Rune Awakening

by Genevra Black

  Edie tried to mumble something in the affirmative. She wanted to get off the wolf, but she felt frozen in place.

  Satara raised a brow. “It takes getting used to, but it’s the fastest way to travel.” After a moment, she offered Edie a hand.

  It took Edie a few moments to pry herself from the wolf and hop down, shuddering the whole way. Her legs felt like Jell-O. From behind her, there was a mighty surge of wind—it smelled horrible, like blood and gore—and when she glanced back, the wolf was gone, teleported away in the red haze from which it had come.

  Still shaking, she reached into her shoulder bag and checked her phone for the time. Mercy wouldn’t be home until late that night, and Satara had been adamant that they visit Astrid as soon as possible. They had a lot to tell her, not the least of which was that they’d totally failed to secure an alliance with Tiralda—an alliance that had, according to Satara, been pretty much assured.

  Leave it to me to fuck up an ancient contract, Edie thought as they walked the couple feet to Astrid’s shop.

  It was only early afternoon by now, barely 1:30, and Shipshaven’s shopping district was relatively busy. The establishments surrounding the valkyrie’s corner shop were folksy—an ice cream shop, an independent shoe store, a comic book place, some cafes—but they all had a modern quality about them. They all looked new, well-cared for, nicely-appointed. Among them, Astrid’s loomed like a dark, ancient oak in a forest of saplings. In the daylight, Edie could finally make out the sign: Harbinger Tome and Trinket. There was a little carving of a raven holding a key, and under that: books, gifts, magic.

  She looked over at Satara, who had stopped to wait by the door while she took the place in. Her gorget shone like liquid in the mid-day sun, and her dark brown eyes were curious, watching Edie. If any of the passersby thought she looked strange, with her intricately braided hair and feather-trimmed leathers, they didn’t show it. Edie gripped the strap of her bag and glanced around.

  As if reading her mind, Satara said, “Most of the people here know me. Shipshaven doesn’t get many unattuned tourists.”

  Edie looked back. “You live here, too?” For some reason, the thought had never occurred to her—that Satara would live with Astrid.

  She smiled slightly, though it didn’t quite reach her inquisitive gaze. “I’ve lived here for a while.” She looked up at the shop’s sign. “I came to Astrid when I was sixteen, to follow the path my family laid out for me.”

  “Path?”

  “I am human,” she said quietly, “but those of us who still follow the gods, who have knowledge of the truth around us, or have powers, rarely adhere to human governments—mostly by keeping isolated and secret. I was born of a sect of Freyja’s followers, my ancestors all great warriors and scholars. But the elders there convinced my parents that I was meant to serve the goddess more directly, perhaps become one of her daughters one day. So, I became a shieldmaiden. I’ve been training for years.” After a moment, she added, “It meant honor for all of us.”

  Yikes. It didn’t sound like she should be very honored to Edie. To be honest, it sounded medieval, giving your child away to some “greater” cause. And, finally, it explained why Satara didn’t like her much: she’d been sitting right there, for years, yet Astrid had chosen someone as clueless as Edie to become the Reacher, instead of her.

  Speaking of which, Edie was going to have to talk to Astrid about that. She hadn’t agreed to lead anything. She looked at Satara, brows drawn tight. No freaking wonder things had been so tense between them.

  “You have questions,” Satara observed with a sigh, “but they can wait. Come on.” She adjusted the shield over her shoulder and opened the ancient front door to the shop. Chimes tinkled softly as she passed through.

  Edie followed close behind, but took one last look behind her, out at the cobbled streets of the shopping lane. How many of the humans milling around were like Satara, revering the Norse gods like it was the most natural thing in the world, like their existence was indisputable fact? How many of them followed the laws of blood and honor instead of the ones Edie had known all her life?

  Why hadn’t Dad prepared her for any of this?

  She stepped through the great, old door and shut it softly behind her.

  Satara was already on her way toward the back of the shop, but Edie was struck by how different it looked in the daytime, when it was open. It was still cramped, the air still heavy with incense, but it was bright now. A blond girl about Edie’s age was rearranging the display of iron jewelry she’d noticed the other night, an orange tabby slept on the worn sales counter, and a smaller gray cat lorded over a nearby stack of large, cracked tomes.

  It was weird to see the shop like this, so full of life. It had seemed so ancient and forbidden the first time she’d visited it. Now, it was just a cute little bookshop.

  Edie passed a display case full of crystals, briolette pendants, geodes, and jewelry made of animal bones (or what she hoped were animal bones) before something stopped her. The feeling of being watched suddenly crept up, raising the hairs at the back of her neck, and she turned to confront whoever was staring at her.

  Between two bookcases stood a tall, thin cabinet. Within were rows of small statues, each unique—some carved in wood or marble, others cast in iron or steel. Edie watched them warily for a moment before glancing around. There wasn’t a soul still in the room besides the salesgirl, who now had her back to Edie.

  Her gaze slowly shifted back to the cabinet.

  One wooden statue in particular drew her eye: a tall, faceless woman in robes, carrying a spear and shield similar to Astrid’s, if more intricate. The statue was carved in detail, right down to the rivets in the shield, on which was etched a tree with ample boughs, its roots flowing downward and twisting in a never-ending knot that fed into itself. Edie could make out the smallest detail in the trim of the figure’s robe—but still no face.

  Somehow, it was like the statue was … watching her.

  She crossed to the cabinet, hesitating before picking the figurine up. It was only about the length of her hand, and she turned it over, examining it from all angles. When she tipped it and looked at the bottom, she found ancient runes circling a geometric pattern: three vertical lines with several diagonal ones latticing them from the left and right.

  Wonder what it means. She’d have to ask Satara later.

  Another wave of apprehension hit her, and she shivered. She’d had enough of waves for a lifetime, and there was something so familiar about the grip of this feeling—like undertow.

  Someone was watching her, and not only that, but they’d been trying to grab her attention. Righting the figurine, Edie glared at where its face should have been.

  The feeling faded. Now she was just a weirdo glaring at a statue.

  “Edith?” It was Astrid’s voice, calling her from the back room, and it almost made her jump out of her skin.

  “Coming,” she called back, and hesitated at returning the figurine to the shelf. She stopped, gripped it in her fist instead, and brought it with her to the back of the shop.

  When Edie entered, Satara was already sitting on the coarse carpet in front of the fireplace, sipping something from a wooden cup. Astrid’s back was to them, her hands shaking as she mounted the shield and spear back on the wall.

  The two younger women exchanged glances; Satara gave Edie a warning look, and Edie blinked.

  Astrid didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. She finished mounting the weapons and moved to the nearby range, clearly seething. Edie had never heard such an aggressive silence.

  Astrid banged a wooden spoon on the rim of the water pot a little too loud. Edie grimaced, but Satara sat still, looking into the fire. Her face was hard; she looked frustrated—and bored, like she was tired of this old song and dance. With dread, Edie realized Astrid must be angry more often than not. And an angry valkyrie didn’t sound particularly fun to hang out with.

  Maybe Edie couldn’t blame Astrid. She
’d be pissed off, too, if one of her oldest friends had broken a promise to stick by her side.

  Or maybe, Edie thought with a sigh, she’d understand. Mercy already knew she was lying to her about something. How long would it be before they had another, bigger fight? How long could their friendship continue if Edie was forced to constantly gaslight her best friend?

  Their friendship wasn’t perfect. That was a given. Mercy had always been a little too cool, too grown up, too successful. She had always carried herself with the sort of confidence that made Edie wonder if she even deserved to be in Mercy’s presence. It wasn’t a good feeling.

  But there were good things, too—great things that outweighed those feelings a thousand times over. Mercy had always looked out for her and had her back, and Edie had done the same in return. They’d made each other laugh, lightened each other’s spirits, knew things about one another that no one else did. Edie couldn’t count how many times her best friend had held her while she cried, had stroked her hair when she was tired, or held it back for her when she was sick; she couldn’t count the number of times she’d done the same in return.

  Mercy deserved to know. About all of this. The alternative was cutting Mercy out of her life completely. Could Edie even do that after everything they’d been through? Could she hurt Mercy like that, without explanation?

  Mercy had to know. And not just for her sake, either. The lies, the worry…. The thought of never telling her was killing Edie.

  Either way, she might lose her.

  She looked to Astrid, watching the valkyrie as she roughly chopped more herbs for tea. Astrid was old—probably really old. How many friends did she have left? Edie was willing to bet it wasn’t many, stuck in a dead faction that seemed to contain only her and her shieldmaiden.

  Astrid’s back was still to the room, but the silence was becoming oppressive. Edie cleared her throat and finally said, “I’m … really sorry.”

  Astrid stopped in the middle of chopping, one strong hand tightening on the wooden handle of the knife. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to speak when the centuries-old ghostly spirit of death was holding a sharp implement. Edie shifted from foot to foot, hugging her leather jacket closer. Was it just her imagination or had the room gotten colder despite the fire?

  “What did she say,” Astrid finally replied, her voice a growl as she scooped herbs from her cutting board and dumped them in the pot on the range.

  Edie glanced to Satara, but she was just looking at the fire and nursing her tea. All right. So Edie would have to explain this one without backup. She probably deserved that. “She said that, uh…. Well, she kind of said things had changed, I guess, and she’d already agreed to go with Marius—”

  “Marius!” the valkyrie hissed.

  Edie tried not to gulp audibly. “She pretty much said that something was happening with the Gloaming and she wanted to be on the winning side.” It seemed understandable enough to Edie, even if it was a total dick move.

  Astrid slammed her palm against the range. If it burned her, she didn’t seem to notice or care. “Oath-breaker!” she snarled.

  She turned sharply toward Edie, who caught a glimpse of the strange blue power that sometimes revealed itself behind the eyes of the dead. When they had first met, Edie had been intimidated by Astrid. Who wouldn’t be? But now, with her gaze pinning her where she stood, with the chill in the air, she felt … frightened. The being standing before her was older and probably more powerful than she could possibly imagine, and she’d just pissed it off.

  “She will fail,” the valkyrie said icily. “She and the order she’s now pledged herself to will fail and die where they lay, like animals, on their battlefield.”

  Okay, then. Edie took a breath and finally dared to glance away once Astrid turned back to her boiling water. “What do we do now?”

  “Nothing.” Astrid slammed a wooden cup against the sideboard and poured her mixture in. Boiling water sloshed out of the cup and over her fingers, and Edie could see her skin turn red under the scalding water, but Astrid didn’t so much as flinch.

  “What do you mean, ‘nothing?’ ”

  “If the Aurora think they can win this war, so be it. If they do, they will conquer everything just as surely as the Gloaming, and eradicate every being they deem unfit to live. If that is of no concern to my friends or my gods, then let it be. When they are crying for help, when the Aurora comes for them, they will finally understand.”

  Edie was stunned for a moment. Words passed her lips without consulting her brain: “You can’t be serious?”

  “Why should I help those who don’t help themselves?”

  She looked to Satara. The shieldmaiden had turned her head, too, and was watching Astrid with an expression like she had just cut her: raw hurt and confusion. For once, her expression held back nothing; she looked truly speechless.

  Even though she’d only met Satara twenty-four hours ago, Edie felt her hurt keenly. If there was one thing she could understand—pretty well, lately—it was what it felt like to be disappointed by a parental figure.

  Edie looked back, a new flame sparking in her chest. What the hell was Astrid thinking, just giving up after all these years? After pulling others into it and putting them in danger? “No. That’s … that’s dumb.”

  Astrid growled.

  “You can’t just say ‘to hell with it’ and give up after everything— after everything you’ve put me through. After everything you’ve put Satara through!” she added, exasperated, thinking about what the shieldmaiden had told her as they stood outside the shop.

  “I’m tired,” Astrid said, turning with a cold warning in her eyes.

  The flames in Edie’s chest jumped higher, licking her heart. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair at all. “Sure! Who wouldn’t be? You’ve probably been doing this for decades now, limping along with only a couple people in the stupid Reach. But then what was the point of all this? Of getting a new shieldmaiden after my dad died? What, did you just want someone to yell at and boss around?”

  From the corner of her eye, Edie saw Satara look up at her sharply. She rose, too, still holding her tea cup close, and focused Edie with a look that told her, that’s between me and Astrid, so drop it.

  Edie gritted her teeth. “And if you’re going to give up, what was the point of dragging me into this and trying to make me the leader of something I’m totally clueless about? My life can never go back to the way it was. You’re just going to make my whole world a smoking pile of garbage and then leave? And what about Cal?”

  Poor Cal. Oh, god.

  “He ran all the way across the freaking country, and you know why he stayed? You know why he even bothered to bring me here in the first place?”

  Her voice was growing louder, and she could see that Astrid was growing angrier, but Edie stood her ground.

  “Because of you! And when it turned out you needed our help, he stuck around, because he was your friend and he cares about how all of this ends up. Whatever the fuck this is.”

  Satara fixed Astrid with her stare this time. “You’re not the only one who’s tired.”

  Edie gestured in her direction with an open palm. “Yeah! Cal was basically a slave, and you never did anything to help him, and he still decided to help, and he still likes you because he believes in you. And you don’t remotely deserve it!”

  She was probably making up half of this. Who knew why Cal did anything he did? Edie had gotten to know him okay in the past few days, and she’d grown to like him, but he was still pretty much a mystery.

  It didn’t matter, though. What she’d said seemed to resonate with Astrid. With her own cup held in both hands, the valkyrie sank down on a nearby chair, staring at the steam as it rose from her tea. Her eyes were glassy, nothing angry slithering behind them now. She really did look tired.

  For a second, Edie felt kind of bad for yelling at her. But only for a second.

  “It’s just been so long,” the valkyrie finally said, bro
ws knit tightly as her gaze traced the wooden incense holder on the table next to her—a serpent. What had she called it? Jörmundgandr. Son of Loki. “And I am so old. There are times when every day feels like the last day of the Reach, and I wonder why I ever bothered.”

  That didn’t make sense to Edie. Why would helping people, keeping them safe, be a waste of time? Maybe she’d feel the same way if she were immortal. Maybe Astrid didn’t even see humans as … well, human … anymore.

  “You’re still here,” Edie said, her voice still shaking with anger,

  Astrid exhaled hard through her nose and met her gaze. “And so are you. And you are so much like your father.”

  Compulsive pride clashed with embarrassment, anger, unease. A couple of days ago, she would have taken that as high praise. Now, she wasn’t sure what to say. Physical discomfort lanced through her gut like nausea. Edie wasn’t even able to mumble a thank-you; she just looked away, mouth tight.

  “You’re right,” Astrid finally said. “The loss of Tiralda is painful and unforeseen. But we are still here.” She paused for a moment, thinking, before she set her wooden cup aside and rose to cross to where her desk had been a couple of days previous. Now everything that had sat on top of it was stacked haphazardly: books resting on the windowsill, loose papers and trinkets thrown into ratty cardboard boxes, a pen or sticky note or sheet of paper on the floor here and there.

  The two younger women watched the valkyrie as she took a small, leather-bound book from the windowsill and began to flip through it.

  “You’re thinking of someone else?” Satara asked, brows drawn together. Edie looked between them. It must be some sort of address book.

  “I’ll have to consider. Tiralda has a very specific set of powers that I was hoping we could utilize. I will have to find someone who would do just as well.”

  “We could try scrying for someone now,” the shieldmaiden suggested, her eyes bright, energy renewed now that there was some chance of making things right.