The Branded Rose Prophecy

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Charlee bit her lip. She had always suspected that Asher’s life when she had first met him had been crumbling around the edges. She hadn’t understood, at ten years old, exactly why and how that might be, but she had instinctively known that in some way he needed protection of his own. “But you were there every single day, once you knew I was coming to the restaurant. Almost without fail, you were there.”

  “Because you wanted me to be. Four o’clock every afternoon was the only bright spot in my days.” Asher let out a heavy breath. “Do you know how much difference you’ve made to my life, Charlee? Do you begin to see?”

  She couldn’t think of an answer that would give his declaration the honor it deserved. “I didn’t know. I thought I was a nuisance. Like a millstone around your neck. You saved my life, more than once, and then you were stuck with having to watch out for me.”

  “You were an obligation. It was exactly what I needed. It was the best thing to happen to me in centuries, even though I resented it at first. You were interfering with my drinking.” His smile was more natural and relaxed this time.

  “Prickly gruellies,” Charlee said softly, remembering.

  Asher laughed softly. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Exactly.”

  Charlee gave a soft laugh. “Then I grew up and really complicated things, I guess.”

  “You grew up and I fell in love with you.”

  Her heart gave another heavy beat. “I have always loved you. Always. I knew, even in junior high, that I only wanted one man in my life. I painted the picket fence because that was the dream, wasn’t it? We would get to live like humans and that would make us completely happy.” She swallowed. “But you’re not just human, and I’ve spent my entire life learning what makes you different. I love the Einherjar part of you as much as anything else you could give me. I don’t want you to give it up, like you once said you would.”

  “I couldn’t anyway,” he told her. “Not anymore. You’re as entwined in my world as I am, now. I don’t know what happens next, Charlee, but…” He swallowed and his grip on her hands grew tighter. “I want you in my life. Really in my life. However that works out.” He gave a tight smile. “Even if my life only lasts the next few hours.”

  Her eyes prickled with hot tears, and she blinked hard to get rid of them. “I’m not going anywhere. Not if you aren’t with me.”

  Asher pulled her over to him so that she was lying against his chest and her arms were around his neck. His kiss was hard and brief. “I’ll do better next time,” he murmured against her lips. “This is just a promissory note.”

  “No debts, remember?” she whispered back.

  “A sweet inducement to return.” He touched his lips to hers again. “I would fight every last Alfar standing to come back and claim this debt. Let it stand.”

  He held her against him, then, his hands sliding restlessly against her, as the morning lengthened around them. Charlee fell into a hazy reverie, where she might have slept, or might have simply wandered back into the deep recesses of her memory, bringing forth every happy moment with Asher. There were many of them, and she replayed them all. As noon approached, she wound her arms around Asher even more tightly, and even his hands grew still and he simply held her.

  She could feel his heart beating beneath her chest. He was real, he was here, and he was hers.

  They could hear the almost silent mass of people around them getting to their feet, brushing themselves off. Murmuring and soft rustles filled the air.

  It was time.

  Asher pressed his lips against her forehead. “You are my purpose, my sweetest one. You are the reason I am here.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The clouds overhead had grown thicker and darker as the morning had wound down. Now they seemed to hover so closely overhead that they could be touched. The thunder had rumbled deep inside them on and off all morning. The cool breeze had evaporated and now the air was still and stifling.

  Charlee and Asher stood up behind the parapet and looked out toward the tower. Torger took his place next to Asher, propping himself up with his forelegs on the parapet’s thick top and sniffing the air, his nose wrinkling.

  All around them, everyone was shifting uneasily on their feet. There were still people arriving, even now, but they did not work their way through the crowd already assembled. Instead, they were gathering at the edges of the available viewing area, a thick border of humanity. Charlee considered the mass of bodies. If they needed to move away from the tower quickly, for whatever reason, the sheer mass of people would make it difficult. Had the Alfar planned on that?

  She also noticed something else about the crowd that made it utterly different from any Fourth of July or Christmas event she’d ever attended, quite apart from this crowd’s silence. There were very few children in the crowd. People had arrived singly, or in twos, threes or big groups, but very few of them had children with them. Charlee was glad of that. If the children were tucked away somewhere safe, hopefully deep inside a tunnel and guarded by caretakers, then whatever happened here would not be a total disaster.

  A mutter seemed to sweep through them all. It was a running whisper.

  “Blakar!” she heard, just as she spotted them herself. Hundreds of Blakar were marching out of a portal in the base wall. They were fully armed, and although they were shorter than the average human, their spears and long knives moving between the humans marked their passage.

  After the first alarm, a thick, tight silence held the crowd almost motionless, everyone watching the Blakar progress among them with intense wariness. Charlee thrust her hand into Asher’s, seeking the reassurance his touch always gave her. His grip was hard.

  The Blakar were spreading themselves out among the crowd, concentrating on the edges, where the humans were thickest. Charlee watched several of them make their way to the base of the building she and Asher were standing on, then spread out. They were dark-skinned. Their stature and the sharp angle at the top of their ears—it was not quite a point—distinguished them as Alfar. So did their eyes, which, like the other two Alfar races, were large. But the Blakar showed nothing in their eyes. There was no spark of feeling and very little sense of intelligence. They radiated a cold indifference that would switch to raging fury when they fought. There was no reasoning with the Blakar. They were the fighting machines that Asher had so aptly described them as.

  The border of Blakar around the fringes was thicker than elsewhere and it made Charlee lick her lips. “They’re penning us in.”

  “It’s what I would do,” Asher said. He was concentrating, his brows drawn together. Then he lifted his head to look sharply upwards, causing Charlee to look up, too. She hadn’t heard anything, which told her exactly how keyed up Asher was.

  There was a platform overhead, one of the larger workhorse arrowheads. Charlee watched it slowly sink down over their heads, aiming for a position directly in front of the rounded point of the base. As it drifting down past the top of the base wall, she realized that this was a different sort of arrowhead. It was even larger than the workhorse platforms that the Alfar used for everything from construction to (dropping base feet on top of humans) troop transport.

  As it slowly lowered down to a level just above the heads of the people standing closest to the tower, another mutter of concern rippled through the humans. There were a dozen Myrakar on the platform and three extra-tall, very pale Alfar that Charlee knew must be Lajos. She had never seen one before, for they usually kept themselves safely ensconced in their towers.

  The two Lajos on either end of the trio were half-turned toward the one in the center. “Is that Renmar?” Charlee whispered.

  Asher nodded. His expression was hard. “I would give anything for you to have your bow here right now.”

  “My bow, and a guaranteed escape route. If I were to draw an arrow on him, the Blakar would swarm this building in a heartbeat.”

  Just to one side of the trio of Lajos was a small man—a human—standing very still
and looking straight ahead. Charlee looked at him and gasped. “Roar!” she breathed. He was barely as tall as the Myrakar standing all around him, bristling with weapons held at the ready. It told her exactly how tall the Lajos were. “Why is he standing so still? He doesn’t even look like he’s blinking.”

  “He’s bound by an aura,” Asher said stiffly. “I’ve heard it could be done, but I’ve never seen it before.” His jaw tightened briefly. “He must have fought them every step of the way. Fought even when they restrained him. That would explain the overload of Myrakar guards around him, and the aura.”

  Pride touched her. Roar had not fallen into their hands easily. Good.

  The platform halted. Overhead, with perfect timing, thunder rumbled once more.

  Behind the platform, the air seemed to flicker and shimmer, as if thousands of fireflies were hovering in one large rectangular area. Then the shimmering intensified and an image formed. Charlee gasped, for now hanging in mid-air, part of the air itself, was a close-up picture of the platform and the Alfar standing upon it.

  “A megatron,” Asher said, his tone a mix of disgust and admiration. “Well, they’ve learned a thing or two from humans, after all.” Then he looked up again, this time over Charlee’s shoulder. “Koslov,” he breathed.

  Charlee whirled to look at the back of the building they were standing on. A small arrowhead was hovering just above the parapet. It was filled with humans, all of them men, and a single Blakar who stood at the controls of the arrowhead with a human guard right next to him.

  There was also a dog—dark brown and panting. “Fudge!” Charlee called, and heard a soft yip in response. The dog trotted over to the edge of the platform and looked down at the six-foot drop to the roof.

  Lucas strode to the edge of the platform, scooped up Fudge and jumped without hesitation, watching his landing. He let Fudge go as his feet made contact, and bent his knees, absorbing the impact. One hand thrust out to keep his balance.

  Fudge ran toward them and thrust his nose into Charlee’s hand with a small whine. Then he flipped himself around and sat at her feet, panting.

  Lucas hurried across the roof and gripped Asher’s hand. He was smiling. “Made it, by the skin of my teeth. Those arrows can really move.”

  “The studio?” Asher asked.

  Lucas pointed to the arrowhead, which had lifted up higher and was stationary. The arrowhead was drawing attention, but it was too far away from anyone for details to be clear. “There’s a guy with an outside broadcast camera on his shoulder, and a wireless feed back to the station. It worked. Koslov’s guy was a fucking genius.”

  “Let’s hope the rest of the world is paying attention,” Asher said, and turned back to face the tower. So did the rest of them.

  * * * * *

  Pete Shawman was the news director for WLMB-TV, a CBS affiliate in Washtok, Pennsylvania and today, like most days, he was living on the edge of an acute angina attack, as he juggled the multiple information streams coming at him every second. Decisions, decisions, decisions…that was his life, especially when the news was airing. He lived on a diet of antacids and Pepsi, and was chewing a Tums anxiously when he noticed the affiliate feed monitors over by where one of the interns was working.

  “What the fuck is that?” he demanded, pointing. For three years, four of the monitors had displayed greyed-out snow, but no one had had the courage to physically switch off the feeds from New York and New Jersey. It would have been the same as burying someone you weren’t sure was entirely dead.

  One of the monitors was showing images of something that Pete had to turn his head sideways and squint to make out. “Is that…fuck, is that one of their towers?” he breathed and strode over to the monitor to look closer. “Jesus H. fucking Christ,” he cried. “That’s Harlem. Fucking New York is broadcasting!”

  His assistant, who had ice for blood and steel for nerves, switched his board to his other hand. “Run it live?” he asked quickly.

  “Fuck yes! Break into the news—no, break into everything. Send it global. Phone everyone! Fucking sprint, people! This is Pulitzer territory!”

  The control booth, which was already frantic with activity, instantly became a crisis center at full strength. Someone threw the feed up on one of the bigger screens that covered the back wall, and Pete squinted at it again. “It’s grainy. What’s the issue?”

  “Looks like the signal is pretty weak, boss,” someone called.

  “Juice it up before you pass it on. We can’t clear the haze, but we can stop it dropping out. Look lively people. This is…” He turned his head sideways again to actually study the picture. “Fuck, isn’t that one of the head Viking guys the elves are holding there?”

  His assistant was right by his elbow. “Hroar Brynjarson,” he said quietly. “He was earl of the New York hall, and the one most likely to succeed Stefan as Annarr. He and Eira, the Regin, were both in New York when the Alfar took it. He has most likely been leading the Kine inside the shield since then. He’s smart, but he was pro-laun and pacifist by nature.”

  “You say that like it’s a fucking weakness, Nelson.”

  “We’re at war with four alien species that we know of,” Nelson replied calmly. “Peaceniks just gunk up the machinery.”

  Pete shook his head. “Whatever. Make sure that feed is clear and clean and uninterrupted, or you’ll wish you were a hippy out on the street holding a sign.” He lifted his voice. “Please tell me someone is talking to L.A. about this?”

  He looked back at the arrowhead on the screen, and the figures standing on it. The Einherjar was the only one among dozens of Alfar. Three of the Alfar looked like they were over seven feet tall. He squinted his eyes again. “Can anyone tell me who the lily-white dudes are?”

  “Lajos!” came the call. “We’ve never seen them before. They don’t match any images we have on file.”

  “Whatever,” Pete muttered, studying the feed. It didn’t look good for the roar-guy. Not at all. The controlled frenzy of the control booth felt comforting and homelike in comparison.

  * * * * *

  When Renmar stepped forward, his long legs flowing beneath the white robes he wore, the hush that gripped the area seemed to intensify. Tension crackled. Charlee heard one of the women standing along the parapet on the other side of Lucas draw in an unsteady breath, for it was that quiet. All the people who had been sheltering against the side of the stairwell were up on their feet and standing with them, now.

  One of the Myrakar stepped up with Renmar to stand behind his shoulder.

  Renmar spoke. The Alfar speech was airy and pretty, but Renmar’s voice was the opposite: harsh, like broken bottles rolling about in a tin can.

  Charlee glanced at Asher. “What did he say?” she asked, for Asher understood enough of the Alfar tongue to make sense of it.

  “Listen,” he said, and lifted his chin to indicate the Myrakar standing next to Renmar.

  The Myrakar lifted an arm, the one not holding his long knife, and spoke in a voice that carried easily across the open area. “It is gratifying to see so many of you care enough about your future to gather here at this time. Have you brought the Einherjar to me?”

  Silence.

  Charlee gripped Asher’s hand and he squeezed back.

  Renmar looked behind him and gave a signal. Four of the Myrakar moved in around Roar. Then from within them he staggered forward and would have fallen to his knees, except that two of them caught his arms and held him up. His head hung between them.

  Charlee bit her lip. Had the Alfar beaten him? Tortured him to learn where Asher was?

  The Myrakar marched him to the front of the platform and Roar’s feet tried to keep up, but they were almost completely holding him off the ground. They settled him on his feet again.

  Renmar looked at him and spoke.

  “Speak, Herleifr,” the interpreter said and pushed at the back of Roar’s shoulder, making him stagger and thrust out a foot to hold himself up. The two guards hauled b
ack on his arms, righting him once more.

  Roar lifted his head and looked at Renmar. His face was calm, although there was dried blood on the corner of his mouth and along the side of his face where it must have run from an injury on his head. “I speak only because I wish to.”

  An almost soundless sigh washed over the humans watching. The faces turned up to toward the platform were all pale and strained.

  Roar looked out at the people below. “The Alfar want me to plead with you, to beg you to turn over my brother in order that I might live.” His voice was strong. Confident.

  Behind him, the Myrakar was murmuring to Renmar, translating.

  Roar leaned sideways and spat. The bloody spit landed close to the foot of the translator, who stepped back with a grimace. The long line of guards at the back of the platform shifted uneasily

  The crowd reacted. Some smiled. Others leaned to speak to companions in a low voice.

  Charlee caught her breath. Roar was winning their sympathies. He was surrounded by Myrakar guards, bloodied and bowed, yet he was still the earl who had led an army for centuries.

  Roar gave a grimacing smile. “I know why they want him. Perhaps you do, too.”

  There were some nods. Just a few. Charlee saw someone waving their hand as they spoke, far away across the open area. It was a familiar gesture, and her heart squeezed as she studied the man speaking. Was it Darwin? He was wearing a coat with the collar turned up, and a battered cowboy hat, which disguised most of his face, but the way he had waved his hand….

  “Would you turn your brother over to the Nazis?” Roar demanded of his audience.

  Renmar was starting to scowl as the translator passed along Roar’s words. Clearly, Roar was not saying what he had expected to hear. Renmar waved and spoke, and half a dozen Myrakar stepped forward from the file of motionless guards at the back of the platform.