Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm Read Online Free Page B

beside a girl he knew as his sister. His bare feet dangled into a square-cut hold, and brackish water swirled about his ankles. A triangle of gaily-colored canvas spilled summer winds. The seal-smooth construction of the boat’s hull looked like no material Bolverkr had ever seen. The gauzy fabric of Larson’s swimsuit and the violently brash colors of the sister’s bikini seemed similarly alien.
    Suddenly, another craft whipped by Larson’s, sail drawn tight to the mast. A middle-aged man with close-cropped yellow hair waved as he passed, and Bolverkr knew him as Larson’s father. Behind the father. Larson’s younger brother flung sunburned arms into the air with an excitement that caused the boat to rock dangerously. “Slowpokes!” he screamed.
    Larson accepted the challenge. He hauled in the sheet, hugging winds into the shortened sail. The boat rocked to leeward as it sprang forward. The tip of the mast scraped the lake, then bounced upward, and icy water surged over the sides. With a short shriek of outrage, Larson’s sister thumped to the opposite ledge to balance weight. The line bit into Larson’s palms. Using his toes to anchor its knot, he hardened the sail to the mast. His boat caught and inched ahead of his father’s heeling almost parallel to the water. Spray drenched Larson. He laughed at his sister’s shrill admonishments to free the winds.
    An unexpected gust tapped the slight craft, and its sail brushed the surface of the lake. Quickly, Larson eased the canvas. The sailboat hovered momentarily, then capsized into cedar-colored waters, the sister sputtering, the brother and father laughing until their sides ached.
     
    Bolverkr disengaged from Larson’s memory. The scene confirmed his worst suspicions. Like Geirmagnus, Al Larson came from a future time and place. Bolverkr knew Larson’s family would have served as the perfect target for his vengeance, but, with ruined hope, he also realized they dwelt beyond the abilities of Dragonrank magic to harm them. He recoiled in dismay and felt Larson grow alarmed in response. Quickly, Bolverkr regained control, masking his emotions with necessary thoroughness. It’s not over yet. There are other things a man grows to love.
    Bolverkr renewed his search with a malice that knew no bounds. He pried information from Larson’s mind, discovered deep affection for Silme as well as concern for his other two companions. Bolverkr’s efforts also uncovered a pocket of bittersweet grief. He dug for its source to find the remembered image of a samurai named Kensei Gaelinar who had served as a ruthless swordmaster and a friend. Some teachings of this warrior had convinced Larson that a whisper of his mentor’s soul still resided in the finely-crafted steel of the Japanese long sword he had taken from the dead man’s hands and now wore at his side.
    Uncovering no other objects of comparable fondness, Bolverkr turned his attention to Larson’s fears and hatreds. These he prodded with meticulous care, not wanting to reveal his presence in a wild induction of rage. He found orange-red explosions of light, noises louder than the nearest thunder, a savage, crimson chaos of future war Larson called Vietnam. Gory corpses with eyes glazed in accusation intermingled freely with the memory of Larson’s own mortality. An oddly-shaped parcel of metal chattered like a squirrel grazed by a hunter’s arrow as Larson charged enemies with a final, desperate courage. Oblivion followed, a pause of indeterminate length before a rude awakening in a strange elven body and an ancient time.
    Larson stiffened. The recognition of an intruder’s presence flowed through his mind, and a conjured mental wall snapped over the exit. A tentative question followed. Vidarr? Is that you? Bolverkr froze. When no attack followed, he relaxed. For now, he harbored no desire to leave; he found the blockage of no significance. After the consideration of violating biological barriers, a wall manufactured