Sisters of the Moon

Prologue

Norway

Mid Tenth Century

Drage Valley wasn’t always hospitable. First there were frost giants, clever shapechangers that ruled with frost and snow. A deep glacier covered the Valley, humans sticking to the Heights where they would be less likely to be fodder for the giants. It wasn’t until the day the ice had begun to melt, quicker than before, that the giants could no longer tend it with the mere strength of their powers. Something was finally coming and the unnatural ice began to thaw. The humans felt the heat of the dragon’s wings, whipping the air into a dry hot wind. The great ram horned lizard hovered over the valley and let out a belch of crimson flame, as well as a roar following behind the inferno. Below thousands of wingless land wyrms broke through the ice giant’s defenses forcing the creatures to retreat. The dragons brought an end to the eternal winter, the promise of spring drawing the humans down from the hills.

These dragons were no mindless killers from the legends, nor were any of them actual dragons. Lord Prometheus was the only true Dragonfolk, the wyrms who followed him were actually transfigured witches from the Mediterranean. They had followed him in his banishment from the Greek Isles. The Wyrms were the descendants of the first race of men created by Prometheus’ own two hands in his image. He had stolen fire from the gods to give to his creations and he was punished first by having his liver eaten everyday by an eagle. It wasn’t until his creations went to seek the help of a dark titaness, Hecate. Unable to intercede herself, she taught them magic and gave them the power to harness the gifts their maker now suffered for. They learned to breathe fire and turn their bodies to wyrms and stormed the mountain that Prometheus had been imprisoned on. Zeus, the titan’s warden, was furious. If not for another titan, Selene, interceding the King of Olympus would have killed them all. She was one of his favorites after all, and it was hard to say no to a primordial deity. Prometheus was cursed to his dragon body, never able to walk in the form of man again, then he and his clan were exiled from the Greek Empire. If not for Artemis sending her wolves to lead them through the Darklands, they would have never found the Valley.

A coven was created in the most seemingly inhospitable part of the valley, leaving the now nutrient rich lands below for the humans to farm and cultivate livestock. In payment for the Wyrm’s protection, the humans vowed fidelity to the new Coven of the Dragon, and shared their yields. The Coven mixed with the humans, and native witches emerged from the shadows, the ranks of the Coven growing. It wasn’t long before another god, the King of Asgard, noticed that something had changed in the valley. Odin the Allfather wished to learn everything about this new protector and wanted a hand in the protection of this once forbidden place.

Prometheus found Odin very agreeable, and gratefully shared his knowledge, the Allfather teaching the dragon all about the creatures of Midgard, as he called it. Prometheus suggested that Odin create a coven in Drage Valley, knowing he would need a powerful source of information on dangers in the Valley as well. Prometheus agreed to let Odin choose those among their ranks to start his coven. Thus the Coven of the Raven was born, tasked with collecting and cataloging all the information they possibly could get their hands on. The frost giants didn’t return, but when they did they were quickly driven out, and thus it stayed for nearly two thousand years.

The howling wind drowned out the careful steps of the hooded traveler. Bodies littered the ground over the road and into the ditches at either side. Giant spears of ice protruded from many of them, their very blood turning to ice before rupturing from them. Their faces contorted in terror and in agony. Those who were not left with complete corpses, were torn asunder, their body parts strewn like the pebbles on the lane. What manner of creature had inflicted such carnage? From the various ice formations one might assume this was a frost giant attack, the most common of skirmishes in this Valley. The ice was not melting however, even where what the traveler recognized as dragon fire, burned. Frost giant ice didn’t melt in the presence of normal fire, but dragon fire was far more powerful.

The wind ripped the hood from his brow, his long iridescent hair fluttering around him like raven feathers. What if he was too late? His steps quickened to a run, fear ripping through his heart for another.

At the ruined gate of his home, Damion Hjort gaped at the destruction of his village. Buildings still smoldered, pieces of the rubble frozen solid, mortal carnage everywhere.

“Theresa!” He screamed, only briefly wondering if the creature was still around somewhere and he was just calling the danger closer, “Theresa!” but his need to find his baby sister was greater. She was the only family he had left. Their mother had left them shortly after a sickly Theresa was born, too small and weak to survive without some kind of intervention. Damion had never found out where his father had found the Hag, but the shriveled old woman managed to keep his sister alive. Damion had been rather small then and the Hag was little more than a dark stain on his memory. There had been much pain in their lives back then.

Damion stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself, remembering to use his magic to search for her. The witch closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses, searching for any sign of life. There it was, like the flutter of wings from a small bird. She was alive but barely. Once his eyes opened, Damion had to stop himself from crying out in despair. The building in which he had felt her was completely collapsed to rubble and pieces of it were covered with creeping frost. Instead he thrust his hand outward, letting the command rip from his magic core.

“STIGE!” The ruin exploded outwards from the center of the pile, but his spell had been filled with too much emotion. Though it wasn’t as effective as Damion hoped, he was still able to spot Theresa’s copper hair. Quickly he descended on the pile ripping free rubble till his fingers bled. Pulling her free, Damion noticed the trickle of blood on her face and some that had seeped through her clothing in places, but they were easily dealt with. Damion began chanting the spell he had become so familiar with the last month in his travels.

The coven had only recently lost its leader, Damion’s very own father, Hans Hjort. He had fallen in the Battle of Túr Marbh but not before taking hundreds of the Necromancer’s undead troops back to the underworld. He was dining in Valhalla with their kin. As Han’s heir, Damion had been on his pilgrimage of knowledge, a task that every heir must do when they reach their twenty-first year. He had received word of his father’s death after nearly dying in his trial in the Forest of Knowledge. Unable to return home until another moon had passed, Damion grieved on the road the only way he knew how: Treating the wounded, the ill, and educating as many as he could on life saving medicine in remote villages. He had told Odin he believed that this knowledge didn’t belong only to the witches, but to the humans they protected.

Damion also had always known his father would fall in battle, for that was the price of asking for knowledge of destruction from the Allfather. Damion had been different, asking only for all medical knowledge, both pedestrian and arcane. Odin had been so startled that he had agreed immediately, then more calmly gave Damion the chance to ask for something else. Damion asked for the ability to remember everything he saw, which the Allfather had willingly given him. The price for the second boon was to put exactly what Damion had said into motion for a full month. Damion had wondered when he heard the news if Odin had already known. Had he known that something would decimate his coven at that time too? Doubt seeped into his mind.

When the spell had done its work, Theresa’s eyes remained closed. She breathed deeply in sleep, Damion letting out a big breath of his own in relief. He had moved them into a small, less ruined shack on the edge of the village where the…carnage was less. Damion observed his sister, waiting for her to wake, until the sun decided to rest. He didn’t find rest, but as the darkness fell, a fog descended on his mind. Twice now Damion had been absent when his family needed him, when his coven needed him. It was difficult not to blame the deity who set him on his path, as Odin had done for Damion’s father and Grandfather before him. The fog remained, and the doubt.

Damion rose and exited the shack, hoping the night air would clear his frazzled mind, but his thoughts just continued to run. What an heir he was. An heir to a coven of corpses, and a library of ashen pages. Everything the Coven of the Raven had built in the last thousand years, gone, and he had been able to do nothing to stop it. How had there been a creature stronger than the mighty Lord Prometheus, Savior of the Valley? Venom crept into his thoughts as he pondered why the dragon had still not returned to search for survivors. Did they abandon them because the Library was no more? What good was he now? Damion wasn’t a battle technician like his kin, and the Coven of the Dragon already had two prolific Druid Healers. What use was an orphan heir with only one trick up his sleeve?

Without noticing, Damion had walked up to the edge of a steep ravine. The witch looked over, thinking how easy it would be just to let himself fall. Just take one more step, end it all. His body listed forward, but suddenly there was a roar in the sky and Damion froze with a start. Throwing himself from the precipice, Damion looked up to see what had shaken him from his trance.

The creature is still near! Be on your guardI A booming baritone spoke in his mind as an enormous crimson colored dragon landed nearby where Damion lay sprawled on the ground. He quickly scuffled to his feet getting as far away from the ravine as possible. Damion could see that there were three figures on the dragon’s back, two women and a man. As soon as the Dragon touched down the front rider dismounted, hurrying towards Damion.

“Damion Hjort?” She questioned, her hand resting on her paumel. Damion raised both hands in surrender, nodding vigorously. She relaxed an iota, hand falling from her blade, “Katarina Tolkuni.” Damion gasped and began to genuflect in respect of the High Shield Maiden of the Coven of the Dragon. She tutted and pulled him back to his feet, “There is no need for that. You are the Master of a Coven.”

“But the Coven of the Raven has been decimated. It is only my sister and I.” Damion argued, but Katarina grinned patting Damion’s shoulder.

“As long as you live, the Coven of the Raven does.” She handed him a rolled up piece of goat parchment. Odin’s Runes were scrawled on the page naming Damion Odin’s True Apprentice. A title not often given to those who complete the Trials of Odin, “There will be time to rebuild. First we must send your brethren to Vahalla.” Katarina turned to wave at those still on the dragon. The other woman dismounted, turning to look at the remaining rider. He nodded slumping backwards to lean against the large dragon spine behind him. Even from this distance Damion could tell the warrior was wounded or sick, his face gaunt below his hood. As the other shield maiden approached, Damion gasped in realization.

“Are you the She Wolf?!” Damion asked excitedly, the Druid blinking in surprise, before looking at her master, “Forgive me…I’ve been reading your work…” Fantasia Hart, one of the two aforementioned Druid Healers, let the corner of her mouth quirk up in amusement.

“You ken my work?” Her Celtic accent was thick, like the wavy red hair the color of fresh blood, platted down her head. Her clothes and armor were not flashy, and clothing made by her own hands. It was only the decorations in her hair that spoke of her wealth, that or her wealthy suitor.

“I’ve read both your book and your mother’s,” Books with no magical quality, strictly meant to educate humans in the knowledge of medicine, “Forgive me for getting overly excited given the circumstances.”

“I’ve heard of you as well, more recently, but I’ve heard that the Raven Heir was a healer.” Damion’s eyes flicked back to the figure on the dragon, Fantasia not missing it, “We will speak more after we put your coven to rest.”

The sun had started to rise by the time the three of them had gathered the remains of his people. Prometheus and his passenger sat several yards away as Damion set the torch on the pyre. Katarina took a deep breath and began to croon a haunting melody, her voice carrying the power gifted by the Dragon. The flames rose and danced, the spell gathering the lost souls together, letting the smoke take them up to the Hall of their Forefathers. A sound behind them pulled Fantasia and Damion’s attention, Katarina still entranced. Theresa was leaning against the entrance to the shack, watching with teary eyes.

“You came back…” She whispered, hurrying towards her brother. Damion caught her as Theresa lost her balance, her face colliding with his chest. He stroked her hair, patting her back in attempts to calm the sobs ripping through the girl, but she had been through something deeply traumatic. Damion’s eyes meet Fantasia's, a look of concern in them. Her gaze shifted to Katarina who had finished the spell and had turned to look at the commotion behind her.

“It is good to see that your sister is alright,” The High Shield Maiden came over, putting her hand on Theresa’s shoulder. The young witch looked up with wide eyes at the Coven Elder; Katarina her idol, “I know the last few hours have been terrifying, but I need you to confirm what it is that you saw.” Theresa looked up at Damoin, who just handed her his journal and his piece of charcoal. After a moment of hesitation, and hastily wiping her eyes, Theresa began to draw. She, like her older brother, had an incredible eye for detail and had been illustrating the tomes of the Library since an early age. The image that started to form on the page felt more like something in a book on demons.

Its legs and arms were incredibly long, its head elongated. Its skin was gray and white and looked like lace from Saxony, if lace could be made from snowflakes. Its eyes were almond shaped and as black as obsidian, its head crowned with a jagged crown of icicles. Damion had never seen a frost giant like this. Katarina turned to look at Prometheus nodding her head in conformation.

“That thing is terrifying.” Damion whispered, “What is that?”

The Grief Bringer. Prometheus uttered morbidly, My ancient enemy. Seems she has found me.

“Theresa will you come with me and Lord Prometheus? We could use someone to illustrate the scene.” Damion began to protest but Theresa put her hand up.

“I’m ready Lady Tolkuni.” Katarina nodded and they started walking towards the Village, Prometheus following after. Damion noticed that the third passenger was now out of sight.

“You’re a hard person to find, Dame.” A male voice behind him startled Damion, and he whirled around. Leaning heavily against Fantasia was the missing passenger. His hood was down revealing his wavy midnight black hair that plastered to his face with sweat. His vibrant violet eyes were hollowed in, the triangular shaped tattoos on his cheeks misformed from their gauntness. It was the eyes that gave him away.

“General Frostborne?” A grin spread across his face even with the pain in his eyes. He looked at Fantasia with affection.

“How nice does that sound, Elskede?” She sighed heavily in response before looking at Damion.

“This is Fenrir, the Heir of the Dragon.” Damion quirked up a brow.

“Loki is my uncle.” The word was stressed on Fenrir’s lips, “Grandfather told me to find you after Erik maimed me several days ago.” Damion’s eyes went wide, “Seems he no longer wishes to keep up pretenses.” There had been a long standing rumor that the Heir of the Dragon wasn’t actually the son of Erik Odinson, rather the son of General Frostborne, his younger sibling. Loki Frostborne had gained deidom by the time they were twenty years old, and Erik the eldest of this pair of Odin’s children was still only a half baked witch with weak fire magic. Katarina had once been engaged to Loki but Erik stole her from the other witch by taking advantage of her and claiming the child in her belly was his. Now that Damion saw that he bore the same unique eyes as his supposed uncle, it was pretty obvious that there was truth to this rumor.

“Why me?” Damion questioned, “Other than Odin is my master?”

“Because you are the only one with the knowledge of Runes.” Fantasia answered, “you have completed the trial, so only you know the Old Runes.” He had nearly lost his life in obtaining that knowledge too. Damion assisted Fantasia as she lowered Fenrir down onto a flat bit of rock, the strain showing on his handsome but tired features.

“Tell me how it happened.” Damion instructed, “I can only get a full understanding of what they might hold if I hear the story.” Fenrir squeezed Fantasia’s hand in confirmation, the answer to the ornate jewelry in her hair answered with only a few gestures.They were intimately close.

“Fen, his parents and my mother and myself were discussing our marriage which had already been publicly announced,” Fantasia began quietly, “Erik came in, slobbering drunk screaming about how we were trying to usurp his title. He threw his hammer at Fenrir who was protecting me-” Her voice waived slightly as she steadied herself, “Nothing is working to heal the wound and it’s getting worse by the day.”

“Did you see anything on the side of the hammer?” Damion questioned, Fantasia already handing over a sketch to the witch. There was a giant rune in the center of a circle of smaller runes. As Damion deciphered, a cold sweat broke out on his brow.

“It’s a sealing sigil, ment to bind not only one's magic but one's natural healing,” Damion pointed to the main sigil in the center, “This one will be the hardest to reverse, but with some concentration I might be able to at least unlock his natural healing. His magic…” Damion started meeting the vibrant eyes of the Heir of the Dragon. It seemed that Fenrir was trying to convey something to him; rather, to ask him a question. At what cost?

“Will it be dangerous?” Fantasia voiced, her eyes sliding sideways at her fiance, then focused on Damion’s, “Will you be in danger?” Damion could sense that they were communicating with more than nonverbal cues. Telepathy. A very rare magic that was reserved for a select few. The thread of magic wound tightly around these two; a crimson rope.

“Odin has asked me to save his grandson,” The Master of the Raven replied, “So I will gladly give my life to protect the son and grandson of a deity.” Fenrir’s face lifted in a smile, or as much of one as he could muster, “Help me remove his shirt.” Fantasia pulled open the top part of his tunic and pulled it down over his shoulders exposing the wound. The two lacerations were perpendicular to one another crossing at his sternum. The horizontal line nearly spand from shoulder to shoulder just below his collarbone. The other started beneath Fenrir’s neck and went past his breast. The cuts themselves were…Damion had to try hard not to gag at the scent of putrefaction. The blood poisoning spreading outwards in his veins was taking the shape of runes. Fantasia set her hand on Damion’s shoulder.

“I’ll help you.” Fenrir gripped her hand, shaking his head worriedly, “Relax, Fen, I’m at my strongest now.” Her hand touched her belly. Damion was unsure if it really would be okay, but Fantasia was a powerful Druid. Which meant she knew her limits.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Be cautious.” Fenrir spoke aloud to both of them, “Rudolph can take my place.” Fantasia just clicked her tongue at him and he dropped the subject.

“This will be painful, Master Frostborne.” Fenrir smiled once more hearing his true father’s name.

“Thanks, you flatter me.” His voice croaked with fatigue, worry wrinkling Fantasia’s forehead.

“We must hurry, Fan.” Damion spoke, taking her hand, before placing his hand on Fenrir’s shoulder, “Close your eyes.” He told them both. Low in his throat Damion began to chant low in his throat, speaking the language of the Old Gods. The blood poisoning began to glow, and Damion’s soul left his body.

It was dark all around him, a sticky, inky darkness that clung to your skin. He could hardly tell if he was upside down or right side up, but he strode forward. It was like walking through molasses, Damion’s feet suctioning in the abyss. A light began to shine just ahead of him, and as he grew closer Damion realized the light was coming from a T shaped object. It was pinned slightly above his head. It was a moon faced owl, its carmel wings speckled with bright white dots. There were five iron stakes in the owl, two in each outstretched wing, and in both feet. The fifth one was in its heart. This was Fenrir’s magic core. Damion looked on in dread. This was not going to be easy. A five leveled curse that would take five attempts to fully remove. If he lived through this first attempt it would be difficult for Damion to attempt this again.

Fantasia. Promise me that you will help my sister understand. She will think I’ve abandoned her again. Damion hoped that she would hear him. With a swift motion, Damion grabbed hold of the stake only to scream out in pain. He felt Fantasia’s physical hand on his shoulder though his trance and the pain in his hand subsided. A light filled him, like the soft glow of the full moon on a cloudless night. Damion never had felt such pure magic. It continued to well up inside the center of his being until he could see the moonlight radiating out of his astral skin. Then with the power this potential goddess had given him, Damion gave a war cry and pulled the iron stake with all his might. As the stake came free the owl’s head snapped up letting out a piercing screech which rocketed Damion back into his body.

Gasping, he fell backwards Fenrir catching him in his arms. Damion could see the wound on his chest already mostly healed, though a scar remained, a testament to the remaining curse. The life had returned to Fenrir’s face, and Damion was able to see what a truely handsome man he was. He was smiling, until he saw the look in Damion’s eyes.

“Dame...you can’t die.” His brow furrowed, “Take it back, don’t go like this.” Fenrir bent forward pressing his lips to Damion’s sweaty brow. He felt heat radiate into his forehead, the pain in his body slowly fading to a low ache, “Please, you saved my life, you can’t just die…” The last thing Damion remembered before falling to darkness was the feeling of Fenrir holding his nearly lifeless body to his chest, tears falling on the back of his neck, a sliver of his own magic returned to his hollow body.

It felt like dreaming. He kept seeing random moments from his childhood. There was one day that was the clearest. Father had warned him not to stray too far from the Coven lands but Damion never listened. One day he found himself farther than he had ever been, at the edge of the Coven of the Dragon’s territory. He had ignored the markers that bore the sigil of the dragon, his nose pressed to his sketch book. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of other children that he looked up. At thirteen winters old Damion was the eldest of the children in his coven, and had spent most of his time with adults. Hearing the sound of children playing was a siren song to a young Damion. He kept closer to see a perfectly circular clearing in a copse of trees. There was a stone monolith in the center, decorated with flowers and offerings. The symbol on the back was that of Loki Frostborne the resident lower deity. There were five children, maybe only a handful of winters younger than him, chasing each other. Rather the four boys were chasing after a singular girl with hair the color of blood. Four women reclined at the edge of the clearing watching them with joyful eyes. It was the little girl who spotted him first, grabbing the hand of the boy with wavy black hair, the other little red head stomped over and pushed their hands apart before looking at where she was pointing. The big blonde boy lumbered over and offered his hand to Damion.

There was only darkness again, but it seemed to have a current to it. It was pulling him deeper into the abyss.

You can’t go there ‘ashund. That place is for those who are dead. Damion turned to see a hooded figure behind him. The voice sounded female but it seemed to be several voices overlapping.

Who are you? Damion questioned.

I am the Crone. All that was and is and can be. Past, present and future. Her voice had an accent that reminded Damion of the desert sands and a palm lined oasis. I am the guardian of the Crossroads and the one who has come to call you home. Her hood came down to reveal the faces of the woman. Her visage kept blurring between girl, woman and hag, the only thing that stayed the same was the symbol in the middle of her forehead. A wheel with only three spokes that protruded from the circle ending in short perpendicular lines.

Why are you appearing to me? Who are you to the Coven of the Dragon? Suddenly her neck began to elongate snaking right up into his face.

ITS TIME FOR YOU TO WAKE UP NOW!

Damion gasped but his eyes would not open, he was sure now that his soul had anchored to his body once more. His hand was cradled between two others, thumbs working at his skin worriedy.

“Resa?” HIs voice was a croak and was barely a whisper. The hands tightened and there was a sigh of relief.

“Sister!” The person in the room called. He knew that voice, “He’s about to wake up.” There was a commotion outside and Damion heard a door open. The presence of two people filled the room.

“Syphra?” Fantasia’s voice spoke, “He’s okay?”

“Well he won’t be lost in the Crossroads any longer.”

“Why hasn’t he opened his eyes yet?” A male voice questioned, a voice he didn’t recognize. The one named Syphra made a crude nose in the back of her throat.

“Because, ghabiun, he’s soul was just adrift between worlds for three months.”

“Where is Theresa?” Damion questioned, finally able to slit his eyes a fraction, “Where is my sister?” The male in the room hissed in disgust.

“Treacherous-”

“Rudolph.” Fantasia scolded.

“Yes dear…” Dear? As his eyes opened fully he saw that the male was a red head as well. He also saw the growing bump on the lower part of Fantasia’s abdomen. Something was not adding up here. Syphra was giving him a look that seemed to tell him there was more than met the eye. Fantasia looked exhausted as well.

“Ru, it’s best you wait outside with the others for now.” He nodded once and exited the building. Syphra stood and helped Fantasia into the chair she had just been occupying. Syphra instead sat on the bed at Damion’s feet, her hand on his shin protectively. Looking at her face, it had to be the woman from his vision, plus she spoke the same language as the Crone. She had saved his life…

“There is much to tell you Dame,” Fantasia started, “Its best you prepare yourself.”

After Damion had basically died, Theresa had returned and after hearing the story, immediately blamed Fenrir and Fantasia. Since he had robbed her of Damion, Fenrir would have to take care of her. When they returned to the Village of the Dragon, Theresa moved into the main hall to live as a ward to Erik. Damion had been taken to Fantasia’s cottage so that she and her mother could look after his body. Syphra had been traveling during this time and only recently returned after an urgent missive from Fantasia. It was her indeed who traveled into the between world to retrieve his soul and bring it back to his body. Before she could return though, Theresa and Erik and Theresa hatched a plan to punish both Frostbornes. Theresa made a big scene of falling in love with General Frostborne even going as far as sleeping with Loki, making the deity believe she was in love with them. Then they got Fenrir drunk and framed him in the assault of Theresa. Erik demanded that he abandon his previous plan to marry Fantasia now that he had taken advantage of another and gotten her pregnant. Rudolph, like the true idiot he was, believed it and publicly dueled Fenrir for the right for Fantasia’s hand. Instead of telling him no, Fenrir agreed and lost. Fenrir didn’t know the truth either, though he didn’t fully believe it. Regardless the damage to his reputation in the coven was done. After Fenrir told his faction what he thought had happened, Rudolph agreed to marry Fantasia and protect the child Fenrir had already put in her belly. They had been married in secret, the only witness was the gods. Rudoph and Fantasia were married publicly in a small ceremony a week prior to Syphra returning to the Village. Now Theresa was to marry Fenrir in three days, while still sleeping around with Loki. Sire and Son were at odd over the same woman, and Erik was enjoying the chaos.

“I’ll wring his neck!” Damion roared, before a fit of coughs raked him.

“You will need to get in line ‘ashund, Syphra told him, “Half the coven wants his head.”

“There is a small coalition ready to use the wedding as a chance to overthrow the current power and return the title of Dragon Master to a Drakon,” Fantasia interjected, “being from the same line of original witches that settled this valley, Rudolph is the only other worthy enough to be Dragon Master.”

“But what of Fenrir?”

“He’s never really wanted to be Dragon Master, but he has always wanted to free our people from Erik’s tyranny,” The Druid continued, “When the fight breaks out he will do what he can to make sure Erik is ousted.”

“So this is what he was talking about before?” Damion questioned, remembering the comment about being replaced before Damion healed Fenrir.

“The Great Wolf has always had a back-up plan involving leaving all he holds dear to Rudolph.” Syphra’s eyes were deeply sad, an emotion echoed on Fantasia’s face. She looked like someone who had given up all hope.

“We both dreamt of my death.” Fantasia spoke, “Right after I married Ru, on the same night we dreamt that I would fall at the end of a friendly blade. The hand wielding the blade was shrouded in darkness, but win or lose…” She let out a heavy sigh, pulling a thick leather bound book from her robes, “My life…It’s not as important as what i need to leave behind for the one who will come after.” She passed the book to Damion. It was a grimoire, that was evident by the power radiating off it, “I need some illustrations, and i can think of no one better than the illustrator of Biblica Monstrosus.” Even given the seriousness, Damion blushed at the praise of his work in one of the more difficult of his books.

“YOu can’t die..” Damion protested, Syphra having to look away.

“The moment I turned sixteen I knew that i would not live to see twenty.” Fantaisa said, “The Mother Goddess told me, but she said that I still was important. That this generation still had to do all it could to stop Angrboda.”

“What does Angrboda have to do with this?” Damion’s mind turned to the creature his sister had drawn.

“She has possessed Theresa.” Syphra answered, “The Hag that came to heal your sister in infancy? IT was the Hag of the Iron Wood, the Grief Bringer herself, disguised as an old woman. She placed a piece of her soul in Theresa and she lived, but after so much death and destruction, Theresa could no longer block out the creature and now she drives most of Theresa’s decisions.”

“How…?” Damion began in utter shock, tears leaking down his eyes as reality crashed in on him. He knew they spoke the truth. Theresa had always had a wicked streak a mile wide but it usually was kept in check by their father. He had always just figured it was because she didn't have strong magic so she was easily angered when others showed off.

“Everything was her plan to get back at Prometheus who is her real enemy,” Fantasia pressed on, “She sent the Necromancer to bring out High Battle Technician Hjort and make sure he died in battle, while you were on your pilgrimage. Then she whispered to Erik how Fenrir was trying to usurp him by joining with the Celts, and gave him the sigil to eliminate Fenrir even with his weak magic. She knew we would seek out Damion, the first of Odin’s true disciples in five hundred years, and he would exhaust himself trying to save his master’s grandson. That was the final piece in getting Theresa primed to be a viable vessel.”

“Stop calling her that…” He whispered.

“Forgive me, Dame.” Fantasia said softly, “We hope that we can still save Theresa, maybe your presence will shock her system enough that you might reach her and shake Angrboda free.”

“Then why do you still say you will die?” His voice was thick with sorrow.

“There is too much to tell and not enough time.” Syphra said, “But if you trust us, we will do what we can to save your sister and the Coven of the Dragon.”

“I swear to save Fenrir and Fantasia, or by the Gods, I will not rest a thousand years till Angrboda is destroyed.” Damion crossed three fingers in an x over his heart, a mark glowing there. Both women shared a glance, despair in their eyes. If they were talking about sacrifice, he would not let them make them alone. It was his duty as a healer to save as many people as he could and his duty as brother to bring his sister back.

Later that day, after Fantasia and Syphra did what they good to help his atrophied muscles, he met the others in Fenrir’s confidence. Once he saw them all together he realized that his time in the Crossroads was not without some meaning. These were the same children he met all those years ago in this very clearing. It was on the other side of the village from Fantasia’s cottage but Syphra was nearly as tall as the lanky Damion and as strong as any man. She easily supported him as they walked slowly through the forest.

The first to notice their presence was the big blonde, Soren Hart, son of the late berserker, Valdemar Hart. He and Fenrir had been the closest in their early years chasing foxes into hen houses and causing mischief. He was the master of pyrotechnics, his fire magic as explosive as his temper, much like his father’s. He was as gentle as a big lumbering dog any other time.

Ru immediately came to Fantasia making sure she was alright and ferrying her off to sit in the shade of the monolith. Rudolph could breathe fire just like his ancestors, and was almost as learned in battle strategy as Hans Hjort. The last of the group, a delicate blonde, was already sitting and helped Fantasia down to the ground. Soren watched his sister for several moments. Sinnah Fox was the last man, a wielder of fox fire from the east. He and Fenrir’s mothers were the daughters of a princess from the far east that was sold across the continent in slavery until her and her husband, a Solvik man were liberated and brought to Drage Valley. He had taken the last name Fox after his Grandmother passed on in her memory.

Soren helped Syphra carry Damion over to the monolith and they all settled down in the ground cover. Ru pulled out a drinking horn and took a swig before passing it to Soren. After Soren took his fill he handed it to Damion, but Syphra took it.

“He’s recovering, I’ll drink for him.” I’ll vouch for him. This seemed to convince them and the walls seemed to drop.

Never had Damion felt so at ease with a group of witches. They were intelligent and driven to protect both Fantasia and Fenrir. They valued the coven but all of them were realistic enough that the Coven of the Dragon would cease to exist as it did now. They were the future though, and Damion was honored to be by their sides to fight this battle in any way he could. After a while Syphra, Rudolph and Soren went off to discuss the battle plan while Sinnah, Fantasia and Damion began to work on Fantasia’s perceived final work. Sinnah was incredibly intelligent and sometimes knew more about Fantasia than she did. She had a close kinship with Sinnah, much different than what she had with the other males. Maybe because Sinnah felt more femine. The witch had a different air about them that Damion couldn’t quite place.

They stayed till the sun set. The next morning they reconvened in Fantasia’s cottage where Damion was hiding so that no one knew he was alive. They were hoping the longer they could put off news of his revival the more effective it would be in separating Demon from Vessel. He really hated thinking of his baby sister as the enemy but right now the enemy was inhabiting her body and waging war on his friends. The night before the wedding came just in time for the work to be done on the grimoire. Fantasia called him outside under the light of the full moon to bless the object with her.

She began singing, alternating between high crooning and a low buzz that resonated in her throat. Damion was tasked with beating the goat skin drum, as she danced around the rock which held the book. Damion watched as the magic came to the surface of her skin, her body glowing from within and then it began to lift from her. A bright green phoenix exploded from her bag letting out a screech unlike what Damion had heard from any regular bird. It flew high blocking out the moonlight with its outstretched wings. It suspended there for several breathless moments before diving down and straight into the grimoire. Fantasia slumped, Damion scrambling up to make sure she didn’t land on the ground. She was breathing hard, sweat beading her furrowed brow.

“It is done.” Damion felt no magic resonating inside of Fantasia’s core, and the realization set in. Even if she didn’t die at the end of a actual blade, She had used her powers to cripple herself. Witches that lost their magic didn’t live for more than a few years before dying a miserable death, “only with my death can the true Mother rise.” She whispered.

Everyone had left for the wedding by the time Damion had woken, that next day. He was to wait until the sun began to set and the battle began before making his entrance. After a few hours of waiting and wondering, the witch could no longer bide his time. Throwing on a hooded cloak Damion made his way towards the Main Hall through a silent village. Everyone was in the hall for the marriage of the Heir of the Dragon. Damion knew several were there for the coming battle.

He heard the festivities before he saw the hall, his speed quickening. The hall came into a view and outside stood a woman chewing her fingernails. When Damion saw her eyes he knew all was not as it seemed.

“General Frostborne?” Damion whispered, the deity looking over in shock.

“Thank the gods you're alive!” The deity rushed over, “Now Fenrir doesn't’ have to marry Theresa and we can get married instead and-” Damion put his hands on the deity’s shoulders.

“Theresa has been using you Loki. She’s been using you to destroy this coven and turn you and your son against each other. Loki’s features shifted in a blur and now a man stood before Damion.

“She wouldn’t do that! That’s your sister!” He roared, enraged. The deity pushed Damion’s hands from their shoulders, “It cant be true! She loves me! My son is the one who-” Realization seemed to set in as a sob choked out of Loki.

“I’m sorry Loki, that child she carries, is yours, not Fenrir’s. He’s going to be a father but of his true love’s child.” Loki whipped their face, their features once again more femine.

“How can we save them? My children and my grandchild?”

“We have to agitate the Demon into showing itself, only then can we maybe separate her from my sister.” Damion quickly relayed the truth to Loki, disgust shining in their eyes, as well as rage.

“Fen will never survive if Fantasia perishes.” Loki stated, “If things go sideways, i have a back up plan to save my son and maybe the others.”

“This wedding is void!” Damion screamed as he and Loki burst into the room. Erik stood in outrage from the dias. He was a portly, ugly fellow with a fair share of moles dotting his visage.

“Who are you and what gives you the right to this objection?! The marriage is already sealed.” He barked.

“Fenrir has already married another in secret and has sired a child.” Damion continued, “and it is Loki’s child my sister now carries. I am Damion Hjort, Master of the Raven and True Disciple of Odin and before the gods I declare this marriage void.” Erik cackled from his spot, plopping back down in his throne.

“Impossible, Damion Hjort died three months ago in an attempt to heal my son.” Erik glared at Loki indignantly, but it had worked and Theresa now was staggering forward a confused look on her face.

“Damion? Is that really you?” Her hand was outstretched as if to touch his face, but Damion was startled when the blow from her palm fell. He almost fell over from the slap, the strength in Theresa that he had never felt before. Wickedness glittered in her eyes.

“Did you think it would be that easy to unseat me, Raven?” A sinister double octave voice came from his sister, “This body is mine, and I will use it to pull the very roots of Yggdrasil up and destroy this world in a mighty blizzard.” With a flick over her hand, Loki’s eyes began to glow, and their features became male once more, an aggression following the shift. The deity lunged at Damion but a sword covered in purple flames passed between them, Loki jumping back.

“Please don’t make me hurt you, Oppdra.” Fenrir pleaded with his sire. Loki pulled his axe and lunged at Fenrir, the two locking in battle. The room erupted as factions clashed. Fantasia pulled Damion out of the line of a pair of battling witches, hurling flaming spells at one another.

“Now what?” Fantasia hissed.

“I have to kill my sister…” Damion whispered. They were interrupted as Erik tried to use another’s sword to run Loki through. Katarina stepped between them, facing Loki, the blade passing through her breast.

“KATARINA!”

“MOTHER!” Both Frostbornes screamed in unison, Fenrir caught his mother as Loki reached up with one motion and snapped Eriks fat neck with magic. The battle apused for a moment and the attention turned to Theresa who was cackling with pleasure.

“All i had to do was stir the pot a little and you swine killed yourselves off.” Her grin turned to a snarl, “But that isn’t quite enough for me.” With one fluid, incredibly fast movement, she stood before where Fantasia and Damion were huddled. Throwing Damion across the room with magic, Theresa pulled the ceremonial dagger at Fantasia’s side and drove it through her heart.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” The sound that came from Fenrir sounded like his very soul was crying out in agony. Loki managed to pin Theresa down, the creature laughing the whole time as Fenrir ran over to cradle Fantasia in his arms, “please… not you too…please…don’t leave me alone, Elskede…”

“Don’t…this death…is only temporary…We will meet…In valhalla…” Then the pure and gentle Druid drew her last breath out and was dead.

What happened next seemed to pass in a blur. Angrboda no longer wished to hide behind the image of Theresa, her terrible true form emerging. She threw Loki off going for Fenrir, but once more Loki, who had now grown several feet, stopped her. Loki after all was half frost giant, but chose to appear human. His skin was a bluish color and his rust colored hair was now pure white.

Fenrir rose and something began to happen to his body. He too began to grow in size, but as he did his features contorted the witch screaming in pain as bones broke. Loki, Distracted for only moments, was thrown once more into the wall, the wood of the hall beginning to groan.

“Outside!” Syphra screamed, ushering everyone outside as the building gave way beneath the feet of a giant black wolf. He lunged at Loki trying to get at his sire’s throat.

“Forgive me!” Loki roared and with a flick of his hand, Sinnah, Soren and Rudolph cried out in pain and fell to their knees, writhing on the ground. Soren turned into a pure white wolf, scurrying over to protect his sister’s body. He snatched the moonstone pendant from her neck as well as the blade that had taken her life, holding them gingerly in his mouth. Damion had safely moved her out of the building in time. Sinnah, who was now a black fox, scurried into the forest, maybe to find help. Only Rudolph's transformation was similar to Fenrir’s. After his body grew, it morphed into that of the wyrm that was his birthright. Dragon and Wolf collided as Ru fought to protect the remaining coven members who hand;t escaped. Fenrir was obviously being controlled by Angrboda, the Demoness now watching from a crouched position atop the ruins of the hall. All she did was watch as the two heirs battled. Prometheus’ roar sounded in the valley and the creature hissed.

“Always arriving in time to spoil my fun.” She clapped her hands and Fenrir backed away from a nearly dead Rudolph, his scaly body bleeding from several severe bite marks, “Come my consorts.” Fenrir came first letting the Demon climb on his back, then Loki. The deity looked back at them with sadness. He was leaving with his own free will, wanting only to protect his children, including the one who had yet to be born.

“Forget what happened here.” They said, voice laden with magic, “It will be better that way.”

Damion woke in the middle of the field with no memory of the last few hours. There was a dead woman in his arms but he was having a hard time remembering why he felt so grief stricken by her death. The only thing he recognized was the sun kissed woman from the desert that was trying to protect him from a mob of others. Prometheus was there, just behind the mob gently nuzzling the body of a wyrm.

“You must flee! Find Sinnah!” The woman screamed and Damion ran.

Tears flowed down his cheeks, knowing that he was truly all alone. A mighty roar filled the sky and Prometheus landed before him, blocking his path.

Damion Hjort! What have you done?! Damion rolled just in time for the dragon to swipe at him, but a tiny black fox jumped between the dragon and damion. Prometheus stopped short, Sinnah. You’re alive…

The tiny fox barked then ran over to Damion winding through his legs.

Sinnah has vouched for your innocence but you are not without fault, Damion. I curse you to eternal youth, but the moment you leave my side, all the time you have lived will draw you in to your death. You are now the keeper of the Grimoire of the Mother and by your oath, you will not find rest until Angrboda is vanquished and this terrible deed is avenged.

“I swear…” Damion whispered, knowing in his heart of hearts that the dragon spoke the truth.

The Pacific Northwest

America

The 20st century

The raven haired man flipped through the latest possible candidates. It had been nearly a thousand years and according to his research and calculations, it would be before the turn of the next century that the children he had been waiting for would be born. One came from a family of powerful Hawiian chiefs with close ties to the covens of the Motherland. A ripple passed through the world and Damion knew that the first of the two had just been born. The time was close at hand, and it was time for the Master of the Raven to find his own apprentice. Maybe someone close to the first Sister.

It would be many years before he would meet them, he knew that, but for the first time in a milenia, Damion remembered what it was like to have hope. Hope that he would be able to free his sister from her prison and hope that he could avenge the people he loved and had almost forgotten.

“Well I guess it’s time to go back to teaching.” He rose, and left the library he was inhabiting a large reddish brown hound following close behind. If one looked close enough they might see the ram horns and wings just barely concealed from sight, “I think I’m ready to get back into the world, what do you think Pom?” The dragon snorted.

As long as you feed me steak every night.

“Deal. Sorry in advance for the inconvenience, old friend.”

Let’s just not mess this up again shall we?

“I wouldn’t dare, Prometheus, I wouldn’t dare.”