Chateau MacKenna, here we come.
“Huh. Does she ever rent it out for parties?”
“Yes, actually. Every evening, more or less. This is where the hugr come after training with us. Sessrumnir largely exists to give them a haven, a place to rest and recover.”
“Wait, they train with ye? With the Valkyries, I mean.”
“Yes. We Valkyries prepare them for what’s to come, and Freya makes sure to honor their commitment as often as she can with some much appreciated facetime, and even the occasional Poetic Edda reading.”
“What d’ye mean, ‘what’s to come?’ And what commitment?” I asked, trying hard not to get distracted by the notion of what Nordic slam poetry would be like, or what you might call it. Runic rhyme? Viking verse? The spoken sword? I shook my head, refusing to get sucked down that rabbit hole.
“I mean Ragnarök,” Kára replied matter-of-factly, as though referencing the Nordic equivalent of the apocalypse in casual conversation were commonplace. “When the fated time arrives, the hugr we train will become the vanguard of Freya’s army, and we will be their captains.”
“Ye seriously believe Ragnarök is goin’ to come about? The Ragnarök. Like the cataclysmic destruction of the known universe Ragnarök?”
“That’s the one. And yes, I do.” Kara raised her chin a bit, turning her face towards the sun hanging motionless in the afternoon sky. “In fact, it may have already begun. Either way, time isn’t on our side.”
I frowned, struck by the use of that particular phrase. Hadn’t Hades said something like that before sending me away with Hemingway? I decided to ignore the coincidence, more concerned with the fact that a Valkyrie thought Ragnarök—a Doomsday prophecy that quite possibly exceeded Biblical proportions in scope and breadth—was not only a legitimate threat, but impending. Unfortunately, before I could ask any follow-up questions, Kára reached for me, clasping my forearm with an iron grip that had nothing to do with the armor she wore.
“Come on, I think Freya will want to hear what you have to say sooner rather than later. I’ll fly us the rest of the way.”
“Fly us? In what?”
“In? Nothing. With? These.”
Before I had time to react, a pair of fantastically ornate metal wings decorated in silver filigree burst from Kára’s shoulder blades, unfurling with the sound of swords being unsheathed. They were thick and squat, shaped differently than Hilde’s had been—an idiosyncrasy I voiced almost immediately.
“Good eye,” the Valkyrie admitted, her wings flexing as if glad to finally be set free. “Hilde’s specialty was her ability to maneuver in mid-air. We each have our talents, and our wings are often suited to strengths we may not even know we possess. Some even claim they match our personalities.
“And what are your wings designed for?”
Kára grinned.
“Takeoff.”
Without warning, Kára exploded upwards, dragging me along by my arm, her wings beating so powerfully at our backs that we cleared the first twenty feet in the space of a heartbeat; my ears popped as we ascended, wind slapping against my face so hard it brought tears to my eyes. I tried to scream, to curse, but my voice was drowned out by the gusts and Kára’s laughter.
Apparently the Valkyrie was enjoying herself.
In what might have been seconds but felt like several minutes later, she leveled off and angled for the roof of Freya’s house, which was considerably closer than it had been only moments before. I, meanwhile, squirmed in her grip like a fish out of water, kicking my legs so hard it felt like I was running in mid-air.
“Stop that!” she yelled. “I’ve got you, so enjoy the ride.”
“What the hell was that?” I barked back up at her, my shoulder throbbing with pain. “Ye couldn’t have warned me?”
“Ever seen a sports car go from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds?” Kára asked, laughing again. “Well, as flyers go, I guess you could say I’m a Bugatti.”
“I don’t care if you’re a freakin’ rocket ship, ye damned canary! Next time, give me a heads up.”
“And spoil all the fun? Not likely. You should have seen your face.”
Kára mimicked an expression that mirrored constipation more than it did terror, then began chuckling so hard her convulsions vibrated down my arm. Realizing I wasn’t going to garner any sympathy, much less an apology, I decided to ignore the Valkyrie and do what she suggested: admire the view. From this height, I could see just about as much of Fólkvangr as I had in Hades’ chariot, though the stunning vistas seemed to give way to harsher terrain to the east. I pointed with my free hand, curious.
“What’s over there?”
Kára was silent for a long moment.
“That’s Odin’s half of this realm,” she answered, at last. “Valhalla. See that thing that looks like a mountain, just over there? That’s his mead hall.”
“Jesus, that’s huge!” I exclaimed, unable to accurately account for the distant shape and its relative size.
“Well, you know how men are. Always trying to overcompensate, somehow.”
“Even gods?” I teased.
“Especially gods,” Kára replied, sounding strangely bitter. “If you ask me, the only men worth a damn are the ones who want nothing from you and can appreciate when you offer them something anyway.”
“Speakin’ from experience?”
“Something like that.”
Kára descended before we could talk more, dipping incrementally towards a clear stretch of shell, its lovely starburst pattern visible now that we were so close. A lone figure in a dark feather cloak waited for us, hardly larger than my thumb from this distance, her back turned, her hair billowing in the wind. Somehow, I knew without a doubt who I was looking at long before Kára told me who she was; I could feel her muted power much as I had Hades’ from behind his door. To me, it smelled like honey and reminded me of the thick, thorn-covered brambles that can so easily ensnare the inattentive—a potent combination worthy of any goddess, but especially appropriate for an all-powerful one.
Like Freya.
9
We met Freya at the apex of the turtle’s shell, our boots clunking against the carapace with every step—not that I expected the downstairs neighbors to be terribly upset. From what I could tell, the hugr were throwing a party beneath our feet; the voices of men and women carried, often accompanied by laughter and even—at one point—what sounded like a bawdy song.
“What are they celebratin’ down there?” I asked Kára. But the Valkyrie was too distracted to answer; she ducked her head as Freya approached, her dual-colored eyes tracking the intricate patterns beneath our feet as though they held untold mysteries, or offered answers to questions that plagued her. I repeated my question, flicking the helmet she carried under her arm.
“Huh? Oh, the usual, I expect.”
“Death,” Freya chimed in upon arrival, her manner somehow both gracious and imperious—like she was delighted to play host but felt she was doing us a favor all the same. “But also life. Whenever they hone their skills, the hugr recall the thrill of battle and are reminded of the precarious nature of mortality. Here, they are reminded what it means to revel in victory.
“Sounds like fun,” I admitted. “Though I’m not sure war was meant to be this glamorous.”
I swept an arm out, emphasizing the glorious view from our elevated vantage point. And it was gorgeous. In actuality, however, I took the opportunity to surreptitiously study the goddess; standing a few inches shorter than I was, Freya had the full-figured body of a woman in the prime of her life. Indeed, she reminded me of a flower in full bloom, as though at any moment she might begin to wither and die—a notion that made her all the more alluring. Her honeyed scent rode the air like a perfume, and again I sensed the barest prickle of thorny vines along my skin.
“Perhaps not,” Freya replied, shrugging. “But it is my understanding that mortals believe life is most precious when it is threatened, and that beauty is m
ost appreciated when it begins to fade. I chose this place with all that in mind.”
“Is that why the sun never sets, here? Because golden hour is the last before night falls?”
“It is one reason.”
“What are the others?”
“Tell me why you are here, and perhaps I’ll answer you.” Freya flicked her gaze to Kára, her expression softening. “I noticed you flew her to meet me, which means you thought this was important. Does it have something to do with what we discussed earlier?”
“What?” Kára looked startled but recovered quickly. “Oh, no, Lady Freya. I found this woman, who clearly isn’t one of ours, trying to break into the tower.”
“I wasn’t tryin’ to break in,” I protested. “I mean I was plannin’ to open the door, but no one said anythin’ about it bein’ locked.”
“We argued and fought.” Kára gestured for me to display my injured arm, ignoring my objection. “At one point, I nicked her.”
“Not ‘at one point’,” I countered. “Ye cut me before we fought, ye little—”
“Anyway, it won’t stop bleeding, and she says she has a request for you. I thought the combination was pressing enough to warrant an audience. I hope you agree, my lady. If not, allow me to throw her from the battlements, myself.”
“I pinned ye once, canary,” I growled. “Don’t ye t’ink I won’t do it again.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Kára replied, lightly. “My lady? Is something wrong?”
Except Freya wasn’t listening. Instead, she stepped close and took hold of my injured arm, leaning towards the flesh of my wrist as though she were a vampire about to strike. I fought to pull away, but her grip was far too strong; the goddess’ lips hovered just over the oozing wound, so close I was afraid she might end up with my blood staining her mouth.
“How did you enter this realm?” Freya cocked her head to stare up at me, her gaze fierce and unyielding. “The living don’t belong here.”
Kára took a step back and flung her training spear to the ground. It skidded across the tortoise shell, clattering, as the Valkyrie reached for the sky and drew from the aether a spangled silver trident that I quickly found hovering a few inches from my throat.
“I am sorry, my lady. I did not know what she was.”
“Easy there, Aquachick. Listen, alright? Yes, I’m alive. Or mostly alive, I guess. I’m not exactly clear where I sit on the spectrum. But I’m not here to cause trouble. Hades sent me.” I winced as Freya’s grip tightened, threatening to grind my bones to dust if she applied even a smidge more pressure. “Jesus, ease up, will ye?”
“Why did Hades send you?”
“Because Helheim has a pest control problem, and he thought ye lot could use an exterminator.” I reached up to gingerly push the tip of Kára’s trident a few inches farther from my jugular. “And that would be me.”
“Helheim?” Freya asked, bewildered. “What’s happening there?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted, truthfully. “All I know is that it’s been invaded by someone strong enough to subdue the Titan Realm. Someone I have to stop. And, in order to do that, I apparently need a blessin’ of some sort to enter Niflheim, includin’ whatever ye can give me capable of gettin’ me past Helheim’s security. Preferably without bein’ eaten or dyin’.”
“Did you know about any of this?” Freya demanded of Kára, who stared at me with open surprise. The Valkyrie shook her head so violently her braid slapped against her aptly-named breastplate.
“She didn’t mention any of that to me when we met, or on the way here. But she did say she knew Hilde, which I believe is true.”
“Hilde? What’s she have to do with this?”
“She claims Odin was the one who sent Hilde to Midgard, by Hilde’s own admission.”
“Odin?” Freya’s grip became a vice and my arm began to turn blue even as she whirled on me. “When did Hilde say this happened?”
“It didn’t come up,” I hissed, pain making my voice thready. “Look...if ye don’t want to believe me, or help me, then fine. Just let me go, and I’ll ask someone else. The Horseman said I needed the blessin’ of an Aesir or one of the Vanir. I’m sure I can find someone willin’ to help.”
Of course, that was a bluff; I had no idea how many Norse gods called this particular realm home, but I seriously doubted any of them would be handing out blessings like participation trophies at a youth soccer tournament. In fact, assuming Hemingway hadn’t sent me here on some wild ghost chase, I had to assume Freya was my best bet.
Which didn’t bode all that well, considering I was about to be a cadaver with a missing limb.
“Kára, you know the Horseman,” Freya said after a tense moment of silence, eyeing the Valkyrie. “Can you find him and confirm she’s telling the truth about why she’s here?”
“I…” Kára began, looking startled. “Yes, my lady. I can do that.”
“Good.” Freya released my arm with a sickly sweet smile. “In the meantime, I’ll see to your wound, and you can tell me all about Hilde.”
“What about the blessin’?” I asked, grimacing as I held my throbbing appendage to my chest. “And Helheim. Is there some way to sneak in? I don’t have time to waste.”
“That depends. Tell me, are you any good at sneaking into places you don’t belong?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Freya’s smile grew chilly.
“I take your point. Well, if what you say is true, I trust Kára will find out. And, if it’s a blessing you want, I may have a solution that will benefit us both.”
I groaned, inwardly. What was it with these gods and making deals? Why couldn’t any of them just accept that I was doing them a favor by seeking out Ryan and be grateful, for Christ’s sake? Rather than complain, however, I motioned for Kára to get her trident out of my face and go about her business.
“Hurry back,” I insisted. “Please.”
The Valkyrie jerked her chin sharply, her wings unfurling with the same surreal grace as before. She bent her knees and leapt, propelled skyward by the immense strength of her wings. I raised my good arm to shield myself from the sudden buffeting, marveling at her absurd speed as she zipped westward.
“They are impressive, aren’t they?”
“Who? The Valkyries?” I turned to find Freya watching me, her gaze half-lidded, her expression unreadable. “I’d say so, sure. But then any woman who kicks ass for a livin’ tends to impress me.”
“Oh, but they are far more than that. Ambitious, driven, passionate...they are warriors, yes. But also caregivers. Teachers. Even lovers.”
“Ye would know better than me,” I replied, shrugging. “I’ll give ‘em this, though, they’ve got the rest of us beat when it comes to style.”
I tapped my jacket with a curled middle finger, imitating the gesture Hilde had shown me to transform my top into something both warmer and heavier than my current outfit provided. Despite how long it’d been since I last wore the standard-issue Valkyrie wear, I still knew most of the signs by heart. I had really, really liked my customizable Valkyrie wear.
Too bad I’d short-circuited them.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Freya asked, her eyes suddenly as wide as saucer plates.
“From Hilde.”
“She shared seiðr magic with you?”
“Is that what you call this?” I asked, tucking my thumb and sweeping my other fingers into a makeshift blade—the sign Hilde had made when she wanted to produce a sword out of mid-air, from what I recalled. Freya made to grab my hand before I could finish, but I was too fast for her this time; I danced backwards, narrowly avoiding her grasp, and prepared myself for a fight—whatever I had or hadn’t done, I had no intention of being at her mercy a second time.
I wasn’t sure my poor arm could take it.
“That was not for her to show you,” Freya hissed, displaying a hint of true discomfort since we’d met. “Come with me, now. I want to know everything.”
> “And what if I don’t feel like sharin’, all the sudden?” I growled, hackles rising.
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
Freya’s power came at me all at once; the sensation of vines wrapped tight around me, their invisible thorns piercing my skin, making me cry out. In seconds, all that honey began to flood my senses, spilling into my throat and lungs until I could hardly draw enough breath to scream. I writhed against her power, my flesh bound and feverish. Hers was an insidious, vibrant strength that offered more pain the longer I resisted.
“Submit, and this will end.”
Submit? Me? If I could have laughed, I would have. Instead, the word triggered something within me, some reservoir of power I hadn’t realized lay dormant within. It came rising to the surface, filling me with a warmth that reminded me vaguely of the gut-bubbling buzz I’d experienced in Charon’s boat. I let that warmth become heat, fed it until the honeyed scent burnt away and the vines began to char. They fell away in a sudden flash of white light.
“What are you?” Freya asked, breathlessly, her face strained, her lips curled in a frown that threatened to disrupt the beautiful illusion she represented.
“Ye know,” I said, struggling to control my own breathing, “I’m gettin’ really tired of answerin’ that fuckin’ question.”
10
Freya raised a fist liberally coated in a dark green salve that reminded me of the dankest weed I’d ever caught a whiff of and began sliding it up and down the linen bandage she’d prepared for my wounded arm. I, meanwhile, pinched my nose before the rank funk gave me a migraine...or got me too high to function.
Brimstone Kiss: Phantom Queen Book 10 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 6