Dead Radiance

by Ayer, T. G.

  It entered his mouth.

  I shuddered. Freya's magic was beautiful and disgusting at the same time. I wanted to close my eyes, to avoid seeing Freya kissing Aidan. But I remained transfixed, fascinated. A matching twist of mist erupted from Aidan's mouth, only his was a foul mix of green and purplish smoke.

  Freya's golden coil pulled the poisonous smoke into it, enveloping it, swirling and twisting around until the green and purple mist was swallowed whole. Not a trace of the poison remained. I sighed, relieved, shaking, and still a little jealous. As she stepped away, I wondered how such a beautiful goddess could instill so deep a hatred within a mere mortal.

  Freya returned to the dais, but my attention turned to Loki as he struggled to free himself from his son's bonds. Odin watched, his lone eye burning with fury, a living flame twisting violently within his gaze.

  "Take him away, Fenrir." Odin's voice boomed, more suited to his giant presence than the old stooped man. "I will deal with him later." A deep sadness filled his eyes as son led father out of the gigantic hall.

  ***

  "Thank you." Aidan whispered the words into my ear, color slowly returning to his pale face. "For forgiving me. For saving me."

  My heart sang, joyful at the prospect of our future, at grabbing the time we had together with both hands. We'd fought so hard for this—for the chance to be together again.

  "You're not so bad yourself." I smiled back at him.

  He reached out a hand, tenderly tracing my cheek—and then he groaned. His warm fingers slipped from my face and his shoulders hunched over. Agony streaked across his stricken face as he slumped slowly to the floor. I tried to grab him. But his dead weight pulled me along and I ended up kneeling beside him, struggling to prop him up.

  Freya!

  I glared up at her, unable to hide my hatred. Had she tricked us into believing that Aidan was cured? But the furrows of concern on her face forced me to stop and think, to temper my fury.

  She rushed forward. "Lay him down, let me check him," she said.

  I tilted Aidan onto his back, taking his weight on my hands, to lay him gently on the ground. His pallor had worsened so quickly. I couldn't understand why just moments ago he'd seemed to be recovering. I parted his coat to free him of his sword—and let out a small cry of horror.

  His simple white t-shirt glistened bright red, still wet with fresh blood.

  Freya knelt beside us, lifting Aidan's sodden shirt to inspect a vicious open wound. "How old is this wound?" she asked.

  I shook my head, unable to answer, my voice choked off by vicious fingers of terror.

  "Speak, girl! This is no time for hysterics."

  Freya's voice brought me back from my hell, and I cleared my throat. "He didn't have any such injury when we arrived. And the only fighting he did was with Loki."

  As I spoke the trickster's name, I turned to the doorway, slowly replaying the fight. Loki'd had so many opportunities to stab Aidan. My gaze followed as Fen and Loki reached the threshold. Then the trickster turned and met my eyes, an evil, triumphant gleam sparkling within those bright green orbs. He smirked at me.

  I shivered and broke the gaze.

  Freya still sat bent over Aidan, eyes closed as if in deep meditation. I risked disturbing her. "Can you make him better?" I pleaded with her, praying she could heal his wounds, even while dread filled my veins and entwined my soul like vicious creeping vines.

  Freya shook her head and sighed. "No. I can do nothing for him. The wound is not the problem. It is the poison in his wound that is killing him."

  "Poison?" My voice shattered as I spoke the word.

  Odin had moved to Aidan's side. "It is the poison of Skadi's venomous serpent," he explained. "Loki has used this venom before, using the very means of punishment the goddess Skadi used on him."

  I knew the myth of Loki's punishment, but couldn't squeeze out a drop of sympathy for whatever agony he may have undergone. I stroked Aidan's hair, my voice sinking to a whisper as I asked, "So . . . Aidan will die?"

  "It is possible. But—" Odin and Freya shared a glance. At her tiny nod, he continued. "There is one place where the poison will cease to work."

  I grasped at the hope in his words. "Where? We have to take him there if it will save him."

  I rose to my knees, reaching again for Aidan, but Freya held my arm and said, "I will take him. There is nothing you can do for him. But I shall try to find a cure."

  "Where are you taking him? Can I come and see him?"

  "I will take him with me to Hel. Hel is the only place in the world where any poison, not of my creation, becomes useless. You may visit, of course. But I fear you may be rather occupied." Freya rose slowly, golden silk shimmering with her movements.

  My heart sank. I knew then that I wouldn't see Aidan for a while, that I wouldn't be able to make him better after all.

  What a viciously beautiful irony.

  We'd come all this way, succeeded in returning Brisingamen to Freya, even succeeded in getting Loki incarcerated again, and it was all for nothing. Aidan was still going to die. I wasn't sure I believed that Hel was the best place for him. But I had to trust Odin's advice. It didn't mean I had to trust Freya, though. Not by a long shot.

  Aidan now lay so still I could have sworn he was dead. His skin had turned alabaster, his lips so blue they appeared black. I touched his cheek and was relieved to find it still held a hint of warmth. The muscles in my jaw tightened. I will save you, whatever it takes, I thought. Turning my head, I brushed a tear from my cheek and sat up, away from him, stiff-backed and stiff-lipped.

  Freya held my gaze, a silent question simmering in the golden depths of her eyes. I nodded.

  She leaned over Aidan, touched the tip of her finger to his skin. They both disappeared, the shapes of their bodies shimmering, smoky and ethereal, until they were gone and Odin and I were alone.

  "He will be well, Brynhildr. Freya will find a way to heal him. Do not fear. And do not grieve. There is much to do, child. You will have need of your strength and your courage." Odin's voice, though soft, echoed around the hall, and within my head. I nodded, unable to speak. If I so much as opened my mouth I knew I'd burst into tears.

  The god retreated into the shadows of the Hall. Hugin fluttered after Odin as he walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  I sat motionless on the cool marble, admiring the pure white tiles, admiring the bright red of Aidan's blood where grotesque color marred pristine beauty. A wash of grief flowed through me, tears filling my eyes, blurring my vision. I raised my hand to wipe the rivulets of moisture from my eyes and cheeks.

  A strange, sticky warmth kissed the soft skin of my face.

  I froze, snatching my hand away, my throat cutting off a gasp as I stared at my quivering palms.

  Aidan's blood soaked my hands; deepest ruby covered every inch of skin. And, as I studied Aidan's blood on my palms, the sound of Loki's laughter drifted toward me from the open doorway.

  ---THE END---

  (Coming mid-2012)

  DEAD EMBERS

  A Valkyrie Novel # 2

  by

  T.G. AYER

  Chapter 1 – DEAD EMBERS

  "Welcome to the Hollow of the Valkyries—this is your training ground.”

  Fen’s voice echoed around us as I breathed the icy air deep into my lungs. The valley floor lay far, far below, but not as far as Odin’s castle on the other side of the mountain. At least the trip down would be easier than our muscle-burning hike up. I hoped.

  Fenrir folded his arms and faced me. “Are you ready, Valkyrie Brynhildr?”

  I nodded, irritated that he’d used my given name, a name that reminded me that my one claim to fame was of being a clone of the real Warrior Princess Brunhilde who’d lived and died centuries ago.

  “You do have to remove your cloak, you know.” He tempered his dry tone with a cheeky grin.

  I returned a tight smile and undid the ornate clasp, dropping the dark silky cloak over a la
rge boulder.

  “Right, then, face the edge of the cliff and jump.” He spoke the words so matter-of-factly he might as well have invited me for a coffee.

  “You're kidding, right?” I asked in horror, half believing he meant his words, half unable to think straight. The sober glance he threw me squashed my urge to burst into laughter. I’d never been afraid of heights, but then again I’d never spent much time in high-rise buildings or on mountaintops as high as Mt. Everest.

  Then he laughed, the sound hollow and brittle in the frigid air, and I wondered what had gotten into Fen. I met his eyes, scanning their depths, unsure of what I should do next, of what he really expected me to do. His laughter was bitter, edged with a sadness I couldn’t explain. At first.

  Then I remembered. I broke eye contact, unable to look at his face, knowing it was his father who was the reason I’d lost Aidan.

  “I am very sorry, Bryn.” He stared into the valley, his soft words forming little puffy clouds that swirled and dissolved on the icy air.

  I shook my head, even though his gaze was fixed somewhere out in the stark white snow. “No. You don’t need to apologize to me, Fenrir. Loki may have been your father but you can’t be held responsible for his actions.”

  I wasn’t sure anyone could be held responsible for the god Loki’s notoriously deceitful actions, least of all the god himself. And the last person who should ever claim responsibility for the trickster's actions would be Fen. Fenrir had proved his loyalty to Odin already. Nobody could doubt him.

  “Even so, I am sorry.”

  I touched his arm, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. This beautiful man who had horrified me the first time I’d seen him. This man who was a wolf. This man who offered his life and his service to Odin, the very god he was meant to betray.

  Fen’s profile was all rugged and stiff, like granite against the backdrop of grey rock surrounding us. But only for a moment. I guess he struggled with his brooding demons.

  My own father was pretty acceptable if I were to compare him to Fen’s father. “You know, you aren’t the only one to have a crappy dad.” I thought about Aidan’s father. “Look at Aidan's dad. He sent his henchmen to kill his own son. That’s way worse, in my opinion.”

  Fenrir tilted his head, a skeptical gleam in his eyes. “Loki meant to kill Aidan. I do not understand why you are not viciously angry.”

  “Viciously angry I am. Viciously angry with you I am not! Come on, Fen. You can’t let this thing affect you.” I couldn’t believe I was giving advice to a being who was hundreds of years older than me, who was so powerful he could kill me with one blow.

  He shook his head. “I had always thought that humans did not possess the capacity for purity of heart. I believe you are different.”

  “Maybe because I'm not human. Never was, never will be.” I sighed. Perhaps a tiny part of me yearned to fit in with humanity. But the reality was I no longer belonged. I’d never belonged, never understood or fit in with the whole cheerleader, popularity contest side of human life. Always on the sidelines, playing new girl, temporary friend and freak. “I understand what you mean," said Fen, "but it is the failings of humanity that I am referring to.”

  I bristled. “Failings? Are you saying you admire me because of my failings?” I frowned, clenching my fists, ready to follow my Valkyrie instinct into full blown fury. Fen had me pretty off balance today.

  “Yes.” Fen moved to the edge of the precipice, and my heart thundered in my throat. He stared down, eyes focused on the black rocks and snow that mingled in the hushed valley. “Your failings are what make you so special. You are not perfect. It is all that emotion inside you that makes you so different.”

  “I hardly see how different my emotions are from yours, or any of the other gods, for that matter.” Odin and Freya’s natures were both fickle and capricious, selfish and selfless. An aspect of godhood that hadn't been easy for me to understand at first. “Freya showed me that even the gods have their popular crowd.”

  “Popular crowd?” Fen glanced at me, a shadowed frown darkening his forehead, his ebony hair sweeping his shoulders.

  “Yeah. The cool dudes. The hip chicks,” I teased.

  He scowled, though it didn’t mess with his handsome face at all.

  “Okay, the people everyone wants to be like. That’s Freya,” I said. “And the haters, like Loki.”

  “Ah. I understand.”

  “The gods of Asgard are really no different from us humans, you know.” I smirked. “Unless, of course, you consider the whole thirty-foot-high size issue.” I paused to gauge his mood before adding, “And the gods can die just like us, too.”

  Fen nodded, eyes still trained on the depths of the cavern.

  “So what are we doing here. And I am so not jumping off any cliff to prove how not human I am. What are you trying to do? Check if I can defy death?”

  “No, Bryn. This is part of your training.” He spoke slowly with exaggerated patience.

  “What is? To jump into oblivion when I can’t fly? You're supposed to teach me how to fly—not force me to jump to my death.”

  “How will you know if you can fly if you do not try?”

  “Well, I certainly ain’t trying to fly by taking a flying leap off the side of a frickin' mountain!”

  I snapped my gaze away from him, folding my arms in a huff. My eyes traced the rocky pathway leading down into the valley's pristine depths, as if the scenic view somehow held the answer to Fen’s psycho training plan.

  Glaring at the view meant turning my back on Fen.

  Big mistake.

  I’d assumed he still stood beside me, lost in his funk, entranced by the silvery-white valley. But when my back suddenly warmed as some large object shielded my body from the icy fingers of the gusting wind, I stiffened. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart tripping.

  Too late.

  Too late to turn and defend myself.

  Too late to stop him.

  For a shadow of a second I stared into his eyes, shocked, horrified that he’d do such a thing to me. A thousand fears filtered through my frigid brain. Was he in cahoots with Loki? Or was he Freya’s dog all along?

  It took an eternity for him to blink. Even longer for me to blink.

  Then Fenrir pushed me and I fell off the cliff, into pure white oblivion.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my husband Selvan who made my dreams come true –you are the reason I breathe.

  To Dharshini and Dhivya – for tiptoeing and whispering, for random cups of tea and for your unfailing belief in your mom – Best Daughters Ever.

  To Patti Larsen, writing partner, mentor, and friend – for keeping me sane.

  To Cassie Hart – who forced me to churn out pages just so she could know what happens next.

  To the Inklings: Kim Koning, Leigh K Hunt and Melissa Pearl – for your undying support and for every kick in the pants you ever gave me.

  To Natasha Pillay – an incredible friend and soul sister.

  To my Beta readers Courtney McDonald, Mina Witteman, Rachna Chhabria, Kimberly Kinrade, Dharsh and Patti – for loving this book even when it was a grubby first draft.

  To my editor Eric Pinder, rock star of editors – for all-nighters and bleary eyes, for knowing what needed fixing without me having to explain.

  To Valerie Bellamy, print designer and mind-reader – for somehow knowing exactly what I want and for your eternal patience.

  To Eduardo Priego, super-talented cover artist – for bringing to life the cover I thought would only exist in my imagination.

  ~~~

  And to you, the reader – you are the reason I write.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: T.G. Ayer

  I have been a writer from the time I was old enough to recognise that reading was a doorway into my imagination. Poetry was my first foray into the art of the written word. Books were my best friends, my escape, my haven. I am essentially a recluse but this part of my personality is impossible to practise given I have two t
eenage daughters, who are actually my friends, my tea-makers, my confidantes… I am blessed with a husband who has left me for golf. It’s a fair trade as I have left him for writing. We are both passionate supporters of each others loves – it works wonderfully.

  My heart is currently broken in two. One half resides in South Africa where my old roots still remain, and my heart still longs for the endless beaches and the smell of moist soil after a summer downpour. My love for Ma Afrika will never fade. The other half of me has been transplanted to the Land of the Long White Cloud. The land of the Taniwha, beautiful Maraes, and volcanoes. The land of green, pure beauty that truly inspires. And because I am so torn between these two lands – I shall forever remain cross-eyed.

  If you'd like to connect with me online, please drop by my website, or find me on Facebook and Twitter.

  Coming soon

  In the Valkyrie series

  By T.G. AYER:

  ~~~~~

  BOOK 2: DEAD EMBERS

  and

  BOOK 3: DEAD CHAOS

  ~~~~~

  Visit www.tgayer.wordpress.com

  for updates on release dates.

  Note from T.G. Ayer: One of my dear friends has written a book I love, and I hope you'll love it too. Please enjoy this excerpt from talented author Patti Larsen:

  Chapter 1 – Smoke & Magic

  I leaned over the railing of the steam powered vessel for my first look at London, even as the sun set behind me, casting the towering buildings and arching bridge in shades of orange and red. I had packed already, my sturdy travel case by my feet, my silver Persian in his wicker carrier. I could hear him snarling and grumbling to himself and suppressed a grin, knowing he would make me pay for stuffing him into his prison as soon as we arrived at our destination.