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

by Deborah Davitt

  “Ah . . . no. I study engineering and sorcery.” Minori relaxed a little. “When will your mother be home?”

  She regretted the words instantly. The boys’ faces crumpled up. “Never,” Himi told her, softly.

  “Oh,” Minori whispered. “Oh, forgive me.” It would be the height of discourtesy to mention the dead, so she couldn’t ask if the woman had died recently.

  Bodi, the younger one, pulled himself up on a chair at the dining table, where lessons and books were still laid out neatly. “Our mama was bad,” he told her, solemnly. “She tried to steal us.”

  “Mother wasn’t bad,” Himi corrected, immediately. “I still miss her. I want to see her. I think she tried to call when Father was away, but Mistress Mellinari hung up the phone on her. That’s rude, isn’t it?”

  “She’s not supposed to call here. She might try to steal us again.” Bodi sounded distressed.

  “You don’t love Mother anymore—” Accusation.

  “I don’t want to be stolen and go where the monsters are!”

  “Baby.”

  “Stop it right now,” Eshmunazar told them, sharply, from the doorway. “Your mother isn’t a bad person. She made a few bad choices, that’s all. Bodi, there are monsters everywhere, but I’ll teach you how to fight them. Himi? What have I told you about calling your brother a baby? You’re supposed to help teach him and protect him, not run him down. Both of you, pick up your books. It’s dinner time.”

  Minori again, wasn’t sure what to expect. Eshmunazar actually cooked—something she’d rarely seen a man do before—though it was a cold collection of ground grains, tomatoes, herbs, mint, onion and garlic. Light, but flavorful. Afterwards, he pointed her to the small living room, noting, “The windows are warded, but don’t sit in front of them. We might be on the fifteenth floor, but that doesn’t mean someone can’t see you. You can watch the far-viewer, or take your pick of the books on the shelves.” And then he went about getting the two boys settled in for the evening. Cleared the dishes, and started digging in the boxes they’d brought from Gaul, setting all the maps back out again.

  “If you’re going to use my work, I would like to participate,” Minori finally said, from the doorway . . . and then they were back precisely where they’d been the night before. Arguing mathematics at each other with increasing volume, and Minori finally rapping out, “That’s all very well and good, but where do you get your first set of numbers for the estimated energy release at the Pyramid of the Sun? It doesn’t tally with what I measured at the scene at all.“ His face went shuttered. “Oh, yes. You were there. The numbers you’re giving would have killed anyone exposed to it—”

  “It almost did.”

  Minori stared at him. “Look, these numbers are so inflated that only a god or . . . or a kami could have done this, if we’re not talking about a nuclear reactor exploding or a ley-line resonating out of control.”

  No reply. He just kept tracing the lines on the map of Caesaria Australis. Minori’s stomach twisted. “I said, only a god or a kami . . . ?”

  “I heard you. I just didn’t choose to respond to your supposition.” His tone was an answer, in and of itself. He could have pooh-poohed, he could have denigrated her intelligence for even suggesting the idea. But he didn’t. He didn’t even look up.

  Minori found a chair to sit down on, her legs suddenly a little unsteady. “A god did this?” she whispered.

  “I can’t talk about it.” He circled several points in western Tawantinsuyu. “The pattern isn’t quite the same,” he muttered. “But just close enough.”

  “Please,” Minori said, quietly. “Please. Let me help.”

  Eshmunazar looked up at her, and for the first time, she saw the fear in his eyes. “You are helping,” he told her, simply. “But I have to make sure you’re safe, too, Doctor.”

  The next morning, she found all of her books and notes neatly packed up, and found herself bustled out of the apartment before the boys were even awake, and brought across town to a palatial home on Palatine Hill. The center of the world, as far as Rome was concerned. Minori’s eyes widened at the opulent furnishings and the . . . unusual paintings on the walls. She would have thought the scenes best kept for a book of shunga wood-prints, but Romans were odd in so many respects.

  And that was where she met the rest of the lictors for the first time, and Propraetor Livorus, as well. She was introduced to another olive-skinned man, with dark brown, lively eyes, and with brown hair tied back from his face in a long tail. His hands were light as he actually bowed very slightly, clasping one of her hands in both of his own. A modified version of the Roman wrist-clasp and the Nipponese bow, and the delicacy of his touch suggested to her that he’d trained in martial arts fairly extensively. Someone who worked in those arts tended to understand that a light touch, used to redirect, could be more effective than a savage blow . . . and didn’t need to crush someone’s hands to assert strength. “Adam ben Maor,” he introduced himself, politely. “This is my wife, Sigrun Caetia.”

  Adam ben Maor expressed a type of male beauty—clean, compactly built, strong, but graceful, just as Trennus, looming to his left, expressed a different type of male beauty. Bulkier, and more . . . unrefined. Asha had an opulent kind of feminine beauty. Rich curves, a sweet face, and radiance, from within. The woman being introduced as ben Maor’s wife was also beautiful, but it was the beauty of a perfectly crafted katana. Minori realized that she’d slowed her own movements, just a little. Was keeping her hands visible, and at her sides.

  The woman by ben Maor’s side was clearly a Goth of some variety or another, though whether from Germania, Gotaland, Belgae, or Nova Germania, Minori couldn’t have said. Coppery blond hair, in a braid to the waist, and nearly as tall as her husband. Gray eyes the color of fine steel, or a winter morning. Beautiful, but cold as frost, in marked contrast to Asha’s luxurious warmth. She didn’t bow, but did incline her head politely as she offered a wrist-clasp, and Minori could feel strength in those fingers. Like her husband, Sigrun Caetia didn’t crush with her touch. But Minori could feel electricity in her grasp. Kami-touched, she thought, her eyes widening. Three sennin, each with great power and skill, and of course, the soldier, too.

  “Ah, Doctor Sasaki,” a voice said from behind her, and Minori’s head snapped around as a Roman man entered the study. His hair was iron gray, and his eyes, behind simple, rounded lenses, were blue. She would have had to have been almost oblivious to politics as a whole not to have recognized Propraetor Livorus from the far-viewer news broadcasts. “My apologies. A phone call from a colleague in the Senate on the matter of the Qin intervention in Mongol lands delayed me.” He gestured for everyone to be seated. “Eshmunazar? The floor is yours.”

  “I’m not certain I can speak plainly with the doctor in the room.” Eshmunazar shook his head, and once again, Minori was infuriated.

  “I will sign and swear anything that you wish me to sign and swear,” she told him. “I do not know anything about the Source Initiative beyond that they have a very good journal—”

  She speaks truth—

  “I see no lies in her eyes, Eshmunazar.”

  The words from the spirit and the kami-touched woman overlapped, warmth from one, cold, hard assurance from the other. Eshmunazar straightened. “We’re giving her clearance on this based on Caetia and Asha’s gut instincts?”

  “And yours as well,” Livorus gestured. “Your report on her knowledge and data sources was fairly comprehensive. I also have one piece of information that you are lacking, Eshmunazar. Doctor Sasaki’s original family name. Ijiun. A samurai clan of considerable power.”

  Minori’s head jerked up, and her lips parted, just for an instant. The propraetor continued, quietly, “I took the liberty of having some of our diplomats shake a few bushes, if not the fasces.” He pinned the lictors with his stare, and while not one of them changed expressions, Asha suddenly bubbled with silent amusement in a golden wave of good cheer. “Our good doctor was e
ducated at the Imperial Court of Nippon in Kyoto from the age of twelve until the age of eighteen, before being permitted to leave the country and live independently of her family. Somewhat unusual, but her talents are significant. You understand the concept of discretion very well, doctor. And you will be signing an oath before you leave here, which will bind your tongue as much as it binds any of my lictors.”

  Minori’s throat had closed down in fright at the revelation of her original name, and the grimace that crossed Eshmunazar’s face had been just as dark as all his other expressions so far at the mention of her family background. She wasn’t entirely sure why.

  ___________________

  Kanmi had to give the good doctor credit. She went pale as he gave her the bare bones of the events of five years ago, and her eyes widened until the whites showed all the way around as he described the Tholberg coils designed to tap energy from a god—a god that had, in some way that none of them had been able to determine, even after five years of studying and debating their recollections, been bound to that place, in some fashion. “Our best guess,” Trennus put in, his tone academic, “remains that Tlaloc was persuaded to go to the Pyramid, because it was one of his oldest places of power. That the so-called Pyramid of the Sun should have been named after the cenote it was built over, the ‘passage to the underworld,’ in the Nahautl faith. As I was just, ah, reminded yesterday, Tlaloc was a prime example of the linked power of life-and-death. A union of opposites. Out of death, life. Out of blood, fertility. Nothing from nothing.” Trennus looked over at Kanmi. “Once he was there, I think they said all of his greater and lesser Names, invoking him. Defining him. And once he bargained with them to be sacrificed to again, they limited him with that bargain.”

  Sigrun raised a hand at that point, looking uncomfortable. “I am not certain that we can talk about gods in the same way that you talk about spirits, Trennus.”

  Trennus shot Kanmi a quick, rueful glance, and Kanmi glanced up at the ceiling. “You’ve said yourself that the top human-accessible floor in the Odinhall is a . . . conduit for physical interaction with the Veil,” Kanmi reminded Sigrun. “If that’s the case, the gods come from the Veil. Same as spirits. I think we can use some of the same terminology to discuss how humans interact with both gods and spirits.”

  “I knew, somehow, that that was going to come back someday and bite me,” Sigrun muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.

  “And the fact that so many gods place prohibitions on speaking their Names?” Trennus said, gently. “Speaking someone’s true Name gets their attention. Some of the old epithets for death gods were used to ensure that the person speaking them didn’t catch their attention, and die, for example. In Germania, long ago, it was common not to call a bear a bear, but . . . .”

  “Honeypaws,” Sigrun supplied, not looking up. “So as not to invite the bear’s attention. Back when a bear could easily kill several of the men of a village, or a child who wandered off from a home. Yes. I understand . . . and by all means, continue. I will simply pretend I am listening to a highly theoretical conversation with no application to the real world at all.”

  Trennus looked around. “So . . . they theoretically bound him to that place. They bound him to the machines, which we never got much of a chance to analyze, but I’d be willing to bet there were other things inside of them besides coils of wire . . . and they got him to agree to give his power to the machines and to Tototl and Xicohtencatl, as his disciples.” Trennus raised his hands, suggesting that he didn’t know if the word was entirely accurate. “I don’t have anything to back this theory up, but I’ve been thinking about it for a few years. Tlaloc was weakened by the loss of faith in him, yes, but he was still . . . far too powerful to be forced. And he may have thought, I suppose, that once he gained enough power once more, once enough sacrifices had been made . . . that he could change the terms of the bargain.”

  That is not uncommon for . . . maleficent spirits, Lassair agreed, her tone uneasy.

  “I’m with Sig on the whole ‘speculating about the motives of an entity,’ thing,” Adam said, rubbing a freshly-shaved chin. “But, that being said . . . what do you think that Dr. Sasaki’s research shows us?”

  “Her research tallies, with every known sacrifice that connected Tlaloc to a given ‘ley-platform’ in Nahautl.” Kanmi’s words were blunt. “The Great Earthquake of 1950, in Burgundoi? If her evidence is correct, that might have been the result of their initial binding of Tlaloc under the Pyramid of the Sun.”

  Adam looked ill. “Then we can all be grateful that we didn’t set off a much worse one when the, ah, entity died.”

  “I’ve been saying for years that something absorbed part of the hit,” Kanmi said, dryly.

  I’ve admitted to some of that. But I did not take it all. Lassair shifted a little as everyone’s eyes found her. I do not know where the rest of it went. Perhaps the machines?

  “The Tholberg coils were melted into slag. Matrugena and I had made very damned sure of that.” Kanmi looked around. “There’s something far more disturbing in her data, though.” He unfurled a map of all the seismic activity in the western hemisphere, and pointed at the southern continent. “Much more than previously seen, historically speaking. Production of ley-facilities has picked up there in the past eight years . . . but we know that ley doesn’t cause these kinds of seismic events. But thanks to Dr. Sasaki . . . now we know what does.”

  Silence in the room, and Kanmi watched Dr. Sasaki’s eyes flicker from one to another of them. Much to his surprise, she raised a finger, as if asking permission to speak, and when Livorus nodded to her, she said, simply, “I would very much like to be permitted to go to Tawantinsuyu to help with the investigations.”

  Trennus was already shaking his head. “You’re a civilian. We couldn’t possibly put you at risk in an official Praetorian operation.”

  “Technically,” Kanmi put in, very dryly, “there have been no official investigations on our part. This is just my hobby.”

  Silence, again. Livorus looked around the room. “All four of you were told to stay away from the topic, but I’ve allowed a certain amount of latitude in continuing to investigate, because I rather thought that the decision to keep you away was . . . ill-advised. And your results have borne out my thoughts on the matter.” He reached out and touched the map, reading over the results. “Eshmunazar, you believe that Dr. Sasaki’s numbers require further, on-site investigations?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Livorus set a finger to his lips, a characteristic gesture, and looked off into space for a few moments. “Unfortunately, with Qin entering the field of war at the moment, I simply cannot jaunt off to Tawantinsuyu without good reason.” He considered it a moment longer. “Ben Maor?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “How confident are you in my secondary tier of lictors, the ones who’ve been attending me while you and Sigrun were away, and while Eshmunazar and Matrugena were in Gaul?”

  Adam sat up, his eyes intent. “Very, sir. Of them all, I trust Horatius Lepidus with command, if the four of us were made unavailable, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

  Livorus nodded. “Yes. Precisely. I will have to discuss this matter with the Imperator, but I think it is possible that you four could be sent as a, hmm. Advance team, I think. Preparing the way for a state visit. Just because there is war in the east, does not mean that we should not look to cement our relations with all our far-flung provinces and subject nations. And under that guise, you should be easily able to use Rome’s keys to unlock many doors.”

  Kanmi snorted a little under his breath. “And why would we four be allowed to go, sir? We’ve been told, repeatedly, to stay out of this.”

  “Because I shall ask it of the Emperor,” Livorus replied, his eyes steady. “And because you have given us results, whereas the rest of the Praetorians have given us precisely nothing in five years of investigations. Oh, a great number of technomancers have had their backgrounds investigated an
d many of them have been questioned, and a few even jailed for sedition, but little else has come of it.”

  Kanmi caught how Minori’s spine had straightened at Livorus’ calm words, even as the propraetor turned and studied her. “Eshmunazar,” he said then.

  “Yes?” Kanmi very rarely added a sir to any statement.

  “Would Dr. Sasaki add, in any way, to your ability to find the people behind this? She is a bona fide member of the Source Initiative, for example. And her findings have put her life in danger.” Livorus studied Sasaki calmly. “Would she not be admirable bait? That is, if you were willing to put yourself at such risk, doctor?”

  Sasaki’s eyes widened, and she said, quickly, and before Kanmi could reply, “Of course. How could I not, with such matters at stake? Thousands of people died in the Burgundoi earthquake, because these people bled off power from the . . . entity . . .” she’d picked up on the self-conscious wording immediately, “and what they didn’t transmit through the air, passed through the ley-grid and the ground anyway.” She twisted her hands together for a moment.

  Kanmi ground his teeth for a moment. “It’s an idea,” he said, tightly. “I don’t think it’s a good one, but it is a notion. You’re one more person that we have to protect.”

  “I do have combat training,” she said, quickly, raising her chin.

  “And when was the last time it was used in the field?” Kanmi countered, harshly. “There’s theory, and there’s reality, and a vast gulf between the two.”

  Sasaki’s whole face tightened. “Never,” she admitted. “But I can also be more than bait. I am a fully qualified ley-engineer and sorcerer. I might be able to get into facilities that your people cannot, under their guise of preparing for a state visit.”

  “There remains,” Sigrun noted, quietly, “the small problem of interfacing between both halves of the expedition. Dr. Sasaki could become very isolated from us, and that would be neither tenable nor conscionable.”