The Valkyries

by Paulo Coelho

  Like a robot, he turned the radio to its loudest setting. The forgotten diner was suddenly transformed into a Manhattan disco. Some of the women kept time with the music by clapping their hands, while others carried on shouted conversations amidst the clamor.

  But Chris, watching, saw that one of them moved not at all—the oldest of them, the one with long, curly red hair. She didn’t enter into the conversation or the clapping of hands. She took no interest in the breakfast being prepared.

  Intently, she stared at Paulo. And Paulo, resting his chin on his left hand, met the woman’s gaze.

  Chris felt a stab in her heart. Why is he sitting like that? Something very strange was happening. Perhaps the fact that she had been looking out at the horizon for so many days—or had been training so hard at the channeling—was changing the way she saw what went on around her. She had been having premonitions, and now they were manifesting.

  She pretended not to notice that the two were eyeing each other. But her heart was giving her some inexplicable signals—and she couldn’t tell whether they were good signals or bad.

  Gene was right, Paulo thought. It is easy to make contact with them.

  Slowly, the other Valkyries were beginning to perceive what was happening. First, they looked at the eldest, and then, following her gaze, turned to the table where Paulo and Chris were seated. Their conversation was silenced, and they no longer swayed in time to the music.

  “Turn it off,” the eldest said to the counterman.

  As always, he obeyed. Now the only sound that could be heard was the sizzling of the eggs and bacon on the grill.

  As her friends watched, the red-haired woman walked to the couple’s table and simply stood there, looking at them. Then, without preamble, she spoke.

  “Where did you get that ring?” she asked Paulo.

  “At the same shop where you bought your brooch,” he answered.

  It was only then that Chris saw the metal brooch pinned to the leather jacket. It was made in the same design as the ring that Paulo wore on the ring finger of his left hand.

  That’s why he was resting his chin on his left hand.

  She had already seen many rings in the Tradition of the Moon—of every color, metal and carved—always in the form of a serpent, the symbol of wisdom. But never had she seen one like the one her husband wore. J. had given Paulo that ring in 1982, when they were in Norway, saying that he was thereby completing “the Tradition of the Moon, a cycle that was interrupted by fear.” And now, in the middle of the desert—a woman with a brooch of the same design.

  “What do you want?” the redhead asked.

  Paulo stood up, and the two stared at each other, face-to-face. Chris’s heart was beating wildly—she was certain that it wasn’t jealousy.

  “What do you want?” she asked again.

  “To speak with my angel. And something else.”

  She seized Paulo’s hand and ran her fingers over his ring. Softening a bit, she seemed to become more feminine.

  “If you bought that ring at the same place I did, you must know how it’s made,” she said, her eyes fixed on the serpents. “If not, then sell it to me. It’s a beautiful piece.”

  It was simply a silver ring carved into two serpents. Each had two heads, and the design was quite simple.

  Paulo said nothing.

  “You don’t know how to converse with angels, and this ring isn’t yours,” said the Valkyrie.

  “I do know. Through channeling.”

  “Right,” said the woman. “That’s all that’s required.”

  “I told you that there was something else I wanted.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gene saw his angel. I want to see mine. I want to speak to my angel, face-to-face.”

  “Gene?” The woman’s eyes searched the past, trying to recall who Gene was, where he lived.

  “Yes, now I remember,” she said. “He lives in the desert. Because that’s where he met his angel.”

  “No. He is studying to become a master.”

  “This business of seeing your angel is just a myth. It’s enough to converse with them.”

  Paulo stepped closer to the Valkyrie.

  Chris knew the trick her husband was using: He called it “destabilization.” Normally, two people converse at arm’s length. When one of them approaches the other too closely, the other’s thinking becomes disorganized.

  “I want to see my angel.” He was quite close to the woman, and he was staring at her.

  “What for?” The Valkyrie appeared to be intimidated. The trick was working.

  “Because I’m desperately in need of help. I have won important things for myself, but I am going to destroy them, because I tell myself that they have lost their meaning. I know it’s not true. I know they are still important, and that if I destroy them, I’ll be destroying myself, as well.”

  He maintained a neutral tone of voice, showing no emotion.

  “When I learned that channeling was all that was needed in order to speak with my angel, I lost interest. It was no longer a challenge, but rather something I knew very well. I realized that my path to magic was about to end; the unknown was becoming too familiar to me.”

  Chris was shocked: Why was he making this confession in such a public place, in front of people whom he had never seen before?

  “In order to continue along my path, I need something more,” he finished. “I need mountains that are taller and taller.”

  The Valkyrie said nothing for a moment.

  “If I teach you how to see your angel,” she said, “your desire to seek out taller and taller mountains may disappear. And that’s not always a good thing.”

  “No, that will never disappear,” Paulo replied. “What will vanish is the idea that the mountains I’ve conquered are too small. I will be able to keep alive my love for what I’ve accomplished. That’s what my master was trying to say to me.”

  Maybe he’s talking about our marriage, too, Chris thought.

  The Valkyrie held out her hand to Paulo.

  “My name is M.,” she said.

  “My name is S.,” Paulo answered.

  Chris was startled. Paulo had given his magic name! Very few people knew that secret, since the only way to cause a certain kind of evil to a magus is by using his magic name. Only those who were completely trustworthy were allowed to know the name.

  Paulo had just met this woman. He couldn’t trust her that much.

  “But you can call me Valhalla,” the red-haired woman continued.

  That’s the name of the Vikings’ paradise, Paulo thought, and he told her his given name in return.

  The redhead appeared to relax a bit. For the first time, she looked at Chris, seated at the table.

  “In order to see an angel, three things are needed,” said the Valkyrie, turning back to Paulo as if Chris didn’t exist.

  “And, in addition to those three things, courage is needed. A woman’s courage, not a man’s.”

  Paulo made it appear that he was paying no attention.

  “Tomorrow, we will be near Tucson,” Valhalla said. “Come to see us at noon, if your ring is authentic.”

  Paulo got the map out of the car, and Valhalla showed him the place where they should meet. One of the other Valkyries told Valhalla that her breakfast was getting cold. She turned back to her place at the counter and asked the man to turn on the radio again.

  For a long time, Paulo and Chris sat over their coffee, watching the Valkyries eat.

  Finally, the women got up and began to leave. As Valhalla reached the door, Paulo called out, “What are the three conditions for conversing with one’s angel?”

  Quietly, the redhead replied: “Break a pact. Accept forgiveness. And make a bet.”

  PAULO AND CHRIS LOOKED OUT AT THE CITY BELOW. FOR the first time in almost three weeks, they were in a real hotel—room service, bar, and breakfast in bed.

  It was six in the evening, the hour in which they had gotten into the h
abit of practicing their channeling exercises. But Paulo was fast asleep.

  Chris knew that the meeting that morning at the diner had changed everything; if she wanted to talk to her angel, she would have to do it on her own.

  They had spoken little during the trip to Tucson. She had asked him only why he had divulged his magic name. Paulo answered that Valhalla had given him hers, and he could do no less.

  Perhaps he was telling the truth, perhaps this was what he believed, but Chris wondered. She was a woman, and she saw things that men don’t. She thought that Paulo might want to talk to her later that night.

  Chris called the desk clerk and asked where the nearest bookstore was located. There was none nearby, he said; she would have to drive. She thought about it for a few moments, and then got the car keys. They were in a big city; if Paulo awoke, he would think that she had gone exploring.

  SHE BECAME LOST IN THE TRAFFIC SEVERAL TIMES, BUT eventually found a huge shopping mall. One of the shops made keys, and she had a copy made of the keys to the car.

  She wanted to have one, just to be secure.

  In a bookstore, she leafed through a volume until she found what she was looking for:

  VALKYRIES: the nymphs at Wotan’s palace.

  She had no idea who Wotan was, but that wasn’t important.

  Messengers of the gods, they led heroes to their death—and then to paradise.

  Messengers. Like the angels, she thought. Death and paradise. Also like the angels.

  They excite combatants with the love that their charm excites in their hearts, and through the example of bravery at the battlefront, mounted on steeds as fast as the clouds and as deafening as a thunderstorm.

  They couldn’t have chosen a better name, she thought.

  At the same time, they symbolize both the inebriation of courage and rest for the warrior, the adventure of love in battle, encounter, and loss.

  Right, absolutely. Paulo would want to talk to her.

  THEY WENT DOWN TO HAVE DINNER AT THEIR OWN hotel—even though Paulo had tried to insist that they walk a bit, get to know this large city built in the middle of the desert. But Chris said she was tired, wanted to get to bed early, enjoy the comforts.

  They made small talk throughout the meal. Paulo was exaggeratedly attentive. Chris knew that her husband was waiting for the right moment. So she made it appear that she was interested in everything he said, and showed enthusiasm when he said that Tucson had the most complete desert museum in the world.

  In his enthusiasm, he mentioned that the museum included live coyotes, snakes, and scorpions, with a great deal of information concerning them. They could spend the entire day there.

  She said she’d like very much to see it.

  “You could go tomorrow morning,” Paulo said.

  “But Valhalla mentioned noontime.”

  “You don’t have to be there.”

  “It’s a strange hour,” she answered. “No one spends much time in the desert at high noon. We learned that—in the worst way possible.”

  Paulo had thought it strange, too. But he didn’t want to miss the chance; he was afraid Valhalla might change her mind, despite the ring and everything else.

  He changed the subject, and Chris could sense her husband’s anxiety. They went back to small talk for a time. They drank an entire bottle of wine, and she was sleepy. Paulo suggested they go right up.

  “I don’t know if you should go tomorrow,” he said.

  She had already tasted of everything—the meal, the place, Paulo’s anxiety. She was enjoying the chance of confirming for herself that she really knew this man well. But now it was getting late, and it was time to give him a definite answer.

  “I’m going with you. No matter what.”

  He was irritated. He told her that she was jealous, and that she was spoiling his process.

  “Jealous of whom?”

  “Of the Valkyries. Of Valhalla.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “But this is my quest. I brought you with me because I wanted you at my side. But there are certain things I have to do alone.”

  “I want to go with you,” she said.

  “Magic has never been important to you before. Why now?”

  “Because I began the journey. And I’ve asked that I not be abandoned in the middle of the road,” she answered, putting the matter to rest.

  The silence was complete.

  Everyone was wearing sunglasses against the blinding sun. Everyone—except Chris and Valhalla. Chris had removed hers so that Valhalla would know that she was looking directly into her eyes.

  Chris had been bearing up under the woman’s gaze for some time.

  The minutes passed, and no one spoke. The only word that had been spoken the entire time had been Paulo’s hello when they had arrived at the meeting place. His greeting had not been returned. Valhalla simply approached Chris and stood directly before her.

  And, since that moment, nothing else had happened.

  We must have been doing this for twenty minutes, Chris thought, but she didn’t know how much time had actually elapsed. The glare of the sun, the heat, and the silence confused her.

  She tried to distract herself a bit. They were at the foot of a mountain—wonderful, the desert once again contained mountains! Behind Valhalla, an entrance had been carved into the stone. Chris tried to imagine what the door led to, and found that she wasn’t able to think clearly—just as on the day they had returned from the salt lake.

  No one was perspiring—the dryness of the air was so great that all moisture evaporated immediately, as Gene had said. Chris knew that they were rapidly dehydrating—even though she had drunk as much water as possible, and even though she had prepared for the noonday desert. And even though she wasn’t nude.

  The other Valkyries had formed a semicircle; they wore their kerchiefs on their heads, in the manner of gypsies or pirates. Valhalla alone was bareheaded—her kerchief encircled her neck. The sun seemed not to bother her.

  She is dismissing me with her eyes, Chris thought.

  She knew this could not continue forever. There was a limit. She didn’t know what that limit was, nor how or when she would know, but very soon, the sun would begin to be damaging. Meanwhile, everyone continued immobile—and all of this had happened because of her. Because she had insisted on coming along. Messengers of the gods, they lead the heroes to death and to paradise.

  She had made a bad mistake, but now it was too late. She had come because her angel had required that she do so; her angel had said that Paulo was going to need her that afternoon.

  No, no, it wasn’t a mistake. My angel insisted that I be here, she thought.

  Her angel—she was conversing with her angel! Nobody knew it, not even Paulo.

  She began to feel dizzy, and she was certain she would faint soon. But she was going to see it through—it was no longer just a matter of being at her husband’s side, or obeying her angel, or being jealous. Now it was a woman’s pride—face-to-face with another woman.

  “Put your glasses on,” Valhalla said. “This sun could blind you.”

  “You’re not wearing glasses,” she answered. “And you’re not afraid.”

  Valhalla gave a signal, and suddenly, the blazing light of the sun was multiplied a dozen times.

  The Valkyries were using the mirrors on their motorcycles to reflect the sun directly into Chris’s eyes. She saw a gleaming semicircle, knitted her brows, and kept her gaze upon Valhalla.

  But she could no longer see clearly. The woman’s image appeared to grow and grow, and the confusion in her mind increased. She felt she was about to fall, and at that moment, leather-covered arms came to her support.

  PAULO WATCHED VALHALLA CATCH CHRIS IN HER ARMS. ALL of this could have been avoided. He could have insisted that she remain at the hotel—no matter what she was thinking. From the moment that he had first seen the brooch, he had known which tradition the Valkyries came from.

  They had also seen
his ring, and they knew that he had been tested in many ways. That it would be difficult to frighten him. But they would do everything possible to test the fiber of any stranger who entered their group. Even if that stranger was his wife.

  But they could not prevent Chris, nor anyone else, from learning what they wanted to learn. They had taken a vow: Everything that was hidden had to be revealed. Chris was now being tested in the first great virtue of those who seek the spiritual path: courage.

  The Valkyrie looked at Paulo. “Help me.”

  Paulo helped her support his wife. They took her to the car and laid her down on the backseat.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll come around very quickly. With a serious headache.”

  He wasn’t worried. He was proud.

  Valhalla went to her cycle and brought a canteen. Paulo noted that she had already donned her sunglasses—she must have reached her limit, as well.

  She bathed Chris’s forehead in water, and dabbed some on her wrists and behind her ears. She opened her eyes, blinked several times, and sat up.

  “Break a pact,” she said, looking at the Valkyrie.

  “You are an interesting woman,” Valhalla said, passing her hand across Chris’s face. “Put your glasses on.”

  Valhalla caressed Chris’s hair. And even though both were now wearing dark glasses, Paulo knew they were staring at each other.

  THEY WALKED TO THE STRANGE DOOR IN THE MOUNTAIN.

  Valhalla turned to the other Valkyries. “For love. For victory. And for the glory of God.”

  The same phrase J. had used. The words of those who know angels.

  The Valkyries started their engines, blowing up a cloud of dust. The women did the same maneuvers they had at the gas station—passing closely by each other—and, minutes later, they had disappeared around the mountain.

  Valhalla turned to Chris and Paulo.

  “Let’s go in,” she said.

  There was no door, just a grate. On it hung a sign:

  DANGER

  THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT

  PROHIBITS ENTRY

  VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED

  “Don’t believe it,” said the Valkyrie. “They’re not going to spend any time guarding this.”