The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1)

by Victoria L. Scott

  My panic faded, turning to determination and cold fury as I then understood two things. First, I’d been tricked by a god who’d ‘adopted’ me and wanted to protect me from harm because he loved me—or so I’d been told—but who now required worship in exchange for my doing his sneaky dirty work; and second, no matter what I’d agreed to and whether I’d understood it at the time or not, there was no way in Hell or any other miserable afterlife I would worship the one-eyed fiend in front of me.

  “What say you, Little One?” Odin asked, watching me closely. “Shall I teach you the proper ways to venerate me?”

  “No,” I said, icy wrath in my tone.

  The judges, who by that point should’ve been unsurprised by my lack of polite reverence for their boss, again whispered among themselves in shock and dismay.

  “You already know the methods then?” Odin asked, turning away from me and walking a couple steps to my left.

  “No,” I said again, watching him like a hawk and fuming at the trap Odin had snapped around me.

  He stared at the wall in front of him, his back to me. “You agreed to worship me. Do you not understand what that means?”

  “I only have your word on what I agreed to. I do understand what worshipping you means.” I shrugged. “I simply refuse to do it.”

  Odin turned to face me and the room and his face darkened with rage. The men in the chairs behind him became still as statues. “I gave you power beyond that of mortals,” he rumbled. “With it you saved humanity from the Son of Loki’s malevolence. You even faced down Hades and succeeded in freeing the Son of Khonshu. I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, but you refuse to do the same. Why?”

  “I worship another,” I said simply and the statement, though true, surprised me. I didn’t really consider myself to be the best of Christians, I supposed, but I did believe in God. I’d met a few pagan gods in the past couple days and witnessed their great abilities. They had power that was clearly manifest, but somehow it didn’t impress me. My conviction in my belief in God glowed within me as a steady, forthright light. The foundation of my refusal to worship Odin rested solidly on that, though how I’d come to realize it was a mystery to me.

  “The puny Christian god?!” Odin cried and laughed derisively. A spear appeared beside him out of thin air and Odin grabbed it, thumping the flat end of it against the floor and making the room shake. “You prayed to him and he didn’t come to your aid. When you asked, I came and gave you such power that you fought a death god to a standstill, Little One!”

  “I disagree,” I said, unmoved by Odin’s theatrics. “God did answer my prayers. Isn’t it possible he set you in my path to give me the power I needed to stop Laufeson’s evil?”

  “I was not an instrument of Jehovah,” Odin rumbled.

  “Why not? I was your instrument,” I pointed out. “Perhaps I was God’s instrument through you?”

  “He didn’t craft the plan to stop my enemy. He didn’t wait for years to spring it. Had I not acted, the Son of Loki would have succeeded.” Odin laughed derisively. “Jehovah is weak and useless in comparison to me.”

  “God is stronger,” I said.

  Odin laughed again and leaned on the spear. “How so, fool?!”

  “He’s given me the strength to stand up to you,” I said, my voice even. “I will not be moved though you do your worst.”

  At that, Odin stood very, very still, the spear gripped in his hand and his eye narrowed in calculation. I was suddenly very weary. The pain roared back into my thoughts and I just didn’t care anymore.

  “Pick up the spear and kill me,” I said with a sigh. “I won’t change my mind, we both know you won’t miss, and I’m ready for the afterlife though I’m not sure if the afterlife is ready for me.” I put my arms out so he had a clear shot at my chest. “Have at it, All-Father,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’ll not flinch from the blow. I am worthless to you. Push me over that ‘precipice’ you mentioned and be done with it.”

  Much to my surprise a tear welled up in Odin’s eye and slid silently down his cheek. He turned to the judges behind him. “Is she not magnificent?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion. “Her courage and conviction do us great honor. What say you, warriors? Will she not serve the world well as the First of the Valkyries? Does she pass the test?”

  I put down my arms, confused, then watched in dumb astonishment as the judges looked at each other, then at Odin. As one, they nodded their assent and disappeared.

  Odin turned back to me and with a gesture the spear disappeared. Unfortunately so did the blue magic holding me up. The room started to brown out and I felt my knees buckle as the song of agony within me crescendoed again, my ability to block it out having left me. Odin rushed forward and caught me, lifting me gently as if I were a small child. He spoke a word and I felt my wings and armor disappear, leaving me in the blue wool dress, my hair tumbled over my face and shoulders, my feet bare.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

  “It was a test, Ariana Grace Trevelyan,” he murmured and moved the hair out of my face so he could see it clearly. The use of my full given name sent a chill down my spine. “It was the final and greatest test. You passed it and showed your worth. If you choose to work for me, you’ll do me great service.”

  That statement made me tear up, though it’s probably from the pain, I thought. I suddenly missed my father very, very much. “The agreement?” I croaked.

  “There was none,” he said. “That, too was part of the test.” He looked up from me. “Eir,” he said, “quickly – she needs healing. Let us go to Frigg without delay.”

  “I don’t—“ I whispered.

  Odin covered my eyes with his hand. “Sleep, my daughter,” he said. “When you’ve recovered, I’ll explain all to you.”

  Dark oblivion rose from the depths and swallowed me whole. The world went dark.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  After the darkness and quiet, a room coalesced around me in a blue haze. I had no true sense of just how much time had passed. It felt like Odin had cradled me in his arms only a half second before, but the dark after had been silent as the grave and just as timeless. The abrupt transition from that to a standing position rattled me for a moment and I felt my heart rate increase.

  I saw books. Books on a shelf in a wall full of shelved books. I stood in a library and I felt… normal… not disconnected or weary or in pain... and I nearly sagged in relief. My heart slowed. I didn’t hear anything or anyone, nor did I have the sense that there was something to be feared from my surroundings. I took a moment to close my eyes and thank my lucky stars I hadn’t been dropped from the dark into immediate danger.

  Opening my eyes again, I looked down at my body to see if the golden gears and circuits still ran along my flesh. My arms were bare and looked just as they had before Laufeson’s machine and Odin’s magic had changed me. I still wore the blue wool dress, though the breastplate was gone and a quick hand to my head verified I no longer wore a golden helmet. My hair was neatly plaited, however.

  I spun on my bare feet to take in the room full of books, on my guard against an attack. None came.

  It was a narrow rectangle of a room that hearkened back to the early days of the century. It ran along the side of what seemed to be a great house, illuminated with the light from four tall French windows in alcoves along the exterior wall, framed by wooden shutters and saffron draperies. Outside, a garden, still grey from winter, spread outward in a rectangle from the French doors.

  Built-in bookcases ran the length of the other three walls, framing a marble-mantled fireplace decorated with Greco-Roman items meant to evoke the decor of the houses of Pompeii, which I recognized from Cora’s books on the place. To my right was a large wooden door, closed to what must have been a hallway on the other side.

  The parts of the walls that didn’t contain bookcases were painted a terra-cotta color, with thin black-brown lines framing them, again in imitation of Pompeiian decor. A long
narrow reddish-brown rug ran the length of the room, upon which sat a long cherrywood table, several cherrywood armchairs with saffron velvet cushions, and two richly red damask couches near the fireplace with small end tables beside them. A low table sat in front of one of the couches. Brass candelabras with unlit tapers abounded, and the room smelled of beeswax and book leather. I stood in the middle of the room, now facing the fireplace with the wall of my books at my back and the long table in front of me.

  It was the room a Roman aristocrat would’ve owned, as imagined by someone who had never been to Pompeii. I found I quite liked the room, despite the obvious dissonance between the inspiration and result. The warm colors made it cozy, and the windows let in a great deal of light.

  Problem was, I was alone there and I had no idea whose library it was. Something about the place tickled the back of my mind with familiarity, but every time I tried to grasp the memory it darted away from me. Even though I didn’t know whose library I stood in, I felt safe. No one would hurt me here. I was alone and secure for the first time in what felt like forever though I knew it had only been a few days.

  I moved over to one of the couches and sat down, a little stunned. So much had happened in such a short period of time. So much had changed. I’d gained and lost so much. What am I to do now? I wondered. Fear, uncertainty, grief, disappointment and anger fought for control of my thoughts. I’d no idea if any of the choices I’d made had been the right ones or what the consequences of those choices would be. How long will I be safe here? I wondered. I longed for home and familiar things. I longed to see my father, to know he was safe and well out of the mess I was in. I wondered about what had happened to Gregor and Hugo after the dragon attacked. My eyes burned and my vision wavered. I wished I’d had a chance to say goodbye to—

  The tears began to flow before I was aware of it, but once I felt them on my cheeks, the floodgates opened. I wept openly and messily, placing my hand over my mouth to suppress the sound of my sobbing. My nose began to run and I felt my cheeks heat up from my crying and distress. I didn’t have a handkerchief to wipe my face. I grabbed a fistful of the blue dress and used that for lack of something better. It left the fabric wet and crumpled, but I didn’t care.

  Eventually, the sobbing subsided and it took another handful of dress to wipe my face dry a second time. I leaned back on the couch, tired but feeling a little bit better, as I knew my friends did after a ‘gutter-washing lacrimonious interlude,’ as Cora called them. I was not prone to ‘gutter-washers’ as a general rule though many of the girls at Towson were. I hated exhibiting such a ‘weakness of spirit,’ but I supposed I’d been though enough that the ‘lacrimonious interlude’ was understandable, if messy. At least I’d been alone when it happened.

  I still had no idea of what to do next, however. Should I leave? Will I be allowed to leave? Where will I go? Where am I?

  “Interesting room, don’t you think?”

  I jumped off the couch and whirled with my fists up to see Odin standing in front of the room’s closed door. He wasn’t as large in the library as he’d been in his great hall, standing now at what I estimated to be a little shorter than six feet. He wore tweed and looked for all the world like a country gentleman about to embark on an afternoon of bird hunting. The patch over his missing eye was brown to match the tweed and it added an odd, almost piratical air to his appearance. His white hair was cut short and combed down on his head, his beard neatly trimmed as one would expect of a rich, older gentleman of leisure. But, despite his mundane appearance, he exuded an aura of power and wisdom slightly tinged with menace. I knew better than to assume a different appearance meant a different being. He was still a pagan god who could kill me outright if he chose... if I wasn’t dead already.

  I paused, uncertain what else to do. I realized I must look a mess, with my face blotchy from weeping and the evidence of my distress on wrinkled, moistened parts of my dress. I kept my fists up and hoped my willingness to get pugilistic would distract from my disheveled appearance.

  Odin put up his hands in an ‘I mean you no harm’ sort of gesture. “Little One,” he intoned gravely, “Be at ease. I will not harm you. I had hoped we’d sit down,” he indicated the chairs and couches, “and I could answer your questions.”

  I lowered my fists and narrowed my eyes as I looked at the Norse god. Now he was playing nice?

  “Why?” I asked, my tone wary.

  “I honor my promises,” he said simply. “I promised you an explanation.”

  Hmmm, I thought. Is this another test?

  “Where are we?” I asked, not moving.

  “This is a version of the library at Brentwood Close. I thought it’d help you feel less out of place. You like libraries. When you were younger, you spent a great deal of time in here.” He pointed behind him at the closed door. “If you don’t wish to speak to me, simply leave and you’ll return to Midgard unharmed and,” he paused, “...uninformed.”

  I wanted answers. I wasn’t going anywhere until I got them. “I’m still in Asgard, then?”

  Odin nodded. “Essentially. Such workings,” he indicated the room, “are within my power here.”

  What sort of knowledge did he have of the world beyond here? I wondered. “You said you sent Andrew and Toby on to Brentwood Close. What about my father, aunt, Mr. Datsik and Hugo? Are they safe?”

  “They are,” he said. “They’re worried about you, of course, but they’re unharmed.”

  I took that in, relieved. “Am I in this construct of Aunt Miranda’s library because you healed me completely, or did I die and this is the chat I get before I head off to... well, wherever God chooses to send me? Or is something else going on?”

  Odin stepped further into the room. His movement forward was slow and deliberate, indicating he didn’t want to alarm me. I tensed but kept my fists lowered.

  “Frigg, Eir and Yggdrasil work to stitch your soul back to your flesh, while my magic keeps your body alive. While they work, I have chosen to meet you here, in this realm of the mind,” he said. He smiled at me. “It’s a good thing you’re so stubborn. A more fragile young woman would have been lost, but you hold onto life with a grip of iron now, just as you did on the World Tree thirteen years ago.”

  I frowned. “I used too much magic,” I said. “I knew when I cast the spell to get Andrew, Toby and me out of Hell, I’d have very little life energy left over.”

  “True, but that isn’t what slipped the moorings of your soul. Part of that’s my fault. I allowed you to follow through on your threat to Hades but didn’t tell you the rules.”

  “There are rules?”

  Odin chuckled. “There are always rules, Little One. The Universe operates within certain principles and parameters. Otherwise, there would be chaos. Surely through your study of mathematics and the sciences you can recognize that?”

  “Yes,” I said uncertainly, “but fact and experimentation made those rules known to humanity. Newton based his laws on what he observed in the world. You’re saying magic has rules like that? If so, how did my breaking a rule untie my soul from my body?”

  “You didn’t break a rule per se,” Odin explained, “but you had no idea of the consequences of the spell you cast to ‘choose’ Hades and take him to Helheim.” He indicated the couch I’d occupied before he’d arrived. “Please, sit. I’ll sit on the couch opposite,” he pointed at it, “and answer all your questions.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  I thought about it a moment and sat back down on the couch. I wanted answers and Odin seemed inclined to provide them. Best for me to find out what I can, I thought. “All right,” I said tentatively.

  Odin walked over and sat opposite me. He leaned back and regarded me with a mixture of pride and exasperation. It reminded me very much of the expression I’d seen on my own father’s face more than once.

  “So...” I began, feeling my way into the conversation, “...what rule did I bend that nearly killed me?”

  “As a V
alkyrie—even a temporary one—” he explained, “you have the power to choose which recently dead mortals will spend their afterlife in Valhalla. I burned the spell for choosing the slain into your memory as you used it on Hades, yes?” I nodded.

  “Though Hades was in a mortal body at the time,” Odin continued, “that mortal body contained the immortal soul of a god, like me.”

  “The god of the dead wasn’t recently dead,” I said, putting it together.

  “Exactly so. Your decision to choose Hades for Helheim and make him Hel’s plaything was inspired, to be sure, but not truly within the realm of your abilities as one of my Valkyrie.”

  I furrowed my brow. “But I felt his soul start to leave his body as the spell did its work,” I said.

  Odin nodded gravely. “It did, but the effort of casting that spell untied the links between your soul and your flesh. Had you completed it, you’d have taken Hades to Helheim as you intended… but your soul would have escorted him there personally. You would’ve trapped yourself for eternity right beside Hades, suffering the same torments as he did. And, I’m sorry to say, Hel likes new toys.”

  My eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” I said. “That sounds… unpleasant.”

  Odin smirked, his eye twinkling. “Your determination to save the Healer and ignorance as to the rules gave you the strength to pull Hades halfway to an afterlife he couldn’t escape.”

  “I am stubborn,” I said, looking at my hands.

  “You are indeed,” Odin agreed. “Between that and encasing Hades within Yggdrasil, you made quite an impression.”

  “I also made an enemy,” I muttered.

  Odin’s expression sobered. “True. Hades will not forget the insult and eventually there’ll be a reckoning… but not for a bit, I think.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but I couldn’t do anything about it now. “So now what? You put me back together and… then…?”