The Ice Queen

  Beren paced over her frozen form, and her tears shattered.

  “You have come, my sister,” Belial murmured from the treeline.

  Beren gazed at the evil who cast her will over the earth. “Belial.”

  “Oh, come now, sister.” Belial’s voice rose and fell like the frozen winds. “Do not hate me, not in this place. You lie frozen, and my winter stretches over the kingdom you have hope for. I have won.”

  “No, my sister. You have lost.”

  Belial gazed at the specter floating before her. “Do you believe such things? Do you still believe in the girl, after all you have seen?”

  “Yes.” Beren looked onto the face of the one who chose her evil ways over the good of the witches, whose heart the gods forged in stone, and whose mind and will turned to the pursuit of evil and damnation.

  “The sun cannot stand against the raging night.”

  “Every morning the sun stands again.” Beren waved her arm at the camps scattered beneath the council’s stones. “It will again.”

  “Fool,” Belial spat. “Can you not see you, and all who follow, are already defeated?”

  Beren walked away.

  “Watch, my sister.” Belial smiled in satisfaction as Beren realized what Belial intended to do. “Watch, my sister, as I take him for my own.”

  “You must not do this. Return to the land of shadow where your servants await you.”

  “I will take what I will,” Belial scoffed. “I will take his power, and his child.” And as Beren watched, Belial disappeared.

  The clouds moved over in wave, and snow began to fall around the Vigil. Encased in glassy ice, tears pooled on Beren’s face as she watched Belial’s evil unfold in Glasheim.

  She could feel evil tonight, could feel the pain her daughter would now bear.

  *****

  Headred awoke to the howl of the wind and the comfort and warmth of the woman beside him. Against his better wishes he separated himself from her.

  His dreams came in rough waves of visions. He saw Ull burn, and the blood of the people on the tongues of wolves and golems, all events he saw before too many times.

  And he saw Caer, alone as she faced Belial, as the demon struck her down, and evil won the war.

  He wore the white robes, bloodied from the battle with the wolves, what now seemed ages ago, and took from his saddlebag the athame he used for visions when needed. The runes carved into its blade and the quartz at its hilt guided his visions; yet the visions the athames took him into often became visions of great evil. When Belial attacked him before, he lost his father’s dagger, though embedding it in Belial seemed a fitting end for it.

  The wind blew, and the snow fell. He walked from the pavilion as the camp slept. One last time he looked back at the woman he loved and prayed his dreams would be wrong.

  He stepped into the cold, cruel night.

  The wind and shadows screamed. The torches burned blue in the sacred trees of Vingólf. Icy tendrils touched his skin beneath the robes. It did not matter. He spread herbs around him in a circle. Knowledge would be found tonight.

  Ashnokobesh gredonatesh vasjanobatai nai, the demon whispered, hidden in the shadows.

  The cast circle glowed with the light of the gods. He faced north, the way of the Lady Frigg, and prayed to the gods for the sight they gave to him. And he watched for knowledge of the fates.

  Caer stood before him near the stone of Woden, tears in her eyes. There she lost everything. The snow fell still, and the demon’s cruel laugh echoed.

  I will bear his child, the demon whispered to her. Die witch.

  As Headred shouted, he saw her weakening. Hünjjuerad lay forgotten in the snow nearby. Belial laughed. Anger flashed in Caer’s eyes.

  “Bæc æfnan,” Caer shouted. The wind whipped and flung Belial away. Belial pushed herself up in the snow.

  Caer pushed herself up on her hands and knees. “Wyrdan þeostru…” Caer began to issue a curse at Belial as she crawled toward the discarded sword.

  “Acwelan,” Belial interrupted, holding her hand toward Caer, issuing the curse. She laughed as Caer’s neck snapped, and her lifeless body fell into the snow.

  Headred watched in horror as blood dripped from Caer’s mouth onto the snow, a red no berry dye could emulate. He gazed into her eyes, the eyes he loved since boyhood, as the life passed from them, and his world became empty.

  “Must this be?” he shouted. His vision clouded.

  He watched the exchange of Belial and Caer in Glasheim. The demon and the witch battled, matched against each other’s power. Belial shouted, and an unseen force ripped Hünjjuerad from Caer’s grip. It landed in the snow with little more than a whisper. Caer fought Belial with magic, and the hand of a man seized the sword’s hilt…

  Belial cackled. The wind blew Headred’s robes while his mind saw visions of Caer’s death, directed by Belial’s magic. Belial’s delight grew as tendrils of cloud wrapped around him, and took him deeper into the visions, drawing him from the protection of the circle. She laughed as he came to her. She laughed as she disrobed him in the whirling snow.

  “Sceotan,” Belial commanded. A ring of fire surrounded her and Headred, giving his body warmth in the cold night.

  Headred knelt and cursed the gods. No one answered. In his vision he cradled Caer’s head and wept, as the demon won and he forgot to hope.

  Caer’s eyes opened. The blood rushed from his face.

  She laughed. “She does not win,” Caer told him, her voice happy and joyful. “I live.”

  Headred could not speak.

  “Already we live in this winter. Must we also fight the Dark Lord, against whom none can stand?”

  “I do not know you.” He stumbled back and fell into the snow. “You are not Caer.”

  “No, I am not.” Her face contorted into the visage of a monster. Her cold fingers stroked his naked back. In visions he screamed, and he fought, but in the reality of now, the demon would take what she wanted.

  “No,” Headred whispered and shoved her back, falling past Belial’s conjured flame and shivering into the frigid snow. The demon glared at him.

  He fumbled, numb with cold, for the robe she stripped from him, lying wet in the snow.

  Her scream pierced the night. “So it shall be.” Her dark eyes bored into him. “So it shall be.”

  Icy tendrils locked around his body, slicing through him. No blood fell to the ground. She would take his mind. The girl would not have what she wanted. Belial would rule all.

  He fought her with every breath. In great satisfaction, she felt the spirit pour out of him, replaced by the void. His eyes grew cold and lost and he went slack. His mind began to die while his body lived.

  And when she let go, she glared at the face of her crying sister.

  “You could not have him,” Beren said. “Truly no light remains in your soul.”

  Belial laughed and faded away.

  “The Ice Queen!” Elric shouted into the night, seeing her kneel over the body of Headred, his voice echoing and rousing the sleepers. “What happened?” he asked Beren.

  She wept and faded.

  “What happened?” Mab asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

  “The demon,” Gavial offered, his face grave. “I saw just now. The demon left, as the Ice Queen knelt over the boy.”

  “Evil touched him,” Mab whispered. “His life will pass.”

  Elric wondered what war they fought, when none would be safe from the shadow. Mab told him without words of the demon’s evil.

  “I will go for Caer,” Mab said. “Prepare him for a journey. We must go at once to the healers of Ull, for they are his last hope.”

  The people lit torches and the mourning for Headred began. The Ice Queen watched as her tears fell onto the frozen earth.

  *****

  Caer awoke alone in the bed and screamed. She knew Headred faded.

  The curtain of the pavilion flew inward as the Fairy Queen appeared, her face tel
ling Caer all she needed to know.

  “Come quick. Headred fell into evil sleep.”

  Caer ran from the camp, her clothes thrown on in a haphazard manner, clutching her sword belt. Beoreth followed, running to where the fairies gathered over Headred. Caer stopped when she saw Headred. During the moment, Beoreth fixed Caer’s lopsided gown and belted Hünjjuerad to Caer’s hips.

  “What happened?” Caer asked Mab as she bent over the frozen form of the prophet. Red marks on his chest shone through the wet, white fabric.

  “The demon touched him,” Mab said to her, the Fairy’s tone grave. “He passes beyond the magic of the fairies.”

  “Try anyway,” Caer begged.

  Mab remembered the ages past, when Oberon fell to Moloch. Her heart bled for many years. And Mab could see little difference between the immortal heart and the mortal heart, except the time they spent in Miðgarðir.

  Headred paled, but the pallid cloak did not freeze in the icy chill. He perspired, and Caer felt his hot forehead.

  “He tries to fight the will of the demon,” Mab said, her voice sounding hopeful. “He grows feverish in the struggle.”

  “We must do something.” Beoreth glanced at Caer, who knelt alone by Headred.

  Beoreth saw tears in the immortal eyes of the Fairy Queen. And she knew all but the slightest hope now faded.

  “I have walked the paths of the fairy sidhes for ages past. Many times I have seen the flesh and forms of those I loved touched by the demon and her father. And never have I seen them healed.”

  Caer up with fury in her eyes. “She will not take him,” she said to Mab. “For too long Belial took and destroyed. It ends here.”

  “There may be nothing to be done,” Beoreth said.

  “Try.” Caer commanded.

  Mab sighed and leaned over Headred’s dying form. At best she could keep him alive for a while, giving what she could of her life force to him, at a great cost of strength and magic. But she could not bring a mortal soul back from the land of death.

  Mab felt the heat inside him, the struggle. The sun and the night fought their war inside him. The sun began to fade, to grow red and cold, and the night laughed in the knowledge it won. On the sun hope appeared again and rekindled its flame.

  Mab gazed at Caer and breathed a sigh of relief and fatigue. “He will not die tonight. We must reach Ull before the dawn.”

  Caer nodded.

  Elric rode toward them, leading other horses with the help of his kindred. Caer stumbled back. The fairies lifted Headred into the saddle when Elric jumped down.

  Elric put his foot into the stirrup.

  “No.” Caer placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him away. “I too will ride also to the city.”

  With a flick of her hand Mab stopped Elric from speaking. “We must go; little time remains.”

  “Await our return, my mother,” Caer said to Beoreth as Yidrith rode up.

  Mab sent her horse into a gallop.

  And as the four rode into the dawn hours the people saw the coming of the darkness. The wars began now, and the first battle would rage, not with swords and spears, but over the life of the prophet.

  *****

  The horses sped through the narrow forest path. With the speed of the wind they rode toward Ull and the salvation of Caer’s betrothed.

  “Faster,” Caer whispered to the horse, glancing to Elric who held the slumping weight of Headred before him. “Faster.”

  And the horse obeyed.

  Magic rose within her, with fury at the demon who shared her blood, and worry for the one she loved. Magic no longer seemed like a candle, but rather a wildfire, coursing through her veins, waiting for this moment to rise, and engulf the lands around her in the flame of power.

  Mab looked on in trepidation as she whispered words of comfort to her steed, watching as the horses sped at breakneck pace, goaded by the fury she knew the daughter of the Ice Queen felt. Yidrith struggled with his sweating horse. Mab whispered comforting words for the horses.

  Before them the sky began to turn light. They did not have much time. Soon the sun would rise, and beyond the new day the fairies’ magic would do him no good.

  “Sleep now, Headred,” Caer whispered. “Sleep in comfort and peace, and awaken and find me in the White City.”

  A howl came from the woods, and from the path before them. As they rode around a bend they saw a band of golems and wolves waiting.

  Caer stopped her horse and held on as it reared. Yidrith’s horse skidded and sat in the snow. The party faced those who could steal Headred’s life without the blow of a sword, by delaying the travelers.

  Caer drew Hünjjuerad. The sound of metal scraping the sheath tempered itself by the hesitance of the wolves and golems before her, as they recognized the sword of her father, Gareth Chaíhünjjuer, the Warhammer.

  “Leave now, servants of shadow,” Caer ordered them. “Leave and I will spare your lives.”

  Fenrir laughed and stalked closer. “You bargain with us? You will beg for your life when I am done with you!”

  “Leave now!” Caer shouted.

  The winds picked up, blowing snow across the ground, though Fenrir and his minions did not seem to notice.

  “Eat them,” Fenrir growled.

  “Go back to where you came from!” Caer screamed.

  The wolves howled as the wind blew in gusts, lifting the golems and wolves, throwing them into the woods. Fenrir turned just as white lightning forked from the cloudless sky. Bolt after bolt scorched and melted the snow, until the forest lit with Caer’s fury.

  The wind died, and the lightning ceased. Fenrir saw the burning heap of Garvin, his guard, mere feet from him, and with a howl he ran into the woods.

  “Come,” Caer instructed as she sheathed the unused sword, whispering to her horse and streaking through the snow.

  Again the winds blew, this time from behind, pushing the group along. Mammoth drifts of snow parted in the winds.

  The sun began to peek over the horizon.

  “Hurry!” Caer shouted at the horse and did not wonder why he obeyed. Elric’s face grew fearful; Headred’s skin grew cold and white. Caer did not notice as the gates of the White City rose before them.

  The horses skidded to a halt again, as the guards gazed down at the riders.

  “Open the gates!” Yidrith shouted. “Y Erianrod returns to our city! Open the gates!”

  For a moment nothing happened, and desperation began to well in Caer. At a small command from Mab the gates parted by magic before Caer, who at last returned to her domain, the seat of Queens in the shadow of Mount Kern.

  Caer returned home.

  Mab led the way to the gates of Ull. Inside, a statue of Woden, his arms outstretched, marked the way to the inner door of the city. Beneath the white marble arch, flanked by the mammoth statues of Dana, mother of the witches, and Frigg, mother of gods, no snow fell, and no ice formed. And where once grass grew, cold, dead earth remained.

  The gates into the city, the smaller door large enough for a man and the larger entry, remained closed.

  “Open the gates, you fools!” Yidrith yelled.

  A small window opened in the inner door. “Who goes there?” an ancient, high-pitched man’s voice called out.

  “I am Mab, Queen of the fairies. I bring with me Yidrith of your city’s guard, and Caer, daughter of Beren, the witch Queen of Sul.”

  “Aha,” he replied, a spiteful tone to his voice. “So you say, and so would say the golems and the wolves, and none can see in this pale morning light.”

  “Are you mad?” Yidrith said. “Open the gate!”

  “No.” The old man closed the window.

  Caer glanced at Headred slumped before Elric, and at the dawn coming over the forests, a dawn bringing his death.

  “I am Mab, Queen of the Fairies. Open the gates in friendship or I will loose all my power upon you!”

  The window opened again. “Ah will ye now, milady? And will ye turn
me into an ass?”

  “I will turn you into the worthless toad you are if you do not open the gates.”

  The man’s eyes blinked once and became set again. “I doubt it. Yidrith went from Ull nigh on a fortnight ago, and no one saw him since. Indeed, much more than a fortnight passed since we saw fairies in these parts.”

  “What happened to this city,” Mab questioned, “for you to no longer recognize friend from foe?”

  The sun began to reflect on the stone on the edges of Ull. Hope faded, Caer realized, listening to Headred’s ragged breath as he sat on the nearby horse. Soon her love would pass, and the demon would win.

  “Open the gates, you great fool,” Caer screamed. Billowing clouds moved over Ull. “Abrecan!” Caer commanded the skies.

  The gatekeeper started to sneer and glanced at the sky. A moment later lightning crackled, and a spear crackled to the ground within the gates, eliciting a yelp from the gatekeeper. The door swung open, the gatekeeper cowering behind it.

  As he passed, Yidrith smacked the old man’s head. “Fool, didn’t you recognize my voice, or the face of your Queen?”

  The man stayed still. Perhaps he feared Mab would make good on her promise to turn him into a toad.

  “Do not worry, old man,” Mab said. “I do not have time or magic to waste on a trifle such as you.”

  “Thank you, milady, thank you.” He crawled off into Ull. Another gatekeeper moved to take the old man’s place.

  Caer looked into the sprawling citadel. The people seemed sparse, but those assembled stared at her and Mab in wonder.

  “Do not worry,” Yidrith lead the way into the city, their pace slowed by the throngs of people who began to gather. “They do not see many visitors, and though I am too young, I am told you resemble your mother. Many knew her.”

  Elric held tight to Headred’s limp form as they rode into the capital. Caer reined in her horse many times to avoid the innocent bystanders who happened to close, Mab beside her seeming to find no trouble navigating.

  “Tis the lady…”

  “…the daughter of the Queen.”

  “She comes…”

  “…come to save us.”

  The women and the men whispered as she passed. Some frowned at her in fear and mistrust, and up at the dispersing clouds. But most smiled in wonder and the hope they lacked for many years.