Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Explore 1.5M+ audiobooks & ebooks free for 30 days

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory: Norn Novellas, #2
    Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory: Norn Novellas, #2
    Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory: Norn Novellas, #2
    Ebook125 pages1 hourNorn Novellas

    Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory: Norn Novellas, #2

    By A. Nicky Hjort

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Norse legend has it that the arms of the Yggdrasil tree—a sacred instrument of Odin—are ever-reaching, and its survival is necessary for life itself to continue. During Winter's Solstice, when the search for her mortal mother begins, Za will have to cross over the Ebon Branch of the Dead—a feat that has supposedly never been survived intact. But if she does make it across and back home, she just might discover why she and the other three Norn Sisters of Fate came to be. A fairytale at heart, this is the second chapter in the epic saga of the youngest and most fickle of the four Norn Sisters. The same feisty immortal creature who must discover her true origins to understand her inherent inner darkness. Only this way can she learn the meaning of unconditional sacrifice in the name of impenetrable love…when, as her destiny would have it, all the branches of such a powerful tree tremble treacherously in her tiny little hands. A veritable unraveling of Snow White, the narrative of Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory journeys through the most horrible of realms where shocking truths emerge. Here where death mimics life, obsession masquerades as devotion, and the most unexpected endings become the most surprising beginnings of a classic tale. One…you thought you knew so well. Welcome to a place where the darkest of melodies births a miraculous tune of surrenderance. Here Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory and Christmas, as we know it, begins.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLavish Publishing, LLC
    Release dateFeb 28, 2018
    ISBN9781944985431
    Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory: Norn Novellas, #2
    Read preview

    Read more from A. Nicky Hjort

    Related to Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory

    Titles in the series (2)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related categories

    Reviews for Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Where Ebon Sounds Like Ivory - A. Nicky Hjort

      ONE

      Legend of the Ebon Harp

      Play the Ebon Harp with fingers light…

      Wait, dare not to touch, lest you might,

      Bring such demons forth…this Solstice night.

      Unless…unless…

      Your blood-red kisses of life, do trade,

      Otherworldly passion of love’s fairest maid,

      And you’re the only creature who ever stayed.

      Safely abreast the devil’s malicious shore…

      And by helping Snow be as black as noir,

      Forever closed an un-closable door.

      TWO

      The Ebon Harp

      Za, the hardly known yet most intriguing of the four immortal Norn Sisters, left her bed early before the sunrise on the verge of winter’s Solstice. If she had real, living parents to speak of, the curious creature would most likely have run to them for advice yet again, but alas…the only limited guidance offered her during crisis came from her adopted father figure, Odin, ruler of her universe.

      And as usual around the time of winter’s Solstice, he was always too busy creating this or destroying that or whatever it was he was always doing. Of course, like the commoners in her homeland, she could simply hang her request for the Solstice Saints. Saints…probably elves or dwarves, more like, whom she had long suspected were some collection of Odin’s lesser minions in ridiculous costumes, from the large and vibrant Yggdrasil World Tree in the center of the village. There the villagers hung their prayers and most heart-felt wishes by a string, made of their most precious scrap materials, from the reachable branches of the mysterious tree—a huge plant that always managed to be as green as freshly slimed frog skin. Well, always except for the branch of the dead and damned, of course.

      Za had stood at the base of the massive plant, three meters wide at least, on many of occasions trying to figure out what sort of spell made it grow and grow despite the deepest chills of winter and the driest of summers. Seasons when Frey, the god of rain and sun, had surely forgotten that precious water from the sky was as critical as warmth from the sun to bless the people that kept multiplying under his fertile guardianship. Where at that lone woody vision that dwarfed Za, as tall and mighty as the doors of Odin’s legendary hall in Asgard were wide, it was whispered that Solstice Saint do-gooders might come to collect the villager’s greatest wishes the days and nights that came before the Solstice. Might. Might. Might.

      But might had never been good enough for a thing as feisty as Za. And surely Odin’s own adopted, immortal daughter deserved to be treated better than common town folk with such broken and rarely answered half-promises like might. Ridiculous bargains by such unimportant imposters who pretended to be things they could never be. Only Odin himself was worthy of filling that role. And if anyone knew Odin couldn’t be bothered to fulfill his promises, it was she. What a lazy god he was, she thought. What had he ever suffered for his lowly people? She wasn’t sure why they dropped to their knees to sing and praise such a sloth of a ruler. Odin never bothered anything about her, and she was immortal herself even though he—the supposedly highest and mightiest amongst them—wasn’t. How could he possibly be bothered to deliver up wishes to help mere, unworthy humans who worshiped beneath his one great eye and trembled at his stinky feet?

      Besides, she didn’t believe in legends she herself had not invented until she saw them firsthand. Never had, never would. That was simply her nature.

      Thus, the clever, but devastated, black-haired beauty sought solace in the only thing she knew was real for sure—magic. Magic of her own. Magic that came from whatever had blessed, or possibly even cursed, her mother at birth. A common mortal’s birth that had somehow, according to what little was known of the event, resulted in the delivery of four girls. All of them born exactly one hour apart before their mother succumbed to her weakness—mortality—finding solace in the god Hel’s arms of eternal sleep. The same kind of peace that Za had never felt as a result of losing the irreplaceable, a proper childhood, before she even knew what she had lost.

      It had been several nights since Za had found the device, that enrapturing ebon masterpiece divinely carved with the most interesting designs, tucked away in some corner of her birth family’s tomb that she had never explored before. It was a long story why she had come to be there and find it, but she couldn’t be bothered to think about that right now. Besides, she didn’t dare think about the consequences of what had happened last night and what it could mean. She had one night, two at most, to fix things, or the curse would last for all eternity.

      She looked at the two items in her hand and stashed them away while nervousness ate her from the inside like the wormy parasites that chew on the deepest branches of the World Tree to stave off their hour of inevitable demise. A ribbon. A hair comb. How could two items, so simple and plain, cause so much bother? Maybe it was a lie. Maybe it wasn’t. How would she ever know?

      Thank Odin the payments can be paid later. I just don’t have the time or the tyme before winter Solstice. Toying with the possibility of re-creating tyme, a world where she had learned that the hell-of-Tyndra and the heaven-of-Ardnyt were the exact same places just moving in different directions, she felt better. She always found a way to escape the punishment for her selfish crimes. This time would be no different. What did she care if she didn’t have His Majesty’s full attention? She had her sorcery, and she could create worlds all on her own, especially with the help of an enchanted harp. Maybe she would forsake her promise to the woman and never return.

      She could play the harp all on her own, could she not?

      What a lovely waste of tyme, she whispered and winked to her friend, a fox she loved with all her heart. But Talby was getting on in age, as foxes tend to do, and wouldn’t be around much longer. That gave her an idea. She cracked her knuckles.

      Everyone knows a saucy Norn sister with an idea could be quite a dangerous thing. But what things in life that were not dangerous had ever been truly fun? Could the harp really grant her most secret wish…for such a small price—unlike Father Odin…who was so busy playing the grand host to the heroes in his grand hall in Asgard that he had totally forgotten about her?

      She had to find out what the player of an ancient harp could do with such simple things, why they were so important. And why the barmaid, who any fool could see was a used-up old witch in disguise standing precariously at the edge of death herself already, wanted to play it so badly. Did she think she could stave off damnation and the passage across the Ebon Branch of the Dead? Surely not. Even witches met their maker’s judgment at the end of their days of evildoing.

      Mind made up, Za stood and straightened her back fine and strong and decided to play it another time…just to get answers. So many questions required so many answers. Quickly, she braided her long, black hair and tucked it up into a bun so that it would stay in place. She gathered her bo staff and puffed her chest out to augment the courage the wooden stick instilled in her.

      You stay here, Talby. You put out the shoes like I promised Doc I would to collect the wishes that no one ever brings. A tear threatened, but she managed to pull it back in before it fell. And I’ll be back by the fire before Solstice morn to fill them myself like every year before because we all know that Solstice Saints are not real. She petted her feathery friend and started walking away with a small and worn book in her pocket.

      She had a harp to play, after all.

      An ebon harp, to be exact…

      THREE

      The Sixth Day and the Sixth Playing of the Harp—Part One

      Halfway to the hidden spot of her treasure, Za stopped to snack and rest and think once more. The small book in her pocket felt heavier by the moment. Perhaps it was time to take it out and read it then. She remembered the words of the witch from last night. You’re not much of a reader, surely…are you, dear? And the way the old

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 7