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

by Deborah Davitt

  The emperor seemed to compose himself, his expression going still by degrees. He tilted his head to the side, as if listening to an inner voice, and his brown eyes went blank. Sigrun had seen that look before. She’d seen it in Sophia’s face. Her stomach twisted. He’s mad. But what kind of madness is it? It can’t be the voice of prophecy. I have heard that voice too often not to know it. Sigrun felt the weight of the .45 caliber gun tucked into the small of her back, but her spear was, as a ceremonial weapon, already in her hand. She knew she couldn’t use either of them, but faced with a twitchingly erratic man, both weapons’ weights were a comfort.

  After a moment, in a calmer voice, the emperor told Livorus, “You may be seated in our presence.” He took a seat on a throne-like chair, and, after a moment, Livorus sank to a backless bench, his head tilted slightly, evaluating everything around him. The emperor looked down for a moment, as if studying the floor, and then raised his eyes. “What may we of the land of the four quarters do for Rome, our trusted and valued ally?” All business, suddenly, all trace of erratic behavior gone. Sigrun reminded herself that the emperor had been trained in sorcery and summoning. One could not be a dunce and master those disciplines.

  Livorus glanced around the chamber, and said, mildly, “Should we not wait for the presence of the regional governor? While you are, of course, supreme in your realm, I am sure that the governor remains one of your trusted advisors.” A quiet, careful bid to get another stabilizing voice in the chamber. Surely, the local governor had a handle on the emperor.

  Sayri Cusi flipped two fingers at Livorus, disregarding the words. “The governor that has been foisted on us by Rome provides little that is of worth to us. His son, Micos, however, is one of our trusted advisors.” His eyes drifted from side to side for a moment. “He understands our true goals. His father is narrow of vision, and we have no use for him.” His eyes refocused on Livorus. “We asked you for your purpose here.”

  A heartbeat’s worth of silence, as Livorus shifted gears. “Rome asks that you set our emperor’s mind at ease regarding some of your public works projects,” he replied, smoothly. “Rome is concerned for the potential hazard they might pose to your people, and to your neighboring nations.” This was one of the tactics Livorus had previously decided to use. Couching the situation as a public health hazard, rather than conspiracy, treason, or rebellion.

  Sigrun watched the Sapa Inca’s eyes drift to the right. “Our public works projects have drawn the attention of Rome?” he murmured, his face lighting up from within. “That our ideas may have the potential to light the whole world, we already knew, but for them to have already captured Rome’s attention . . . it is far more than we had thought we would receive for our efforts.” His smile widened, and in spite of herself, Sigrun wanted to respond to that smile with one of her own. The corners of her lips twitched, but then her truthsense slapped her, hard. He’d looked to the left before he’d half-screamed at Livorus, he’d looked down and right for the trusted ally comment, and he’d looked up and right before this oddly breathless speech. Not once had he looked straight ahead for the entirety of a sentence. And his speech pattern . . . it had retained the royal plural, but now there was a simper to it that simply hadn’t been there before. Almost that of a coquettish young girl. Does he have some manner of a split personality? Or is he possessed? It could happen, she knew, even to a skilled summoner. And Sayri Cusi was, unlike many of his line, not a god-born. Did he make a very bad bargain with a spirit?

  Livorus cleared his throat. Sigrun glanced at him, and then over at Adam, who shook his head infinitesimally. After a moment, Livorus answered, his voice rougher than it normally was, “Be that as it may, we have substantial concerns as to the methods you are employing to saturate the ley-lines in the Nazca valley with additional energy. We are concerned about the origin of this excess energy, safety factors, and what you intend to do with this excess.”

  The emperor blinked, rapidly, and his tone remained almost coy as he replied, “Surely, what we intend to do with it, so long as it does not transmit outside our borders, is our own business, and not that of Rome? Surely, our regional autonomy gives us license to do as we will, within our domain?” Sweet reason. Honeyed tones. Sigrun felt it hit her mind like a wave wrapped in velvet, and dimly recognized it. This is what Lassair is capable of doing, but she does it with nothing but her good nature and her presence. This is why every man and half the women on any given street look up when she laughs. This is not a sorcerer’s power, nor a summoner’s.

  The words sounded almost dragged out of Livorus now, like gravel from a pit. “You have autonomy . . . yes. But I am reliably informed . . . that the energy levels . . . could transmit . . . waves in the earth. Earthquakes in other regions . . . are possible . . . as a result.”

  Sigrun stole another glance at the two men beside her, and saw sweat beading Livorus’ face. Adam looked strained, but then again, he and Sigrun had spent at least a night every week with Trennus and Lassair for the past five years. As the spirit’s power had grown, so had her charm, so saying no to her whims had become more difficult over time . . . but they’d also had time to learn to resist her. Not that Lassair usually asked much, besides those annoyingly loverly kisses on the lips.

  “Oh, no,” the Sapa Inca assured them now, sweetly. “Whoever told you so, was in error. Our experiments are perfectly safe.“

  Sigrun felt Livorus sway, as if hit, beside her, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Untrue,” she said, simply. Her voice sounded like the croak of a crow in the room after all that honeyed sweetness. It wasn’t diplomatic of her, but then again, she was no diplomat, no matter what words on a piece of paper said. Since she was speaking out of turn anyway, and Livorus seemed to be fighting a battle to find his tongue, Sigrun glanced down for permission, got a dazed nod, and continued, “The propraetor would also like to ask you a few questions about the methods by which you’ve been adding power to the grid. Specifically, have spirits been bargained with, and their power directed into the ley-lines?”

  She’d been careful not to use the word sacrifice. Livorus had been specific. That wasn’t a term to put on the table until they heard back from Kanmi and Trennus. Nevertheless, the Sapa Inca’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “Interloper,” he hissed at Sigrun. The word confused her, but then he went on, “This is not your place. These are not your skies. You have no right to call us to account, not you, and not your pale and sickly northern gods. Hold your tongue, else we shall have it ripped from your skull.” No coquetry now—just raw rage, and a sense of power.

  Sigrun stiffened. She could feel Adam take a half step forward, and her mind raced. She didn’t want to offend—further!—the ruler of a subject nation, but . . . . She cleared her throat and replied, mildly, as if the rage hadn’t been a slap in her face, “I am a duly appointed diplomatic envoy in the service of Rome, your Majesty. We have letters—”

  He cut her off, hissing, “Your letters are meaningless to us. Be silent, and let your betters speak.”

  “In the event of the propraetor’s indisposition,” Adam managed, his voice harsh, “we are required to speak for him, and for Rome.” She could hear the anger in his voice, tightly controlled, but present, as he took another wary half-step forward. Separating the lines of fire from the bodyguards around the Sapa Inca.

  “We care not for your right to speak, or your requirement to do so. We will speak only with the propraetor of Rome.” The Sapa Inca’s eyes were suddenly bright, and he smiled, as Livorus clearly struggled to clear his mind of the fog under which he labored.

  Sigrun grimaced. Adam was getting out of her range, her ability to protect him. Thought her most vital job was taking bullets for Livorus, she also had to keep the conversation going until Livorus had recovered himself enough to speak . . . and she thought she could see a pattern here. Though patterns were hard to be certain of, with the mad. “If you seek to provoke me, your Majesty,” she interposed, calmly, “know that I do not duel those wh
o are not god-born. It represents an unfair advantage on my part.” The words were polite, but held a slap in them. They suggested that she rejected his categorization of himself as her better. He might be ruler of a nation, he might be a powerful sorcerer and summoner . . . but he wasn’t god-born.

  The emperor’s eyes, which had been locked onto Adam, snapped back towards her now, as she stood more or less in front of Livorus. He half-rose from his chair, and Livorus, clearly reacting out of instinct, rose as well. “Unfair advantage? You and your squabbling, childish northern gods are no match for us. We are eternal. We are the union of opposites. We bring renewal to our lands.”

  Union of opposites? Gods. The catchphrase was used in mysticism, frequently for the ultimate power of generativity to be found in the combination of male and female essences, light and dark, physical and spiritual. In eastern terms, yin and yang. In western terms, Gaius and Uranus, Cupid and Psyche, and any number of other holy unions. For a single person to claim it, in a single body, suggested that someone sought, like Aphroditus, hermaphroditism, and the crossing of boundaries . . . or something else. Tren was close. The king is the land, the land is the king. He wants rebirth and generativity in the land, and in himself, but he wants to be both halves, rather than sharing the power with anyone, or anything else. He wants to encompass it all, inside himself. Like Cronus eating his children.

  All that flashed through her mind in an instant, but the Sapa Inca raised a hand and blue-white light exploded from his fingertips, hitting her, and the thunderclap of displaced air resounded in the tiny confines of the room, tearing at her ears. Adam, Livorus, and the other bodyguards all raised their hands, trying to protect ears and eyes, and Sigrun actually staggered backwards, mostly from the force of the displaced air . . . and then shook herself a little, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise, but nothing more. Lightning was her old friend and boon companion. Livorus, reflexively, reached out a hand to catch her elbow, and she barely jerked her arm away in time. “No! Don’t touch me right now, dominus.” Sigrun reached up and touched the metal point of her spear, and heard the loud pop as all the electricity still coursing through her body found a path with less resistance, and arced to it in a blue-white spark.

  Livorus, now on his feet, and clearly back in control of his wits, glared at the Sapa Inca. “I asked you to meet with me, and speak as men do, and in our very first meeting, you have attempted to beguile an envoy of Rome with enchantments woven around your words.” There was leashed fury in Livorus’ eyes, and his mouth was pinched tight. “And now you resort to unprovoked violence against another envoy of Rome, appointed by the sacred hand of Caesarion himself.” He shook his head, and Sigrun could see the Sapa Inca’s bodyguards shifting uneasily. “You are a spoiled child, not a leader of men.” He stepped forwards, and Sigrun shifted, carefully, trying to match his movements. “It has been a long time since a propraetor or other envoy of the Empire has been forced to do this,” he went on, grimly, and untucked the fasces he carried in his belt. It really was nothing more than a completely unmagical bundle of sticks. Plain, commonplace branches, peeled and smoothed and stained brown by the passage of time and many hands. A red leather cord wrapped around it, and an axe, iron blade facing out, was in the middle of the bundle. As such, the whole thing was about three feet in length; he could have used it as a cane, had he so wished. And it would have made a very poor weapon, indeed. All it really held, was its symbolism.

  Sayri Cusi’s eyes darted from side to side, expressions flickering over his face so quickly, Sigrun couldn’t read them all. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged. It was as if he couldn’t control his own tongue.

  “Allow me to be painfully blunt, your Majesty,” Livorus said, after a moment’s pause, waiting for the man’s response. “You clearly wish conflict with Rome, and think that because we are already engaged in hostilities with Persia and the Mongol Khanate, that we would shrink from chastising you and your domain, if there is need. Let it be known that we would not hesitate for an instant.” Livorus inhaled, and Sigrun edged forwards again, trying to keep her body between him and the Sapa Inca—and the gun-wielding bodyguards. Livorus was clearly angry, and in a very personal way. The propraetor had just had his mind clouded by magic, and he clearly did not appreciate it. “We have reason to believe that your ‘public works’ project carries on in a similar vein to the experiments conducted in Nahautl five years ago. We are attempting to ascertain if human sacrifice to your gods has been re-instituted, and that you are attempting to use the power of these gods, pushing it, for whatever reason, into the ley-grid. Rome requires that you cease and desist in all such efforts, immediately, and present those involved for inquiry into the matter. If all is aboveboard, you will be permitted to continue, but with public oversight. If your efforts involve human sacrifice? Then all the perpetrators will be brought to justice. Be they ever so high.”

  The fasces still in hand, Livorus brushed Sigrun out of the way, and began to draw a circle around the feet of the Sapa Inca. Sigrun remembered, vividly, history lessons that spoke of a Roman envoy doing just this around the feet of Antiochus IV, when the Persian emperor had invaded Egypt. And had told the man to decide between leaving Egypt and war with Rome, before stepping over the line drawn at his feet. Livorus clearly meant nothing more by his gesture than this, but before Livorus could complete the invisible circle around the emperor’s feet, Sayri Cusi clenched a fist and lifted it up, almost as if offering Livorus a decidedly rude gesture.

  Sigrun leaped forwards, Adam moving at the same moment, as the flagstones underfoot erupted, as if the earth itself had just punched upwards with a mighty fist. Livorus went flying. Sigrun landed across the propraetor’s body, taking fragments of rock and debris that flew everywhere across her back and shoulders, even as she felt Adam shoulder his way in between her and their protectee, and the mad emperor. “I think we have your answer,” Adam said, grimly. “Caetia, get the propraetor to the door.”

  “We have not dismissed you,” Sayri Cusi growled. “We are the hand of Inti on earth. You will treat us with the respect due to a god.”

  “I’m Judean. I don’t bow to other people’s gods.” Adam’s tone was clipped. “Sig. Door. Now.”

  “Guards? Shoot the Judean if the other two move.” Sayri Cusi’s voice was suddenly richly amused.

  Sigrun, just in the process of getting up from having thrown herself over Livorus, froze in place as she heard the sound of various derringers being cocked. She’d have done the same if it had been Tren or Kanmi or anyone else being threatened. She turned her head just enough to verify that the five bodyguards now had a bead on Adam. She took a look at the angles, and swore, internally. She could get to one, maybe two of the guards, in a rush of speed, but the others were all on the far side of Adam, and no matter how fast she moved, their fingers on the triggers would be faster. He’d fall, riddled with bullets, and she’d have left Livorus to do it. She could heal their wounds, if Adam and Livorus were injured . . . but she’d need to take out all five bodyguards without them dealing any mortal wounds. And a head of state who was a powerful sorcerer, as well. All right. Violence isn’t supposed to be our first option in most cases, anyway. Sigrun glanced at Livorus, and asked, quietly, “Sir?”

  “We’re not going anywhere, for the moment,” Livorus said, his tone suddenly preternaturally calm. Almost soothing. “However, I would like to return to my feet. Would that be acceptable to your Majesty?” He’s in damage control mode now. Soothing. Giving the man the respect he believes is due to him. Gods. Livorus probably made a tactical error giving the madman an ultimatum, but what else was he supposed to do after we’d just been attacked? Sigrun’s head whirled.

  “You will stay on the ground for the moment. We are minded to take you to our palace at Machu Picchu for a time, Propraetor. You will enjoy our hospitality there. But your lictors . . . yes. We will take both of them to our facility at Coropuna. They will see the glory of what we are creating here in
our land. If the god-born woman gets out of line, the man dies. If the man attempts to escape, the woman dies. But they will see what we do here . . . and you, propraetor, and Rome, will be satisfied with this.” A canny little smile. Offering them what they wanted to hear, and the little eye-flick to the right conveyed volumes, as his manner became, once more, coquettish. Sigrun thought, Lie. We all die, any way this goes. Again, she glanced around. The urge to attack now, and sell her life as dearly as possible, was powerful, but if she did so, Adam and Livorus would both likely die before she could save them. The best we can do is play along, for the moment, and look for a better opportunity to escape. Sigrun flicked a glance at Livorus as she slowly pulled back from the propraetor. She couldn’t even pull lightning into the room. Not and hit six targets, without hitting Livorus and Adam, and the gods only knew what lightning would even do to Sayri Cusi. Gods. I’m seriously considering attacking a head of state. Even if our lives are in danger, do I have the right to start a war?

  Livorus’ eyes held bleak awareness. He’d clearly come to the same conclusions. But he mustered a smile, and told them, as calmly as if he were seated at his desk in his study in Rome, and not partially pinned to the floor, with weapons trained on him and his lictors, “Of course, you two must go. Observe. Analyze. Report back to me. And, given the opportunity, you must, of course, do what you both do best.”