The Ice Queen
In the dark, as Caer shivered beneath her furs and wrappings, she saw a glimmering silver light in the woods, as if specters awaited them at the foot of the mountains.
Headred reined the horse in and stopped, grasping his sword. Beoreth and Huma breathed as they heard the steel of his sword unsheathed, and the crunching of snow nearby.
“Headred,” a soft voice spoke from the trees. From beneath the sleeping woods came a man, tall, straight, willowy, with long golden hair and piercing eyes.
Fairies. Caer breathed a soft sigh of relief.
Headred sheathed his sword and turn their horse to face the fairy.
“Elric,” Headred said and bowed his head in greeting.
Elric did the same. “The child at last returns?” Elric motioned to Caer.
Headred nodded, as Caer rubbed her legs. He knew how much they must ache, for one who never saw a horse, much less ridden one, before.
“Come,” Elric motioned for them to follow. “The Queen of my people awaits you at the door.”
The fairy walked over the snowy path, his feet leaving nary a mark. His silver wings waved in the breeze, and Caer wondered how he could be warm in his long silver robes.
Elric smiled at her as he walked beside the horse. “What troubles your mind, daughter of mortals?” The path grew wider.
“Nothing at all. Why do the fairies go to the north?”
Elric spoke, his voice lilting. “’Tis our way. We are drawn to the north when we hear the call, as you and all creatures have heard. The time of pain and the war of darkness are upon us all.”
Caer’s heart chilled at his words. She fell silent.
The foothills spread out before the weary travelers. The door rose before them, its frame carved into the mountain, covered with runic incantations. The road continued into the mountain, through the door. A second road, wider and curved, led away from the door and to Ull.
A wind blew from the door, cold as ice. Inside the door laid the heart of the mountain, held by the witches. Its heart beat with theirs since time began.
Before the door the fairies made their camp. Silver pavilions, like the webbed palaces in the sidhes, fluttered before them. The blue and silver banners and lanterns, lit by white lamps, blew in the door’s breeze.
Mab, the Queen of the fairies, beckoned to them, and the travelers obliged.
Ibormeitas Caer. Come to me, Caer, Mab’s voice whispered in Caer’s head as they drew closer to her pavilion.
“You have come to us at last,” Mab’s voice lilted. “Welcome now, travelers and daughter of the Queen.” The power in her low voice rose above the wind’s howls. “Stay and enjoy the grace of the fairies.” Her eyes fixed on Caer.
Watunasa licam amus sira? Watunasa isum basaledin? Solani cavala gomanin. Thiapara fwer amar.
When will the light come among us? When will we be saved? Soon is the call of the gods. The path for her is made.
*****
Warmth washed over Caer as she stepped with her companions into Mab’s pavilion, though no fire burned there. Elric led her to soft pillows and cushions and set her down on them.
“Tonight you will sleep in peace, in the hospitality of the fairies.” Mab’s warm and musical lilt said as she sat.Headred sipped at the spiced wine, and appreciated the platters of cheese and bread and fruit from the sidhes. Caer fingered a silver pear and watched as the others seemed at peace.
“The nymphs told us where to go,” Huma said, kneeling on the cushions and gorging himself. “I said to meself we went the wrong way, but I did not want to argue with me companions.”
“Why, my brave centaur,” Mab patted his shoulder. “Perhaps you will join me now to drink, for your companions are mortals, and do not know or understand the joy of ale in the moonlight.”
“Happy to oblige,” Huma stood, hiccupping, at which Mab laughed. Mab seemed joyful with him, not the serious Queen Caer expected.
“Perhaps you should rest,” Elric suggested when Huma and Mab left. The lights of the pavilion dimmed, and curtains opened to reveal three bed chambers. “You must be tired from your journey, and much remains for you to do. Rest in peaceful dreams while you may. The morn will soon come, and Ull lies before you now.”
“Aye,” Beoreth muttered, and let the fairy lead her into one of the rooms. Moments later the fairy returned. The wise woman’s snores came through the curtain.
“She will sleep now until the morn.” Elric bowed his head and departed.
“Milady,” Headred offered a hand. As she stood, Caer became aware of the door under the mountain, and the frigid wind.
Come to me… It called.
“Caer,” Headred said, his voice hushed and muted. She blinked and glanced at him. “Come with me. Stay with me tonight.”
“Yes.”
He nodded and turned toward the third door. The curtain fell behind him. Resigned to spending another night in restless dreams, Caer fell with him onto the bed.
And, as she knew, fitful dreams came to her in the night.
Headred melded his mind with Caer’s and took her into his visions.
Green grass and fresh rain covered the world. Caer and Headred stood in the woods, beside a river.
In Sul, the long winter froze the rivers and streams, and their spirits slept. Here warmth pervaded all, and the stream flowed with music. Caer never knew this world. But the heart of Miðgarðir remembered warmth; and through the world itself she remembered.
Leaves rustled in the wind, stars shimmered, and the creatures of the wood chattered. And when all became still, leaves and twigs crunched behind her.
She turned, and in the pale glow of the celestial spheres, she saw them: a stag standing with a unicorn, both as white as the snow, their eyes silver, their heads bowed in reverence. Headred inclined his head, and Caer smiled before she followed suit. The hoot of an owl broke the silence
“You are a boy,” she whispered.
He grinned wider. “Of course I’m a boy.”
They remembered the long-ago meeting as he rode with his father to the fairy sidhes.
But their childhood long ago fled them. She strode forward toward the man. Headred waited, his gaze on the woman who appeared as much a goddess as Freya herself.
“I’m sorry.” As she pressed herself against him, the stag and the unicorn bounded away. Their faces drew closer as Caer said, “I’ve never seen a boy before, you see. I’ve lived alone with my grandmother in these woods all of my life.”
“Many stories and fables begin such ways.” He wondered if ever a woman looked to him as she did and knew none ever would again. “And I have yet to hear one without a bad ending for the little girl who wanders in the woods alone.”
“’Tis so. I’ve been told those stories by my grandmother, who walks in the woods not far from here.”
“And does she know you walk alone?” His thumb caressed her cheek.
“Of course she does not. I am Caer.”
“I’m Headred,” He brushed their lips together.
“I know who you are.”
He felt her nervousness when he took her shaking hands and looked into her misty eyes.
“I felt you coming, and I came out when my grandmother left, so I could meet you.”
“You have the same dreams as I?” he whispered and felt mild surprise when she kissed him.
“Aye.” She kissed him again. She closed her eyes and accepted their bond, letting the pleasure encircle her. Their hands remained linked as the kiss broke, and he rested his forehead on hers.
When she opened her eyes, the woods disappeared.
White walls rose behind them. They stood in a garden washed with pale moonlight, the stars glimmering in the heavens. Roses, she thought as she gazed at the vivid blooms of red on the hedges. Plumes of flowers, fountains and pools lay scattered throughout the garden. Paths of white stone wound beneath the mountain rising behind them.
The turrets and towers of the castle seemed as tall as the mounta
in itself, their white stone walls gleaming. Warmth washed over them here, restored to the life it knew before the demon’s winter.
“Idalir, the Castle of the Sun, your home, my lady.” Headred’s voice became hushed and deep. The night air seemed alive with magic and hope, and with the love they shared. Apprehension mixed with anticipation filled her, because she knew this night things would change between them.
Caer’s heartbeat increased as he took her hands, and knelt with her on the garden grass. She tried to keep her hands from shaking as nervousness took over her body.
Tonight he would have all of her, heart, spirit, and body.
“I ask if I am worthy to touch the beauty of a goddess,” he asked, his hands, rough and worn by labor, in hers.
“You are worthy to touch my heart, and in my heart you hold all I am.” She held his hands.
“What do you give to me, milady?”
“I give you everything.”
His smoldering stare sent heat coursing through her body. They stood, and he took her mouth with his, hard and fierce, an embrace of passion and fire as the flames exploded from the flame of their desires.
His eyes never closed, never stopped looking. No matter what, he promised himself, he would not rush it. Tonight would always be hers. Her fingers fumbled with his leggings.
“Not yet,” he whispered, breaking the embrace to touch her hair, trailing kisses on her neck.
She wondered whether the gods dreamed of this. His hands, rough with time and hard work, skimmed over her gown, the fabric sheer beneath his touch.
Her entire being felt alive with power.
The power created endless waves of light and warmth in her sight. Her hair seemed to be a mass of flames and not the red curls of the girl she pretended to be. Her jaw hung open as she gasped. He moved into her warmth and trailed kisses down her arm, along her stomach. His skillful fingers touched every part of her.
“Gods,” she whispered. He raised his head and brought their mouths together. Fabric cascaded around them. Nothing separated them in their love and longing.
“My Queen,” he whispered, as they became one.
She moved with him, with every breath, every wave rising toward the crash on the shores of passion. Time lost all meaning, and eternity passed them. The world became sweltering and full of radiance. And as they fell together the stars exploded in the skies.
Headred breathed, his head nestled between her breasts, his hands skimming her sides and feeling where his unshaven beard scored her.
“Have I hurt you, milady?”
Caer found herself lost for words and let laughter bubble out.
“No.” Annoyed, rolled on his back beside her and severed his link with her mind, letting the pavilion of the fairies surround them once more.
Caer shifted and laid her head on his chest. “No, you did not, good sir. You could not hurt me.”
He smiled as she gazed up at him, laughter in her eyes, and a smile on her mouth. Each descended into a fit of giggles, laughter the fairies heard outside, and did not end until the young lovers fell together into peaceful sleep.
*****
Dreams of light and warmth and love enveloped Caer’s mind. She envisioned Sul when the winter passed and the spring came to them, where she walked with the man she always knew in her dreams, the man who now walked with her in reality. Here the shadow of gloom and doubt disappeared, replaced by the hope and warmth and the power of the gods.
They stood in a forest glade, once called Vingólf, the Vigil. The torches burned and the moonlight shown above them. Their lips met in passion and love and heat.
Twin children grew inside her, a prophet and a witch, a son and a daughter, with the power granted by the gods long ago. His hand skimmed her stomach, full with child, and his lips whispered of his love for her.
In her dreams of old they played in the woods as children, constant companions in sleep. She saw the beauty and power and the love in their children.
And every day in waking her heart Caer yearned for him. She found him now as they slept in the fairy pavilion, in the warm bed Mab gave them, entangled in each other, body and soul.
In dreams Headred’s voice whispered to her.
“Come to me, come to me, come to me…”
“Come to me, come to me, come to me…” the door under the mountain continued to whisper, drawing her out of the sleep of warmth and bliss and weaving its spell around her mind.
*****
Beren watched the lovers tangled in the silken bed. Headred and Caer rested, lost in the light of the fairies.
Her tears fell, and in her spirit, she could feel the evil coming this night, to this place.
Come to me… Come to me, child of the light…
Caer awoke. The door under the mountain called to her. Headred slept, restless. The fairies rested, their eyes open though their minds dreamed of the evil they faced, and the light of the gods, their kindred.
She dressed in silence. The winds seemed to howl. She pushed the curtain away and stepped out into the night. The door waited not far away. Her mind swam. For a moment it seemed as though something possessed her to answer the call of the door, another who took over her mind.
Go to it, the voice inveigled. What harm would it do? It’s just a door, and within it lies all the power in the world.
The door loomed before her. Beyond it waited shadows and gloom. After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped through.
The black maw swallowed the Y Erianrod in the depths of Mount Himinbjörg.
Caer could see nothing in the tunnel. She continued deeper.
How strange, she thought, the daughter of the gods passes beneath their mountain and they say not a word.
She slipped on a ledge as she passed over and listened to the call of the mountain. A rock knocked loose by her foot cascaded down the precipice and shattered to dust in the chasm below.
Caer stood in the unending shadows as the power of the world overcame her mind. “I will be the ruler of all.”
A sword ripped past her face with speed and guile. Before her men and women appeared, glowing figures of light.
Cerdic, the god of war, held the sword to her throat but did not flick his wrist and to finish what he started. Beside him stood Cwen, also cloaked in light, her eyes shining in the shadow of her hood.
The words of the gods whispered.
“The Lord of the gods does not suffer fools.”
“He suffers the demon,” Caer answered, “and he suffers you.”
She heard the anger in the voices, but the figures did not move.
“Let me pass.” She waited. They stood still as statues, their light illuminating the darkness. Cerdic’s sword remained at her throat.
“You dare to pass through Náströnd into the depths of Mount Himinbjörg? Within it lies the heart of Miðgarðir. And though there remains good with the evil in the stone, the despair will drive back the hope trying to possess it.”
“Do you wish for the demon to possess it instead?” she retorted.
“No one possesses Miðgarðir but Woden.”
“Stand aside.” She waited for them to respond. When they did not, she continued, “You have no right to stop me. You know of my destiny, to face the demon’s spawn, to destroy her. You know this power will be mine.”
They said nothing. Their faces appeared clouded, but she felt their hearts and heard them in her mind. She must choose the path, they told one another. She knows her right.
As though a curtain opened, they moved aside and faded into the walls.
Caer continued toward the mountain’s heart where the stone lay, though now Caer knew the gods watched her.
Caer reached for the stone and pain spiked through her body. She saw Belial’s mind, felt as Belial’s spirit warred with her own. Caer screamed as the foothills of the mountains quaked with the gods’ anger. Y Erianrod betrayed by the heart of the world, and the world broke with earthquakes from the sacred place to the door
under the mountain.
A hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her away. And the door under the mountain became silent once more.
Caer glanced around. She awoke in the fairy bed with Headred just moments before. Náströnd called to her, and everything after faded.
Caer wondered if she entered the path under the mountains. It seemed Headred pulled her away before she could enter.
Pale fear showed on his face, his jaw set as he clutched his sword. He heard her scream, she realized. His face fell into pity and loathing for her, pity for being tempted by the power of Náströnd, and loathing chose temptation.
He wrenched her away from Náströnd and dived with her toward the fairies and onlookers who gathered. Where they stood, a large boulder fell, blocking Náströnd.
Mab said, “The door remains closed to all in the times of winter.”
Beoreth knelt over Caer and felt her for injuries, though Headred never let go, forcing the frustrated wise woman to work around him. Meanwhile, the fairies started to take up the camp.
“Come,” Mab said, bringing Huma and leading the horses. “We must leave these foothills before the gods become angered further.”
Caer let Beoreth lead her away to the pavilion.
“Yes,” Caer remarked, sitting on the bed beside a long gown of sky blue, and a frock of ocean blue.
“No, child,” Beoreth said, taking her under the arm and heaving her up to stand. Beoreth retained her strength, despite her age. “From now on you will ride as a Queen and a witch, garbed as your forebearers.”
Caer took the gown from Beoreth, almost like silk by its feel, though she never felt such fabric before. Caer saw the embroidering along the seams with patterns of an intricate, silver knot on the light blue gown.
It fit, flowing around her curves, showing her voluptuous frame. Over it the wise woman placed the outer garment of midnight blue, like a robe but tighter, tied at the waist with a silver cord.
Beoreth pulled Caer’s hair into an intricate arrangement atop her head, her ancient fingers working with more fluidity than Caer thought possible. At last, she placed a golden circlet on Caer’s head.
“Hmm,” Beoreth murmured, stepping back and admiring her work. “Well, it will do.”