Freed: (Phoebe Meadows Book 2)

by Carlson, Amanda

  FREED

  A Phoebe Meadows Novel:

  Book Two

  AMANDA CARLSON

  Phoebe Meadows has one thing on her mind: Free her mother.

  For the last month, Phoebe has been training in the Valkyrie stronghold readying for battle. But when she stumbles into a secluded valley after a day of grueling practice, she’s given a dire prediction. Phoebe must leave the stronghold immediately with the aid of the giant, Junnal, to rescue her mother from the dark elves. If Phoebe fails, Leela will be transported to a place that can no longer be reached.

  Leaving Fen behind threatens to undo her, but Phoebe stays true to the mission. Along the way, she allies with the god Baldur and an old white elf mage. Together, they storm the realm, and with the help of an angry wolf and her Valkyrie sisters, they just might stand a chance to free the valiant shieldmaiden.

  But Phoebe soon learns that in order to save her mother, she might lose something too precious to sacrifice…

  FREED

  A Phoebe Meadows Novel: Book Two

  Copyright © 2016 Amanda Carlson

  ISBN: 978-0-9903928-9-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  About FREED

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Sneak Peek of EXILED

  About the Author

  Other Books by Amanda Carlson

  Many Thanks

  For Jane. You amaze me.

  1

  __________________________

  ____________

  “D on’t worry about it, Phoebe. It’ll come.” Ingrid’s voice was confident as she handed me a new weapon. “Here, try this. It’s the mighty pickax.”

  I took the ax begrudgingly. It felt like a child’s toy after hefting a fifty-pound spiked cudgel all day. It was lightweight and nondescript, and the blade wasn’t even sharp. “There is nothing mighty about this weapon,” I told her. “I’m pretty sure you just dug this out of a storage closet.”

  I didn’t blame Ingrid in the least for trying. As it stood, we were running out of options. I’d been training at the Valkyrie stronghold for over a month, and the weapon that was supposed to “choose me” had yet to reveal itself. I’d tried swords of every flavor and size, bows, maces, machetes, and battle-axes, just to name a few.

  Nothing felt right.

  “I’m not going to say I did or I didn’t,” Ingrid answered wryly with a wink. She’d been my champion since the very day I’d arrived. She rose at dawn without fail and tirelessly worked on bettering my skills, teaching me how to fight and defend myself and, overall, being a great aunt and friend. “One never knows with these things. We have to try them all, from storage or not, until The One finally makes its way into your meaty fist.”

  “What if my perfect weapon is not actually in the Valkyrie compound?” I twirled the pickax around my head, getting a feel for the weapon like I’d been taught. It was unbalanced, much heavier on top, which made my movements clunky. I had to be careful it didn’t catch on my sleeve, or it might come down on my head.

  I wore the standard Valkyrie fighting regalia. The same clothes Ingrid had shown up in on that fateful day in my apartment. Today I had on a black overtunic, called a kirtle, which fell to my upper thighs, and soft pair of dark gray leather pants. I wore a sword belt called a balteus secured at my waist, which currently held Gram and the ice pick I’d taken off the dark elf I’d killed. Over everything, sat a protective metal breastplate that had been crafted to my exact measurements. It was held in place by thick leather straps that crisscrossed my back. Some Valkyries preferred a longer kirtle and no pants so that nothing impeded their movements, but I liked the pants. These were pretty kickass. I’d never been tempted to wear leather before, but these were by far the softest pants I’d ever owned.

  To finish the ensemble off were a pair of beautifully detailed arm bracers. They were my favorite. They felt strong and sturdy, making me feel every inch the shieldmaiden.

  The only thing I’d insisted on doing my own way was the footwear.

  Valkyries wore simple leather shoes, but I needed more. Growing up in Midgard, I was used to wearing shoes that had some girth to them. My request had been granted within days, but no Valkyrie knew any shoe brands, so I’d drawn a detailed map of the shoe department at Macy’s where I’d worked, and the next day I’d found a beautiful pair of high black boots waiting for me outside my door.

  Well, door was a guideline. It was more of an opening .

  The entire stronghold was carved out of the side of a sandstone mesa, just like the Pueblo Indians had done with their cliff dwellings. The only differences were the modern conveniences, such as beds, furniture, you name it. The Valkyries had everything, including electricity that ran on energy harnessed by the sun, which was why the Valkyries had chosen New Mexico in the first place. Sunny days were the norm around here. The technology was much more advanced than solar, but they assured me that humans would catch up someday.

  Because of the arrangement we’d made to let the guys in, Fen and Tyr were not allowed in the main compound. So the three of us, and Sam, had separate quarters the equivalent of a few blocks away. Our accommodations were a little less high-tech, but they worked fine. I’d been happy here thus far.

  I continued to whirl the pickax above my head and down around my legs in figure eights, making sure to keep its balance in check.

  “Don’t worry, Phoebe. Your weapon is around here someplace,” Ingrid said. “They have a funny knack of showing up right when we need them most. My guess is you’re still a little too green. You haven’t learned to harness your energy yet, so it’s waiting to reveal itself like a present on Christmas morning at exactly the right time.”

  “I hope so.” I took a few practice swings, air whizzing by the blade as the pickax came down swiftly. I’d grown immeasurably stronger during my stay. Ingrid had insisted I feed from Yggdrasil, the tree of life, every other day, and because of that, I’d gained a lot of muscle weight. All-day training had taken that muscle and shaped it. I’d never been this toned and fit in my entire life. People who’d gone to high school with me would freak if they saw me. Phoebe Meadows from marching band and the swim team had come a long way. My balance had also improved, and I’d learned to fight with my hands, which was extra exciting.

  The only thin
g I was waiting to learn was how to harness my inner energy. Ingrid had insisted I wait until she was sure I was ready, as it was “a tricky thing to master.” So far it hadn’t happened, and I wasn’t in a position to dictate anything, even though I was eager to learn.

  I swung the pickax again, pinwheeling it this time with one arm as I made my way over to the bales of hay set up in a small practice yard made just for us. Each bale was a different shape and size.

  With thoughts of rescuing my mother, who was currently trapped in Svartalfheim, the land of the dark elves, I swung the ax down with everything I had, embedding it solidly in the middle of the painted red X.

  The bale exploded handily, hay flying everywhere, each side toppling to the ground, rocking precariously a few times before they both lay still.

  “That was great!” Ingrid clapped, coming toward me, her voice sounding genuinely appreciative. She looked fierce as always. Her blonde hair was military short, but she was undeniably beautiful. Her hazel eyes sparked with humor. “That was much better than what you did all day with the cudgel. How does it feel in your hands? I mean, with a blow like that, it has promise.” With the cudgel, I’d managed only to spray hay everywhere, beating the bales to death like a frustrated child punching a feather pillow.

  I shrugged as I brought the pickax up to inspect it, turning it over in my hand. “Honestly, it’s nothing special.” I gave her a look. “I have a hard time believing this is what would choose me.” Not only was the blade incredibly dull, but calling it a blade was iffy at best. It was more like a helpful tool you’d use to get up the icy parts of Mount Everest than an intimidating appendage a Valkyrie referred to as her war weapon . The handle was chipped and worn, and literally no one would take this weapon seriously. Zero people would run from me if I waved this at them.

  “No, you’re right, this likely isn’t it. But we gotta go with the weapons we have,” Ingrid said. “Give it another try. Maybe it’ll sing this time.”

  There was no way this was going to do any singing. I eyed it. “Ingrid, this is a glorified garden tool. It’s something folks back home in Wisconsin use to chip ice off their driveway. My dad kept one in our garage. The only time I ever saw him use it was to go after a pile of dirt that had become like concrete from too much rain.” I flipped the thing to my left hand, taking a few swings in the air. One of the things Ingrid had been insistent on teaching me was to use both hands. I was pretty proud of my newfound agility. As my brilliant aunt told me time and time again, you never knew when “some asshole” would incapacitate your fighting arm. Not that I would’ve classified me as a klutz before, but smooth hadn’t been in my repertoire either. “Ingrid, if this is truly my weapon, I’m going to be the biggest dork in Valkyrie history.”

  Ingrid chuckled. “No worries, Phoebe. Our weapons come in all shapes and sizes. You haven’t met Helga yet. Her weapon is a hammer. And we’re not talking Thor’s hammer. We’re talking hardware-store hammer. But”—Ingrid shook her head appreciatively—“that girl can make that puppy sing. I’ve seen her take out more eyes than you can count. She uses the claw like it’s an extension of her hand. Brutal.” Ingrid swiped her hand like a cat, curling her fingers.

  “Shieldmaiden!” Fen called from his usual spectating place on a sandstone ledge in the shade a few yards away. He looked as relaxed and handsome as ever, his blond hair tumbling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Tyr’s back from the river.” A second later the sound of the stronghold barrier being opened whistled through the air and vibrated the ground. My brother had gone to retrieve his weapon cache from the water. They’d arrived an hour ago by boat. Fen grinned. “Maybe you’ll find something of use in there. Don’t fret, your weapon will surface.” Fen often sparred with me, teaching me what he knew, as did my half brother Tyr, the god of war. I was incredibly lucky to have such a strong team of supporters.

  “I’m not fretting.” I was definitely fretting. “But you have to admit, this”—I shook the pickax—“is not warrior material. I look like I’m going on an expedition that involves ropes and shoes with spikes.”

  Fen walked toward me, swinging his huge broadsword. “I’ll spar with you, Valkyrie. If you can block my blade with that”—he nodded at the tool—“then it’s warrior material.”

  “Okay,” I agreed as I watched him. He moved with an unbelievable fluidity that was all demigod. “What’s the deal with Tyr’s weapons cache, anyway?” I asked, squaring up. “Why did it take so long to arrive?” Tyr had been arguing with various people from Asgard the entire time we’d been here. The stronghold contained a small, portable mirror-type thing that was connected to other realms. I didn’t remotely understand it, nor had anyone taken the time to explain it, so it remained a mystery.

  “He had to heavily negotiate for his arsenal to be returned,” Fen replied, warming up his arm by twirling the broadsword, making his huge biceps jump. “He is the god of war, after all, and he left many weapons behind when he left the realm. Because he hadn’t been back to Asgard in too many years to count, they’d been given over to the new war commander. He’s had to make a deal to get them released, as they are his by right, but even so, they’ve only agreed to let some go.”

  My best friend, Sam, had gone with him, and I heard her animated chatter before I saw them. She was excited about something. As they rounded a corner, Fen, Ingrid, and I walked to meet them.

  Tyr cradled a giant chest in his broad arms, which was no small feat, since he had only one hand. Other than Fen, my half brother was one of the biggest men I’d ever seen. His good looks were slightly marred by a long scar that stretched from one eyelid, across his nose, ending at the opposite jawline. But his wavy auburn hair and clear green eyes managed to give him a youthful appearance despite the damage, which was no small feat. I’d been shocked to learn that Fen had given him that scar, and taken his hand, when Tyr had tricked him into being bound, which resulted in Fen’s banishment. But the guys were clearly over it. As only men can seem to achieve.

  If I’d been given a scar like that, the grudge would’ve gone on for an eternity, possibly even post-eternity.

  Sam’s blonde curls bounced into view right behind Tyr. I laughed out loud when I saw her. “Sam, you’re covered in weapons.”

  “I know!” she chirped. “Isn’t it cool?” A large bow was draped over one shoulder, what looked to be a huge katana stuck out from behind her back, around her hip hung a large broadsword, and in her arms were several knives along with what looked to be a machete.

  “It looks like you finally found a way to channel your inner Xena, Warrior Princess.” I grinned. Sam sparred with me occasionally and was always eager to learn from anyone willing to show her a thing or two about combat. The Valkyries had noticed her enthusiasm and had taken her under their wing after she’d worked her charm on them.

  Honestly, it was impossible not to adore her.

  She was naturally funny, witty, and super smart. It sealed the deal when they found out she had Asgardian blood flowing through her veins.

  We’d found this tidbit out almost by accident. Fen had been in his wolf form when we were fighting the Serpent of Midgard and scented her, picking up on her unusual heritage. It’s likely from her father’s side, since she’s never met him. Now she’s determined to make a trip to Asgard and find him, and I’d promised to help her.

  “I’m way cooler than Xena,” she said. “She wishes she had my swagger.”

  “I’m sure she does—”

  Tyr set the chest down with a loud clang, and I was immediately drawn to it.

  I walked toward it, totally focused, before I even knew I was moving.

  “What’s up, Phoebe?” Ingrid’s voice held curiosity.

  I glanced at her, dazed. “My weapon is in there.” I pointed dumbly at the large chest.

  There was no mistaking it. An unbelievable pull yanked at my insides to get to that chest. My hands began to shake like crazy.

  “Well, let’s open it up and take a look-see, shall
we?” Ingrid turned to Tyr and ordered, “Pry that puppy open so we can get this show on the road.”

  2

  __________________________

  ____________

  T yr did the honors, bending over and hefting up the lid. The chest was made of dark wood embellished with ornate carvings of warriors, each clad in armor and brandishing a variety of weapons. It was a large chest, almost the size of a small coffin. It had to be that big to hold all the weapons.

  We gathered in a semicircle, gazing down at it.

  Once Tyr had lifted the lid, we all exhaled. It’d felt ceremonious.

  Try grinned as he glanced inside. “The new commander did well by me. Most of what I requested resides inside.”

  “Come on, Phoebe,” Sam urged excitedly, rubbing her hands together. “Don’t leave us hanging. Which one of these beauties is yours?”

  I dropped to my knees, tossing the decidedly unmighty pickax to the side.

  Good riddance, lowly weapon. I hope we never meet again.

  My hands trembled. “I’m not sure which one it is,” I told the curious onlookers. “Something in here just feels…powerful…and my body craves it.” I brushed my hand across the weapon on top. It felt cold. “It’s not this one.” I lifted out a big scythe. “Not this one either.” I started a pile to my right, dumping a large cleaver on top of a sickle.