by A. R. Kahler
“Let this be a lesson,” he said. “Only pay attention to that which is worth paying attention to. Once you have proven that you are worth my attention, I will turn around. Perhaps then you will be finished. Perhaps not. Let your goal not be to finish. Let your goal be to be worth something in my world.”
She bit back the pain. I felt it in my own chest. Knew it all too well. To be good enough. To be worthy. Wasn’t that why I’d sent myself to Islington? Not just to escape Brad’s memory, but to prove to myself that I was better than he was? That I deserved more?
Freyja continued her motions. I watched.
I watched until even I forgot that anything else existed.
• • •
The boy with stars on his brow waited for her in their shared house. It was a small thing, the hut, but it was hers. She hadn’t been granted much in this life—not even her own life—and the cottage felt like a home. It was carved within a thick root of the Tree, dangling above eternity like a hornet’s nest, with no ladders or bridges to reach it.
“I thought you would never return,” Bragi said. He sat before the fire, his harp between his knees. The music had gone silent the moment she stepped through the door, and oh, had she considered lingering just outside, listening to his notes dance through the silence like a cloud of fireflies.
“Today is not that day,” she said. She tried to keep her voice light, but it was difficult. Hugin had drilled her for hours after he’d sent the shades after her, and lectured for hours more on duty and diligence. Nothing she had not heard since she had ears to comprehend, but that didn’t make the listening any easier.
He plucked a few notes as he stood and walked toward her, the sound hanging in the air like gossamer.
“And we are blessed for it,” he said. He drew her into his arms, and despite everything—despite the training that taught her never to be weak, never to feel love, never to know anything but duty—she let herself fall into his embrace. As always, he smelled of earth and cloves and something sharper, the birth of a spark. She wrapped her tired arms around him and let the day fall away. “He is growing harsher,” he muttered into her ear.
“Because she grows older,” she replied. “She is nearly ready.”
He was silent for a moment as he held her, one hand twining delicately through her hair. She wanted to cry. That surprised her. She hadn’t cried since she was summoned to the human world to kill Kaira’s lover. It wasn’t the act that had shaken her though; it was Kaira’s own pain at the violence done. The Shadechild had been hurt deeply from the sin and the sacrifice, and for some reason that pain echoed through Freyja like a dissonant chord. Kaira didn’t just hate the boy: Kaira hated herself for wanting him dead. Kaira hated Freyja for the act of vindication.
“Come,” Bragi said, pulling her from her shadows. “Listen. I’ve composed something new.”
Despite everything, a smile played across her lips as he drew her across the room to sit at his feet by the hearth. She loved him more than ever in that moment. Not only for the way the firelight played over his red curls and hazel eyes, or the way his fingers curved over the harp as gingerly as they’d curled around her. She loved him for his innocence. For his ability to see the blood on her fingers and love her anyway.
For his sheer determination to deny the future that loomed on their horizon.
But Bragi was a god. Immortal. For him, the future stretched far longer than she would ever know.
He played. And when his fingers caressed the harp strings, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of his music fall over her. It unknotted the muscles clenched tight in her limbs, soothed the ache from welts left by her shadowed attackers. She drifted in the golden melody, let her mind dance between the roots of the World Tree. And when he sang, her heart blossomed. She lived with the weight of so many worlds on her shoulders; under the influence of Bragi’s song, she felt light. She felt more like a bird, and less like the stones on which Yggdrasil slept.
She didn’t know how long she floated within his music, only that eventually it came to an end, signaled not by the ebb of music but by his hands on her waist. Her eyes fluttered open, the last strains of music still dancing in her ears. He knelt before her. His smile. Oh, that smile—the reason she had fallen in love with him as a child. He had looked back then exactly as he did tonight.
“That was beautiful,” she said.
She brushed her fingertips over his forehead, delighting in the constellation that glittered to life at her touch.
“Our music is only just beginning,” he said, his smile turning mischievous. He leaned in and kissed her, and the next melody in their song began.
• • •
There should have been noise.
That was her only thought as they stood in the circle and faced one another.
There should have been a coliseum, like the ruins on earth. There should have been a crowd to make this a spectacle. Instead, there was only her and Bragi and the raven on a nearby root. No jeering. No war drums. No incantations.
The silence made it so much worse.
Bragi knelt before her.
She’d demanded he stand. To fight. But he refused. He carried no weapon save for his smile, and that cut deeper than her blades ever could. Because to him, she was still a savior. To him, she was still worthy of love. To him, this entire ritual was an honor.
“Get up,” she choked. “Get. Up.”
Hugin watched it all impassively, his raven head cocked to the side, talons digging clean furrows into the root on which he perched. She felt the darkness closing in on her, the terrible weight of the Underworld. Perched on her shoulders like the raven that brought her here.
“I humbly offer myself to you,” Bragi said. Even now his words were melodious. “Let my gift aid in our quest for eternity. With my life, may the World Tree thrive.”
She could barely see him through the tears in her eyes. And she couldn’t decide if that was better or worse—to see him like this, so dumb and serene, or to remember him singing her songs.
Damn it, Hugin. How could you?
Because in all his teachings, the damned raven had said nothing about this sacrifice. But she should have known, shouldn’t she? The Norns demanded a sacrifice from any who wished to ascend the Tree they stoically guarded. Why should she be any different?
And she knew, with a terrible twist of guilt, that she had brought this all upon herself.
Hugin had warned her not to love. To think only of duty.
She had let herself find comfort in Bragi. She had let him become a different sort of meaning. And now that he was the most important thing to her, he was the one she must destroy to succeed. The very act of loving him had made him a target.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
Even though Hugin said nothing, she felt the whip of his admonition the moment the words left her lips. She had stopped using that phrase years ago. Nothing good ever came of it.
He wasn’t the one who spoke against her though.
“You must, Freyja,” Bragi said. “Please. I offer myself willingly—”
“Then you are a fool!” she yelled. She wanted to say worse—so much worse—but her thoughts were thick. Even in the worst moments of her training, she had not felt pain like this. Or fear. Her hands trembled. She had no hope of holding a dagger, let alone wielding it, even if her prey didn’t flinch from her cut. “You will vanish, Bragi. You won’t be reborn. You will . . . you will . . .”
“Be with you,” he whispered. “Always.”
“But you won’t. We both know that.”
There was no reincarnation for a god thus sacrificed. There was no immortal ghost. There was only memory. And if she failed, even that would die.
Even his words played at the lie—his sacrifice would do nothing for the World Tree. Only mortal blood and worship nourished it. The gods were merely the tenders and caretakers. Bragi’s blood would spill for nothing but the pleasure of the Norns. Only for the act of ritual. It was po
intless. His death was pointless.
Like everything in her life up to right now. None of it had been hers. Not even him.
“I love you, Freyja,” he said, and that hurt worst of all. “Let those be my final words. Let that be what you remember. I love you, and for that I am eternally thankful.”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit him, to force him to run. Or to fight. She wanted him to drive her own dagger through her heart in defense. But she knew he wouldn’t. Just as she would never make it from this clearing without his blood on her hands. The Norns needed their offering. And the Underworld needed its savior.
For some reason, she thought of the girl. Her vessel. She has a name. She has a life. And in that moment, those facts hardened her. Filled her with flame. Kaira was a girl. Kaira was a pawn. Just like her.
She had watched the goings-on in the mortal world, had seen Kaira’s friends get killed as some unknown deity manipulated its mortal host. She had felt the girl’s pain. And her fear. And her fledgling love.
But they were both pawns in this game. For that, Freyja wanted to denounce the gods, to stab herself in her treacherous heart. She almost did, too. But what would that do besides delay the inevitable? Kaira’s life would be forfeit, and more blood would spill because of her inadequacy. The Tree would falter, but eventually, a new godchild would be born, and the cycle would begin again.
There was only one way to end it.
She looked at Bragi. His resolution wavered as he watched her. Waited for her.
She stepped forward, her heart turning to iron. To ice.
“I love you, Bragi.” She knelt before him, then took a blade from her belt. “And I accept your offering. May it nourish the Tree.” She dropped her voice as she laid the dagger across his throat. She didn’t take her eyes off his. He wouldn’t be alone in this, even though she would be alone after.
“May your death be the altar on which the gods kneel.”
His eyes went wide, but whether it was from her statement or the slice of her blade, she did not know. She held him there as his life bled out onto the ground. As his blood coated her dagger and hands. And with every drop of blood, his body faded out, just as her resolve grew stronger.
When she stood, the body of her lover was no more, just a cloud of dust that spiraled off into the ether like the stars on his brow that would no longer light her way.
His blood coated her hands, sticky and pungent of cloves. Like the Tree’s sap. She wanted to break down. She wanted to burn the world and spite them all. Today she would do only one of those things.
“Bring me to them,” she said, turning to her winged mentor. The raven nodded, then took off into the air. She folded the shadows around her, let the feathers meld from her body, and followed behind.
She did not think of her lover’s soul.
She thought only of the girl who would help craft her revenge.
“I thought you were dead.”
Freyja’s words jarred me from my stupor, or the vision, or whatever the hell it was. I stared at her, warring with the memories and emotions that clashed in my head. Her memories. Her emotions. At the end, there, I’d stopped remembering I was watching. I had felt her pain, heard her thoughts. Like she was becoming part of me.
I’d spent forever holding her off, and in those moments, I learned what it felt like to give in.
Oddly enough, her pain wasn’t much different from mine.
As I stared at her, I couldn’t find the same anger as I’d had before. I’d seen what she’d gone through. Or part of it, at least. And I knew she was as angry about all this as I was.
“I’m not dead yet,” I muttered, knowing she wouldn’t catch the reference. I pushed myself up to sitting. It took a moment for me to realize that the movement didn’t make me wince. And that I was, in fact, very much alive and very much intact. The slash on my back was healed, and the poison in my veins had faded. I scrambled to my feet and looked around.
The snow was gone. The canopy of roots was gone. And Mimir and his well were definitely gone. I looked at the earth beneath my bare feet—black stone, not a root at all. We were clearly still in the Underworld—the roots tangled all around us, fading off into glittering shadows—but it was impossible to tell just how deep or far.
It is what you make of it.
I pushed aside Mimir’s words and the lingering traces of Freyja’s memory. If she could read my mind, I didn’t need her knowing that I had just seen so deeply into hers.
“How are you still alive?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I am not so weak as you. Also, they weren’t after me; I was just in the way. You’re welcome for that.”
“Why would they want to kill me? Aren’t I the savior or whatever?”
She smiled slowly. “That is yet to be seen—so far, you’ve only fallen headfirst into danger. But . . . savior or no, you are still a mortal. There is a reason your blood and prayers fuel the Tree: your very existence is sustenance for the creatures of this place. It has been a very long time since a living mortal entered here. Your life is like a flame, and to those so used to living in the cold and the dark, that warmth is a gift to be coveted.” She began to walk, heading toward wherever the hell Chris had flung himself. “As for the harpies, well. They’re vicious beasts. They don’t care who they kill, so long as they taste mortal blood. I’m sure you discovered their garb of choice.”
I nodded, fighting down the shudder at the image of all those transposed faces, the skin tight and decaying. . . .
“How far are we?” I asked. I wanted to ask about Bragi, or Hugin, or the other creatures we might run into down here. But that was the only question that didn’t feel like opening Pandora’s box.
“Not far now,” she said. Roots arched over her, reminding me of the architecture of a Gothic cathedral.
“How did you find me?”
“If you hadn’t noticed, we’re tied to each other. I couldn’t lose you if I tried.”
I wasn’t certain if it was just my imagination, but it seemed like the more we were around each other, the more her mannerisms and dialog sounded like mine. It was actually a little disturbing. It kept reminding me that we were two halves of the same coin.
“That’s not an answer,” I said. “I mean, what if I lose you again?”
“You won’t.”
“But if. I don’t have a weapon and I don’t know where the hell we’re going, besides, well, Hell. So if we’re separated, I’m screwed.”
She pulled a knife from her belt, tossed it in the air, caught it by the blade without cutting herself, and handed it over to me. I didn’t take it.
“You know that won’t do me any good.” I made sure to glare at her as I said it. I mean, I knew which side went into your enemy, but that was it. After seeing the harpies, I didn’t think a dagger the size of a kitchen knife would do me any good. “I need to know how to find you.”
She didn’t withdraw the knife.
“Take it.”
If she wanted a staring contest, she was going to get it. She shook her head.
“You’re impossible, Kaira.”
It definitely wasn’t my imagination—she was using my name more often.
“I can find you because of my training,” she said. “But you don’t have eighteen years to spare, and I can’t risk you getting killed in my absence. So take the damn knife.”
I relented and took the knife. I didn’t know the first thing about using it. But I had to admit—having it made me feel better.
I glanced down to my pajamas. I couldn’t exactly slide the knife into the waist of these. Not if I wanted to keep all my blood in. Freyja slid out of her jacket and handed it over.
“When can I do that?” I asked.
“What? Be chivalrous?”
“No. The clothes thing you did earlier. You know. Manifesting them.”
“I’m a creature of the shadows,” she replied. “I can bend them to my will. You’re mortal. It will take more training than we have
time for to teach you.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but I took the coat and slid into it. I grimaced at the sensation—even though she’d been wearing it, it was as cold as ice. I hid the dagger in an inside pocket, which seemed to be made for just such a thing.
She began walking again, and I hurried to her side.
“You know where we’re going?” I asked again.
“Down.” She looked at me. “What has changed about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re taking initiative. You aren’t fighting me—this—off. What has changed?”
I kept my mind clear.
“There’s something about nearly getting killed by flesh-wearing nightmare creatures that changes your perspective, you know? Not to mention, you were gone for a very long time. I was able to examine my life and decide that you were my best chance at survival. The future war notwithstanding.”
Her eyebrow rose. There was something in that movement that reminded me so strongly of Ethan, I almost cried. Where was he, in all this? Freaking out, if I knew him. I thought of our nights at the café—would we ever get another evening at T’Chai Nanni again? The last few months, I’d been silently panicking because I’d known our time together was nearing its end: Graduation loomed, and the future was hazy. But this wasn’t the finale I was planning for.
There was no way this was going to be a future I wanted.
“I was gone for a few moments,” Freyja said, drawing me back to the present. It was so easy to get lost in thought down here, like the very act of being in the Underworld made you reminisce. . . . “The harpies vanished the instant you fell. I thought they’d chased after you, and I followed. But you were perfectly fine. Somehow.”
I knew that expression. She wanted me to explain myself. But I was very, very good at suppressing things, and this was nothing compared to suppressing her. I ignored the unspoken question and focused instead on the changing scenery. The roots grew thicker, not in size but in number, and the shadows were lightening in shades of violet. And in the distance, I heard the unmistakable roar of water.
“You are hiding something,” she said. It wasn’t necessarily a probing statement.
