So Unnur had set up the computer with Penelope’s help, and the cards had directed her to this place. It was a news site based in New York, and the current news was about the destruction of the Kine hall, right in downtown Manhattan. The article’s subtitles blathered about danger to residents and the Mayor’s disapproval of the reckless disregard for public safety that had been displayed. But there were plenty of comments from readers stoutly defending the Kine’s radical solution to halt the invasion of the Alfar. If they had not blown up their own hall, the Alfar would be streaming into the city right now, enslaving everyone like they had with London....
But it was the photos that accompanied the article that had her attention. They were very good photos—crystal clear and focused. They had been taken by a professional photographer, or at least someone who knew something about photography, anyway, minutes after the explosion. Dust and debris were still settling down over the cars and witnesses in Pearl Street. But the subjects of the photos were the fully armed, dirty and blood-caked Kine who stood in the street looking at what was left of their hall.
The caption underneath identified the woman with the sword and the man with the square chin, who were at the front of the photo.
Eira, Regin and Valkyrie, and Hroar Brynjarson, Einherjar and Earl of the New York Hall, consider their next defensive moves...
Unnur’s mouth had curled down when she first read the caption. They were clearly not considering defense at all. There was vulnerability in their expressions as they contemplated all they had lost. It was perhaps only a momentary thing, but the photographer had caught the moment. In all her reading online about the Kine and their bravery, their courage in the face of overwhelming odds, their expertise in battle and their ability to bring the Alfar to heel, Unnur had never seen anyone consider the personal cost to the Kine. The loss of their long-lived friends, the loss of home and property, so carefully built around the structure of human communities so as not to disturb them. Now, with the destruction of their halls, they were essentially without a country to call their own, but still the war went on, merciless in its demands.
Roar and Eira were not the only ones in the pictures. There were two other people, standing just behind them. The tall man—the Einherjar—was supporting the woman, a lovely redhead wearing the clothes that Unnur had learned were the Amica uniform. She was human, then.
The man was close enough in appearance to Roar that Unnur guessed he was a relative. She glanced down at her journal and flipped back to the page where she had begun to build a complex tree of Kine names and relationships, and the hierarchy that governed them. She had recorded the brother’s name there.
Asher. Called Asher Strand by most, but his real name was Askr. Askr Brynjarson. The son of Brynjar, but not the oldest son. Roar was the first-born. The leader.
Unnur studied the woman again. She didn’t know her name, but she knew who she was, and that was why she couldn’t pull herself away from the photo. She had enlarged it until it filled most of the screen and studied it. Mostly, she studied the woman’s face. The pale scar that ran along her cheek.
Unnur touched her own marked cheek, marveling. They were both branded. She was looking at her Queen of Wands, standing in the arms of the King.
This was the woman Unnur had been talking to. There had been someone to hear her warnings, after all.
Delight filled her.
“Hello,” Unnur murmured, smiling at the woman. “It’s very nice to meet you, at last.”
* * * * *
As the sun set, the senior Einherjar who found themselves marooned in New York trickled into Asher’s apartment at the hour he had dictated. There were many of them, for the last defense of the Second Hall had brought many of them rushing to aid the fight, and the only exit had been New York.
They arrived limping, some of them still dirty and many of them hungry, for they had no shelter and no money. Neither did they have human ID that was useful in this country.
Along with them arrived a handful of Amica, the few who had escaped through the portal. Most of the Amica who served the Second Hall were still in Norway.
Charlee found Eira in a quiet moment and pointed this out to her. “We need a kitchen and we need to find the Kine beds. Then we need to think about permanent arrangements for them. Someone will need to speak to the US government about...hell, I’m not even sure what we ask for. Permission to squat in New York while we finish the war?”
Eira shook her head. “I don’t have time for this,” she said shortly. “This is the end game. Every sword-hand will be needed for the battle ahead. You take care of it, Charlee. Do whatever you need to do.”
“Very well,” Charlee said, hiding her surprise. She considered the matter for a moment, then fished her phone out of its pouch and dialed. The number was on her speed dial list.
Ylva answered the phone herself, for it was her direct line.
“Ylva, it’s Charlee.”
There was a momentary pause. “My dear, I’ve been following your adventures....” Then she let out a little breath. “Never mind. It isn’t important. What’s wrong, Charlee?”
Charlee laid out her problems. “I need your help, Ylva. You have resources, and we just lost all ours.”
“But, Charlee, I’m no longer part of the Kine.”
“Yes, you are! Ylva, those old artificial divisions are gone. You’re as much a part of the Kine as I am, and we need everyone for the battle ahead. Eira says this is the end game. Help us win it.”
Ylva hesitated. “Does Eira know what you are asking for, and whom you’re asking?”
“Eira will roll with it,” Charlee said shortly. Impatiently. “She has more important things to worry about right now.”
“I heard about Stefan,” Ylva said softly. “Ah well, now Eira can lead as she has always wanted to. There is no time to go through the voting process for a new Annarr.”
“And the Einherjar are scattered around the world,” Charlee pointed out. “Roar is the most senior Einherjar in New York and this seems to be the new Second Hall...if we had a hall.”
“Eira will like that,” Ylva murmured.
“Eira is as stunned as the rest of them,” Charlee replied gently. “This has hit them hard.”
“Yes, I know how it feels to be suddenly without a hall,” Ylva said. “Very well. Tell me what your most pressing needs are, Charlee. We’ll go from there.”
* * * * *
Ylva became Charlee’s second-in-command, almost immediately. She arrived at Asher’s apartment forty minutes after the last Einherjar had arrived, and she had ten Amica-in-training with her. The women sailed into the apartment carrying heavy bags and backpacks, all wearing traditional apron dresses, and took over the kitchenette and dining table. In ten minutes, a full, very large buffet was spread upon the table, and Roar graciously halted his war council so the Einherjar could fall upon the food and eat like hungry wolves.
While they ate, the women and Ylva moved about the room, dressing wounds and wiping the worst of the grunge from Einherjar flesh. Ylva had thoughtfully acquired dozens of tracksuit pants and sweaters in a variety of sizes, and many of the Einherjar were able to put aside their armor for the first time in days.
Eira kept her armor on over the shirt Asher had lent her. She watched Ylva move around the room in elegant silk pants and a shirt, talking softly to each Einherjar, assessing their needs and arranging for whatever they needed with a quiet word to one of her women. They had not spoken a word to each other, but when Ylva had first arrived, their gazes had met. After a tense moment, Eira had nodded. Ylva gave a stiff smile in return, then turned back to her work.
Later, Eira had pulled Charlee aside. “It was a good idea, bringing her here.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t let her dominate,” Eira said shortly. “You understand the politics of our position. Ylva never did.” She gave Charlee no chance to reply, but had returned to the tight group of Einherjar discussing the intricacies of the
war effort.
In the next ten days, Charlee used Ylva and her knowledge of New York and Amica traditions to acquire a building in mid-town Manhattan, close to the river. It had been a factory once and the dusty, tall ceilings reminded Charlee of Anja’s workshop. The bottom floor of the building was dedicated to the Kine administrative machinery, which evolved around the war effort, rising like yeast. The official red tape involved in negotiating the resident status of the Einherjar stranded in New York would have been enough to keep three legal secretaries busy full time, but the housing, feeding and clothing of over a hundred homeless Einherjar delivered to Charlee a whole different set of administrative problems.
Asher arranged a line of credit with his bank, and she used the power of money to transform the building in a few days. She hired temporary office staff with abandon. Now that humans were aware of the Kine, the security restrictions against hiring human help had dissolved. The new hires were all thrilled to be working for the Kine themselves, and Charlee could have recruited dozens more willing workers if she had needed them.
Ylva’s Amica cleaned the building from top to bottom, and the second floor was turned into a dormitory and common room for the homeless Einherjar. More and more of them trickled into New York as they learned where the Regin and acting Annarr were located. They used buses, trains and sometimes hitched to make their way there. Many more contacted Charlee via the Internet, email and phone, in dire straits because they were in a country that was foreign to them, without funds and without contacts to help them get back home. Charlee directed each of them to New York, wiring money and arranging for them to pass through international borders without issue. Each of the homeless had to be processed and fed and a bed found for them.
Not all of them could be housed in the building. More accommodation was found in the homes of the Einherjar who had always lived in the city, including Asher’s apartment and Ylva’s house. Charlee knew she would have to find more permanent solutions for the Einherjar, but put it aside in the face of more pressing problems.
The top floor of the building, Charlee turned into the Second Hall. She hired carpenters, who were given a bonus for fast work when they built a dais at the south end of the floor where the weak winter sunlight fell through skylights and completed it inside a day.
Then she approached Eira. “Could I borrow your sword for a moment?” she asked.
Eira frowned. “What are you up to?”
“Come with me and see.” Charlee held out her hand.
Eira pulled her sword out of her belt and handed it over. It was surprisingly heavy, and Charlee hoisted it in both hands as she led Eira up the stairs to the top floor. As they passed Roar on the second floor, Eira beckoned. “She’s planning something, I think.”
“Charlee? She would never be sneaky.” He laughed and fell into step with them.
Asher was waiting on the top floor, along with all the Einherjar who lived in the building and anyone who happened to be visiting, including dozens of Amica, and Ylva. They parted, moving back along the walls, leaving a path to the dais clear.
Charlee held out the sword to Eira. “There are pegs for this, over the dais. I think that’s where it belongs for now.”
Eira’s frown seemed to deepen. Then her face smoothed out and she took the sword not by the hilt, but with both hands, completing the little ceremony with a nod. “I think you’re right,” she said, her voice thick. She turned and walked slowly along the space made by the assembled Einherjar, up to the dais, then stepped up and raised the sword over her head and rested it on the pegs the carpenters had driven into the studs at Charlee’s request.
Eira stepped back, then turned to face the hall. She beckoned to Roar.
After a moment, he blew out a slow breath, then walked silently to the dais and stepped up beside her.
Abruptly, everyone in the room began to cheer and clap. They pounded each other’s backs. They hugged. They were laughing and smiling and not a few of them were crying.
Asher picked up Charlee’s hand and squeezed it. “They needed this,” he said softly. “We were leaderless until this moment. You’ve changed that.”
“I just gave them a home once more,” Charlee said.
He shook his head. “You gave them hope.” Then he dropped her hand and walked back to the dais to take up his position as stallari at the foot of it. Roar caught her gaze and touched his fingers to his lips, in a silent ‘thank you’.
Asher saw the gesture and his expression grew stony.
Charlee slipped out of the hall and let them celebrate. She alone of everyone in the hall had no hope at all.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
For nearly a month, the Alfar stayed within their newly acquired hall in Oslo, not venturing out to sweep up the humans still in the city. The Norwegians reported that a shield had been built around Tryvannshøyden, but no Alfar had emerged beyond the shield.
Around the globe, all fighting ceased. The Alfar seemed to be busy with their own concerns, and humans were busy licking their wounds and dealing with the Kine, who had been thrust upon their cities and had to be accommodated or otherwise dealt with.
The Kine used the lull to regroup and strategize.
Charlee used the lull to consolidate the Kine in New York and make sure they never for a moment forgot who they were. She worked harder than she had ever worked in her life. She got very little sleep, snatching catnaps on the fold-up bed that someone had found for her that she kept leaning up against the wall behind the desk she used in the corner of the first floor.
Charlee reinstituted morning training, coaxing Asher as the resident stallari to lead the morning devotions to strength in mind and body, peace of heart and renewal. Even if she had not yet been to bed, she joined the Einherjar in the hall for morning training, and she made sure the Amica were also included.
After the first week of the training, Ylva began to attend, too. She would arrive at dawn in yoga pants and a ratty Harvard sweater, to work as hard as anyone else in the room. Eira said nothing about Ylva training with them, but a few days later, she told Charlee to take care of finding Ylva a suitable weapon to train with, in a curt ‘do as I say’ tone.
Three days after they had settled into the new Second Hall, a visitor arrived at the front gates, demanding to speak to the Annarr and Regin. The two Einherjar on duty at the gate phoned Charlee to warn her. “If it’s who I think it is,” Jarl said, “we’d better let him in right quick, and Eira and Roar should be on the dais in full gear when he gets there.”
The Einherjar rarely paid much attention to rank and privilege. They had grown accustomed to an absence of gods and voted their leaders from among themselves. It took real authority for them to straighten up and tug their forelocks, even if only in a symbolic way, so Charlee trusted that Jarl was quite serious. “Give me five minutes,” she said.
“I’ll do what I can, but he’s a testy bugger.” Jarl’s long-time residence in England showed in his speech and his idiom. But he was a competent Einherjar, and Asher gave him a lot of responsibility. It was the other reason Charlee believed him without question.
She bounded up from her desk. “Olivia! Broadcast text to everyone. To the hall!”
“When?” Olivia asked, pulling her cellphone out of the pocket of her apron dress.
“Five minutes ago!” Charlee called as she broke into a run, heading for the upper floors to find Roar and Eira.
Remarkably, Roar and Eira both stood up as soon as she asked and hurried to their cramped quarters to dress presentably and traditionally. Five minutes later, as Jarl escorted the mysterious visitor up to the hall, they both arrived somewhat breathless upon the dais, while everyone else in the building gathered on the old wooden floor below. Eira was wearing the traditional apron dress, which she plucked at distastefully, while Roar straightened up his battle-worn armor.
When Jarl arrived with his guest at the top of the stairs, everyone seemed to exclaim under their breath. Charlee stood well to one side o
f the dais and couldn’t see through the heads of the assembled Kine, but the muttering sounded like the Kine had recognized their visitor.
Then she saw him. He was a freakishly tall man, at least seven feet, and he wore a black coat that swung about his ankles, with big sleeves and fold-back cuffs, and a big collar that was turned up against the cold outside. The collar hid much of his face, but none of the thick, wavy black hair that spilled down the back of the coat.
Eira’s mouth opened, then shut again quickly as she studied the newcomer. Her sword hand settled on her hip, even though her sword was bracketed on the wall behind her.
Roar crossed his arms and spread his legs. It was a defensive posture, one she had never seen him take before. She glanced at Asher, where he stood in the stallari’s position just at the bottom of the dais, to check his reaction. Asher was watching her and as her gaze settled on him, he raised his brow and blew out his breath silently. She understood. This was a very unexpected visitor.
The visitor looked human, except for his great height, and he wore human clothes, yet there was a presence to him that drew her attention and pinned it upon him, as if he were silently commanding she look only at him. As he drew closer to the dais, she finally saw his face and she was startled. His eyes did not seem human at all. They were blue. Not a brilliant, painted blue like Asher’s, but almost a neon blue. It was as if the blue of a cloudless summer sky had been captured just as it darkened toward sunset. The ageless depth of such a sky had been perfectly caught in his eyes. It was a very unnatural color.
His cheeks were thin, with high cheekbones that seemed stark and sharp. Beneath, his face was disguised under a matted beard. Not a long beard—it looked like it had been trimmed somewhat recently, but the impression that the clothes and eyes and beard, and the carriage of the man gave Charlee reminded her vaguely of fantasy movie wizards and magic.
Well, they were living those times now. Perhaps there was a reason he reminded her of them.
The Branded Rose Prophecy Page 60
