Dark Devotion: Dark Series 3

by Lauren Dawes

  “They won’t harm you.”

  Tove spun around. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair was standing there. Her eyes were a curious mix of two shades of blue.

  The woman smiled at her warmly. “And I won’t harm you either. You are safe here, Tove.”

  “How do you—” Tove stopped, startled by the guttural sound of her voice. Bringing her hands to her neck, her fingers brushed past a thick scar running across the front of her throat.

  The woman’s serene expression darkened for a moment. “I’m sorry about that. I tried to get him to heal all of you, but he wouldn’t.”

  Tove swallowed. “Who wouldn’t?” She recoiled at the harsh timber. “Where am I? What is this place?”

  The woman shook her head, giving her that same friendly smile again. “I’m being so rude. Let me introduce myself. I’m Brynhildr.”

  Tove could feel her eyes widen. “The Valkyrie?” she whispered.

  Brynhildr shrugged almost sheepishly. “The one and only. And Odin was the one who wouldn’t heal your throat.”

  She almost swallowed her own tongue. “The All-Father?”

  Brynhildr nodded and held out her hand to Tove. She took it, feeling a power flow through the goddess’s fingers and into her. It gave Tove an inner strength she didn’t know was flagging. “I’ll take you to him. He wanted to see you when you woke.”

  The Valkyrie led her through another large doorway and into a hallway inlaid with more golden shields and spears. Along the walls were stone statues, although Tove didn’t recognize any of the faces. Tove’s bare feet moved soundlessly across the stone floor, following Brynhildr deeper into what she could only assume was a vast building. “What is this place?” Tove hated the sound of her voice, but she needed answers too badly.

  “Valhalla.”

  Of course she had heard of Valhalla before; it was the great hall of the dead located in Asgard. If she was there, it would mean she was …

  “Am I dead?” The Valkyrie didn’t slow, didn’t turn, didn’t answer. Tove wasn’t sure Brynhildr had heard her. “Brynhildr?”

  “Yes.”

  Dead? “How long have I been gone from Midgard?”

  The goddess stopped walking, drawing Tove to a stop. “No more than three hours of your human time. Time passes differently here though. Here, in Asgard, you have been sleeping – recovering – for a week.”

  Tove’s head started to spin. “What of my father? And Soren? Did they survive the battle?”

  Brynhildr started walking again. “I’ll let Odin tell you. He has his reasons for doing things, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you.”

  Tove started to follow Brynhildr again. They arrived at a door that looked no different from any of the other hundred they had already passed. The Valkyrie knocked before entering, not waiting for permission. Inside, a large fire burned in a hearth against the wall. Animal skins layered the floor, keeping the room warm. On the opposite wall to the fire was a large bed, and against the window directly opposite to where they were standing were a table and bench.

  There was a man with his back to them, his head bent over something she couldn’t see. He had dark hair and the shoulders of a warrior. This could not be the All-Father. He was supposed to be a wizened old man with long gray hair and a beard. Brynhildr cleared her throat, drawing attention to them. The man turned, and Tove immediately felt as if she was standing in front of the sun. There was so much power, so much radiance coming from him. He had one green eye, the other was just a simple black orb. He approached them, stepping up to Tove and inspecting her closely. She could see her fearful reflection in his glass eye, and it was unnerving.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I am,” she replied softly.

  His gaze fell to her throat, and he softly thumbed the scar. “I’m sure Bryn told you I did not see fit to heal this wound.” She nodded, feeling his thumb sweeping back and forth along her skin. “Has she told you why?”

  “No.”

  Odin’s eyes traveled to Brynhildr for a mere second before his lips flexed into a smile. “Why did you kill him, your husband?”

  Tove licked her lips, unsure what to say. Did he already know the answer before she spoke it? “He was not a good man.”

  His head cocked to the side. “Go on.”

  “He raped and killed my faithful servant and then tried to rape me also.”

  “But he is your husband. Who are you to stop a man from getting something he desires?”

  Tove bristled. “He was my husband and just because a child wants to touch a fire, it does not mean you should let them.”

  Odin’s features hardened, causing Tove’s heart to race. Had she spoken out of turn? She only relaxed when the god threw back his head and laughed. The sound boomed around the room.

  “I can see why you were watching this one, Brynhildr.”

  She had drawn the attention of the gods? Tove didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing.

  Odin continued, “If you are to join us here, you must abandon everything from your former human life – your family, your friends, everything that you know, including your name. Forget it all. That is the only way to truly become one of my Valkyries.”

  Tove blinked dumbly. “Your … Valkyries?”

  “Did you think I simply brought you back to life for no reason? You are here to serve me.” Odin touched his chin thoughtfully. “Your new name will be Gunner. It means ‘battle’.” He looked her over speculatively. “After what your actions caused, it seems like a fitting name.”

  Tove licked her lips, nervous for a moment. “Odin, what of my father?”

  “Dead.” Odin went to the fire, staring into the flames. “He was struck down moments after you were killed.”

  “Where is he? If he died during battle, he should have been brought here to Valhalla.”

  The All-Father didn’t even acknowledge her. “He died cowering from his enemy, begging for mercy.”

  His words lit a fire inside Tove. Halvdan was not a coward. Her father was feared for his ferocity on the battlefield and he was respected for his even-handed rule. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, the urge to defend her father still as strong as it had always been. It was only Brynhildr’s hand on her shoulder that stopped her.

  “You will not win against him.” It wasn’t a warning she was giving. It was just advice. Tove turned to look at her.

  “What about Soren? Did he survive the battle?”

  “No.”

  “Take her to see what the consequences of her actions were,” Odin said. “Let her see what she brought down on her own people.” Tove glowered at the All-Father. He glared right back. “You can hate me. I did not want to save your life.”

  “Why did you do it then?” she spat.

  The god looked to Brynhildr. “You have her to thank. She was the one who wanted you.”

  “Come,” Brynhildr urged, taking Tove by the arm and leading her away. Brynhildr led them out a large doorway and outside into a courtyard; the sun was shining down on them. Tove shielded her eyes, her gaze falling on a gilt tree. Its bark, its branches, even its leaves were gold. There seemed to be a glow coming from within the trunk too, lighting it up from within.

  “Close your eyes, Gunner.” The new name jarred Tove, but she had to think of herself as Gunner now. “Good. Now I want you to think about your old village. Imagine yourself standing in the market. Smell the smells, hear the sounds.”

  Although she didn’t understand why, she shut her eyes and let the memories come. The sound of hawkers calling out above the din of the crowd filled her ears, the smells of fresh fish and cooking meats surrounded her, dragging her back to when she’d walk through the market, looking at everything, sampling mead from traveling merchants and tasting the sweetest plums and strawberries.

  “Open your eyes,” the Valkyrie instructed. Tove did, gasping when she saw where they were standing. The buildings surrounding them were nothing more than glowing embers and c
harred wood. The ground was black as well – scarred – and the scent of burned timbers sat heavily in the air.

  “Where are we?” Tove asked, staring wide-eyed at her surroundings.

  “Your village.”

  She turned to the goddess. “What happened?”

  Brynhildr’s dual-ringed eyes tracked over what remained of Tove’s home. “Vadik Dalgaard’s warriors, the ones who survived the fight in the great hall, swept through the rest of the village, raping and pillaging as they went. When everyone was dead, and the ones who had fled were cut down, they set fire to every building.” She met Tove’s eyes. “Your home, as you knew it, is gone.”

  Tove started shaking her head, trying to deny what she already knew was truth. “No,” she whispered, her voice dropping down to a low, hard rasp.

  “This is the reason Odin would not repair your throat. He said you could live the rest of your immortal life with the reminder of what you did. He never wanted you to forget.”

  Tears formed in Tove’s eyes. “Why?”

  Brynhildr sighed. “The All-Father gave his eye at Mimir’s Well in order to know everything there was to know. That knowledge is a burden he lives with … Let’s just say he likes to make others feel his pain sometimes.”

  Tove was speechless, but she could see the god’s reasoning if she squinted at it for a long time: she had made a decision – a decision which had repercussions much larger than she could have foreseen or ever imagined. It didn’t make it better though. She had killed her father. She had killed Soren. She may not have been wielding the sword, but she was responsible. She looked around, seeing the ghosts of everyone in the village. Their lives had ended because she couldn’t accept – no – wouldn’t accept her father’s ruling.

  It was all her fault. She felt ashamed of herself for being so selfish. She wasn’t worthy of calling herself Tove Norling.

  “Why did you save me, Brynhildr?” Her words were nothing but a hoarse whisper.

  “Bryn,” she said. “Just call me Bryn. Only Odin calls me by my full name, and only because he knows it annoys me. And the reason is simple. You are a fierce warrior, and I can see some of myself in you.” Bryn touched Tove’s cheek softly, briefly, before letting her hand drop to her side. “Come. There is nothing but waste and desolation here.”

  Letting out a breath, Tove closed her eyes. The smell of smoke, ash and death disappeared completely, the scent of ale and slow roasting meat taking its place. She opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of the gold tree once more.

  Tove stepped away, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “I wish to be alone for a while.”

  Bryn’s eyes studied Tove’s face, searching for something. She nodded. “I’ll take you to your chambers.”

  As they walked through the halls of Valhalla, the sounds of a great feast drifted through the corridors with them. Passing the largest doorway, she could see hundreds of men drinking, eating and fighting, the scuffles lasting no more than a few moments before each man would sit back down again and drink some more.

  They continued on to a quiet hallway where Bryn stopped at a huge ash door. “This will be your room.” Bryn pushed on it, revealing a room filled with furs, a large bed and an immense hearth. “There’s some new clothes for you in the trunk at the foot of the bed.”

  I don’t deserve any of this, Tove thought grimly.

  “If you need anything, just knock on my door – my room is right next to yours.”

  Tove nodded, counting down the seconds until she could be alone. When the door finally shut behind her, she stripped off her mother’s torn and bloody wedding clothes and held them in her hands for a few moments. Even though it pained her, she threw them into the hungry flames. As she watched the fabric burn, she thought of her old self burning with them. She decided that she would embrace her new name, her new life.

  Looking around, she saw a platter of fruits and a knife on a nearby table. She picked up the knife, testing its edge. The blade bit into the skin on her thumb effortlessly. Tipping the fruit from the platter, she looked at the polished surface, seeing her face reflected back. The image was distorted and crude, but it would be sufficient to her needs.

  In front of the fire, she propped the dish up against the stone hearth and sat before it. Taking a hank of her hair in her hands, she brought the blade up, pressing it close to her scalp. Her blonde hair came away from her head easily. It was almost like skinning an animal. Tove stared at the blonde locks, letting the fine hairs sift through her fingers. They fell to the ground, dusting the furs on the floor.

  She looked at herself in the platter once more, seeing the huge patch where her hair had once been. She took another bunch in her hands and sheared it off, letting it fall. Again and again she did this, her actions more and more frenzied. With every movement of the blade, Tove felt more distanced from her former human life. Like her clothes in the fire, Tove was being burned away, revealing something new, someone different.

  When all her hair was gone, she studied her reflection. The scar across her throat was stark and that was just the way she needed it to be. She would wear the injury for the rest of her life. She would be reminded of her folly for the rest of her life too. She was no longer Tove, daughter of Halvdan and the shield maiden Bodil.

  She was Gunner.

  She was one of Odin’s Valkyries.

  Chapter 23

  Aubrey’s eyes opened slowly, and oddly he wasn’t in any pain. He tried hard to focus on the wall in front of him. His weapon racks weren’t empty like the last time he’d seen them, but full of daggers and swords. If only he could reach one of them, he would be able to fight his way out of this whole fucked up situation. He flexed his hands then bent his elbows, and was surprised to the see the chains were gone.

  What’s going on?

  He stood up, anticipating his knees would buckle straight away. When his feet hit the sparring mats, his toes flexed into the pliable material and anchored him in place. He looked around expecting to find Loki there with the next instrument of torture in his hand.

  But he was alone.

  Only his unsteady breathing was keeping him company. His eyes fixed on the ceiling when the boards on the first floor creaked as someone walked across them. His heart rate broke into a gallop, all the moisture draining from his mouth. It only took him a second to arm himself, finding the katana he had used when he’d last sparred with Taer.

  There was another loud creak and the door to the basement opened. He prepared himself for the battle with Loki. There was very little chance he could win, but he’d be damned if he didn’t go down without a fight. Lightly trodden steps preceded down the stairs, the wood moaning in protest.

  Aubrey rolled his neck, working out the kinks. Modulating his breathing, he willed his heart to slow. Although he wanted to inflict maximum pain on the god, he had to remember what he’d told Taer: remain detached from emotion because emotion can get you killed. And right now, Aubrey was nothing but a ball of hate and anger, all directed at the Trickster.

  The sound of footsteps got closer, but he still couldn’t see Loki’s legs or torso as he descended. What the fuck was going on? He stepped forward. The distinctive thunk stopped, right on the final tread. He studied the stairs, still seeing nothing.

  “I’m losing my goddamn mind,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He lowered the sword, but his muscles refused to relax. A few tense seconds passed before he tore his gaze from the bottom of the stairs, looking to the back of the room, expecting to see all the tools Loki had been using on him for the past few hours … or was it days? He hardly knew anymore.

  His heart suddenly bounced into his throat as his gaze returned to the stairs. He could have sworn he’d heard Taer calling his name.

  “Wake up, wake up, sleepy head.”

  The voice that called to him was disjointed and cruel. Aubrey’s mouth began to ache. He wiped at his nose when he felt something running down his face. It was blood – his blood. Soon a
fter, the whole left side of his face throbbed in agony. There was a dripping sound, and when he looked down, there was a pool of blood on the ground to the right on his body.

  “Ah, there you are,” said that same voice, only this time, it didn’t sound incoherent. He recognized it straight away.

  Loki.

  Aubrey’s eyes cracked open slowly, a rolling wave of pain crashing against him. He tried to wipe the blood from his face, but the chain still binding him to the chair stopped the motion. His elbows screamed in protest, forcing him to press his lips together tightly. He must have lost consciousness, but at least he wasn’t in any pain there. Unlike here.

  The god laughed. “I hope you were dreaming of somewhere far, far away from this place because that is all it will ever be: a dream.” Loki crouched down in front of him, making sure he saw the electrodes in his hand. “It’s all right to scream, you know. In fact, I think I’d rather enjoy it.”

  “Why?” Aubrey croaked, his voice hoarse from thirst and suppressed cries.

  “You’re still asking the same question.” Loki stood up and stepped away, moving behind Aubrey’s chair. “If I were you, I’d be asking things like, ‘what can I do to make you stop?’ Of course, the answer is nothing.” He stepped back into Aubrey’s line of sight. His gaze was cold and detached. “There is nothing you can do to make me stop what I’m doing. In all this time you have not once screamed, or wept or begged me to stop. I take that as a personal challenge.” Loki smiled and the sight of it made Aubrey’s skin crawl.

  Aubrey swallowed, the motion like sandpaper covered in glass shards down his throat. There was a very good chance he would die here in his basement, but at least he would know Taer was all right, that she hadn’t been dragged into the situation. Loki had said he’d wanted Odin, and however Taer played into the plan, Aubrey would make sure Loki would never get her.

  The god took a dagger and cut open Aubrey’s bloody shirt, pushing the sides away to reveal his chest. He attached a clamp to each of his nipples, then connected one of them up to a car battery near his feet. When Loki was satisfied with the connection, he looked up at Aubrey.