The Page of Pentacles: Loki's Bargain, #2

By nikki broadwell

The flutter of a butterfly's wings may cause a hurricane across the world, but can the turn of a page cause chaos across time?

Gertrude is about to find out just how mighty the pen is when she publishes The Hanged Man, a fictional account of her time in the future that is meant to prevent the suffering she witnessed. But the love and loss she experienced are brought crashing back when the god Loki informs her that good intentions aside, her book has sent ripples into the future with disastrous consequences.

An evil sorcerer and witch have joined powers with malevolent corporations, creating a society based on massive wealth disparity and the worst manipulations of science. If this weren't enough for Gertrude to deal with, she is given reason to believe that her son is still alive in this terrible new world.

Frantic to find out the truth Gertrude searches out an ancient druid who brings her face to face with the law of unintended consequences. Is there anything she can do to rectify the future before it's too late?  With the help from some old friends, Gertrude sails into the unknown, fearful but determined to make things right and reclaim her son. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: nikki broadwell
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393553212

nikki broadwell

Nikki Broadwell has been writing non-stop for sixteen years. From the time when she was a child her imagination has threatened to run off with her and now she is able to give it free rein. Animals and nature and the condition of the world are themes that follow her storylines that meander from fantasy to paranormal murder mystery to shapeshifters--and along with that add the spice of a good love story. 

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

MILLTOWN

"G ertrude, are you in there?"

I turned from my desk to see my neighbor Carla coming through my front door. Don’t let Lucifer out, I yelled, watching my black cat streak for the outside.

Carla managed to close it just before Lucifer escaped, his disappointment showing plainly on his face. I came by to remind you about tonight, she said, reaching down to scratch the cat behind his ears. He purred and arched his back, rubbing up against her.

Tonight? Oh, you mean the book signing.

Yes, the book signing. She straightened and shook her head, an exasperated expression taking the place of her smile. If you want your book to be a success you need to pay attention to these things. That stunt you pulled last month really pissed off a lot of your fans.

That wasn’t a stunt, Carla. I simply forgot.

Really. Carla pressed her lips together. I know you don’t enjoy crowds but I think you’re carrying this too far. You’re a celebrity now. You should be used to this.

I would hardly call…

Carla put up her hand to stop me. Gertrude, your book is a runaway best seller. People are talking about it across the globe. You’ve affected the way business is being conducted and single-handedly stopped the use of several toxic chemicals. Monsanto is spreading lies about you as fast as they can—because of you they’ve lost some of their lobbying power.

I thought about the controversial themes I had chosen to include in my story. I had decided to call my book, The Hanged Man, since this particular Tarot card spoke to me. And also, I was a Tarot card reader with a very old deck in my possession that had been passed down through several generations of the Romani women in my family. The Hanged Man’s cover was the Rider-Waite image from that very deck. It had taken Bob, the restoration expert at the photography shop in Milltown, quite some time to recondition the image enough to be useable--although in some ways the lines and cracks added another level of mystery. I had thought to use a pen name, but in the end, I used my real name of Gertrude Besnik, a decision I worried about with the electronic access people had to every detail of people’s lives.

Nearly four years had passed since the fateful day I’d begun to write. Several drafts later, an editor, finding a publisher and all the time that took, plus marketing and finally getting a response to my hard work, seemed like forever.

‘The Hanged Man’ Tarot card meant surrender, giving up control, something I had had to do even before arriving back from 2452; there was simply no way back, no way to retrieve what I’d lost. And in that release was the answer I’d been seeking. By keeping still, we move forward, a lesson inherent in meditation that I was slowly learning. I also chose this card as my title because of the connection with Odin, the Norse god who offered himself as a sacrifice to gain knowledge. He hung for nine days, a number corresponding to the nine Norse worlds contained in Yggdrasil, the ash tree that held these realms in its branches and roots. And when those nine days were over, he knew the meaning of the runes.

This had special significance for me since it was the Norse world I found myself in for the two years I spent in the future. How I got to the 2450’s was still a mystery, but what happened during that time was forever imprinted on my soul.

I thought about the talk shows I’d been on in the past year, the book tour that nearly did me in; I could hardly believe its success. The Hanged Man had been translated into French, German, Spanish, Japanese and Chinese as well as Dutch. I was getting tons of mail each day, some good and some bad, and I’d had to hire a secretary to answer my copious e-mails. I have Freyja to thank for all of it, I muttered, thinking about the Norse goddess who was my Fylgje, a Norse word meaning guardian spirit. She had come to me when I was in the future land of Far Isle and stuck with me on my return to my timeline in the States. I had invoked her when I began my book and the dedication in the front matter was to her: To Freyja, who pushed me onto my path and hung around to make sure I saw it through.

You deserve the recognition, Gertrude. Your book has a message that the entire world needs to hear. And think about the two years it took to write it and the year it took to get a publisher to pick it up! You’ve worked your ass off. Now you need to reap the rewards.

Is appearing at a book signing, reaping the rewards, Carla?

There’s wine. Carla said, grinning.

Thank you for arranging that!

Years had passed, but still the image of my baby’s lifeless body plagued my dreams. I thought of his last moments, my heroic effort to save him from the sorceress. But the fall from the castle wall had broken his neck. I still remembered the feeling of blood lust when I stuck the knife into that horrible hag—over and over and over until Adair turned into a wizened husk. How old had she really been? I should have left my baby with Loki instead of carrying his limp body to the cave with me. The Norse trickster god’s magic might have been able to revive him—but this line of thought was not helpful.

The Hanged Man had been my refuge while I was writing, an obsession that took my mind away from the pain. In the book I had chronicled my very real travels through the future, playing up the part about past nuclear disasters and the contamination of food and water that had turned the future into what it was—a place devoid of animals and technology and filled with lawless mercenaries. There were no computers, no electricity, no cars, trains or planes where I’d been. Even the cities were run-down burned-out hulks in which crime ran rampant. I billed the book as fantasy, but most of what I’d written was from first-hand experience. Although I didn’t know it at the time, 2450 was the year I arrived in Far Isle, pregnant with amnesia.

In my book I reordered what had happened to me during those years, renaming all the people I’d met and changing the trajectory of the story considerably. Nuri, the heroine of The Hanged Man, had a child who was never kidnapped by an evil sorceress. The child’s father, Brandubh, who I renamed Bruge, was with Nuri for part of the story but was later killed by exposure to toxins. In reality I had no idea what had happened to Brandubh since I left Far Isle.

I left Kafir’s name the same since he was now dead and would never figure in my life again. I figured it was my over active imagination that made me see the two of them in visions and in my dreams, as though they were both waiting for me in the future. Freya had been silent since then, her warnings and glimpses of the future gone as though they’d never been. I guessed that once I set my mind to the task at hand, my guardian spirit, my Fylgje, had left this timeline.

The time and money I’d spent on therapy was completely wasted. The psychiatrist who saw me was skeptical about the visions, unhelpful about my ideas regarding a book, and generally dismissive, aside from writing out a prescription for Xanax, which I never took.

I thought about Kafir’s bright turquoise eyes, the deep laugh lines etched into his bronzed skin. Even now I felt a sharp pang of loss remembering how much I loved him. What a fool I’d been. I should have taken him up on his suggestion that I remain in Fell. You have friends here, he’d told me. Instead, I cajoled him into bringing me home on his magic boat, a trip that killed him.

Gypsy had brought me to Milltown without her skipper at the helm, but when I went back with the boatwright I’d hired to do the repairs, the boat had disappeared. And without that time-traveling boat I was stuck in this timeline forever.

But what would be the point of going back? The two people I loved the most were gone. In The Hanged Man, Nuri stayed with Kafir and together they save the world, making several trips back and forth between the twenty-fifth century and the twenty-first. If only that were true.

Hurry up, Gertrude! We’re going to be late!

When my mind came back to the present, I was holding a shoe in my right hand and was only halfway dressed. I’ll be right there, I shouted, pulling a sweater over my head and pulling it down over my dark skirt.

Ms. Besnik, will you sign my book?

I looked up at the dark-haired boy in his teens. He seemed familiar, with his brooding eyes and pale skin. To whom should I address it?

To Fehin, he said, smiling.

I startled so much the pen flew out of my hand, landing on the floor. Can you say that again? I asked, watching him bend to retrieve my pen. Fehin was Brandubh’s name for our son.

Finn--F-i-n-n.

I sighed, letting my hunched shoulders drop. ‘To Finn,’ I wrote. ‘May your life bring much happiness.’ I signed it with a flourish and handed him the book.

Thanks, he said, taking it from me to read what I’d written.

My hands were shaking as I signed the next book. I turned, gesturing to Carla who was standing by the counter. I’ll be back in a minute, I assured the people waiting as I rose from my chair. The line extended out the door and along the sidewalk.

What’s the matter? Carla whispered once I reached her. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

For months I’d wanted to tell Carla about my son and what had happened in that future time, but I knew she would never believe me. I just need a break, I told her.

How about a glass of wine? she asked me, pointing toward the back of the bookstore. I’ll put the crowd off by plying them with wine and cheese. She steered me to a table covered with open wine bottles and plastic cups. Give this woman some wine, she told the man behind the table. Wait here, I’ll make an excuse, she told me before hurrying toward the crowd at the front.

I sipped my wine thinking about how the name had plunged me into the past. Fehin was a Gaelic word that meant little raven, a name that Brandubh had chosen because of his own name, which meant dark raven. I had chosen Rifak, Kafir spelled backward, since Kafir had acted as midwife for the difficult birth and basically saved both our lives. The book signings were bringing it all back again. My dreams were filled with Kafir and Gypsy, his boat, as well as Foy, my funny satyr friend, and Tara, my best friend and confidant. And worst of all were the dreams about my sweet baby boy who I would never see again. Tears welled up and I willed them away. I had to be strong now for my public. What would my fans think of a blubbering woman who was shaking so much she could barely write her name?

I made it through the rest of the evening, but when it was over, I was completely exhausted. I need a break from these things for a while, I told Carla on the way home. In the past few years Carla had become my publicist as well as a good friend, and I relied on her to coordinate my schedule.

You have another tour beginning in May, two weeks from now. I don’t think we can get you out of this one. But between now and then why don’t you take a trip or do something restful like go to a spa or something?

I’ve never been to a spa in my life. And what about my job at the Crystal Guide?

Won’t they let you off for a week or so? They know the demands on you right now—aren’t they supposed to be spiritually minded?

You’re probably right—they’ll be fine with it. But I don’t know what to do with myself. If I don’t keep busy these memories will…

Why don’t you give in to them, Gertrude? Maybe there’s some reason why they’re coming up right now. You haven’t allowed yourself a minute of peace since beginning the book.

Carla had no idea what memories I was talking about. The only thing I had mentioned to her was the affair I’d had with Brandubh in Scotland. I never referred to the Otherworld or what happened to propel me into the future, nor had I mentioned Kafir or my having given birth to a baby boy. Carla must think I was daft to keep going over an affair that had only lasted a month. If she only knew. I can’t give in or I’ll be crying constantly! I need to be strong for my public.

I have a friend who owns a small cabin up in the woods by Halston, Carla said, staring at me with a worried frown. He and his wife hardly ever use it. I’ll ask if you can stay there. There are hiking trails everywhere and it’s incredibly peaceful. Why don’t you ask Joe to meet you up there? You two could use a romantic get-a-way. Your public will forgive you for being exhausted and overwrought. Take a week off.

Joe was a man I dated occasionally. There was nothing serious between us but we enjoyed each other’s company and the sex was good. But right now, the thought of him did nothing for me. I needed time alone.

CHAPTER TWO

Since I didn’t own a car, I rented one to drive up to the cabin outside Halston. It wasn’t a long drive and was made even shorter since my mind was occupied, going from one thing to another—topics that I couldn’t bring up with anyone.

I thought of the publicity of the past year, the people clamoring to talk with me. I knew the interest was a fluke brought on by the sudden popularity of post-apocalyptic narratives. Mine certainly fit into this category but with the love story and the happy ending it had satisfied my readers.

All the publicity was worth it if my book actually changed the future for the better. The Hanged Man had spawned a rash of new studies, books and blogs relating to agriculture practices, pollution and pesticides, and radiation that threatened the food chain. But was it all enough—could this actually impact the world of the future where technology had been obliterated due to nuclear fallout and the notion of progress at any cost?

More than anything I wanted to see my friends, to find out what had happened to Brandubh, to know if my slim hopes for Rifak/Fehin and Kafir could be true. My feelings had not abated. I was still overwrought every single time I took a trip down memory lane. Maybe I should take the damn Xanax.

I was crying by the time I reached the red mailbox that indicated the driveway to the cabin, and almost missed the turn. I slammed on my brakes and backed up, glad no one was behind me. The dirt road was rutted from the winter snows, but it was spring now and I could see creamy dogwood blossoms peeping in between the conifers. I looked forward to walking those dark woods, letting my spirit take in what the trees had to offer.

At the end of the road, I came upon the tiny cabin, complete with window boxes filled with plastic geraniums. I parked and pulled my bag out of the back seat, my gaze traveling across the open area around the house. An old washing machine had been left to rust and next to it was a woodpile. I would probably need some of those stacked logs, as the nights up here this time of year dipped down below freezing. It was still sweater weather in this mountainous region.

It smelled musty inside and I opened up the windows to bring in some fresh air. After searching the cupboards and small empty refrigerator, I was glad I’d thought to bring along some supplies from town. The one bed had sheets, a blanket and coverlet, but the bedspread was dusty and there was a moldy smell wafting from the bathroom. Carla had definitely put a positive spin on this place.

After making a sandwich I changed into jeans and a sweater, pulling my hiking boots over thick socks. I left the cabin, heading to a path by the back door meandering under the canopy.

Walking always put me into a sort of trance and this time was no exception. It was very quiet, with only the occasional birdcall. I recognized a robin and a cardinal and some chickadees. When I heard the sound of a man’s voice I startled, stopping to listen.

No, no, don’t eat that!

A second later I heard a child’s chortle, followed by a woman’s laugh. There was a family out here, I realized, sighing with relief. I found them in a clearing, a blanket spread out with food items across it. They were having a picnic.

Sorry, I said. I was just taking a walk and…

Gertrude?

I stared at the red-haired woman. Yes…

It’s me, Maeve! In the next moment she’d flung herself into my arms.

I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. I hadn’t seen Maeve since the day of the battle in Otherworld seven years before. What are you doing here? I stammered, once she let go of me.

We had to introduce Airy to her grandparents. They live in Halston.

Now I remembered. Harold’s old house was close to Alex’s house and Harold’s parents had a farmhouse not far away.

Can you join us? There’s some wine left. Maeve poured the golden liquid into a plastic cup and handed it to me. We’ve heard all about your book. How exciting! And I love the title; did you base it on what happened to you after what happened in Otherworld?

Sort of. Did you know I ended up in the future? Somehow I went through a time rift.

We’ve heard it from MacCuill who heard it from Gunnar, a time-traveling druid. You know Gunnar, don’t you?

Gunnar was the ancient druid who accompanied Kafir and me on the search for Rifak. I nodded, still finding it hard to speak.

The book is doing well in Scotland, in case you’re interested. My mother and father have both read it.

Are Finna and Alex living in Bailemuir or in the Otherworld? I finally managed to ask.

They come and go, Harold answered, the first words out of his mouth.

When I turned his way, he had a frown on his face. I wondered if he was still angry about my antics with Brandubh before I finally came to my senses. Maybe he didn’t trust me. I was pregnant with Brandubh’s child when I washed out on that wave of water that came down the valley.

Maeve nodded. I thought as much.

My baby, he…

Maeve put her hand on my arm. We’ve heard all about it from Gunnar. From what he’s told us Brandubh is miraculously still alive.

I nodded. Adair brought him back from the dead. Brandubh told me he thought he might be immortal now. The only problem is that he can’t go back to Otherworld. He’s stuck in the future forever.

From what Gunnar said, Brandubh may be back to his old ways. Apparently, he heads up a council of religious zealots.

In Fell? That place is so backward I can’t imagine it.

Backward? From what I’ve heard it’s huge and modern in all the worst ways.

I took in this news, trying to figure out what was going on. And Adair? I asked, afraid of the answer.

You killed her, Gertrude. You deserve a medal for that.

I gazed into the trees remembering the moment. Sticking that knife into her…it felt…

Knife? I heard she fell into some lava pool and burned up.

I shook my head. That’s not what happened.

Maeve turned back to her daughter who was picking up acorns and attempting to crack them open with her teeth. I tried not to stare longingly at the baby girl so near Rifak’s age. Her red hair was a halo around her freckled face and when she glanced my way, I saw that she’d inherited her mother’s green eyes. She’s a lovely child, I said, as Maeve picked her up. I took a hefty sip from my glass. What about Kafir? I asked, hoping against hope that his fate had also been changed.

Maeve frowned. I don’t recognize that name.

Maeve and Harold played with Airy while I finished my wine. When they began to pack things up, I stood. I’d better get back to the cabin—I need to gather wood before it gets too dark. I have some time until my next book tour and I was planning on resting. But now…

If you haven’t already booked it, I would suggest a visit to Edinburgh. You have tons of fans there.

Actually, Edinburgh is on my list.

When will you be there? Maeve asked.

After I gave her my dates in May, she told me my trip would coordinate with an upcoming druid conference in Otherworld.

I’m sure Gunnar will attend. He’s the one you need to talk to, Maeve said.

As I turned to follow the path back to the cabin Maeve called out, Why don’t you join us for lunch tomorrow? I would love a Tarot reading and you could meet Harold’s parents.

We decided to meet at noon in Halston the following day. The Inn had very good food, Harold assured me, with the first hint of a smile.

That night I puzzled over what they’d told me. Something major must have changed in the future. It couldn’t be because of my book, could it? And a modern city in ‘all the worst ways’ didn’t sound very promising. How could one story change the future? But then I thought of the saying about the butterfly wing in Brazil affecting weather on the other side of the world. Tiny things could make big differences. I fell asleep thinking of various scenarios that could have caused such a change, coming up with all sorts of social, political and environmental issues in the present that would certainly impact the future if they weren’t addressed. But before I formed a hypothesis I would have to speak to Gunnar.

CHAPTER THREE

FELL 2456

"K afir, you look a mess! You need to shave and take a shower and we’re due at the symphony in less than an hour!"

Kafir gazed at his wife, the usual surge of desire rising up in him. It was amazing the affect this woman always had on him. Sometimes he wondered if she’d bewitched him. It was as if she led him around by his libido, which was always front and center when he was with her.

Don’t look at me like that. We don’t have time for any nonsense, she said, turning away to dress.

He watched Ella pull on her stockings almost unable to restrain himself. Her skin was creamy white, her long blonde hair shimmering like spun gold. I want another baby.

Ella turned, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. We’re getting a little old for that, aren’t we?

Maybe that’s why I want another.

And what about the law, Kafir? With your inferior genes it would never be allowed.

But you’re on the council; I’m sure you could get around the rules.

Ella shook her head and raised her hand, her fingers doing a strange dance in the air. Get dressed, she told him.

Thoughts of sex vanished as Kafir headed to the closet to find his long black jacket with the upright collar and his crisply pressed white shirt. He hurried into the bathroom and turned on the stream of tiny jets, stripping off his worn trousers and dirt-streaked linen shirt and stepping inside the enclosed space. The afternoon gardening had worked dirt under his fingernails, he noticed, looking down.

When he came out of the bathroom Ella was dressed in a body-hugging sheath, the metallic fabric shining like jewels. Her hair was done up in a complicated twist on top of her head. Hurry up, she ordered. It won’t do to keep the mayor waiting.

It was a mere ten minutes later that Kafir held out his arm and led the way to their vehicle, sliding open the door for her before coming around to the driver’s side. I don’t much like the mayor.

You’d better suppress those thoughts, Kafir. He’s the ticket to our future.

I think he has designs on you.

According to you, everyone has designs on me. And maybe you’re right. She gazed at him out of her wide cornflower blue eyes, her full mouth turning up in a wicked smile. Don’t forget your glasses, she said.

Kafir took the narrow lenses from her, slipping them on before starting the car. They were his computer, his navigation system and his phone, all wrapped into one. Everyone in the city had the chip that connected him or her with the electronic grid. They were implanted at birth.

On his right lens a map of the road came up, followed immediately by the command in his ear to