reign gasped, breathed deep and tried to keep from screaming out as the whip landed again and again. She was chained to a wall, her bare back faced the cell door, her hands were above her head as a man struck her with a whip. Tears streamed down her face as he continued to whip her.

  This isn’t real, this isn’t real, she reminded herself.

  “Tell me you renounce your gods,” the torturer screamed.

  Crack!

  “Tell me the location of the heathens from your village!”

  Crack!

  “Tell me and the pain stops!”

  Crack!

  Reign choked back a sob. Unable to stop herself, she screamed as the last lash hit.

  He paused for a moment; she heard his feet on the concrete as he walked around. Her muscles collapsed and all her weight was on her bound wrists as she sobbed. She wasn’t Reign, she was the woman from the dream again. She could see her blond locks, and very light skin; she looked down to her stomach and saw she wasn’t pregnant here.

  Where is here? He said it would be like a dream, this is a nightmare.

  The cell door opened and a new person came in.

  “Perhaps she’s had enough for now, Inquisitor,” the new voice with some sort of German accent said.

  “As you command, my lord.” He put the whip down on the table. “She’s stubborn, sire, but no one lasts forever.”

  The torturer departed and Reign breathed a sigh of relief. If she could j
ust have a few minutes to think, she could get out of here, find the spell, and get home to have her baby.

  “He’s not all bad, you know, he has a wife, kids, a dog I believe; as torturers go he’s a decent man,” the new voice said. Reign tried to turn her head to see who was speaking, but her body ached from the lashings when she moved.

  “I will be sure to add him to my Christmas card list,” she managed between clenched teeth.

  “You’re quite the feisty one, even after all this. I think some time to reflect on your pain will put things in perspective.”

  A hand grabbed her wrist; she jumped from reflex, sending a fresh wave of pain down her back.

  “Hold still,” he said as he inserted a key into her manacles. With a click they opened, and she nearly collapsed. He grabbed her, and gently dragged her over to a cot. There was a small table with water and bread on it. He laid her down, covered her naked torso with a blanket and sat down next to her. She got a clear look at him for the first time; older, perhaps in his thirties, long black hair, a thick beard, and dark brown eyes.

  “Why,” she started before coughing, “why are you doing this?”

  “You must renounce who you were to the inquisition, only then can you be free from the guilt of being a heretic.”

  Reign had seen enough movies to know how this went, so she decided to skip ahead. “Okay, done, I’m a heretic, what’s next?”

  “If only it were that simple, you see, you must believe what you are saying. Now, get some rest, he will be back soon, and you need your strength, after all, you can’t convert while you still resist.”

  She was so tired, her back hurt, her muscles were numb from holding herself up. She tried to stay awake, but as he stood, she sipped into unconsciousness.

  “Again,” her captor said, and the whip cracked on her back. It seemed like it had been days since she awoke here, days of torture and deprivation. The small cot held only enough warmth for her to fall asleep after she was whipped, the food held just enough calories to keep her going; she was no closer to finding an escape.

  She stood now, wrists crossed above her head, legs braced, as the lash fell on her back. She screamed after the fourth one, and the tenth, her tears started on the fourteenth; after the twentieth she was sobbing uncontrollably, begging them to stop.

  “She’s almost ready, I think, sire,” her torturer said to the mysterious lord who watched her day and night.

  “Do you renounce who you were?”

  Reign started to say yes, she would almost say anything to get them to stop, but something held her tongue. What had Loptr said, don’t get lost in the world. At the time, what seemed forever ago, she thought the fade would be a magical realm she wouldn’t want to leave, but now, she was ready to say anything to get them to stop whipping her.

  “Renounce your village, your faith, tell us where your warriors are hiding, and we will stop. You can sleep in a real bed, eat real food, just say yes.” He was close to her now, almost whispering in her ear.

  She’d said this the first day, and wanted to say it again, after all she didn’t mean it. Or did she? If she said what the man wanted, if she said it enough to mean it, then didn’t she? Would she trade her old life for this one, just to get the pain to stop? Reign had never taken the easy way to anything. She worked two jobs since she was fourteen to pay for her college, she studied the hardest subjects, fell in love with the most difficult instrument to master, for Pete’s sake, she was in love with a werewolf, being tortured by a reject from a Nazi film.

  No, I will not give up.

  She pulled violently on her manacles. “Fuck you,” she spat at him.

  “It’s a pity, you have spirit, but the truth is, you’re going nowhere, so either you renounce your life, or stay here and get whipped, either way, you die soon.” She could hear the smile in his voice. It angered her, angered her beyond reason, that anyone should endure such suffering, that the woman she was, or the girl she used to be, was just a piece in a puzzle in someone else's scheme.

  She wasn’t a wolf, she was just a human; she had no special powers, but she had her mind, her will, her desire to live, and nothing to lose here.

  With a sudden burst of energy, she stuck one foot on the wall and pulled at her manacles with all her might. She strained as her muscles protested, but her mind was set; she put aside her pain, her worry, and focused on the seething rage that boiled under the surface. Her jailers laughed, until the pike holding her manacles to the wall gave way in a shower of dust and mortar.

  They stopped laughing. Reign stood with a six-inch spike in her hand, facing two men who were not expecting a fight. For the first time, she got a good look at them. They were not warriors, not even workers, they were soft, unused to the rigors of life, protected by the walls of their castle.

  Her cell door was locked, and the only weapon they had was the whip.

  He tried to use it, arching the whip high to bring it down on her. She charged forward; the whip cracked, and she felt her face bleed. She drove the spike into his skull and he dropped with a scream, clutching his face and writhing on the floor.

  She held her hands out as she stepped over the twitching body of the torturer. “Unlock me, or you end up like him.”

  The lord was pale as a ghost. “You cannot escape, there are guards and servants, you have no idea where you are.”

  Reign advanced on him, bloody makeshift weapon held high to strike again. The lord backed away from her until he hit the cell door. “Please, I have a family.”

  She paused, her anger wavered for just a second. “And you think I don’t?”

  She slammed the spike down. He lifted his arms to block it, the spike stabbed his forearm, he screamed. She hit him again, this time it sunk into his neck, ending his scream with a gurgle. He slid down the bars, a look of incredulity as his life's blood flowed out of him.

  He was dead before he hit the ground. With no time to examine the lives she just took, Reign searched his body. Under his robes was a key ring, and she tried several before she found the one that freed her wrists, then several more before the cell door opened.

  Other than the whip, they had no weapons, and she had no idea how to use a whip. She found her tunic, shredded and bloody; it barely covered her breasts. She ripped some cloth from their breeches and tightened the strips around her chest, to make her look less like a woman. Unfortunately, her ancestor, or dream version of herself, looked very much like a woman, and it was hard to hide that fact.

  She pulled his cloak off and put it on, tied the collar closed and arranged the hood so it was low on her face. If she was careful in the way she walked, she could fool someone at a distance. She had to move, her burst of energy was fading and the malnutrition she had suffered was sapping her strength.

  Once out of her cell she found the main door, which led to a set of stairs up to a main hallway. It really was some sort of dungeon; cell doors lined the hall on either side.

  She quickly moved down the hall, she could hear the moans and cries of other prisoners. One of the cell doors groaned as it opened behind her, she ignored it and kept walking. She could hear the jangling of keys as the man locked the door. By the time he was done, she was up the next set of stairs.

  Her stomach nearly heaved when she got to the top; she had to put one hand on the wall to support herself. The smell of warm bread and meat wafted through the air. With a loud growl she was sure would alert everyone to her position, her stomach let her know she needed to eat.

  The door opened to an archway, which led to a courtyard. There was a keep across the way, castle walls, a barracks, some stables and horses. The guard would be coming behind her any second. She couldn’t wait and see, she had to make a decision. There was a low building, with a chimney, away from the keep; some chickens were kept in cages outside of it, that had to be the kitchen.

  It was late in the day and the shadows were long and dark. Reign decided to risk the direct approach, and headed straight for the kitchen. She wa
lked with a slow, deliberate stride, that belayed the terror she felt. If they caught her, they would certainly kill her-or worse.

  The trek across the way was brief, and thankfully, no one saw her. Once at the door, she slipped inside. First thing's first, she needed some real food; her stomach was so loud she was sure the guards could hear it on the battlements. A dozen loaves of bread stood on the counters cooling in the afternoon air.

  She grabbed the first one and tore into it. The taste was heavenly, rough, course, but flavorful, not at all like the bread she was used to. While wolfing down bite after bite, she rifled through the kitchen for a bag, found a smock, tied it together on its ends, and stuffed all the bread she could find in it.