by Carrow Brown
And drank, naturally.
“They are all saying I am the one who saved everyone,” Sasha said after our third round of shots. “I tell them otherwise, but they don’t listen.” She gestured a hand to several gifts cluttering the room. “Even to those who say otherwise.”
“Typical,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
Sasha thumped her shot glass hard onto on the table. “It is not fair! You risked life and lost limb to save us. They should give credit where credit is deserved.”
I turned to look at Snowdrop’s cocoon and watched the faint glow ebbing into it. “I’m not surprised or bothered by it.” I rested my gaze on the various gift baskets around the room. “Besides, the people involved know the truth, and that’s enough for me.”
“Small victories can win the war,” David said, refilling all our glasses.
Sasha tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear as she worried her bottom lip. “Do you want to go to the Maser Cup event with me?”
I blinked. “The mead competition?”
Sasha nodded. “Yes. I have tickets to the mixer. I thought it would be something fun to do.”
“Sure… but why invite me?”
She shifted on the stool, her eyes looking to the bar. “When you saved us, and I was given credit, I was full of shame. It made me question many things said about you.” Her blue eyes settled on my face. “The others do not understand, even when I explain it to them. I regret how I treated you and hoped we could start anew?”
I lowered my eyes to my shot glass, but I struggled to see it through my blurring vision. “You want to go as... friends?”
“No, not friends.” She placed a hand over mine. “I want to be a sister to you, as Valkyries are meant to be. You should not be alone.”
We are never alone, Leader said in the back of my head.
Never alone, the group echoed.
“Never alone,” I said, looking up at Sasha and David. “I have you guys, after all.”
I may or may not have broken into tears at that point, but you don’t need the details of what a sobbing, blubbering mess it might’ve looked like.
* * *
I did, in fact, go with Sasha to the mixer where we had too much to drink and got into a fight with a mead snob.
David and I are trying to figure out this dating thing. There is something there we both want to pursue, but we aren’t in a rush to explore whatever it is. That is what I am telling myself as I write this. We’ve been busy since we decided to try anything remotely date-like. The closest we got was when Goodfellow invited us both to the Spring Solstice as his dates, which was fun.
My pantheon ignored me, as per usual, but I couldn’t expect immortals to change their habits overnight—if at all. I’d gotten David and Sasha out of the whole ordeal, so I called it a win. A pack of murder chickens patrolled the woods around my house and, as of writing this, I still had no idea what to feed them without feeling horribly guilty in the process. Then there is the bear. No idea what I am going to do with him, but other than cuddling with me at night, he seems content to lounge about the Manor. At least he’s low maintenance. He’s probably just as happy to be out of his cell as I was all those years ago. And Snowdrop is still in her cocoon, which I’ll have to figure out how that will play into everything later. Or at least figure what Grave Wood wants to do with her.
Everything is done in small steps and my first step is recovering.
My name is Draugrrökkr Markvörður and I won’t take it personally if you can’t pronounce it. I’m not human, but what we refer to as a mythic. Not human or anything of the divine, but the confusing mess in the middle. Fear not, I won’t eat you—if you’re good. By my free will, I live at the Well of Knowledge with my friend Vainya. It’s a place where all knowledge that can be known is stored and kept safe. I play the role of maintainer and protector of The Well.
Between Caldrin on the run, Hunters still about, and way too many voices in my head, things would get worse before they got better. When shit went down, I would be ready. If you happen be stalked by a werewolf or stab stab slice stab slice stab—
* * *
I glowered at my metal arm as it continued to scribble across the page. “Damn it, Silence, will you let me finish this?”
No, you were about to write something clichéd and I can’t let you do that to yourself. Besides, your tenses were getting mixed up on that last page.
With a sigh I leaned back in my chair and tossed my pen onto the towering stack of paper. “And how should I end it?”
Write “the end” and let’s go slice something.
“But that’s not a strong-enough conclusion. I feel like this should have something… I don’t know. More final-like?” I said with a gesture toward the page.
You came, you saw, you saved people, and they were grateful. You befriended a murder chicken and a Valkyrie. That’s good enough for me. If someone wants a different ending, they can write it. I want to go out.
“Fine,” I said, getting to my feet and rolling my shoulders. “It doesn’t have to get done right away, I guess.” I headed down the hall and outside with a faint smile on my face. “You know what?”
What?
“I really think things are really going to start getting better.”
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is not easy and getting it published is even harder. It’s been a long road and I want to acknowledge those who had a hand in the birth of this book. Thank you…
...husband, for always pushing myself to be just that one bit better than I was the day before.
…Chris, who is the best alpha reader ever.
...Mrs. Weakly, who told me “I can’t wait to read your book” in the 6th grade.
...Jamie Wyman Reddy, developmental edit goddess, knew when to say, “This doesn’t work.”
…Carly, who came out of nowhere & saved the day for me. Thanks a bunch, hon.
... V.I. writing group, with your frank feedback and horrible puns, helped me grow as a writer and became my closest friends. May we forever Larry the copies.
...3 Fates Press team, who did everything in their power to make this book happen. You may be last on this list, but you will always be number one to me.
About the Author
Carrow grew up in a military family, traveling the world and absorbing everything she could–including any bad word she could find! Her passion has always been writing stories that entertain and provoke thought, and to share them. Carrow resides in sunny Arizona with her husband and German shepherds. In the little free time she has between writing The Ghost Walker Chronicles and her clinical psychology work, Carrow can be found sketching her characters to life or hiking the wilderness.
You can tweet at Carrow on twitter at @cawcarrow or follow her on Instagram at carrowbrown. She has a newsletter you can sign-up at carrowbrown.com where she shares all her projects and freebies with her newsletter family.