Page 27

Baldur was a ridiculously handsome Berserker. His features were designed to seduce, yet his nonchalance sort of killed his enticing allure. Perhaps he was too certain of himself. Or maybe he’d come on too hard, too fast—clearly a creature of Purgatory with zero social skills. Either way, it didn’t matter. He’d creeped me out and there was no coming back from that.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop staring. Smiling. Undressing me with his eyes. It became increasingly difficult to focus until Edda finished her account of the events so far, then smacked him over the head. “Focus, you old fool!” she snarled. “More important things!”

The Mother of Valkyries had quickly gone from untrusting stranger to much-needed ally, maybe even a friend. Order’s disappointing behavior must have played a crucial part in the shift, but I welcomed it. We needed all the help we could get.

“Right. Hrista. Okay. What exactly do you want me to do about her?” Baldur asked, feigning disinterest while he blatantly stole glances at me. Brandon stayed close, the back of his hand sometimes brushing against mine, gently, as if to remind me that he was still here. That we’d started something. Not like I could really forget. Not when my heart was beating wildly in his presence.

“She’s in the Earthly Dimension,” Edda said. “It’s obviously a problem, and Order can’t handle it. You know that.”

Baldur looked at me. “And you, missy? Do you want my help?”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say yes.” My response satisfied him tremendously. “We were told that we will need the Mother and the Father to get Hrista back here. Only then can Order punish her.”

“And since you’re the only portal opener who can cross the realms like she can, she is keen to hear your last breath. Is she not?” he asked me. There was something in the way he framed his question that made me nervous. It was as if Baldur was the only one who truly understood my plight. He obviously wasn’t, but he certainly had a way of worming his way into my good graces. Good grief, you are such a weirdo…

“She is, yes,” I said.

He turned his sights on Brandon next. “And you, you miserable oaf… you couldn’t even defend yourself before Order.”

“I tried but she wouldn’t listen—”

“Shut up! You didn’t try hard enough!” Baldur’s demeanor changed from courteous-bordering-on-sleazy to absolute-hard-ass in under a second. “You brought this upon yourself, Brandon, and I can no longer take you seriously. How can I still look at you and think of you as a Berserker, a son, if you got yourself kicked out of the very place you’re supposed to serve?”

There was more to Baldur than met the eye. In addition to the smarmy charm, he also had a way of bringing someone as bold as Brandon to his knees. He’d almost faded, unable to hold the Father’s stern gaze. “It’s been a hard day.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. And you wish to protect Astra like this?” Baldur was clearly not the forgiving kind. I wanted to speak up, but Brandon foresaw that and replied first.

“I will burn down the whole of Purgatory if I have to.”

It made Baldur laugh. “How? One snap of my fingers, and you’re out, boy.”

“We need your help,” I cut in. “Maybe leave the darkness measuring contest for later?”

“How can I help you if you’re allied with weaklings?” Baldur shot back.

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, until Brandon stepped forward and straightened his back. The brief sideways glance he gave me spoke of his commitment—not only to our cause but to me. He had promised that he would keep me safe, and I still believed in him. Around us, the black forest with its obsidian leaves trembled and twinkled, chiming a chaos of faint notes that tickled my ears. The sound seemed to amplify my emotions, though it had taken a while to figure it out.

Baldur was feeding on the song of the leaves. He was growing bolder, perhaps bigger even. But Brandon wasn’t backing away. No, he stood tall and looked Baldur in the eyes. “I’ll fight you, Father. I’ll fight you and prove myself worthy.”

“I admit, I did not see that coming,” the Father of Berserkers laughed. “If I beat you, Brandon, I will throw you out of here. You will never return, and you will never go near Astra ever again.”

“And if I beat you, you’ll come with us. Simple fight. No help from the Aesir,” Brandon replied firmly.

“Hammer wouldn’t stand a chance against Briggel, anyway,” Baldur sighed. “Fine. Let’s do this. But remember, Brandon, if I win—” I didn’t even have time to process the conditions of this fight or duel or whatever it was supposed to be before Brandon rammed into him with the full force of his darkness.

I squeaked in surprise, and Hammer jumped back, growling and baring his enormous fangs. No one moved as Baldur and Brandon dissolved into thick wisps of liquid darkness. It turned out that the Father of Berserkers wasn’t the only one who could work with such concentrated power.

A knot got stuck in my throat as I watched them. They dashed between the trees like mercurial shadows. One threw the other against a thick trunk. The shockwave of impact was so powerful that it fractured everything within a ten-yard-radius. Shards of obsidian rained onto the hard ground while the battle continued.

“Who’s winning?” the Time Master asked Edda. I turned my head and saw Aphis following the fight with bright fascination. He likely fed on the violence. Most ghouls from Visio were peaceful once freed from the death magic spells that had kept them slaves to the Darklings. Aphis, however—as quiet and as gloomy as he was—clearly had an inclination toward aggression. Not necessarily to actively participate, but to watch. To draw something from it.

“I’m not sure,” the Mother of Valkyries murmured.

All eyes were on the two shadows. They zigzagged in and out of the obsidian forest. They crashed into trees and split open the ground with their brutal thrusts. The darkness spread around them like a sickening mist, yet they showed no signs of exhaustion.

Suddenly, Brandon stopped about fifty yards from us. He looked at me for a split-second, just as a black shadow bloomed behind him, swelling and growing more menacing with each breath. I didn’t even realize I was glowing all pink until I saw my light reflected in his burning blue eyes. What a strange effect…

I wanted to scream and tell him the Baldur was coming up behind him, but Brandon smiled at me and vanished in a puff of black smoke. The Father of Berserkers emerged, immediately confused as he’d hoped to deliver a crippling, defeating blow. He stilled and looked around a couple of times. Left, right. Left, then right again. Nothing. Darkness danced across the giant blade of his long-handled axe, itching to slice into Brandon.

“Come out and face me, coward!” Baldur roared, visibly satisfied with how the fight was progressing. His breathing was ragged, however. He’d been running around a lot. I imagined moving in black wisp form could not be easy. I imagined nothing about being a Berserker was easy, not even having to exist with the notion of once having been the worst of the worst.

A shiver trickled down my spine as Brandon’s voice brushed over my ear. “Watch this, Pinkie.” I froze, and a shadow blew past me. Baldur didn’t see him coming until it was too late. His twin blades were out, and he revealed himself before the Father of Berserkers. But as soon as the dark wisps flew off him, I realized he didn’t look like Brandon anymore. Baldur was stunned.

A pained look contorted his face. “No, you cruel bastard… not my son!”

“What was his name? Geralt?” Brandon showed no mercy, though I couldn’t quite figure out what the play was, exactly—only that it worked.

The twin swords came down fast and cut Baldur across the chest. The Father of Berserkers shrieked and snarled in agony, then dropped to his knees. Brandon crossed the blades against his throat and waited patiently, still looking like… a younger version of Baldur? Yes, he was slimmer and perhaps a bit shorter, but he resembled him remarkably well. “His son,” I whispered, putting two and two together.

“Baldur remembers only one thing from his life, but he remembers him vividly,” Edda said. “His son, Geralt. When Baldur died, Geralt succeeded him on the throne of their kingdom. A man as bad as his father, truth be told. Baldur became a Berserker, handpicked by Order, and not long afterward, his son entered Purgatory.”

“Yield, or I’ll have your son cut you down,” Brandon warned.

Baldur lowered his head.

“He was tasked with taking Geralt away and tossing him into the afterlife, where an eternity of punishment awaited him,” Edda continued, shadows lingering over her eyes. “Baldur tried to bargain with Order to make Geralt into a Berserker, too, but she wouldn’t have it. She said Geralt was mediocre, at best. Just a bad man trying to step into his father’s shoes…”

I could see now what a hard game Brandon had played. I also knew what his ability was now. He’d promised me he’d show me some day. Yet another promise kept, much to my surprise.

“So, Brandon is something of a shape-shifter, huh?” Thayen muttered, understandably fascinated.

“I yield, you bastard,” Baldur told the Berserker. “And screw you for stooping this low.”

“I fight to win,” Brandon replied and sheathed his swords, then turned around and found me staring. He left the Father behind and walked over with a hard face and white fire in his eyes. Nobody saw it coming. I certainly didn’t, as he stopped a hair’s width away, grabbed me around the waist and kissed me.

The moment our lips met again, the entire universe fell apart and recombined itself into something that simply worked better. This kiss lasted longer than the first time. I was able to take it in. To truly… take it in. Everything stopped. My heart. Time. The troubles with Hrista. Everything, as I surrendered to him and welcomed his embrace. Brandon held me tight and kissed me with all he had—his soul, his darkness, his fears and his regrets. I felt each piece of him touching my soul. The half-sentry in me was overly reactive, probably because Brandon didn’t have a living body to shield him from me.

Our spirits twirled around one another, weaving a new path into the cosmic void. Mine sang a beautiful melody, and I let it ring in my ears long after Brandon politely pulled himself away and smiled. “Pardon me,” he said, his voice a little raspy. “I couldn’t help myself.”

One quick glance around us told me our friends flustered. Not shocked, just flustered. This wasn’t the time nor the place for a flashy romantic gesture, yet Brandon had managed to surprise everyone once more—myself included. Big eyes and slightly parted lips and the emptiest silence enveloped us for quite a while as I tried to find my words. Despite the persistent tingling in my extremities, I was able to move past this moment, though I wasn’t sure how. I only knew that words were coming out of my mouth.

“Erm… You won. That means Baldur will help us, right?” I asked.

The Father of Berserkers let out a slew of expletives before he got up and put his axe away. It hid behind him in a sliver of black shadows. “Yeah, I’ll help you,” he grumbled, then pointed a furious finger at Brandon. “But I’ll pay you back for using Geralt against me. I promise.”

“I won, fair and square. Quit whining,” Brandon replied bluntly.

Baldur would’ve liked nothing more than to tear him a new one, but Edda intervened. “Enough. You’re like little children! Yes, Brandon won, Baldur lost, and that is where this conversation ends. No threats of retaliation.” She glowered at the Father. “I expect better of you.”

“Really?” Myst snorted a chuckle.

My head spun. We’d been on a constant rollercoaster ride since we’d stumbled into Purgatory. The walk here had been pleasant and calming, especially after our dismay with Order, but Brandon had managed to spice it back up again, leaving me flustered and breathless and feeling a million kinds of wonderful.

I had no idea where this would end. I only knew that Brandon was not the kind of person I could just walk away from. Furthermore, I doubted I’d ever manage to get him out of my head for the rest of this life. Or out of my heart. My soul.

Baldur took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Only then did I notice that Brandon had cut off some of his braids. I spotted them on the ground, scattered among the shattered black trees, snaking between shards of obsidian leaves. “I could ask for Order’s permission to leave Purgatory,” the Father of Berserkers said. “But that would mean admitting that I need her.”

“She’d be a fool not to grant you passage,” Edda surmised. “We’re going after Hrista. She will want the girl captured and brought back, surely.”

“Yeah, but why do it the easy way?” Baldur shot back with a cold grin.

It made Myst pinch the bridge of her nose. “You want to use Astra, huh?”

“Why, it’s like you’ve read my mind!” the Father replied, his eyes reduced to venomous slits. They grew wide and sweet again when he looked at me. “Brandon may have stolen your heart, but I can still make your body sing.” He paused for a second. “That came out wrong.”

“You think?” Brandon blurted, blue fires burning angrily white for a moment.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, though his acknowledgment of Brandon’s effect on me only served to amplify the feelings I had been dealing with for quite a while.

Baldur coughed lightly and offered an apologetic smile. “Hrista tapped into some very old energies to open up unauthorized portals. The same kind of energies that made you, darling.”

“Okay, now I’m the one who’s lost,” Thayen replied.

“When darkness meets light, when death meets life, the impossible is achieved. The unimaginable is unlocked,” Baldur recited, and Edda nodded in agreement. “Somehow, Hrista’s spirit contains all four components: darkness, light, death, life. Astra here has three, for sure—life, death, and light. Three that I see clearly.”

“Order said as much, more or less,” Edda said, unsure of Baldur’s direction.

“But she was wrong!” the Father laughed, downright thrilled to have outsmarted Order on this. “There are four in Astra, too! Though I cannot account for each of their origins. I mean, life comes from the Oracle genes, for sure. Light… I reckon that’s the Hermessi thread that made her, and it’s what might qualify her to become a Valkyrie beyond life. Or it could be both or the other way around! It doesn’t matter. They’re there.” Well, we’d had that wrong until now, it seemed, but I was glad to get some clarifications here. “Death comes from the sentry side. And the darkness, I feel it, I’m sure Brandon feels it, too, though he could never quite put his finger on it.” He paused to look at the Berserker.

“You’re on to something,” Brandon muttered.

“But I don’t know its source! It is so weak… merely in its infancy. But it’s there. Maybe that’s why Order missed it. I guarantee you we’re dealing with all four here. The only difference between Hrista and Astra, however, is that Astra’s spirit is still wrapped in a meat sack.”

“But wouldn’t killing Astra heighten the girl’s chances to become a Valkyrie?” Myst asked. “If I were Hrista, I’d try to avoid that.”

“I’d try to avoid killing me regardless of the level of threat I pose to that crazy lady,” I said. I did wonder about the source of my darkness. Where had that come from? Would I ever find out?

Baldur grinned. “That’s the thing. Astra is a problem for Hrista with or without a body. It doesn’t really matter. But by killing Astra, Hrista punishes her and her family by taking the girl away from them.” He looked at me. “Now, let’s get you back into portal opening mode, sweetie. I’m dying to grab a fistful of Hrista’s hair and return her to Purgatory.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I murmured.

I’d accidentally brought us here while trying to get us back into The Shade. What were the odds that I’d succeed the second time around? Brandon had promised me that practice really did make perfect when it came to these powers, and I’d proven it with my steep learning curve and rapid development thus far.

“Have some faith in yourself,” Brandon said, forever imprinting himself onto my soul. “I know I do.”

That was the sweetest truth. The bitter one had Hrista waiting for me to set foot into The Shade. We all knew now that there was more to me than we’d thought. I found comfort in having Jericho and Dafne, Thayen, the Time Master, and Aphis by my side. I had Myst, too, and this enticing Berserker, Brandon, who’d turned my world upside down. And then there was Edda and Baldur, oh, the seemingly crazy Baldur with terrible manners but such intricate knowledge of how the universe worked.

In the end, my choices were simple. Run, or keep pushing. And I had no intention of running. Somebody had to defend The Shade and our way of life. If Hrista feared me so much, then I had to rise to the occasion and make those fears justified. As Brandon touched my hand, a fire was rekindled. My resolve burned brighter and hotter than ever. One way or another, I’d get us back into The Shade.