“You shall not pass. You shall not pass…” The entire Lord of the Rings movie trilogy was a favorite of my sons. I had no idea what other words or phrases I could have used on such dire notice. Every time I repeated those words, I made an X, put a circle around it, and drew a line to the next one.
All using my blood.
My thumb throbbed. I drew the final circle, connected it to the first, and sat back on my heels. Tanner finished a few seconds later. There was blood everywhere, even on his face.
“Record time,” he said, grunting as he hugged his knees to his chest and checked our nested wards. “Where’s my knife?”
I wiped it on my shirt. “Let me wash this and…”
“Stay.” Tanner grabbed my wrist. “Do not leave this circle.” He continued, “I can tell you about her now, if you’d like.” Using his knife, he sliced into his shirt, tore off a strip, and another. “Bandage up. You first.”
I showed him my thumb. He pinched the sides of the cut together and wrapped the bit of cloth around three times, ripped the end in two, and tied a loose knot. He handed the other piece of his shirt to me and extended his thumb. He’d cut himself pretty deeply. Glancing side to side, I could see the symbols he’d drawn required much more blood than my simple Xs and circles.
“It all began with Idunn, the Norse Goddess of Spring and the keeper of the apples of immortality,” he started.
“So, we’re going way, way back,” I said, letting out an exhausted laugh and releasing some of my built up stress—some. Not much.
“Yeah, we are,” Tanner said, letting out a matching huff. “The myth goes that Idunn was kidnapped by Loki, the trickster, and though Idunn was returned, safeguards had to be put into place to ensure, should she be kidnapped again, or worse, the gods of Asgard would always have access to the apples. Centuries go by, humankind spreads over the Earth, and apple seeds and cuttings are one of the agricultural items they take with them. But what humans don’t know is this: the potential to produce Idunn’s apples lies within the seeds of each of the ancient varieties. Growing viable trees from those seeds, however, requires magic and rituals few know how to perform properly.”
He took a deep breath. “And pesticides, genetic manipulation, global warming and other things are destroying the old varieties, which means…”
“Which means,” I interrupted, “it’s of utmost importance that we protect those ancient varieties and the people who continue to safeguard the stock. Like the Pearmains.”
Tanner nodded. “Exactly.”
“But how could a commonly grown apple tree produce the apples of immortality?”
“That’s where the Apple Witch comes in.”
“And is the Apple Witch the reason for all this?” I asked, sweeping my uncut hand across the area in front of us.
“Yes,” Tanner whispered, “and I am so sorry.”
I didn’t know if I wanted to thank him for presenting an opportunity to learn or yell at him for endangering me, my sons, and my house. “Tell me more.”
“The earliest caretakers of the seeds of Idunn’s apples were culled from her female followers, and in return for safekeeping the lineage of the fruit, this group of thirteen were gifted with the ability to change their form.”
“Like shifters?”
“Not exactly.” Tanner returned to his self-soothing habit of threading his hair between his fingers and tugging it tight to his skull. Every time, his features shifted slightly and another layer of who he was came into focus and disappeared again. “The females can transform into trees—apples trees—and most of the early safekeepers chose to make that change just once, as their human lives were ending. While one of the Keepers was making her final change, a younger one was beginning her initiation into their ways. This allowed the thirteen to stay constant.
“Fast forward a few generations. The Keepers had to look farther and farther for women willing to commit to the rigors and responsibilities of their role and work harder and harder to keep them. A handful of the younger ones decided to experiment with changing back and forth while they were still in their fertile years. They discovered that as long as they bled monthly, they could shift between human and tree, thereby keeping a semblance of a normal, human life. But even with this development, their numbers dwindled until only three of these women were left. They began to eat the apples, which they were warned never to do...”
I snorted softly. “Because isn’t that how so many fairy tales begin, with someone being warned not to do something, which they promptly do?”
Tanner nodded. “You could probably finish the story for me at this point. The Keepers’ DNA had begun to morph into a hybrid of human and tree. Which meant they could bear human children, and some of those humans carried the capacity to bear the apples of immortality.” While he spoke, he’d released his hair and begun caressing the pouch he wore around his neck. The leather—at least, I assumed it was leather—was burnished to the color and sheen of a chestnut. “One of my first druidic teachers was one of these women.”
And things just got even more complicated.
“Have you eaten the apples?” I asked. Please say no.
His unbandaged thumb slowed its circling. “Somewhat willingly—out of curiosity—and somewhat against my will.”
“Are you immortal?” July twenty-fifth, though barely two hours old, was starting as strangely as its predecessor had ended.
“Not exactly.”
“How old are you?”
He shrugged. “Eternally thirty-seven?”
I tucked his admission away for a time when I wasn’t so tired that ‘eternally thirty-seven’ didn’t sound so perfectly plausible. “And I’m going to venture a guess that you do the work you do, so you can have access to apple growers. And the
