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

by Deborah Davitt

  “He told me that god-born haven’t been born in such numbers as are being born today, for over a thousand years, and that it means that a great war must be coming, and that we all must be ready. And that I was to remember that none of the gods truly wishes Ragnarok to happen. There is no victory, in Ragnarok, he said. Only destruction.”

  Sigrun blinked. That was a highly unusual statement. “What did you say his name was? I might have seen him here already.”

  “Radulfr Ecgwine.”

  Her mind raced. The name meant, wise-counsel wolf and blade-friend. And something about the name pinged at Sigrun’s senses. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” Sigrun murmured. There were somewhere around twenty-five thousand god-born of Valhalla, all told, spread out between two continents. It was a very small community, smaller than that of the Praetorian Guard. “You’re certain that the Odinhall sent him?”

  Fritti’s eyes had gone wide. “Oh yes,” she said, and her parents both nodded, emphatically. “He healed, just as you do, whenever I actually managed to mark him in practice. I never saw him rage, though.”

  “You would not,” Sigrun replied, automatically. “They’re trained not to do so, except at great need.” She looked around. “You say you thought you saw him?”

  “Yes. He was over seven feet tall. They, well . . .” Fritti blushed. Crimson. Clearly, the girl had a bit of a crush on her mentor. “They stand out. But when I looked again, he was gone, as I said.”

  Adam took Sigrun’s elbow in his hand. “A puzzle for another time?” he suggested. “Can anything really go wrong here?”

  Yes. Much. But I will not think on it for now. Today is our wedding day, after all.

  ___________________

  Ianuarius 11, 1957 AC

  Trennus tossed his bags into the back of Adam’s car at the airport, and flung his cloak in, with it. “I think I’m actually getting used to the mild winters down here.”

  Adam snorted. “Where’s your lady?”

  “She de-manifested for the flight, as usual. Saves money on plane fares.” Trennus looked around. Lassair?

  I’ll re-manifest once you’re in the car. People tend to stare when I appear out of nowhere.

  People stare at you no matter what. His thought was fond. That’s what you get for being noticeable.

  Adam, naturally, had missed the by-play. “It has nothing to do with the possibility that you might break her fingers on takeoff?”

  “Hah. No, I try to behave in a more manly fashion when she’s around. I keep the gibbering terror to a minimum.”

  “Trennus . . . I don’t know how to break it to you, but she’s always around. She’s a spirit.”

  Trennus grinned at him and ducked into the car, hunkering down so his head wouldn’t hit the roof. The compact Hellene vehicle that the Praetorians had allocated Adam really didn’t suit Trennus’ frame. “How’s the pilot training going, anyway?”

  “Eh, slowly. I can only do it on weekends, so I don’t even have two hundred hours in yet. Sig refuses to get into the plane with me and the instructor. It’s just a little two-prop trainer, so she follows us around, and my instructor, on seeing her, does a lot of very fervent praying to Apollo, Mercury, Jupiter . . . anyone who might be listening, apparently.” Adam got in the driver’s seat. “How was Londonium? And your family?”

  Trennus scratched vigorously at his hair . . . and felt soft hands come in from behind to rub at his shoulders a little as Lassair manifested in the back seat. “Londonium, wonderful. Good to see a lot of old colleagues again. My family . . .” Trennus chuckled ruefully.

  “Didn’t go so well?”

  “Went out hunting with my father and brothers. Got Saraid her deer for the year. It was good.” Trennus grimaced. “Then I told them that I had to tell them something important, and introduce them to someone very dear to me.”

  Adam pulled out into traffic, and headed for downtown Rome. “And?”

  “They thought I was going to tell them I was seeing a Hellene man, apparently.” Trennus had just about punched one of his brothers—Riacus, the second-eldest—for that particular comment. “I’m not entirely sure what gave them that impression. I took a number of girls to the midsummer fires when I was younger.” He was still annoyed about that.

  “Probably a little of Kanmi’s problem with his brothers. They don’t see him hauling in nets and lines, therefore, he’s not a man. You work with books and live in a world of spirits. Therefore . . . .” Adam shrugged. “So, once they met Lassair, that was straightened out?”

  Not as well as you might think. I made a point of looking very female for them so that they would understand a little better. Lassair sounded disappointed. The word succubus was used.

  Adam almost swerved into oncoming traffic as he began to laugh. “It’s not really funny,” Trennus said, tapping his knuckles against the glass of the window in annoyance. “Even worse was my eldest brother—that’s Vindiorix, if you don’t remember—asking if it wasn’t just advanced masturbation, and if I mightn’t consider shagging a sheep, since it was clearly less shameful than selling my soul for sex.” Trennus set his teeth a little at the recollection. His large and very noisy family put Adam’s to shame, as far as he was concerned. His eldest brother was ten years his elder, thirty-eight now, pushing thirty-nine, and Vindiorix had three children. The eldest of whom, a son, was just about to turn seventeen. Between Vindorix’s wife and three children, Riacus’ wife and three children, Catuarus and his wife and their four children, and Cor and his wife’s three children, it had put at least twenty-three people in the great hall of his father’s manor, seated at three different tables, and that was before counting the guards and the servants trying to bring in the next course for the banquet in honor of Sol Invictus. Trennus’ mother, Marina, was Roman, and a Mithraist by conviction, while the rest of her family paid homage to the Gallic gods. It made the winter solstice holidays last a little longer.

  Adam swerved again. “Should I be pulling over?” he asked, mildly. “You have any confessions you’d like to make, like, oh, beating your various brothers into a fine paste?”

  “It did take the three other ones to pull me off of Vindiorix,” Trennus admitted. “Admittedly, after I gave him two black eyes, loosened his teeth, and slammed a knee into his stomach three or four times, he did admit that he might have been over the line.” He paused, and went on, resignedly, “And in the meantime, Cor’s wife was grabbing her youngest—he’s all of three—off the floor and getting the others to the doorway, because we’d just rolled into the damned table, and Vin’s oldest son was evidently trying to figure out if he should get into the fight, and Catu was telling him to stay the fuck out of it . . . gods. What a mess.” He gave Adam a look. “Your family in Judea seems nice and peaceful. What I wouldn’t give for a couple of sisters.”

  Adam chuckled. “I’m sure your parents were saying much the same thing.”

  Trennus looked up at the roof of the motorcar. “My father did suggest that I might not want to settle arguments with the heir to the kingdom in quite that way again. Then again, the family guardsmen were all standing around making bets. They knew better than to get into the middle of a fight between brothers.”

  “You Picts don’t treat your kings with the same kind of reverence as Rome treats emperors.”

  “Gods, no. You don’t get to be king unless you’ve earned it. And all the nobles get a vote in which member of the king’s line rules next. If you’d be king, you’d best be stronger and smarter than everyone else, or at least be able to talk them around to your way of thinking. Vin just forgot I learned how to fight from the same master-at-arms who taught the rest of them . . . and I’ve learned a few nasty tricks since then.” Tren suddenly grinned, tightly. “Used a few of the things you’ve shown me. He hadn’t seen those before.”

  “So, no charges pending . . . ?” Adam asked.

  “No. Vin apologized and ate pottage for a week. Riacus made a couple more comments, but the others fell into
line once Vin did. Then it was just working it out with Mother and Father that yes, I’m quite serious, no, don’t expect any grandchildren, and so on.” Trennus hesitated. His father had said something else. Something he hadn’t yet shared with Lassair.

  “Son, you saw the white hind when you were a child, didn’t you?”

  “I did. I thought none of you believed me.”

  “Your brothers thought you were making it up. The fact that you became a ley-mage and a summoner long ago suggested to me that you probably did see her.” His father had settled back behind his desk, studying Trennus calmly. “Seeing the spirit of our woods is supposed to mark you out for greatness. Are you really sure that you’re doing what you’re meant to be doing?”

  “I’m happy as a Praetorian. And the hind wasn’t the only spirit I saw, you know. I could always see the house-spirits and all the others. I just didn’t realize that not everyone could.”

  His father had shaken his head. “That’s not what I meant, son. Are you sure about the path that you’re on? The choices you’re making, and the people with whom you’re choosing to share your life?”

  If his father had a specific meaning in mind, Trennus couldn’t see it. “If I were going astray,” he finally said, “the spirit of the forest would tell me, I think.”

  And there the subject had been left, for the time being.

  In the here and now, Tren spotted Adam’s sidelong glance, but didn’t know what to make of it . . . and forgot about it, and the conversation with his father, as Lassair offered, I thought that if I got involved, it would largely make matters worse, but I do have to admit to telling Riacus that his youngest son’s paternity might be in question. Lassair’s tone was annoyed. Trennus winced. It had been wicked, but Lassair wouldn’t have involved Riacus’ wife if it hadn’t been true. There had been . . . quite a bit of familial arguing about that.

  Trennus leaned back against the headrest, trying to put Britannia out of his head. “So, what’s new, here?”

  “A great deal, as of today. You missed it, being in the air.” Adam grimaced. “You know how Antiochus XII and Pharnaces had banded together for common cause against their brother, Mithridates?”

  “I caught that that one opportunistic general . . . Jamshid-something . . . threw his weight behind Antiochus last week, yes.” Trennus could keep up with the names of famous Chaldean and Median Magi and arcessitors, but modern politicians and generals gave him fits.

  “Artaphernes,” Adam supplied. “It’s a marriage of convenience. Antiochus was winning, and Artaphernes wants to back a winner. Mithridates was older, but he’d angered most of his father’s generals in the last year.” Adam turned off the main highway, and into the side-streets. “Antiochus paraded his brother in chains through the streets of Persepolis yesterday. He’ll be tried for, get this, high treason, probably in the next month. And today . . . .”

  Trennus shook his head, staring at the nighttime lights of Rome. “I’m not going to like hearing this, am I?”

  “I didn’t. Antiochus entered talks with the Mongolian Khanate aimed at ending their long-standing border disputes and securing an alliance with them against Rome.” Adam pulled into the parking lot of Trennus’ apartment complex. “Livorus says the Khanate will want to be sure Antiochus has legitimacy—or at least, a firm grip on power—before they’ll agree to anything. That gives us . . . six, maybe nine months before we revisit the War of the Caspian Sea and the Caspian Crisis and everything else.”

  “We’re due. It’s been almost exactly a hundred years since the last war in that area.” Trennus’ voice was glum. The Caspian Crisis had lasted from 1855 until 1860, and the War of the Caspian Sea had lasted from 1753 until 1763. Each had been a nasty four-way battle in which alliances had rapidly shifted as every side looked for advantages. “I take it we’re leaving for Kiev in the morning?”

  “Good call. Yes, yes we are. Them and a couple of the smaller northern kingdoms of Europa and Slavic nations.” Adam unlocked the doors. “Welcome back, Tren, Lassair.”

  “Never a dull moment,” Trennus said, and got his bags out of the back. “Good thing I already packed for snow, eh?”

  At least it will be a new place, Lassair said, slipping out after him. Though I do not look forward to the snow at all. She slipped a hand into his arm. Do you think there is any way in which I could help the one to whom you are bound?

  “I’m not sure. Do you want me to talk to Livorus about it?”

  Perhaps. I feel that I should be doing more, somehow.

  “Hmm. Something to think about. What do you want to be doing?”

  I do not know. Making people healthier. Happier. There is a young man in this building, for example, who would make an excellent mate for a young woman who often walks by.

  “You . . . want to play matchmaker?” Trennus got inside the front door, and headed up the stairs, his bags over his shoulder, and trying not to laugh. “For people to whom you’ve never spoken?”

  Oh, I have spoken to them. Once in a while. But they have very similar souls. They resonate at the same frequency. Lassair tipped her head to the side as Trennus unlocked the front door and dismissed the spirits he’d set to watching over the apartment in their absence. Some people have truly beautiful souls. Like you, Emberstone, Godslayer, and Stormborn. I love each of you. I want to see each of you happy. Most other people are . . . various shades of gray. They do not stand out. They do not have strong voices. But these two? They both shine pale green. They would be good for each other. Lassair nodded. Unfortunately, that will simply have to wait until we return.

  Trennus reached back, and took her hand to lead her into the cold and musty apartment. “I’m having trouble reconciling the idea of global politics and matchmaking,” he told her, smiling.

  In the old days, and even today, in some places, the two are very much aligned, Lassair reminded him, with a pert smile. I just want to see people happy. In every way I can manage it.

  It’s a good goal. A noble one. But impossible. Trennus closed the door behind her, and wrapped his arms around Lassair.

  Never set your sights on anything lower than the sky, she told him, chidingly, and snuggled into him. You need to sleep, Flamesower. You never sleep when we travel through the sky in the metal machines.

  Tomorrow might be the exception.

  ___________________

  October 11, 1957 AC

  The Persians and the Mongols formalized their border agreements and their mutual defense pact on October 11. Rome and Raccia had formalized a mutual defense pact two days previously. Kanmi couldn’t actually count how many flights he’d taken in the past ten months, but he’d guess the number stood at over forty. Livorus and his lictors had spent at least half of every month outside of Rome proper, the propraetor being the Imperator’s clear choice as a diplomatic envoy. The size of Livorus’ entourage of lictors had been doubled, in the wake of significant threats against the propraetor; he was gaining a reputation, inside and outside of Rome, as Caesarion IX’s right hand. The erstwhile governor of Nahautl, Dioscuri, had gone before the Senate to denounce Livorus as the cause of the tensions between Rome and Persia. The man was attempting to rebuild his credibility after having lost the governorship, mainly on imputations that his wife had been involved with the high priest Tototl’s schemes. There had been no proof of this, and Livorus had never made any accusations against either Dioscuri or his wife, but the propraetor had never spoken in their defense, either. That explained some of the bad feelings.

  Kanmi, for his own part, had spent whatever time he’d had in the past nine months when not on duty, absorbed in two major projects. First, he’d established and maintained contact with Lady Erida Lelayn, the Chaldean envoy they’d encountered in Judea. Their correspondence had begun in a fairly formal vein, with Kanmi requesting permission to study Chaldean mysteries. Erida had not been able to secure him passage into Chaldea at the time, and Kanmi couldn’t take a leave of absence to enroll in one of the Magi academies . .
. but the lady had, very generously, begun sending him books and scrolls, for which Kanmi, in exchange, sent books on technomancy. It was a scholarly and engaging relationship conducted exclusively by letter, and Kanmi enjoyed it, immensely. He was learning to understand the ‘traditional’ schools of sorcery better, and in so doing, he was learning how to counter them.

  The other major project that took up his time was his continuing research into the Source Initiative. Kanmi remained convinced that Gratian Xicohtencatl’s contacts with this professional group of sorcerers, ley-mages, and technomancers had had some kind of connection to his work in Nahautl. But tracing the backgrounds of every member of the group was time-consuming, and required extensive correspondence with gardia offices in most of the subject nations and provinces of the Empire, and even several nations abroad. Kanmi now had correspondence coming in from Qin, Nippon, Hellas, Egypt, and Chaldea and Media, almost daily, most of which he kept in his desk. Locked, and warded against intrusion.

  At the moment, however, he was engaged in a far less agreeable activity. Himi and Bodi were at home, with their pedagogue, and Kanmi and Bastet were sitting in the office of Ankha, a priestess of Isis. Kanmi would have preferred to have gone to a priestess of Tanit, the Carthaginian maiden goddess of fertility, or even a priestess of matronly Juno. But he had been taking pains to compromise with Bastet, and she’d chosen to have their meetings at the temple of Isis, part of the faith shared by Egypt and Nubia.

  The office had hieroglyphics and two-dimensional drawings painted on every wall, and a rather sad and light-deprived potted palm drooped in one corner. Kanmi sat, straight-backed on one end of the small, padded bench, while Bastet, her back stiff, perched at the other, and the priestess rested, cross-legged, on a footstool in front of them. “It’s good to see you again, Kanmi,” the priestess said, smiling. Her eyes were dark, and kohl-lined, and she wore a wig, neatly braided, but ever-so-slightly askew. Kanmi itched to point that out, but kept his mouth shut. “You’ve missed our last three sessions, but Bastet and I have had some very good conversations. Today, I think it’s your turn to talk.”