4
Asgard
Bernard took a step toward the bridge but stopped and half-turned to Heimdall. “Alva mentioned her people lived in Asgard, so why are we having to take the Bifröst?”
The gatekeeper nodded. “The young Huldra is right, but not. Queen Isabel’s kingdom is a world within a world—in Asgard, yet not. I’m afraid the only way for you to reach the castle is from the bridge. Only a Huldra has the magic to teleport to and from the Huldra kingdom. Anyone who wishes to try may find themselves in the queen’s dungeon.” His face twisted in a knowing sneer. “Oh, and don’t forget the Huldra’s diet. You would be quite a tasty treat.”
Bernard’s brows rose and he nodded. “Riiight.” He turned to the two women who’d brought him there. “Well, better get moving on the Bifröst then, shall we?” Laying his hands on the smalls of their backs, he practically pushed them onto the bridge as Freyja chuckled.
“So, how does this thing work?” he asked, his gaze on the surface underfoot. He scraped the toe of his boot over the top, which was as slick as ice. Leaning forward, he touched the bridge. Instantly, a fiery burn singed his fingertips. Jerking his hand away, he stared at the skin, which was blue, not red. “I’m confused...” He glanced at Freyja. “I thought it burned my fingers, but why are my fingers blue and frozen? What in all that’s holy is this bridge made of?”
“Has nothing to do with being holy, but no one knows what it’s made of,” Heimdall answered behind him. Bernard glanced at the gatekeeper, pressing his lips together as Heimdall continued. “I understand it to be both fire and ice. The variety of colors you see is either a chemical reaction or a magical one. No one has ever cared to find out. The bridge is a means to an end and gives us the ability to transport to where we are most needed.”
Bernard lifted a brow. “That’s the best non-answer I think I’ve ever heard.” He felt a hand on his arm and glanced down to see Aleksandra staring up at him.
“Some things just are and shouldn’t be questioned. Alva needs us.” She continued to stare at him for a few seconds more, then dropped her hand back to her side and proceeded to walk after Freyja, who was already a good distance ahead of them on the bridge.
“She is right, dróttseti. The Huldra requires your strength.” Heimdall stepped between the tall golden doors, his large form disappearing into the dimly lit control room.
Bernard turned and hurried after the two women, his gaze moving from their retreating figures to the glistening bridge beneath him. He loved the crystalline substance, especially when the light caught the brilliant colors seemingly trapped within. He could almost hear the individual tones from each shade as they came together in a beautiful symphony.
His wife had always teased him about his ability to hear music in just about anything. He couldn’t help it. Colors made him happy. Music soothed his soul, although he had never told anyone that other than his wife. In the darkest hours of the war, he had turned to the music playing in his head. The crescendos and decrescendos of the chords allowed him to continue to live after his family’s death.
“Bernard, hurry!” Freyja called, and he took off at a quick jog, catching up to them as they seemed to step off into space. A bodiless hand reached for him, the long fingernails painted a bright purple, and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him through the portal.
A jolt passed through him, then his insides buzzed like angry bees as his skin crawled. Suddenly, he landed on a hard surface. Under his boots, dark-green blades of grass poked up around the brown leather. They’d arrived in the middle of a thick forest. Tall bushes grew between the broad tree trunks, filling even the smallest space, and seemed to trap them.
Freyja laid a purple-tipped finger against her pursed lips. Her head tilted to one side and her gaze grew distant. Her head tilted to one side and her gaze grew distant, as if she could hear something he couldn’t. Concentrating, he picked out the individual sounds of the surrounding forest but only heard the normal scurrying of small animals and the birds chirping overhead.
Aleksandra raised her delicate black eyebrows. When the goddess nodded, the Night Witch exhaled. “For a moment there, I rememberedhow it felt during the war when the werewolves appeared and surrounded Jakob and me. Not a pleasant memory.”
“Yes, my dear, but you handled it amazingly well,” Freyja said. “You snared the handsome hero too. A win-win in my book.” She waggled her eyebrows and laughed at Aleksandra’s horrified expression. “You are so prim and proper!”
Aleksandra scowled, but the pink blush covering her cheeks belied the mock anger. “Private. I am very private. There’s a difference. Now, why are we just standing here?”
Freyja waved one arm, and two large bushes in front of them separated and moved away from each other, showing a small path between them. “Come. The castle is this way.” She stopped between the plants. “I must warn you to keep silent.” Her gaze speared Bernard’s. “Especially you. A male voice this close to their queen would not be a good thing. I don’t know if I could save you. Keep your eyes open and pay attention to anything around you that seems off. Rely on all your senses, not just your eyesight.”
Taking the goddess’s warning to heart, neither of them spoke, only nodded. Freyja turned and made her way through the forest, saplings and bushes all moving out of her way. They stopped at the edge of the trees and stared at the Huldra castle.
Bernard had never seen such a sight. Oh, he had traveled to many ancient places, but this reminded him most of Petra in Jordan. The people there had carved many buildings—a treasury, tombs, temples, and even an amphitheater—into the sides of the red-colored sandstone. His gaze moved over the outer facade of the castle, which had been carved into individual blocks, much like European castles. There were even a couple of turrets tucked into the mountainside, just beneath the summit.
So many windows sectioned the castle’s face, he lost count after twenty-five, but it was the large central window that drew his eye. It was a magnificent glass-leaded rose positioned above the ancient-looking wooden doors, which he assumed would lead them into the castle. The artwork was exquisite. So many shades of red and green pieced together to form a beautiful bloom. A light glittering behind it gave the flower an ethereal glow.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” a female voice said behind them.
Bernard whirled around to see a young Huldra who uncannily resembled Alva. The girl had the same silvery-white hair and fair skin as his partner, but her eyes were several shades darker, more resembling an emerald. “And you are?” he asked in a soft, yet sharp, tone.
The young girl dropped in a slight curtsy with an engaging grin. “My name is Ingrid.”
“Ah, I thought I recognized you, my dear.” Freyja smiled. “Alva talked about you all the time. You are her youngest sister, correct?”
The girl nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She stared at her only a moment before her pretty eyes widened. “You are Freyja!”
The goddess chuckled. “I am. Your mother sent me a missive, and I have come at her request. Is she available?”
“For you, my lady, she is most definitely available. Please,” she said, hurrying to the door. “Follow me.” She laid her hand over the slight crack between the two doors, which silently swung open.
As Bernard stepped over the threshold, he heard a low buzzing in his ears and a tug on his body, as if he’d crossed through an invisible shield of some kind. With a forceful push, he thrust himself through the opening.