Dead Radiance

by Ayer, T. G.

  He left the pathway and ducked into the thick brush. I followed, still curious, and a bit concerned. And maybe a little annoyed with the whole cloak and dagger suspense act. Where were we going? I didn't ask him though. He'd just ignore me.

  Cold air bit at my bare skin, probing beneath the cloak, as we walked upstream toward a smaller, disused bridge. The footbridge had been cordoned off and the split and rotten wood clearly needed to be repaired before some kid broke his neck playing on it.

  Dark, waterlogged planks hung from the remains of the bridge, a half-dozen attached by a single nail, like a line of ragged bats holding on for dear life.

  Beneath the run-down bridge, fallen wood and beer bottles littered the banks of the stream. Splits of wood, probably hacked off by kids messing around and testing their courage, lay on the rocks in the water, along with a dense thicket of chocolate wrappers and chips packets.

  Fenrir stopped at the stream's edge and waited. He gazed at me, then looked towards the bridge. What was he waiting for? Was there something here I was supposed to see? My heart knocked against my ribs and a sense of foreboding chilled my skin.

  The water gurgled and curved around its obstructions and continued downstream until it was forced to curve again. Something dark and solid, like a tree root, jutted partway across the water. No, not a root.

  A booted foot.

  My heat thudded to a stop. At first, I assumed it was some homeless guy with courage and valor that awaited his one-way trip to Valhalla. But the clothing he wore was too new. Maybe an out-of-towner, going for a walk, had used the footbridge by accident, only to fall off it?

  No. If he fell, he'd have been closer to the bridge itself. He lay at least ten feet away from the shadows cast by the ruined wooden monstrosity. More likely, he'd been thrown off the edge of the broken bridge or rolled down the bank.

  One foot soaked in the running water, while the other was propped at an odd angle, higher up the bank. Maybe a broken leg. His upper body lay in shadows, hidden by bushes and weeds. I shivered. What would we see? A mangled skull from a gunshot wound, or a perforated chest from a stabbing? Or maybe just a guy, drunk and unconscious, unable to move his broken leg.

  One hand lay beside him, outstretched as if he welcomed the night and the moonlight. The fingers were pale, grayed. That solved the drunk and unconscious question. Just one glance at the hand confirmed he was dead.

  The rest of his abdomen was encased in a black leather jacket, worn, yet something a confident young guy would pull off well enough. The smoothed leather looked familiar. A lot of boys loved the look, but an icy, ominous fear scrabbled down my spine. I darted a look at Fenrir, but his expression told me nothing.

  Despite the sickly sweet odor wafting from the body, I almost ran to him, thrusting the bushes aside. Fenrir didn't follow. I didn't notice. The moon hid behind dense cloud cover. I shoved the bushes aside to reveal the man's face.

  That the clouds chose that particular moment to part and reveal the gruesome face of death was ironic and cruel.

  The glare of the moonlight was abrasive and cold. It lit up the ridges of his eyebrows, the jut of his classic cheekbone. His face was a marble bust, his body drained of blood and life while I'd received my wings and attained a certain salvation.

  While I'd pined for him and hated him in alternate ferocity.

  Cold seeped into my veins as I registered that his death could never have been an accident. Not with the bullet hole marring the perfect smoothness of his forehead.

  I stared through dry eyes at his face, bloodless and filled with death.

  Aidan's face.

  Chapter 25

  The cold cut at me. It stole the breath from my lungs. It scraped the tears from my eyes. It ripped the life from my heart. The cold killed me. I stared, unmoving, at Aidan's alabaster face and stony cheeks. A pale Adonis, carved from night and darkness. His eyelashes curled, provocative even in death.

  I sank slowly to my knees. Not caring about the cold, slippery muck on the banks. Not caring that I knelt with one foot touching the frigid water. The stream gurgled on, unaware that it tasted mortality as it passed. Mortality and sorrow.

  It somehow seemed right that I sat here, one foot steeped in freezing water, as if I shared in his crossing. Stood with him in an in-between world where he waited for the next stage of his journey.

  The moon lay his body bare for my eyes. His milky white hand rested against the black muddy sand. Lifeless. Not warm like when he'd caressed my cheek, not soft like when he'd held my head and kissed me with a ferocity so unlike his gentle embrace. And here, as I sat swaddled by cold and death and moonlight, everything in me cried for him.

  Trees creaked around me, groaning against the grasping hands of an icy wind. Fen moved at my back, his cloak rustling against the brush. He'd been silent, watching and waiting. Mourning a loved one should be a private thing. But I was glad for his presence. Because Fenrir meant life where Aidan's remains whispered death. Fenrir meant hope and trust, while Aidan was betrayal.

  Even in death, I couldn't forgive him. I'd forced him out of my head and out of my heart. But I still hurt, somewhere beyond the pain and the tears, a place touched by Aidan. Touched for the briefest moment. A place that remembered him. And waited for him.

  "Bryn?" Fen's voice was low, soft.

  I met his eyes. Sympathy creased the edges. An apology. "Why didn't you tell me it was him?" I asked, needing to hear what I already knew.

  "At first I did not believe it was appropriate to give you such news with all the other teams around. And then you were concentrating on what to tell your mother." He hunkered down beside me, his voice still so soft it made me think of a rug, cradling me in its tender warmth. Was his quiet tone out of respect for the departed or empathy for my pain? I didn't know. "And then it was too late and it seemed best to let you see him yourself."

  Fenrir flicked his gaze away, toward the corpse. Toward the empty shell of Aidan. His corpse still glowed. I registered the aura gradually, as if my vision was blurred, fuzzy. I had to peel back the layers of what I saw, look beyond the body and beyond my grief and anger and longing.

  Aidan's aura was not as blindingly bright as Joshua's or Aimee's on the days they died. His brightness had faded, a yellow gleaming where it should have been an eye-piercing golden sheen.

  "Why is the glow so weak?" I asked Fen. "Isn't he Warrior material then?" My question was laced with bitterness, which surprised me. My emotions churned with a complex mix of resentment, anger, relief and hope. Aidan's death made me bitter. Not hard to understand.

  "He has been exposed to the elements since his death. From the looks of the body and the glow, I would say he has been dead a week." Fenrir looked upward, staring at the moon, then at Aidan's lifeless body. "But the light fades with every passing moon. He had a while yet for Retrieval."

  Shock sliced through me, icy blades as cold as December. A week. That meant someone had done this to Aidan the day I'd last seen him at Ms. Custer's house. The day Sigrun had taken me to Asgard.

  "But I never saw him glow. I would've noticed if he'd glowed like Joshua and Brody." My voice quavered.

  "I believe that his death came early. That perhaps it was not his time. Perhaps he only started to glow after you last saw him." Fen nodded. "That would certainly explain why his glow is so weak."

  "So now what?" I tried to keep my voice devoid of emotion, tried to put on a professional mask. I think I failed. Fenrir's eyes, when he looked up at me, were still a mess of pity.

  "Now you carry him in your arms, and we take him to Valhalla," he said.

  "That's it? I lift him up and abracadabra we go to Valhalla?"

  "Did you want it to be more complicated than that?"

  A wolf howled beyond the tree line. I was about to ask if it was one of our Ulfr when Fenrir raised his hand, silencing me so firmly that I clamped my mouth closed.

  A dog barked. Loud and ferocious. Fen glanced up the bank, back the way we came. Somewhere within
the brush the dog scrambled and scratched, its high-pitched barks scraping at my eardrums.

  A latent growl erupted beside me. I turned to Fenrir and froze. Even the blood in my veins stilled. I remembered why I'd feared this man from the first moment I'd laid eyes on him. He still stood tall, in human form, not a hair's breadth from me, bristling at the danger he tasted somewhere in the darkness.

  A snout protruded from the low bushes. Moonlight painted a tiny pool of silver on the animal's wet nose. The Labrador came closer. Its whole head now poked from the brush.

  Fenrir growled, a primal vibration at the back of his throat that spoke of blood and teeth and mindless fear. And every hair on my body rose in silent salute. I remained frozen, watching the ferociously curious dog and the vibrating wolf-man at my arm.

  The Labrador emerged from the bush, eager to prove his worth. He growled, but he was no match for Fen, either in ferocity or intent. Fen replied, dialing up the volume and the threat. Ozone tinged the air around us, along with the musty odor of animal fur. I shivered. Hoping he wouldn't change.

  The dog yipped. Off in the distance, his master called from the night again, a hollow yell edged with irritation. "Rex, heel! Rex, you stupid dog, heel!"

  Sound traveled strangely on frigid night air. We couldn't count on how far away he was. And we had to get out of the park. With Aidan.

  "Fen," I whispered. I risked touching his arm, carefully, fully aware he might turn on me just for the disturbance alone, but I was already on the balls of my feet, on the brink of taking flight, just in case.

  But he didn't twitch. He was too busy staring down the dog. I watched in amazement as the animal ceased its yipping. Fen's eyes glowed a golden yellow, eerily similar to the auras of the Warriors. It made me think of butter and the gunky ooze that seeped from the Warriors' wounds as they healed deep injuries. Comforting and revolting, in a rather large hairy package.

  Rex shivered on skinny legs, eyes twitching this way and that, as if unable to decide whether to fight or flee from this man who growled like a rabid pack animal. Rex bared his teeth, and Fenrir stepped forward. The dog proved the coward of the day, tucking its tail and turning to flee. Fenrir ripped out another growl, and the dog whined and disappeared into the darkness.

  A shudder ran down Fenrir's body. He closed his lupine eyes, collecting himself. When he opened them they were nice and human again. Fen scowled at me. "Come, bring him and let us leave. There is far too much danger here."

  I didn't hesitate. Didn't consider the decaying flesh or the possibility of piles of writhing maggots feasting within Aidan's corpse. I knelt and grabbed the open lapels of his jacket and lifted his torso up, just enough to allow me to slide a hand behind his back. The leather was soaked, soft and pulpy beneath my bare flesh. Rain and mud and blood had converged here in the darkness of Craven's most unpopular scenic outlook.

  I slid my other hand beneath his knees and rose. Expecting the weight of a man, I tilted, way off balance, and stepped wide to find my new center of gravity. It was much the same as carrying a child. His body sagged against mine, the sweet reek of decaying flesh enveloping me. Holding my breath did nothing to help, as I could taste the sickly sweetness of him on my tongue. I shuddered.

  And that was what brought on my first tear. I couldn't bear to touch this body. My skin crawled, reacting to the coldness of his skin. His hand lay on his chest, fingers still slightly curled, as if beckoning me to get closer. His body shimmered, refracted. Distorted by my unshed tears.

  "Brynhildr."

  I looked up, startled.

  "We must go."

  Beyond the bank, drawing closer, a man's voice shouted. "Rex, you dumb mutt, where did you go? Heel, boy, right now, goddamn it!" I'd been so wrapped up in self-pity and disgust, not a sound had pierced my sickly sweet haze.

  "Ready?" Fenrir asked.

  I nodded, unable to bear my burden with pride, refusing to bear it with sorrow. I figured I would treat it as a job. Forget who he was, forget the old sexy scent of him, the roughness of his unshaved beard against my skin. The taste of him. Forget Aidan.

  As I concentrated on forgetting the boy who'd stolen my heart with one hand and stabbed it with his knife of betrayal with the other, Fen drew closer. Close enough that we breathed the same air.

  Then, just as the shouting man broke through the bushes and stumbled down the little bank, we winked out of existence.

  The last thing I heard was the man's words. "What the hell?"

  Chapter 26

  I blinked and we were back. The heat of the fire pierced my frozen skin, sending fiery needles of pain into me. I thought I'd been cold when we first arrived in Craven, but kneeling in cold wet sludge and holding a body the temperature of a Slushie made me feel as if I were standing inside an Arctic iceberg.

  I wanted to drop my burden but my hands remained closed around him. Frozen, clutching skin and bones, unable to let go.

  "Come, everyone. To Valhalla," said Fenrir.

  I blinked again and the rest of the teams took shape before my eyes, like something out of Dante's inferno. The Valkyries all bore their burdens in a macabre picture of death. A death procession, only this time the dead would receive the breath of life again.

  The teams walked out of the room, ghastly shadows dancing on the walls around us. How fitting the background of fire was to this caravan of cadavers.

  My feet moved, and I was thankful. At this point I wasn't capable of much more than automatic response. I followed with Fen at my side, not even caring that I hadn't the faintest idea where Valhalla actually was.

  ***

  The procession traveled in silence. The muted slap of leather soles on stone echoed along the passages, torches flickering as if sighing happily to see the Warriors pass.

  We left Odin's castle and paced the bricked roadway, past the Warriors' Bathhouse.

  The night sky flickered with strange green and blue lights, waving and undulating above us in an eerie hazy dance. Unbearably beautiful.

  On a hill overlooking the roadway sat a Longhouse. The highest point of its roof reached half the height of Odin's grand palace, making it the second tallest structure in all of Asgard. Despite its monstrously large size, Valhalla's unremarkable architecture rendered it a plain and simple wooden hall, a practical one, a fitting home for the Warriors.

  The only thing that had a claim to beauty here was the Glasir tree, standing just outside the hall. Monstrous branches spread out from a trunk so wide it would take ten men to measure around it fingertip to fingertip. The branches hung heavy with leaves of varying shades of gold, from plain and pale to a dark red-bronze. No matter the color, the leaves twinkled in the fading light.

  The gigantic tree shone so bright that I squinted as we approached, like the rest of the Valkyries. We hobbled up the hill, blinded by the golden tree. The Ulfr, though, had no problems. They strode beside the Valkyries, gazing up at the tree, an expression of reverence on their faces.

  All this I registered at the edge if my consciousness. My energy was focused on my burden. I tried to imagine how I would feel when Aidan rose again as a Warrior. The hurt of his betrayal still burned, a glowing coal reminding me of the white-hot pain I'd suffered.

  But even that pain was buried deep down. Was it shock? I'd heard that people in shock were numb to sensation. The body's way of protecting the victim against further pain. I didn't want to be numb. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that none of this should ever have happened.

  I should be back home, kissing Aidan in all his hot and sexy and living glory, in the kitchen between study sessions. I should be walking Brody and Simon to the park and swinging on one of the swings to pass the time, while they laughed and giggled and screeched their way through an hour of play.

  But life didn't seem to like me much. Not enough anyway. Not enough to give me back the little bit of normalcy and happiness I'd once enjoyed. It had been so brief I'd begun to forget, as if it were a dream of cotton candy. The taste so sweet
and delicious, the sensation so ethereal as it melted on my tongue. But my waking moments were erasing the memory. I could no longer see the bright pink color, nor could I smell the pungent richness of hot spun sugar. Or remember the taste. The delicate sweetness as it traced the tongue and melted like tiny butterfly kisses.

  I shed another tear because I'd lost my sweet moments.

  I barely registered the weight of my burden anymore. Until I passed the tree of gold. It shone and sparkled, shedding its light on everyone within its shadow, transforming every dark and haunted shadow, every pale and dead face into a shimmering vision.

  Aidan's face was no longer an alabaster statue. Now it glowed as if the brightest light lay within him. From the moment I'd seen his lifeless face, at the side of that ignorant stream in the middle of Craven's cold darkness, I'd known he would return. He would walk and talk and laugh again. Perhaps the knowledge had stayed my tears, but now, just before I had to hand him over, before I had to leave him in Valhalla, I was filled with so many emotions. I was torn. Torn in a million directions.

  Was this right? Shouldn't he have been allowed to live? Wasn't this barbaric, bringing the dead back to life? How would he feel about this intrusion into his choices? Should he have just been left to rot away in the loneliness of Craven? Left to nature to eat at his flesh and peel him away until all that remained was a skeleton. A mere shadow of his life and spirit.

  No. I swept those thoughts from me as I concentrated on carrying the weight of his body into the hall. I gasped softly. Aidan's weight! Between arriving at Asgard and carrying Aidan up the hill to Valhalla, his mortal remains had gained considerable heft. So much that the muscles in my arms now strained and burned. Around me, the other Valkyries breathed heavily, all feeling and bearing this new, impossible weight.

  I staggered through the wide open doors, looking for a place to lay down my burden. Along the middle of the Longhouse were tables and seats for dining. At one end, targets decorated the outer walls, presumably for archery practice.