Page 27 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 27

Ravinica

I WAS BACK IN THE SNOWY place. A baleful otherworld of mountains, white-topped ridges, and a valley of darkness ahead of me. The walls of the valley were high, creating a passage only wide enough for two people to walk through.

At the far end of the passage, a shining gold light drew my attention through the bleak darkness and withering cold.

Staring down at myself, I noticed the ancient battle armor adorning me, glittering silver in the gray dawn light. “No, no, no,” I whined, feeling my wings tauten powerfully behind me. They were in perfect condition, rather than being wounded from reality, from Damon’s blade.

This was all wrong. I didn’t want to be here , because I knew what here meant.

With a great shaking and groaning of the earth, the valley in front of me began to close off, the passage narrowing. My decision was being made for me, the Norns laughing at my cruel fate.

I sprinted forward despite myself, so I wouldn’t be trapped on this frigid side of the plane.

I only made it through the path with the tips of my wings scraping against constricting stone, seconds before claustrophobia could set in.

The other side of the passage had the same springtime feel I remembered. Golden light floated a few feet off the ground in front of me, outlining the frame of my brother. Damon was naked as Elayina had been, showing himself with all the wounds and scars and damage from our battle.

“I’m here, brother,” I said in a low tone.

I hugged Damon against me, knowing the drill, and pumped my wings to lift us off the ground. Taking to the sky, the burden of where I must go weighed heavily on me.

It was a valkyrie’s edict to bring the fallen from Midgard and lead them to their respective afterlife. But I didn’t want Damon to be dead, or fallen. I wanted him to live.

I hoped I could negotiate some type of settlement over his fate.

He weighed nothing in my arms, like a feather. Was I that strong here, or had he become so light in my arms until his soul was weighed?

The odd surrealness of this place made it impossible to feel emotions or thoughts. There was only a direction guiding, singular, powerful. It drew me up into the sky, my wings glittering in the sun as I ascended the clouds. There was no coldness here, no warmth. Through the dappled clouds, I could make out the pristine landscape of green plains, rolling hills, and mountains in the distance.

The thick roots of Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, skewered down from the heavens like tentacles of bark. The ends of the roots were thicker than my body, and they bulged to the thickness of buildings the further up I went.

Soon, I was no longer flying through the material plane. I knew that sure as anything, recognizing the twisting roots I glided near as a gateway of some sort into other realms.

Glancing down at Damon, I was concerned to find him in the same state—golden aura around his body, yet he had not reversed in age as Elayina had the longer I flew her through Yggdrasil. The feather-light body in my arms radiated heat, showing no signs of life in his closed eyes or pursed lips.

“Stay with me, Damon,” I urged, not sure if he could hear me above the roar of the wind this high—or if he could hear anything at all.

Instead of guiding me east from the furthest roots, my conscience drove me ever higher, until the jungle of roots became a vertitable network I had to bob, weave, and dip around to avoid crashing into.

My wings felt steady here. Though I had little control over them, and little idea of what my powers were in Midgard, here, they were sturdy and strong. My brain didn’t have to speak to them like it did my other muscles—they simply were .

Peace swept over me as I blinked and noticed something past the tree, high upon a mountain peak cresting another layer of clouds. I had gone from ground, to clouds, to sky, to more clouds.

Have I crossed points into another world?

I gripped Damon tighter, carrying him with his knees bent over my left arm and neck draped over my right. The mountain was impossibly tall for how long I’d been traveling in the sky—no mere landscape of mortal design.

The sun was bright, joined by another smaller sun off in the distance. Reflections of the pillared structure at the summit of the mountain glinted on my armor, blurring my eyes.

There was a small plot of land in front of the structure, which I noticed as a temple of some kind—a long hall built of white stone and golden spires. It was ornate, resplendent, and I found myself smiling as I dropped down onto the grass and beat my wings twice to glide to a smooth landing.

To my right, across a glade of marble, sat a familiar chariot, ornately carved and elegant. I nodded at the two large cats standing guard at the chariot—Bygul and Trjegul, the steeds of goddess Freyja.

She was nowhere to be seen, and I assumed she waited in the temple ahead.

Up a flight of steps I walked with Damon still tight in my arms.

Huge double doors opened, the height of three men from end to end. A large figure appeared to stop my entrance. He was broad-shouldered, with a dark cloak and long white hair and beard. A patch covered one of his eyes.

Unlike Freyja, who had been naked yet holding golden-plated hunting armor ready to don, this man wore dark robes and looked more ready for bed than battle. He was scholarly, ancient, wizened. A wide-brimmed hat circled his face, shadowing his features. He leaned heavily on a golden staff, resting his chin on the pommel as two ravens circled overhead.

I nearly gasped at the sight of the man, stuttering to a stop near the top of the fifty or so steps. I knew who he was, because everyone would know who he was.

The door was open behind the deity, a golden light piercing through the veil of clouds this high in the mountains. I could hear laughter and revelry yet could see nothing past the man in the interior of the great hall.

Holding my brother’s soul in one arm, light as ever, I kneeled in front of the waiting wizard. “Allfather.” I bowed my head in reverence.

“Rise, child,” Odin said. His voice was deep, resonant, and commanding. “What has the chooser of the slain brought me?”

When I glanced up, I recognized Odin the Allfather as being taller than I’d expected when first ascending these steps. He was taller than any man, as a god ought to be, with my head barely rising above his stomach.

Despite his old age, he looked like he could snap me in two with hands the size of my torso. And jotnar are called giants? Gods above.

“We are the gods above,” he explained, reading my thoughts easily. “Have you not flown to Asgard before? To Valhalla?”

I shook my head. “No, Allfather. I’ve never seen its beauty. It is . . . transcendent.”

He grunted, glancing back over his shoulder. Though his face was serious, I saw mirth in his eyes, dancing. “Remember it well, child, for it may be the last time you see it for some time.”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean, Allfather?”

“We don’t receive many visitors these days. Times are troubled, and people’s souls are rotten more often than not.”

I swallowed hard, nodding.

“Would that I could let you in . . .” Odin added, trailing off. “Alas, it is not your time. This one, however?” He nudged his long beard toward my brother in my arms. “It is his time.”

Clenching my jaw, I shook my head. Odin reached out, yet I pulled back, holding Damon close against my chest.

“What’s this?” he asked, hesitating, his giant arm reaching out. “You deign to deny your Allfather another soldier?”

I blinked, and in a heartbeat his golden staff had shifted into a great spear with three prongs. Gungnir, the spear that never misses. Crafted by dwarfs, it’s said. His spear put mine to shame, of course.

“No, great Odin, but that is why I have come,” I explained quickly, careful not to draw anymore of Odin’s ire. “There has been a mistake.”

“There are no mistakes in death, child.”

“I wish to strike a bargain, in your infinite wisdom, to return Damon Halldan to Midgard. His work is not yet done.”

Odin’s nostrils flared, and I took a step back in fear.

“Now you would lie to an Asgardian? Unwise, child. My choosers of the slain do not dictate who they deliver, and who is ready.”

I opened my mouth to argue, fighting back tears.

The Allfather simply snapped his fingers and Damon was no longer in my grip. He was hovering in front of Odin, gold sheen radiant in the air.

Odin analyzed Damon for a long while, his lips firm. Then something caught his attention, with one of his sage ravens squawking overhead. Odin nodded to the bird, either Huginn or Muninn, “memory” or “thought.”

His face twisted with disgust. “This soul is tainted.” His godly voice grew angrier. “As so many are now. You would bring me a husk, child?”

“No!” I yelled, rushing to try and grab Damon from the air, but finding I could no longer touch him. My hand simply swept through his golden skin like he didn’t exist as more than a mirage. “Damon is not tainted, my lord. He was . . . misguided.”

“This man died with hate in his heart and darkness staining his soul. He does not belong in Valhalla.”

“No, please! He died in battle! He belongs here!”

“This man died a traitor to his own kin. I have no room for his kind in my host. Your heart led you here in folly, child.”

I croaked, trying to say something, stepping forward dumbly while shaking my head. “But—”

“My verdict is final and never wrong, valkyrie, now take him from here before the stink of him infects the rest of us!”

With a shove of his palm, Damon’s soul flew into my body and knocked me back. I stumbled, tumbling back down the stairs end-over-end, screaming yet feeling no pain as I held onto my brother.

I seemed to somersault for eons, until I realized I was no longer on the steps leading up to the temple. Clouds and radiant daylight exchanged places with crags of rock and dreary night.

After an indeterminate amount of time, I landed on level ground. Heaving, I stood, with Damon still latched onto my body, hugged in my arms. I looked all around me, noticing the skeletal iciness of this place—the gnarled trees, devoid of life; icicles sprouting up from flat ground that stretched to the horizons.

Fear filled me, chilling me to the bone.

I wanted to curse the gods, curse Odin for denying me and my brother, yet I didn’t trust myself enough to speak or think. Not if the Asgardians could hear my thoughts as if I’d spoken them.

I shut everthing off, drawing within myself.

“Sent down another lost soul, has he?”

I spun at the voice, gasping.

A woman stepped toward me through the field of ice and rock and lifelessness. She was tall like Odin yet hunched over like an old crone. Most alarming was her grim appearance—half her body blue and dead and rotting, while the other half remained beautiful, pristine, and pale. Terror took hold in my heart, squeezing tight.

She had a ghostly countenance and a decaying lower torso, showing me both sides of life and death in a single being. The expression on her face was one of anger, scowling through the pretty side of her half-dead mouth while rotted skin sagged from the skull of her other side.

Her hair swept the ground, discolored like Dagny’s, with a white mane sweeping down from the ugly dead side, and jet-black tendrils floating down the gorgeous side.

I bowed to her despite myself, trying to fight off the fear she represented, and failing.

“The Allfather has a way of striking the wrong chord, does he not?” she asked. “Even with his greatest host.” Her voice was a mix of croaking pain and elegant nobility. It was completely off-putting and lustful at the same time.

I found myself drawn toward her yet repulsed.

I no longer had to curse or pray to Hel, because she was standing right in front of me. I was in Niflheim, the underworld, pushed into the icy basement of the realms by Odin himself.

“The man in your arms, he belongs here,” Hel told me.

I looked down, shaking my head. “He does not—”

My voice ended on a whimper as I realized Damon no longer held the same golden sheen as before. Now, he was gray and withering in my arm. His skin was falling off his bones and muscles, and I screamed and dropped him.

Hel laughed in a croaking, distant fashion. “Scared, are you, child?”

I backed up, the fear becoming overwhelming as the goddess of the underworld neared me and bent down to hoist Damon up by the scruff of his hair.

“Take heart, child. You are not the first valkyrie to mistake your charge and bring them to Valhalla. And I daresay you won’t be the last.”

She was speaking to me in riddles, and I found myself shaking my head. “It was no mistake bringing him, my lady. Damon is my brother.”

“You shall not be attached to those you carry, kin or otherwise. It will make your duty easier.” She nodded succinctly. “Know that I will find good use for this one, however. Your efforts have not been in vain.”

She turned without another word, showing me the ragged robe of one side and the pristine white gown of her dual sides. Hel dragged my brother’s corpse behind her by the hair, creating grooves in the dirt where she walked.

“W-What will you do with him, my lady?” I called out, unable to stop myself. “Please, do not hurt him. He was hurt enough in life.”

She frowned, inclining her chin. “Damon Halldan will be given the same treatment every sick, lost soul is given in Niflheim, child. He will be given respite, board, and lodging, until such a time as he feels rested and hale. Then we shall see what use he is to me.”

I clenched my jaw, nodding. Respite and sleep doesn’t sound too bad.

“Indeed, child,” she answered my thoughts. “Now, do you not have your own realm to return you? Unless you’d like to join your brother . . .” She lifted his slack head in a morbid display.

I shook my head adamantly, backing up.

“The gods have been looking upon Midgard with great interest of late, eager to see how things play out with your new war.”

As always, the gods watch, while we fight. We had ever been the playthings of the gods, so it was said.

Hel gave me a sickly smile over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, child, the jotnar have always been savage, frustrating nuisances to the Vanir and Asgardians. You would do well to defeat them, lest you invoke the Allfather’s ire once more.”

I flared my nostrils, angry at how Odin had treated me and my brother. “Perhaps I wish for Odin’s ire, my lady.”

She cackled, her rictus smile widening. It was impossible to focus on either side of her face—the dead blue side or the beautiful living side. You had to look at Hel on the whole, and I thought I understood her better when I took her as more than the sum of her parts.

“I’ve enjoyed our banter,” she said. “I can see why you were chosen. Do well not to find yourself in your brother’s position anytime soon, aye? I would hate to see you here.”

Before I could answer, the world dimmed around me, blackness crowding my vision until Niflheim fell away, with the living-dead bent of Hel’s wicked grin echoing through my mind.