Fallen Mortal

by J. A. Culican

  “Why would Freya relinquish such a choice soul if Odin is in such hot pursuit? This is very curious.” I hopped to my feet and nudged him in the chest. “Spill it.”

  “I overheard Freya speaking with one of Odin’s couriers. The boy is marked for Odin and you need to stand down. That’s all I know, I swear.” Orum’s wing twitched. “He’s Norse. Strong gene pool.”

  “Right. That’s it, huh?” My eyes narrowed.

  Orum nodded, but he wasn’t going to tell me anything. I was known to run my mouth from time to time, but this was important. It didn’t matter that Orum was my brother, my twin, no less. I’d burned him one too many times with an outburst of righteous indignation.

  “I know someone who will tell me what I need to know. Especially when I tell her you were spying in the palace hall.”

  Orum shrugged. “Go run to Freya. See if I care. I was tending to the Imperium Council. I had every right to be in the palace. You’ll just end up looking like a paranoid fool.”

  I pulled a face. There had to be a way to find out what the Imperium Leaders and Freya were hiding about this Wells character. Thinking of that stupid nickname, a lavender-eyed, white-winged reaper came to mind. He’d been the one to give the soul that ridiculous moniker. I scoffed out loud. Wells and Gee. They belonged together.

  But, Geirolf would drink splintered glass before confiding in me. I couldn’t expect him to tell me anything. He was no longer the immortal I had loved, but a pompous, ill-conceived ally of Odin. Once, Geirolf had been part of my family; my betrothed. My brother had considered Geirolf a friend as well. Orum and Geirolf had been the best of friends until the war between the gods broke out. We sided with Freya, and so we were banned from Valhalla when the verdict came down. Geirolf had sided with Odin and was the first named Divine Reaper. Those of us who stood with Freya resided in Folkvangr. The third underworld was Hel, kept by a goddess who bore the same name.

  No. I couldn’t get information from Geirolf. I’d go directly to the source if I had to.

  Thunder cracked the air and a splendid light surrounded us as Thor appeared on the training field. Freya wouldn’t like this impromptu visit. He plunged mortal blows into soldiers left and right. It was a good thing no one was alive in Folkvangr. While Freya may not agree with Thor arriving uninvited, his training skills were indispensable. He liked showing up in Folkvangr to see how much the latest recruited souls had learned.

  This conversation was over and I had to admit, I was relieved.

  “Bully,” Orum muttered as he pushed off of the ground.

  I took flight as well. This wasn’t the first peaceful day in the meadow that Thor had ruined. “You gather the souls into the glen. I’ll blast that idiot god back to Asgard.”

  “See how much better it is when you have me at your side, sis?” Orum said as I whisked past him. “But, Thor is mine.”

  I stuck my foot out and sprung heavenward. No way was my dear brother going to get to Thor before me.

  I won again.

  My brother didn’t understand how a broken betrothal could affect a soul. Reapers were born divine, but made partially human so we couldn’t overtake Asgard, the home to the gods of Aesir. Orum and I were the biological children of Lofn and Bragi. It had been our own mother, Lofn, who had plagued us with a human heart and soul. Norse gods were crazy paranoid when it came to protecting their high status. Was I angry to have my royal blood stripped from me? Not a bit. After all, who wanted to claim a mother who was the goddess of illicit unicorns? At least the blood of Bragi gave us a silver tongue. We could get out of just about any situation by using simple gab.

  Unfortunately, one human trait that we couldn’t escape was their ability to feel emotions, but only when they were particularly strong. Out of that awareness, love was the mightiest. While love was a weak spot for me, reaping souls kept my divine nature strong and my human weaknesses at bay. The more souls I reaped, the more powerful I became. It was like eating. Reaped souls not only kept me healthy and alive, but they also allowed me to not act on every adrenaline love rush I felt in my cursed human heart. I needed to keep my tank full and my heart closed.

  I paced the length of my chamber that overlooked the battlegrounds of Folkvangr. The mishap with Thor had wrecked the rolling hills with fire and blood. Many of the immortals and gathered souls littered the field where they lay healing in the great light given by Valhalla.

  “Freya has called for you.” A handmaiden dressed in silver entered my chamber and bowed. “It is not like you to be late.”

  I flinched, but did not look upon Magna, Freya’s favored maid. “I’ve given an account for weapons.”

  “So, you’ve decided to try the patience of Freya by brooding the evening away in private?”

  “Please,” my words garbled from between my teeth. I rubbed my brow, releasing the tension there. “Be gone. Leave me in peace.”

  “As you wish,” she said, her voice smooth as she slid an envelope onto the desk. “Your next assignment. Freya suspected you’d be stubborn. Orum’s gloom cast an awful shadow over dinner. You were missed.”

  I waved in dismissal.

  “You’d like me to leave before I tell you what I know of Maxwell Adamsen?”

  My head swerved and wings lifted. “What did you say?” I was starting to believe everyone knew of the insolent mortal but me. What started out as a game for me was turning into an investigation. What had I stumbled across?

  “You see, missing the gathering was more than just a tiny tantrum.”

  I let out a slow growl.

  Magna’s lip curled, in amusement, not fear. “Fine. I know that he is heavily guarded by the Divine Counsel and assigned to Geirolf as a favor to Odin.” One of her perfectly manicured brows lifted. “Should I continue? How interested are you?”

  “Very.”

  She shrugged. “Freya won’t speak openly of the mortal, but I’ve overheard conversations. An Imperium reaper spoke of him this eve, but was quickly silenced. Any information will cost you. It isn’t safe to speak of things Freya and Odin want kept secret. I’ll need some incentive.”

  “Do you still hold a torch for my brother?” I asked.

  Magna’s eyes darted to mine and then away. It was answer enough.

  “How can you ask me to put my brother in danger for a mortal? What you feel for Orum is forbidden.”

  “And what you feel for Geirolf isn’t?”

  My chin rose a notch. “How dare you speak to me that way.”

  “We are bartering. There are no ranks here and now.”

  “Hm.” I crossed my arms.

  Magna mirrored my pose. In our world, she had just signed her death sentence. But, also in our world, she’d made a clever bargain.

  “Fine. Let’s talk,” I said and looked toward the open door.

  Magna kicked the door closed and smiled. If only I’d known what I knew now, I’d have run. I’d have silenced her with the law of Folkvangr. Instead, the sound of the slamming door became a gavel sentencing me to a life of heartache from which I’d never recover.

  Chapter 3

  I looked at the name three times and still couldn’t believe it. Asta Jonasson. Freya was sending me on a hospice run. Very few reaps were the final reap. We followed most of our subjects for years and then gather them for the final reap in grand fashion. Freya was toying with me, sending me on a final reap of someone I’d never met. I knew she was concerned for my lack of reaps lately, but this was humiliating. I didn’t need a handout.

  “She can’t be serious,” I mumbled, crumpling the paper into my fist.

  “Apparently, she is.”

  My spine stiffened and I whirled, lashing out with a swift punch on the idiot who dared to sneak up on me. Only after the blow landed did I see who it was.

  “You’re such a jerk.” My voice was choppy as I hit Geirolf again, this time where I knew it would really hurt.

  A guttural noise left his throat and he closed his wings about him as a shield. “What
is wrong with you?”

  “You,” I said simply and then stepped on his foot that peeked out from under the feathers. “The gods are laughing their heads off. Brilliant. You’re assigned to this soul, too?”

  His wing barely parted. “Maybe.” His eyes never changed. Windows to the soul, yada, yada, yada, but with Geirolf, it was fact. His lavender eyes were legendary. As in, the purple-eyed reaper of Norse mythology. I couldn’t make this stuff up. I knew how to fall for the impossible, but no way were those eyes standing in my way today.

  “Fine.” I forced a smile and unrumpled the paper, glancing at the details. A slight harumph came from my mouth. “Good ol’ Asta is three-generational Folkvangr.” I looked up. “You’re gonna lose before we even start.”

  His wings opened and I hated the way my heart fluttered in my chest. “Free will, Orianna. Let’s never forget that souls have the free will to choose. We are mere negotiators for where they will find eternal rest.”

  I hated that he used my formal name like it was his right.

  “Yeah, well.” I pointed to Asta. “She’s got Folkvangr written all over her soul.”

  Geirolf glanced at Asta. “Even the elderly can be swayed.”

  I could smell the doubt oozing from him. “Wanna bet?”

  “No. Not everything in fate is chance and bets. Besides, I’d hate to be the reason you’re smudged from reaper existence.” He pointed at me. “Your mortal is showing.”

  Of course, even his nastiness had a hint of kindness to it. Typical. I folded my wings across my heart to hide his prying eyes. When a reaper became weak, the skin over our hearts gave off a red glow. It was a target that I’d rather wasn’t on display to any immortal, especially this one.

  “You’d hate to lose a soul this valuable,” I taunted. “Poor Daddy Odin wouldn’t like it. You’d be the talk of Valhalla and the fates.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Geirolf bit out. His demeanor changed in a flash.

  The space where my soul should be squeezed. Geirolf’s eyes roved for a neutral place of rest that he’d never find. He and I were fire and ice. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when seeing him pop off was so delicious. If memories of him tortured me, then I would retaliate with petty maltreatment. How dare he keep a tendre for me and not fight for it. How dare he reserve a portion of love we once shared and pretend it didn’t matter.

  I wouldn’t feel guilty. Even when his jaw tensed to the point that I heard the audible grind. His eyes traveled the length of me, his face a mixture of fascination and revile. His intense posture pricked my conscience. How were we to know Freya and Odin would remain firm in the separation of Valhalla and Folkvangr? After the Great War, I’d held onto the hope that reapers would be reunited under mutual Norse Law. But, that day never came, and it didn’t matter anymore. There was no going back, even if this familiarity between us remained.

  A sheen of glittery blackness filled the air as another Imperium reaper materialized into Midgard. Geirolf gave a wide berth to the being who emerged.

  “Odell,” I greeted.

  Odell’s head bowed. “Oria.” She smirked in Geirolf’s direction. “Guttersnipe.”

  Geirolf smiled charmingly and my traitorous heart leaped. “Looking lovely as always. Have you done something new with your wings?” he asked.

  “They’re black,” Odell snapped. “As always.”

  Geirolf, ever the gentleman, chuckled and bowed before stepping further into the shadows. The immortal knew no bounds of chivalry.

  Blah.

  I felt icy fingers massage my heart as I rid it of the soft emotions that wanted to creep in. “Can you finish up here?” I asked Odell. Geirolf mouth opened, but I put my hand up. “An easy reap. Three generationer. You can have the soul as yours.”

  Odell’s expression remained peeved, but she was interested. I practically gift wrapped dinner for her. “I suppose I can engage here.” Her gaze shifted to where a younger boy sat visiting with his grandmother. And then, she glanced at my heart and up to my face to see if I was serious.

  “I’m on my way to another reap,” I lied.

  “In that case, sure. I have time.” She smiled at Geirolf. “At least I made it here before the Valkyries swoop in. Neither invited nor needed, like always.”

  I snickered, enjoying how Geirolf went stiff over Odell’s joke. I held out my hand and we shook. The transfer was complete.

  “You can’t be serious?” Geirolf asked, following behind me as I stalked away. “You’re forfeiting a reap that is rightfully yours? For what? A rush of misplaced pride or boredom? If you think this will hurt me, you’re wrong. My reaps are double in comparison to yours. I can feel the immortality seeping from your pores. You’re more human than she is.” He pointed to Asta before grabbing my arm. “You need this reap. Don’t be stupid.”

  “It’s done and I’m leaving,” I said, my voice cold as I pulled away.

  A few steps away from us, Odell shifted into human form, choosing the body of Asta’s great granddaughter.

  I smiled. “See? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.” I patted his shoulder. “Call the Valkyries and tell them they won’t be needed. You know how they hate to lose. I’d hate to hear that nasty scream all over the nine worlds. Gives me a headache.”

  A giggle erupted from Odell’s throat even as she took her place at Asta’s side.

  Geirolf’s brooded gaze faltered, revealing a hint of the boy he’d been before the creation of the three netherworlds. He didn’t know how to take my frivolous decision and he wondered how I’d survive without this reap.

  It settled my resolve. I disappeared into the vapor, leaving no closure but knowing that the reap belonged to Folkvangr.

  Fifteen seconds later and I partially materialized in an alleyway in San Diego. He was easy to find; again, basic. For a mortal, Maxwell was handsome. Downright gorgeous if I was honest. He had the stereotypical swoop bangs. Black hair, sky blue eyes, a great complexion, if a bit pale. He was tall, with a slim build.

  It fascinated me to watch him as he bustled through his day. How carefree his life was to not know there was a royal battle going on for his soul. He lifted crates filled with clams with little to no effort. I was surprised he wasn’t in jail, that he’d gotten off scot free after the accident. I’d never understand the workings of Midgard concerning their legal system.

  There was nothing special about him, but he was tough. He oozed self-confidence. I couldn’t figure out why Freya didn’t choose me for the reap of his soul. He’d be a hard sell. Geirolf and his minions had been busy. Maxwell had a thick shield of morality lighting his soul aura. But I had a reputation for bringing down the mightiest of souls. Why wasn’t I on this case? A blueblood like him would be a jewel in the crown of Folkvangr.

  A slight breeze blew through, kicking up dead leaves in its wake. Maxwell turned to me, stopping instantly when his eyes met mine. If I had breath in my immortal form, I’d have lost it there. The intensity of his stare nailed me in place. His mortal eyes couldn’t see me, but his awareness was profound. It reminded me of immortal discernment. As if he could possess anything immortal.

  I lifted my hand. My skin shone with the dew of Folkvangr, hiding me from prying gazes. I rotated my hand back and forth, studying my skin that equaled the heaviest artillery. I shouldn’t have been visible, but Maxwell still hadn’t moved on. His eyes were fixed on me with eerie awareness.

  On its own volition, my mouth fell open and his name tumbled out on a gasp. I could feel my pulse race; it didn’t matter that I had no heart. This mortal had ignited my soul with a power I couldn’t deny any longer. Geirolf was right. I was more mortal than immortal, and Maxwell was something to be reckoned with. The gods were hiding something, and somehow, this boy was involved.

  His head tipped upward and a slow smile curved on his mouth, a sensuous bend that made me shiver. In that moment, I hated him. Hated him for reasons I didn’t understand, but that didn’t lessen the sentiment.

  It was time to go. I
had work to do.

  Chapter 4

  Since I’d met him once before, I had to be smart. I couldn’t change my face, but I could change other things. Lavender hair down to my waist. I dressed in ripped jeans, a Misfit t-shirt, and Vans. It was quite a change from the mousey girl Maxwell met before at the gas station.

  There was a girl near Maxwell. Her body turned to him and her face tipped up as he spoke. The amphitheater had become dilapidated after being vacant for years. I didn’t know why he was here. Reading minds wasn’t a gift of reapers. The gods loved giving us glitches. It made reaping that much more difficult and the game competitive. I hadn’t a clue why Wells would be interested in such a dead place and the oddballs that came here to spend their time.

  I wasn’t here on a reap. In fact, I had no idea why I was here other than I was too proud for my own good. If Freya got wind of this, I’d be in trouble. I did a quick sweep of the area. Getting busted by another immortal wasn’t on my agenda today. All in all, there were 106 people present and none had a heavenly aura. This place was a dump. A "For Sale” sign lay near the entrance, covered in muddy shoe prints, though I could still make out the name Holloway. It was an estate property. The establishment reeked of old money. This crowd was slowly putting the theater back together.

  The girl twittered, her hands in motion as she spoke. The sound carried through the theater, but no one budged, no one except me. I put my arm out to stop a boy who was carrying a basket of boas and headbands. His hold tightened on the basket and his expression became peeved.