by Bec McMaster
The shower of Chaos sparks stopped hissing, and were blown away harmlessly across the snow. Ishtar looked down at the cloak Tormund held, and he took a careful step toward her, talking all the while.
Moving ever so slowly, he draped his cloak around Ishtar’s shoulders.
The vortex trailed into a wisp of wind, lashings of Chaos magic sparking across the snow. Bryn’s jaw fell open as Tormund slowly wrapped his cloak around the princess.
“You’re safe now,” he told her, tying the cloak under her chin with bloodied hands. “Nobody will hurt you. You’re safe. Safe.”
He kept repeating the word, as if Ishtar might come to understand it if he said it often enough. Those huge hands came to rest upon Ishtar’s shoulders, and the Chaos died in her eyes as she looked up into his face. The winds vanished. The magic died. There was nothing but a bare, windswept circle where the vortex had hissed. For a second Ishtar looked like a young girl, confused to find herself amidst the wreckage of this snow-swept cliff.
Oh. Bryn sat back on her heels.
He tamed the rage with a kind touch, soft words, and a warm cloak.
The world was filled with such silence. Snowflakes drifted down out of the gray skies. Behind the pair of them, Bryn could see Sirius and Marduk pushing to their feet from where the storm had battered them. She hadn’t even seen them arrive.
And beyond them, a dark-haired Keeper nocking an arrow to his bow.
It felt like the world slowed down. Bryn lifted her arm to cry a warning, her heart slamming into her throat. “Tormund!”
His head jerked toward her, and then he turned to stare into the path of the arrow’s flight.
It was like watching fate unfold.
Tormund jerked the princess out of the way of the arrow, shoving himself into its path. Of course he fucking did.
Even as she watched, Vadim drew his bow.
She’d never reach Vadim in time.
She couldn’t reach Tormund.
Bryn staggered to her feet, clasping her hands together as she tried to summon the weapon that had long forsaken her. Please, oh please, oh please…. Grant me strength, Great Odin. Desperation swept the veils from her mind’s eye. Suddenly she could feel an immense force quivering through her. A god turning his focus upon a once-loyal servant. Power trembled through her, almost searing her from the inside out—the ability to summon pure lightning dancing from her fingertips.
Lightning lashed from the sky, striking toward the dreki warrior. Illarion stepped forward, deflecting the strike with his own elemental magics.
It was all she could do to summon one bolt, and even that left her on her knees, gasping for breath.
But it was too late.
As she lifted her head, she saw Vadim’s arrow fly true.
Bryn followed the path of the arrow, the world slowing down to a breathless second as it arced through the air.
“No!” she screamed as the arrow sank into his chest, driving through the weak leather body armor he wore.
The sound it made would echo in her memory forever.
“Tormund!”
He staggered back in shock, the cloak falling from his nerveless hand. Startled brown eyes met hers, as if, even in that moment, he couldn’t help look for her.
I will be your shield. I will be your axe. I will be the one to watch you sleep.
But who had ever been his shield?
The scream that tore from her lips crashed across the world as all of her old fury rose. But she was helpless to do anything but watch as the man she loved slowly toppled backward like a felled oak.
Ishtar screamed, and the winds whipped up around her again, more violent than ever before. And then she vanished, her magic inking out so swiftly that it left shocks of after-image in Bryn’s eyes.
Sprinting up the hill, Bryn slid to her knees at his side.
No, no, no. Her heart skipped a beat when he gasped in a sharp breath. Still breathing. But her eyes saw the damage, even as her trembling hands clamped around the shaft of the arrow.
No mortal man could survive this.
There was blood everywhere, and his chest heaved as he tried to suck in a breath, a terrible wheeze whining through his gaping mouth.
“Damn it.” Sirius slid to her side, his hands trying to stem the blood flow. “What happened?”
“We have to cut it out of him.” The words were hers. And they were cold and distant, as though another voice spoke them.
Sirius looked up.
And in that moment, she saw all her fears coalesce into being.
“No,” she spat. “No! I will not have it! I will not let him die! Heal him!”
“I can’t,” he told her grimly. “The arrow’s lodged right next to his heart. The second we remove it, he’ll die. I won’t be able to heal him in time.”
“B-bryn.” Tormund’s hand closed around hers. His chest wheezed, but he tried to squeeze her hand.
Hot tears almost blinded her. “You fool. You stupid fool. Why?”
Because he was the shield that guarded the weak.
She dashed the tears from her eyes. She could feel his grip getting weaker, hear the rasp of his breath. All those years trying not to let herself feel anything, and he had slipped beneath her guard when she wasn’t looking.
“Don’t you leave me,” she whispered fiercely. “Not when I’ve only just started to love you. Don’t you dare leave me!”
She channeled all her fury and rage into that moment, stirring the air, feeling the storm brewing both within her and without.
The very air vibrated.
And Sirius gasped.
“Odin Allfather,” she prayed, “please spare this man. For he is a warrior like no other.”
But great warriors were taken for Valhalla.
They were not given renewed breath or life.
They were not spared.
She could feel the implacable mercy of the god sweep over her.
The world froze.
And out of the lightning stepped a figure, burnished armor gleaming and the light refracting back off her round shield. Her blonde hair was pulled back off her face in dozens of braids, and a ruff of fur shielded her shoulders. The Valkyrie strode forward with a relentless step, her blue eyes flashing lightning and her swan-like wings gleaming.
Of course.
Ragnhild.
Tormund had been the most valiant of the valiant. A man who swore his shield to the protection of others. A man who laughed into the face of death.
He had fallen whilst trying to protect a dreki princess.
All the world would know of his name and sing it in songs until the end of time.
Of course a Valkyrie would come for him.
Bryn scrambled to her feet, drawing her sword as she stared at the sister she had once pledged to love. “You cannot take him.”
Ragnhild curled her lip with a sneer. “And who are you to stop me? You are the Honorless. The Betrayer. You besmirch this brave man’s ending with your presence.”
Bryn glared at her sister over the length of her sword.
Memories tumbled through her mind’s eye. She saw the pair of them grappling. Laughing. Wrestling in the grass, as they prepared for their final trials. She saw the snaking tattoo that wove down Ragnhild’s arm, the one she had put there herself.
“Forever sisters,” they both whispered as they clasped hands.
“Back to back, until the day we fall in Ragnarök.”
And for the first time, she felt no shame.
“You cannot have him,” Bryn said in a quieter, firmer voice. “This man is my own. And I will not let anyone take him from my side, whether they be god or Valkyrie.”
“That is not for you to decide.”
“Yes, it is,” she whispered, suddenly seeing a way. Slicing her palm along the edge of the sword, she clutched at the falcon pendant around her neck. “I ask Freyja for mercy. Blessed Freyja, please accept my sacrifice. My… my immortality for this man’s life.”
; The ground began to shake beneath them, and lightning split the skies.
“Freyja accepts,” the older Valkyrie said. “Your powers for your mortal’s life.”
It wasn’t just the sacrifice of her power that Ragnhild was asking of Bryn.
This would mean the closing of the gates of Valhalla to her, once and for all. It would mean the end of all her hopes that she could ever go home. No more could she call the Valkyrie sisters.
She would never see her mother’s grave.
And she thought of all she’d suffered since she was cast down.
Not once had her sisters comforted her. You are unworthy, they had said, and turned their back upon her.
Every day for the last hundred years she’d striven to prove herself. She’d toiled through blood, sweat, and her own tears to be deemed worthy. And for what? She saw in her sister’s eyes the disgust, the sneer curling her lips. No matter what Bryn did, she would never regain her former place in Odin’s halls.
Indeed, she could barely remember what it even felt like to ride the lightning.
No. What filled her heart now wasn’t the desire to be a god’s servant, ruthless and fierce, but the sensation of falling asleep in her gentle giant’s arms. The way Tormund’s voice had softened when he’d told her that his mother would like her had made her heart soar. And the quiver of fury that rumbled in his chest as he promised to be her axe and her shield had been the quiet roar that stilled all her doubts.
All these years of longing to return to her home, and in the end, it wasn’t even a choice.
This time, she would be his shield.
“I choose him,” Bryn said fiercely, her eyes hot. “I choose Tormund.”
And Ragnhild’s face closed over. “So be it,” she said.
Time sped up, the heat of the lightning strike slamming into Tormund’s chest. Bryn screamed as the arc of the bolt went through her, searing every nerve in her body. She came to, splayed across his body, her head resting on his chest.
The Valkyrie was gone.
And so too was the whip of energy that filled Bryn’s veins. As she lifted her trembling hands, she saw the glow subside, leaving her skin pale and freckled and… mortal.
But his heart was beating again.
Twenty-Six
“Where did Ishtar go?” Marduk demanded.
Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat as the big man started breathing again. Thank the gods. Being mated to Malin had turned him as soft as porridge, and he’d been damned close to a tear there. No need to show it though. “Ishtar?”
Marduk’s gaze shifted unerringly toward the top of the mountain, and Sirius knew in his heart of hearts what had happened.
His breath caught as a raging green firestorm suddenly appeared on the top of the mountain.
Shit. Ishtar had reached the summit—and the circle.
“There’s something wrong,” Marduk said, wearing a frown on his brow. “Her song sounds different.”
“Stay here and protect Tormund,” Sirius told Bryn. He stretched his arms wide and flung himself into the air as he shifted. “Ishtar’s reached World’s End. There’s a circle there that leads directly to Álfheimr. Something drew her here.”
“Álfheimr?”
“Yes.” He sent the grim thought on a psychic thread. “I think this has been your sister’s destination all along, though I don’t know if it was of her own volition.”
“We have to stop her.” Marduk cut through the air beside him in dreki form.
“Agreed.”
“Where did the Keepers go?”
“If they’re lucky, they have fled.”
“And if not?”
“Then I’ll kill them.”
They landed just outside the circle, taking care not to startle the dreki princess inside as they shifted back into mortal form. Sirius caught a glimpse of his mother soaring in slow circles above them with her dreki cohort, but as long as she didn’t interfere, she wasn’t his problem.
Ishtar traced shimmering green shapes in the air in front of each of the twelve rune stones with her finger. As she finished each figure, it flared a brilliant green for a second, before the corresponding rune carved deep into the stone lit up.
They weren’t the only ones there.
Both Keepers stalked the outside of the circle, as if they too were wary of entering. The largest one saw him, and Sirius smiled. “This one is mine.”
“Can you take them both?” Marduk demanded. “I’ll stop Ishtar from opening the circle, before she links both worlds.”
It was a surprisingly smart option from the reckless prince. “Get her out of here. I’ll take care of the Keepers.”
The prince stepped between the stones with a hiss of sparks coruscating over his skin.
Sirius’s knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands. In the distance, thunder rumbled as the storm answered his mood. Any conflagration of power from all dreki involved could set off a monumental storm of epic proportions if they weren’t careful.
The two warriors spread out, spears held low. He needed no weapons. He was the weapon, and as the storm clouds brewed behind him, he saw it in their faces.
Opening his Third Eye, Sirius focused in on their hearts, beating like gold drums before him. Thin gold filaments spun away from their chests, carrying life through their veins. All it would take would be a single thought to start freezing those pumping organs and—
The flows merely parted around the other dreki and unraveled into the winds. He couldn’t feel their hearts, couldn’t taste the ice on his tongue. It was as if his magic ceased to exist.
Voids.
The youngest Keeper shot him a savage smile. “Something wrong, Blackfrost?”
So be it. Sirius settled into a defensive stance. He’d always wanted to fight a Void. “Nothing particularly bothering. We’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Be careful,” his mother warned. “Vadim has never been beaten in combat, and he’s twice as ruthless as his brother, Illarion. But they work together. Always. And that is where their strength lies. Take down one and you will beat them both. Vadim is the eldest, and he favors his right side slightly.”
It wasn’t as though he needed her help.
“I can defeat anyone,” he snapped, before dissolving the psychic link.
The one he assumed was Vadim lunged forward, his spear snaking to the right. Sirius dodged, but Illarion was slicing in from the left. He whirled, capturing the shaft of Illarion’s spear and driving it toward his brother. It narrowly missed Vadim’s chest.
The pair of them broke away, sharing a glance.
“Did you think I earned my reputation purely via my magic?” he sneered, holding out his hand, palm up, and then mockingly encouraging them with his fingers.
“I’m going to spit on your grave,” Vadim said, and the pair of them moved forward together.
This time they didn’t underestimate him. This time they both struck at once, and it was all he could do to keep himself from bleeding. He twisted and spun, using his forearms to divert their blows.
But Vadim snuck under his guard, the blade of his spear slicing through the muscle in his thigh. And as Sirius grunted and staggered, Illarion’s spear glanced off his ribs.
Each wound sizzled as if they’d poured hot acid into his gaping flesh. He could feel it eating away at his muscle, diverting the innate dreki magic that sought to heal him. Fuck. What was on their spears?
Zorja sprinted toward them, launching off a rock with her spear raised high. Shadows rippled over her black-clad form and her scream of rage was almost shattering. Where the hell had she come from? She must have been shifting as they spoke.
She landed beside him, slapping Vadim’s next blow aside as Sirius staggered, still trying to recover from the wound to his thigh.
“Zorja,” Vadim rasped. “Get out of the way.”
“No. This is my son.”
The shock of that word ricocheted through Sirius.
He
re,” she said, tossing Sirius a short sword.
He almost threw it away. But whatever poison coated their spears was still working to hobble him. And though he was getting better at fighting with only the sight of one eye, he still wasn’t at his full strength.
Still…. “I don’t need your help. I was handling this.”
“You know not what you face,” she ground back, looking so much like himself that he almost blinked in surprise. “And I wasn’t asking.”
“Get out of the way,” Vadim repeated. “I won’t offer again.”
“No.” Zorja lifted her chin high. “I won’t repeat myself again.”
“You swore you would contain the girl. You swore that you would stop her from escaping,” Vadim growled. “You broke your oath, and now it is time for us to do what we should have done in the first place.”
Illarion shot his brother a sharp look. “Ishtar doesn’t need to die, brother.”
“We stand at World’s End, Larya. She’s about to open the portal to Álfheimr,” Vadim snarled. “This is not a mere portal on our plane. This is interdimensional. It’s a fucking rainbow bridge between worlds. She’ll never be able to control so much power. And if she can’t control it, then it will tear this world apart.”
There were nine realms that Sirius had heard of. Asgard; Álfheimr; Jotunheim; Midgard; Muspellheim; Nidavellir; Helheim; Niflheim; and Vanaheim. Some might have been merely creations spawned by the fertile imaginations of the peoples in this world. The only ones he knew existed in truth were Álfheimr and Nidavellir, because his people had once battled the ljósálfar and the dwarvish svartálfar.
He glanced toward the rune stones.
Could Marduk do it?
Could he convince his sister not to open the portal?
Illarion’s lips pressed thinly together and he lowered his head for a moment as if thinking. “She will not open the portal,” he finally said.
So be it.
“I’ll take Vadim,” Zorja said.
There was no time to argue with her.
Illarion attacked with a sharp lunge that ended with his spear slicing across Sirius’s knuckles. He riposted, but the bastard was deadly swift, and focused now. Intent burned in his dark eyes, and Sirius’s hand was starting to go numb from poison.
