Valkyrie Rising

by GR Griffin

  "It was three....Lenneth was accompanied by three Valkyrie." Freya murmured, and Odin's glare became more pronounced.

  "Three!? Three Valkyries lost to us on what was to be a relatively easy transport mission."

  "With all due respect my Lord, it was never considered an easy mission. My sister Hrist put much on the line to distract the undead from Silmeria's escort." Lenneth retorted. "If not for Brahms' spy network, we might never have gotten into an ambush…"

  "I do not want your excuses, nor your what ifs...." Odin grumbled. "You come before me with facts only, and that fact is that your entourage was lost, Silmeria taken and turned into one of those abominations! Valkyrie blood was spilled, those monsters fed upon them! This incident was an unmitigated disaster of the worst kind, and you were unable to do anything to stop it!"

  "Lord Odin, might you be placing too much blame onto Lenneth?" Freya asked. "I'm sure that she did all she could do given the situation…"

  "And her best was not enough!" roared Odin. Lenneth and Freya both seemed to flinch from his shout, Odin staring down at the Valkyrie. "I can forgive the loss of the einherjar, but with what has happened to the other Valkyries and Silmeria? That is unforgivable!"

  "My Lord...I will accept whatever punishment you deem fitting for one such as me." Lenneth told him, allowing her face to be blank of all her emotions.

  "And punish you I shall." Odin told her, then turned to Freya. "Go. Fetch me my potions."

  "Potions?!" Freya gasped, and shook her head. "Isn't that too extreme a punishment for this?"

  "Lenneth failed me." Odin hissed. "But not just me, but her sister and the three Valkyries under her lead." Lenneth flinched at his words, but knew them to be true. "An example must be made of her. To show what will happen to any other Valkyrie who would fail me in such a manner. Now go Freya, do what I command of you or suffer the same fate.”

  "Yes Lord Odin." Freya's shoulders sagged, and she gave Lenneth an apologetic look before quickly eaving the room.

  "My Lord...if I may..." Lenneth risked speaking to him once more. "What exactly is my punishment to be?"

  A grim smile was given her, Lenneth feeling chilled to see it. "What is the fate of all Valkyries who must be retired from the battlefield?" Her eyes widened, Lenneth gasping out a no. She almost rose off her feet in protest, and only Odin's hand suddenly on her shoulder kept her kneeling. "Yes, Lenneth, you will be Valkyrie no more. You will undergo the customary ritual…"

  "N....no...." The floor felt like it had dropped out from beneath her, Lenneth shaking her head in protest.

  "Yes. You will enter the enchanted sleep." Odin continued, his hand still pressing down on her shoulder. "You'll be doomed to sleep until kissed awake. And when you awaken, your heart will belong to a stranger."

  "I can still fight..." Lenneth began. It was all steel resolve that voiced in her tone, no undercurrents of that inwards desperation or begging to be found. "If you just give me one more chance.…"

  "I do not tolerate failure more than once in my Valkyries." Odin said coldly, not looking up as Freya ventured back into the room. Lenneth didn't turn to watch her approach. didn’t take note of the vial of glowing pink potion in the golden haired Goddess’ hands. Instead Lenneth continued to stare up at Odin, a vivid defiance dawning in the Valkyrie’s eyes. "You will devote your life to this stranger that you will love. You will bear his children and grow old with him."

  "You can force this sleep on me, but you cannot force me to love him." Warned Lenneth.

  "You are strong willed." Noted Odin. "Maybe even strong enough to fight the effects of the potion. It will be interesting either way."

  "My Lord..." Freya stepped into Lenneth's view, the hated pink potion still clutched in her grasp.

  "Drink this..." Odin took the potion from Freya's hand, and brought it before Lenneth's lips. She could smell it's sickly sweet scent, and it made her want to gag. "Do not defy me on this Lenneth…"

  "I do not seek to defy you, but the potions effects!" Lenneth retorted to Odin's amusement. "Just...just promise me one thing!" Odin was already trying to tilt the potion into her mouth, Lenneth sputtering as she spoke. "Save my sister. Rescue her from the fate that Brahms has cast her into." She was choking on the liquid, the potion burning her throat, and working quickly to weave it’s hated magic upon her. Lenneth's eyes were already drooping closed, and the woman swore that she could hear a voice call out from behind her. It sounded a lot like her elder sister, Hrist, but Lenneth found she completely lacked the strength to turn and see for sure.

  She went out with not a scream but a whimper, collapsing to the floor still clad in her blood splattered armor. All Lenneth could think as she struggled to remain conscious was that the task of rescuing Silmeria’s soul would now have to fall on some other Valkyrie's shoulders.

  Chapter 4: Four

  From off the coast of Lassan, from way out into it’s distance, past what any mortal man can see, an island exists. This plateau of land, surrounded on all sides by a violent and unforgiving sea, is replete with a wild forest that grows out of any man’s control. The thickest of trees stand testament to it’s untamed nature, all ancient and tall, stretching out higher than seemed naturally possible. A thick canopy of perpetual green makes a roof over this forest, blocking out much of the sun and it’s light. It’s a forest full of shadows, an island nurtured by blood, death and magic. Dark, twisted things grow within it’s confines, and the beasts that roam this land, are among the most deadly and dangerous to be found in all of the corners of the world.

  It’s a thriving populace of wild nightmares that exist on this island. Beasts---creatures, that serve many a purpose. Chief among them? To play deterrent to ward off any people, any HUMANS, that might seek to trespass on this island.

  This island exists on the whims of a delicate balance, a strict chain of command set in place. Everything from the dangers of the wild, the animals that exist as both guardian and as a food source, to the monsters that walked this land. The ghouls and the zombies, the chimeras, and the wraiths. All manner of wicked creature, everything from the most insignificant of the undead, to the monsters who pressed them under a firm commanding thumb.

  It was the vampires that ruled here, vampires who had sought out and carved this land into a safe haven for their own kind. It was the one, the only, place in all of the nine realms, that was a home for them. A place of belonging, a retreat from the world. This island, this home was their base of operation and the only thing of real value allowed to the vampires. This dark paradise, was always open to them, the vampires welcomed back each and every time they were driven off from elsewhere in Midgard.

  Large as the island was, it still struggled to support the numerous undead that maintained the delicate balance of a savage paradise. Just accounting for the vampires alone, at any odd time, there could and usually were, several hundred vampires in residence.

  These vampires weren’t the uncivilized nightmares that the rest of the nine realm’s people thought them to be. They had a home and they had culture, traditions, and their own ruling systems set into place. Here among the trees, in the very heart of the ancient forest, existed their castle. A castle carved of a stone weathered by both age and the elements, and rumored to be older than time itself. This impressive and large sight, was more city than anything, a mountain range itself having been brought down low, to form the basis of this building.

  This millennia old castle was in a constant state of upkeep, the vampires and their servants working on it, adding to and expanding it, often times busy with replacing the most weathered of stones that had been blasted into ruin by friend and foe alike. With this dedicated vigilance, the lesser undead labored to make sure that the outside walls of the castle did not give in to the temptation to collapse.

  The castle itself was a beautiful if rickety sight to see. The stones, discolored from the rains, were bronze in color. With heaps of moss and vines growing up the sides of the walls, with night flowers buddi
ng on the shadow thriving greenery. They reached as high as the third floor of the castle, stopping just short of twirling around to the fifth floor turrets. Between the four corners of the castle towers, the fifth floor opened up onto a roof top courtyard. Many a vampire could be seen up there at any given time of day or night, relaxing in the shade, and holding conversations with one another.

  And there was no topic as wildly discussed, as that of their King. Of his startling obsession, and the ruthless way in which he had seen to acquiring it. He could hear them, a whole group of vampires up on the roof, holding their own private court, speaking in a hushed whisper that carried easily on the wind down to him. Brahms with his enhanced hearing didn’t even have to strain in an attempt to make out the words. He heard clearly every last one, the lot of them speculating wildly on the recent events that had brought their lord back from the battlefield. Listening to them was almost beneath him, but more than that, his eavesdropping was helping to pass the time.

  It might almost have been amusing. But the one thing those whispers were not, was distracting. Nothing was, not when he considered the young woman who currently lay asleep in his bed. Even if his crimson colored eyes hadn’t constantly sought out that of her blanket covered form, Brahms would have been aware of her. Of her light easy breathing, of the slow, lethargic beat of her heart, and the sweet, tantalizing scent of her hair.

  He couldn’t stop looking at her, couldn’t last for more than a few seconds without marveling, or without seeking reassurance that Silmeria was indeed still here with him. It was as though he feared that she would vanish out from right under him, even though the vampire king knew it would take quite the sizable army to tear her from his side. Nor would he ever allow her to flee from him, Brahms determined that she would remain in his keep for all time.

  It was a right the vampire felt that he had EARNED, what with how difficult an endeavor it had been to bring Silmeria here. The operation had been one that had been fraught with peril from all sides, and that included the threat of his own people. Brahms couldn’t help the anger that surged in his heart, each time he thought about what his own vampires had almost cost him. Even now there was that annoyed growl that he had to fight to keep from voicing, the worst of his rage being suppressed so that the only real sign of it was that of Brahms’ fingers clenching on the sill of the window he stood before.

  This rage that filled him was a familiar one, Brahms actually frightened at the thought of how close he had almost come to losing the young Valkyrie completely. He could blame that on the careless actions of his own soldiers, the group of vampires that had been personally dispatched to kidnap the Valkyrie from out of the fighting that took place on the battlefield that was the plains of Idavoll. While not an entirely easy task to accomplish, it also shouldn’t have proved so near catastrophic. And yet that is exactly what it had been, that group of accomplish soldiers losing themselves to a blood lust, any semblance of control Brahms had thought to maintain on the situation lost.

  It had been an unmitigated disaster. The vampires responsible laid claim to it all being nothing more than an accident of fate. Actually choosing to blame Silmeria for their loss of control, insisting that the Valkyrie had been too wild and unpredictable, too aggressive in her fighting. Claims had come that she had forced their hand, made them attack and injure her in so great a manner. Brahms could understand a minor injury, one meant to briefly render her incapable of fighting. But what had occurred was far more brutal, the Valkyrie's armor torn open, her blood spilled every which way on the battle field. She had nearly died then and there, and would have if not for the timely intercession of her fellow Asgardians.

  Brahms had been beyond livid when he had heard about what had happened, and had grown even more so when he had learned of how debilitating her injuries had actually been. It should have been no surprise to anyone that he had torn apart several of the vampires responsible for the Valkyrie's near crippled state. Those few that had survived the massacre had been staked, and left to slowly rot to death before the newly risen sun.

  His people hadn't understood his upset. After all, what was a few injuries given what Brahms planned to ultimately do to the Valkyrie? They thought he had overreacted to the attack, frowning disapproval and muttering things about how she had made Brahms lose his head. Some part of him wondered if that was actually true, if he wasn't becoming half crazed and obsessed with the wanting of her. But most of all, Brahms wondered how the others all failed to miss the point, the fact that the Valkyrie could have died long before Brahms could have gotten to her. Before he could have gotten the chance to force the change on her, and make her into one of his own kind. That kind of outcome would have been simply unacceptable, and more vampires would have died at Brahms’ hand during the grief stricken rage that would have surely followed Silmeria’s passing.

  It hadn’t come to be. She was safe, she was here, and she had been given the eternal kiss. Brahms kept reassuring himself of these three things, his musings never distracting him from keeping his eyes trained on the young woman’s face. Her chest barely moved, the few breaths that Silmeria did take rasping out between unnatural intervals. It was because the former Valkyrie was no longer alive. Not in the strictly traditional sense of the word. To any who might observe her at this moment, Silmeria didn’t so much as sleep, as mimic that stillness of the newly dead. She would continue to remain that way for a few minutes more of time, the sun not yet set on this, the third day since the pair had fed from each other.

  Just remembering that feeding was more than enough to make him let out a moan of pleasure, Brahms running his tongue over his top most fangs' tips. A rumble of hunger worked it's way through him, Brahms thirsting for more of her blood, even though it was surely tainted by now. Tainted as a direct result of the transformation that he had forced on her. The blood of a Valkyrie was always a sweetly addictive taste. This woman had proven even more so, and Brahms had actually had to fight the temptation of it. Because just like those vampires, the ones that Brahms himself had killed, the Lord of the Undead might have drank Silmeria to death, and been left with nothing but the memory of her. The sweet tempting blood that would have warmed his veins, would have been a bitter consolation for the woman he would have lost.

  The boost to his abilities had been substantial, and even three days later, Brahms was still flushed with the power the Valkyrie’s blood had given him. By all sense, and by the duty that he owed to his people, Brahms should have been out on the battlefields of the heavens right this very moment, using his empowered strength to put an end to as many of the long lived Asgardians as was possible.

  It was unfortunate, but fighting was and had been the last thing that Brahms had wanted to do. With thoughts of his prize, with Silmeria within his grasp, Brahms had instead chosen to rush back to the vampire’s island. He had carried the Valkyrie the entire journey there, the woman cradled safe and secure in his strong arms. Trusting no one else to handle the valkyrie in this delicate time, Brahms was unable to be put at ease so long as Silmeria was still in the midst of her transformation process.

  Brahms could also admit that there was a strong part of him that had simply enjoyed clutching the battle maiden against him, enjoying the way that her frail form had felt in his strong arms. She had felt like she had belonged in his embrace, like she was the key to that which he had been missing all these long years. There was something about this Valkyrie, something that continued to call to him. It made Brahms certain that she would be the one to end the loneliness he had been suffering through as eternity continued to stretch onwards infinitely.

  He had lived a long life, just how long even Brahms himself could not recall. The endless years had stretched into forever, time and memories blurring so that even he could not remember it all. He still retained the most important of knowledge, Brahms knowing that he was the oldest of the vampire race. For that alone did there exist many a myth and story, gossip and theories abounding about him. Some stories said that Brahms w
as the source from which the first vampires came from, while others whispered he was as old as Odin if not older. Certainly the struggle between the Asgardians and the undead had lasted for such an eternity, that their conflict held roots that stemmed from before the mortals of Midgard had become civilized beings.

  The mortals were part of the source of conflict between the Asgardians and the undead. The Gods had never looked fondly on the undead preying upon the race that they had created, the very race that worshiped the Gods and looked to them for guidance still. Just as the undead did not appreciate the Gods interfering with their food source, the mortals able to sustain several different types of undead through either their blood or with that of their flesh.

  Both the Gods and the Undead sought to bolster their armies through the mortals, humans being taken to become einherjar for the Asgardians, or alternatively made into some hellish kind of undead creature. It kept the war going, and it would continue for as long as there was mortals to fight with and over. The mortals were a race that should have been considered insignificant, and yet almost everything that had happened, occurred because of them.

  Take the young woman in his bed. Brahms knew that somewhere in the distant past, she had had parents. A Goddess who had lost her immortality, and been tied to a mortal man. Both had been warriors and together they had conceived, the child inheriting her mother's immortality and abilities, as well as her father's own strengths. In this particular case, the couple had conceived several times over, creating three daughters who would then grow up to be Valkyries. Those eternal battle maidens, who fought so hard for their King, slaying undead, and gathering up mortals to become warriors for Asgard.

  The woman in his bed had been responsible for countless deaths among Brahms' own armies. Her sword had been stained with the numerous blood of the undead. She should have been an instant enemy to Brahms, and yet something had drawn her to him instead. That first time he had seen her, a mere slip of a girl garbed in indigo colored armor, should have also been the last. It should have been child's play for Brahms to strike her dead. In fact he had moved to do just that, his clawed fingers flexing in preparation to tear out her throat. But he refused to attack from behind, waiting for the battle maiden to turn to face him.