She tried not to think about how little time they might have together. Each day that passed brought them closer to the trip to Iceland that would decide their fate once and for all. She clung to him in the dark of the night, fearing the future but knowing it must come.
Chapter Ten
Only a few days later, they touched down in Iceland and had to pick up their pre-arranged transport to the secret tiger enclave. The stronghold was located near the famous Grímsvötn volcano in the highlands on the northwestern side of the Vatnajökull ice cap. There was a human geological research and monitoring station not too far away, but over the years, the tigre blanche had employed mages of various kinds to help hide their presence from the humans who closely watched the volcano.
Grímsvötn—which many tigers just called the Grim for short—was the most active of the nation’s volcanoes, and because most of it lay below the ice cap, the subglacial eruptions could be both explosive and very, very dangerous. If the hot magma managed to melt too much water beneath the ice cap, it could release suddenly in an outburst called a jökulhlaup. The Icelandic word had even made its way into the English language to describe any large, abrupt release of water from a subglacial reservoir.
Mitch had studied up on the area as part of his reading over the past week. He found the combination of fire and ice in this harsh environment a thing of beauty, and now that he was here, he thought he understood why some long-ago tiger king had moved his seat of power to this stark landscape.
When the tigre blanche had first claimed part of this land for themselves, there hadn’t been many humans here and their technology had been primitive. Now though, humans had the ability and need to monitor the volcano and glacier that had become the tigers’ refuge with all kinds of scientific devices.
The tigers had countered technology with magic, paying human mages to make their hidden enclave as protected as possible from electronic observation. In fact, there was even some kind of repulsion charm on the area right around the tiger stronghold that made most humans want to avoid it altogether. Only a few had been foolish enough to ignore their inner fears over the years, and they had been dealt with by the ever-present Guard that either redirected them in subtle ways or confronted them and ran them off.
Mitch drove one of the rented vehicles as they left Reykjavík and took the Ring Road, known in Iceland as the Hringvegur, which made a complete circuit around the edge of the island nation. It took them within hiking distance of the stronghold. They’d leave their vehicles in the village where most of the the tiger Clan living in Iceland had gathered. The village paid the government handsomely for certain priveleges of autonomy and silence. Most of the Guard families lived there and helped keep the route to the stronghold both secret and safe even while off-duty.
As their small party parked their rented vehicles, Mitch could feel the tingling sensation of eyes on them. They were being observed. He was surrounded by the group that had set out from the United States with him. Each member of the team had been chosen for their skill and dedication. Paul Miller led the group, organizing the rest.
They had no sooner stepped out of their vehicles than they were surrounded by a contingent of Icelandic tigers. Mitch knew their scent, if not their loyalties.
“This is private property,” one of them called out as he stood forward.
He was young—maybe in his early twenties—and seemed to be the eldest of the group that surrounded them. Mitch was surprised. Was the whole town guarded only by children and youths? If so, what had happened here?
Mitch moved to meet the young tiger despite Paul’s hiss of warning. Now was not the time to show any weakness or fear.
“We have safe passage,” Mitch declared as he faced the younger man, only ten paces or so between them now. “I’m Mitch Gustavson and I come to answer the challenge offered by Gisli.”
“King Gisli,” the young man repeated, but with no heat, merely in a corrective tone.
“He is no king.” Gina burst forward to stand beside Mitch. He knew she was angry but he wasn’t sure if this was the best time for it. What could a bunch of kids do anyway? “He is merely the steward,” she added.
“And who are you to question our leader?” the younger man asked in a curious tone.
“I am Gleda, daughter of Fridrik and Snaedis of the tigre blanche.” Mitch had never been prouder of her regal bearing. Then she smiled and softened her tone, and there was the woman he loved. “But my friends call me Gina.”
The reaction of the youths was immediate. They all sank to one knee in respect while Mitch eyed each one for any sign of subterfuge. But this looked genuine. They all seemed humbled by the presence of the tiger princess.