The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1)

by Deborah Davitt

  Adam smothered a chuckle.

  Eventually, they came in for a landing, and Adam looked out the window, smiling faintly to himself at the sight of the red and blue tile roofs below, glorious splotches of color that stood out against the mostly white walls of the clustered buildings, visible as their plane banked and started its runway approach. He could just pick out some of the ancient walls, designed and built for the city’s defense. Sigrun surprised him by calling around Trennus, “It looks so crowded!”

  “A lot of the buildings and roads have been there, more or less in their current configuration, for over two thousand years,” Adam called back across. “It’s hard to widen a road when the buildings can’t be torn down or moved because they’re historic. So people tend to build between or on top of existing buildings. The city’s expanded a bit in the last two hundred years, though.” He looked back out the window, picking out, easily, the Second Temple on the eastern side of town. Most buildings in the Old Town area weren’t allowed to be taller than the Temple. All of the skyscrapers and office buildings, as a result, were on the extreme western end of the city, past even Zikron Yosef. It made for interesting traffic patterns. He was fairly sure there weren’t too many other cities in the world in which people left the city for the suburbs during the workday, and turned around and went the other direction at nightfall.

  On landing, and with the cabin doors opening, he got his first taste of the air of home in three years. A whiff of jet fuel made him cough, but the smell was the same. A little more humidity in the air than outsiders tended to expect, but just the taste of the dust at the back of his tongue informed him, at the brainstem level, that he was home. And truth be told, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  Adam stretched and got back to business, making sure everyone’s handheld radios were on the same channel. “Eshmunazar, the propraetor’s baggage, please,” he called over. This was actually fairly important. They had to ensure that no outsiders handled Livorus’ baggage. Less of a chance of being bugged, that way. His family’s luggage was the province of their lictors, thankfully. As he stood, he adjusted his gun in its holster; no concealed-carry for him, today. He had a flak jacket on beneath his shirt, and a light gray, short cloak to cover his torso. He really wished he’d been able to get Sigrun a gun, or convince her to purchase a flak jacket of her own. He glanced back, and ensured that yes, she and Trennus were bringing up the rear, while Livorus had offered his arm, without changing his expression at all, to Poppaea, his wife.

  Adam had been told that theirs was an arranged marriage. It showed.

  Adam led the way down the extended stairs of the plane, his body always directly just in front of Livorus’, and slightly to the left, trying to block any shots that might be aimed for the propraetor’s heart. At the base of the ramp, there were regional Praetorians, and a variety of reporters, with credentials pinned to their lightweight cloaks as they hefted their far-viewer cameras and still photography boxes with their large flashes perched on top. “Propraetor! What brings you to Judea?”

  “A goodwill tour,” Livorus replied, with a faint, wintery smile. “I’ve been reliably informed that the state of natural philosophy in Roman schools could be improved, and my hope is that in coming here, I can boost awareness of that fact . . . and perhaps encourage a generation of young people to consider working in the aerospace industry that has been pioneered by Hellas, Nippon, and Judea.” He waved a hand lightly. “Other than that, I would like to regard this trip as a holiday of sorts, and ask that the media in general respect the privacy of my wife and family for the duration.”

  Yes. Because that’s going to happen. The news media hadn’t had time to catch wind of where they were or what they were doing in Ponca. But after the sensationalistic details about the human sacrifices in Nahautl had gotten into the newspapers and far-viewer reports, Adam had gotten a crash course in media relations. They hadn’t been able to keep the press away from Livorus for the six months they’d been in Caesaria Aquilonis. And where the propraetor went was still, apparently, big news. And if this mission is, in any way, a success . . . or, god forbid, a public failure . . . this is only going to get worse. Adam kept his face set in stony lines, and led the way past the press line, to the waiting vehicles. All good, solid Judean motorcars, he was relieved to note. All electrical engines. He opened the door, and got Livorus inside, watching the entire area, feeling acutely exposed. Need to arrange for a covered exit from planes and vehicles in the future, he decided. Out on the tarmac, away from the buildings, was a local security decision, and I . . . just don’t like it. He slid in after Tren and Sigrun, as Kanmi came up at the rear with the luggage, and slipped into the car now, himself, and their small motorcade began to move out.

  Passing the front of the airport, Sigrun pointed out a group of protestors with wooden placards. All of the writing on the signs was in Hebrew; as such, Adam was the only person besides their driver who could read it, and he snorted. “What is that about?” Sigrun asked. “Anything to do with our arrival?”

  “No,” Adam replied. “They’re a fringe cult. Zealots. They find a public venue once or twice a year to inform the rest of us that the end of the world is nigh, and that we all need to repent.”

  Sigrun gave him a quizzical look. “Ragnarok?”

  “Something like that.”

  “How long have they held this belief?”

  “Since the last Roman occupation, about two thousand years ago.” Adam shrugged. “They change the date on the end of the world every few years. For the most part, they don’t bother anyone, other than making traffic a nightmare every once in a while, so no one bothers them.”

  “Odd.” She shrugged, and the subject dropped.

  However, they’d barely pulled onto Roman Highway VIII when the driver’s radio crackled. The words, coming over the radio in rapid Hebrew, made Adam’s head swivel, and the driver swerved. Adam swore under his breath, and shifted in his seat until he could get a good look to the north; the airport was south of the city, proper, and they were heading east along Highway VIII . . . yes. There it was. “Dominus?” Adam’s voice was tight. “We have a small problem.”

  Livorus looked up from the dispatch that he was reading. “Oh?”

  “If you look to your left,” Adam pointed, “you’ll see what is clearly a large efreet in the center of Old Town. It was apparently summoned in the lobby of your hotel, sir.”

  Every head now ducked and rotated, as all the passengers stared out the darkened windows of the vehicle in consternation. Sure enough, a dark funnel cloud, lined with fire, was streaming out of a four-story building, extending up to the heavens like the finger of an angry god. “There is no way we can go there,” Adam said, shortly. “Emergency crews are undoubtedly already responding. Counter-summoning measures need to go into effect.”

  “Were the other, ah, people we intended to meet here, scheduled to take rooms at the same hostelry?” Livorus asked, mildly, looking out the window with interest.

  “Not to my knowledge, sir. There’s little way to call them and ask to see if their accommodations have suffered a similar problem.” Not without drawing attention to them, as well. Adam’s tone remained tight, and his mind raced. “We’re going to need an alternative place to put you, for the moment, sir, until we can find someplace properly secure—” Two gardia cars tore past their motorcade, heading for an off-ramp that would take them into the city center. Smoke was already billowing out of the hotel, visible in black belches rising to the sky alongside the pillar of darkness and fire that was the efreet, and Adam winced. Djinn were bad enough. Efreeti were worse, by far.

  “Do you have someplace in mind?” Livorus asked. “You’re local, ben Maor. You’re also my lead lictor, in this case. Use your best judgment, but you are absolutely correct. We do need someplace to stay, under the radar, as it were, and somewhere we can set up a command post and see what, precisely, is going on here.” He tapped a finger against the top of his dispatch case in his lap
. “I’m not in favor of sending the children and the other half of the motorcade to a second location. Not yet. Not until we know more.”

  Adam nodded, considering several alternatives rapidly. There were hotels in the western districts, but those might well be where the Chaldean and Median deputations had set up, and he didn’t want to draw any fire their direction . . . if this happened to be directed at Livorus, instead of being a random attack, which was certainly possible. It would be an amazing coincidence, but coincidences did exist in a universe without fate.

  He needed a place to take his protectee. There were gardia stations, but the local gardia was going to have its hands full with emergency response right now, and trying to make sure there weren’t any other attacks. There was only one place here that he knew well enough to cover every entrance and exit. He just didn’t want to use it. It thus took him thirty seconds of trying to find any other alternative before he turned and looked at the driver. “Take us off highway eight. Take Imperial Highway twelve north, to Mishkenot Sha’ananim.” Peaceful Habitation, the neighborhood was named, and he hoped it lived up that reputation today. He tabbed his radio, and informed the rest of the motorcade of the change in plans, as well.

  “Where in Baal’s name are we going?” Kanmi demanded, sharply.

  “A house I know. I’m . . . aware that the residents are home today, too.” Adam looked up at the sky for a moment, and decided that the universe must have a sense of humor.

  All of the lictors were on high alert at this point, shifting positions in the car to ensure that Sigrun had the seat to Livorus’ left, her body blocking his from the window. Adam stayed to Livorus’ right, while Kanmi and Trennus, for the moment, stayed alongside Poppaea, Livorus’ wife. Two of her bodyguards were at the very rear of the large vehicle, and were facing the hindmost window. The young Roman matron glanced around at them all, fear in her face and eyes. “The children won’t be informed as to what’s going on, correct?” she asked, her voice wavering. “It would just frighten them.”

  “Hopefully, it’ll just be an unexpected stop,” Adam told her, quickly. “A little detour into a residential neighborhood for a bit.”

  They got off the highway, and Kanmi muttered, in aggravation, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not one of the street signs off the highway is in Latin. I can’t tell which direction I’m facing.”

  “Northeast,” Trennus told him, not changing expression.

  “More or less, yes,” Adam said. “There are three enclaves of, well, foreigners in the city. Mevi'eat Roma, Mevi'eat Nippon, and Mevi’eat Hellas. Little Rome, Little Nippon, and Little Hellas. The Roman area’s northeast of where we’re going. The Nipponese section is way off to the southwest, close to the university district, and the Hellene district is right next to it. We’ll be able to pull help from the consulate in Mevi'eat Roma or the governor’s house in Old Town if we need it, that much faster, for being closer by . . . but we shouldn’t be in an area we’d be expected to go. Under the radar, but close to aid.” He shrugged. “Best I can do, till we get more information.”

  “This will be fine,” Livorus told him, as the motorcade barreled through an intersection, ignoring the red lights and the irate horns of the other drivers, the squeal of wheels as a large box truck slammed its brakes to avoid hitting the large, boxy lead car. The drivers were now in escape mode: don’t stop, don’t slow down. Keep moving. If you’ve stopped, you’re vulnerable. “Turn left up here ahead,” Adam told his driver. “Tell the lead car we’re going down Sh'drah Ben Affan.”

  The neighborhood had a crenellated wall around it, and gates that closed at night. “Limited access points,” Livorus noted, approvingly.

  “It was built during a nervous period in history,” Adam noted. “Incursions over the Wall were more common two hundred years ago.” He paused. “When we reach our destination, there should be a secure phone line available for your use, sir.”

  He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, just for a moment. Livorus blinked. “Ah. Your father’s in Judean Intelligence, as I recall?”

  “Yes, sir.” Maor ben Emmet, Adam’s father, was a senior director in the Judean Intelligence Office. Adam had never mentioned that fact to his fellow lictors, though, since Sigrun had likely read his dossier before he joined the team, she probably had already known . . . though she might not have remembered.

  “That will do, and nicely,” Livorus acknowledged, and the whole car swayed again as they spun around a corner. Adam was now relaying turn-by-turn directions to the driver of the lead car by radio, and pedestrians were scattering out of the way, turning to stare at the line of black cars as they passed. Inconspicuous. We’re doing a fine job of that today.

  “Cobbles?” Kanmi suddenly asked, his voice acid. “Really? Cobbles?”

  “It’s an old city,” Adam replied, feeling mildly defensive. “The roadwork crews can only upgrade so much, so quickly.”

  The streets weren’t just cobbled. They were narrow, and twisting. with the old stone houses jammed in tightly against each other, all piled up on a hillside, with narrow alleys in between. For all that, it was a lovely old neighborhood, with tall trees and flowers in most of the yards. “Here we are,” Adam said, pointing. “That one.”

  There were already cars parked in front of the house—few that he recognized, though the low-slung Mehyman family car might have belonged to his brother, Mikayel. Adam exhaled. I was very specific, he thought, grimly. I told them not to make a big deal and not to invite the entire neighborhood. That I didn’t want to see anyone outside of my immediate family. But there was no real reason why people would have gathered at his parents’ house in the middle of the afternoon on a dies Martis . . . Tiwesdæg, whatever . . . except that he’d said he’d try to drop by in the evening.

  His irritation would have to wait, and everyone extraneous was simply going to have to leave, and it didn’t matter if that strained his parents’ hospitality or not. Adam had the door of the car open before it had even finished moving, and could see the front door of the house opening as well. His nerves were on edge, his first responsibility was to the safety of the propraetor, and he didn’t recognize the man coming out of the house. His first thought was, simply, Harah. It’s a trap. Whoever set up the efreet at the hotel researched Livorus’ lictors and found my parents . . . . The thoughts were a lazy second compared to the speed with which his body reacted, drawing his revolver and aiming it, even as he rapped out in Hebrew, “Halt! Hands in the air!”

  Whoever the man was, he stopped where he was, wide-eyed, and raised his hands, just as two women, one with her hair tucked back under a snood, and the other younger, with her hair worn loose, emerged from the front door as well, and froze in place, eyes showing white. “Back up,” Adam said. He didn’t have time for this. “Where is the family of Maor ben Emmet?”

  “Right here, son,” his father’s voice came from the door, relatively calm and soothing. Maor appeared in the opening, his hands up, and he stared at the entire motorcade, just for a moment. “You can put the gun down.”

  “Not till I’ve checked the house.” Adam lowered the pistol slightly, but was so far into work mode, he didn’t even realize he’d switched back into Latin. “Once the residence is cleared, we’re going to need to make use of it, sir. Praetorian business. Also, we need access to your secure phone-lines.”

  At about this point, the entire rest of his family boiled out of the house. His mother, Abigayil, half-shrieked on seeing him with a gun in his hands; his brother, Mikayel, actually muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, he’s showing off again to his wife, and Adam’s two younger sisters, Rivkah and Chani, had both opened upstairs windows to peer out. Leave it to my family to have to do all of this on the front steps. They couldn’t possibly have stayed inside.

  Still, no time to deal with it. Adam turned his head, very slightly, as Kanmi, Trennus, and Sigrun each emerged from their respective doors of the car. “Caetia? Eyes in the sky, please. Get a couple of the o
ther lictors up on rooftops on the roofs of the other houses so we have lines of sight all the way around the neighborhood.”

  “Lot of civilians around here,” she muttered, pushing her smoked lenses back up her nose.

  “All too aware.” Adam flicked a glance at Kanmi. “Eshmunazar, you’re clearing the house with me. Can you do anything to secure the various doors and windows?”

  “Not without effectively welding the doors into their frames. Which I can do, metal or not, but we do that, and we cut off our own escape routes.” Kanmi’s words were quick and terse.

  “Matrugena, what are we talking about in terms of ley potential around here? Can you protect the propraetor without backup?”

  Trennus grimaced. “The good news is, your local ley-power is completely untapped. The bad news is, the closest resonating line is about two miles back to the south. And it’s a powerful one.”

  Adam was momentarily confused. “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

  “It’s under your main temple, ben Maor. I think your god and your priests might be mildly offended if I use that.” Trennus shrugged. “I can still use ambient ley. Worst comes to worst, I can draw a binding circle and do a general summoning, see what in the area answers.”

  “Bad idea,” Kanmi said, succinctly. “You don’t know what you’ll get.”

  “Why is it bad?” Adam asked, quickly.

  “It’s the mystical equivalent of him raising his kilt and waving the fasces around.” Kanmi and Trennus had both picked up that phrase from Adam and Sigrun.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Trennus put in, quickly.

  “You could attract malefic spirits just as easily as any other,” Kanmi retorted. “Leave that for a last resort, is my advice.”

  Livorus, who clearly could hear every word from inside the car, asked, mildly, “Waving the fasces around?” He paused. "I've never quite heard it expressed quite this way before. Please. Elucidate."