Dead Embers

by T. G. Ayer

  Time seemed to slow down as I watched her sword pass me by. I could almost trace the arc of the sword with my finger. Was I just imagining this?

  What's happening to me?

  My ears rang, but it wasn't the ringing clang of our swords as they crashed into each other. My senses seemed on fire; I could hear the beat of her heart, the tiny soughing of her breath as she inhaled and exhaled.

  I watched as she blinked, so slowly that I could see each individual eyelash as her eyes closed.

  Touch. Mesh. And pull apart again.

  The thrall of the strange awareness pulled me off guard. Astrid's next blow almost landed right between my ribs, and I had to force myself to pay attention. Something extraordinary was happening to me, but I had no time to figure it out. I deflected Astrid's last blow and floated away from her. It gave me a chance to observe her.

  My eyes fixed on Astrid's face again: her eyes, and even the way her muscles twitched in anticipation of her intended move. She thrust and I just knew where she aimed, parrying so easily it seemed like child's play.

  All I did was stir Astrid's fury.

  With a sudden surge, she spread her wings out to flap upward. I followed, forcing myself not to admire the beauty of her pure, white, silver-tipped wings.

  I flapped hard and rose to meet her, and she took the challenge. She dove, keeping her wings tight against her, heading straight for me. I paused and waited for the very last second. I waited until she was almost upon me—then twisted hard to move out of her way. Too late. I'd undercompensated somehow. Or maybe Astrid was smarter than I'd given her credit. She slammed into me and we tumbled.

  Limbs and wings entangled, we fell to the ground, unable to release each other to fly off safely. Astrid hit the ground first, uttering a slightly comical oomph! on impact as the air slammed out of her lungs. Luckily for her she fell on her wings, the soft feathers and pliable bone taking her weight.

  I shoved my way up, got back onto wobbly legs and brandished my sword again, losing all patience with her. She seemed determined to stop me. But the thought of Aidan, waiting patiently and unconsciously for me to save him, spurred me on, giving me the strength and determination to challenge Astrid again.

  Time to get my Valkyrie on.

  I took the lead, wasting no time in charging at her. Astrid lunged with her sword, a flurry of stabs, a set of swipes. I parried, tried to hold her off, but she advanced. Pushed me back against one of the gigantic wooden pillars dotting the hall.

  She brought her sword down on me. I ducked, the sword missing my cheek by a mere inch, chopping off a hunk of hair and missing my ear by a whisper of a prayer.

  I shoved at her, pushing off the pillar, but she spun, landing a solid back-fist to my face, strengthened by the heavy weight of the hilt of her sword. My cheek exploded with agony, pain splintering my jaw. I gasped, shuddering against the rising bile in my throat.

  I fell to the ground, giving Astrid the upper hand. Although I scrambled to get back on my feet, I was too late. She ran at me, sword in hand, tip piercing my throat. I swallowed, despite my fear that the slightest rise of my skin would slit my throat.

  "I have you now, Brunhilde. All this while you thought you could get away from me?" Astrid's voice shuddered, echoing strangely around the empty hall. "It is time you paid for taking Gunther from me."

  I gasped, sucking in air even though the vicious point of her sword pressed against my throat. "What are you talking about? Astrid! You're not making sense." With each word I spoke, I could feel her blade draw shallow notches in my skin.

  "Sense!?" she screamed, bending low over me in a pained crouch, her eyes rolling, shadowed now by an eerie darkness. "I do not need to make sense. You took him away, and if I cannot have him back then I will make you pay."

  In her fury Astrid paid close attention only to my face and neck.

  She didn't see my leg.

  I flung my foot out, connecting to the back of her knee, throwing her off balance. At the same time, I sunk as far into the ground as I could to get away from her sword, missing the point by a hairsbreadth as she swept it around.

  I gasped, sucking air back into my lungs, tenderly tracing my throat.

  Talk about a close shave. Too close for comfort.

  I leapt back onto my feet, legs still unsteady, but my heart and mind filled with purpose.

  Astrid screamed her anger. She launched to her feet again and meant to meet me head on. Only my instinct told me when to swing my sword wide, when to kick her feet out from under her.

  She fell again, her sword clattering on the light wood floor. She grimaced; ruby splotches marring her serene beauty. Astrid rolled away from me, barely getting to her feet in time before I lunged again.

  She ducked, then ran for her sword. I didn't stop her.

  I was no coward.

  We fought, sweat pouring from my forehead, soaking through chainmail and jacket. Astrid soon sported two flaming red cuts—I loved my sword. As yet, I was free from injury, except for the little cuts at my throat.

  I intended to stay that way.

  I'd fought a dragon and a fire giant and a god with a split personality, and defeated them all. One little Valkyrie was a piece of cake.

  With my last thrust, I had her on the floor, my sword edge glinting at her throat. Pretty much in the same position she'd ended up the last time she'd challenged me to a sword fight, except without the mud.

  "I don't know what your frickin' problem is, but stay the Hel out of my way." I growled the words, my anger, frustration, and weariness transmitting a wave of shudders through my muscles.

  "This is not the end, Brunhilde," Astrid said, her eyes wide but furious.

  "When are you going to get it into that thick skull of yours? I am not Brunhilde. I'm me. Take it or leave it. Just leave me alone. And leave Aidan alone."

  A new sound caught my attention. My senses, my very awareness of my surroundings, were so incredibly amplified that even my hearing seemed on overdrive.

  Two hearts thundered.

  Two breaths labored.

  "You can go on denying who you are, but someday I will get my revenge." Astrid glared at my blade so close to her, then sent me a vicious stare. She struggled to lift her head, but stopped when the soft flesh of her neck pressed against the fierce tip of my sword.

  I didn't move my sword away.

  Just watched as it pierced her skin and drew rich, red blood.

  Then I snorted. "You do realize there's no point. Your anger, your need for vengeance—it's all lost on me. I had nothing to do with your issues with Brunhilde. You really need to get over it." I sighed, a wave of pity for Astrid washing over me. "Brunhilde died hundreds of years ago. And even if you think I'm her, what difference does your vengeance make when I can't recall this past life you all think I lived?"

  Astrid didn't respond, just lay back staring at me as if she wanted to wrap her hands around my neck and squeeze the life out of me one breath at a time.

  Given half a chance she bloody well would.

  Chapter 35

  I left her there, flat on her back, and headed for the goblet. A quick glance behind me confirmed she was still sprawled on the floor, throwing venom at my back.

  Let's hope Freya isn't too upset that I just whipped her little dog into submission.

  Goblet in hand, I hurried to the doors, which led to a passage off the hall. At the threshold, I took one last look at the defeated Valkyrie. She'd pushed herself up and now just sat there, fury giving her a bit of color, although the rest of her face remained a pasty, bloodless pale.

  A good match for her wings, I thought.

  I slipped into the passage and shut the heavy wooden door, regretting that I couldn't lock her out. Surveying the corridor, I remembered Aidan's room being one door down on the left. My fingers brushed cold wood and I hesitated, my heart thudding in my chest. This was it.

  I pushed and the door whispered open. Inside the room a single torch flickered on the far wall. Aidan
lay so still. A silent Sleeping Handsome. My heart tripped. He would soon wake up.

  I tiptoed to kneel beside Aidan's stone bed, holding the ugly goblet between my hands with the most tender care. My eyes grazed his deathly pale features, heart lurching in my chest. He didn't seem to be at all alive. What if . . . ?

  No—I refused to allow myself to think negative thoughts. Not when we were so close. My fingers clutched at the cool glass of the goblet, and I steeled myself against a desperate urge to burst into tears.

  Cool air circulated in the room; no fire burned in the empty grate, though someone had thrown a light fur over Aidan. I touched my fingertips to his cheek, trailing my fingers over his cool skin. Did the fur even make a difference to his body temperature? Seeing him lie there, so still and silent in a room like a mausoleum, I thought about Siri. Was it possible that they could still hear anything? Were they aware of their surroundings?

  I left the glass on the floor beside the bed and trudged to the fireplace, spending the next few minutes bringing a small fire to life. I'd watched Turi enough to have learned the trick to it.

  Woohoo, survivor Bryn.

  With the fire blazing, I returned to Aidan and perched beside his pillow, propping him up high enough so he wouldn't choke on the elixir. I slipped my hand beneath his back and lifted him up, leaning his dead weight against me. His head lolled forward and I tipped it back so he leaned into my neck.

  The whole business was way awkward.

  Aidan lay within my arms, his position tickling a giggle from me—a position that was as far from romantic as anyone could get, given his unconscious state. I leaned sideways, reaching for the glass on the floor beside the bed, grasped it by its knobbly stem and brought the roughly hewn edge to Aidan's lips.

  A puff of breath left his mouth, and warm air passed over my fingers. My stomach did a little twist as the warmth traveled straight into my blood. I heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that he was still very much alive and still able make my heart race. Smiling to myself, I had to admit I was too eager to see him pin me with those dark, oh-so-hot eyes of his.

  Holding the glass firmly, I used my knuckle to place a little pressure on Aidan's chin, opening his mouth slightly. A tilt of the cup fed the bloody liquid into his mouth a droplet at a time.

  A little shudder ran through him and he swallowed, a sudden gulp that made his adam's apple flex. He sipped faster, and I had to stop him, urge his head away from the goblet. He moaned, lifting his head, red-tinged lips seeking more of the ruby liquid, but I set the glass on the floor again.

  The other half of the elixir belonged to Siri.

  Aidan fell back; his effort to drink had taken a toll on his body. He'd probably expended more energy in the last few minutes than during the entire time he'd been comatose. He shuddered, eyelids blinking rapidly, as if plagued by unspeakably horrible dreams. At last, he stilled and fell into a deep sleep, his breathing even, regular.

  Although tempted to curl up on the narrow bed with him, I really just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, so I slid onto the ground and pulled a rug from a nearby chair across my knees. I sat there, a little forlorn and feeling a little stupid too. I had no idea if this elixir would help him or kill him. What if I'd just ended his life instead of saving it?

  Tremors ran through me, but I shook my thoughts off and rubbed my arms free from the rash of goose bumps that covered them. I settled against the stone bed, angling toward the feeble warmth of the fire, keeping the goblet a safe distance away. As I sat, I stared into the inky shadows billowing from the corners of the room. Lethargy decided it was at last time to attack. My utter weariness had no barriers; all my battles were fought, all adrenalin had evaporated. Sleep took over and I fell into deep oblivion.

  ***

  I woke to the sound of coughing. My heart cramped. No, it wasn't coughing.

  Aidan was choking.

  I spun around and was on my knees, lifting Aidan off the bed, before I knew what I was meant to be doing. He spluttered and gagged as I lifted him, coughing some more before taking in a few hacking breaths.

  Then he turned and looked at my face.

  "Bryn?" His eyes held surprise and doubt, and also joy.

  The whispered sound of his voice was better than music, better than chocolate. I couldn't answer, just laughed and hugged him hard. Then, with a shock, I froze.

  I'd forgotten his injury.

  I let go of him as if he were a coiled adder, ready to spit, remembering the stab wound that Loki had inflicted on Aidan.

  After thrusting the fur off his body, I lifted his chainmail, searching for the wound, panic stuttering my movement. I gasped. There it was: purple and yellow and looking so awful, and yet it looked pretty good for a wound that should have killed him. Aidan coughed again and batted my hands away. "What are you doing?" He scowled, which I most inappropriately thought was quite the hot bad-boy look.

  "Can you be still and stop being such a baby? I need to check the wound," I scolded, holding in the tears of joy, infinitely relieved when not a drop fell from my eyes.

  He lay back with a pained sigh. "How bad is it?"

  "Pretty good, actually. How do you feel?" I searched his face for signs of fatigue, weakness, anything.

  "Like I've been asleep forever," Aidan grunted. "Bloody hell, my breath stinks."

  I laughed. "That would happen, considering you've been asleep for weeks."

  "Weeks?" He snorted, disbelief and confusion clouding his eyes. "Just keep your distance. I'd rather not have you fainting on me."

  "Wow, a guy who doesn’t want the girls fainting on him?" I arched an eyebrow, stilling a wave of giggles. "So, apart from nuclear breath, do you feel anything else? Sore, tired?"

  He shook his head, which sent a cascade of silky curls caressing his shoulders. His hair had grown. I forced myself to look away. Now was not the time to make goo-goo eyes at the patient. "Nope," Aidan said. "Everything is working perfectly. I just feel a bit tingly all over. Was I really out of action for weeks?" He paused for a short moment to scan the room. "Er, Bryn. Where the hell am I?"

  I almost choked. "That's exactly where you are—Hel."

  Aidan looked confused, and I didn't blame him. Freya's lodgings were very un-hell-like. "You're in Helheim. Freya's been caring for you, trying to purge the poison."

  "Poison?"

  "Loki stabbed you. You do remember that, don't you?" Aidan nodded. "But Loki had poisoned his dagger with the venom of the same serpent who tortured him in Hel. We aren't sure who he'd intended to stab, but in the end he got you."

  Aidan remained very silent while I spoke, his face eventually losing all color. When I finished talking, all he said was, "Mm . . . on second thought, I think I do feel a tiny bit nauseous."

  Panicked, I scanned the room for some sort of receptacle in case he did spill his guts. I rushed to fetch a small basin from the table at the door and returned to place it beside Aidan. My hands shook, and I just couldn’t meet his eyes. I was terrified. What if the elixir was doing him more harm than good?

  ***

  A rustle of movement made me snap my gaze to the door, and I had to force myself to control my reaction as Freya—elegant, sexy and drop-dead gorgeous—glided into the room. A scowl creased her usually serene face, and I knew I was in trouble for being mean to poor Astrid. I gritted my teeth and rose as the goddess approached.

  "Brynhildr, I see you have shown a great disrespect to my hospitality." Her words were shards of ice: cutting, unforgiving.

  "I apologize, my lady. I had to defend myself, and if Astrid received a few wounds in the battle then it's only fair, considering she is the one who picked the fight in the first place."

  I hadn't meant to be so forthright about the whole battle, but what was I going to gain by being quiet and keeping the truth of Astrid's behavior a secret? Besides, I was tired of always being the one everyone blamed. I wasn't inclined to help Astrid's cause at all.

  Freya frowned but said nothing. She scrutiniz
ed my face, her expression hard to read. Unsettling. Freya then turned to the doorway as if expecting Astrid to enter. Was she hiding outside the door waiting to hear me reprimanded? I wouldn't have been surprised. She'd proved herself the spying type once already. I so did not trust her.

  Aidan coughed, then retched behind us and I turned to race to his side, but Freya stopped me with a warm, gentle hand on my arm. "No, Brynhildr. Leave him be. It is the way of the elixir. It acts as a purge and flushes out the potions from the body. Take care not to get too close, as the poison is still very virulent."

  I crossed my arms, unsure what to do with them, feeling very impotent as we stood so far from Aidan, just watching. He bent over the bowl, fingers gripping the rounded edges. He retched, then spewed forth a bright green liquid, the emerald poison sloshing into the bowl.

  I gaped, too horrified to be disgusted. Too filled with fear. What if the poison re-infected him? What if the elixir didn't work in the end? I closed my eyes, gripping myself harder, so terribly afraid that I would see him die at the hands of Loki's poison despite all that we went through to save him. And worse, if Aidan didn't make it, then Steinn's poor daughter might not survive the elixir either.

  Forcing myself to open my eyes, I watched the emerald-green, almost gelatinous liquid spill from Aidan's mouth. The poison had filled his body, every drop of blood tainted with its deadly toxicity. And now his body rejected it with a bruising force. Purged the poison through the magic of the elixir.

  "So it's working?" I asked Freya, my voice cracking.

  "Yes, child. You have done well. The elixir is almost done with its task."

  I blinked. Praise from Freya was not something I had ever heard before. I cleared my throat to mask my shock. "How long before he's well enough to leave?"

  "As soon as he has purged the poison, he will need a short rest. Then he can leave," she answered, a tight smile on her face.

  As she turned to the doorway, a dwarf entered the room. The sight sent a trill of consternation through me, until I realized he wasn't of the Swartelfheim princely variety. He kowtowed to Freya and nodded to me, then headed toward Aidan, who still leaned over his puke-filled basin. Aidan looked like he was about to tumble right off the bed.