by Lauren Dawes
Tove completed the move, shoving Soren in the chest and sending him to the ground again. He grunted as he landed, but instead of scowling at her, he was smiling. She offered him her hand, hauling him up out of the dirt.
“Okay, you try it on me now.”
Soren got the idea pretty quickly. He pushed Tove into the dust and grinned. He pulled her up. She was just finding her feet when she and Soren were surrounded by three boys from the village.
“Is that your girlfriend, Soren?” one of them taunted.
“Yeah, Soren. Are you going to marry Tove?” another said.
“Leave her alone, Jarl,” Soren said, putting himself between Tove and the boys.
“What were you two doing anyway?” Jarl asked again, his eyes taking in the swords they were practicing with. “Don’t tell me you were teaching her how to fight.”
“Girls can’t fight!” another boy said, trying to grab Tove’s scabbard. She whirled around and punched him in the face. Blood streamed from his nose, his hands doing nothing to stem the flow.
“Sefi, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m all right, Roland,” Sefi replied, spitting blood from his mouth. He turned his eyes to Tove. “I’ll make you pay for this.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she shot back.
The boy wiped a hand under his nose, wincing a little. “Why don’t you go home and practice your sewing with your mother? Oh wait! You can’t, can you?”
All the boys laughed at Sefi’s comment. Tove ground her teeth together, the reminder that her mother was no longer there like a rusty knife in her gut. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she refused to acknowledge them.
“Look, she’s going to cry like a big girl,” Roland announced, laughing at Tove’s pain. The other two joined in.
“Don’t listen to them,” Soren said, hugging her. “You might not have your mother, but you have mine. She loves you just as much, Tove.” Soren’s parents, Gaia and Reiner, were like her own, but Sefi’s words still hurt, and they were still tragically true. She let herself have the comfort for just a moment before pulling away. She looked up at her best friend, shook her head and turned away.
“Tove! Wait!” Soren called after her.
“Tove! Wait!” they all mocked. Tove ran from the marketplace, the echoes of their voices following her. Her scabbard bounced painfully on her hip, slapping her thigh and calf. She weaved through the people walking around the streets, leading horses pulling carts full of vegetables and animals.
She finally made it home, running up the shallow stairs and into the house she shared with her father. He was the chieftain of the village, so he was rarely alone. He was sitting in the great hall, a fierce fire burning in the center of the room. Her father’s advisor, Ivor, stood to one side while her father listened to the complaints of the village folk.
“My wife has been unfaithful,” a man said, looking disdainfully at the woman by his side. Tove walked through the shadows at the edge of the room, seeing that the woman was with child. She looked no older than fifteen – only five years older than Tove. Was that what it was going to be like for her? Was she going to be someone’s wife in five years’ time?
“What proof do you have?” her father asked.
“I found her in the bed of another, my lord,” the man said.
Tove’s father turned his attention to the woman. “Is what he’s said true?” he asked, his tone softening just like it did when he spoke to Tove.
“No, my lord. I have been faithful to my husband.”
“Whose child is it that you bear?”
“My husband’s,” the woman replied, her hands protectively cradling her swollen abdomen. Ivor leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Her father’s eyes cut to the woman’s husband.
“I’ve just heard that you are the one guilty of being unfaithful, Sweyn.”
“I …” Sweyn sputtered.
“I’ve heard that you have taken another wife in the neighboring village. So, I think the only one guilty of infidelity is you. Your case is dismissed.” Tove’s father took the silver arm ring from around the man’s forearm and looked to Sweyn’s wife. “As recompense, I will give you this.” He offered it to the woman who carefully approached the dais.
“Thank you, Halvdan. You are a truly gracious ruler,” she said, accepting the silver circlet.
Ivor stepped down and escorted the couple from the room. Her father slumped back in his chair, rubbing at his face. Tove skirted around the room, but stopped when her father spoke.
“Why are you crying, child?” he asked.
Tove froze. “How did you know I was here?”
He dropped his hand and stared at her. “I always know where you are,” he said in reply. Tove rubbed the tears from her cheeks before stepping into the light. Her father studied her. “What has happened?”
“It was nothing.”
“You cannot lie to me, Tove. Remember?”
She let out a breath and walked on to the platform, climbing into his lap. Leaning against his arm, she said, “Some boys from the village told me I shouldn’t be fighting. They said I should be learning how to sew from my … from my mother.”
Her father’s brows drew down. “Who are these boys?” he demanded.
“It doesn’t matter who they are,” she replied.
He stroked the side of his face with his finger and sighed. “Perhaps they are right, Tove.”
She stiffened in his arms. “What do you mean, Father?”
“I mean, you are going to have to stop playing around in the dust and dirt and learn the skills a woman should have. You could be married in a couple of years, bearing children of your own.”
“I don’t want to get married, Father. I want to fight.”
Her father picked her up and set her on her feet in front of him. “You know that cannot be.”
“Why not?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.
“Because you are too precious to me. You are my only daughter and you could get seriously injured if you fight. Those boys will soon grow into men and they will be stronger than you in every way. I don’t want you to practice anymore. Leave swordplay for the boys.”
“That’s not fair,” she pouted.
Her father laughed gently. “Life is not fair.”
“Halvdan? There are still more people to be heard,” Ivor announced, walking back into the hall.
“Yes, of course,” he replied. To Tove he said, “Go and get cleaned up. You’re covered in dirt and you have straw in your hair.”
Tove walked toward the back of the hall, but stood in the shadows when her father’s conversation with his advisor caught her attention.
“I have just heard that some houses on the farthest fringes of the village have been attacked,” Ivor said, his voice grave.
“By who?” Halvdan demanded.
“Canute Borg and his men. They left one boy alive who was told to report to you.”
“With what message?” His voice was tight.
“That they are loyal to Vadik Dalgaard and only him.”
There was a crash as her father swept away the cup and plate of food from the arm of his chair. “This is the third attack this month,” he roared. “Who else will join Dalgaard in his quest to unseat me?”
Halvdan’s question surprised Tove. She didn’t know her father’s position as chieftain was a point of contention. Were there some people out there who wished to see him gone?
Shaken, Tove left the hall and went to the area where she slept. She was still so angry with the boys, but also angry with her father for not allowing her to fight. She was good with the sword. She was even better with a spear, but she would never be able to use either skill if her father denied her the opportunity to practice. Well, she wasn’t going to listen to him. If what she’d overheard was true, he would need every able-bodied fighter he could find, including her.
Without changing out of her dress, Tove snuck out and made her
way to the beach. She walked on the shore, watching the fishing boats coming and going. She kicked at the loose stones, sending them skittering into the water.
“Did you go and cry to your father?” someone asked snidely.
Tove looked up and found Sefi glaring at her. Blood had dried under his nose and on his chin. Patches of red were splashed on the front of his tunic. She smiled. “Did you?”
The boy’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He seemed to be shaking with rage as he pulled on the handle of his wooden sword. He drew it and held it in front of him. Tove reached for hers too, matching his stance. Jarl and Roland, Sefi’s friends, ran up, drawing their swords too. Tove looked at them, then glanced behind her. She was too close to the water. Her boots were sinking into the sand already. As if the boys had heard her thoughts, they began closing in.
“We’re going to teach you a lesson, Tove,” Jarl said, taking another step closer. Tove licked her lips and shuffled back another step. Her foot landed in the water, her shoes flooding with the freezing liquid. She looked at all of them, trying to decide who was going to strike first.
Her world slowed down then. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, could smell the briny water. She blinked slowly, and when her eyes opened again, she gasped. Hovering above each of the boys’ heads was a shimmer of color. Jarl and Roland’s was red, but Sefi’s was black and Tove knew deep down in her gut that that was very, very bad.
Sefi wanted to hurt her.
He was the first to strike. Tove deflected it, letting Sefi’s momentum carry him forward. She shoved him in the back, sending him sprawling into the water. Edging away from the shore, she looked to Jarl and Roland. Roland swung his sword and hit Tove in the leg. She limped back a step, prepared for the next time he struck. Roland brought his sword above his head and lunged at Tove. Getting down into a crouch, she swept his legs out from under him and pushed him into the water with Sefi.
Jarl was the only boy left now. With a cry leaving his mouth, he rushed Tove. The fifteen feet between them was quickly being swallowed up. At the last moment, Jarl’s foot hit a stone deeply buried in the sand and he was propelled forward. Tove stepped out of the way, watching the last of her attackers land in the water.
All three boys stayed where they were, too shocked to move. Tove stepped back, bringing her sword up, ready for round two. But they didn’t move. A bubble of laughter burst from her lips as she looked at them, soaked to the bone with their teeth chattering.
She put her sword away and turned around, wandering back the way she’d come.
When she returned to her house, her father was lifting himself from his chair, finally done with his work for the day. He took one look at her, a deep scowl lining his face.
“What has happened to you?” he demanded. The few servants in the hall startled at his raised voice before quickly returning to their work.
Tove looked down at herself. The front of her dress was covered in water and mud. She looked back to her father and shrugged.
“You’re bleeding.”
That was when Tove felt the warm trickle of blood down her thigh. Roland must have struck her a lot harder than she realized. She tried to keep her gaze on her father, not acknowledging the injury.
“Tell me what happened, Tove.” His voice was a command she could not ignore.
“Those boys attacked me first. They ganged up on me!”
Fury flashed behind his eyes. “You fought them?” he hissed. She nodded minutely. “How many?”
“There were three of them.”
“Who? I want their names.”
Tove crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. If she told her father and he punished them, they would continue to bully her. He looked at her expectantly, but she wasn’t backing down.
He frowned. “You won’t tell me, will you?”
She shook her head.
He continued to give her a hard look, then shocked her when he began to laugh. Throwing an arm over her shoulders, he led her toward the dais. He gestured for her to sit down in the huge wooden chair, but she hesitated. She was never allowed to sit in it.
“Go on,” he encouraged. “Sit down while I go and get some water to clean up that cut.”
Tove lifted herself onto the seat and swung her legs, waiting. Her father returned with a small bowl of water and a rag. He wiped away the blood slowly.
“You’re just like your mother. Do you know that?” he told her, his focus still fixed on her leg wound.
Tove held her breath, waiting for her father to say more. He hardly mentioned her mother, and never willingly talked about her. All she knew was that her name was Bodil and she was a shield maiden who had died on the battlefield.
“When she was your age, she was always getting into trouble and fighting the boys.” He sighed, rinsing the rag in the water. “I guess the acorn does not fall far from the tree.” Her father met her eyes. “You have spirit, Tove Norling, just like your mother did. I’m more proud of you than I could ever say, but I cannot bear the thought of losing you in battle too.” Tilting her chin up, he stared into her eyes. “That’s why I cannot allow you to play with swords anymore.”
No! “But—”
“No, Tove. This is not up for discussion. I forbid it.”
She could see the hardness in her father’s expression, knew that his mind could not be changed. Whatever protests she had died on her tongue. Instead, she sat back in the chair and looked away.
“All right. All done. Go on now,” her father said, sounding weary. “Change your dress and wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Chapter 5
Boston
The steady pounding of her feet on the pavement was a sound Mav had missed hearing. She didn’t know how long she’d been at it, but by the way the sun was dipping down into the horizon, it must have been at least four hours. She hadn’t run like this in a long time – not since the first threats to Bryn and the other Valkyries.
Over their thousands of years of existence, nobody had managed to scare Bryn the way Loki had over a month ago. It was only now that she was starting to loosen up, and apparently the first matter of business for this new, relaxed Bryn was to force Mav to take a whole day and night off. But Mav had dug in her heels and refused. Instead, they’d come to an agreement: she would take only half a day off and Bryn would just have to accept it. The fact was, Mav’s job was to protect Bryn and the only way she could do that was by being wherever her leader was.
After Korvain moved in, it helped to ease the burden on Mav. Bryn was happy for the first time in a long time with him; he had saved her life when nobody else had been able to. Although their relationship was built on deceit to start with, Bryn had forgiven him and it was stronger than ever now.
Mav ran down Boylston Street until she hit Boston Common, slowing her pace to a fast walk. Despite the fact that she was a goddess, she had to remain in the best shape possible in order to protect Bryn and the remaining Valkyries. It was a fallacy that the gods had superior strength. They all still bled just like everyone else, and you were only as strong as you allowed your muscles to become.
As her breathing returned to normal, she looked around. There were still a lot of people in the park bundled up in heavy coats while Mav ran in black shorts and a skin-tight running shirt. She checked her watch for the time and started jogging back toward the club. She wanted to get in another weights workout before she started at seven.
Dodging cars as she crossed over Tremont, Mav weaved between the pedestrians, finding herself coming up on the alleyway that led to the back entrance of the club. She punched in the code on the door and stepped inside. Moving on autopilot, she walked down the long hall, heading toward the elevator. She was still lost in her own head, her mind on the dream she’d had the night before. She had not thought on it for centuries, but for some reason she had dreamed of the day she awoke to discover everyone she’d ever loved was dead.
“Gunner?”
Maverick stopped dead, the sound of the name Odin had given her when she became one of his Valkyries bringing her up short. She hadn’t been called that since the Fall.
From inside her office, Bryn said, “Sorry, but I was calling you and you couldn’t seem to hear me. Can I speak to you for a moment?”
Retreating back a few steps, Mav leaned against the jamb, her arms over her chest. Mist – Bryn’s second-in-command – was sitting in the chair opposite the desk, a tablet on her lap with a spreadsheet open on the screen. Mav nodded to the other Valkyrie before turning her attention to Bryn.
“How was your half day off?” Bryn asked.
“Unnecessary.” After all, it wasn’t as if she’d had much of a choice in the matter. All it did was give her time to think about the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life.
Bryn’s mouth flexed into a small smile. “Well, you still have another two hours of it so don’t even think about coming back down here early.”
Mav nodded and turned back to the elevator. As she rode it up, her watch started beeping, telling her that her heart rate had dropped by more than thirty beats a minute. She silenced the device and stared at her reflection in the polished elevator doors. Although the image was distorted, she tracked the dark gray aura hovering over her head and shoulders; it was a slightly darker shade than it had been a month earlier. The doors sprang open unexpectedly – Mav too lost in her thoughts to even notice the elevator had slid to a smooth stop on the top level.
She stepped into the hallway, pulling her apartment key from the concealed pocket in her running shorts. Once inside, Mav went straight to the free weights she had set up against the far wall. The abdominal bench and flat bench were in the center of the room and her latest purchase – the leg press machine she had punished her body on every day since she bought it – was on the opposite wall.
After two hundred barbell rows, she did another two hundred lunges before finally finishing with her usual five hundred push-ups. With sweat pouring down her temples and rolling off her chin, she finished her last push-up and collapsed back onto her ass. Hauling herself off the ground, she swiped the towel from the top of the dumbbell rack and wrapped it around her shoulders. She had just enough time to get cleaned up before her shift started. She showered quickly, and dried off just as fast. Running her hands over her freshly shaved scalp, Mav looked at herself in the mirror, eyeing her aura warily. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then let the breath go.