Westward Ho!

Heimdall was a bit miffed at me because we were a week and a half later than he'd
been told to expect us. But he got over his snit quick enough when I reminded him that the
longer he kept us here complaining the longer the artifact I'd been sent to fetch remained
missing. I knew Thor had told him of our mission. I hoped he hadn't told anyone else, for
despite his arrogant nature, Heimdall knows how to keep his mouth shut. The same couldn't
be said of the rest of the lords. Once I'd pointed that out, Heimdall waved us through the
archway and onto the Rainbow Bridge.

Belle and I were now dressed in Midgard clothing—denim trousers, long-sleeved
shirts, hats, and boots. My shirt was a checked blue and red and hers was a soft yellow. I
wore a long knife at my belt and Bella had one tucked in her boot. She had braided and tied
her moonglow hair back beneath her hat, though that style only served to accentuate her
delicate cheekbones and large eyes.

I knew most men would take one glance at her and assume she was a delicate little
flower, one who needed a big strong man around to protect her. They'd be dead wrong, of
course. Belle could take care of herself, and not just with magic either. Baldur had given
her and Hilda lessons in knife-fighting and unarmed combat, enough so they could take
down a man, especially if the man were caught off guard. I'd seen her throw Baldur once
during a spar, and he was no novice warrior.

This was just as well, since finding Gungnir was going to take most of my
concentration and I'd have little to spare trying to protect a helpless female.

I'd cut my hair short to my ears, since long hair was no longer in style where we'd
be going. I thought about growing a mustache to further my disguise, but decided against
it. Facial hair tends to look skimpy on me and it itches. Better to go clean-shaven. I did use
magic to chage my hair to black, add a few more lines about my face and eyes to give the illusion of age. Without
that I'd look like a fresh-faced youngster of twenty-one or so, much too young to be taken
seriously for the role I intended to play and certainly not old enough to have a daughter
Belle's age! I altered my appearance just enough to pass for thirty-seven or thereabouts and
left it at that.

We rode quickly across the marble span of Bifrost. The bridge wasn't made from
a rainbow or anything like it, the way you'd think from its name. It had gotten its name
because when one activated the portal at the opposite side, it threw off waves of rainbowed
light which washed over the bridge and made it seem as if rainbows were dancing on it.

Heror and Flicker were both in high spirits, skipping across the bridge with their tails
flagged and manes tossing. Both had a craving for excitement and adventure and were more
than ready to leave their tame pasture and see somewhere new. Heror had been to Midgard
before, as a matter of fact he'd been born there and lived as the pampered pet of a Sultan
until he'd caught my eye and I stole him away.

Actually, he asked to come with me, for he'd been growing bored as the showpiece
of a rich man, no matter how well they treated him. Neither of us had ever regretted it, since
he was the offspring of an immortal stallion, and he could never reveal his true nature to the
mortals who tended him. They'd have thought he was possessed by demons if he'd spoken
to them and probably have killed him. Being the mount of an immortal magician was
infinitely preferable to being burnt or going mad from boredom.

Flicker, like her mistress, had never been anywhere except Asgard, and she wanted
to feel the wind across the plains and taste the sweet grasses on the prairie. Heror and I had
visited the western territories some twenty years back and he'd told her all the stories about
hunting buffalo with the Indians and roping wild steers and fighting off coyotes and cougars.
There was something about that wild untamed stretch of land that appealed to me immensely
and I was not sorry to be going back to see it again.

I'd outfitted the horses with classic Western saddles and tack, though the bridles
were outfitted with false bits, since neither horse needed human hands to guide them. I'd
pick up a packhorse once we got to Midgard, to facilitate our disguise as a stage magician
and his assistant.

It took us barely six minutes to cross the Bifrost and once we stood in front of the
arching gateway, I spoke a word of command and bid the portal to take us to Midgard, in
America, to the plains of South Dakota. The portal shimmered and blazed with coruscating
waves of rainbowed light. Heror and Flicker snorted, but I set my boots to his flanks and he
sprang through the portal. Bella followed suit.

For a half a minute I was surrounded by rainbow light and I had a sense of being
flung forward at an incredible speed. Then the gate spit us out in the middle of the golden
prairie of the Dakotas, vanishing in a twinkling once we were safely at our destination.

Bella blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the prismatic effect of the gate
from her vision.

"Close your eyes for about two seconds," I advised softly. "That'll get rid of the
flash image quicker." I did as I had said and when I opened my eyes again I could see
normally again.

The prairie was lush and green, for it was high summer, and I could see the gold and
green grass speckled with wild flowers. The sky was a bright blue without clouds and it
seemed to stretch forever as far as the eye could see. It was quiet, there were no animals or
birds about at the moment, they'd probably been scared off by the gate aura.

I took a moment to focus my awareness on Gungnir's aura, and found it was
somewhere west of where we were, probably no more than fifty miles away. One good thing
about Midgard was that Gungnir's aura shone like a beacon, since it was probably the only
magical artifact of its kind around here. Mortals as a rule didn't practice magic much, and
the true magicians were few and far between. Oh, I'd met a few Indian shamans who
actually possessed Talent, but those with true Gifts were rare. Many who claimed to be
practitioners of the mystic were actually con artists or had minor Talent. Humans distrusted
those who had magic and had hunted down those who possessed it centuries ago, killing
them out of fear and hate, which was why so few magicians of great power remained on
earth.

It made my task easier in that respect, since I didn't need to worry about a rival trying
to snatch Gungnir, but I also had to be damn careful that nobody learned that our magic act
was real and not just sleight of hand. That was why I needed the packhorse, to put the fake
props on.

"Now what?" My daughter asked. "Do you know where it is?"

"That way," I indicated the direction with a finger. "We'll follow it west for today
and make camp tonight out here. Tomorrow we'll see if I can find a town. I need to get a
few supplies and a mule or a packhorse. Then we can go about catching up to the circus
wagons."

"Does anyone live out here?"

"No. Well, there maybe some Indian tribes around, but they migrate, so this country
is still pretty wild. There are maybe one or two settlements, but not many people like to
come so far from civilization." I shot her a grin. "Which means we can have a good gallop
without worrying about shocking some poor mortal to death at how fast our horses can run."

"You're on!" she laughed, then slapped her hand on Flicker's shoulder. The black
mare threw up her head and trumpeted a challenge. "Catch me if you can, Father!"

Then they were away like a streak of black flame.

"C'mon, Heror! Let's show those two who's really the fastest horse in Midgard!"

"With pleasure, magician!" the stallion whistled, then he gathered himself and shot
after them like a comet.

My hat blew off my head, lucky it had a string attached so I didn't lose it. I leaned
over Heror's withers, with most of my weight there, he could run quicker and his mane blew
back into my face, bringing tears to my eyes.

Belle was a few lengths ahead, but we soon caught up and we raced neck and neck
across the prairie, laughing like idiots, the only sounds in our ears were the pounding of the
horse's hooves and the wind whistling past us.

It had been years since I'd allowed myself to enjoy a gallop like this, I'd forgotten
the sheer rush of having two tons of horseflesh beneath you running like a tornado, joyful
and free as nature had intended. Heror's immortal heritage made him three times as fast as
an ordinary horse, and as surefooted as a mountain goat. I never needed to worry about him
putting a foot wrong and injuring himself, all I had to do was stay on his back and enjoy the
ride.

We rode at that pace for some ten minutes, then we slowed and cantered for about
three hours. Gungnir was a burning ache in the back of my head, I kept Heror turned ever
westward, following it.

Belle was grinning as she drew alongside me, her cheeks flushed with color from the
wind. Small tendrils of hair had escaped from her braid and blew about her face. It gave
her a pixyish appearance that I found charming. She took a drink from her waterskin, for
the dust on the prairie dried your throat like nothing else except maybe the lava fields of
Muspelheim.

We rode on in companionable silence for the better part of the day, drinking in the
serene vista of the prairie. We caught glimpses of jackrabbits bounding through the grass,
prairie hens scuttling for seeds, a solitary red-tail hawk circling, and the soft yip of a fox
hunting. Once we saw the tracks of a mule deer and the huge cloven print of a bison, but we
saw no sign of large game.

Belle examined everything with eager eyes, absorbing the land about her with
delight, using both physical and magical senses. When she'd had her fill of that, I ventured
to tell her something of the ecosystem we wandered through. I told her about the different
kinds of plants and animals that lived here, I spoke of the weather—the storms and
tornadoes that could spring up without warning, and the nomadic tribes who made their
homes here before the white men lay claim to the land.

Belle listened closely as I told her of the wars that had been fought between the
Indians and the ever-encroaching stream of white men. Years of prejudice and hate lay
buried here, as one people fought to keep what was theirs and another fought to take it away.
Last time I had been here, the embers of war had been stirred, but had not flared into a
bonfire. Now, though, I feared otherwise. And if Gungnir was here, the tide of war and
death would increase, for such was the nature of the spear.

"Do you mean to say that Gungnir causes wars by its mere presence?" Belle queried.
"But it didn't do that at home."

"That's because its influence was checked by Odin and my ward spell," I told her.
"But now it's been set free and the aura it radiates down here is so strong it could cause a
war in a heartbeat. Especially since mortals have no defenses against the spear's influence.
They are all too ready to fight each other over this land, over the color of someone's skin,
over most anything at all. That is why we must get the spear back as quickly as possible.
The last thing this country needs is more war."

"Why would Leif bring the spear here? Why not just take it directly to Vanaheim?"

"My guess is he was trying to throw us off his trail. Maybe he was trying to buy
himself some time. But we can speculate till we're blue in the face and never figure out the
real reason. All that matters is getting Gungnir back where it belongs."

"Do you think Leif is here somewhere?"

I shrugged. "It's possible. We'll know when we find the spear." I slowed Heror to
a walk and dismounted. "Time to stretch our legs a bit. Before you start to get too sore."
I grimaced slightly, for I wasn't used to riding so many hours, but my stiffness soon eased
after I walked for about twenty minutes.

Belle copied me, walking Flicker, one hand caressing her mare's neck. "Is there a
stream or something around here? The horses could use a drink."

"I'm not sure. Why don't you shift into hawk form and see?" That was the quickest
way to scout unknown terrain.

"Okay." She handed me Flicker's reins and then she blurred into a red-tailed hawk
and took off into the azure sky.

She returned some ten minutes later saying there was a decent creek about three
miles northwest. We mounted up again and this time I followed her lead.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at the creek and both horses and magicians
were tired. After we'd watered and groomed them, we let them graze freely. Then I started
a fire and set about cooking pancakes and bacon, which is the easiest thing to cook over a
fire. Belle was down at the stream, scrubbing the last of the dust off of her face and hands.

When the food was done, I slid it onto our tin mess kits and we devoured it. I
drowned mine in golden brown maple syrup, and washed it down with ice cold water from
the stream.

"Mmmm." Belle groaned appreciatively as she ate the last pancake with syrup.
"These are great. Teach me how to make them?"

"Sure. I'll show you tomorrow. They're considered a staple out here. Along with
beans and cornbread. An old cowhand showed me how to make them last time I was here,
during a roundup. That's when a bunch of ranchers gather up all their cattle that have been
roaming the range and take them to market to sell," I explained at her quizzical look.

"How long ago was that?"

"In Asgard time, about twenty years. By Midgard time, I think we're talking about
seventy years or so, near as I can figure it. I think a lot more white men have settled here
since then and that's caused a lot more problems between them and the Indians who lived
here first."

"Why can't the whites and Indians get along and live peacefully?"

"Question of the century, Belle. You might as well ask why the Aesir and Vanir
can't do the same. All I can say is that old hatreds and insults die hard."

"Why do the Aesir and Vanir hate each other? It seems so pointless. We're both
immortal races, similar in appearance and customs, so why should we fight each other?"

"I don't know what started the blood feud between us and the Vanir. It was probably
something stupid, like a misunderstanding over a marriage contract, or a duel, or maybe
some idiot shot his mouth off at a feast and the person he insulted wasn't willing to let it go.
It's been going on so long now no one really remembers what started it. But a lot of it has
to do with attitudes. The Vanir are more class conscious than us, they think everyone needs
to marry within their station, and what you were born matters more than what you do with
your life. The Aesir are mostly warriors, they believe in settling things with fists instead of
words, and they also don't care for the Vanir caste system much. The Vanir regard us as
barbarians because of it, and in turn we regard them as prissy arrogant snobs. Vanir magic
is stronger than the Aesir variety, and most Vanir are usually educated better, because they
believe your mind is as important as your body. They look down on the Aesir, since most
Aesir only learn the basics, reading, writing, and arithmetic. A soldier or a farmer doesn't
need much more than that to get by."

"And the Aesir look down on the Vanir, saying their answer to everything is a money
and a contract. They think all the Vanir are tricky thieves out to cheat honest Aesir." Belle
recalled. "But surely someone would have realized by now that not all Vanir are the same,
just as not all Aesir are the same."

"Some do, to be sure. But most find it easier to blame the Vanir for whatever goes
wrong and vice versa. It's a vicious cycle, one that's become almost impossible to break.
Much like what's going on here. The Indians were here for thousands of years before the
English and French settlers ever came to these shores. They lived with the land, as hunters
and gatherers. They fought each other too, but for the most part those quarrels didn't last
long, and no one tribe attempted to totally slaughter another. That concept was something
that the whites brought with them. When the first white men came here, many of the Indian
tribes welcomed them as friends and allies. They shared their food and tents with them and
showed the whites how to live here by hunting the great buffalo and gathering the plants
native to this area. At first, the whites were grateful and many of them took Indian wives
and lived peacefully with their Indian relatives. The Indians have a custom of adoption,
once a man or a woman or a child is adopted by an Indian family, they are considered full
members of that tribe, no matter what they were born."

"I like that custom," Belle said, smiling. "That's what you did with me."

I nodded. "Yes. I learned here something that no Aesir or Vanir understands. Blood
alone doesn't determine a relationship. Love does. Among the Dakota and the Cheyenne,
a child is loved for himself or herself, not because he was born to a chief. And the adopted
children are loved equally with those born to the tribe. They don't favor full-bloods over
adopted members or even half-bloods. Once the adoption ceremony is complete, you belong
forever to that people, even if you have pale skin and blue eyes. That's something that for
all our long lives our people still haven't grasped. You've seen it in the way they treat me
and yourself for that matter."

Belle shook her head sadly. "But surely if mortals have figured this out, why can't
we?"

"Because tolerance for others is hard and hatred is easy. And I hate to say it, but
most immortals prefer the easy way. So do most humans. It's far easier to point out
differences than recognise similarities. Humans have always feared the different. The white
men who came later had no tolerance for beliefs other than their own, and no respect for the
Indians' customs and religion. They called them savages and sought to make them conform
to white customs and religion, because their way was better. They also wanted the rich land
the Indians had, land which they would have willing shared with the whites. But the settlers
were greedy and spoiled. They didn't want half the land, they wanted it all. And they were
willing to murder and destroy to get it."

"To the victor go the spoils," Belle quoted softly.

"Yes. And the whites were more numerous and better armed than their Indian
counterparts. They also brought diseases into this land that the Indians had no defense
against, and wiped out whole tribes with plagues and epidemics. It's a losing battle for the
Indian, I'm afraid. Soon those tribes who are free will either have to surrender to the white
customs or be destroyed."

"That is so unfair. Can't something be done about it?"

"Such as? Those in charge of the government sent their troops in to remove the
Indians to other locations, forcibly if necessary. There are advocates for peaceful
reconciliation on both sides, but not enough to make a difference."

"You're a magician and so am I," Belle began. "What if we, uh, used our magic
to bring peace?"

"And how would we do that? Neither of us is powerful enough to alter the minds of
every person who hates Indians or vice versa. You can't banish hatred with magic, child.
Believe me, it's been tried. Tolerance must come from within or it won't last. Besides what
you're suggesting is unethical, even with the best of motives. We don't have the right to
impose our beliefs on anyone, no matter how wrong they seem. Altering someone's mind
with magic is wrong. Free choice and free thought is the prerogative of all thinking beings.
Take that away and you're no better than a tyrant. Immortals meddled that way with humans
ages ago, child, and caused more problems than they solved. I refuse to follow that path
again, even with the best of intentions." I sighed. "I feel sorry for those caught up in this
nasty conflict, but I didn't come down here to take sides in a mortal quarrel. I came for one
thing, and one thing only. To retrieve Odin's spear before it makes this situation worse. If
the humans are determined to have a war, Bella, than a war they will have, and not all of my
magic can prevent that."

"But how can you know unless you try to stop it?" she persisted.

I shook my head. "Experience, child. When I was your age I thought the same way
you did. I thought I could use my magic to change the world. But I'm only one person and
it takes more power than I possess to alter the feelings of an entire race of people. They
have to want to change, or else the magic won't hold beyond a single generation, if that. I
wish it were otherwise, but it isn't. Magic is not a cure-all for the world's ills. The most
you can do is be an example to others of tolerance and acceptance, and hope it's enough.
Nothing is ever easy, child."

"You don't need to tell me that, Father." She said with a faintly bitter tone. "After
what Leif did . . .do you think he ever really loved me? Or was it just an act? Once I would
never have needed to ask that, I thought I knew his heart. How could I have been so
wrong?"

I reached out a hand to clasp her shoulder. "Maybe you weren't all that wrong. I
think a part of him did love you, and probably still does. But I think it was something that
he never intended to happen. You heard what he said—he had always known his marriage
was to be arranged. Falling in love with you was the last thing he ever wanted."

"But it happened. And I guess he was too scared to face it, so he left. But why did
he take Gungnir?"

"Perhaps his father had ordered him to. Or maybe he thought it would smooth things
over with his family when he came home if he brought the spear with him. I don't know.
Maybe if we find him, you can ask him."

"If I can even trust what he says after this."

"As to that, all I can say is, trust your instincts."

"I did and look where it got me."

"The fault was his, not yours. He chose to turn his back on what you had."

"I know. What I don't understand is why. If I knew that, maybe I could understand
. . ." she shook her head angrily. "Damn him! I can't even hate him . . .because I know what
kind of crazy family he came from. His father treated his kids like pawns on a chessboard,
they were moved according to his wishes, and they had no free will of their own. Leif told
me that when he was small he used to think his father was lord of the universe, and even
when he grew older, a part of him still felt that way. I guess it was too much to expect him
to defy his father for love."

"Not so, Belle. Children have defied parents for love before. Look at Romeo and
Juliet. Or Cupid and Psyche. If your love and will is strong enough, there is no reason why
the two of you can't live happily ever after."

"What are you saying? That I should give him a second chance? If it were you, would
you do it?"

I glanced away. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "I've never loved a woman
the way you loved Leif. If you think you can forgive him, if you think he deserves another
chance, then go for it. But don't spend the rest of your life thinking you did something to
make him leave, sweetheart. He's not worth tormenting yourself like that. When we find
him, talk to him, and see if he'll give you an answer to that question you asked me. If he
won't or you don't like his answer, then walk away and to hell with him. Because he doesn't
deserve you. And somewhere out there is another man who'll appreciate you for all that you
are."

"Is that why you've never married? Because you haven't found the right one?"

I nodded. "After so many centuries, I'm not sure I ever will. But that's all right.
I have you and I'm content. I don't need to gamble my heart away for love."

"Who knows? Maybe this time love will find you."

I chuckled. "Maybe. But I won't hold my breath." I shifted on the hard ground,
yawning. "Time for bed. I want to get an early start tomorrow."

She bid me goodnight then, kissing me on the cheek as usual. I banked the fire,
making sure it would burn till dawn, and keep away any predators. Then I curled up in my
bedroll and slept, though my sleep was broken by ugly dreams of Gungnir dripping blood
and scores of dead bodies on the ground. I woke sweating and it was a long time before I
could get back to sleep.