by Ayer, T. G.
"Who is Kara?" I asked.
"Kara was a Valkyrie who came back in a third lifetime," Sigrun replied, a little too enthusiastically.
"Sigrun, just because Kara's story was similar to other Valkyries' before and after her, it does not guarantee she was reincarnated. That is just a romantic story. In reality, star-crossed lovers happen all over the world and all through time." Fenrir shook his head, half to himself and half to Sigrun. He gazed across the field a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then said, "But that is not to say Bryn is not the reincarnation of Brunhilde. As you said, her father meddled with the DNA, which in all likelihood guaranteed she would have a way back into the living world."
Fenrir circled me as if I were a horse or a cow on an auction block. "Yes, I can see why you are convinced, Sigrun. Hair, eyes, height, build. All the same."
I fumed in silence, not overly fond of being examined like a piece of meat. "Can you two stop talking about me as if I'm not here?"
Both looked at me, startled.
"I am so sorry if we were rude, Bryn." Naturally, it was Sigrun who apologized. "Perhaps it would be better to get on with the training. Fenrir, she is all yours."
She set off for the field of sparring Valkyries, leaving me alone with Wolf-Man. I removed my cloak, tossed it over the rock wall, which fenced in the training field, and averted my eyes. Wolves had great hearing, didn't they? I hoped he wouldn't hear the overly rapid thumping of my heart.
"Why do you fear me?"
I stared at him, shocked. He'd practically read my mind.
"I can smell your fear. What is it you are afraid of?" His voice was soft, non-threatening, and when his eyes met mine, they were almost kind. His gaze flicked back to my pendant for the briefest of seconds. Then he looked at me.
Nothing I was thinking at that moment would've been appropriate to reveal to Fenrir. Like I was going to tell him I'd been brought up with the myth of werewolves, read fiction and watched countless movies on the comfortable assumption that creatures like him didn't exist. It really didn't do much for a girl's confidence to find that a murderous, bloodthirsty creature of fable was a living, breathing, talking creature.
He took my silence as proof of my fear and said, "You do need to relax. I do not eat Valkyries or women or humans. Even if I thought little girls would make a tasty snack, it would be forbidden within the boundaries of Asgard. So you are safe for now."
He grinned, and suddenly I wondered what it was about him that had made me so afraid. What a beautiful man. Well built, like Aidan, with perfect, classic, rugged features. An honest blend of grit and gorgeous. Oh yeah, it was the memory of seeing Fenrir all tricked out in his oh-so-furry wolfy form that still jittered my blood.
But I couldn't help the smile that cracked my lips. A werewolf with a sense of humor. Nice. I nodded, not trusting my voice. He inclined his head and led me a few paces into the field.
"Do you know anything about hand to hand combat?"
I shook my head.
"Sword fighting?"
I shook my head again.
"Very well, no experience only means no bad habits to unlearn." He raised an eyebrow and I smiled. I assumed it meant we would get on well enough.
And we did. He demonstrated a few hand-to-hand combat moves, blocking, defense and offensive grips. We practiced for what seemed liked hours. At last, with the sun high in the sky, and my arms and torso aching from both the successful blows and the ones that failed, he let me off the hook.
I looked around. A few Valkyries milled about in groups, eating. Lunchtime? I felt bad that I'd monopolized his time so much, that he hadn't left my side.
"You have done surprisingly well, Bryn," he said. I bristled, almost expecting him to credit my talent to my supposed reincarnation. "You are strong, fast and smart. A deadly enough combination. Tomorrow we will try the sword. Tonight, get some rest."
With that, he turned on his heel and left the field. Only when he disappeared beyond the fence did I allow my tense muscles to loosen. Fenrir was an enigma. I'd spent the whole morning in his company and hadn't managed to get one word out of him that wasn't training-related. Granted, we were here to train, but this entire place was so alien to me that it would've helped for us to get better acquainted.
Footsteps drew my attention and I turned, smiling, expecting Sigrun.
But Astrid strode toward me instead. I had to force myself to keep the smile on my face. Astrid's own tight smile matched the insincerity of mine. What did she have against me? The real Brunhilde may have stolen her lover, but what did that have to do with me?
"I see you have a natural talent for fighting," she said, but it didn't sound like a compliment. Still, I nodded and smiled wider.
"Since you have progressed so well today, you will be needing a sword." Astrid grasped the sword at her side, holding it flat on her hands, offering it to me. The weapon glinted in the sunshine, silvery-gold. Despite the innocence of her gesture, a silent voice screamed inside me to be very careful.
"Astrid, what a lovely thought, but I think Sigrun is already finding me a sword." My arms remained at my sides as we battled a silent war. Her eyes glinted, anger flooding bright blue irises with a dark pool of violet.
She lifted the sword a notch. "Oh no, I insist. Would you turn a gesture of friendship down?" The challenge in her voice tempted me to take the sword and fling the weapon into the mud. I tamped the urge, wary of insulting a fellow Valkyrie. Especially since she was a seasoned warrior and I had barely even begun training.
A tense silence stretched between us, ready to snap at any moment. Then Sigrun's shout broke the impasse. "Astrid, behave yourself and stop teasing Bryn," she said.
She trotted toward us, a cheery expression pasted across her face, but I'd been friends with her long enough to know that her smile was fake. It was more of a grimace than a token of cheer. Astrid's offer clearly had set Sigrun on edge, but she was trying really hard to hide her worry. Or was it fear?
Astrid relaxed her grip on the sword's hilt. "Oh, Sigrun, you love spoiling my fun. My dear, you really are taking your duties as guide and mentor far too seriously. Let the new girl make her own friends." Her words cut deep. I wondered, just for the briefest second, if Sigrun was only my friend out of duty.
Sigrun grasped my arm and led me toward the wall. "Come, Bryn, we have to get you changed and rested. Tomorrow is a big day for you."
I grabbed my cloak as we went. Too hot and bothered after my sparring session and especially after my little tet-a-tet with my non-friend Astrid, I kept the cloak folded over my arm.
"What is her problem?" I whispered, even though we were well out of earshot. "She tried to give me her sword. Is that something you guys do here? Share weapons?"
Sigrun's eyes widened in shock and dismay. "I suspected that was what she was doing, but I could not be sure from where I stood. I should have known. But I did not think she would go this far. I am sorry; I should really have been paying closer attention to your safety."
A trill of fear sped through me. Now my life was in danger? "What do you mean my safety? All she did was offer me her sword. She said she knew I'd be needing one."
"And why did you not take it?" Sigrun stopped her brisk pace and turned, hands on her hips, waiting for her answer.
"Er . . . I'm not exactly sure. I guess I just had a bad feeling about it."
"That is what I would call smart. If you do not listen to your instinct, I would call you stupid." Sigrun smiled again, pride leaching a glow into her cheeks.
"Why? Why was I right to refuse her offer?"
"Because each Valkyrie has a sword that is made for her. And only for her. No other person, living or dead, can touch the sword, let alone wield it in practice or battle."
I scoffed and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "So, what, does it have a magical power or something?"
"No. It has a deadly power. When the sword is cast, a few drops of the Valkyries’ blood are mixed in with the molten metal. The sword itself then holds t
he blood of the Valkyrie who will use it in battle. I am not sure if it is Asgard or Valhalla or the smith or faith, but it has always been this way. The sword will kill any person who touches it who does not possess the blood which runs within it."
"Wow. How does it kill?" I asked softly.
"The sword emits a poison which seeps into the skin of the person. It does not take long for the victim to die."
My heart thumped as I processed what Astrid had tried to do.
The bitch had just tried to kill me.
Chapter 21
My face, twisted with worry, anger and a dash of fear, must have been a dead giveaway to my inner turmoil. Sigrun sighed. "Come. Don't worry about her," she said. "She has been bearing a centuries-old grudge. And ever since Mimir—are you familiar with Mimir?"
I shook my head.
"Very well. I will explain. Come, we can walk to the swordsmith and talk at the same time."
Sigrun strode ahead, and for the first time it took very little effort to keep up with her. I'd been gaining in strength and stamina during the last few days. Good. A plan was forming in my mind, to learn as much as possible and find a way out of this place. Part of me still held some hope of seeing Brody and Joshua, and satisfying myself that they were okay. But the rest of me was extremely keen to get the hell out of here.
I followed, and listened. Mimir, Odin's maternal uncle. An oracle. During a great war, which Sigrun described at length and to which I didn't pay much attention, Mimir was beheaded and Odin discovered the body. Retrieving the head, Odin returned with it to Asgard. To this day Mimir provides him with the most important predictions.
Sigrun glanced back, as if to make sure I was listening. Then she said something that did get my full attention: "A long while back, after Brunhilde's death, Mimir told Odin that Brunhilde shall return to us when we most needed her. Odin assumed it meant she would return at the time of Ragnarok. And this is why Fenrir and I are convinced you are her. And so is Astrid. But she has vengeance on her mind." Sigrun tutted sadly.
"So I'll be looking over my shoulder twenty-four seven from now on?"
She shook her head. "No. Not over your shoulder. Astrid will approach you directly. Valkyries are not allowed to fight amongst each other. It is Odin's Law. Besides, Freya will not approve, and our leader's wrath is worse than Odin's."
I wondered why, when Odin was King around here. But I held my tongue. We skirted a well-trodden road, gouged by wheel-tracks, with little mud-pools scattered within the valleys they made. It didn't take long before we reached a small village. Tiny wooden homes, with a few longhouses sprinkled in among them. The sounds were an assault on my ears. Clanging, banging, metal on metal. Not deafening, but loud enough that I had to raise my voice to be heard.
"Where are we going?" I asked, almost yelling.
Sigrun hollered back, "Not far. The next building up here." She walked up to the wide entrance.
I stepped into the dark interior and blinked repeatedly. Heat lapped at my face, eking out the last drops of moisture from my skin. A monstrous fire blazed in the single, brick-lined hearth, about half the size of my bedroom back home. Flames danced and burning wood crackled.
We were enveloped by noise. The rhythmic pounding of hammers on metal sounded almost musical in note and frequency.
A figure ambled toward us, a monstrous threatening shape made worse by clinging shadows. What little daylight managed to creep into the choking dark heat fell onto a cheery face, with rosy Santa-like cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. Bushy red eyebrows and a shock of carrot hair finished the picture. I liked him at once. He reminded me of Hagar the Horrible, only without the horned helmet.
"Ha ha, look what we have here!" he boomed. Then he grabbed Sigrun in a bone-squishing hug until she squealed for her freedom.
Sigrun laughed as her feet touched the ground. "We are here for a sword. For Bryn." The smithy turned to me and smiled again. But the cheerful grin lost its sparkle as he stared at my face. "Bryn, this is Njall."
He turned to Sigrun and I could almost hear the unspoken words flowing between them, despite her calm expression and bland smile. Here we go again. Even Njall the smithy thought I looked like the famous Brunhilde.
He peered at me for a moment and said, "Good, then. Come on over here. I think I may have just the thing."
He thumped his way to a back shelf, overloaded with boxes and piles of metal, layered in dust and shadows. If he claimed the corner hadn't seen sunlight in centuries, I'd believe it. He clanked and fumbled his way along the shelf until at last, after much grunting and puffing, he withdrew a long wooden box. Dust and cobwebs traced the grooves of the intricate carvings on the lid and all four sides of the box.
The beauty of the wooden box alone was enthralling, but a strange heat twisted in my gut. Njall brought the box to a table strewn with tools and odds and ends of metal. With one meaty arm, he swept them all onto the floor. Sigrun and I both winced, looking at each other surreptitiously, trying not to laugh. For all his size and seemingly careless treatment of his property, Njall placed the box onto the table with infinite care.
We both commandeered a shoulder and leaned over as Njall opened the lid to reveal its contents. Lined with a deep purple silken fabric, it held a magnificent sword and a matching scabbard. A low, entrancing hum reverberated around the room and sank deep into my bones, reaching the very pit of my stomach. A musical sound that I couldn't attribute to the other men pounding away with their hammers.
Njall and Sigrun stepped away from the table, leaving me to inspect the sword. I breathed softly, as if the mere expulsion of my breath would cause this incredible treasure to disappear into thin air. I dared not touch it yet. Just lovingly traced the beautiful carvings on the hilt and the scabbard with admiring eyes.
The silver blade gleamed, etched with the intertwined carvings from Odin's Hall and the designs on my armor and helmet. By now, I'd gotten so used to seeing the patterns that I'd stopped wondering what they meant. As if on autopilot, my hands reached out to trace the carvings on the sword when Sigrun cried, "No, Bryn. Wait."
I turned to her, annoyed. She'd broken the magical hold the sword seemed to have weaved around me. "What's wrong?"
Sigrun ignored me and spoke to Njall. "Are you sure it is safe?"
"Well, if you know for sure she is either Brunhilde herself or her child, then she will be safe." Njall eyes darted from the sword back to me.
A twitch of fear crawled across his face so quick I almost missed it. But I didn't. That was the problem. Astrid had offered me her own sword, hoping I would take it. If I had, I'd have died. What if Brunhilde's sword did the same thing to me? I certainly wasn't convinced the sword belonged to me just because my crazy father liked to play with ancient DNA instead of poker or Scrabble.
I stepped back, despite the almost overpowering urge to take the sword. The ancient weapon seemed to cast some kind of strange enchantment over me. The sooner I put some distance between myself and the sword, the better.
"Sigrun. I want to leave. Please." My voice was low, soft, as I gritted my teeth against the pull of the sword's song.
"We can leave if you wish, but we will have to come back again today." Sigrun's response was firm. "Fenrir said you will be training with a sword tomorrow morning, so you will have to have a sword by then. You do not want to anger him."
Anger blasted me with biting heat. Why should I care what Fenrir wanted, or what would or would not anger him? I didn't owe him anything. A longing for home spiked through me, and yet a strange sense of rightness also filled me. Confused, I didn't voice my anger or my doubt.
"Can't Njall just make another sword for me?" I asked, looking over at him.
The big man nodded.
"But we must know if this sword is meant for you," said Sigrun.
"Why do we need to know? Why is it so darned important?" My head blazed with angry heat as I turned to stare at the gleaming weapon. "Why can't you just leave me to be me?"
"I would l
ove to do that, Bryn. But people like Astrid will not. They will not let go until they win. Or until you show them who you are."
"And by showing them, you actually mean I must show them I'm Brunhilde?" I asked coldly. I detested this whole game we were playing. Now I had to prove I was someone else before I could be safe.
"If that is what it takes, perhaps that is what you need to do." The voice of Fenrir filtered into the room.
Somehow, I wasn't surprised he was there. Everything that had happened since I arrived in Asgard had been a whole bunch of unbelievable wrapped in a shiny layer of impossible.
Fenrir's words didn't require a response. I had to make a decision, right now: walk right out, go back to my room and refuse to pander to all these ridiculous demands they were making of me. Or accept it, own it.
Only the knowledge that my friends were here somewhere stopped me from turning my back on Fenrir, turning my back on all of it. I held on to what little hope I had of seeing them again.
But anger still boiled in my gut. I hated being pushed into a corner, having no choice in anything. Resentment simmered somewhere inside me, somewhere deep and dark but hard to ignore. Resentment toward Sigrun, for pulling me out of my real-world dilemma. And Odin, for forcing wings on me without even bothering to tell me what would happen. And Astrid, for trying to kill me for vengeance against a person who'd lived and died centuries ago. And now three pairs of eyes bore down on me, waiting for me to accept the weapon that would be my downfall.
If there had been sufficient space between myself and the table, I would have stomped to it. I really wanted to give in to some kind of childish tantrum. I had far too many responsibilities for my liking. Whatever happened to being a plain old teenager where the worst thing in life was a zit, with unpopularity a close second?
I rolled my shoulders and stepped to the table.
"So if I lift this and I'm not Brunhilde, then I die? Right?"
"No. I do not think so," said Fenrir. "If Brunhilde's blood flows weakly within your veins you will merely become ill and weak for a while. You will recover, so you do not need to fear. You can only be afraid if you do not have any of her blood at all. Then you will die. We know that it was Brunhilde's remains uncovered eighteen years ago in Hovgårten. And we know that your DNA structure contains her DNA too, or you would not have transformed so easily."