The television had been on a commercial when we came out of the bedroom, but now it dinged excitedly as the show returned. I glanced at the TV to see a big graphic flying on the screen announcing BREAKING NEWS.
Behind the desk sat a pretty news reporter in her thirties, with perfectly highlighted hair and a pair of stylish glasses that walked the line between sophisticated intellectual and sexy librarian. I recognized her as Ellery Park, one of the top reporters for the twenty-four-hour news network NorNewsNow—the “#1 Station in North America,” if their claims were to be believed.
“We’ve been following today’s top stories,” Ellery said, speaking in the clean, clipped tones of a seasoned journalist. “The extreme and unusual weather conditions that have been devastating countries worldwide, leaving millions homeless and thousands injured or dead.”
“Malin, do you want anything?” Asher asked from behind me, as he made himself a plate, but I barely heard him. My eyes were glued to the television.
“Nah, you go ahead,” I said vaguely and sat down on the arm of the couch next to Oona to watch the story unfold.
“First, there was the deadly category five hurricane that has decimated Newfoundland, Canada, an unprecedented storm for the likes of the northern province,” Ellery said. “Then there are the raging brush fires that have been sweeping across Australia, which have completely destroyed entire cities and are moving toward heavily populated Sydney. Just this morning a massive earthquake hit Egypt, where the prime minister was reportedly trapped inside the rubble, along with fifty other members of parliament. There are also reports that a tsunami is heading for the coast of Brazil.
“Now, as if all that wasn’t enough, we’re getting word about sinkholes opening up all across the globe,” Ellery went on. “Some of them stretching as far as five miles wide, while most appear to be smaller than that. Scientists are racing to make sense of what could be causing these extreme natural disasters and discover if there is any connection between them.”
I slid off the arm of the couch and sank next to Oona. Bowie pushed at my hand with his head, so I absently petted him. My heart had dropped to my stomach, and I suddenly felt light-headed.
“What the hell is going?” I asked breathlessly.
“It’s all so crazy. And if you look at the crawl at the bottom of the screen, the weather isn’t even the only thing that’s going insane.”
Sure enough, running across the ticker next to the bright blue NNN logo was even more alarming text:
… HAVE BEEN REPORTING SPIKES OF VIOLENT CRIME EVERYWHERE. WITH ATTACKS STRIKING PARIS, HAVANA, MOSCOW, AND JOHANNESBURG. RIOTING AND LOOTING HAVE ALSO BROKEN OUT IN CITIES ACROSS AMERICA, INCLUDING MEMPHIS, ATLANTA, SEATTLE, AND MINNEAPOLIS. SO FAR, NO FATALITIES HAVE BEEN REPORTED IN THE DOMESTIC ATTACKS, BUT MANY INJURIES AND MILLIONS OF DOLLARS OF PROPERTY DAMAGE ARE EXPECTED.…
“The sheer magnitude and scale of these weather events combined with their rapid-fire frequency has created a worldwide disaster of epic proportions,” Ellery Park was saying. “It is unlike anything we have ever seen before, but now is not the time for despair.
“Now we must pull together and help those in need,” she continued emphatically. “If you are displaced, injured, or unable to contact any of your loved ones in the affected areas, please go to our website to find help. And if you are looking to help others, we also have links on how to donate or where to volunteer.”
“Do you think this is it?” Oona asked softly. “Is this how the world ends?”
FORTY-EIGHT
The three of us—Asher, Oona, and myself—watched the news for longer than we should have.
We watched them talk to reporters on location surrounded by unimaginable destruction and devastation. We watched dozens of scientists, meteorologists, and even a few Eralim discussing what it all meant—if anything at all. We watched official statements from world leaders and dignitaries, from important immortals to former presidents, all expressing their condolences and encouragement that we use this time to come together and help one another.
But mostly we watched them all tiptoe around the words apocalypse or cataclysmic or end of days. The one scientist who did mention anything close to this—a brief mention of dinosaurs and meteors—was quickly cut off, and another, more soft-spoken talking head went back to the narrative that we should help each other.
And I think that was the part I found most unsettling. Twenty-four-hour news networks and the quick-paced news cycle relied on fear, on hype, and on excitable hyperbole to keep people tuning in. But this, if anything, seemed downplayed to me.
Three years ago, the day after New Year’s, we got five inches of snow in the evening, and every news station in town was calling it a “Snow-pocalypse.” Now the world was literally on fire with holes opening up with no explanation, and it was only “extreme” and “unusual” but “we should all focus on helping our neighbors.”
While that was a very nice sentiment, it did nothing to explain to me why they weren’t calling this what it was. Were they hiding the truth? Were they being directed to keep it as quiet as possible? Or were they attempting to help us through it all, as peacefully as they could, like the band playing on as the Titanic sank?
“That’s enough,” Oona decided, our pudla gone cold and untouched in front of us. She flipped through the channels, finding a soothing old cartoon about a talking dragon.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Samael told you to wait for him to contact you, right?” Oona asked. “So, I think that’s what you should do.”
“But—”
“What, Mal? Are you gonna stop a hurricane?” Oona asked. “You already donated blood last month, and we don’t have any money to send anybody.”
I hated that she was right when I felt restless and had nothing I could do with it. I sank lower on the couch and folded my arms over my chest.
Asher leaned forward, rubbing his temple. “My head just started pounding. Would you guys happen to have an aspirin or something?”
“You came to the right girl!” Oona said, excited to be of help. She stood. “How bad is it on a scale of one to ten? That will help me decide what to give you.”
He winced. “Maybe an eight?”
“Got it.” She started walking toward her room, then paused and turned back to him. “Do you have any allergies?”
“Not that I know of,” he said, and she continued back to her room.
Once she was gone, I slid closer to him and rubbed his back. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I mean, my head hurts, but I think it’s because I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” he said, then yawned as if to accentuate his point. “Would you mind if I lie down for a bit? I could go back home—”
“No, you can take a nap here,” I assured him. “You can stay here as long as you want.”
“Thanks.” He smiled weakly at me, and I leaned over and kissed his temple.
Oona came back a few minutes later with two capsules filled with lime-green liquid that she assured Asher would take away any pains he had. He thanked her, then excused himself to go to my room and lie down for a while.
With Asher otherwise indisposed and Oona insisting that I do something other than stress about the chaos breaking out all over, I had to find something to do with my anxious energy. That meant cleaning.
I did the dishes, scrubbed the grout in the bathroom, put away all my stuff (except for the stuff that went in my room, because I didn’t want to disturb Asher), and reorganized our shoes. I had cleaned the apartment top to bottom, and it had only taken an hour.
“You can clean my room, if you want,” Oona suggested once I’d finished. She was lying back on the couch, flipping through her grimoire (studying up—just in case, she said).
“Nah, I’m good.” I sat down on the floor and wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “I need a minute to cool down anyway.”
My phone started to buzz from where I’d left it, and when I picked
it up and saw the name on the screen, my heart skipped a beat. Samael had texted me.
Malin, I wanted to let you know that Atlas Malosi’s family has decided to hold a small ceremony for him today. It will be outside the mausoleum in Rosehill Cemetery today at 3:00 p.m. Sorry about the short notice. They wanted to get it done as quickly as possible.
“Do you think you’re up for going to a funeral in a little bit?” I asked Oona.
“What?” She sat up with a start. “Who died?”
“Atlas. They’re having his ceremony today.”
“Wow. That was fast.” She paused, thinking. “He only died like two days ago.”
“They’re probably moving quickly because the whole world is losing its shit.”
“Yeah, that is a good reason. I’d want to get my son buried before everything went to hell,” Oona agreed.
FORTY-NINE
Less than two weeks ago I had been at the Rosehill Cemetery for my mother’s funeral, and I felt a painful sense of déjà vu as I climbed up the large hill in the center. The rosebushes that surrounded the mausoleum appeared even more dead than they had before. With only a few crippled leaves clinging to the brittle branches, their sharp thorns were exposed.
Above us, the sky was overcast, and the app on Oona’s phone had warned that today the smog levels were unseasonably high. The air tasted of soot and diesel, and it blanketed the city in gloom. What little sun did get through only managed to make the clouds glow an angry burnt orange.
I was glad that we’d left Asher at our place to continue resting. Breathing in the caustic air definitely wouldn’t help him feel any better.
By the time Oona and I arrived, a large crowd had already formed around the entrance of the crypt. The minimalist design of the mausoleum made it look like a large white marble cube looming behind the mourners. The only decoration was the coat of arms—a shield emblazoned with the three horns and nine swords fanned out behind it, the horns for Odin and the swords for the original nine Valkyries.
But other than the fact that Atlas’s funeral was held at the Mausoleum av Veteraner Från Kriget Mot Odödlighet—the Mausoleum of the Veterans of the War on Immortality—there was little else that this had in common with Marlow’s service.
Hers had been sparsely attended, in part because of Samael’s attempts to keep her death under wraps, but mostly because there weren’t that many people to mourn her. She’d made few friends in her life.
Atlas, on the other hand, had always had a smile for anyone he met, and based on the amount of crying going on, he had been loved by many. That was part of the reason his ceremony had to be held outside of the crypt. There wouldn’t be enough room inside for all who wanted to attend.
The other reason was that since he wasn’t a Valkyrie, he could not be buried inside the mausoleum. A few rows away were tall white headstones with as many as five names listed on them. That was where the Vörðr and other guards were buried, stacked on top of each other because there simply wasn’t enough room.
Everyone had gathered in a semicircle, with a podium and the coffin sitting front and center. Next to the coffin a large picture of Atlas sat on an easel. In the photo he smiled brightly, the way he had every time I had gone to Samael’s office. Scores of flowers had been placed on white pillars and on the ground, so Atlas was completely surrounded by large bouquets of white, red, and black.
Samael went up to the podium once it appeared everyone had arrived, and he cleared his throat before beginning. “I want to thank you all for coming today. We’re all gathered here to remember and celebrate Atlas Malosi and his robust love of life and everyone in it. Any who knew him can tell you that the only thing bigger than Atlas himself was his heart.”
There were murmurs of agreement as well as plenty of crying. I lingered toward the back of the crowd, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt that I hadn’t gotten to know him better.
“I had the honor of working with Atlas for two years, and he was without a doubt the kindest and most enthusiastic guard I had ever employed,” Samael went on. “Atlas lived his life with the utmost integrity and generosity, and after meeting his parents today, I can say that Atlas was a true reflection of them.”
Samael motioned to a couple in the front of the crowd—a tall blond woman and broad, dark-skinned man, with his arm around her as they both sniffled.
“To both of you, Clymene and Aleki, I can only extend my deepest condolences,” Samael said. “Atlas brought a light everywhere he went, and the world will be darker without him.”
That’s when I realized that I knew Atlas’s mother. Well, knew was too strong a word, but I had met her before. She was Clymene Herja, a retired Valkyrie. When I had still been in high school, she had come to talk to our class about what being a Valkyrie entailed. She had only just retired then, saying that the work had finally caught up to her, and she wanted to help ensure that up-and-coming Valkyries were more prepared for the strain of the job than she had been.
Clymene had actually been the first Valkyrie I ever met, outside of my mother. Since Marlow had few friends and never bothered to acquaint herself with her coworkers, and Valkyries tended to keep their occupation as secretive as possible to protect themselves, there wasn’t much of a way for me to meet any before Ravenswood Academy.
Samael spoke for a few minutes more, then there was a musical interlude during which old Norse folk songs were played on kraviklyras and flutes. Then he stepped aside to allow Atlas’s older brother to eulogize him. I didn’t even know he had a brother, and I suddenly felt like throwing up.
Eventually the service concluded with the pallbearers taking his coffin to a freshly dug grave nearby. I wanted to leave then, but Oona hissed at me, telling me that would be rude. So we watched as they slowly lowered him into the ground.
Finally I could make my escape. The sorrow here was too much. It felt like I had a cinder block on my chest pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe, and there was a claustrophobic panic edging into my grief.
Oona didn’t know how nauseous and uneasy I felt, so she was treating this like any other funeral, and headed toward where Samael was talking with Atlas’s parents to offer her condolences.
I grabbed her hand, stopping her, and whispered, “We should go.”
When she turned back to me, I could see she was about to argue, but then she saw my expression and just nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
But it was too late. Clymene had looked over at us with her red-rimmed blue eyes, and, clutching tissues in her hand, she stepped away from her husband and Samael, coming toward me.
“Malin?” she said, taking long strides toward me. She was tall and muscular, even for a Valkyrie, which explained where Atlas got his physique from. “You’re Malin Krigare, right?”
“Um … yeah,” I said.
I’d briefly considered lying. Not just because I didn’t want to have an intense conversation with a grieving mother, but also because I didn’t know if she held me responsible for her son’s death. I wouldn’t fault her if she did. I blamed me.
Even though I knew I deserved every repercussion for my actions that she wanted to dole out, I did not want to get my ass kicked by a woman who appeared significantly stronger than me. I’d been assaulted enough the past few weeks, and I couldn’t handle another slap across the face. Even if it was warranted.
But her husband and Samael were following a few steps behind her, so I couldn’t lie. Oona was beside me, holding my hand, and she squeezed it, passing me some of her courage. And it worked a little. Not a lot, but enough that I didn’t run and hide.
“I’m Clymene Herja,” she said as she reached me. “I am—I was Atlas’s mother.” Atlas’s father joined her, once again putting his arm around her in a gesture of comfort. “This is my partner, Aleki Malosi. Atlas’s father.”
“Hello,” I said in a small voice that was thick with fear.
“This is Malin Krigare,” Clymene said to her husband. “She’s the one that was with Atlas when h
e died.”
Oh, shit, I thought, and I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.
“Samael told me that you stayed by his side until he passed and held his hand the entire time.” Clymene sniffled as she spoke, but her words were calm and even, without a hint of anger.
“I—I did.” I stumbled over my words, because that wasn’t entirely true. I did stay with him, and I did hold his hand as much as I could, but most of the time I was clinging to him to stop him from falling out of the ATV as we raced to the hospital.
She smiled then, even as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Samael already told us that he can’t say much about the mission you were on, because of the nature of it, and I know how that goes. How stealth and secrecy can be so important.… So I won’t ask you any questions about that.
“I only…” She took a deep breath. “Atlas loved his job. He loved protecting everyone and keeping them safe. Before he left, he called and let me know how proud he was to be going on the mission. He believed it was important and that what he was doing was essential.”
“It was,” I said.
“He saved my life,” Oona added. “Without him, I don’t know if either of us would be here.”
Still smiling, Clymene began to cry harder, and then suddenly she hugged me. Tightly.
“Thank you for staying with my son,” she said as she embraced me.
I managed to mumble, “You’re welcome,” and then she released me.
After that, I felt rather dazed, and I couldn’t remember what I said, if anything. I think Oona and Samael did most of the talking, and finally we were walking away from the funeral, down the hill to where I’d parked my luft.
I managed to keep everything together until we reached the hoverbike, but then I bent over and threw up. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as Oona stared at me with worry in her eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Everything Marlow ever told me was bullshit,” I said. “That woman loved her son. She loved her boyfriend, who I’m guessing she’s been with for nearly thirty years, given Atlas’s age. She wasn’t angry or filled with hate. She didn’t even hate me, and I…” My voice cracked, so I stopped.
From the Earth to the Shadows Page 20