by Jenny Trout
Juliet started forward, and Romeo stopped her. “Let her go.”
“But Juliet,” Nurse said, turning her head to catch a last glimpse.
“I will come anon,” Juliet called after her. “We will not be parted for long.”
Romeo’s hand closed over Juliet’s shoulder. She watched her nurse go toward the arch, and then through it.
“It is right,” Juliet said, wiping at her eyes. “No better mother has ever lived.”
“Certainly not mine,” Hamlet put in sadly, stepping up to join them. “Your Nurse would have gone into Sheol, carrying with her all the guilt she felt for failing you.”
“How do you know that?” Romeo asked, a note of skepticism in his voice.
“The ravens told me, on our walk to the mountain. They said the Afterjord exists to comfort mortals in death.” Hamlet shrugged. “Perhaps for some, eternal torment is kinder than giving up their guilt or facing the shame of their deeds. Not that your nurse had anything to be ashamed off—”
“She thought she had failed me.” Juliet closed her eyes. “That she had failed me.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Romeo lifted his eyes to the sky, and Juliet realized he was not simply offering her a platitude. He feared what would happen if she continued with her guilt.
“You needn’t worry,” she reassured him. “I kept them at bay with this.”
Hamlet took the key from her and held it up, turning it this way and that as he examined it. But it remained inert, as it had before. He handed it back to Juliet with a shrug.
“Well, if we’re finished here,” he began, sounding a bit put out at the delay, “We should move on.”
They returned to the bridge, easily warding off a shade that attempted to block their path. The key, it seemed, was more than a key to the gates between the Afterjord and Midgard, but a symbol allowing them entrance wherever they might seek it.
“If I had known how well it worked, I would have used it against the sirens,” Juliet lamented. “It would have saved us a fair amount of trouble.”
“It may have worked against the sirens,” a voice spoke from above them, “but it won’t work against us.”
There was a rush of wings and a flash of arms, and before Juliet could understand what had happened, she was jerked from her feet and soaring through the air, away from Hamlet, Romeo, and the stone plaza entirely.
…
“After her!” Hamlet shouted, grabbing the front of Romeo’s doublet.
It had all happened so suddenly, Romeo hadn’t had a chance to move to grab Juliet from the Valkyries’ arms, and now two of them bore her away, twisting and shrieking through the sky over Bifröst. His slow reaction shamed him, but he could worry about that after they’d rescued Juliet.
Hamlet’s feet skidded on the stone just before the light bridge began, and he tested it with one foot, quickly, saying, “Just in case.” When Bifröst held him, they charged ahead.
“What do they want with her?” Romeo gasped. His lungs burned, and his limbs grew weary long before they’d covered half the journey. He concentrated on Juliet, on the thought of losing her again, and it gave him the speed and breath he’d lost.
“I don’t know,” Hamlet seemed vaguely surprised that Romeo could keep up with him. “But whatever it is, it’s counter to our purposes. Juliet has the other key. Which leaves us with—”
Bifröst disappeared beneath their feet, replaced by blood-splattered stone. Romeo’s head swam at the sudden shift. They stood in Valhalla once more, inside a wide circle of menacing warriors and their villainous counterparts. There were giants, like the fire giant they had battled in the wasteland, and others who were made from snow and ice. Rows of warriors, no less fearsome than the berserker, stood cradling axes and swords, their shields glinting in the torchlight. Above them, clad in flowing white and intricately wrought armor, winged women brandished spears.
And between two of them, Juliet.
One of them glided forward on the air, the toes of her golden boot pointed as she landed on the light bridge. “Welcome to Valhalla,” she said with a malicious smile. “I assume you’ve drawn up your battle terms?”
Chapter Eighteen
“Let me go!” Juliet shouted at the two Valkyrie who held her. Hamlet looked up, pleading silently. He caught her eye and only barely shook his head, and she stilled.
But she glared at them, the fiery girl.
“Why did you bring us here?” Hamlet demanded of Hildr. She smirked at him and took a few lazy steps forward.
“I brought you here because you have something that does not belong to you.” She held out her palm. “I’ll have it back now.”
“No!” Romeo stepped forward and flung his hand out, as if to prevent Hamlet from taking a step toward the winged woman.
He needn’t have worried. Hamlet would no sooner give over the last key that remained to them than he would voluntarily lay his neck below one of the Viking axes that surrounded them.
“Give us Juliet, and we’ll give you the key,” Romeo promised.
Hamlet felt an admonishment rising up his throat, then he paused. He wondered of the polite way to tell Romeo that there was no chance in any of the hells they had traversed that he would trade away their last hope of returning to Midgard.
“No, we won’t.” Hamlet gently pushed Romeo’s hand aside. “We’ve taken these keys—” his gaze flicked to Romeo, entreating him to be quiet about which of them possessed the other key— “and we will use them to return to Midgard. It is our only chance of leaving this world, and you do not want us here. Give us the maiden, and we shall go.”
Hildr lifted one golden eyebrow. There was a high flush on her porcelain cheeks. “Let me warn you, mortals, that what you are attempting is anathema. The keys are kept separate by the will of a power higher than any god, and they will remain separated.”
“Then you have no notion of what we are capable of,” Juliet shouted.
The Valkyrie laughed. Her legion of sisters smirked. “We are the finest warriors who ever fought and died in the mortal realm. There are eighty-thousand and more dying in wars every day. Men here have ridden tigers into battle to subdue their enemies. What have you done?”
Hamlet imagined his father and heard the steel of King Hamlet’s voice in his words. “I killed Fenrir, the beast so fierce that even you fear him. As I will kill you.”
Hildr glowed with a blaze of golden fury at the insult. “I fear no one!” She motioned with her spear and called to the other Valkyrie. “Go and revive the mangy dog. And don’t be gentle about it.”
Hildr came so close, Hamlet swore the tips of their noses would brush. She stared him down for a long moment, and when he did not cower, she laughed, a haughty sound that rattled Hamlet to his bones, though he would never show it.
“Fine, mortal. If you wish to fight, then so be it. You will not get the third key.” She raised her chin and addressed the horde behind them. “See these gallant fools out.”
“I thought we were going to fight?” Romeo demanded. “What about Juliet?”
Hildr fixed her gaze on Juliet. A particularly frank gaze that Hamlet swore Romeo would not have tolerated from a man. “Juliet stays. She is one of us now.”
“Time to go, mortals,” a big, brutish mountain of a man chortled behind them, and two pairs of impossibly huge hands closed over both their shoulders, dragging them back.
“Make your preparations,” Hildr called after them. “And we will make ours. We shall meet on Bifröst.”
…
“I said unhand me, you winged harpies!” Juliet screeched as she watched Hamlet and Romeo dragged, shouting, from the hall.
“As you wish,” the Valkyrie to her left said, and at once they released her. Juliet plummeted to the stone floor with a resounding thud.
The tip of one golden boot nudged her in the ribs, as gently as an armored foot might nudge. “All harpies have wings, by their very nature.”
Juliet scrambled to her feet, b
acking away from the winged woman who smirked at her. The woman raised her golden head and said, “My sisters, stay. The rest of you, leave us.”
The horde of monsters and warriors noisily retreated, and the Valkyries formed a tighter circle around Juliet. She forced herself to stay still, to not flinch from them as they drew closer.
“What do you want of me?” she asked the one who appeared to be leader.
To Juliet’s surprise, the fair woman did not threaten her, nor did she attempt to overly charm her. She held out her hand and clasped Juliet’s forearm. “I am Hildr, daughter of Högni, wife of Hedin.”
It seemed only fitting that she should respond in kind. “Juliet, daughter of Capulet and wife of Romeo.”
“Your husband is very brave, entering the Afterjord to find you,” Hildr mused. “But you are braver by far, and you shall have a reward.”
Juliet shook her head. “You are mistaken. I am not brave. I have been gripped with terror ever since Romeo woke me in Sheol. He is brave. He deserves any reward you have to give, though I am certain the only reward he desires is to return to Midgard.”
“So, you are courageous. Not brave.” Hildr raised one pale brow. “This only intrigues me more.”
She motioned to two of her fellow Valkyries, and they moved, clearing a path that Hildr indicated with her spear. Juliet followed, for she felt she had no other choice.
“What do you see, when you look around this place?” the Valkyrie demanded of Juliet. The other winged women walked behind them, their curiosity plain on their faces.
“I–I see…” Juliet hesitated. She had seen so much in her travels through the Afterjord, nearly all of it impossible to describe. But this place seemed clear enough. “It is a fortress.”
“It is a feasting hall,” Hildr corrected her. “A warrior’s paradise, where Odin’s chosen warriors prepare for battle at Ragnarok, the end of time itself.”
“Ragnarok isn’t going to happen,” one of the other Valkyries reminded her. “The mortal prince killed Fenrir, the beast so fierce that even you fear him.”
“I fear no one,” Hildr said proudly, but her eyes flared momentarily in shock at the remark. She motioned with her spear and called to the other Valkyrie. “Go and revive the fool. And don’t be gentle about it.”
“What does any of this have to do with me?” Juliet demanded. “I am not a Viking. I don’t believe in your strange traditions. Why hold me prisoner here?”
“Prisoner?” Hildr laughed, and her sisters followed suit. “We don’t seek to imprison you. You slew the Berserker. You defeated the illusions of Sheol. You stopped a fire giant by flinging your own body at him. That alone is impressive. You have more than redeemed your mortal cowardice.”
“Cowardice?” Juliet’s face burned with her anger. “I was no coward!”
“You ran away from the challenge set before you in Midgard, did you not?” Hildr asked, as if daring Juliet to argue further.
How dare this stranger make such assumptions about the end of Juliet’s life! Juliet’s limbs trembled with the force of her rage. “I did what I had to do! Imagine, waking in your own tomb, to find your love dead beside you, and see if you choose differently!”
“I care not about your mode of death. But the potion you took to find yourself in the tomb in the first place… that was cowardice.” It was clear to Juliet that Hildr meant no insult, though her words were certainly insulting. She stated them as fact she regarded with no opinion or emotion.
Somehow that made it worse, and Juliet could barely control her anger. She struggled to keep from raising her voice, conscious as ever that the women around her all bore intimidating sharp spears. “I had no choice. I couldn’t have married Paris. I’d already married Romeo. My immortal soul was in danger.”
“And isn’t it in danger now?” Hildr asked with a smirk. “Stop your protesting. It makes you appear weak, and you most certainly are not.”
Juliet didn’t know how to respond to that.
“What do we want with you?” Hildr repeated Juliet’s question back to her. “You are a warrior, and the best warriors reside in Valhalla. But you have done more than display courage on the battlefield; you fought against the natural order of the Afterjord. You were in Sheol. Your soul chose to forget the pain of your mortal life by sleeping eternally, and yet you’re still here.”
“Because Romeo woke me!” Juliet shook her head. “This is madness. You want me to become a warrior? All I want is to go home, back to Midgard, to live a mortal life with Romeo.”
“The Norn have told us of you. You and your love are marked by fate to love across impossible barriers. That destiny should have been fulfilled when Romeo swallowed the poison beside your bier, but your despair got the better of you, and you altered your destiny.” Hildr no longer spoke in haughty tones, as though Juliet were a child who needed education on the matter. Her voice softened, almost in pity, and Juliet realized with a shock that she would have preferred the proud, condescending warrior.
“I am offering you a chance to alter your destiny once more,” Hildr continued. “Become one of us. Ride with us over the battlefields of Midgard. Wield the power of life over death, and reside here with us, in Valhalla. You will become legend, as one as brave as you are deserves to be.”
Juliet’s mind raced. What was this woman offering? A chance to be legend, but Juliet had never once desired such status. But another part of her statement had pricked Juliet’s mind. “I would be able to return to Midgard?”
Hildr’s eyes narrowed. “You would, when you ride with us. The Valkyrie are present at all great battles, finding those warriors who fall and recruiting them into the ranks of the Einherjar, the chosen warriors of Valhalla. Do not deceive yourself into believing you can have a normal mortal life once you join us.”
“But you said you have a husband,” Juliet reminded her, a strangely panicked hope growing in her chest.
Hildr’s smirk widened into a grin. “The stubborn man is locked in eternal war with my father. Is that the type of marriage you would have?”
Their walking had borne them to a tall, gilded door. Hildr opened it, revealing an armory of sorts. At least, that was the conclusion Juliet arrived at as soon as her eyes adjusted to the burning glare of sunlight—sunlight!—off the gleaming golden surfaces of shields, weaponry, and armor.
In the center of the room, on a wooden form, hung a golden breastplate. The metal was worked into an image of feathers, matching the armor worn by all the Valkyrie.
“It is yours, if you will have it.” There was no mocking in Hildr’s tone, none of the condescension she’d displayed before. “You have the choice to be brave.”
…
As the horde bore them toward the doors of Valhalla, Romeo had the strangest, angriest feeling at having been there before. The enormous doors opened, and with very little ceremony—as last time—they were shoved out. Hamlet fell forward and sprawled on the ground, but Romeo managed to stay on his feet, skidding on the stone. He turned and attempted a run at the closing doors, but there was no hope of getting through them. Not without being ground into paste.
Every instinct urged him to pound on the doors, to scream and threaten, but what good could it possibly do him? Inside the impenetrable walls of Valhalla assembled the greatest warriors ever to die in glory. And they had Juliet. What had they to fear from a single, wailing mortal?
He went to Hamlet and helped him up. The prince’s lip was split, and thick red blood dripped from it.
“Do you think you’re the only person in the Afterjord who’s bleeding right now?” Romeo mused. “It’s entirely possible that you are.”
Hamlet lifted a pale brow and dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve. “Your wife is trapped in there. You’re taking this quite well.”
“I have no choice but to accept the situation, or else beat my head against an immovable force.” It was somehow freeing to admit it. Without the rage and howling unfairness to cloud his judgment, he was able to concen
trate on the problems at hand. “What do you think they want with her?”
“I’m not sure,” Hamlet admitted. “Collateral? But we owe them nothing. Perhaps they seek to return her to Sheol? But why them? That is the job of the shades we saw before, not the Valkyrie.”
“The Valkyrie do not seem like creatures who do something without reason. If they took Juliet, they have a use for her. But what?”
Hamlet’s bloody mouth broke into a painful looking grin. He grimaced and dabbed his lip again, but a hint of the smile remained. “Could it be that Romeo is finally becoming a man of thought, rather than action? I’m quite impressed that you didn’t draw your sword and get us killed right there in Valhalla. Well done.”
Before, Romeo might have bristled at Hamlet’s patronizing words, but there was no reason to purposely misinterpret his attempted humor. He’d seen Hamlet’s steadfast courage and loyalty. So he let himself jest in return. “I’ve learned things on our journey. Would you mock me for my newfound wisdom?”
“Not at all.” Hamlet’s smile faded into seriousness, blood still dribbling down his chin. “Though wisdom sounds a bit haughty, doesn’t it?”
At that, Romeo had to laugh. When he did, the thought struck him that had they not tumbled into the Afterjord together, they would never have addressed each other as equals. Hamlet was a prince, and Romeo, although his family was wealthy, was certainly not royalty.
He wondered if that would last, once they returned to Midgard.
It wouldn’t, if he did not attempt to make amends for his behavior. “Hamlet…I’m sorry.”
The prince frowned down at the blood on his hand. “It’s nothing serious, just damned annoying. It will heal, in a day or so.”
“Not about your lip. About…” Ah, there was the rub. Romeo had lost track of the apologies he owed the prince. He settled on, “I’m sorry that I pulled you through the corpseway. It is entirely my fault that you are trapped here.”
“It is,” Hamlet agreed. Then he shrugged. “I suppose I shouldn’t forgive you until I know we’ll return to Midgard and be free, but if we die and are trapped forever, I don’t want to pass up this opportunity to thank you.”
