Satara couldn't deny the wave of bitterness that washed over her at those words. She had cried the day they'd told her she was to leave Mare Isle. She had cried the day they'd put her on the boat to the mainland. Her mother had answered with a stiff chin and a distant gaze. Satara raised a hand to wipe at her tears, taking another deep breath.
"When you were born," Mama continued, "you cried. Transition is difficult—from death into life, life into death, and every transition between. You are still being born, through every change. Becoming something new. And becoming is still scary. So why shouldn't you cry? That's what children do."
Stubbornly, Satara murmured, "But I'm not a child."
"You're my child." Mama spread an arm, gesturing back toward the island. "And I'm my mother's child, and she was her mother's child. We are all Freyja's children. We are all children of Midgard. Everyone is someone's child."
With a tearful grimace, Satara turned, jerking herself out of her mother's reach. "Then why did you send me away? If I was so precious to you, why did you make me leave you?"
She was surprised at the volume of her own voice, raw with emotion. Mama was similarly alarmed, simply staring as if she’d been slapped.
Satara spread entreating hands toward her mother. "Were you punishing me for what happened to Darras? Do you blame me for it?"
"Of course not," Mama returned firmly, her gaze a warning.
"Then why? Why did you hate me enough to send me away from you? All I ever wanted was to be here, be home, with you and Papa. I don't need to be Mother Valkyrie's warrior; I don't need honor. This"—she gestured around wildly—"was all I needed."
"Satara!"
The way her mother said her name was enough to bring her to tears again. She could have sworn they felt hotter this time. "If I wasn't good enough for you then, I never will be. As long as I’m your daughter, I will remain as worthless to you as I ever was. Sending me away couldn't change—"
"Satara." Mama took a long step forward and grabbed one of her wrists, pulling her close, and then down—down to her knees, low enough that her mother could cradle her head against her breast.
Her hold was shockingly strong, but Satara didn't attempt to fight it, simply surrendering to the warmth of the embrace. As she sobbed, her mother's nails combed gently between her braids; she stroked each plait, fingering the ends. No matter how many breaths she took, Satara found she couldn't stop trembling.
Then, as she shifted, she realized she wasn't trembling at all.
Mama was. Mama was crying.
Satara looked up to search her face. Rarely had she seen her mother's expression twisted like this, in anguish. Pain lanced Satara's heart. Speech failed her, and she reached to grip her mother's upper arm, wordlessly begging her not to cry.
Mama's voice was thick, shaking slightly as she spoke: "Satara, how could you say that?"
Satara closed her eyes briefly, another wave of sadness washing over her. When she answered, her speech was thin as smoke: "I want to be sorry. I don't want you to cry. But I can't apologize for my feelings."
She opened her eyes, watching her mother take a few deep, grounding breaths. Mama swallowed, wiped her tears, and took her hands from Satara's shoulders to cover her own face for a few moments. "Lady give me strength."
After another deep breath, she lowered her hands to gaze sadly down at her daughter.
"We wanted you with us," she began softly. "Of course we did. Your father and I love you more than anything." She paused at length, the ocean wind whipping her rose gown around her. Satara watched goosebumps raise on her skin, and a moment later, Mama wrapped her arms around herself. "But there is a secret we've been keeping from you. We thought it would serve you best never to find out. I see now ... that we were wrong."
"What?" Satara breathed. She had never had any inkling of a secret.
Her mother sighed and covered her face again before composing herself enough to continue. "Satara ... when your brother died ... you remember that day, don't you?"
She nodded.
Another deep breath. "The way we live ... it's a very tenuous balance, Satara. A majority-Black island off the coast of New England, a small community acknowledging the sovereignty of the Wabenaki, a group of peaceful pagans ... for centuries, outsiders have wanted to destroy us. They’ve tried through unspeakable means, with forces you could not imagine. In the past few decades, it's become less likely that we will lose our very lives than it was a century or two or three ago. People are far less likely to take up arms against us when they can try to displace us other ways." She bowed her head, her eyes shining with grief and rage. "But not always.
"Those men—those beasts. Raiders. Vikings. Whatever you would call them. They approached our island by way of the forest, thinking we would never see them coming. They found your brother first, and..." She shivered against the night air. "You know what happened next. But your escape gave us forewarning—enough that we were able to gather the priestesses together to call on Freyja for her protection. But we are bound by an ancient pact. An oath.
"The pact decreed that, in exchange for protection like this, the reweaving of Fate, Freyja demanded a sacrifice: one of our daughters must go to serve one of her daughters when she came of age. When the danger had passed, the parents in the village drew lots." Mama's voice became thick again. "You were chosen."
Slowly, Satara rose to her feet, towering over her mother. Mama looked so small now, hugging herself, head ducked against the cold air and bitter memories. She searched for words, but Mama continued first:
"I'm so sorry I never told you. I ... I never meant to hurt you. To make a young woman doubt her worth directly opposes Freyja." She met her gaze, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I've failed. As a follower and as your mother."
"No..." Satara reached out, drawing Mama close, cradling her head this time. "But ... if you had just told me, I wouldn’t have thought you hated me. I would have come home for feast days. I never would have alienated myself from you."
Mama laughed miserably into the strange fabric of her daughter's gown. "You thought that we hated you, and I thought that you hated us. Oh, Satara."
"I don't hate you," Satara whispered softly, running her hand over her mother's locs. "But I never wanted to be a warrior."
"Just like your brother."
She nodded. "Darras wasn't a warrior. He always said so."
Mama was quiet for a while; then, at length, she peered into Satara's face. Slowly, she reached up, cupping the angel of death's cheeks as though she were still a baby. "My love ... no one can force you to become something you aren't. Not for very long, anyway. You are just like your brother ... you are not a warrior. You are a defender."
"Mama—"
"If you had not fled the forest and told us what happened, we might all be dead. You stand strong for your friends." Mama gave a wobbly smile, letting her hands fall. "Even against your own mother, you defend yourself."
Satara sighed and shook her head. "You say that ... Basile says that ... that as a valkyrie, I can be whatever I like. That I could care for the dead like I've always wanted, that I could keep myself. I could still be Satara." She raised a hand to grip her mother's wrist lightly, eyes misting again. "But even my trial was warlike. I had to kill six men. Was it six? See, I can't even remember."
Mama's brow furrowed, but she simply asked, "Why?"
"There was a stag," Satara began quietly. "I'm not sure what else to call it. It had the body of one, but the head of a hare, and a tail like a dog. Its fur was sapphire, and its antlers looked like they were dripping starlight. It was so ... strange, but it was breathtaking. One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Looking at it made me almost cry, and I..." She closed her eyes. "The men were hunting it. But I hunted them instead. I killed them all, Mama—that was my task. The Riders were pleased with me." Grimacing, she hung her head again. "No matter what I try to make of myself, I will always be going to war."
"My darling..." Mama cupped one
of her cheeks again, stroking with her thumb. "Even for those of us who aren't warriors, some things are worth going to war for.”
The impact of her words stunned Satara for a moment, such that she could do nothing but watch as her mother drew away and started back up the dock, retrieving her lantern as she went. She was about halfway up the beach path when she stopped and turned her head, not quite looking over her shoulder.
"Lady Freyja would never hold you against your will, Satara. I should think that if you truly want your life back, you have but to ask."
Chapter Thirty-Five
As Edie staggered out of the Hall of the Riders, the bright light of Asgard might as well have been knives in her corneas. She shielded her eyes, but was nonetheless temporarily blinded, drawing a groan from the back of her throat.
Last night had been the first time in a long time she’d actually let go and had fun. It was a shame she couldn't remember it, especially now that Fisk, Mercy, and Sissel were back home. She wasn't a stranger to drinking, especially considering her stint at Nocturnem, but Norse alcohol hit totally different.
Unfortunately, it had also left her with a bastard of a hangover, which had made it nearly impossible to pay attention to the important meeting they’d just left.
She ventured a bleary look over at Cal, who looked back with a knowing smirk. Suppressing another groan, she mumbled, "Sorry I was so useless back there."
Basile answered instead: "Eh, don't worry about it. It's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last."
"Whatever, man." She was too tired to banter with him. Instead, she turned to watch Satara, veiled now, speaking to High Priestess Eniola and one of the Mare Isle elders. Beside Satara, Vidarr stood, silent as ever but watching the valkyrie intently. She didn't seem to notice his stare, or perhaps she was politely ignoring it.
They talked for another minute or so before parting ways, Satara hugging her people and bowing to Vidarr; then she joined them on the catwalk above the gods' city, looking much more resolute than she had lately. "We should go back to Midgard as soon as possible."
"Don't have to tell me twice," Cal murmured around a cigarette that had somehow found its way between his lips. "This place gives me the heebie-jeebies."
Basile had already started walking. "The Blood Eagles' rally is tomorrow. You better believe I'm going back.” Under his breath, he added, “I don't plan to miss this.”
Edie attempted to walk as fast as the three supernatural beings at her side, pushing through her headache, but their journey back to the gates of Asgard was mostly a blur to her hungover brain. Before she knew it, they were rocketing across Bifrost toward their own World. A half hour later, frigid wind hit her face, and she opened her eyes to find that they had returned to the sea cliffs. The freezing air sharpened her focus, at least.
Basile busied himself with drawing a translocation circle, and soon, they were standing in the living room of their Manhattan apartment.
As the spell's magic dissipated, the first thing Edie could make out was Marius sprawled across the couch, an arm covering his eyes and a water bottle in his hand. Apparently, she wasn't the only one with a hangover. She tried not to notice that his shirt was riding up his toned stomach. If she remembered correctly, they’d danced together last night. A lot.
The group shuffled out of the translocation circle, and Marius jumped to his feet with a start, his palm already glowing hotly. A moment later, he realized it was just them, and relief melted most of his grimace. "Oh. You're back."
"They're back?" came Adam's voice from the kitchen, and he and Elle appeared a moment later, looking far better than Marius did. It took a lot to get a revenant drunk, and Adam had spent all night politely declining alcohol. "How'd it go?"
"Same thing as always," Cal said, crossing his arms. "Buncha old-ass fairytale creatures standing in a room, using fancy words to talk about, what else? Politics. Sparky, did you just fuckin' melt that bottle?"
Marius turned the now malformed plastic over in his hand. "I ... did, yes." He set it on the coffee table. "I suppose I shouldn't drink it now."
Edie dragged herself into one of the comfy chairs, rubbing the space between her brows. Her brain was screaming at her—screaming a lot of things, but mostly to close her eyes. She kept them cracked long enough to see Satara hurry toward her bedroom and Adam hesitate, watching her go, before deciding not to follow her.
Instead, he came to sit on the floor between the coffee table and the chair, and Elle followed, perching on the arm beside Edie. She was wearing some kind of sweet perfume, bubble gum or something, but the smell was making Edie's headache even worse.
"I guess one good thing about the torture of not being able to get wasted is no more hangovers. So?" she prompted, offering Edie a mug of something. A cursory sniff said strong black coffee. "What did the old-ass fairytale creatures have to say? Wait, what were we asking them in the first place? Not to be a stereotypical blond bimbo, but a lot’s happened in the past couple days and I’m lost."
Edie waited until the coffee hit her brain to answer, her voice coming out soft and scratchy. "We wanted more information about Skuld's disappearance."
"That's the leader of the Riders, right?"
"She's also one of the Mother Norns," Basile cut in, already pacing in front of the large windows. Outside, snow was beginning to fall again. "The three most powerful Norns in all existence ... the ones who weave the fate of the universe."
Elle grimaced. "Okay, so really not good that she's missing."
"Even less good when she happened to go missing the same time a weird, fucked-up valkyrie appeared." Edie took another sip of coffee. "I've never seen a valkyrie that looked like Daschla did, and at this point, I've seen a lot of freaking valkyries."
"There are only a handful of beings in this universe that can make someone a valkyrie," Basile explained, "and Skuld is one of them."
"So what's the deal with Daschla, then?" Adam asked. "Whoever she's working for—the Gloaming, I guess—they kidnapped Skuld and forced her to turn Nazi Barbie into a valkyrie?"
"Exactly so," Basile said. "But there are certain ways you have to do things. Like you saw. Satara had to go through a whole process, do a trial, honor Odin and Freyja and get their blessing. Daschla didn't do any of that."
"That's why she looked all broken and purple." Edie took another sip of coffee, relishing the warmth and the hit of caffeine, then looked up at Elle. "Actually, even if you were a blond bimbo, you'd understand this analogy: you know how you can jailbreak an iPhone?"
"Oh!" Elle grinned and took her phone from the front pocket of her skirt, showing off her cartoon pig phone case. "I totally used to do that so I could delete apps and get cute emojis! I actually have this thing that lets me personalize my theme now." She unlocked the screen and showed Edie. "I can change the layout and icons and stuff, see?"
Edie waved the bright phone light out of her face with a grunt. "You broke the phone's operating system so you could do whatever you want with it."
"Well, yeah, but look at how cute my clock app is now. It's a duckie, Edie."
"Daschla and Indriði and whoever else enabled them sort of did the same thing. The gods didn’t even know she existed."
"They wanted all the power of a valkyrie without having to uphold the oaths associated," Marius said, glowering as he pieced what she was saying together. "And Odin or Freyja wouldn't have given their blessing to her anyway. So they cheated."
Cal sank onto the couch, taking out a cigarette and twirling it between his fingers. "And now they got a bargain-brand valkyrie runnin' around tellin' people, 'Gun someone down in the street! That'll solve your problems!' Holloway, kid, we gotta stop ending up in smoking-free places."
Edie sighed and glanced down at Adam, intending to check to see how he was taking all of this. She was surprised to find him with a thoughtful expression on his face, like he was on the verge of solving some huge puzzle. "You good, Frankenstein?"
"What? Oh." He l
ooked up and shook his head. "It's stupid."
Edie noticed Basile opening his mouth and cut him off before he could quip. "No, what?"
"I was just ... I worked as a drone processing payments for this bank for a while. They were big on security and stuff like that, obviously. Really hard-asses about what you did with your personal tech, too—we had guidelines and stuff." Adam shrugged. "I was just thinking ... there are downsides to jailbreaking your phone, too. Every operating system has barriers in place to keep your info safe, but when you fuck around with the OS, you fuck around with those, too, and you're more vulnerable to viruses, or worse, hackers. You could totally brick your phone. It'd be unusable."
Marius lowered his eyes. "So you're saying that, without the blessing of the gods ... there's nothing protecting her. She could be killed in battle?"
"Without us having to go through the process of taking and killing her fylgja," Edie muttered, sipping enough coffee to burn her mouth. Anything to chase away the memories of Astrid's death.
Basile's stance shifted. "Why didn't I think of that?" He looked between Edie and Cal accusingly. "Why the hell didn't I think of that?"
"Try not to sprain something crying about it,” Adam sneered.
Basile grimaced and waved a dismissive hand. "All right, you've made your point. If you're right, this is good news ... it means we can take her down, and her little movement with her. But let's not get carried away. We still need to confront her."
"We talked about the Blood Eagles rally, too," Edie said.
"It's tomorrow." The priest adjusted his glasses, looking at each one of them. "We're going to be there, and we should be ready for a fight."
Adam frowned. "How exactly are we supposed to fight against hundreds of armed people? There are only a handful of us."
"We took care of that. Plenty of cavalry to call in. You'll see. But don't think that means this is going to be easy. You're right, there will be hundreds of people, armed to the teeth. If they're not decked out in their weird cosplay, they're going to be in tactical gear. And even then, you don't need tactical gear or a gun to break a window or beat someone to death."
Unholy Spirit (The Necromancer's Daughter Book 3) Page 37