FROST- Jotun Chronicles #1

Changes

The bed was uncomfortable, and I had the horrible crawly kind of feeling you get when you’re not sure if there are bugs on you or not. But I don’t think I could have slept if I was in the nicest hotel room in the world, because a million crazy thoughts were burning holes in my brain.

            “Amora,” I said it out loud just to roll it off my tongue. I couldn’t resist the urge to look it up on my phone earlier, when I was still in the pizza shop, and it had told me in was a Norse name, no surprise there, and it meant powerful eagle, or something like that. I wasn’t sure if I’d describe myself that way. I think “cowering chicken” would have suited me a lot better.  

            I lay there staring at the ceiling, and Erik’s face was sharp in my mind, white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He was attractive, if somewhat cold. Haha, funny joke, Megan. The question was, could I trust him? Part of me considered leaving now, packing up my belongings and fleeing the hotel. What if the meeting tomorrow was a trap? What if he was planning to drag me off to the ice castle? I shifted, rolling around trying to get comfortable on the hard bed. Someone in the next room was talking loudly, the low hum of a man’s voice seeped through the walls. How would I get any sleep here? What if I did something stupid tomorrow and got myself caught because I was so tired? The thought was worrying, and I continued to thrash around in the awful bed, trying to make myself sleep. It felt like hours later, when my mind began to do the sleepy wandering that meant unconsciousness was near. My last lucid thought was more of an emotion, a deep sadness and feeling of betrayal coupled by the image of Loki’s face in my mind.

           

            Ice cracks under our feet as our army - two thousand strong - marches toward the fiery realm of Muspelheim. Birds flee the trees in a flutter and cry, and the wild caribou leap from the path before us. Even the wildlife fear the Jotun army. My fist is tight on my sword, my smile savage. The recent words of my queen are warm in my breast still. Before I left to lead us against Muspelheim, she took me aside and said to me, “My daughter, you have done nothing but make me proud. Continue to make me proud today. Take them while they are engaged in their foolish revelry. Overturn the tables, spill their extravagant feasts onto the floor. Set fire to their great halls. Bring me the head of their king, and their women and children for servants.” I still remember the firm touch of her hand on my shoulder, the iron strength in her pale arms as she told me, “Fight for me, Amora.”

            The sheets were tangled around my legs as I bolted upright, sweat making my thin night gown cling uncomfortably to my back. I sat there for a second, my mind spinning in circles. The darkness around me was unfamiliar, unfriendly dark shapes lurked around me. Then I remembered, I’m not at home in my bed, I’m in a seedy motel room, being chased by mythological beings, things that shouldn’t exist. And if ruining my entire life wasn’t good enough, they were now invading my dreams nearly constantly.

            My entire body was shaking as I curled my knees up to my chest, huddling miserably in the center of the bed. Hot tears came now, and I finally gave into the inevitable, shoulders shaking, truly letting myself be small and alone and afraid. What did the dreams mean? Why was I dreaming about the queen and why was she calling me “daughter”? I wasn’t a warrior! I’d never held a sword in my life. So why did it come so easily to me in dreams? 

            I felt disgusting, sweaty and cold at the same time. After a minute I uncurled and climbed off the bed, making my way to the bathroom. I’ll have a nice hot shower and try to just forget about all of this until tomorrow morning. Maybe I can ask Erik why I’m having these messed up dreams. Maybe he’ll be able to tell me why I’m apparently some kind of nutty sword-welding person when I go to sleep each night. I flicked on the lights in the bathroom and stood there for a second, blinking furiously, eyes still watering.

            My eyes adjusted at last, and I stripped off the sticky nighty as fast as I could, eager to get out of it. Eager to get into a stream of hot water that would melt away my tension. I moved for the shower, and a flash of my reflection in the mirror caught my attention. I stopped, heart beating in my ears, chest constricting in alarm. The woman in the mirror wasn’t me. It couldn’t be. She had all my  features: tall and lean with small breasts that had been the subject of many frustrated bathing suit shopping trips. Long legs with knees that were just a little bit knock-kneed. A scar near my left hip where I’d run full tilt into a glass coffee table.  A pointed chin and a too-thin top lip…but that was where the resemblances ended. The woman in the mirror had eyes that were too blue. Instead of my normal, blue crayon colored eyes, they were ice blue. Intense and piercing. So blue they were shocking. Like Erik’s eyes, a sensible little voice informed me.

            That wasn’t the only shocking thing the mirror was telling me either. My hair was now several shades lighter then it had been this morning. It was….white. There was no getting around it. I wasn’t blonde anymore. My hair was white. I let out a wheezing gasp of surprise and sagged forward, bracing my elbows on the counter top, staring at myself in the mirror in utter disbelief.  This had to be my tired eyes playing tricks on me. I shut my eyes tightly and rubbed them with both fists, but when I opened them again I was still staring at the new and different me. What the hell was going on here? Fear coursed through me, fear and anger. How was this fair? Most teenage girls go through changes, puberty sucks. I’d already gone through all of that, and now I had to do it all again? And this time I was going to be changing into some mythological freak?

            A crackling sound made me glance down, and I gasped and jumped back. The bathroom sink was encased in a thick sheet of ice, and the wooden cabinet beneath it was covered in a thin white frost. I stared in horror, wondering if this would happen now whenever I got too emotional. What if I was angry with someone and I accidently froze them. What if I killed someone?

            I stared at myself in the mirror in horror. What’s happening to me?