A Dragon's Rising (The Dragon Series: Origins Book 1) Read online

  The horn blew announcing Odin’s arrival.

  “I should get going, my prince.” Kara bowed, then retreated as Odin galloped up on Sleipnir’s back.

  Sleipnir was still the fastest horse in all of Asgard. Eight legs could give quite the advantage, though.

  “Returning from Helheim, Father?”

  “Aye, but more than that, I’ve talked with Lady Hel and she is content. She has a lot to learn for this position.”

  “And how has Loki handled this?”

  Odin waved his hand. “Let us not talk about that now, but more of you. Something worries you, son.” Odin dismounted from the gray horse, walked to his side, and clasped Baldr on his shoulder.

  His rich cloak hung over his muscular frame, with his light armor peeking from beneath. Although the All-Father was older than almost anyone else present, it wasn’t apparent in his appearance, except for white shoulder-length hair. A gold eyepatch covered his left eye, which he’d given up for knowledge, while his uncovered eye was as bright as the sun. He coveted knowledge and logic.

  Everything came with a price.

  Baldr remained silent. Surely his father already knew.

  “You mustn’t behave older than your years. Your eldest brother, Thor, has found his way, and you, too, will walk toward your own destiny.”

  Time was relative. Baldr had long passed maturation, but still hadn’t quite found his place.

  “Has Mother spoken to you?”

  Odin nodded. “Aye, she is more than concerned as the Norns attempt to play us all like game pieces, but ultimately we are responsible for our destinies. Come, there is something you must see.”

  Baldr followed his father away from the noise of war, and back into Valhalla, the hall of the heroic dead. They passed by the paintings that depicted all of the battles where Odin had hand-picked his chosen soldiers, and headed farther down the hallway, also bypassing the throne room with its massive columns and high ceiling; they moved back to his father’s private room, one he’d never been allowed to enter.

  “What is this place?”

  “It is the place where I learn the truth without discussion or input. Although I rule, I do so knowing full well the consequences of my actions.”

  “You foresee what I shall do, then?” Baldr asked.

  Odin frowned and ushered Baldr down into a seat. “The truth is something you must see for yourself, as the path you choose will have dire consequences for us all. However, you only see a sliver, as that is what the Norns seek to distract you with.”

  Odin placed a bowl of water filled from Mim’s well, the well of knowledge, before him. “Now, place your face into its depths.”

  Baldr, took a deep breath, his eyes wide, and submerged his face into the silver ceremonial bowl. Cold water, colder than anything he’d ever felt, sent shivers throughout his entire body. Once done, the iciness gave way, and a vision formed of intense fire.

  Flames surrounded him as far as he could see.

  He glanced heavenward. A great fire poured over the city by large, as a scaly beast roared. But the roar wasn’t one of anger, but pain, grief even. He could understand it, and recognized it from his dreams. She was the dragon.

  His mother’s face came into focus as she stared on, and spoke with Kara. “It has been ordered that the dragons will be shut away in a new realm, but the eggs, we must save. Baldr would not want anything to happen to his children. Make haste and speak with Heimdall so that I may cross the bridge to Midgard.”

  Baldr came up gasping from the water. “I shall perish?”

  “We all shall perish one day, son, but that is not what you should take away from this vision. Your time is not yet here. You have neither children nor a wife. All that you have is a strange sense of foreboding. Instead of worrying, you should travel with your brother more, get involved in keeping us safe from immediate threats. What you worry about is something that you cannot change.”

  Both of his parents were gifted with sight. And although Odin sought to comfort him with this knowledge, it didn’t diminish the rising desire to learn more about this woman. Come what may, she must be worth going to battle for.

  “Whatever shall come, son, we shall find a way to handle it.”

  “And what of Mother?” Baldr asked. “Surely, she, too, will wish to get involved.”

  “You let me handle her. Since you are her son, she will do anything and everything to keep you safe, even stop you from growing up.”

  Baldr was a fully-grown man, but in his parents’ eyes, his reaching maturation didn’t negate his being their son.

  Instead, he attempted not to grumble. Sure, they didn’t treat Thor so, but then again, Thor was not prophesied to be the catalyst for Ragnarok, the war to end all wars.

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Yes, I know, and when the time comes, you will truly embrace what it means to be the son of Odin; it is not only the light which you must seek, but the fury that propels it. To understand what it means to be a god, you must fight for your birthright. Then and only then, will you be able to embrace it.”

  Baldr clenched his jaw, causing it to tick. He’d never had a reason to fight. It looked like the Norns were now giving him one—and even if they didn’t—she had long, flowing red hair that reminded him of burning embers.

  In for a penny, in for a pound.

  “I’d suggest that you start sharpening your sword.”

  In the brilliant haze of slumber, the nightly apparition called to him, showing Baldr snippets of what was to come.

  He knew when he closed his eyes, the woman who’d walked through his dreams nightly would reappear—each adventure different, each exchange more intimate than the last.

  He lacked nothing, but rest.

  The dream pulled him deeper as he tossed and turned in his enormous bed, covered with warm pelts and a pillow stuffed with the best feathers.

  A loud screech reverberated across the battlefield, as giants on horseback charged the gathered army of the gods, their swords ready, their bows strung, and the approaching army’s chainmail rattled and clinked.

  Mist covered the knolled field, as the sun’s rays began their ascent. The morning dew hung on the grass blades, waiting to be trampled underfoot.

  This was no normal battle of trespasses, but for their lives, home, and kin.

  Odin’s Valhallan soldiers beat on their shields with the pommel of their swords, followed by deep, gruff grunts. The Valkyrie chanted in unison and dragons, high above, looked down from the mountains covered in mist and shadows.

  Dragons surrounded Baldr in all shapes and sizes, their beauty and strength a heartbeat away. Hundreds deep, they rested on the mountainside, ready to defend the golden city of the gods, Asgard, from the encroaching giant attack.

  And on the mountaintop, the winds whispered as they did before every battle.

  Home.

  Sunlight refracted off the bright swords and armor below; the thunderous sound of death approached.

  “There, my beloved,” Nanna said, pointing to the approaching garrison of giants, too close to the grand Asgard, which rested to the west of Dragons’ Mountain. The wind whipped her red hair around her heart-shaped face.

  The river of Iving separated Jötunheim from Asgard, and the giants pushed that boundary as often as they could, a power struggle that never ended.

  “You mustn’t fight today, dear wife,” Baldr pled. “We’ve always fought the giants and won.”

  The giants weren’t necessarily larger than them in stature, but that was relative—they could transform, shapeshift into beasts, change their sizes, and always seemed to be a race bent on burning down Asgard, and any other habitable place. That was not to say that the Aesir hated all jötunn giants, for most of the gods carried their blood.

  “Such is unheard of. We must fight to protect this peaceful realm or perish trying,” Nanna said, and attempted to focus on the parlay happening on the field below, as Thor, the god of Thunder, rushed forward to pu
mmel all in his wake. “Our biggest problem is Minerva. She will never let you have peace and will spark the war of the gods. I will be her excuse for the pantheons to clash, and the gods to fight for and against each other.”

  Baldr shook his head. “We must not be afraid of that which might come. She means nothing to me. Plus, Thor can do this without you. Look, lightning sizzles across the sky. Mjolnir, Thor’s mighty hammer, must be in action.”

  “We secure our future by knowing our place, dear husband. We are the protectors of Asgard. Now, we must only await Thor’s signal.”

  “The god of Thunder, and the hero of Asgard, will not need your help,” Baldr countered.

  “I will do my part to earn my keep. I am no one’s thing to be owned.”

  “I don’t own you, Nanna.” To him, she was all that he needed.

  “I am the daughter of Hannibal Barca, royal in my own right. I will not bow or break.” She pulled back her shoulders and gripped her sword’s handle even tighter.

  Freedom: That seed stayed in Baldr’s heart and festered. Battle was part of the comfort, the blanket he wore, and when blood would flow, and he caused it, his sword’s blade covered in its slickness, then did he, too, know that his time and life had meaning.

  “Now is not the time to talk about this. The battle must begin, ”Baldr said.

  Baldr cupped her heart-shaped face in his hands. “Your beauty is what caught my attention, but it is your bravery that kept it. If you must fight, then do so, my queen. As you are the queen of the dragons.”

  The dragons.

  Blood of his blood, and hers, as passed down through the ages, and blood of him, which intermingled to create mighty empowered beings, who shifted in appearance at will. But there were those who received his blood who were unable to shift, which one day might cause a deep divide.

  Nanna’s nearness warmed him. Surely now, the dragon fire welled up in her chest, until she shifted from a goddess to a wondrous beast.

  She uttered her command, and a part of the grand legion of their elite fighting force raced forward and leapt off the mountain’s cliff.

  The legion of dragons flew high above the gathering armies below. Blood would ooze. Fire would cleanse the plague of the giants’ attack.

  With one last nudge of her spiked head, she dashed toward the cliff’s edge and jumped.

  Panting, he awoke from his nightly dream. Again, with these winged beasts, and the woman. Every night she appeared but at least this time she had a name: Nanna.

  Now, he just needed to find her.

  Chapter 2

  Nanna, Carthage, 183 BC

  Annôn “Nanna” Barca cupped the cool crisp water in her hands and rubbed it over her face and neck. Today’s practice with Carthalo was more than just tiring. Despite her fitful sleep, she’d awoken at dawn, said her daily prayers, and headed to the other part of the villa where her children waited—all twenty of them, ranging in age from two to seven.

  Unlike many in the city, whenever she found an orphan on the streets, she did everything she could to bring them into her fold. No child deserved less.

  And as the daughter of Hannibal the Great, that duty was left to her. She wasn’t his heir apparent, and she didn’t have the honor of taking over the throne or power once he headed off to fight the Romans with his elephants, instead, she, like most females, had to remain behind and find a way to survive.

  There was commotion at the front of the villa, followed by the sound of sandals sliding against the limestone floor.

  “Annôn, Annôn,” a young boy called out, and she turned to see Gisgo, one of her orphaned children. He was only seven, but she’d watched him grow and become so much more over the past five years. Even more, she could tell by the lilt in his voice that something was wrong.

  “It’s the children, the others.” His eyes darted left and right, and she tried to smooth back the limp hair on his sweaty brow. He panted, gulping down air, and she took in his disheveled appearance.

  She knelt down, becoming eye level with him. “What happened, Gisgo?” she asked.

  “We were all playing in the marketplace after completing our daily tasks, and that is when the high priests came with sweets.”

  “Sweets?”

  “Yes, the ones that you can only get at the temple.”

  Annôn nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “And I turned my head, then he gave a signal. Others came, and they grabbed all of the children. I ran back here as fast as I could.”

  Why would the high priest want the children? she wondered. The orphans, her orphans, and family, had long been accepted and recognized as part of her tribe and kin, and under her protection. Surely, the priest would not seek to anger the gods by attacking one of the most beloved families.

  “Maybe they got lost?” she offered instead. “Today is market day and things can be confusing.”

  The child shook his head. “No, no, they were taken. I tried to follow for a while, and I watched the high priests, and the temple priests lead the children into the temple courtyard, then order the temple guards to not allow anyone in.”

  Gisgo began to cry. Large tears rolled down his face. “I couldn’t protect them.”

  She pulled him into her embrace. “You did the right thing by coming to me. I shall handle it. Please, now head with Yzebel, and she will make you a snack. You are not to worry, dear son.” She kissed the top of his head and released him.

  Once he was out of her sight, she called forth her men. These were the great men who’d been by her side for ages, who she trusted above all others, and who her father had trusted to leave behind for his family’s protection. “Carthalo, Eshmunazar, Fierelus, grab your weapons. We must go and get the children.”

  Carthalo furrowed his brow, setting his face into deep wrinkles. He sheathed his sword. “The rumors are true,” he began.

  “Rumors?” Annôn asked.

  “Yes, I didn’t wish to worry you. At the temple mount, prior to the last market day, Eshmunazar and I were gathering statuettes for Fierelus; you know how superstitious he is. And we heard the women gossiping as they do. They spoke of how the high priests were once again petitioning the gods and whispering about reinstating molk-sacrifice—sacrifice by fire, and how the animals being consumed in the sacrificial fire were not enough, as our Navy has been attacked, again, by the Romans. The Romans grow ever bolder.”

  Children hadn’t been sacrificed in generations, outlawed by chief magistrates, and according to the declarations by the high priests, also by the gods. Yet, again, here they were considering the worst of options.

  “What do we have to worry about?” Annôn asked. “When it comes to sea battles, we are fearless on water and our ships will not sink.”

  “But it is said that the Romans will brave the waters and land on our coast, and when they do, we must be ready.”

  “So, these sacrifices are to keep us safe?” Annôn cinched the longsword belt around her waist, fitting it over the small of her back, and pulling the tail of the belt through to tie it securely. “Do you truly believe that Melqart will respond to such bloodshed, when he has not responded before? The Romans have attempted for years to thwart our control. After all, aren’t they complaining of us rising too quickly despite the most recent defeat?”

  Carthalo spat on the ground at the mention of the disgrace of their loss with the Second Punic war, and what it had cost them, even more than Rome’s levy. “But the high priest says that Melqart has turned his back on us. We must gain his favor once again,” Carthalo said.

  “By harming children? If this is so, then we deserve to perish.” Annôn pushed passed Carthalo. “Come, we need only head to the temple and retrieve them. Surely, this is only some sort of misunderstanding, as that has happened previously.”

  “Then Annôn, we must hurry before they begin to destroy the only good we have going for us in this place.”

  Chapter 3

  Freyja

  Raging panic pounded through her. The godd
ess Freyja bolted upright, panting as the images from her nightmare once again dispersed, yet leaving behind the bitter stench of blooming carrion flowers and rotting flesh.

  Death, it was something that all face, even the gods, but still, to watch her own child perish… She panted while her body trembled from fear’s cold grip. Her arms prickled with fresh goosebumps, and her flesh coated in sweat. She’d agonized over only a few things during the course of her existence, but murder? Baldr would be murdered? She’d never even considered murder an option. Why would anyone wish to kill her beloved son?

  “I must save him,” she whispered and hopped out of the large bed she shared with her sleeping mate, Odin.

  Odin had rested by her side instead of in his own hall, as was custom. It was hard to rule, when only the elite in Midgard wish to offer him praise, while the everyday man exalted the heroic Thor. She knew that it could be a burr under his saddle to even mention this, but those comparisons between him and Thor might be enough to propel him to honor her request to have all of creation swear to leave her beloved Baldr unharmed.

  She pushed against Odin’s wide and naked shoulder. “What do you wish of me this morning, wife?” Odin gruffly asked.

  He seemed to be in a morning muffle mood—at least that would have been so, if he ever truly slept. Even now, he pretended and most likely only closed his eyes to think and wonder about time and the like. If he was a weaker god, it would have driven him to insanity. But did the insane ever truly know that they had lost their hold on reality?

  “I must speak with the Norns,” Freyja said. “The dreams are back, and I must know what they have carved out for him, what fate they have planned for our son.”

  A mother’s love wasn’t something that ended after months of carrying a babe in the womb. It continued through first steps, first words, first love, and heartbreak. It continued even when the child no longer required the mother’s oversight. And until either one passed away, it would always continue—every night, every breath, and in every thought—motherhood and the need to protect her son.