Dead Embers (7 page)

Across the field from us, Fen's retreating form wended its
way between sparring, mud-splattered Warriors and Valkyries. Joshua wrenched
his eyes away from the Ulfr general and asked, "You still pissed at
him?"

I narrowed my eyes at Joshua. "About what?"

"Hey, news travels. We heard about your little flying
accident."

I swatted at him again, and he ducked neatly. "It was
no accident," I snapped, bouncing low on my knees, waving the sword around
and testing its weight in my hand.

Joshua watched me and did the same. "Guess he had his
reasons."

"Yeah." I swept the sword in a wide arc toward
Joshua, and he deflected it. The collision of our weapons sent jarring
vibrations shuddering up my arm. "But what if he'd been wrong?"

"But he wasn't." Joshua thrust his sword straight
at me; I parried. "You have to stop dwelling on it, you know. He knows
what he's doing."

I swung at my friend so hard he didn't try to block the
blow, just backpedalled out of reach of the deadly bite of my blade. "I
wonder if he would've been so sure of himself if it all went horribly wrong and
I'd ended up splattered across the bottom of the ravine," I said, my
memories still icy and bitter.

"You know, I still can't get used to it." Joshua
snorted. "He's
the
Fenrir. The legend come true. But he isn't half
as terrifying as the myths." A slight quaver in his voice made me suspect
Joshua was trying to convince himself.

I'd seen Fen transform and wanted to tell Joshua how wrong
he was, and that Fen could be bloody terrifying when he wanted to be. The words
hovered on the tip of my tongue. But then my mind traveled to that dark night
when I had to perform my first Warrior Retrieval as a newly made Valkyrie. I'd
always be grateful for Fen's sensitivity to the horrible fact that I'd had to retrieve
Aidan's corpse. A wave of shudders ran through me like an army of ravenous
maggots, the memory still so vivid in my mind's eye. Aidan's body lying beside
a lonely Craven stream for days, his grey forehead marred by a close-range
gunshot wound, the blackened mouth of ravaged flesh staring like a ghoulish
third eye.

I shivered again, shoved the thought out of my head, and
avoided the tip of Joshua's sword by a hairsbreadth.

"Hey! Pay attention, you idiot," Joshua yelled,
his face flushing at my close call.

"Sorry. Was thinking about something."

"Yeah? Well, here's something to think about. Keep your
head in the game, or you just might lose that head." He raised an eyebrow,
as if daring me to admit he could beat me. "I could have killed you."

"Just try." I grunted, gripped my sword tighter,
knuckles white and taut, and concentrated. He had a point. I had to focus. Get
my head screwed back on straight.

Soon our blades were flying; they flashed and clanged
together, the smooth metal catching and reflecting the weak sunlight. Sweat
trickled from Joshua's brow as I drove him to avoid each thrust and counter
each parry with every last bit of strength he possessed.

He squinted and stepped back again to catch his breath.

"Come on, Warrior. Is that all you've got?" I
grinned.

He snorted. "Bring it, Valkyrie. Show me what
you
got!"

We sparred a while longer. I tried to hold back, to temper
my blows, but a cold and unfamiliar need rose within me, one with an
inexplicably vicious edge. An edge so sharp it cut deeper into me, only to
reveal more of this insane, unrelenting need. The visceral energy surged
through my arms as I fought, pushing me to expend it all, daring me to complete
the thrusts I held back. I wanted to let loose real bad. Go berserk. I gripped
the pommel of my sword, gritted my teeth and continued the swordplay. Sweat
dotted my forehead—not from physical exertion but from my silent battle of
wills with this inner warrior that I wasn't so sure I liked or wanted around.

The force of the unquenchable need still bubbling inside me
was enough to almost knock Joshua to the ground. His eyes widened, surprised,
as he stepped back a few paces and regained his balance.

Had my anger at Freya and Astrid awakened a different side
of my nature? Or had the hurt of Fen's betrayal stirred my rage so much that I
now teetered on the verge of wanting to kill my best friend?

Each time our swords clashed, the power inside me surged,
overwhelming. My peripheral vision clouded, darkening and bringing Joshua into
razor-sharp, clear view in front of me.

Joshua as a target.

Joshua as prey.

Our swords clattered against each other again, and I jumped
back, anger flooding my senses. I swung around, so coldly aware of the gap
Joshua left open, a gap I could so easily penetrate. I aimed straight at his
left ribs, below the elbow, straight into his abdomen . . . and yet I stopped,
even as my sword lunged.

Without thinking, I spun and kicked his legs out from under
him. My sword moved as if wielded by another's hand and sliced through the air
where Joshua's belly had been only moments ago. I saw everything in slow
motion: his knees bending, his body tipping back, fingers loosening as the
heavy sword spun out from his hand—even the tiny droplets of mud spattering as
he landed in the black muck.

I watched my hand and my sword as they swooped as one,
smooth and fluid, like cutting through butter. The bleak light caught the sharp
edge of the blade again and it glistened, almost winking at me.

My sword swooped toward Joshua's bare neck. Blood thundered
in my ears, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I blinked and strained
against the flood of ice in my veins. And somehow I stopped the sword just as
its point entered his neck, piercing the skin and releasing a glistening drop
of ruby blood.

A shudder wracked my body, wrapping me in a fist of violent
shivers. I fought the wild energy pulsing through me, damming it somewhere
deep, somewhere dark inside me. My lids drifted closed . . . and when I opened
them again, the roiling torrent of cold power that had bared its teeth in
threat against my friend now simmered somewhere deep inside me, an invisible,
lurking evil. My lungs twisted, forcing air in and out, but I paid no attention
to mere bodily functions. The visceral violence inside me now thinned to a
stream, a trickle that I could control.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Joshua thrust
himself off the ground, mud plastering his hands. His eyes glittered with raw
anger, an anger just a breath short of violent only because it was also laced
with disappointment.

I stumbled, my sword falling into the slick dark mud at my
feet. Horror at what I'd almost done drained the last dregs of the cold energy
from my muscles, leaving my limbs frozen in the wake of that strange,
unflinching violence.

"Bryn!" he yelled, still fuming, still waiting for
my response, but his words quavered, distorted, as if he spoke under water.

Our eyes met. His furious, mine confused and hazy.

In that moment I knew one thing about myself I'd never known
before.

Somewhere inside me lived a killer.

I blinked back the tears, swallowed the solid ache in the
back of my throat. Something was seriously wrong with me. Something that lay
coiled within me like a snarling serpent. I shuddered at the memory of what I'd
just done.

Joshua backed away, and the shocked, angry look in his eyes
cut deeper into me than the sharpest edge of a sword. I'd only nicked him, had
only drawn a thin, accusatory line of blood, but the damning truth was I'd
barely restrained myself from doing much, much worse. I didn't know how I'd
ever forgive myself—and from the way Joshua turned his back and stomped off, I
wasn't sure he'd ever forgive me either.

No way could I concentrate on training after almost killing
my best friend. I stared after him, dazed, guilt and anger and a tremulous fear
swirling in the turmoil of my mind. The other sparring teams hadn't taken much
notice of my berserker rage, and I wanted to leave before anyone asked
questions.

I bent to retrieve my sword, now slick with mud. Appropriate
that the gleaming weapon of the Valkyrie Brunhilde was now unrecognizable
beneath a layer of black slush. As I straightened, wanting desperately to get
the sword clean, a glint of metal on the muddy ground caught my attention. I squatted
again to inspect the small shiny thing and almost choked with shock.

My Glasir leaf sat there, half-submerged in the dark muck.
Instinctively my hand, caked with mud, went straight to my neck. And found it
bare. Another casualty in the war with my inexplicable rage. I grasped the
muddied leaf and searched the area for the leather thong. No surprise that it
was nowhere to be found.

Tired and unhappy, I wandered away from the training field.
No one tried to stop me. No one said a word.

I barely noticed where my feet took me, lost in a maelstrom
of confusion and self-loathing. Dimly, I registered the sounds of the village
below Odin's Hall and the cacophony of the smithy. My troubled mind, or perhaps
just plain dumb luck, had directed me to Njall's workshop.

I stopped before Njall's door, and only then did I remember
the gleaming object cradled in my right hand. I uncurled my fingers, the
whitened knuckles reluctant to unfold.

Within my palm lay the Glasir leaf, given to me by the
blessed Rowan tree that guarded Valhalla. The tree gave leaves only to those
who deserved it, according to Sigrun. I doubted I deserved any kind of
blessing. A tiny part of me wanted to crush the leaf. Crush it and fling it
into the field beyond the stone wall.

I sucked in a ragged breath and curbed the urge. Whatever
I'd been gripped by, wherever that unsolicited burst of violence came from, I
refused to let it control me. It wasn't me. I had to learn to control it, and I
knew just the person who could help.

Njall's door loomed a few steps ahead of me, top half open,
the workshop emitting its usual skin-searing heat. I reveled in it, shoving the
bottom half open and searching the semi-darkness for Njall's bulk. I didn't
have to wait long.

"Ah, Brynhildr." He stomped forward and grabbed me
in a breath-squashing bear hug. For the first time since my horrible fight with
Joshua, my mood lightened. I grinned as he set me back on my feet. "To
what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Brynhildr?"

I opened my hand and revealed the leaf. It glistened in the
ambient firelight, except for the veined grooves, which were filled with mud.
Njall scowled, his great moustache wriggling with displeasure.

"What happened to it?" he growled.

I blinked, surprised. Why had his demeanor gone from cheerful
to cheerless? Had I done something to make him angry?

"Was it my workmanship?" He bowed his head.
"I do apologize, Brynhildr. I will understand if you are unhappy with my
work."

Suddenly I understood. I touched his elbow to reassure him.
"No, no, the string must have snapped in the middle of a sparring session.
It was entirely my fault."

The lines on Njall's forehead smoothed, and I smiled at him.
"I just need you to make it into a brooch or something. I'm not really
sure what. Just so that it doesn’t fly off me again. I'd hate to lose it."
Weeks ago Njall had been the one to drill a tiny hole into the leaf so I could
wear it as a necklace.

Now he picked the fragile piece up in his huge, fat fingers.
Truly amazing that he actually created such intricate metalwork with those
sausage-like digits. I waited, my heart knocking against my chest, as he rubbed
his thumb over the leaf and walked toward a wooden bucket. He rinsed and dried
the leaf, then strode to the open fire, still too quiet for my comfort.

He picked up a long pincer-like tool and gripped the leaf
with one pointy end. Then he thrust it to the fire.

I inhaled, shocked, terrified he'd melt the little leaf; my
special gift would dribble all over the hot coals.

I opened my mouth, about to shout, "No!" but my
lips had barely parted when he yanked the leaf away from the fire and laid it
onto the end of a metal rod. Then he used a pair of metal pliers to bend the
leaf around the rod. I didn't breathe.

Just watched.

At last he sighed, a sound plump with satisfaction. He
twisted his generous bulk to face me, sweat gleaming on his ham-sized forearms,
a proud cheery grin on his round, reddened face, and held the leaf out to me.

For one horrible instant, I knew I'd been right and he'd
destroyed my precious leaf. Then I saw what he'd done.

Beautiful.

I picked the leaf off Njall's palm and rolled it onto the
tip of my finger. The golden leaf was now a golden ring. I’d never once
imagined the leaf in the form of a ring. A brooch or an earring, maybe. A
ring—no.

And yet it worked. I slipped the ring onto my finger and
found it slid on smoothly, a perfect fit, curling around the digit as if it
belonged there.

***

My pleasure with my shiny new leaf-ring provided a little
distraction from the debacle with Joshua. Until almost three hours later, when
a Huldra brought me a note, summoning me to a council of Valkyries, Warriors
and Ulfr.

We gathered in a small hall I hadn't been to before. The
runes carved into the door declared that the room belonged to Fenrir, son of
Loki. I entered in silence, finding a seat without drawing too much attention.

Joshua was there. We hadn't spoken yet, not since that
horrible moment when I'd gone all multiple-personality on him and almost sliced
him in half.

Laughter rang around me, but the sound barely penetrated the
fog in my mind—the cold, bleak fog of fear and self-recrimination. My sword
hand shivered, and I tucked it under the table, hoping no one had noticed. My
eyes flitted over the scout team gathered to discuss whatever topics scout teams
discussed: Fen and Sigrun, Aimee and Mika, and various Ulfr I knew only by
sight.