With a shudder reaching deep to her core, Cordelia swept her searching gaze around the abandoned building, waiting for the devastating sight of an enormous serpent who circled even the earth, but found only a night halfway aged.
The only snake there was perched upon her wrist, and it nagged her again with urgency, “Let us not tarry, mistress. When the Serpent Lord and the Dark Master await, you like to anger them not.”
She stiffened. “The Dark Master? Even he who grants powers and is the master of your wicked lord?”
“Even so. Take you some water.”
She dreaded it and still got up. If those powerful devils awaited then she had little choice but to come to them. Even her free will at the moment had been given as a small mercy, which she was unsure could not be revoked at any moment.
So she stole a waterskin from the packs and away from the wholesome fire into the dark. The snake instructed her to the back of the house, where still remained a standing staircase leading to the second floor of the right wing. Frowning, she doubted the World Serpent could be found atop a flimsy building as this. And yet with grumbles she scaled the stairs.
The storm clouds which had gathered since Cordelia’s arrival in this world had mostly dispersed when she was asleep. And now the silver light of a full moon gently illuminated the second floor. There was a chamber mostly intact though its roof had been removed by the elements, allowing the moonlight to bounce on the strewing bricks and broken beams long retired from their functions. Nor was there any furniture standing. But in a corner, hidden behind the rotten door leading into the room, she found a tall silver mirror. Once it must have been used by some lady or gentleman to measure their beauty and fashion, but now it stood broken, years of dust covering its unasked reflections of the world.
Using the waterskin, Cordelia washed away the grime and stains on the blemished surface then stood back. For the first time since the dark realm of the World Serpent, she beheld her own visage.
Little need there was to point out the feyness in her accursed beauty, that otherworldly glow sought only by poets who scorn conventional beauty for such creatures of dreams and visions. It was also a very human thing, for she was made to lure humans. And yet in her eyes the amaranthine tint was aught but mortal, tantalizing like siren voice from the wild maelstroms of dark irises, glinted with sublimity - for which the stern sailors and pilots of one’s soul would give up their charges and allow their craft to disastrously veer into the swirling currents from whence no survivors ever emerged. Even the mundane moonlight when draped across the jet-black tresses took on an ethereal aspect, as though from some elven dreams where the gleaming gods and goddesses danced, a lovely daughter had been sent thus for mortal eyes for worship in mortals’ dreams.
But if there could ever be a fault in these features, one intuited the want of reciprocation, nor the comforting bosom of returned affection. An existence contrary to pure and gladdening love, being an allure to risk and endanger oneself - risk and plunge recklessly even knowing when the corner of these lovely lips curled they portend an ill intent.
And for Cordelia who could never see any beauty worth admiring in her own visage, she saw in her reflection a lurking evil and nothing else. So revolting, she had to turn from the image laced with malice, scarce able to bear the self-disgust recalled in her chest like a festered wound, and, in that moment, loathed it so much she swore off mirrors and would have fled.
She could not: something had seized hard upon her wrist.
With a startled cry of horror, she realized: that bracelet which hugged her right wrist and where lurked her familiar Mastema was not to be found on her reflection's. And it was this hand, its right, that had seized her. It pulled her forward with irresistible strength. And on the evil face there flashed a grin.
She passed right through the mirror
For that passing moment she was blinded to everything. To the world she had left behind, to whatever horror she had entered into. The face she thought a reflection was close upon her, encompassing everything with an unaltering smile of malice. And when it released her, she staggered back, and found the world dark. Numerous portals provided ghastly lighting on both sides of a corridor of sorts, as though she stood in a long unlit colonnade flanked on both sides by gardens in the cold hues of twilight. Yet beyond these portals there was not a thing to be seen but a flickering and shapeless glow. Even behind her, one such shining portal stood coldly.
Her reflection stood before her, grinning wide and curious, and unlike her, carried an air of authority and mocking conceit.
Mastema inclined its tiny head. “Greetings, my lord.”
“You are Jormungandr!” she said, drawing her breath.
“Be not so merry, servant, we are but a while and a day parted. Ah well, I welcome thee to the Isle of Avalon.” The World Serpent broadened a smile that went almost too wide. “But what sorry garb is this! How am I to present myself so to my people?” With the flick of a finger, the tattered skirt and bodice of her reflection turned into a magnificent dress of deep blue-black, glinting with a thousand tiny stars down its length. Yet so dark the dress grew towards its hem it appeared to become one with the pitch black floor beneath. “Now this is better. I rather like this appearance.” With another flick, her hair gathered into a high and dignified bun, as opposed to Cordelia’s loose tresses. Eyes gleaming with satisfaction, the Serpent turned and marched down the hallway.
“You near had me killed!” Cordelia rushed after the fey lord’s long strides, protesting. “Me and the Maiden!”
“Watch you your tongue, servant. ‘Tis presumptuous of you to accuse I the mistress of those gross creatures!”
“Whose then?” She persisted, wondering how the reflection could make such long strides while only as tall as herself. “Are you not lord of the feys?”
“But one of many. Girl, you presume much for one so ignorant of our ways. But the night’s function is to amend this shortcoming of yours, so who am I to complain?”
“How so? Wait! Where are you going? What is this place? I’m sick of all this! Say what you have to say and let me be gone!”
“Are you daft? Not yet.”
They had come to the end of the hallway where a tall door dimly flushed with the dark walls, if walls indeed were these dark patches between portals. Its intricate reliefs she could barely discern, but no sensible images they were to mortal eyes.
“The game is in preparation,” the Serpent smiled with Cordelia’s cruel lips, “Your limited mind shall not fathom the better part of it should it be put in your crude tongue.” She placed a hand on the door. “So keep your peace, and watch how the play unfolds.”
The Serpent pushed, and by what preternatural might behind these dainty arms, the heavy doors flung open as though stormed by a battering ram.
‘Twas less a hall than a verdant garden, this hall, floored and surrounded from all sides with ivy-covered walls, lush with ancient and enormous trunks for columns. And the myriad of these bark-covered columns scattered across the place yet supported no ceiling but a wide starry sky. No candles there were but the stars and moon above which shone far brighter than those of earth. And suffusing over all was that sourceless light eerie as in the World Serpent’s plane, arisen as though from the glowing presences of the unearthly creatures gathered therein.
Hundreds of faces turned to the door. Demons - Cordelia saw - winged and furred and scaled, mingling with creatures somewhat humans or entirely not. And these were not the dark, shapeless, and uncivilized things she had bitterly fought some hours before, but in tuxedos and dresses and polite gowns were those of a more acquainted manner to humans. While the ones of wilder appearances: eagle-headed, bat-winged, molting-lava skinned,... still maintained a rather tamed demeanor at once civil and distant. The impression was that of a banquet: revelry seen in the curious substance filling dainty glasses, though of food there was none.
But that which had caused the greatest apprehension, beyond this company of beastly appearances, was the absence of one thing one expected in such a setting: sounds. The hall was as silent as a soundless dream when Jormungandr in all her careless beauty marched in. At her heels, Cordelia shrunk like a frightened child.
Yet as soon as some unseen hand slammed shut the door behind them, noises roused in sudden panic. Conversations in guttural or high-pitched or exotic human tongues resumed or started anew regarding the rude entrance. And Cordelia tasted the open malice in the air, of whispers and chatters aimed unapprovingly towards the newcomers. They were expected, but of a certainty not liked.
The Serpent Lord paid scant heed to all this. She marched further in with unerring steps, and the guests made way, for fright or or awe of her regal bearings. And she ascended to what seemed a large stage made of a queer material of somber black, where currently stood a man and a woman, or creatures who bore resemblance to man.
At the edge of this stage Cordelia halted, daring not to follow the Serpent into the spotlight of an event that augured nothing good.
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“Merry!” announced she now to others on stage. “How now? Merry, I say! ‘Tis the night for merry unless I am sorely mistaken! Why frown you so? What Lord died? I should think not ours, for wise in his wisdom, he will not perish ere his hospitality is spent.”
“Jormungandr, you treacherous bitch!” the man on stage bellowed. His was a fitting face for anger, framed by a great gray mane and protruded brow, permanently lined with rough features. This contradicted his garments, a simple tunic without sleeves leaving muscled arms exposed.
“Vali!” the Serpent echoed with an equally startling voice, throwing her both hands theatrically in the air.
“Just now we have been discussing your bane, Serpent,” said the woman. Her wrath was better controlled than her companion’s, visible only in the marked disapproval upon her youthful features. Her appearance somewhat mirrored her adversary - hair bunned, lithe body bound tight in a dress colored as bronze sunlight, a cloak of falcon feathers. But the thing most marked this woman for an immortal was a torc of fire round her neck. “I have taught our brethren how this time you have tried our patience too far.”
“Without ever a mind to boast, Freyja, still I must say I am yet far from my limits,” the Serpent said, smiling lightheartedly. But that was the extent of her attention to the two seemingly important figures. For she turned abruptly from them then, and marched back to the edge of the stage. “But you must pardon me,” without giving them another look, she said, “I shall entertain you the length of my patience yet. Only give me leave to attend the guests - ‘tis a discourtesy to leave them ungreeted, mine name unheard. Cordelia, my child, hither!”
Cordelia drew a deep breath and cursed under it, less inclined than ever to involve herself in the otherworldly drama. She ascended the stage, and made to a few steps behind the Serpent, trying not to meet the demons’ eyes as she went.
“How now,” Jormungandr grinned, “raise your eyes so the rest of the class may see, be proud! Now!” she raised her voice, echoing the hall and silencing all remaining conversations. “Greetings, old feys and servants of the Dark Master gathered from all the lands! I have not seen your faces a year since, but let us make acquaintances new, lest you forget who shall before long stab your back and work your woe! Greetings, einherjar and associates newly elected from distant planes. I am Jormungandr, or the World Serpent in your crude tongue. Mark well mine name, for you shall hear much of it yet. And one more thing, loyal servant of the Dark Master that I am, I have made my servant here to further his cause. The name’s Cordelia. Let’s get along well with her!”
That done she whipped around, only to meet Freya’s glare a handspan away. The incensed fey woman’s eyes ablaze, “You will not make a farce of this event, Serpent! We have cause to suspect this loyalty you speak of!”
“How now, sister? Think you I lie and deceive? Me? What scandalous!” The Serpent laughed at her own shallow jest.
“Well then, I shall tell you what, so that all present may know how the ever treacherous dog has at last turned rogue upon its kind. That for some time now, you have jealously guarded the Maiden of God’s identity. In this very act, you protect she who is enemy of all our kind, so invested by the Good God to one day fulfill his design. For how many generations we have desperately prevented such creatures from being born? How many schemes employed to squash such holy children from infancy? But this one has long escaped our net yet, hiding even under our watchful eyes, save yours. Now I do admit, too often many of ours are quick to see their gains before the Tribe’s good. And even your petty ploy to gain the master’s favor, we may yet overlook, had you not gone to lengths unforgivable for it! So hear, brethren of mine! This fawning knave not only guarded the threat to our existence in secret, but when an army was sent to fulfill the deed she would not, she bade her servant aid in their destruction. This very night many of our brethren perished while the Maiden yet lives! And such is the proof of her loyalty! Claim you even now your loyalty lies with the Master?”
As the speech ended there rose as mounting tides incensed shouts from the crowd. And many faces full of misgivings and reproaches turned their way, so that Cordelia shrunk all the more, utterly horrified by the overwhelming malice from the host of demons.
Even the Serpent looked almost dismayed. “How now,” she cried, “So swiftly you arrive at the conclusion of my misdeed! Will you not hear my reason? We may come to an understanding yet.”
“We may hear your lies, for that is all your tongue is trained to speak.” said Freya.
“And yet you must hear it, for I should like to defend myself, and give my overexcited brethren here a reason to redress their uncouth manner.”
And she slapped her accuser. Hard. The lithe hand had darted as swiftly as a serpent from ambush. So much unrestrained power there had been behind the vicious strike, it sent Freyja stumbled sideways. At once a pang of silence seized the confounded hall.
“How dare you speak to me thus?” the Serpent cried, her voice echoing in the shocked silence. “Think you so important, so beloved, you knave? Hark!” Her expression went wide and then suspended, one finger she thrust towards the starry sky as the other fey woman stared back in disbelief. “Hark, I say! Hear you the Dark Master’s admonition? I think not!” She laughed loud. “You are not loved as you think you are, Freyja. Ever I humor you for the ridiculousness of it, yet time and again you would forget your place thus, as though the old order never shifted, as though in the old bright hall one-eyed Odin still reigned! Think you the Dark Master is not wise to all my plots? Is his indifference not consent enough? And if he would allow me, what fear have I from the rest of you?”
She turned to the crowd. “Flame your anger all you like, brethren, and if you should like to try my cause, then once the banquet’s truce ends, bring your war to my plane at the edges of worlds, where the seas fall to nothingness and where I alone stand between the known worlds and unknown terrors even you dread. Yet, a word of counsel: it is unwise to put might against might while another path is there to tread. Do you share this woman’s short-sightedness? Then come yourself to the Holy Maiden, the Blessed Child of that Good God, with your army, or bid your servants, I care not, and see how fare they against mine!”
The silent pall persisted. Alone in the speechless hall, Vali raised his voice, “Your bluff falls unheeded to contemplated ears, Jormungandr. Even the least worthy of us can tell your servant is newly bred. She would not fare against aught grown fey. Your petty schemes and dread office shall prove little protection for her in the realm of daylight. There the just system prevails.”
“Mayhap ‘tis a bluff, Vali, mayhap ‘tis not. Will you try it? The truth is thus as your wretched friend has given voice: here stands she, my protege, while even now your army writhe in oblivion. For I tell you now: though it may appear this night we are come to celebrate the beginning of our old game upon mortals, some extra spice I have given it, a bonus mission, so to speak, lest the game grow dulls after generations of stagnation! But have a care and enter it at your own peril! If you do, be foolish then, be brave, and mark well my servant’s face! Thus I declare the game commenced, have fun!”
And so said she quit the stage. Neither of the feys remaining on stage made an attempt to check her escape. Nor did Cordelia dare to look back. A far graver concern beset her.
Cordelia rushed after the Serpent. “You set me up!” she said in a hushed tone. “Do you think this will stop me from leaving the Maiden?”
“I do not think,” she turned, not bothering to lower her voice. “Nor did I ever entertain such witless notions. You did not really think you would leave her, did you?”
“I do and will.”
“Your silliness is passing ridiculous. Temper your humor a little, girl, lest the people think I raised a jester. Now, I must be away and mingle. See you how many are eager to speak to me and give praise?”
The only eagerness about was open hostility or dread or wariness directing their way. And yet she knew the Serpent did not care for consent in her conversation partner.
“What am I to do then? May I leave now? you already have your way with me and your schemes.”
“I said to stop being foolish.” The serpent scowled, turning with her arms spread. “Here’s an unequal occasion to make friends and allies, yet you would scorn it? You may not live till the next year’s banquet without one. So be personable now.”
And so the Serpent marched off, hips swayed merrily. Cordelia stood there dumbly. Flushed, she quickly made her way to the edge of the room, and found her passage readily cleared, for all the feys gave her a wide berth, avoiding her even as they had the World Serpents. So much for making friends.
Only with dread did she now observe the uneasy banquet. There were faceless servants, whose expression was smooth skin where features should have been, who carried glasses of the curious substance to the guests. Yet even they feared and circumvented Cordelia and the pillar against which she stood. Nor did she thirst for such fey drinks, but the tedium and hostile air grew tiring and unbearable. Already she could see new partnerships being made around her, patrons bringing their einherjar around to mingle, alliances formed between new einherjar and truces and pledges renewed. Such was the function of the night, she observed, as a forum for like-minded feys on a mission for their dark lord. Connections, contracts, conversations. Such were tools employed to compensate for each’s weakness or complement one’s strength. This she saw in their system of respected echelons, so that the lesser einherjar were made to aid those with stronger patrons, and vice-versa, for a price. And complex also was the pervading pattern of old enmity, courtship, friendship, blood relations, a mind for factions. Much to do on such a night so important. The Serpent was right.
Only it wasn’t for her.
She stood outside of all this in her tattered outfit, forbidden from joining this game of intrigue, for she alone had been marked for the most dangerous game of them all. As awkward new faces, conjured from lives in another world scarce more than a day, hit off and shared their pasts, goals, or ambitions, they at intervals sent unpleasant glances at her lonely way. This way she knew she was a conversational topic. ‘Will you have a go?’ was how she imagined they were asking each other.
The night would not go on forever, she thought, and observed with dread her would-be enemies. Even in her old world where people had not worn hostility on their sleeves so openly, she had found strangers difficult to approach. Let alone now, where she envisioned barks and shrieks in answer to her greetings. And she wondered how shortly her life would end once she returned to the outside world. And yet in some of those feys, distinguishable in their uneasiness, she saw fear. They would be the people given another chance at life even as her, einherjar, she thought. Ordinary people, most like, who could fear and could dread. Would they be sent her way also, by their patrons or own ambitions? She found such thoughts tiresome and dreadful to think.
And so friendless she stood. Until at last what she had feared and dreaded indeed happened. She stiffened herself. Someone was approaching, deliberately walking towards her, no mistake. She knew the Serpent’s talk of a truce was insubstantial, for why wait until she had returned to the mortal world where they must go to the trouble of seeking her out? Here she was, vulnerable to such swift assaults as naught would come to the check.
Drawing back in alarm, she thought to shout for the World Serpent’s attention, but then the person bowed, his locks of white swaying softly to the gentle gesture. And he blinked at her.
“Well met again, Cordelia von Jormungandr.”
She instantly recognized the voice, it sounded a lower pitch now, and yet the echoing quality was there.
“You’re the raven!”
“Even I, my friend. I am come for the promised discourse. Will you hear my offer?”