Tur: An Elsker Saga Novella (The Elsker Saga)

by S. T. Bende

  “Well, Inga,” my attacker seethed. It was the voice I’d heard from the shadows. “It seems you’re quite literally up a creek. Who will save you now?”

  “How do you know my name?” I jabbed at his torso and he expertly sidestepped my move.

  “Silly girl.” He knocked my sword aside and in one swift move had me suspended by my hair. “I know everything.” He ripped the dagger out of my pocket and held it against my throat.

  In the nanosecond it took me to register what was happening, I sought out Gunnar. The boys were locked in battle with two enormous residents of Svartalfheim. Gunnar threw a punch at his opponent, then sent two arrows through the perp’s chest before his victim hit the ground. Man down.

  Gunnar looked up and saw me dangling from a dark elf’s fist. His anguished cry ripped through the woods. “No!”

  It was equal parts adorable and insulting. I might have been minus a rapier, with my own dagger jammed against my throat, but this was nothing I couldn’t handle.

  “I’ve got this,” I muttered for the second time that day. And with strength that most titled gods would have envied, I ripped my rival’s hand from my neck. I tucked my knees to my chest and somersaulted out of the surprised elf’s grasp, landing on my feet. I reached into the river and pulled out a rock. It was too smooth to cut elf skin, but I lobbed it at his head anyway. The smashing of bones produced a sickening crunch. He reached up to catch the blood oozing from his nose.

  Before he could retaliate, I followed up with a graceful roundhouse to his jaw. The slap of my boot on his flesh echoed all the way up the river.

  “Atta girl!” Gunnar’s voice pinged with pride. “You need me?”

  “No, baby.” My palm closed around a suitably sharp stone as I ducked just in time to avoid a fist to my face. “Go help Ull.” I wedged the crude weapon between my middle and ring fingers.

  “Done,” Gunnar called out, apparently satisfied that I did, indeed, have this fight under control.

  Stone in place, I landed a left hook on my challenger’s cheek. His face was going to be seriously bruised at the end of this – if he survived. I wasn’t feeling terribly benevolent. The jerk had taken my best dagger.

  “Oh, Inga.” The elf seethed before landing a fist to my stomach. It knocked the wind out of me, and I doubled over.

  “Go to Helheim.” I took a deep breath and let loose with a kick sequence I’d been preparing to teach my unit that week. Left roundhouse, right hook, hitch kick. He stumbled back. Front kick to his chest. He stumbled again. Side kick, side kick, one more hitch. To finish him off, I planted a jab to his face, piercing him between the eyes with the sharp end of the rock.

  He went down hard, hitting his skull on one of the boulders resting in the river. His eyes locked on mine, widening just a fraction before I delivered a kick to his head.

  “That’s for taking my dagger.” I bent and ripped my beloved blade from his hand. Some fighter he was; he hadn’t even scratched me with it.

  I kicked him in the torso, and he bent in half, clutching his freshly fractured sternum. “And that’s for getting my sword wet.” I stood over him for a good minute but he didn’t move. Satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, I scoured the water until I found my rapier. I picked it up and slowly made my way back to the dark elf writhing in the river.

  “Gunnar?” I called upstream. “What’s the verdict?”

  “No survivors,” he shouted back.

  “Fair enough.” I raised my sword and held my breath, feeling the impact of my rapier piercing the elf’s flesh. It was combat 101 – there was no way to survive a strike to the heart.

  When I was sure the elf wouldn’t get up again, I cleaned the blood off my sword in the river. Then, I dried the blade on the edge of my shirt and made my way back to Ull and Gunnar.

  “Nice work, boys.” I held up my palm, and Ull slapped me a high five, a grin lighting up his angular face. He had drops of sweat lining his forehead, and a lock of dirt-caked blond hair fell over one twinkling eye. For a guy retired from the Elite Team, he sure seemed to enjoy a good fight.

  Gunnar strapped his bow around his back so his hands were free. “You too, doll.” He wrapped one arm around my waist and leaned me back, his face an inch from mine. A devilish smile played on his lips as he breathed into my ear. “For a minute there you had me worried, Andersson.”

  “Just keeping you on your toes.” He smelled so delicious – like sweat mixed with metal, topped with just the tiniest dash of blood. I turned my face into his neck, brushing my lips against the drops lingering at his collarbone.

  “I expect nothing less.” Gunnar made a fist in my hair. In one rough movement, he pulled my head up. His emerald eyes sparked with the charge of adrenaline and fear and relief we always got after a fight. The arm around my waist tightened as he pulled my hips into his. Then he brought his face down, crushing my mouth in a hot rush. His tongue probed my lips until they gave way. He moved against me in a languorous dance, warm and sweet. The unhurried movements of his mouth were the antithesis to the frantic pull of his hands. They tugged at my shirt with feverish need, grabbing at the fabric until it rode up my torso. When my skin was exposed, Gunnar slid the hand that wasn’t gripping my hair across my stomach. He palmed my abdomen, his thumb stroking the taut surface while his fingers dug against my flesh. I let out an unwitting sigh as he massaged the muscles that were still tense from battle. They loosened stroke by stroke, and I slowly melted into him.

  “Faen, Inga. You’re hot when you kill things.” Gunnar cupped my behind with one hand and hiked me onto his hip. Gods, that felt amazing. I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him frenetically as he slammed our bodies against a tree. The bark felt rough against my back, a sharp contrast to the gentle caress of Gunnar’s tongue at my neck. I threw my head back as he licked a trail from my jaw to my chest. When he got to the neckline of my shirt he swore. “Helvetes shirt.”

  Gunnar shoved his knee between my legs, pinning me against the tree so he could free his hands. He raked my flesh with his teeth, biting at the curve of my neck just hard enough to make me shiver. He brought both hands to the bottom of my shirt, but as he moved to rip it over my head, Ull cleared his throat.

  “I am still here.” I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

  “So?” Gunnar retorted, still tugging at my shirt. “Go away.”

  “We need to check on Thor’s team.” Ull Myhr, always the voice of reason. Also the consummate party pooper.

  A slow breath escaped my lips. Lives were on the line. My hormones could wait… for a few hours, tops. “They could probably use the extra fighters,” I admitted.

  “You are such a buzz kill, you know that?” Gunnar glared at Ull. He put his hands around my waist and lowered me to the ground. While I straightened the front of my shirt, Gunnar brushed the bark off my back.

  “Somebody has to keep things in check around here.” Ull crossed his arms.

  “Look, just because you’re not getting any doesn’t mean you have to spoil it for the rest of us.” Gunnar ran a hand through his hair. The dimple in his cheek softened his words.

  “At least I can control myself,” Ull shook his head, “Can you say the same?”

  “Oh, Gunnar has exceptional control.” I ran my fingers through my husband’s hair, fluffing the tips so they stood up in telltale disarray. “Don’t you, babe?”

  “You know it.” Gunnar shot me my favorite naughty grin as Ull stomped up the river. He adjusted the settings on his crossbow as we traversed out of the forest, then took my hand in his. “We’ve got to get you a girlfriend, mate.”

  “Would not matter,” Ull kept a steady pace, “Unlike some of you, I do not let hormones interfere with my duties.”

  “We were planning to go back to the battlefield,” I reasoned. “We were just catching our breath for, like, one minute. One minute wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”

  “It’d have taken more than one minute,” Gunnar whispered in my ear. M
y cheeks grew warm.

  Ull ignored us as we walked into the clearing. “Huh. Well, I suppose you were right. We were not needed here.”

  The sun was starting to rise over the meadow, setting an eerie glow over the scene. Thor’s party had done just fine without us. Piles of dark elves lay across the battlefield, their remnants smoldering in heaps. My nose wrinkled. Asgard had won this fight. And from the stench of the carcasses, I knew Svartalfheim had given up impressive numbers.

  Chapter Three

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I stood in Odin’s office, making the most important argument of my life.

  “I single-handedly took down that dark elf, not to mention the other twenty or so the three of us took out together. And at the same time, we uncovered the plot against the bloodline and informed you of the threat so you know to double your guards. Goddesses can be invaluable members of the combat team. I want to be a warrior.” I finished my case with a small bow and waited for Odin to promote me from the administrative position that would have already bored me to death if not for the whole immortal thing.

  “I see. Anything else?” Odin raised the brow over his remaining eye. While I’d been talking, he hadn’t so much as shifted in his heavy leather chair. Instead, he’d sat stiller than the statue at the base of the Bifrost, with his heavy silver robes draped over his uncrossed legs and his weathered fingers calmly clasped in front of him. The rest of us embraced civilian wear, but Odin insisted on formal dress, always. And from his robes to his stare, nothing about him gave me the impression that I’d moved him at all.

  “Well, in the event you aren’t swayed by the facts, which we both know you will be, I baked these cookies to change your mind.” I set the basket on his desk.

  “Gingersnaps. My grandmother’s recipe.”

  “Jens’ mother? That is a fine recipe.”

  “I know.” I crossed my ankles and waited for the news I’d spent an eternity hoping to hear. Odin picked up a cookie and took a bite.

  “Well done. These are wonderful.” He wiped the crumbs from his mouth with the napkin I handed him.

  “Thanks. So how about it? When can I start?”

  “When can you start what?” Odin reached for a second cookie, but I intercepted his hand.

  “When can I start training as a warrior?”

  “Oh, Inga,” Odin pushed past my hand and picked up another cookie, “I cannot let you do that.”

  “Why? I proved I’m every bit as good in battle as Skadi, and you let her fight.”

  “Skadi’s father is not my most trusted advisor.”

  “So, this is about my father?” I blinked back angry tears. “He can’t run my life forever.”

  “He is not running your life.” Odin’s voice was soft. “He runs mine. And I need him to continue doing so. Jens would never recover if anything were to happen to you, and I do not know where I would find another advisor with such an understanding of our people.”

  “Fabulous.” I closed my eyes. “I can’t be a warrior because you don’t want to upset my dad?”

  “I know it seems unfair—”

  “It is unfair! Nothing bad would happen to me if you let me fight. I would be fine. Absolutely fine, just like I always am. I’m the best swordsman this realm’s ever seen.”

  Odin set the cookie down. “I know you are.”

  “No you don’t. If you did, you’d want me fighting for you. Helheim, you’d want me to be your personal bodyguard.” My outburst was out of character; I was usually much more reserved around Odin.

  “I would love to have you fight for me. I know you are a better fighter than Skadi.”

  “Really?” I crossed my arms.

  “Yes. You are even tempered and calm where she is hot headed and insecure. She is going to get herself killed in her effort to prove her worth.”

  “I’ve been saying that for eons,” I muttered.

  “You are much too valuable to me to risk your life in battle. I have scores of Asgardians who can fight for me, but only two who look after my grandson.”

  “You let Gunnar fight.”

  “I do.” Odin nodded. “And that is why I cannot let you.”

  “But Odin—”

  “Enough. My answer is no. Thank you for your service, both against the dark elves and in obtaining the information that saved my life.”

  “So that’s it? Just no?”

  “Just no.” Odin held my gaze.

  “But what if—”

  “There is nothing more to say on the matter. Please see yourself out.” Odin reached for some correspondence and began to read. When I didn’t move, he glanced up. “Good day, Inga.”

  I stood, my anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. “Good day, Odin.” And before I could think about what I was doing, I snatched the basket of cookies from his desk and stormed out of his office.

  “Your stupid, closed minded, backwards grandfather!” I burst through the front door of the house, ready to rip into my friend for his family’s offense. Gunnar was debriefing the Elite Team after the dark elf attacks, so I could let loose on Ull without anyone jumping in. “He still won’t let me fight, after everything I did for him! It’s so—”

  I broke off. Ull was sitting at the kitchen table, in his favorite grey sweatpants and an Academy tank top. He must have just taken a shower because he smelled like the cedar-scented shampoo I’d picked up for him last week. His arms were straight out in front of him, hands clasping a mug, and his cheek rested on the tabletop. Even his hair was dejected, flopping listlessly on the wood beneath his face. If he’d been a sculpture, the artist would have named him, Morose.

  “Great Asgard, Ull, what’s wrong?”

  “He is fixated on this God of War nonsense.” Ull didn’t raise his head.

  “Odin?” I asked.

  “One and the same,” he confirmed.

  “Jeez, why won’t he just listen to us?” I threw the basket of gingersnaps in the garbage and opened the door to the pantry. “It’s not like we don’t know what we’re talking about. I’d make an exceptional warrior, and you’d make a terrible God of War. You’re way too sensitive. Sorry.” I grabbed baking powder, salt, flour, and sugar, and stomped back into the kitchen, slamming the pantry door so hard the glass shook.

  “No, you are right. I would make a terrible God of War. The last thing I want to do is devote eternity to orchestrating destruction.”

  “Well, the only thing I want to do is fight. I’m so sick of sitting behind a desk, sketching out choreography for everyone else to use but me.” I opened the door of our stainless steel refrigerator and pulled out butter, milk and Mexican vanilla. It was a bear to convince Heimdall to open the Bifrost so I could go grocery shopping, but the Mexican variety was vastly superior to the Asgardian bean. I threw the wet ingredients into the bowl of my standing mixer and turned it on.

  “Fighting is not all it is cracked up to be, Inga.” Ull still hadn’t looked up.

  “You want me to heat up that tea?” I gestured to his full cup.

  “Please.”

  I reheated his tea and crossed to the freezer where I pulled out a bar of semi-sweet chocolate. I grabbed a cutting board, and brought my new meat cleaver to the table.

  “What are you making?” Ull asked.

  “Chocolate chip cookies.” I set to work chopping.

  “Pretty serious knife for cutting chocolate.” Ull finally looked up.

  “Yeah, well, I’m in a serious kind of mood.”

  “Odin is not going to let you fight. I am sorry, but the sooner you accept what is, the faster you can move on.” He took a drink, the bags under his large eyes betraying his exhaustion.

  “Oh, really? And how’s accepting what is working out for you, Mr. God of War- elect?” I carried the cutting board to my mixer and scraped the chocolate pieces into the batter.

  “Terribly.” Ull sighed.

  “So what are you going to do?” I doubted this would be a real problem. Ull was Odin’s favorite; he pretty mu
ch got everything he wanted. Whatever bee had flown up Odin’s bonnet this week had him seriously out of sorts.

  Ull shook his head. “Continue to refuse, I suppose. What else can I do?”

  “Well… it depends. Odin’s obviously in a foul mood, right? The whole ‘attack on the bloodline’ thing has him all wound up. He’s worrying about Ragnarok.”

  “I would say so.” Ull took another drink.

  “So.” I shrugged. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Get out of here. Take a vacation. It’s not like he needs us around – he’s doubled his guard after the attacks. And we haven’t gotten away in forever. We need the break.”

  My motives weren’t entirely selfish. Yes, I was beyond frustrated with Odin, and it would serve him right if his top fight choreographer took some time off. But I had another reason for wanting to take Ull away from Asgard. A very pretty reason with a lovely name. Kristia Tostenson.

  “Where do you want to go?” Ull looked interested. That was a good sign.

  “Well, we haven’t been to Earth in a while. Remember how much fun we always have playing human at their universities? And I only need to earn one more degree to bring my total up to an even twenty.” Or was it thirty? I lost count after the whole Ivy League tour.

  “You want to go to Midgard and pretend to be college students. Again.”

  I grinned. “Just like old times.” It was a fun break from our regular jobs, plus it was hysterical to watch the human girls react to Ull. A shocking number of them actually went into giggling fits when he spoke to them. It was slightly less amusing when they giggled at Gunnar, but his wedding band managed to deflect a few of the hormonal co-eds. The rest could deal with me.