The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1)

by Deborah Davitt

  This was precisely the opposite of what Trennus had been trying to do, and he closed his eyes for a moment, quelling the impulse to swear. This wasn’t diplomacy. This was a challenge issued, a gauntlet thrown down. Foolish child. The blood of gods may run through your veins, but it will make your tears all the sweeter, and your heart fairer meat for my hunger.

  “Come and take them, then,” Sigrun said, her throat tight, damning her friends in her heart for not running. For not taking the chance she was giving her life to give to them.

  The corpse raised its hand, and lightning shot out of fingertips that showed bone through the flesh, striking Sigrun, and slamming her back into the wall with its force. She struggled back upright, gritting her teeth, and hissed back, “Lightning is my god’s gift to me, parasite. Feeder on filth and the lives of your own people.” She lifted her spear, just as Tlaloc unleashed another barrage of blue-white light at her, and actually caught the electricity this time, on the blade of the spear. She could smell the air ionizing around them as the lightning, redirected, arced back towards the god. But Tlaloc probably had no upper limitation to the amount of heaven’s fire he could absorb.

  “You will have to have to find another trick,” Sigrun told him, defiance in her words, but not in her voice. She knew there was no way to win. The only choice here was in how she was going to die. The lightning wouldn’t kill her, but she had no illusions that the god wasn’t capable of improvising.

  ___________________

  In the meantime, Adam’s head had swung around, staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirling at something approaching the speed of light. “She needs sky. Matrugena . . . can you open a damned hole to the open air down here?” He flinched back as a blue-white spark arced off of Sigrun’s body and spidered, briefly, to the floor, close to his foot, leaving a scorch mark before it died.

  Trennus’ head swung up. “Gods . . . I don’t know. I could bring the whole damned building down on us. The material has to go somewhere! I can’t just make it disappear!” Matter and energy could not be created or destroyed. They could only change states. That was a fundamental law in the universe, and it was a matter of debate among natural philosophers if even gods could break that rule.

  He swore quietly under his breath and reached into the earth again for the bright and searing lines of power he could see, roiling beneath the surface, and pulled on them. Poured their power up into the roof above them, but at an angle, so that he’d be cutting through what felt like twenty feet of dirt and rock and then boring through the actual stones of the pyramid. Not straight up through two hundred feet of rock to its pinnacle, but a far shorter distance: out one of its stepped sides. The best he could do was turn the stone to dust or mud, which poured down from the opening that he positioned at the far end of the cavern, to lessen the chances of the ceiling falling on all their heads. All right, he thought, pouring more power into it. Sigrun needs sky? We’ll give her sky.

  Unfortunately, Tlaloc had apparently just realized that the lightning bolts that usually worked so effectively on mortals were completely useless against the valkyrie. The electrical storm ceased, and the blue-white light that had filled the cavern died with it. “Got anything better?” Sigrun taunted, trying to keep the god’s attention squarely fixed on her.

  “Lord of water and rain,” Ehecatl muttered beside Adam, sinking down to his haunches and holding his chest. Even in the dim light from the dying flare in the cavern ahead of them, the man’s face looked gray. “He who makes things sprout. Lord of the passages to the underworld. Fertility. Life out of death.”

  Thus, it wasn’t a complete surprise when the waters of the pool under the god’s feet rose up like a giant hand attached to a long, sinuous, transparent hand, and seized Sigrun in a giant’s grip, shoving a thumb over her head . . . and her head simply popped into the water that made up the thumb. For the second time in a half hour, Sigrun was in danger of drowning on dry land, and just as when the high priest had tried to kill her before, it was useless to try to fight. Her spear cut through the water of the hand, and the water resealed itself, without a wound, in the wake of her attack. And the hand inexorably dragged her towards the cenote.

  Sigrun dug in her heels and fought, trying to fly away. Her lungs already burned from the smoke in the air, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to hold out as long this time before her body forced her to suck in another breath.

  Watching from the tunnel, and feeling, yet again, helpless, Adam asked, “Eshmunazar?”

  “Working on it,” Kanmi muttered. “If I superheat it and dissipate it as steam, that would work but it’ll parboil her, and I don’t think she’s going to thank me for it.”

  “Kanmi! She doesn’t have time for theory!” Adam’s voice was a crack this time.

  Theory was the last thing on Kanmi’s mind. He was struggling to keep at bay the memory of his brothers holding his head down under the waters of Tyre’s harbor. Helplessness and fear.

  He shoved the memories aside, and snapped his fingers. “Surface tension. Got it.” He dug through his pockets until he found what looked like nothing more extraordinary than a tin of shampoo powder, opened it, and flung the entire contents towards the hand of water. It was, in effect, nothing more than a construct, a golem, this one formed of water and godly will, rather crafted of clay and animated with a hapless earth elemental to provide its motive force.

  He hadn’t been joking the other day when he’d mentioned that starting a chemical or physical process was much, much harder than continuing it. The soap contained amphiphilic compounds—surfactants, specifically, which would break the surface tension of water by interacting with the fluid at the molecular level. The powder flew out, propelled by Kanmi’s will, hit the surface of the water, and then Kanmi incanted, framing the spell that would increase the rate at which the surfactants dissolved the bonds between the water molecules at the surface of the giant construct. Kanmi gritted his teeth, and powered every bit of his will into his power matrix . . . . and the water fell to the ground in a wave, bubbling a little from the shampoo. “Yes!” Kanmi shouted, as Sigrun staggered on the very edge of the cenote. “I will not fear death by water. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

  The empty eye-pits of the god turned towards him, and Tlaloc moved the ruined lips into a ghastly smile. And that was when the same living lash of fire that had been in Gratian’s hand appeared in the god’s. Except that the god wasn’t using the rock behind him as a source of the material and just supplying energy to superheat and manipulate the substance; this was the air itself, transmuted to plasma. Oh, shit, Kanmi thought, and dove out of the way. The words of his spells tumbled out as he pulled up every shield he had, from kinetic absorption to the shell of frozen nitrogen . . . and then that shell, which had turned the world, briefly, to darkness . . . lit up blazingly white as the stream of plasma hit it.

  Kanmi didn’t have time to swear. He frantically stole energy from the plasma. Redirected it. “Little help here!” Kanmi shouted after a moment, sweat beading on his face as he held his hands out in front of him, a barrier of pure force protecting them, raw starfire being sent right back at the god, just the way Sigrun redirected the electrical storm, moments before. He had just enough time to think, to wonder, This is a water god. He should have very specific attributes. Very specific abilities. All the tales of the gods say that they are jealous, and when one steals the thunderbolts from the other’s pockets, they hunt him down and punish him. How is he doing this . . . could he have learned it from Gratian’s mind? Can gods, like man, evolve? Or is it just that he once was a sun-god, and remembers the tune, and some of the words?

  That was just distant chatter at the back of his mind, however. He couldn’t really pursue that line of thought, however; he was far too busy trying to keep from being incinerated, and it wasn’t a fight he could win, as evidenced by the rising pain in his hands and forearms as the heat he was struggling to redirect began to intensify, and the very air around him began to
overheat as well. “Seriously. Could use some help right now! But don’t let me rush you!” Kanmi shouted.

  _____________________

  Trennus, for his part, caught the surge of powdered stone pouring into the cavern from the tunnel he was boring up to the sky, and pulled it in a cloud across the cavern, swirling it around Tlaloc like a flock of starlings at sunset. It was about a ton of material, all told, and the ley-mage knew he couldn’t possibly have done this, except for where he was standing, right now. Atop two full, gloriously resonant ley-lines. He clapped his hands together, like a child forming a snowball . . . . and the dust congealed, becoming a boulder, with the god trapped inside, like an insect in amber. “Instant fossil,” Trennus muttered, and let the stone go, falling into the cenote. “This would bind a spirit, if I carved its Name into the stone . . . this might only slow him down, though. Come on. Let’s get out of here before he breaks free,” he told the others, starting to back away. His tunnel through the ceiling was complete; Sigrun had a clear view of the sky from the very depths of the earth. Though hopefully, that won’t matter. And hopefully, several generations of archaeologists don’t curse us any more than they’ll curse Tototl and Xicohtencatl for driving a lightning rod through the whole damned structure.

  Trennus hadn’t gotten more than three steps when the water exploded upwards, shards of stone carried with it, lancing into the ceiling above. You dare? You dare to think that you can bind me, like some petty spirit? It was a roar in all their minds as the god, emerged from the water, glowing dusky red now. Die!

  Fire enveloped Trennus, and he dropped to the floor, rolling and trying to beat the flames out. Adam threw his cloak over the Britannian, trying to muffle the flames, but to no avail . . . and that was when Sigrun, with a clear view of the sky, slammed into the god at her full flying speed, sending them both flying to the far side of the cave, into the soft mound of sand and stone dust that Trennus’ efforts had created. The god, distracted by this impertinent new target, released the fire on Trennus, and backhanded Sigrun halfway across the room. Wind kicked up, suddenly, swirling the dust in the room like a djinni’s tail, and Adam swore as lightning came down, pulled through that small opening in the roof with lethal accuracy, slamming into the god’s avatar. “If it doesn’t work on you, it probably won’t work on him!” Kanmi shouted over the howling of the wind that was one of Sigrun’s primary defenses, shielding his eyes against the dirt.

  A blur of light through the wind and the debris, and then the wind died and Adam could hear Sigrun’s scream, as she, like Trennus before her, was engulfed in flame. You will be a fitting sacrifice to me. The blood of the other gods will run. I have foreseen it, in my exile and in my weakness. They will all die, and only a handful will remain, and I will rule!

  ___________________

  Adam took one panicked look at Sigrun, as Trennus, only lightly scorched, but bloody and barely able to walk on his bad leg, tried to get to his feet. “Kanmi!”

  “Trying.” The sorcerer’s voice was strained, even as Sigrun screamed again, in agony. “I don’t have a lot left.”

  Adam stared at the god in a mortal shell, with the closest thing to hatred he’d felt all day. Everything till now had merely been a mad scramble for survival. Now, this . . . creature . . . spirit . . . god . . . was torturing Sigrun, and for what? Pettiness, because its toys had been broken? Toys that had actually captured and enslaved it . . . Well, if they really had. The nuances weren’t important right now. Understanding the situation wasn’t important right now. Right now, the only thing that mattered was survival.

  He raised his gun, useless gesture that it was, and fired at the god across the cavern from him. No effect, of course; the bullet bounced off a shield of raw will that surrounded it . . . but Tlaloc’s head swiveled towards him, as if surprised, and for one instant, the flames around Sigrun died.

  In that moment, Adam’s mind raced. He didn’t sense it coming. No magic. No will. No power. How much of him actually transferred from body to body? he wondered. How much of him actually dispersed, when Kanmi and Trennus destroyed the coils? Is he strong enough, powerful enough, omniscient enough, to see this before I even make the attempt? Or is there, as Sigrun keeps telling me, no fate . . . . just wyrd?

  “Sig! Bring him back to the pool! Then come to us!” Adam commanded as he remembered, with perfect clarity, killing a djinni, dispersing its essence, with little more than modern explosives and a little guile. Maybe all I did was send that djinn back to the Veil, like Trennus has said. Maybe that’s all I can do now. Don’t have explosives this time. But I think something a little bigger than a bullet, that he can’t see coming, might do the trick.

  ___________________

  Sigrun, the god’s fire once more wreathing her body, did as Adam bade, and forced her body into the air. Flew to the center of the pool, and dropped into its cooling waters, dousing the flames . . . but the water was its own torment on the burned and ravaged flesh, and she heaved herself back out onto the shore . . . just as Tlaloc moved to the center of the pool to renew his flames on her body. Beg, the god told her. Weep for me. Give me your tears.

  “Fikkest thu,” Sigrun rasped out. She wouldn’t weep. She wouldn’t beg. She was a battle-maiden of Tyr, and she did not fear death.

  The fires exploded out towards her from the god’s hands once more, and Sigrun closed her eyes.

  “Don’t help,” Adam told Trennus and Kanmi. “Not this time. He can’t feel this coming.” He raised his newly reloaded .45, and aimed. This time, not at Tlaloc in Xicohtencatl’s body, but at the stalactite curtain above the god’s mortal form. One shot. Two. Three. Tlaloc never even looked up as the vicious stone teeth fell from the ceiling, and impaled the broken and battered body of Xicohtencatl’s body, driving him down into the waters. The fires surrounding Sigrun’s body flickered, and went out.

  For a moment, absolutely nothing happened, as the body began to sink into the dark waters of the cenote. Adam wasn’t honestly sure that the god wasn’t just going to start crawling up out of the water again, like a damned ghul, so he kept his gun in his hand . . . and then he saw green light coming up out of the water, making the whole pool glow like a jewel. Harah. Have to get Sigrun out of there. He holstered the gun and ran forward as the light began to contract, intensifying as it did so. He bent down, and scooped up her body, not caring, for the moment, if he damaged her burned skin any further. They needed to get out of here.

  The light contracted down to a single, white-red point, too dazzling to look at, like the sun at high noon. He threw Sigrun over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and ran, shouting to the others, “Go! Go, damn it, run!” He could see Matrugena’s pained hobble, Ehecatl’s bent-shouldered shuffle, and knew, grimly, We’re not going to make it.

  He’d barely reached the mouth of the tunnel when the power behind him exploded outwards, like a star gone nova. The shockwave hit them all, and they were thrown up the tunnel. Adam landed on Sigrun’s legs and was unable to stop her upper body from unfolding gracelessly back to slam her head on the stone floor. The ceiling overhead gave an ominous rumble, and dirt and stones as large as a child’s fist hailed down on them. Adam rolled back to his feet and hauled Sigrun back over his shoulder. “Come on, come on! On your feet!”

  He later had no real recollection of how they all got to the surface. Trennus always swore that Adam had grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him up the rest of the way, but Adam only remembered running and rocks and the grinding sound of the tunnel collapsing behind them. Only remembered his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest and thoughts that amounted to a mantra, One more step, just one more step, one more step, just one more step . . . and then, out into the blessed gray light of dawn. “Don’t stop!” Kanmi, bringing up the rear, and holding Ehecatl’s arm over his shoulder as he helped the man out, shouted up to Adam. “Keep going! If the cavern underneath collapses—”

  The whole thing’s going to go. Adam kept running. He wanted to be nowhere near
the monumental structure, in case blocks of stone the size of a man decided to roll their direction.

  At five hundred feet, they stopped, and Adam let go of the grip he had on Trennus’ arm, surprised, as the taller man slumped to the ground. Adam eased Sigrun’s limp form to the ground as well, and then winced as stone ground on stone, an audible wail of protest, as the ancient structure began to collapse, from the inside out, the center of the pyramid dropping first, like a cake taken from the oven too soon. “Oh . . . gods. People are going to be . . . very angry with us.” Trennus managed, panting a little.

  It was inane, but inanity was really all any of them had left. Ehecatl slumped in the long grass, his face gray, and Kanmi stared down at him. “Ah . . . I think his heart’s damaged,” the sorcerer told Adam in a low mutter. “I don’t know what to do for him. I’m certified in first aid, but this is beyond my skill level.”

  “Let him lie back. Prop his feet up on something, cover him with a cloak—” Adam looked up from where he was trying to find Sigrun’s pulse in her throat, without damaging her skin any further. Unlike the fight against the god-born in Ponca, months ago, this time, there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t burned. Her skin was a mass of weeping red blisters and black, paper-like curls that threatened to turn into ash at the slightest touch. The water of the cenote couldn’t have done her any favors, either. Adam’s eyes focused on Kanmi’s hands, held mutely in front of him, and he realized that Sigrun wasn’t the only one who’d been burned; Kanmi’s hands showed red, second-degree burns completely covering the palms, with blisters all up his wrists and forearms. “Damn it. Sorry. Get Tren . . . . ” Adam’s words faltered, realizing that Trennus had been lucky to get this far, on a leg that had been bleeding heavily, and might have tendon damage. “Give me a minute to get her . . . comfortable . . . and then I’ll do what I can for the rest of you.”