Sword of Light

by S. M. Schmitz

  And we did. Arrow after arrow, her arms reaching and pulling and releasing in a blur of black fabric, the center of the target transforming into a porcupine whose quills amassed thicker and thicker. She never faltered or slowed or missed her mark, and when her quiver was empty, she simply dropped it and the bow to the floor, turned around, and shuffled out of the training center.

  The room had fallen into an awed silence, so of course, I just had to break it. “New plan. We send Agnes into battle with the Egyptians. If she can’t kill the lion goddess with arrows, she can just show them her face and they’ll turn to stone.”

  Tyr shot me a funny look and said, “You know a surprising amount of Greek mythology.”

  “What does that have to do with Greek mythology?” I asked back, completely deadpan.

  Tyr’s mouth hung open for a moment before he realized I was just messing with him.

  Frey, apparently sensing we were getting too close to enjoying ourselves, clapped his hands loudly and redirected everyone’s attention to the targets. I obliged but only because I wanted it to end. There was a beer in the lobby’s bar that had my name on it.

  By the time Frey released us from practice, though, my arms and back were killing me, and I decided to skip the beer and just go to bed. But Keira caught up to me in the hallway and grabbed my arm, and she was back to being the freakishly strong woman whose iron-grip was completely emasculating.

  “Gavyn, are you ever going to listen to my apology?”

  “I already heard it.” I tried to free my arm, but she had her Magic Death Grip on. I only managed to rip a few hairs out of my forearm.

  “Your prophecy isn’t exactly easy for me to accept either,” she claimed. “Do I need to remind you what I do?”

  “So bringing my soul to Valhalla is somehow just as bad as actually dying?” I snapped. How could she even compare the two?

  “No,” she said softly. “But watching you die and knowing I can’t stop it… I don’t want this fate either.”

  I imagined being in her place, and yeah, it was a shitty future to look forward to, but it still didn’t excuse her silence. And yet, I sensed something loosening within me as if the anger I’d been tightly holding onto was slowly unwinding. “Are these prophecies ever wrong?” I finally asked her.

  She lowered her eyes and let go of my arm. I knew her answer before she even said it. “No.”

  “Right,” I sighed.

  “Sometimes, they can be confusing because they have multiple meanings, but there aren’t many ways to interpret death.”

  “And is there any chance y’all could have won without me?”

  They’d insisted all along they needed me for some reason, but I still couldn’t imagine why. They’d found dozens of heroes, most of whom had eagerly accepted their roles in this supernatural civil war. “Not according to the seer,” Keira answered. “She insisted we needed you. You won’t be the only hero to fall in combat, Gavyn. It’s a burden we’re all bearing.”

  It had never even occurred to me that she might know the fates of other heroes. I exhaled slowly and ran my fingers through my hair as I glanced toward the training room’s door. “Joachim?” I asked quietly. But I was picturing his daughter.

  And for the first time in what felt like a long time, Keira offered me good news. “He’ll make it home.”

  “How do you do this?” I asked. “How do you train people and send them into battle knowing they’ll die?”

  “I’ve only ever had to do this twice before,” she explained. “When they fall, I bring them to either Valhalla or Fólkvangr—”

  “To where?” I interrupted.

  “It’s Freyja’s realm for fallen soldiers.”

  I gaped at her for a second before hissing, “You never told me I could end up in her clutches forever.”

  Keira folded her arms over her chest and hissed back, “Didn’t seem like you minded being in her clutches a week ago.”

  Okay, she had me there. But I was apparently destined to spend an eternity—or however long we had before the end of the world—in either Odin’s or Freyja’s Hall of the Damned… er, Dead… and neither seemed like a good option to me. But Keira’s expression softened and she loosened her arms. “Fölkvangr isn’t so bad, Gavyn. Just because Freyja rules over it doesn’t mean she’ll have any more power over you than she does now.”

  I snorted and rubbed my tired eyes. “And what makes you think she has no power over me now?”

  Keira lowered her eyes and lifted a shoulder in response. I hadn’t meant to make her feel worse, but I was so tired and sore and I just wanted a hot shower and sleep. And I wanted not to think about my prophecy or what it would mean for me for a little while.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Keira,” I sighed. “After all, I haven’t seen you shoot yet. It’ll give me something to look forward to.” She smiled and this time, when I headed for the exit, she didn’t stop me. But as usual, I was wrong. We’d never step foot in our training center again.

  Chapter Seven

  Yngvarr whispered my name and shook my shoulder, so naturally, I rolled over and tried to ignore him. But he shook me again and whispered, “Gavyn, get up! We’ve got company.” I groaned and sat up, thinking Tyr or Frey had shown up in the middle of the night for a surprise training session, which honestly, would’ve been pretty stupid since there was a high enough risk of me hurting someone when I was fully awake.

  “Who?” I muttered. I didn’t hear anything. Apparently, our late-night visitors were Ninja Gods.

  “Egyptians,” he said quietly.

  For the first time, I noticed he held his sword. I threw the blankets off me, and like Frey in New Orleans, he somehow grabbed another sword from its invisible hiding place. I slipped my shoes on in case we ended up chasing these midnight assassins through the icy streets then followed him to the door where he listened for a moment, but I still didn’t hear anything.

  He glanced at me and mouthed, “Count of three.” I nodded as he reached for the door handle. I should’ve been terrified about the possibility of fighting a lion goddess with magical arrows that ignited in the air, but mostly, I just wondered if she could shoot those arrows while in lion form and if so, how? And would she eat people while a lion? Is that how I was going to die? I didn’t even know which god would have the honor of killing me, but if a supernatural lion ate me, I was going to be seriously pissed off. I mean, the dead heroes gathering at Odin’s banquet every night probably had these kickass stories with epic sword fights and impressive spear throwing and Xerxes-level amazing archery battles, and I’d be like, “Yeah, a lion bit my face off.”

  No way. I was going to die with an epic story to tell, too.

  Yngvarr pulled the door open and I hurried into the hallway, suddenly sensing I wasn’t alone out there. I spun around and found myself staring into the chillingly vacant eyes of a man with a dark beard and a spear in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  Also on my list of ways I refused to die: I was not getting shot. If I had to become one of these heroes who fought gods, I wanted a better story than that. I swung my blade at his left hand, which held the pistol, but he was remarkably fast. I only managed to open a gash on his wrist. Behind me, Yngvarr clashed with another god that had emerged from the stairwell, and even though I kinda knew an ancient-weapons fight was no time to be a smartass, it didn’t stop me. “Dude, what kind of asshole brings a pistol to a fight when he knows his opponent will only have a sword?”

  The Egyptian god arched an eyebrow at me and said, “Someone who intends to win.”

  I was outsmartassed. Not cool.

  “That’s Anhur, Gavyn,” Yngvarr called out to me. “Be careful. He can also take the form of a lion.”

  I grunted at Anhur, but he obviously didn’t want to hear my objections. He raised the pistol, so I lunged again, and the tip of my blade nicked his palm. I had to pivot and swing again at his other hand that held the spear, and he stepped back but didn’t drop either weapon. By now, m
ore bodies were pouring into the hallway from the elevator and stairwell, most of whom were likely demigods, but the Norse and Celtic gods and heroes were also emerging from their rooms.

  All along the hallway, people shouted in different languages, and bodies slammed into walls as they were pushed or attempted to avoid an attack. But my attention was on this god who’d led the invasion into our sanctuary. After all, we were in Iceland. I figured no one would bother looking for us here because who willingly goes to Iceland? Admittedly, it had been disappointingly free of ice, but still.

  Anhur offered me a smug smile as he inched toward the exit. His own heroes kept getting in my way so I knew I’d lose sight of him soon. But we were in a confined space. With two demigods standing in front of me, brandishing their own swords and eyeing me like a serpopard that needed to be beheaded—don’t ask me how I knew about serpopards—Anhur would get away.

  I stabbed the demigod closest to me just as Keira appeared at my side to fend off the other Egyptian hero whose sword almost provided the end to my story, but at least I wouldn’t have been shot or eaten by a lion. I kicked the body of the slain demigod away from me and chased Anhur, who was slinking into the dimly lit stairwell. But Keira reached me before I could follow him. “Wait,” she said, grabbing my arm. “It could be a trap. I haven’t seen Menhit here.”

  I had visions of an entire pride of lions with human eyes waiting for me on the stairs and grimaced. Some of the Egyptian heroes began to retreat into the opposite stairwell but not before a gunshot made my heart leap into my throat. I pushed my way through bodies struggling against each other until the young man’s body became visible. Outside the hotel, sirens wailed and the remaining Egyptian gods, who seemed pissed at us for not staying asleep while they snuck in and massacred everyone, shouted at their demigods then retreated into both stairwells.

  With only the Norse and Celts left, I glanced down the hallway for a body count. Agnes, who’d joined the fight as her young, beautiful redheaded self, beat on Hunter’s door, telling him it was time to leave. When he opened the door, he looked shaken and sick. “Will you go to Asgard now?” I asked.

  But Agnes answered for him. “I’m taking him to the Otherworld. He’ll be safe there.”

  I wanted to argue with her, to insist he was brought to a world I could at least get to, but Hunter met my eyes and shrugged. “Remember: it was just a prophecy, Gavyn. I’ll see you when this is all over. We’ll go to Vegas and get completely and totally shitfaced.”

  I swallowed something painful because I knew the prophecy was right. I’d never actually be seeing him again. But I couldn’t tell him that now, not when he was finally agreeing to get off this planet and somewhere safe. Instead, I just smiled and said, “Not sure we’re allowed back into Vegas.”

  “True,” he acknowledged. “But maybe you being the hero of the world and all will buy us some goodwill.”

  “All right,” I pretended to agree. “But no tequila this time.”

  “Deal,” he immediately said. Agnes had been watching me, knowing there was no maybe about this prediction, but she didn’t betray me. She just took my best friend’s arm and disappeared in that way that apparently only worked when gods were traveling between worlds. I stared at the empty doorway, suddenly overwhelmed with self-pity, and whispered, “Goodbye, Julian.”

  Keira touched my hand, reminding me she was still with me, and nodded toward one of the bodies on the floor. “I need to take him home.”

  I didn’t want her to leave. It seemed like everyone I cared about was leaving me. Keira took a deep breath and squeezed my fingers. “Come with me,” she suggested.

  “Where?” I asked stupidly.

  “Valhalla,” she answered. “Maybe if you see what it’s really like, it won’t scare you so much.”

  She was still holding my hand and standing so close to me that I was convinced she could have asked me to lay down my life right there and I would have. So even though part of me didn’t want to venture anywhere near Valhalla, I agreed. Keira let go of me and knelt beside the body of the fallen hero and brushed his sandy blond hair off his forehead. “Are you ready?” she asked him.

  Honestly, I half expected this guy, who was obviously dead, to sit up and answer her but nothing happened. She stood up and held out her hand, but she wasn’t reaching for me. And suddenly, I was no longer standing in a hotel’s hallway but at the base of a brightly colored bridge that spanned a deep chasm, so deep I couldn’t see what waited at the bottom. It might have been a river or Hell itself. Trying to find the bottom made me dizzy though, so I backed away from the ledge… and into the dead hero.

  Except he wasn’t dead anymore. Not really. He was standing and the bloody wound on his chest where he’d been shot was gone. He nodded toward the chasm and in thickly accented English asked, “What’s down there?”

  “Um…” I stammered. Great. The village idiot was back. “You’re dead.”

  I was going to need a much thicker book of dumbest-things-ever-said.

  But he just nodded. “Apparently.”

  “Gavyn, this is Bernt,” Keira said. “And you once wanted to cross the Rainbow Bridge, so start walking.”

  “Why now?” I asked. “Why not show up at the gate like last time?”

  “It’s a symbolic journey,” she said.

  “And what if I refuse to take your symbolic journey when I die?” I retorted.

  Keira rolled her eyes and mumbled, “That wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

  But Bernt didn’t seem overly anxious to march across the bridge either. He eyed the chasm warily and said, “I don’t like heights. Do we have to take the bridge?”

  “Would you rather go across on a flying horse?” Keira asked.

  Bernt blinked at her then blinked at me. “I’m taking the bridge.”

  “Good call,” I agreed.

  We began the trek across the bridge, at first walking down the middle but soon veering toward the right side so we’d have something to hold onto. About halfway across, I became convinced something was moving beneath the bridge and managed to freak out Bernt who joined in my chorus of, “I never signed up to fight trolls!”

  Keira shot me a look that I interpreted as regret, and I almost asked her why she’d expected me to be any different than usual on this trip but I didn’t want her to leave me alone on the troll bridge. So I flashed her a sheepish grin and pointed to the blackness below us. “I’m just saying there could be a troll down there.”

  “There are no trolls in Asgard,” she repeated for the third time.

  I jerked a thumb over my shoulder to the bank we’d just left. “What’s that land? Maybe there are trolls in it.”

  “Gavyn,” she groaned.

  Bernt glanced over the side of the bridge again and shook his head. “I should’ve taken the flying horse.”

  Keira put a hand on my back and pushed me toward Asgard. “When it’s your turn, I’m not giving you the choice,” she muttered. “You’re going on horse.”

  “Don’t blame you,” I told her.

  Bernt was the first of us to step foot on the grassy bank outside the massive wall, and even though he was technically just a spirit, I could’ve sworn color returned to his face once he was on solid ground again. Part of me regretted never getting to know him while he’d been alive. I suspected we’d have gotten along well. As I joined him by the gate, I glanced back toward the Rainbow Bridge, which looked suspiciously like the Golden Gate Bridge if someone had tie-dyed it. “I don’t know what that was supposed to symbolize other than one last emasculating journey for Asgard’s heroes.”

  Bernt nodded solemnly. “I’m dead anyway. Probably don’t really need my balls.”

  “I dunno. I’d like to keep mine when I die,” I said.

  Heimdall opened the gate and squinted at me like I was already on Asgard’s short list of miscreants. To be fair, I probably was and I totally deserved it. “Odin’s waiting for you,” he told Bernt. As we entered the gate into Asgard,
I heard him whispering to Keira, “Why is Gavyn here?”

  “Poor judgment on my part,” she replied.

  Bernt snickered and grinned at me. “No offense, but I’m kinda glad you’ll be joining me soon. Not sure how much I’ll have in common with demigods who’ve been dead for centuries.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that,” I admitted.

  “Eventually,” Keira explained, “everyone who fights with us now will get the chance to come here, even if they die of old age many years from now. It’s their reward for helping us when we needed them.”

  The golden spires of Valhalla reflected the light across Asgard, creating the illusion of a brilliant sunrise. As we reached the top of a hill that overlooked Odin’s palace for the dead, I noticed Valhalla wasn’t just one castle but a village of homes and squares and its famous field where men and women both fought and played a game that looked an awful lot like soccer. Keira took Bernt’s hand and smiled as she looked over Valhalla. “Welcome home, Bernt.”

  Bernt’s eyes had widened as he took in what I’d soon learn was actually an entire city of the dead. Paths wound from the hilltop through the maze of houses and dining halls to the golden palace at the center where Odin presided over his fallen heroes. A woman’s voice called out to us in a language I didn’t speak, and yet, I somehow understood her. There were few moments in my life I’d been truly speechless, so much so that even vodka wouldn’t have loosened my tongue, but this was one of them.

  The woman, who must’ve been another Valkyrie because she looked so much like Keira, waved us over and we followed Keira wordlessly. Bernt had apparently forgotten how to speak as well. Keira introduced us to the Valkyrie named Hildr, who I secretly decided to call Heidi partly because it was easier to remember and partly because she was every bit as hot as Heidi Klum, and she offered to show Bernt around since Keira was babysitting me. Before Bernt could walk away, I forced my mouth to start working again and promised him I’d find him as soon as I came back here, assuming the next time I was in Valhalla I wouldn’t be leaving again.