Valkyrie's Conquest

“Why does that matter?”

“Father likes things the way they are. We do nothing for our own personal glory. Our work is all about his army and nothing more.”

“But why does that matter to Father? What harm is there if someone sings of our triumphs or names their sword Sigrid?”

Sigrid folded her arms. “The Valkyries love no men except our father. Indeed, we do nothing unless it is in his name. I don’t think Father is about to let his devoted warrior maidens go. We are the last remnant of the old days, when being a god mattered.”

“But we could help him fight demons!”

“And someday we may have to.” Sigrid stopped walking and put her hand on Tyra’s shoulder. “But wait for him to give the command. He cannot stand disobedience.”

“I know that,” Tyra said defensively.

“You are his favorite. You’ve not seen that side of him,” Sigrid replied. “He punishes rebellion with a person’s greatest fear. Blindness. Hunger. The hot fangs of wolves. Whatever it is, Odin will use that terror to make an example of anyone who crosses him.”

Tyra had heard the tales, but hadn’t wanted to believe them. Defiance flared in her heart. It lasted a mere breath, but it left an ashy resentment in its wake. She’d never felt such a thing before. She put a hand over her stomach where the sick feeling lay. Something definitely had gone wrong when she’d collected Macdonald’s soul.

Unbidden, her mind darted away to Bron once more—which was pure madness. She was as forbidden to want him as she was to fight, even if she was a warrior and a woman. She was a reaper for her father’s army, nothing more.

Sigrid was watching her with a cool, speculative gaze. Tyra clenched her hand and tried to look normal. Now was the moment to speak up about these newfound feelings, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. They were hers, and she had an irrational need to protect them from Sigrid’s ice-blue eyes—or Odin’s wrath.

Tyra swallowed. “If there is no chance that Father will change his mind about riding to battle, then there is nothing more to say.”

“No,” said Sigrid. “There isn’t.”

The words slammed the topic shut. Tyra cleared her throat. “Then I have duties to attend to. I need to collect my assignment for tonight.” Without another word, she struck out across the meadow alone, leaving Sigrid where she stood.

Her path took her to the foot of a great tree that stood alone in the sea of waving grass. The branches reached so high there seemed to be no top. A huge cleft at the base formed a sort of cave, where a small fire burned even though it was the middle of the day. The tree-cave was actually a tiny house. Three old crones sat inside: one weaving, one spinning and one measuring and cutting the threads. They were the Norns, the three Fates who wove the future. They were also the ones who told the Valkyries which souls to reap.

The old women didn’t look up from their work as Tyra paused outside their dwelling. A tapestry lined the walls of the tiny home. One end hung unfinished, a mass of threads waiting on the loom to weave the future. The other end, the past, was so long that the fabric lay in piles along the floor—millions upon millions of threads begun and ended long before even the gods had been born. Though Tyra had seen the weaving many times, she could not help feeling awe.

Tyra fell to one knee, bowing her head low. “Greetings, honored mothers, I have come to receive my orders.”

As she waited, an image of a place formed in her mind. A dark alley. A door. Darkness. Without any effort on her part, Tyra knew when and where to wait for her next charge. “I shall obey.”

“If one thread goes unattended, others may tangle in unexpected ways.” The words came from inside her head, but she couldn’t tell which of the Norns had addressed her. None of the three crones so much as looked her way.

“I understand,” Tyra was deeply startled. The Norns almost never spoke directly to her. “I shall always do what is asked and keep the weaving pure.”

The same dry whisper replied inside her mind. “Indeed? The demons have their own dark threads in the tapestry. Their pattern has changed and become unpredictable. They make choices that alter the weave. That is within your power, also.”

Tyra heard the ring of truth in the words, but was unsure how to answer. Despite her conversation with Sigrid about riding to battle, changing the weave of Fate sounded far beyond a mere Valkyrie. “I am not so important. I change nothing”

There was a long pause before the next words. “Even a child can open a door. There is no telling what might walk through.”

“I am not a fool.”

“I hope not. Your thread anchors whatever picture comes next.”

Uncertainty swirled as if it were about to drag her down. The Norns had power even Odin feared. Could they somehow read the uncharacteristic emotions that had taken root in Tyra’s heart? Her whole body went cold, but she felt a touch of anger, too. She wasn’t ready to give up this new side of herself.

Still, she knew the right words. “I serve and obey.”

“Is that all?” The voice was bland. Somehow that was worse than if it had been dripping with scorn.

Tyra swallowed down foreboding. “What more would you have of me?”

“What you give the future is always your choice, Tyra of the Valkyries. There is no more truth than that. Now go and do your duty. Decide what that means.”

Chapter Three

Bron shouldered his way through the Friday night crowd. Bright light splashed from store windows, painting the passersby in garish brilliance. Giggling girls roved in packs, looking up from their smart phones to ogle him as he stalked by. Cars with thumping stereos slowed, the drivers plainly curious. Bron was taller than most humans, clearly something more than human, but few had any idea what he was.

Rebellion had freed the dragons from their controlling queen’s wrath. Still, his kind was rare and few left the isolation of their mountain home. Always more adventurous, Bron had seized the opportunity to explore the outside world. The mountains weren’t enough for him—he needed a whole world to test his wits and endurance. He loved what he found, loved learning the human way of speaking, their dress and customs and, most of all, their fierce independence. After a lifetime of rules, Bron was finally free and meant to stay that way.

Nevertheless, a demon invasion roused his interest. Just what was going on? Hellspawn were serious business, and Bron’s newfound freedom allowed him to indulge his curiosity. He’d played it cool when the Valkyrie had told him to mind his own business, but he was done taking orders—even from gorgeous women with swords and wings.

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