The Unleashing

by Shelly Laurenston

  She lifted her own blood-covered hands and watched in horrified fascination as her fingers turned long and bladelike.

  Talons. She now had talons.

  She dropped the weapons she held. She could still use them if she had need, but this weapon would do her just fine.

  A man ran up from behind her and she turned into him, ramming her taloned hands into his gut. Once embedded in him, his shocked face staring down at her, she wiggled her fingers inside him, cutting his organs, gleeful in the knowledge that she was making his death as painful as possible.

  She’d been taught by the elders of her people that it was wrong to enjoy the death of another. One should kill out of necessity only. A fine and lofty belief. But who could afford fine and lofty beliefs among people like this?

  So instead, she shed her lofty ideals and embraced her rage. She embraced it as a lover would. Or the way a mother embraces her child.

  She ripped her hands from the man and his guts fell to the ground, moments before he followed.

  “They are demons!” someone screamed. “Kill them!”

  “We have played enough, sisters!” she called out, shocked that they seemed to understand her. They all spoke such different languages that none of them understood anyone very well. Instead, their masters showed them what they wanted or needed by force; although she’d begun to learn the masters’ language simply so that she knew when a blow was coming. When to anticipate pain. It had been a struggle . . . until now. Now she spoke and understood the language of these lands easily.

  “We have a chore to do for our new god,” she yelled out to her sisters. “She calls upon us. Let us do her bidding!”

  The women dropped their victims and finished them off. Then, as a well-trained fighting group, they charged into the newest bunch of men who came toward them. Cutting through them. Some of her sisters used stolen weapons. Others used the talons they now all had.

  It was joyous! The feel of destroying one’s enemy! After so much pain, so much torment . . . these men were now nothing to fear.

  She took it upon herself, as the first of those given this gift of a second life, to go for the Jarl who held the god’s prize. She rammed her body into him, taking him to the ground. Someone tried to pull her off, but that man was dragged away by one of her sisters. A woman now bound to her the way a blood sister was. Only this connection was stronger. They’d never fight over toys or their parents or, when older, men. Their bond was forged in blood and hatred and revenge. And nothing would ever sever that steel-plated connection.

  The leader she had pinned to the ground reached up and wrapped his hands around her throat, trying to choke the life from her. She grabbed his hands with her own and snapped back his fingers, breaking at least three on each hand. The leader screamed out and she knocked his arms away. She tore open his shirt with her talons, instinctively sensing where to find the god’s prize.

  His chest was bare except for skin and hair and scars. But one scar interested her the most. It was raised flesh, snaking across his chest.

  Grinning, she buried her talons deep into his body, his screams of torment echoing out over the field of death.

  “Does it hurt, little girl?” she asked him in his own language. “Remember when you asked me that?” She felt her smile grow even wider. “Well?” she pushed. “Does it? Does it hurt . . . little girl?”

  Her talons brushed against something not made of flesh or bone. She gripped it and tore it from his chest.

  She now held a blood-and-gore-covered gold necklace in her hand. It pulsed with power, giving her a momentary feeling of invincibility. She had no doubt that with this necklace, she could rule . . . everything.

  She left the now-dead Jarl and walked across the field to the woman called Skuld.

  Dropping to one knee, she held the necklace up for the god to take, which she did.

  “Why did you not keep it?” Skuld asked. “You were right . . . with it, you could rule everything on this mortal plane.”

  “I’d lost everything. Family. Home. And finally, life. But now you’ve given me what I need. Why would I want to rule everything when I can rule my own destiny?”

  She sensed that behind Skuld’s veil there was a smile, but she would never truly know.

  “Go,” the god said. “You and your sisters have more men to fight.”

  With a nod, she who was once a slave got back to her feet and headed toward the spot where her sisters fought.

  “Remember,” the god called out to her, “you have fulfilled your promise to me. So do not die on this field of battle. Not if you don’t have to. There will be other chores for you. Other battles to fight.”

  She did not understand what the god meant until she reached the others. One of them pointed with a blood-covered knife. “There are more men coming.”

  It wasn’t just more men. It was another army. And at its head was the father of the Jarl she’d just slain.

  “We kill them all?” one sister asked.

  “Or do we run?” asked another.

  “I won’t run,” the one closest to her declared. “I’ll never run again.”

  The sound of hooves pounding on the earth grew closer and the mass of crows that had been feasting on the dead suddenly took to the air.

  She who was once a slave looked up to watch their flight . . . and smiled.

  “Skuld,” one of the Valkyries demanded. “What have you done?”

  Skuld placed the blood-and-gore-covered necklace around her neck. She now wore it with pride. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What kind of powers have you given these slaves? Odin will—”

  “Odin,” Skuld cut in, “is not my master. Nor are you.”

  “But—”

  “And I’ve given these women nothing but what I’ve already given a few others over the eons . . . a second chance at life.”

  “What are you talking about? Look at them!”

  They all did as they watched the five women who were once dead kill man after man, and in so many interesting ways, too. And together. They worked together beautifully.

  “You gave them talons,” one Valkyrie accused.

  “And fighting skills they did not have before,” noted another.

  “And strength! They are as strong as us!”

  Skuld shook her head. “I gave them none of those things.”

  “What are you talking about? We have eyes. We see.”

  “And I gave them none of those things. I brought them back but with only one other blessing.”

  “Which was?”

  “To let rage be their guide. It is their rage that has given them so much. So much power, strength, and . . . talons.”

  “And how long will this blessed rage last?”

  “Just a few more seconds. I didn’t want to create new monsters. I simply wanted them to get me what I wanted. And they did. Now they will have blessings that will last their lifetimes . . . but the rest will be up to them.”

  “Herik and his men are coming. When he sees what your pets did to his son, he and his men will kill all of them. Will you give them life again?”

  “One more chance to live. That is all I promised them. What they make of that extra life is their own choice.”

  “What is happening?” One of the Valkyries pointed. “What is happening to them?”

  Skuld didn’t know. So she watched and waited.

  Still standing, the women writhed in obvious pain as the men rode closer. Their bodies shook and their muscles contorted. They were in such agony that at least two of them urinated where they stood.

  The Valkyries screamed out in shock as wings burst from the backs of the five women. Big, black wings. Like the wings of nearby crows who were circling over the dead, waiting to feast again.

  Once the wings were there, the women seemed to feel no more pain. They stood straight and ready for battle.

  Skuld began to laugh, long and loud, waking up the other gods who slumbered.

  Skuld
, a wise woman goddess, prone to portents of death and despair, never laughed. So to hear the sound now only brought fresh fear to a fearful world.

  “By Odin,” a Valkyrie sighed. “Skuld, what have you done?”

  “Changed the game a bit, I think.”

  Still laughing, Skuld headed home to the World Tree. She had such a fun story to tell her sisters this evening as they took turns watering the tree’s roots.

  Once the pain stopped, She of No Name looked at her wings. They were now part of her. Not for a moment, but forever. She merely had to think what she wanted and her muscles would twitch and the wings would do what she needed.

  “I guess we won’t be running away,” one of her sisters joked.

  “They’ll never make us run again,” she said, smiling.

  She shook out her wings and the men riding toward her yanked on the reins of their horses, pulling them back.

  “Demons!” the men screamed. “They are demons! Run!”

  “My son!” their leader screamed. “Find my son!” But his men, in their fear, ignored their leader and ran. They ran from former slaves.

  “Now what?” one sister asked.

  “We find a place to rest and eat. I’m starving,” she suddenly realized. And now she would eat whatever she wanted. No more scraps from anyone else’s table, fought over with the dogs.

  “We’ll just walk around with these wings? They’re huge. The villagers will just try to kill us.”

  Realizing her sister had a point, she who was once a slave twitched her muscles and thought, hard. She realized it was becoming more difficult to create what she wanted for her body. That ability was quickly leaving her. But with some strong effort, the wings retracted into her, disappearing completely behind flesh. Then, with another twitch, the wings came out again.

  The other sisters laughed. “That’s brilliant!”

  “Now can we go and eat?” she said. “All this killing has made me so very hungry. But first . . .”

  “But first . . . what?”

  “But first”—she stretched out her arm and pointed at the dead leader’s father—“him.”

  Together they flew up and over to the man. He was still on his horse and pulled his sword, swinging wildly at them. She who was once a slave dove at him first, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding him while she stabbed at him with her blade. Two more sisters dropped on him and grabbed hold, stabbing at him as well. They kept stabbing, screaming as the man screamed, delighting in his blood and pain and misery as he had delighted in their subjugation. Finally, when the man no longer screamed but slumped in his saddle, only held up by them, one of the other sisters hovering nearby called out, “His men return!”

  Now they would go.

  They released their hold on the body and their wings lifted them, leaving the field of death behind. As they flew, they soon realized that the crows from the battlefield followed them.

  “Why do they follow?” one of the sisters asked over the cold northern winds.

  And she replied, “Because we are now one of them. Because we are now crows. For we, too, are the harbingers of death.”

  That night they slept like babes. No longer fearing anything. Not even death itself.

  Erin watched as Kera suddenly opened her eyes and looked around the room.

  “You okay?” she asked Kera.

  “I have to go,” Kera said, getting to her feet.

  “But—”

  “I have to go. I’m sorry. I have to go.” Then she was gone. Across the office and out the door.

  “Jesus Christ, she’s snapped,” Leigh said.

  But Betty didn’t agree. “No. She hasn’t.”

  “But she’s running,” Erin pointed out.

  “No. She’s not running.” And Betty smiled. “She’ll never run again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Vig was about to make himself some breakfast when his front door opened and Kera walked in. She stood there, staring at him for a long moment. She was still in her battle gear from the previous night so she hadn’t been back to the Bird House. He really hoped that she and Erin hadn’t gotten into another fight.

  “I need your help,” she finally said.

  “Anything.”

  She stepped farther inside. “I have to do this. I have to be a Crow.”

  “You already are a Crow.”

  “Not until I can do my job.”

  “What do you need, Kera?”

  “I need to learn how to kill. The Crows just threw me in, but you taught me how to fly.” She cleared her throat. “I thought maybe you could teach me how to kill.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  “I am now.”

  “Okay.” He walked over to her, held his hands out. “Give me everything in your pockets.”

  Kera handed over her cell phone and several twenties. Vig dropped them onto the side table by the couch.

  He grabbed Kera’s hand. “Come on.” He pulled her out the door and off the porch.

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Vig glanced up at the sky. “Hurry.” He pulled her through the woods until he reached his sister’s house. Katja was just walking out, her winged helmet on her head, her too-tiny-for-his-comfort silver Valkyrie skirt and silver tank top on.

  She stopped when she saw Vig and Kera, blinked in surprise. “What are you two doing here?”

  “I need your help, sister.”

  First, Kat stared at him in confusion; then her eyes widened, and she shook her head adamantly. “No, Vig. No.”

  “Kat—”

  “No. Taking you is one thing. But her? No way.”

  “Please. I’m asking you as the sister who loves her brother—”

  “Oh God.”

  “Do this for me.”

  “But if—”

  “I know. I know the risks. Just please.”

  “You know the risks, but does she?”

  “Please,” he asked again. “I’m doing this for a reason. You know that.”

  Still shaking her head, Kat locked the door to her house and headed toward the stables. Vig followed, pulling a silent Kera along with him.

  “Stay here,” his sister ordered. No one but the other Valkyries were allowed in the stables. Their horses were high-strung and mean. Sadly, more than one Raven had lost an important body part to a pissy winged stallion or mare.

  A few minutes later, Kat walked out with her mount. A beautiful white and black stallion. Once away from the stable, the animal shook his mane of black hair out and pranced a bit, ready to take to the air. While Odin only shielded the Ravens at night from the prying eyes of the world, the Valkyries could ride whenever they felt it necessary and they were always shielded. It made sense; there were no time restrictions on when a warrior might lose his life. A warrior that Odin wanted for his ever-growing forces.

  With a good jump, Kat launched herself onto the back of her saddle-less stallion. The only thing the horse allowed were the reins. Kat got herself comfortable and the horse shook out his wings.

  “Vig, you hold Kera.”

  He put his arm around Kera’s waist and pulled her in tight against him. “Hold on to me,” he told her. “Don’t let go until I tell you to.”

  “What are we doing?” Kera finally asked.

  “Grab Alfgeir’s tail, Vig. But watch his hooves. You know how he is.”

  Vig did, so he moved over a bit to avoid being kicked.

  “Vig?” Kera pushed.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  He grinned. “You are so smart. I really adore that about you.”

  Kera only had seconds to narrow her eyes at Vig’s lack of coherent response before Kat’s horse suddenly took off and they were flying.

  It wasn’t like when Kera unleashed her wings and flew. She wished it was. Instead, it was . . . faster, stronger, more brutal. Everything sped up as they took to the air and shot off. All Kera coul
d see was the horse, Kat, Vig, and bright, colored lights. The whole thing overwhelmed her, and she began to feel sick in the pit of her stomach. She clamped her lips shut, terrified she was about to start vomiting in midair. An experience she never wanted to go through.

  She felt torn, like something was reaching deep inside her and pulling part of her out. She began to panic. Began to feel like she was losing her mind. Everything moving too fast for her. Too fast.

  And then, like that, it stopped.

  Shocked to see such beautiful lands surrounding her, Kera watched the sunrise over big snow-covered mountains and listened to birds sing their early morning songs. Even stranger, when Kera tilted her head back, she saw above her the giant base of a tree. It had to be thousands of miles wide and high.

  “Is that a tree?” Kera asked Vig.

  “Uh-huh. The World Tree. Also called Yggdrasil.”

  “All right then.”

  Kera leaned against Vig, glad to feel his weight and power beside her.

  Katja looked back at them from her horse. “Everyone okay?”

  Vig nodded, releasing the horse’s tail and quickly stepping back, seconds before a hoof shot out at where they’d just been standing. “We’re fine.”

  “Good. I have to go. There’s a minor skirmish in Zimbabwe I have to be at. Don’t forget, Vig. I’ll pick you up here before sunrise tomorrow. Don’t miss me. Understand? You always cut it too short.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  Kera shuddered a little when Vig finally released her. “It’s cold,” she said.

  Kat nodded. “Yeah. It reminds many newcomers of the homeland. Of course, the cold doesn’t bother you much when you’re dead.” She smiled and waved. “See you guys later! Have fun!”

  “Vig?” Kera asked, looking around. “Where are we exactly?”

  “We’re in Asgard.”

  “Asgard?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. The home of the Aersir gods. Odin, Thor, Freyja. If you look over there . . . you can make out the spires of Valhalla. And that way is Freyja’s home.”

  “Why did you bring me to Asgard?”