Chapter 31: Orb and meet the parent 1 (Solveig)

* means that the conversation is happening in norwegian or swedish

(Pov Solveig Bjoork)

Solveig Bjoork leaned back in her chair as the various politicians and bureaucrats left her office. It hadn't been a proper meeting, not formally at least, but it had been annoying. They had concerns about the redevelopment policy, especially its cost. Because, of course, they did.

She couldn't really blame them; the policy and regulations would lead to riots if improperly imposed. And if worst came to worst, those would have to be put down. No one liked that possibility. But they were talking about using massive amounts of regulations to rapidly redesign the way nearly every piece of infrastructure in the Pacific Northwest worked. Hell, they were going to use eminent domain on large suburban or other low-density housing to build entirely new units. It's not like they really had a choice. One way or another, the Americans were going back to being subsistence farmers; the question was how prepared they were for the conditions that forced the shift and how many were left alive afterward. 

Her fingers tapped rhythmically against her desk. They weren't doing any of it yet; of course, there was a war to win first. She could worry about the potential riots from their rather draconian preparation later. After all, they could roll out those changes and plans slowly. They had well over a decade; well, those were the most probable scenarios. If that changed, well… It was all too bad if many of the communities that they needed to drastically change had gas leaks and exploded after the community was evacuated… What a shame indeed.

Solveig swiveled her chair around and looked out of the window. The windows of downtown Spokane glistened in the setting sun. It was a nice view, if a temporary one that would be gone in two or three decades. Either way, she preferred Portland; her clan compound there was a lot nicer. And the food was better, mostly the actual food. Alas, politics requires what it requires, and the unified command and federalish government of the independent Pacific Northwest was here. And thus so was she. Someone had to make sure the idiots who got their power mostly by popularity contest didn't fuck up twenty years of planning and get a few million extra killed because the mayflies got uppity. 

She opened the small cabinet under her window and poured herself a glass. A mirthful chuckle escaped her as she watched the crimson liquid slosh around in the tumbler. You just gotta B positive.

She didn't really blame them, not really. Most people really couldn't comprehend how bad the coming situation was. How could they? Sure, the records of Ragnarok, at least in their reduced capacity, existed outside Scandinavia. But there was a world of difference between reading something in a textbook or wiki page and having to walk through a place riddled with corpses where it was apparent that everyone in a village of hundreds had died of starvation or exposure, or something that wandered out of the woods they just couldn't kill. Or visited a community that knew for a fact that if something else went wrong, beyond the nightmare they were already in, there was no help coming. They had never seen or felt the fear that came with knowing every trip you took out of your home carried the very real risk of never coming back. 

Solveig let the images wash over her. They were old, mental scars faded by time and companionship. Those of them that had made scars at all. She had been old when things got bad; hell, she had been in her sixties. Not being simply human also helped. There wasn't as much to fear, and there was a lot more you could do about things.

A smile flashed through her mind's eye, bright as a full moon in starless night. Those big stupid, adorable brown eyes. Her chest tightened painfully as her lips twitched upwards. Not everyone was that lucky. The vast majority weren't. She had never had to figure out what long pig tasted like, but far too many had. He had, so had his sister. Not that he ever told her that. No, Jasmine's biological aunt was better off not knowing that little tidbit about herself. Or, given the woman's intelligence, having it confirmed. Her sister-in-law was also better off not knowing that the graves she thought held her parents, Solveig's own in-laws, were empty. It was a secret she had promised to take to her grave. Something she entirely intend…

Knock! Knock!

“Enter.” She turned back to the door, luckily shaken from her reverie. 

The hinges screeched in protest as the door opened, revealing the dark pixie cut and red eyes of her assistant. A nice enough girl, a fledgling, but she still needed some training in her new nature. 

“Ma'am, there's a call for you.” She hesitated, as if searching for a word. “On the orb thingy.”

Solveig blinked. Who the hell could that be? She had some inkling; after all, it could only be about five people. However, none of those contacted her out of the blue like this. Especially now that she had started a gods damned civil war. No one in Scandinavia could help her or the clans now. The mage houses would tolerate it; the courts wouldn't. They didn't arm or finance rebels, freedom fighters, insurgents, or whatever else someone might like to call them. The queen didn't want a war with NATO, and getting involved in this war would certainly get her that. Hell, Noctian clans leading the thing probably had her answering enough uncomfortable questions as it was.

It didn't take her long to reach the part of the attic where they kept the transmission orb. Not many people knew they had one; if they did, someone would have already tried to steal it. It was probably the only one in North America. 

She pushed open the heavy door, revealing a small room lit by the skylight above and a few lights scattered around. The room smelled of dust and new wood. A small laugh reached her as she stepped inside. It came from the small figure sitting at the table directly below the skylight, wearing a wide-brimmed hat. So it's Klara watching it today. It did make sense; she was one of the few people they had who actually knew how to operate the thing.

Klara glanced at her, then got up from the chair and curtseyed toward the table. “It's been lovely as always, my lord. But alas, it seems our time has been cut short. The person you actually called to talk to has arrived.”

There were a few pleasantries in response. The voice speaking them was deeper, masculine. A man, then; Klara saying my lord made that obvious. That narrowed the list somewhat. Only two possibilities then.

Klara nodded at her as she passed. With the witch's admittedly diminutive form gone, the table was fully revealed. It held the room's centerpiece: a wide, ornate bronze dish covered in lines and runes. Concentric rings of brass, each covered in its own magic circles. At the center of the dish, a bowl filled with clean water held a clear crystal orb. 

In the orb, she saw an ornate room, but more importantly, she saw the face of a man. Had she not already known, it would have been impossible to determine the man's age. He barely looked like he was in his early forties or mid-to-late thirties. Not a single wrinkle showed on his face, nor a single scar or imperfection. No reasonable person would ever have guessed he was 68.

“*Matron, It's been too long.” The mage gave her a smile.

“*Your lordship, indeed it has. May I ask to what do I owe the pleasure?” She cocked her head to the side.

His smile grew into a wide grin. “*So a little birdy told me that your daughter got engaged. Congratulations, Solveig. You should have sent a letter. So when's the wedding?”

She couldn't help the chuckling that escaped her. Of course he had heard about that; hell, all of her old contacts, the high nobility and their warlocks, at least would know about it. It wasn't like thegnal intelligence wasn't keeping an eye on them. And Jonas in particular had other contacts in the clans; hell, he had plenty in her clan. She might not have written yet; that didn't mean someone else hadn't.

The man was also somewhat of a romantic; of course he asked about that first. It wasn't the reason he called; the range for the orbs meant he had spent significant magical power to reach her. Asking about a wedding might be one reason, but it most certainly wasn't the only one. 

“*I do apologize; things have been busy on my end for the last few weeks. I was planning on reaching out eventually. But it's rather fresh; then the boy, well, he had to stay in the hospital for a bit. I have yet to meet him, I am afraid. Though I do hope to remedy that tonight.” 

The man's face creased with concern. “*Yes, I heard. It really was awful the way he got shot. I am glad Jasmine was there to save him. I do hope he makes a full recovery.”

Solveig blinked. Were they paying that close attention to them? Had they considered the build-up to the ongoing war that important? It wasn't the fact that they could know that surprised her. The mage courts, in their totality, when they turned their attention to any one group or person, were nearly impossible to hide anything from. There were things that could hide information even from them: mostly each other, the high clergy of the axis of the faith or the gods themselves, and perhaps if one could get a powerful enough spirit to conceal something. However, the largest culprit was necessity. Very few things needed the courts' unified, complete attention.

“*Thank you, I wasn't aware that you had heard.”

“Pfft.” The mage dismissively waved his hand. “*I hear a great many things. I do wish there was something I could do to help. But alas.” He let the implication hang. Though Solveig had no doubt her old friend's desire to help was very real. Big softy.

“*I appreciate it, Your Lordship.” She hesitated; she needed to ask. “*While I do love our conversations, I have my doubts you only called to discuss pleasantries.”

Her old friend leaned forward heavily on the table as a deep, weary sigh escaped him. The motion sent a deep chill rushing down her spine. “*Alas, you are correct as always. No, this isn't just a social call, no matter how deeply I wish it were. I come as a bearer of bad news. Terrible news, in fact.” 

“Oh.” She took a second to study the man's face. He looked tired, and it looked like he had been like that for quite a while. That, in and of itself, worried her. His wives and warlocks would have intervened long ago if he didn't have good reason to be so. If he had merely had his ninth child, one of his wives would simply have taken over more of the child-rearing, even if he mostly handled that. She hadn't seen him this tired since… 

“*And what bad news might that be?” Solveig's jaw tensed.

He chewed on his lower lip briefly before he spoke. “*There are signs that the Leyding chain is approaching failure. It might fail sooner rather than later.”

He wasn't being deliberately obtuse; she knew that. He simply really hated the number. Which meant it was low, extremely low.

“*How long?” 

“*Three years, give or take six months.”

“*What!” Solveig nearly shouted in shock. Luckily, it earned nothing but a wry smile from the mage. “*I think I know the answer, but I need to ask. Are you sure?”

He nodded heavily. “*We are; we will decide what to do with it during the next major royal court. The rest of the world will be informed, and then they are on their own mostly. Of course, there is a chance something gets out before that, but that's always been a risk. The chain isn't a wall after all. Hell, Finland proves that. They will probably beg us to redo the chain.” He said the last sentence with particular frost in his tone.

Right, the tunnels that were found a few months back under Finland. So they were, at least probably, extensions of the Twilight then. 

“*Thank you, Jonas. I know you might be deviating from protocol by telling me. I really appreciate it.” She gave her old friend a small smile, hoping to communicate some appreciation.

“*Pfft. I am simply talking to an old friend. One that needs to know, at least about a rumor. After all, what are friends for?” He winked at her.

As she sat in the now much dimmer room, her mind raced through the changes that needed to be made. The war would still need to be won, but many changes simply couldn't wait.

She lightly slapped both sides of her face. She could consider it later. It was time to meet her new son-in-law to be.