Perfekt Balance (The Ære Saga Book 3)

by S. T. Bende

  “Förbaskat,” Forse swore, and I echoed the sentiment. Out of the corner of my eye, I registered a boulder shooting into the sky. It hit the earth with a crack, just before Tyr’s growl filled the forest. The swish of his sword was punctuated by an agonized cry from Hymir. Tyr must have survived the boulder attack, and dealt Hymir a painful blow.

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Tosk’s voice redirected my attention. He and Runa moved together as Brynn scrambled to her feet. Forse holstered the space gun. If Runa could intercept the implosions, she could redirect the bullets at us. The space gun was too dangerous to deploy.

  It was all down to the blades.

  Forse raised his broadsword, and Brynn pulled out her rapier. They positioned themselves in front of me, which gave me a small amount of comfort. Though I couldn’t exactly run away, I knew Brynn and Forse wouldn’t let anything hurt me. Not so long as they were still standing.

  Oh, gods. I closed my eyes and called on my spirit to project calm, rational energy to theirs. We’d need every possible advantage to get through this.

  When I opened my eyes, Brynn’s shoulders were pulled down, and her breathing was even. Forse’s posture showed a similar level of presence—they were completely in the moment, their minds clear, and our safety their primary concern. From what I could tell, neither anger nor revenge clouded either of their judgments. Their physical and emotional beings existed in perfekt balance.

  There was just one more thing to take care of.

  Ignoring the lurch in my gut, I opened my mind and linked my brain to Runa’s. Dark energy pressed against me but I shoved it back, sending a different kind of vision at her. Runa had proven she operated from a place of fear—fear of losing her father’s approval, fear of being alone and unloved forever. I’d failed to debilitate her by inflicting physical pain, but if I filled her with the vision of her worst nightmare come to light, maybe the emotional pain would be enough to force her into a different choice. Maybe I could make her choose love over fear.

  If I failed, we were certainly no worse off than we already were. Here goes nothing.

  Loss. I sent an image of utter desolation. In my vision, Runa sat in a filthy kitchen, aged and wrinkled and completely alone. There were no family photos lining her walls, no cards from friends taped to her refrigerator, no messages waiting on her phone. She’d lived her life without ever truly connecting to anyone, and nobody, not even her father, came to visit her anymore.

  She had no one.

  Runa’s knees buckled as the vision surged through her. When it reached her heart, she clutched her chest and stumbled backward.

  Message received.

  I released the vision and pressed a different one into Runa’s mind. Now a wrinkled Runa sat in the same kitchen, but this time the room was filled with the scent of a freshly cooked roast, the laughter of grandchildren, and the warmth of friendship. A large group was gathered together in the small room, their easy familiarity evoking a warm glow. I pressed love through Runa’s centers, and she stumbled farther, shock coloring her features as she glimpsed a reality she’d never let herself imagine.

  This can be your future, I said. You just have to choose it. Choose love, Runa. Save yourself.

  Runa let out a low growl and drew herself to her full height. She snarled at me as she reclaimed her place beside Tosk. But something akin to confusion muddied her eyes. Some small part of her must have registered my plea.

  My work was done. Now it was up to my friends.

  A silent communication passed between them, and before I could blink they’d launched themselves at our assailants. Brynn leapt at Runa, her rapier swiping the air as she batted away Runa’s blue beams of death. My breath caught as I watched the beams change trajectory, twice narrowly missing Forse and once coming dangerously close to my legs. But the light that smoldered in front of me was dimmer, its blue a few shades less brilliant. Thank Odin! The crystal was starting to wear off. If we could restrain Runa now, we might have a chance of winning this thing.

  Think positive, Elsa. I regrouped. We would restrain Runa, and we would win this thing. We absolutely would.

  We didn’t have an option.

  I pushed energy at Forse, trying to keep him grounded as he battled Tosk. Not for the first time, I appreciated that Forse’s talents extended beyond the desk job I was used to seeing him perform. There was more to doling out justice than reading reports and issuing sentences. Forse was a lethal fighter. A deep sense of peace settled through my chest as I watched him attack.

  We were so winning this thing.

  While Brynn moved away from me, fending off Runa’s laser blows, the normally even-keeled Forse used both hands to swing the full weight of his broadsword at Tosk. The dark elf drew his own sword, a slimmer blade that sliced through the air with a musical tone. The weapons clashed. Forse had the height advantage, and he drove his sword down, challenging Tosk’s resistance with the pent-up rage of a god who’d spent the past two days hunting down his sociopathic ex-girlfriend. Tosk’s elbows buckled, and he dropped to the ground, rolling out of the way before Forse could pin him under his considerable weight. Forse swore loudly, then leapt to his feet. Tosk jumped up at the same time, and they paced a slow circle, two angry predators looking for blood.

  “What’s in this for you?” Forse held his sword at the ready as his feet traced the circumference of their self-drawn arena.

  “I serve my master,” Tosk sneered. “The better question is, what’s in it for him?”

  “Hymir’s your master?” Forse didn’t take his eyes off the elf.

  “Who else?” Tosk spat. He continued his slow circle.

  Forse narrowed his eyes. “Does he really think he’s going to convince Tyr to become like him?”

  “He doesn’t have to convince Tyr of anything.” Tosk let out a twisted laugh that sounded like grating nails. “Tyr is like him. He already brought about the fall of Asgard by keeping Fenrir alive. The wolf will begin what your friend is still too weak to finish. Our prophets have seen it.”

  “There’s only one set of prophets, and the Norns haven’t mentioned anything about that to me. So you’re going to leave our boy—and all of his friends—alone.” Forse’s low tone and menacing stance made it clear his words were more command than request.

  “And if I don’t?” Tosk leaned back on one leg and held his blade at eye level.

  “Then we’ve got a problem.” Forse gripped the hilt of his sword and prepared for the attack. When Tosk pushed off his feet and flew through the air in a graceful arc, Forse swung. He struck the dark elf in the ribs, eliciting a sickening crack as his blade broke through bone. Tosk let out a screech, but rather than debilitate him, the pain seemed to fuel his anger. He shifted his weapon to the hand not nursing a broken ribcage, and struck at Forse, the blade singing with each swipe in time to my pounding heart. Forse ducked as the weapon came at his head, but he raised his shoulder to his face, and I caught the drop of blood sliding down his right cheek. He’d been hit just below the eye. And the wound didn’t seem to be healing.

  Tosk broke into a wide grin at the sight of Forse’s blood. His head whipped back and forth and he drew a deep breath. The smell of the sticky red liquid appeared to push him into a trance, and he whirled his sword in front of him in a figure eight pattern. My throat caught as Forse stumbled, backing away from the weapon that whirled so fast it had become a silver blur. But as Forse caught his footing he glanced at me. Determination filled his features, and with a wink he lowered his broadsword so it was parallel with the ground. Then he swiped Tosk’s calves in a lightning-quick move. It was enough to throw the elf off-balance, and with Forse clearly gaining the upper hand, I felt safe enough to check on my brother.

  I immediately wished I hadn’t.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MY BROTHER AND HIS biological father couldn’t have been more different, in virtue or in fighting style. While Hymir raged like a caged bull, uprooting trees, boulders, and every
thing else that came across his tyrannical path, Tyr fought almost reservedly. He’d done this long enough to understand the importance of assessing an assailant, and with each unearthed sapling mutilated by Hymir, my brother gained another grain of knowledge. While Tyr sidestepped the effects of Hymir’s tirade, I knew he’d be forming a mental checklist. Right arm severed below the shoulder, so he’d be less quick to defend against a jab to the right ribcage. Trees uprooted at chest level, so Hymir wasn’t inclined to bend over; possible back or knee weakness. Five out of six boulders kicked with the right foot; it would be easier to throw him off-balance with a blow to the left. Head tilted slightly to the right; an attack from the left would be less noticeable. And the aim…Hymir must have been nearsighted. He only grabbed the foliage directly in front of him, and each time Tyr stepped beyond a certain point, Hymir narrowed his eyes in concentration.

  When my brother did the same, I knew he was preparing to strike. And when he lowered his head and charged at Hymir’s left knee, I knew I’d read his checklist spot on. He drove his sword through the flesh just below Hymir’s kneecap, then wrenched his hands to the left, slicing through flesh and tendon and eliciting a surge of blood. The thick liquid quickly covered Hymir’s lower leg, and his knee gave way under his weight. He shifted to his right, but not before Tyr delivered a second blow to his thigh. Hymir howled. His left leg was all but useless, and he was down an arm. How much more would he really be able to endure?

  Tyr pulled back, watching as Hymir steadied himself on one leg. He was careful to stay just out of range, so when Hymir whipped his head around with narrowed eyes, searching for the god he sought to destroy, Tyr was nothing more than a blond blur.

  “Are you too scared to face me?” Hymir taunted. Yellowed teeth peeked from between lips so dry they looked like they’d been dusted with baby powder. It was an unnaturally terrifying smile, and I shivered. Poor Tyr. Thank gods our parents had adopted him. I couldn’t imagine growing up with a father like that.

  Tyr kept himself just out of Hymir’s line of vision, but I could see the calculations in his eyes. He was determining the optimal strike time. And because my brother hadn’t lost a battle since taking his title, I knew he’d win this one, too.

  I flexed my toes experimentally, and the tiny movement confirmed that my body was forcing the poison out again. But it still had a firm grip on my mobility, and even the slight motion sent a searing wave of pain through my leg. I wouldn’t be going anywhere any time soon. A quick glance at Forse confirmed that he still had the upper hand, so I shifted my attention to Brynn.

  Oh gods.

  Brynn was in trouble. Runa had her pinned to the ground, and although Brynn struggled beneath Runa’s muscular form, the giant-daughter stabbed her with a feather from one of the drones. The venom quickly penetrated Brynn’s bloodstream, immobilizing her and giving Runa the upper hand. While Brynn lay helpless, Runa ripped Brynn’s dagger out of its holster. As she raised it over Brynn’s heart, my spirit let out a wail.

  Stop! I shouted at Runa’s spirit. You can’t do this!

  A dim light flickered inside Runa, but she continued to position the dagger for optimal damage.

  I said stop. The command rang from my mind. The light flickered again, and Runa seemed to hesitate. That had to be a good sign. I pressed on. Don’t do this. You still have a choice—you always have a choice. You may have seen nothing but darkness in your existence, but my friend, Mia, recently reminded my brother about the power of faith. Her pastor preached that through agency and grace, we aren’t destined to be what we observe. We can become what we believe. And I’m inclined to trust those words.

  Runa grimaced as the flickering light grew stronger. She pushed the dagger at Brynn’s heart, but it stopped an inch above the valkyrie’s chest. “What the Hel is happening?” Runa shrieked.

  I know you can overpower your host. You just have to believe it with me. I pleaded with Runa’s spirit. It stayed silent, but I saw the light brighten. And though Runa fought frantically to drive the dagger into Brynn’s chest, her hand pulled back, as if an invisible force guided her body.

  Runa’s spirit was taking over.

  Thank you, Elsa. The spirit spoke at last. Runa shrieked as her body was wrenched backward off Brynn and into the trunk of a nearby tree. At the same time, Brynn leapt to her feet, the poison eradicated from her bloodstream.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Brynn scowled. Then she dove for Runa, who was still being restrained by her spirit. Brynn ripped a set of handcuffs from her belt and Runa’s wrists shot out, presenting themselves for imprisonment.

  “What the Hel?” Runa shrieked again. If the situation weren’t so serious, I would have laughed at the sight of the giantess, manipulated against her will by her own inner goodness. Unifying was seriously fantastic stuff.

  Brynn slapped the cuffs on Runa’s wrists and dragged her to her feet. “We’ve got a special pit in Asgard for monsters like you,” she growled.

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Brynn,” I urged. “There’s hope for her yet.”

  Brynn snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

  As Brynn pulled a second set of cuffs from her backpack, Runa’s spirit pressed a thought into my consciousness. You saved me.

  You saved yourself, I corrected. The spirit smiled.

  And as Forse overpowered Tosk, and Tyr battled his father for the freedom to live in peace, Runa’s spirit retreated to her body. Runa wailed at the ever-brightening light emanating from within, as her spirit sent me one final message. Thank you.

  With that the spirit went quiet, and I settled my attention on the aftermath.

  * * * *

  “He’s dead.” Forse’s voice was hard. He spoke with one foot planted on Tosk’s limp torso, giving the hilt of his sword a violent twist.

  “Good riddance.” Brynn didn’t take her hands off Runa. In the endless minute it had taken Forse to finish off Tosk, Brynn had my captor doubly bound and gagged.

  “Isn’t the gag a bit excessive?” Tyr asked, as he crossed to my side. Since I was still curled in a ball, he bent low to remove my handcuffs with a flick of his sword. “Hei, Sis.” He touched my shoulder lightly.

  Ouch.

  “Last time Runa was bound, she swallowed a magic rock and got superpowers. I’m not taking any chances.” Brynn glared at our captive.

  “Fair enough.”

  “What happened to Hymir?” Forse didn’t take his hands off the sword, but his vigilance wasn’t necessary. As he spoke, Tosk’s spirit withdrew from his body. It was black and mangled; he’d been one of the rare truly dark souls. Without looking back, the spirit shot into the sky, no doubt journeying to Helheim, where it could live among kindred spirits.

  Good riddance, indeed.

  “Hymir got away,” Tyr said.

  “What? How? He was missing an arm; don’t tell me he overpowered you.” Disbelief colored Brynn’s voice.

  “He didn’t overpower me. He opened a portal and jumped through. With everything going on here, I wasn’t about to leave you vulnerable by following him. I have my agenda when it comes to Hymir, but you lot come first.” Tyr nodded at me.

  I nodded back, understanding. “We’ll get him next time.”

  “Odin only knows how long he’ll stay in hiding, but there’s no doubt he’ll be back,” Tyr rumbled. “He’ll need to rebuild, since we took down his officers. And he’ll have to regroup—he lost a limb, and he doesn’t have the brain trust we do to build him a Fred.” Tyr flexed his prosthetic arm. He didn’t sound sorry. He didn’t sound anything. Everything about him, from his stance to his voice, screamed impassive. He’d shut down his emotional centers, something I knew he did when he fought, and it would be a while before he opened back up again. Seeing the lengths his father had gone to destroy the goodness in his spirit—again—had to hurt. But he’d get through this. He always did. The war god was one of the two strongest gods I knew.

  The justice god was the other.

  As Forse pull
ed the sword from Tosk’s corpse and tossed it on the ground, the poison finally released its hold on my body. I jumped up and took off across the clearing. My feet sunk into the soot as I launched myself at the god I’d loved for centuries, no longer caring if I scared him off. Life, even an immortal life, was too short to tiptoe around the truth. And the truth was, I was head over heels, heartbreakingly devoted to, and overwhelmingly in love with Forse Styrke. And he could just deal with it.

  “Oh my gods, he didn’t kill you!” My sentence came on one hurried breath as I flew through the air, wrapping first my arms and then my legs around the god who’d owned my heart since Freya’s spin-the-bottle party centuries ago. Forse caught me easily, tucking one arm around my waist and the other underneath my bottom. The movement brought me closer to him, and as I pressed my hips against his stomach, relief gave way to an entirely different sensation. One that was sure to send Forse running for the hills.

  I didn’t care.

  I placed my hands on either side of his head and waited for his reaction. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. But his heart thudded against my chest, confirming that no matter what his overthinking justice-god brain was telling him, he wanted this every bit as much as I did.

  Finally.

  “Forse Styrke, don’t you ever scare me like that again.” I stroked the skin along his jaw. The days-old stubble felt rough against the pad of my thumb, while the adoration in his eyes was the very definition of gentle. As he’d always be, Forse was a study in contrasts.

  “And if I do?” The corners of Forse’s eyes crinkled. “Then what?’

  “I’m…well, I’m…”