Wrought of Iron and Silk, Book One [2014 Watty Award Winner]

Chapter 2 - A New World

Chapter 2 - A New World

The Bifröst's swirling whirlwind sounded just as mournful as Cecilia felt as she pulled away from its entrance. Her eyes were watering with pain, but she blinked the tears away and took a moment to overcome a sudden wave of vertigo. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Feeling a rippling tingle travel from her stomach down to her knees, she sank to the floor beside the valise at her feet.

She listened for the vortex, but heard nothing besides her breath, her heart, and her eye's blinking. Slowly, the dizziness went away, and she regained her strength, adjusting her eyes to capture the golden world that shimmered brilliantly before her. Brushing ineffectively at the soot on her serviceable black dress, Cecilia shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, idly gripping her spool of emerald green thread and golden thimble. Her face wore the pale glow it took on at any call on her energy: a kind of warrior brightness that made her small head, with its strong chin and close bound hair, like that of an amazon in a frieze.

"Welcome to Asgard, young one." Through his voice, Cecilia could feel the potency of his power, but she was not afraid. She lifted her gaze, regarding the tall, dark figure before her. He stood about seven feet tall. The thick shoulder caps of rigid leather body-armor protruded wide above his arms, though they did little to hide the powerful physique they encased. On his forearms, the man wore leather vambraces, so thick that they could have stopped the blow of an axe. Beneath his helmet were two fiery eyes.

"Do not be afraid. It has been a long road for you, I know. I am Heimdall, the Gatekeeper." His face was expressionless – quite expressionless. And yet, there was something so far at the back of his eyes that she had seen once before...

"Afraid, I am not, Heimdall," she claimed. Pulling a hand from her pocket, she tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, and then cupped her hand over the back of her neck, turning her head in an attempt to ease the tension knotted there.

"Cecilia-"

Her name jolted her and her eyes went to him involuntarily. A dim, twilight glow surrounded him. With blank hard eyes, he stared at her, and spoke, "I saw an inn fire." Heimdall beamed his all-knowing eyes into her. "Thirty-four dead."

She remembered it clearly; somewhere deep inside her, fear opened up. The memories ignited with a noise, a sound, a feeling, an emotion - it was screaming. Whether she could hear it or feel it, she wasn't sure, but it was there. Screaming souls, lost souls. The sound was quiet, like the muffled sound of people screaming underwater, bitter cries etched into her heart like acid. Souls of the dead - lost, confused, scared. Souls of the dying; they were the worst. Tortured and alone, their pain carving long scores in the fabric of their being.

Amongst the many, Cecilia looked close and could see a soul burning with a color she could not describe, but she knew it to be her own. Lost in the ether, blinded, and calling her name like ravens calling into the night.

I started it.

Calm. Be calm. She cast the thoughts out of her mind.

"Heed me, mortal. I am sworn to protect this realm and I have promised our king that I shall protect you," Heimdall said somberly. "We are always faced with great trials and sufferings. Great power dwells in patience – keep it at hand, and you will never be a threat to this world."

Cecilia nodded, understanding, and lifted her gaze to find the Gatekeeper's eyes on her. They held a censure that made her wonder if he could read her thoughts as well. "I'll do my best," she responded, bowing her head in acquiescence.

Tightening her grip on her valise, she walked solemnly past him to the new world – her new home – beyond the gate, but soon her youthful exuberance took over and she began running ahead.