He slides his naked body down into the steaming water. As a deep exhaustion takes me, something I’ve never felt before from just shifting, I understand we’re both in far worse shape than I knew.
Since I’m a Bloodwalker and the center of our bond’s power, I’m not as drained as Bjorn. I can feel how Mikkel’s snarling has lessened, though, and Ström’s mind-work on him falters now, because what Bjorn and I have just been through was also draining them.
But the natural hot spring in the muddy bend of the river is warm; it’s just warm enough, as Bjorn and I cuddle together now, winding each other close.
It’s no time at all before we both fall into a deep sleep. We didn’t even have enough energy to eat something first; sleep is more imperative for us to recharge, as I feel us both go into a deep stasis, holding each other in the warm river with our heads plunked back on a patch of moss.
Ages pass before my vision, as I dream. As if I can see the aurora still curling and whispering above, I watch the rising dawn in my dreams as Bjorn and I recover.
We sleep, silent and heavy, gone to the world in the small hot pool, though some part of me remains awake. I’m in the dreamtime now, a place between the Void of Ancestors and waking that Bloodwalkers can access, though I haven’t done it much in my life.
It seems my exhaustion from being drained by all those portals has put me in this space now, however. I’m awake but not, my eyes closed though some part of my consciousness is still aware, as I watch a man walk down the sloping green valley towards us.
I don’t know where he emerged from; as the wild man with feathersand talons braided into his long white-blond hair hunkers beside us at the pool, checking our wrists for a pulse, I know he’s the dragon we seek.
Naked from the waist up, he wears wild huntsman leathers and soft fur boots in a style five centuries out of date, a long necklace of feather and talon fetishes dipping low upon his bare chest. His lean but ridiculously fit chest and torso are decorated with the most beautiful Blood Dragon tattooing in sky blue, silver, and white, his sigils like nothing I’ve ever seen, as they radiate a powerful magic.
The massive dragon aura inside him curls towards me, stroking me like a lover’s touch as he regards me. His high-cheeked face is masculine but kind; elegant but poetic. He’s somehow ageless, though he has small lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and I feel the weight of centuries in him.
His eyes are a deep midnight color, blue like the night sky as a whisper of brighter white moves through them, opaline and haunting like the aurora. I remember his eyes being fire-opal white and stunning gold with a crimson ring around them, however, when we met at The Vault. I also recall his body having no visible tattoos.
But I know that aquiline face as he watches me in the dreamtime, where I am neither unconscious nor awake.
Beautiful. So beautiful,Baldur Sigurðsson whispers to me without speaking, as his eyes devour mine.
And then he’s heaving me up into his arms as he levitates Bjorn with his massive, effortless dragon power. Aesa’s Truthstone and my own Bloodwalker power sing all through me as he carries me, as if I was always meant to be in his arms. My brighter Blood Magic drakaina roils through me now even as she recovers, recognizing Baldur as a potential mate.
An insanely powerful one.
He strides us back up the ravine until we see a house. That house shimmers to being out of nothingness, as I feel us pass through an invisible barrier of magic. I understand it was concealed from all eyes by his magic,as Baldur takes Bjorn and me up the house’s steps now and inside the small dwelling of timber, sod, and thatch.
The inside is marvelous, though the dwelling looked like nothing but an earthen hut from the outside. Within, Baldur’s house has been dug out of the ravine; glossy white birch wood floors spread below, as an incredible artistry of beams arch like the vaults of Elven ships far above.
As he steps me down a winding, beautifully wrought staircase to the bottom, I see that everything is white birch and rowan wood, and glimmering fetishes of blue and white scales with bird feathers and talons, everywhere I look. The river doesn’t bypass the house, but actually runs beneath it, visible through the floors by incredible swathes of glass inset into the wood where the river flows.
It’s like a hermit artist’s dream home, if that artist was also a shaman, as I see countless bundles of herbs drying from every vault and nook, along with paintings in progress everywhere. Salves of all kinds dot stout shelves in glass jars; remedies and tinctures and bundles of homemade incense are everywhere, as Baldur sets Bjorn on a big comfy chair, and lays me down on an overstuffed wool couch.
Standing over me, he stares down at me with his unfathomable blue eyes. It’s only then that I recall I’m still naked from my shift, as his gaze roves over my body before returning to my face.
But he only seizes a tremendous blanket made of white lambswool, slinging it over me. I’m cozy, and so comfortable now, as he kneels beside me.
He takes my hand, as I drift into an even deeper slumber.
Rest,Baldur’s voice whispers in my mind, as I somehow see him in my strange sleep.Recover, and we will say all we need to when you wake. For I have been waiting for you a long time, Hög Skjaldmær—I have been waiting a lifetime for you to come to me. And take me as yours… as your Fourth and Final Drake.
I don’t know when I sink into a real sleep, but I do. Only the deepest part of me feels the soft kiss Baldur Sigurðsson leaves upon my lips.
Before leaving me alone with Bjorn in his home, for us to rest and recover our strength.
14
NAKED
Idon’t know when Bjorn crawled to me upon my couch, but I wake with his massive body curled around mine beneath the white lambswool blanket. All is silence and sunlight in Baldur Sigurðsson’s home; as I realize my dream was no dream at all, I gaze up, seeing a dozen luminous skylights set into the timber and sod roof of the underground house, lighting up the space.
It provides Baldur’s elegant artist’s home with ample daylight, the perfect light to paint to. I realize it must be late afternoon as I see the sun has crossed its zenith, the light slanting towards the eastern timbers of the house.
Everything here is beautiful, artful, and serene. I lay on the couch, just breathing quietly now, as I recall strange dreams.
