by Elise Kova
“I am no one,” she muttered, hearing Aldrik mounting his War-strider.
“Even something very small can cast a large shadow when it is close to the sun.”
Vhalla considered this for a long moment, searching the prince’s face for a hint of insincerity. She could find none and left him behind her before he had a chance to say something else that could potentially throw the fragile peace into disarray. For everything Prince Baldair was, and had been, somehow he didn’t feel like her enemy.
Aldrik took a foot out of his stirrup for her to use, offering her a hand to mount his horse. Vhalla’s cheeks grew hot as she swung up behind him in the saddle. Her hands fell lightly on his armored waist for balance.
“Where’s Lightning?” she asked.
“My brother’s Easterner rode him back when he went to get Fritznangle.” Aldrik spurred the mount forward.
The wind was fresh and warm on her cheeks after the oppressive atmosphere in the tent.
“Daniel?”
Aldrik nodded mutely.
“Is it a good idea to ride like this?” Vhalla asked softly, noticing the glances from the soldiers.
“I want them to see you with me.” He responded so quickly that there couldn’t have been any thoughts into his words.
“Why?” she breathed.
“Because I want them to know that if they lay a hand on you again, they will deal with me directly.” Aldrik’s voice was deep and harsh, and it made her want to grab onto him and never let him go.
He took them directly to his tent. Black Legion soldiers who had just finished setting it up were beginning to dissipate, and they all peered at her curiously as Aldrik ushered Vhalla within. Getting away from the world’s prying eyes was a relief, but it was equally nerve-wracking to have those prying eyes watch her being led with the prince’s palm on the small of her back.
The moment the tent flap closed, the braziers lined along the perimeter lit with flames. Aldrik didn’t seem to even think about using his magic. “Take this off, I’ll fix it.” He placed a palm on her wounded shoulder.
Vhalla nodded, beginning to unclasp the scale mail as Aldrik did the same. She felt comfortable and nervous at the same time. Aldrik took the plate from her as Vhalla shed her chainmail.
“So what happened?” Aldrik asked.
“Well ...” Vhalla sighed and recounted the events leading up to Baldair’s tent.
“You bested him in the end, though?” he asked after she had finished her story.
“I did.” Vhalla nodded.
“How?”
“I just moved ...” She wasn’t sure what answer he was looking for with such a question.
“Like with Elecia?” Aldrik glanced up from his work on the plate. His thumbs ran over the red hot metal.
“Yes ...” Vhalla trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. He didn’t, and frustration snuck up on her. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Keep doing what?” He seemed startled by her tone.
“You can’t keep asking cryptic questions and storming off to sulk without giving me answers that I know you have.” Vhalla was no one, and yet she fearlessly made demands of the crown prince.
Aldrik just sighed and let her. “Fine, stubborn woman.” He placed her repaired armor off to the side. “Do you not think it strange that you are suddenly capable of besting soldiers with years of practice?”
“We’ve been training.” It was a cringe-worthy excuse when Vhalla actually thought about it.
“You were sloppy, at best.” When Aldrik was honest, he held back nothing. “I was beginning to fear for what we would need to do to keep you alive when we reached the North.”
“So, what happened?” Vhalla pressed.
“You fight as I do.” Aldrik met her eyes.
“Of course I do.”
“No, Vhalla.” He shook his head. “You fight exactly as I do.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“I can only assume it to be the Joining,” Aldrik mused.
“But, we’re not Joined anymore.” They had not attempted it either since that first night weeks ago.
“No, but the Bond was widened, our minds were—” Aldrik paused, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. “Our minds were linked. It was a reckless thing to do on my part given how little is known about its effects.”
“So, then,” she fumbled, her words struggling to find the source of his discomfort. “Why don’t we close it?”
“Even if we could, I would not.”
“But ...” It seemed to be causing him so much distress, why not end it?
“Because now I can have some measure of security that you will make it through this war alive.”
Vhalla was stunned into silence. She couldn’t take the weight of his gaze and engaged in a quick staring contest with his table. “I know,” she began her confession. “Larel told me about Bonds. That, if I die, you’ll die.”
“That’s just a theory.” Aldrik brushed away the thought easily. “And not by any reputable scholars.”
“But—”
“I want you to worry about yourself.” He sensed the remaining fight in her. “Vhalla, please, promise me that.”
The firelight played tricks on her eyes. It made the man who was nearly seven years her senior look like nothing more than a frightened child. Vhalla moved without thought, taking his hand in hers. Aldrik gripped her fingers tightly, and she erased all thoughts of doubt.
“I will promise you, if you promise me that you will stop running away and hiding these things. I don’t want to feel shut out from you.” Vhalla’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and Aldrik nodded silently, sparing her any further explanation.
“We should practice your Projection.” He broke them out of their trance.
“Oh, right.” Vhalla had completely forgotten they’d actually planned to work together that evening.
“Let’s put magic aside, for now, and focus on seeing how far you can go.” Aldrik situated himself before the table, adjusting his papers.
“Sure,” she closed her eyes.
“Would you care to lay down first?” Aldrik reminded her that her physical body went limp the last time. He grabbed one of the pillows and propped it against his leg.
Vhalla hesitated, the invitation clear. The prince feigned attentiveness to his paperwork, clearly apprehensive of whether she would accept or reject him. Prince Baldair’s words of caution frustratingly replayed themselves in Vhalla’s mind and she lay down quickly, her head resting on his leg. She would not let the younger prince and his games get in her way.
Vhalla slipped out of her body shortly after closing her eyes. It was surreal to see her physical form so still, as if barely breathing. Aldrik watched her closely, waiting for any signs of trouble.
I think it’s easier, Vhalla said with a thought.
“It seems so,” he agreed.
Can you hear me even if I’m far away?
“One way to find out. Go slowly,” he cautioned, but didn’t tell her to stop.
Vhalla passed through the canvas of the tent flap. There was some resistance, but nothing unmanageable. People walked about from one campfire to the next, but no one noticed her.
Can you still hear me?
“Without a problem.” Aldrik seemed excited by her progress, and it encouraged her onward.
She progressed forward in a straight line and discovered that it was only uncomfortable when someone walked through her. It was a strange chill, and the world became disoriented for a moment. But after the third time, Vhalla was beginning to adjust her magic accordingly, recovering faster.
“Are you all right?”
Yes. I’m on the edge of camp now.
“Go a little farther.”
Vhalla walked into the desert until the sun had dipped below the horizon. She called out to him regularly, but the link was consistent and strong. By the time she returned back to her body, there was little question that she’d begun to master the art of Proj
ection.
Returning was simple; she listened for the pulse that had guided her back the first time and let go of her magical hold. But when her real eyes fluttered open Vhalla let out a soft groan at how the world spun.
Aldrik shifted, leaning over her. “What is it?”
“I think my brain is just-just returning slower from the distance.” She wasn’t sure if it made sense. There was a scratching noise, and she saw he was back to making notes. Vhalla struggled to sit.
“Lie down, Vhalla,” he scolded. She returned to her former position, his left hand ran over her hair gently. “You are amazing.” Aldrik’s voice was breathy and he focused on the papers instead of her. Vhalla stared up at him but he seemed to be talking more to himself. “Atop everything else, you will be the key to ending this war.”
“Do you think so?” Vhalla mumbled tiredly.
“I do.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt. “Now rest.”
Vhalla obliged and closed her eyes.
The weeks slipped by like the sand across the dunes. The desert was bleak and empty, but Vhalla’s days were full. Be it at her request or of his own accord, Aldrik recovered quickly from the shock of the effects of their Joining. Privately, he encouraged her to liberally rely on her link with him. He assured her that it did not affect him in any way.
Vhalla was cautious—at first. But the more she allowed that pulsing beat to take over her ears, the stronger and faster she became. It was as though her body was re-learning what it already knew, making every movement sharper and more precise.
Aldrik still rode with Elecia some days, and Vhalla up with the Golden Guard. Prince Baldair seemed pleased by her presence. The more time she spent with the younger prince, the more time she wanted with him in private. She had questions for his cryptic messages and sloppily veiled warnings. She wanted to ask him outright what he knew, what he meant. But their time together never extended beyond the march.
Vhalla’s evenings were spent sweating and pushing her body past its limits at the demands of the elder prince. Vhalla was thankful for the mix of gentle and forceful encouragement from Aldrik and her friends. Her body was beginning to fill out once more, muscle defining in places she had never known it could.
The atmosphere on the march began to shift as they neared the Crossroads. There was a palpable relief among the road-weary and sunburnt soldiers to be close to a resting point.
“How much longer do you think it will be?” Vhalla asked her companions.
“Perhaps a day, maybe two,” Aldrik answered. His attention on her was now a regular occurrence.
“A bed,” Fritz said wistfully.
“A bath,” Vhalla sighed happily at the thought. “There will be water at the Crossroads, right?” The host had been reduced to water rations from the wells that lined the Great Imperial Way in long intervals. None of them had washed for weeks, and Vhalla couldn’t imagine how badly they all smelled to someone who wasn’t accustomed to the stink.
“Of course there will be water,” Larel laughed. “The Crossroads is a magic place, Vhalla. It’s the middle of the world.”
“I can’t wait.” She was genuinely excited after being on the road for so long. “What will you all do first?”
“The first thing I am going to do is drink a Crimson Dragon,” Fritz proclaimed.
“You’re such a drunk,” Larel teased.
“A what?” Vhalla asked.
“A Crimson Dragon is a type of drink,” Aldrik answered from her left. “It is made with Western spiced alcohol, has a sharp taste, and is very strong.”
“I want to try one too, then.” She smiled back at Fritz and the messy-haired Southerner went off planning a grand adventure for the three of them to have. Larel tried to wrangle in his grandiose dreams and the two were bantering back and forth within minutes.
“Vhalla,” Aldrik said in a voice that was meant only for her. She swung her eyes up to him. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
“Yes?” His tone made her pulse race.
“At the Crossroads, I have some ... business I will attend to with Elecia.”
Vhalla was more worried at how delicate he was being with the subject than the words themselves. What had him looking so uncomfortable? “What is it?”
“You do not need to worry about it.” His eyes were guarded.
“Aldrik, you promised me—”
“Vhalla,” he hissed. She brought a hand to her mouth glancing around quickly to see if anyone noticed her slip in forgetting his title. “I will tell you, I promise. But only when the time is right.”
“When will the time be right?” she pressed.
“When it is over and sorted.” His tone told her she’d get no more information on the matter. Vhalla sighed softly. “It should only be two days, three at most. I will find you after and tell you everything.”
“All right.” Vhalla nodded and put on a brave face for the rest of the day. But his words rattled in her brain with every step, echoing into the night.
THE DAY WAS sticky, and her hair clung to her face and neck with sweat as she pulled off the helm. She looked up at the dense trees overhead, gnarled and thick with brush and vines. Her mind lamented over the last time she had seen the unbroken sky. A bird darted between the foliage before breaking through to the heavens above. She found herself wishing she could do the same.
The smell of ash and fire filled her nose, an all too familiar scent that she barely noticed anymore. Her gaze returned to the earth, and back over the destruction that had been wrought. The last of the survivors were being put to the sword. Blood was splattered over her own armor, the crimson turning dark against the black of the scale and plate.
Vhalla vaguely recognized something being distinctly off. The edge of awareness of something amiss crept upon her.
She walked back to her tent. No, not hers; or was it? Trying to think was too difficult, like she was fighting the obvious.
Inside was the same familiar area on the floor with pillows and a small table, though this time it was near the bed. A large rectangular table and chairs dominated the other space. It was messy with papers that spilled onto the floor, and she pulled off her large gauntlets, dropping them haphazardly.
Her breath became ragged and she turned. With a sweep of her arms she pushed all the papers and documents onto the floor with a grunt. She slammed her hands down on the table and felt her shoulders shake.
This town had not been part of the militia. Perhaps a few had joined the resistance, but all had been put to flame and steel. Her nails dug into the wood of the table as she muffled a frustrated cry. No one could hear her pain. She couldn’t let the soldiers catch wind of her turmoil. She never could.
The eyes of the dead lingered with her, their pleading, fearful eyes as she rounded them up in flames and burned them alive. It never got easier with time. The memories were never lighter to bear.
Regaining control, she began to pull off her armor. She really needed someone’s help for the larger plate but she couldn’t be bothered as she burned through the leather clasps hidden beneath it. She’d fix it later.
If her sins were as easy to remove as her armor, she may be able to sleep at night. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. With a sigh she began to rummage through a bag hidden by her bed, fishing for the only thing that could wash away her pain and drown their cries. A call halted her actions.
“My prince.” The voice was familiar, one of Baldair’s men.
“Enter.” Her voice was deep. A man with dark hair and eyes entered the tent, and she assessed him viciously, uninterested in entertaining company and fully hoping he would realize this. “How may I be of assistance?” she asked briskly.
“Today,” he took a step forward, his movements jerky; she wondered if he had beaten her to the bottle. “Today you led the assault, did you not?” He was still in his armor, covered to his elbows in blood and ash.
“I did.” She was already annoyed with this discussion. Despite what the soldiers thought
of her, the last thing that she wanted to do was re-hash her murders. “If there is nothing else ...” She turned her back on the man, pretending to be interested in picking up the scattered papers. Just the limited words he said had brought the horrified faces back to her mind.
“H-he would’ve been twenty-two,” the man rambled. “He had dark hair, like us; he was of the West.”
She picked up a paper, continuing to ignore him; the man didn’t seem to get the hint.
“He married when he was young, a Northern bride.” Something twisted in his voice.
“I am afraid I do not know who you are talking about,” she said, returning a handful of papers to the table.
“My son.” The man gave a twisted cry and lunged for her. The dagger dug into her side, just above her hip.
There was a man’s cry that was one of the most horrifying awful sounds Vhalla had ever been forced to hear, and she screamed with him. She began to fight against the mental prison which confined her. She didn’t want to see anymore.
She felt the poison, a sickening dizzying feeling washed over her almost immediately. She looked at the man in shock as he took a step back. Her hand reached out for his face and soon he was aflame, his features twisting before they burned away.
Her feet began to stumble and give out. She placed her hand on the dagger. Removing it would prompt blood loss, keeping it in continued to inject more of the searing poison into her veins. She cried out, leaning against the table. With a shaky hand, she grabbed for the dagger, making her decision as she pulled out the wavy blade. It bit into the flesh again as she ripped it from her side.
Her hand was pressed against the gaping wound. A soldier rushed in. “About time,” she wanted to say, but her jaw was clenched taut, blood soaking through the thin shirt she wore and oozing between her fingers. Her vision began to blur and she shifted her power inward, feeling the fire burn through her veins as she tried to purge the poison.
Vhalla woke with a cry, her hand on her hip. She tossed aside the blankets, looking at her body. Vhalla lifted her tunic, seeing only smooth unmarred skin where she expected blood. She raised her hand to her forehead and wiped away cold sweat.