Bridge Burned: Bridge of the Gods, #1

1

Six years past and worlds away

AS

I sprinted into the birch trees ringing Alfheim’s bridge stone clearing, he reached for me. An unholy wind whipped his straw-gold hair into a flurry around his stone-strong features. His fingers curled, trying to catch hold of my robes.

I gathered the near-translucent silk of my skirts more tightly into my fist, drawing them clear of his reach while holding them away from my running feet. My breath rasped in my lungs. Summer grass skimmed beneath my soles, cool in comparison to the burning heat that filled the air.

Unnatural heat, raw with the stink of smoke.

Iris! Wait! He barked the command as if he were used to being obeyed.

MUSCLED

shoulders strained the broadcloth which made his formal tunic. Silver threads wove in rune-like patterns through the tunic’s black, which matched the plain black of his trousers. A silver-adorned horn lay curved against his hip, the natural ridges of the yak’s horn from which it was made worn smooth beneath the silver bands. The bridge stone beside which he stood was a massive hunk of hewn stone, weather worn and embedded with a prism. He appeared no less powerful than the stone, no less bright than the diamond.

The shimmering colors of the way faded, delivering me from my home of Alfheim to the wintry world of Asgard. As I became visible in front of him, his eyes widened.

Mine probably did, too. I’d seen Asgardians before, but not this one. I was sure I’d have remembered. His hair was a pale gold, ruffled in the breeze, and his broad, strong features were ruddy from the same chill air. His eyes, though—those were clear as the sky, although a deeper blue.

Then he bowed, lowering his face from my view. When he looked up again, he wore a somber expression. I swore, though, that one corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

Utterly charmed despite everything I knew about the stern and powerful self-styled gods of Asgard, I was the one who smiled. Although short, thick grass cushioned my feet and pale throats of purple and yellow crocus lay scattered across the turf, Asgard’s much-colder climate stung my Alfheim-raised flesh into goosebumps. I found, however, that I didn’t mind too much.

You’re new. He stated this fact in a perfectly level voice. First day?

That caught me off guard. Protocol stated that you asked the traveler’s destination, took them where they wanted to go, and returned to Alfheim’s central bridge stone to await the next call from a traveler. It said nothing about making conversation. In my admittedly-limited experience—I was twenty-two but had been a bridge less than a month—most Asgardians preferred a lack of it.

Except Thor, of course. My best friend Rose, who’d been a bridge for nearly a year already, had warned me about Thor. My little brother Willow had rolled his eyes, but Papa had stated, quite clearly, If any of them give you any trouble, you will report it to me. Immediately.

But in Thor’s case, it wasn’t attempts at conversation you had to worry about. And this was not Thor—I noted the horn on this man’s hip. No hammer there.

Very nearly. And then, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, I added, My name is Iris.

A smile most definitely twitched the corner of his mouth, then. For reasons I absolutely could fathom, my pulse beat a little faster.

And I am Heimdal. His voice was smooth. Warm. Rich. Watcher of the Aesir.

Aesir, I reminded myself. The rest of us referred to them as gods for a reason.

But oh, those sapphire eyes and that beautiful hint of a smile.

I

strained to add speed to my steps. Faced forward to see where I was going.

Leaves slapped my face. Branches tangled in my hair. My vision filled with spinning green coins of birch leaves and white of shedding bark, which were right. After all, I ran through the forest surrounding the bridge stone clearing, set high on a hillside just outside Alfheim’s only city. Leaves were right. Tree bark was right.

Black smoke was not right. The hot stink that filled my nose was not right. The unsteady roar that drowned out all other sounds except the gasp of my breathing—that was not right.

Any second now. Any second, and I would burst free from the trees. Glass and marble pavers led from the hilltop and wound down through gardens filled with colors other worlds only dreamed of. Spires of spun glass floated above multi-hued rooftops. Pastel silk streamers flapped in the steady breeze of never-ending summer against the golden dome of sky that protected the Alfar from the radiation of our world.

Alfheim. My world. My city. That’s what I would see. Any second now.

My hands, blindly shoving branches away from my face, abruptly met with no resistance. I ran out of the forest and onto the hillside, onto the first of the glass pavers.

And stumbled to a dead stop.

SUNSHINE,

I decided. If sunshine made a sound, it would be the sound of Heimdal’s voice.

Heimdal had summoned me to Asgard, using the communication crystals embedded in each of the bridge stones my people had built on the various worlds. So Asgard’s was the sunshine we stood in, stunningly bright, as if magnified through layers of ice.

Which was, for all I knew, exactly what happened. Asgard, like my home world of Alfheim, relied on protective domes to protect it from a harsh environment that would otherwise render our homes unlivable. On Asgard, that environment was a brutal, never-ending winter. To the natives of Asgard, that was inconvenient and made life more difficult.

Their winter would likely kill me within minutes. Alfheim, in contrast, was a world under constant bombardment by intense radiation. Our dome—only one, for our single city, for we were far less populous than the Asgardians—was of magic intended to filter our sun’s heat. Where winter ruled Asgard, summer ruled Alfheim.

Not that I was cold. Even wearing the diaphanous robes of midnight and royal purple that bridges wore when on duty, I felt plenty warm. Flushed, even. And while Asgard’s dome had certainly trapped enough heat to allow a dense forest of firs and ashes and elms to flourish, and even a low carpet of dense winter grass covered the bridge stone clearing where I’d met Heimdal, I was pretty sure the sun’s heat wasn’t the primary source of my warmth.

Heimdal’s off-kilter hint of a smile quirked slightly higher. Gods. Did the man read minds?

The Allfather has many tasks for me to accomplish today. Sunshine, his voice. Pure, melt-inducing sunshine. I hope you won’t mind if I keep you away from your world for a short time.

Mind? I urged my pulse to settle as I offered my arm, palm up, in the traditional pose of the bridge offering to carry a traveler. When Heimdal placed his hand palm down against mine, that was my cue to bend the light to my will and open a way between worlds.

Svartalfheim. Heimdal stated his destination with that same delicious voice.

It was all I could do to center myself and focus. But that was my job, after all, and I had no intention of messing it up in front of this man.

This god.

I inhaled, reaching in my mind’s eye for a spark of pure white light that I imagined over our heads. I drew the light down until I felt it surrounding us. Beside me, Heimdal stood very still, his hand pressed against mine. Maybe he felt it, too?

When the light had enveloped us, I envisioned the bridge stone on Svartalfheim that was used by visiting dignitaries from Asgard. Then I reached into the light and tweaked it, just so. Just as I’d been taught.

Around us, colors swirled out from the white. Before us, the void of a created bridge opened.

THE

sky had vanished, and my city with it.

A wall of black pressed outward and upward in every direction, following the curves of the magical dome that held Alfheim’s climate steady and rendered our environment livable. Where I had expected to see glass spires and silk streamers, alabaster walls and gemstone mosaics, instead flames the color of blood flared skyward in a great column.

My eyes burned. My vision blurred. I blinked and squinted, peering into the crimson and black.

Papa. Rose. Willow.

I had to move. They needed me.

My brain raged that no one could possibly be left to need me.

There’s no screaming. No sound at all but the fire.

But my heart screamed rebelliously.

They need me!

Lifting one arm to shield my eyes from the worst of the smoke, I shoved one foot in front of the other and started forward again.

WE

traveled first to Svartalfheim, a mountainous world with rocky spires and cities built into cliff sides. The bridge stone we used sat not in a forest clearing, but in a courtyard of polished quartz with a high ceiling where gems glittered like stars in an artificial sky. The bridge stone itself was cut granite, rune-carved and topped by the gleaming diamond prism of the communication crystal.

Will you wait for me? Heimdal’s smile faded into an all-business expression. He squared his shoulders and fixed his gaze on the approaching Svartalf attendant, dark and sharp as a stone himself. Delivering messages takes only a few minutes.

A furrow rippled across Heimdal’s brow, there and then gone.

You’re delivering messages? I pressed my lips together as soon as the question was out. My job was to take travelers where they asked, not to interrogate them about their business there. Particularly when they were high-ranking members of Asgard’s ruling class, performing tasks for their leader.

Heimdal’s eyebrows lifted, but he kept his gaze on the attendant who’d nearly reached us.

It’s more important work than it seems. He sounded more amused than angry. But I’m less than thrilled about it, too.

I’m sorry. I kept my voice hushed, not wanting to make a scene. I—

Heimdal still didn’t look at me, but his hand brushed mine. I absolutely did not gasp. But I may have inhaled somewhat more sharply.

Heimdal’s smile quirked anew, this time in profile. Wait for me. If you get into trouble, whisper my name. I’ll hear you.

He sounded even more amused as he said that last.

The Svartalf attendant bowed before Heimdal, and Heimdal bowed in return. Then they were gone, boots clacking on the polished granite floor, and I was alone with a slowly-dawning realization.

In a fashion similar to the Alfar, the Asgardians shared similar traits. For my people, we could all to some extent or another manipulate light—the ability most valued was, of course, that of warping light to create bridges between worlds. For the Asgardians, they shared a hardiness and strength greater than on other worlds. But on Asgard, individual talents had developed as well.

Heimdal was Watcher, head of security for the Allfather Odin. But if rumors I’d heard were true, watcher was more than just a title. Along with a talent for casting protective rune-wards, Heimdal also enjoyed keener senses than most—sight, smell…

I’ll hear you, he’d said. And if he could truly hear my whisper from whatever great distance away he was currently walking to deliver his message…

Then he could no doubt hear my racing pulse when he was standing right beside me. So no, he was not reading my mind.

But he still knew exactly what I’d been thinking about him.

IRIS!

Heimdal’s voice, from behind me. I could barely hear it over the conflagration. The fire rumbled, like an unceasing thunder.

I inhaled, intending to shout back to Heimdal to hurry, to come and help.

Help my people. Help us.

Heated air razed my throat. Black stink coated my mouth and choked me. I stumbled to a stop and doubled over, coughing.

Trying to stand straight, I was forced to look all over again at the orange-red inferno where Alfheim’s only city had once stood. The truth lanced through my gut.

There is no one left to help.

I gasped, sucking in a breath I hadn’t intended, and exhaled it all in a single scream.

AFTER

Svartalfheim, I took Heimdal to the world of Jotunheim. Once there, Heimdal showed no trace of a smile and didn’t ask me to wait. He narrowed his eyes at the Jotun attendants, with their jet eyes and dark hair that ranged from black to deep auburn. They, in turn, looked me up and down before turning their attention to Heimdal.

We have no friends here. Heimdal spoke quietly, just for me, before the three attendants got close enough.

He wouldn’t have needed to warn me. Jotun meant devourer, named so for their warlike ways. They’d conquered worlds before this one. They’d have taken Alfheim and Asgard and all others, if they’d thought they could get away with it. Peace with Jotunheim had long been a tentative, uncertain thing. Alfheim’s council—my people—were widely known for free thinking and compassion. But even they treaded with caution where the Jotun were concerned.

I was not allowed to answer traveler requests directly from Jotunheim. I was happy enough about that rule. I’d been here during my training, just long enough to memorize the cold iron arches and poured-stone floors that surrounded the obsidian bridge stone. The rainbow colors that dribbled from this bridge stone’s communication crystal seemed feeble in the grim surroundings. The very air tasted like iron and danger.

Heimdal’s hand again touched mine. For reassurance, I thought at first, and my pulse picked up before I could rein it in.

Get yourself together. He has to think you’re a giddy, stupid fool by now.

But Heimdal’s touch turned to ice, and a cold light flared around me. Runes of deep blue crackled before my eyes. They faded almost immediately, but I felt their presence lingering in the air.

The Jotun attendants snapped their attention to Heimdal.

She is under my protection. Heimdal bowed to the Jotun, the picture of politeness. Propriety dictates that I mark her as such.

None of the three remarked on Heimdal’s blatantly false excuse for casting a ward on me in the halls of a political ally, however tentative the alliance might be.

One attendant led Heimdal away, while the other two flanked the door. They watched me with hooded gazes until Heimdal returned. Even with the ward surrounding me, that was not quickly enough. The entire time, I stood very still, as much to avoid drawing undue attention from the watching Jotun as from fear of perhaps bumping up against the unseen shield around me.

Finally, booted footfalls sounded in the hall. The first attendant returned, Heimdal on his heels and looking like a flash of sunlight in Jotunheim’s ominous gloom. Forgetting—yet again—that Heimdal would hear, I let out a tiny sigh of relief.

His eyes caught mine, bluer than the flash of sapphire light that again lit the air. The ward around me fell, and with it gone a chill returned. But not for long, because Heimdal’s hand again brushed mine.

Let’s not linger, he murmured.

I lifted my arm and turned up my palm. Heimdal laid his hand on mine, palm down.

Alfheim. Heimdal hesitated. The last stop. Then you can return me to Asgard.

Did he sound disappointed? Crazy as it was, I was disappointed. By the time I returned from acting as bridge for Heimdal, the sun would have barely shifted position in Alfheim’s sky. I could hardly say I knew Heimdal at all.

It’s been my pleasure. I flushed as I spoke. Which meant, of course, that my pulse was beating faster than normal. Again. Which meant that Heimdal could hear it. Again.

I took a breath and gathered myself.

Center. Focus. Find the light and bend it.

As Jotunheim shimmered out of existence around us, I was vaguely aware of