Bridge of Mist and Fog
Other Books by Nikki Broadwell
Bridge of Mist and Fog
Nikki Broadwell
Airmid Publishing
Tucson, Arizona
Kindle edition
Bridge of Mist and Fog - Copyright © 2015. Nikki Broadwell
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and ideas presented here are products of the author’s imagination.
Acknowledgements:
Thank you to our government for providing so much fodder to work with.
Dedication:
To my grandchildren
~You have to know what is lost in order to find it again~
1
Fell, 2468
Fehin loosened his hold on the dragon’s neck and slid off, landing with a soft thud on the damp ground. Judging from the dense tropical forest surrounding him the dragon had brought them close to the former village of Fell. The land of Far Isle hadn’t changed much in the eight years since Fehin had been gone. Why the dragon had brought him here to this particular spot was a mystery, but Aki was smart and always had reasons for what he did.
He left Aki to forage and moved through the thick underbrush wondering what he might find. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his half-brother, Wolf, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a flat rock.
“Hello,” Wolf said, his lips rising in his version of a smile.
Fehin had a moment of panic. Wolf was younger and yet twice as big. Dark stubble accentuated his jutting chin and the malevolent expression in his eyes was one Fehin would never share. The only features they had in common were pale skin and black hair, which came from their Scottish heritage on their father’s side. The last time he’d seen Wolf was right before his half-brother was stripped of his powers and banished to the Norse world of Svartalfheim, a cold and barren world where dark dwarves worked beneath the ground mining and crafting swords. They were dangerous creatures and wouldn’t hesitate to kill a human being. He hadn’t thought of Wolf for years, assuming he was dead along with their father and Wolf’s mother, Ella, who had been confined there at the same time. And yet here he was.
Fehin and Wolf shared a sorcerer father, Brandubh, but Wolf’s mother, Ella, was a sorceress as well, and because of this Wolf had inherited too much magic—and, unfortunately, a psychopathic nature to go along with it.
“How did you get here?” Fehin asked, forcing himself to step forward.
Wolf waved his hand dismissively. “That stupid Norn should have known I couldn’t be contained forever.”
Fehin breathed deeply to slow his racing heart before lowering himself onto the rock next to his brother. He deflected the waves of negativity coming from Wolf and then put up a shield of white light. “How’d you know I was coming?”
Wolf looked down and then raked his heavy hair off his forehead, a habit he’d picked up from their father. “It doesn’t matter how far apart we are, Fehin, I can always read your thoughts. And by the way, I know all about Thule.”
Fehin paled. Thule was secret. No one knew anything about the island he’d conjured except the Norse gods and those who lived there. They’d been living in peace for eight years now. This had to be a bluff and so he decided not to respond.
Several moments went by before Wolf finally admitted, “Well, I know the name, but I don’t know where it is.”
Fehin closed out any thoughts of Thule. Reading minds was a gift they’d both inherited from their father, and right now Wolf was probing his. Even the thought of Wolf finding the island made Fehin’s blood run cold.
“I need your help.”
Wolf’s beseeching expression was very out of character and Fehin raised his eyebrows. Was it possible Wolf had escaped his prison without sorcery?
“I want to go to the Otherworld but I can’t get there without your boat.”
“
Skidbladnir
doesn’t belong to me.”
“But you can sail her, right?”
Skidbladnir
was a magical Viking long ship belonging to Fehin’s mother, Gertrude. The boat had originally been a smaller sailboat named
Gypsy,
but Wolf had burned that one to the ground trying to kill Ella and Brandubh who were on board at the time.
Skidbladnir
could travel through time just as
Gypsy
had, but Fehin had never considered sailing her alone. “Why do you want to go to the Otherworld? It’s in the past.”
“I know
when
it is,” Wolf snapped. “I have business there. Are you such a momma’s boy that you can’t take her on a sail by yourself?”
Fehin didn’t rise to the bait even though his cheeks grew hot. “I could, but I won’t.”
Wolf’s narrowed eyes grew dark as he stared at Fehin and a moment later he got up and walked away. Fehin watched him disappear into the forest, and then let out his held breath. Wolf made him more nervous than anyone he’d ever encountered. And why Wolf would want to go to the Otherworld was a complete mystery.
Fehin had heard tales of the mystical Otherworld from his mother. People she knew had pulled the place back from the brink of destruction. Unfortunately it was Fehin’s father who had instigated the war to begin with. But then again Fehin wouldn’t be on the earth if his mother and Brandubh hadn’t met during that terrible time.
Peace had prevailed there ever since. Was something happening that he should know about? With that question an image arrived in his mind: a shimmering sun-drenched meadow full of wildflowers, a wide rushing river lined with rushes and cattails and on the hill behind it, a rustic cottage. There was a girl standing at the front door, a bright halo of hair surrounding her heart-shaped face, and her wide eyes were focused on him. But that was impossible. He frowned and shook his head to clear the vision. The thought of Wolf anywhere near her gave him a very bad feeling. Who was she?
2
The Otherworld, 2021
“What is the name of that island?” Airy Fitzhugh’s slender finger pointed into the distance, sunlight sparkling off the large moonstone ring she had just been given for her upcoming birthday. The stone glowed for a moment, subsiding into its normal pearl gray as she lowered her hand. It was a bright day and she and MacCuill were walking along the beach discussing various topics the druid had picked for her edification.
MacCuill squinted, holding a hand over his eyes to shade the sun. “I don’t see anything.”
Airy swung her gaze toward his. “You don’t
see t
hat?”
The druid shook his head. “I see dark water and a light mist in the far distance.”
“It’s in the mist. It’s right there!” Airy slanted a puzzled look his way. How could he not see it? He was a druid and all knowing.
He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you have some things to teach me as well, Airy.”
That statement did nothing to reassure her. MacCuill was her mentor, instructing her about her heritage and what she might become once she was of age. She came from a long line of witches with varying abilities ranging from seeing into the future to moving through the ether. But MacCuill was really old and his powers were way beyond anything she would ever have. “But why can I see it and you can’t?”
“I have no answer for you. Perhaps your mother can come up with an explanation.”
“I’m sure this is the first time I’ve spotted it. That’s strange, isn’t it?”
MacCuill nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It could be significant.”
Airy scrunched her eyebrows together and then absentmindedly worked her hair into a thick braid. When she focused on the island again she had a funny feeling in her chest.
MacCuill had recently told her about some kind of bad energy that had either arrived or was going to arrive; she was distracted easily and sometimes didn’t pay close enough attention. The main thing she remembered was that he seemed disturbed by what it might signify. From what she’d heard over the years this was how the war fifteen years ago had begun. Could the island be the start of another horrible conflict?
“Enough for today,” MacCuill said a few minutes later, stopping to face her. “Give your mother my love. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He gave her a fatherly pat on the head and then walked away, his long robe swinging with each step he took. She’d never had the nerve to ask him how old he was—he must be in his mid-hundreds by now.
Airy’s gaze was on her feet as she crossed the bridge over the river and headed toward the cottage at the top of the hill. She barely noticed the ducks along the edge of the water until their quacking drew her attention. “What’s going on?” she asked. Instinctively she knew that one of them had lost several newly hatched ducklings to the fox that denned along the bank.
“I’m sorry,” she said, kneeling down to take a closer look. The female was distraught, swimming in ever-widening circles and the male seemed equally upset, his head swiveling from side to side as if watching for the fox. “He has to eat too,” she whispered, trying to console them, but it did no good.
Airy left the ducks and headed across the meadow filled with late summer wild flowers. Life was cruel sometimes.
Facet, her pony, whinnied when he saw her and then trotted over to the fence for his treat. “You are such a beggar,” she scolded, giving him the carrot she’d stowed in her pocket. Argyll, her father’s huge piebald, lifted his head but chose to stick with the grass he was munching on. He was old now and less apt to make an effort for such things.
The house seemed unusually quiet for this time of day and Airy felt a shiver of apprehension. But then she heard a yell from her brother and her mother’s high-pitched reprimand. She followed the flagstone path around the side of the house spying them hard at work in the vegetable patch.
“There you are,” her mother called, standing up to wipe the sweat from her forehead and leaving a streak of mud behind. “The chives are waiting.”
Maeve was flushed, bright red hair pulling free of the kerchief she’d tied over it. As soon as Airy saw her she wanted to blurt out all her fears, but instead she shooed the thoughts away. Strange island or not, sixteen was too old to be acting like a baby. “Do I need to weed or pick?”
“A little of both,” her father called from a large patch of asparagus. He had on a straw hat that shaded his hazel eyes, a plaid shirt unbuttoned over his cotton T-shirt. Beside him her brother Kenneth played in the dirt, getting mud all over his face and clothes. She shook her head in irritation. As usual he played while everyone else worked. In her opinion he was a spoiled brat.
Airy stepped into the patch of chives and bent down toward the little weeds that threaded through them. As she pulled them out she asked their forgiveness for this act of cruelty. Her mother had warned her about her overactive imagination but she was sure she heard their tiny cries. She gently laid them by the weed pile, pressing their roots into the ground—maybe they could re-root here.