Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  Jennifer glanced past me to the dragon and whispered, “She’s not quite with us today.” She clasped Carl’s arm in her hands.

  “But we’re ready,” Carl said, pulling away from Jennifer. “I’ll go first.” He turned, took his shirt over the top of his head, and pulled his shoulders back. “I want mine here on my left breast.” He glanced at Jennifer. “Near my heart.”

  Jennifer smiled and began unbuttoning her shirt. “He’s so brave. I’ll get mine in the same place, please.”

  I stood there, shocked, as she opened her shirt and pulled her bra strap down over one shoulder, exposing her left breast.

  “I was much happier when you told us it doesn’t hurt,” she said, smiling weakly.

  Across the street, Frederick catcalled and Carl stiffened.

  “It’s okay,” Jennifer said. “We’ll not make any waves.”

  The brand in my right hand clicked into place, and the tip stopped on a symbol I had not seen before. I could not make it out, but it reminded me somehow of money.

  I leaned forward against my will and pressed the brand against Jennifer’s breast, half an inch above her nipple. She shrieked and tried to pull away, but Carl stood behind her, holding her arms back. He leaned his head beside hers and made cooing sounds. “It’s okay,” he said. “It only hurts for a moment.”

  The smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils and I wanted to vomit.

  When I pulled away, her breast was burned and swollen, the brand a series of blackened scars on her flesh.

  “Tha . . . thank you,” she choked between sobs.

  “We’ll be good citizens,” Carl said, stroking Jennifer’s hair. “We will be as you have made us.”

  I branded them, the movie folk, one after another, the stench of burned flesh staining my spirit. I wept as I did it, wept as they each bared their chest openly and took the mark over their heart.

  When I finished with them, Qindra beckoned me. I rolled to her side of the street, holding out the tray of champagne.

  She took two glasses, being careful to take one from each side. It did not balance the tray, but it did not upset it more.

  She turned, handing the second glass to the shadow. An old hand, gnarled and spotted, reached into the light and took the glass. For a moment, I could see the cane she carried, for it was indeed Nidhogg—the Corpse Gnawer. The silver head of the cane was of a dragon wrapped around a tree. The work was skilled, and looked very old.

  I could not make out what Nidhogg said, but Qindra nodded and turned back to me, draining her glass in one long pull.

  “Nidhogg thanks you for your service to her kind. She looks forward to you serving her for many years to come.”

  If she had slapped me I’d have felt less stunned.

  “She has one demand, beyond all that you have done,” she said, motioning toward the Black Briar line. “You are to breed within the year, as is Katie. The two children will be given to my mistress for her whims. Then you will be considered to have repaid the debt you owe her.”

  “What debt?” I asked, horrified by the thought not just of bearing a child, but of giving it over to that ancient beast.

  “You have deprived her of one of her own,” she said, directing my attention to the next spot down the line of buildings. A jacket lay on the pavement, rent with sword strokes and covered in blood.

  “You will begin to make up for what you have taken from her,” Qindra said, her voice full of pain. “Or she will destroy the lot.”

  I followed her gaze to the Black Briar clan. Jimmy stood with Deidre, Gunther and Stuart held Katie between the two of them, naked and scarred.

  “They are worthy warriors,” Qindra said. “Nidhogg gave you and Katie to them in exchange for their service. Pick as you will, but bear her a child.”

  She turned, dropping the glass to the sidewalk where it shattered with a loud crash. “And this . . .” She motioned for the brand. “I will mark your clan. You have not the privilege.”

  I handed her the brand and she flipped the end to a worm writhing around the base of a tall tree.

  “She would brand you here,” she said, touching me on the inner thigh. “To remind you of your obligation.”

  I glanced back to Katie. She already bore another mark, one I knew to be his mark, the black one. Yet she was to be doubly marked.

  “And what happens if we fight you?” I asked, rolling back a few paces, out of Qindra’s reach.

  She nodded. “You will all die.”

  “Not the children,” a dry and raspy voice whispered. “Just as you were raised in my service, so will we raise others.”

  Qindra stared at me; no emotion touched her face. “You and the clan will be destroyed, and others will be put in your place.”

  “We do not accept your mark,” I said. “We will fight you.”

  “So mote it be,” Qindra said, turning away from me and stepping into the shadow.

  I dropped the tray, waited for the glasses of champagne to shatter on the ground. Instead the world was consumed by the roar of the green dragon.

  Sixty-three

  “WASN’T SHE DEAD ONCE ALREADY?” SKULD’S VOICE SLIPPED into my dreams.

  “Not dead, but close,” Róta said. “Gunnr is quite smitten with this one.”

  I opened my eyes and the two Valkyries stood over me, their lean faces and long blond hair drawn back in the most severest of buns.

  “Is Gunnr here?” I asked.

  “See,” Róta said, straightening up. “Not dead.”

  “Too right,” Skuld confirmed, turning away. “But this one, I’m fairly sure he’s never getting up again.”

  I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked over. Jean-Paul lay on the beach with Gram sticking up from his chest. Deep slashes and cuts covered his body. His clothing was shredded and soaked in blood.

  Skuld bent down and examined him, tsking as she did.

  “Don’t bother with that one,” Róta said. “Another will come for him.”

  “It’s been a long time since we saw one such as he,” Skuld said.

  Róta held a hand out to me, and I took it, standing with neither grace nor style. “Here is a find even more rare,” she said.

  Skuld snorted. “Now you sound like Gunnr.”

  I leaned against her for a moment, allowing my body to get used to being upright.

  “I’ve never seen anyone take such a beating and live,” Róta said.

  I chose to ignore the comment and went to Jean-Paul instead.

  He was thoroughly dead. I pulled Gram from his chest and wiped it on his pants leg. “I need to get back,” I said.

  “Gunnr is expecting your return,” Skuld said, watching me from a distance. “Of course, it could be she worries for Meyja, but somehow I think it may be more than that.”

  I didn’t have time for Valkyrie crushes. I needed to get back to see who lived. I needed to talk to Jimmy and Katie, to see if Qindra was still at the farm.

  I needed to collapse and sleep for a week.

  Róta waved over my shoulder and I glanced around. Meyja came trotting along the beach. “Here is her beauty now.”

  “She’s a beauty all right,” I said, slipping Gram into the sheath over my right shoulder.

  The world was a dull haze of pain. For some reason, I couldn’t lift my right arm and didn’t really care at the moment.

  Skuld helped me onto Meyja’s back, where I twined my left hand in the reins.

  “Find Gunnr,” I whispered, and she flicked her ears back and neighed.

  We circled the lake once. Seven cabins had burned. God, I hope they were empty. There was enough death. I had no idea how this was all going to be explained, but for the moment I wanted to get back and see that Katie was safe.

  As we flew south, Skuld and Róta flanked me. It was comforting to have them on either side. Not that I thought Meyja would let me fall—still . . . After a moment, they began to sing some ballad I couldn’t understand. The words rolled over me, their singsong voic
es nursing me, keeping me safe.

  I must have dozed.

  “Look upon what you have wrought, warrior,” Róta’s voice said to my left.

  From this vantage point, I could see the whole of the farm. It was a disaster. A thick haze of smoke hung over the entire area. The three choppers looked like toys destroyed by naughty boys. Boys who played with magnifying glasses and firecrackers.

  The fields north of the barn were scorched, a patchwork of fresh brown earth, charred grass, and intermittent green where the battle had spared the growing things.

  Blackened timbers stood in the fresh morning light, marking where the barn had once stood. The barn had been the heart of the farm, where we worked hard, and played harder. The sides stood in jagged ruin, while the roof had burned away to ash. From the sky, it looked as if someone had reached into the farm from above and ripped out the heart.

  The house stood, undamaged, which was a blessing. I could see people moving around down there, so some still lived.

  “Take us down,” I said to Meyja. “Your mistress needs you and I need my friends.”

  Skuld rode above us as we landed, keeping watch, it seemed. Róta landed first, lighting through the trees. We followed second, coming in from the valley side. The transition from flight to trotting was subtle and sweet. I could get used to this.

  Gunnr stood in the clearing, her arms crossed over her chest, and her helm on her head. I couldn’t see her face for the shadows.

  Meyja walked to her, lowered her head, and pushed Gunnr. “You are come home to me?” she said. “I had thought you found a new love.”

  She stroked Meyja’s nose, but looked up at me as she spoke.

  Obsess much?

  I slid from Meyja’s back and patted her neck. “Thank you, mighty steed. For your service and your joy.”

  Gunnr watched me, her eyes lost to me in shadow. Skuld and Róta walked over, leading their own mounts, and each placed a hand on Gunnr’s shoulder, one to a side.

  “Come, sister,” Róta said. “We have einherjar with which to attend.”

  I handed the reins to Gunnr and bowed my head. “Thank you for your kindness.” I looked up. “I am in your debt.”

  She accepted the reins with a nod. “And you, warrior. Do not forget me.”

  The memory of that kiss burst bright, sending a shudder through me. “Not likely,” I murmured.

  The smile that flared on her face rivaled the sun.

  They turned, the three of them, walked to the edge of the clearing, and mounted. I watched them as they danced into the sky, followed by two others, Susan and Maggie riding their proud beasts, galloping westward.

  Why westward? Wasn’t Valhalla in Norway or something? Something else to find out.

  The peace and quiet of the clearing began to fade and I breathed in one final hint of cloves.

  Funny she didn’t ask about her shield.

  Now to the living.

  Sixty-four

  LEAVING THE TRANQUILITY OF THE CLEARING BROUGHT BACK the aches and pains of the long terrible night. My right arm began to throb and the weight of holding it up became nearly too much to bear. I hugged it to my chest, cradling it with my left. Something was amiss there. My scalp began to tingle as well. There was not a point on my body that did not pulse with pain.

  I skirted the smashed and burned choppers. Too much carnage there to contemplate. Instead I cut west, then angled back toward the barn, avoiding the majority of the battlefield, at least for a bit.

  Without really thinking about it, I walked to a small trampled area, the thigh-high hay smashed and burned to reveal a lone white marker that hung limply, soaked with the morning fog. I paused, glancing down at the fallen warrior, considering why she had not been worthy of the Valkyries.

  Perhaps her death had not been valiant enough. The young woman who lay before me clutched a bloodied sword. Her armor was punctured and rent from a dozen or more strokes. However she had died, Stuart had rolled her to lay on her back and placed her sword on her chest, and her shield and helm at her feet. I struggled to remember her name. I’d known her for a year, since she’d started coming to the meetings, learning to fight. Karen, I think, or Sharon. I couldn’t think clearly.

  I turned, walking on. Better to not stop at each and every one of the fallen, I decided. I wouldn’t be on my feet that long.

  The fog seemed thicker than it had from above. It hugged the ground, lending an eerie, haunted look to the churned-up earth. Too many surprises awaited the unwary.

  A thick band of pain tightened around my scalp, making my eyes ache. Every breath was an exercise in subtle muscle control. Too deep, and I wanted to fall to the ground. Too shallow, and I grew light-headed.

  Things began to all meld together. Bodies of trolls I passed looked like all the others, twisted limbs and congealed blood. Death was never beautiful, but the aftermath of carnage such as this was nearly overwhelming.

  Halfway to the house I ran into a wall of limbs. I raised my head slightly and saw it was two giants lain haphazardly atop one another. A great pool of blood lay around them, thick with flies. The stench hit me like a hammer, and I staggered back, away from them. I turned away only to find other limbs, broken trolls—a field of cadavers.

  My head began to swim and for a moment I thought I would fall into that congealing lake of blood, either to drown or be consumed by the carrion eaters.

  “No more,” I mumbled, turning, looking for a way out of the maze of dead. Somehow I had to reach the house, move past this ugly harvest and find the living.

  No Valkyries picked among these dead. Soon, someone would need to clean all this up. Make the world clean. Would anything grow here again?

  The world began to lose focus.

  “I saw her, damn it,” a male voice said somewhere in the fog that covered my eyes.

  “Where?” a woman’s voice asked. Her voice was so familiar, so sweet and comforting.

  “Kyle said he saw her coming in from the clearing north of here,” Stuart said. Stuart, yes that was the voice. I knew him. He was a friend.

  “She can’t have gone far,” Katie said. Oh, sweet Katie.

  “Sarah!” Stuart called, and I turned.

  The world spun out of sync with my turn, and I moved faster, trying to keep up. I stumbled to the side, falling over a large pile of stones. The rocks dug into my left shoulder and pain lanced through me, clearing the fog for a moment. I lay on a large pile of stones, jagged and unweathered. These shattered remains had once been an ogre.

  Something was wrong with my right arm, I realized. Something fairly serious. I couldn’t feel it, and the shoulder quaked with pain.

  “She’s here,” Stuart called, closer to me. “Over near the giants.”

  “I can’t see you,” Katie called back. “Hold up your axe.”

  Strong hands gripped me, pulled me off the rocks, and rolled me onto my back. Without a word, I rose into the air, lifted by someone who cared for me. I know I was carried because I felt arms under my shoulders and legs.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Stuart said. He turned his head and yelled. “I have her. Get a stretcher.”

  He lay me on the soft grass, pulling Gram around to the side. I scrabbled with my left hand, desperate for the sword, mewling as I tried.

  “Here,” he said, twisting the harness enough that the sheathed sword lay across my chest. With my hand on her hilt, I could breathe. Her presence was a comfort and a curse. She was powerful, and demanding. I both loved and feared her—this sword of the one-eyed god. She slept for the moment, but fitfully. Rest would come as it could in future days, I felt through her. The war had begun. This was but a taste—a hint of the horror to come. Had the dragons not known about Gram? Had they forgotten it in their arrogance? What would happen now that its presence had been revealed?

  War indeed. Is that what Black Briar was about? Did they know about these things all along? Jimmy had answers, I knew, but did he understand how big all this was?

&nb
sp; And dear, sweet, monstrous Frederick. He’d honestly never done a thing to me, nor mine, but he was captive to his true nature. Was he afraid now? Did the dragons somehow know that one of their own had fallen to one of us? How would Nidhogg, the Corpse Gnawer, react?

  Had I doomed us all?

  And where was Odin in all this? What of the others? Thor? Freya? Heimdall? Wasn’t this their war? And if so, where the hell were they?

  “Oh, gods,” Katie said, dropping to her knees beside me and touching my face. “Jesus, Stuart, what’s wrong with her arm?”

  “Hush,” he said, standing.

  I watched him as he cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed.

  “We need a goddamned stretcher over here.” He stomped away, then back, waving his hands in the air. “Come on, people,” he growled.

  “Go,” Katie said, draping a jacket over me. “Go get help, I’ll sit with her.”

  He hesitated, watching me for a moment, and I smiled. “Hey Stuart,” I whispered. “It’s real good to see you.”

  “Right,” he said, dragging his hand across his face. Was he crying?

  “Hurry,” Katie said, stroking my scalp. “Please hurry.”

  He nodded and turned. “You’d better not die,” he said. I assumed he meant me.

  “We’ve been worried sick,” Katie said when Stuart left. “Qindra wouldn’t tell us what happened, but help’s coming.”

  I reached up with my left hand and captured hers, holding it to my cheek. “I’m sorry,” I said, but my face hurt, so I released her hand and closed my eyes. “So tired.”

  “You’re going to be okay,” she said, going back to stroking my forehead. “When you are better, you can tell me all about your adventure.”

  “Just pain,” I said. “Nothing worth telling.” I didn’t open my eyes, but I pictured her face in my mind. Though the light of the day was bright, I could not see past the fog.

  “Did you kill him?” she asked, her whisper a mixture of anger and pain.

  I pictured him, broken and twisted on the shores of Lost Lake. “Yes.”