Fallen Mortal

by J. A. Culican

  The door to his room was open.

  He saw me first.

  “I’m surprised you came,” he said.

  He appeared sheepish, barefooted wearing a pair of jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. Nothing like a guy who’d just thrown down a gauntlet should look like. He’d been studying if the open notebooks were any indication. I could feel the trepidation streaming from him. He was scared.

  Good. He should be. No mortal should taunt an immortal and remain unfazed.

  “Of course,” I replied. It wasn’t everyday someone told you they knew you were a reaper of death. “Should I close the door?”

  “I think it would be best.”

  I shrugged one shoulder and closed the door behind me.

  “Want to tell me what your cryptic message was all about?” I asked. I was in my element and he was in way over his head. This was my job. He was a stupid mortal who thought he could play the game of a reaper. I would have laughed if the mortal part of me wasn’t so strong.

  “My grandmother believed in Norse mythology.”

  “So, I’ve heard,” I said.

  “Really? How? I’ve never said a word until now.”

  My eyes tapered. “Your last name is Adamsen. Of course you had an old person in your life who believed in mythology. Clever guess.”

  A shadow passed over his features and he appeared cautious. “I said that I know what you are, but I wasn’t being entirely honest. Want to hear what I think?”

  I pulled a chair and sat face to face with him. “Sure. Give it your best shot.”

  He drew back, allowing his arms to dangle at his sides, his hands gripping the underside of the chair. All the gestures of someone drowning.

  “You’re a fate.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I’m a fate. What are we talking about here? I’m confused. Last I checked, I’m an heiress about to make the deal of the century with some underprivileged college rat. How’s that for fate?”

  “You’re in the business of making deals.”

  “All right. I’ll play along.” My jaw became rigid. “I persuade. Fates make the rules, I sway them. I put a theater on the table and you choose if you want it or not. Depends on the stakes if you’re willing to play.”

  He let out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I say you’re a fate and you answer me exactly as I suspected. You’re some sort of goddess or what?”

  No more games, then. There’d be no turning back once I laid down the key elements. This was how it was done—making an unbreakable deed. All truths must be bared. I allowed the dew of Folkvangr to drain off of me. “What do you see?”

  His eyes roved over the form of my wings, my face and torso. The color left his face and I tasted the fear. What I showed him was the last thing a mortal saw before being carted to Folkvangr. He had no idea how high the stakes had just become. I couldn’t lose this reap now. To do so would be death or the veil. I’d choose death if the gods gave me a choice.

  “That’s right, Maxwell. An Imperium Reaper for death. I play for team black.”

  He sat as far back as possible without tipping over the chair. Disbelief shone in his eyes that were hooded from the intensity of seeing me as I was.

  “Don’t let fear get to you now. I’m only showing you a portion of my being, you big pansy. Here comes the good part.” I leaned forward. This was the part I relished. The power. The thrill of the hunt. “You want balance? You lament of the unfairness of life, you complain about how bad you have things, and all the while, you’re being set up for a divine appointment? Where is your outrage of privilege now? This is your chance to turn the tide.”

  “This is crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t...I mean, I shouldn’t…” He reached out. “Are your wings real?”

  I pulled back before he could touch me. “What’s crazy is that you couldn’t leave things alone, so here we are.” I reached into my robe and produced a scroll. “If you want to play with things you don’t understand, you need to be prepared to make a deal.”

  “Am I going to die?” His arm fell back to his side. “That’s what happens when a reaper shows up.” He made a face. “But, I’ve seen your kind before and didn’t die.”

  I’d deal with his admissions later. “All mortals come to an end eventually. My job is helping them find their way to the final resting place. In your case, the place you will work and find a purpose.”

  “Folkvangr,” he breathed. “That’s your team black?”

  “Don’t sound so defeated. Folkvangr is widely misrepresented. Your time in eternity will not be squandered on folly. I’ve yet to hear anyone complain.”

  “Folkvangr is equivalent to Hel, right?”

  “Norse Hel isn’t a place you want to go; trust me. Every Norse descendant desires Valhalla or Folkvangr. But, considering your options, Odin can be a hateful taskmaster all the same. Valhalla is filled with regrets and tears. At least with Freya, you’ll know your place. The rest is up to you. It’s what you make of it.”

  “Torture…”

  “Myth,” I interrupted. “If any place is torturous, it’s Hel or Valhalla. You of all people should know not to believe everything you read on the internet. In Folkvangr, you’ll work, eat, sleep, but the good news is you won’t need money and you’ll never have to die again. Your ambitions will be realized and brought to battle when needed. You get to keep the essence of who you are.” I shrugged. “Unless you cross Freya or make a muck of things. It’s really quite simple.”

  He glanced at the scroll. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It’s the deed to your soul. Once signed, it can’t be broken. You get the theater and Freya gets you. That’s the deal.”

  “So, if I don’t agree to choose Folkvangr, there’s a chance I can die again?”

  “Negative. There is only one death. The other option is going between the veil. Trust me, you don’t want that. Once banished there, you can never leave.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “It’s written in a language you don’t understand, no option for translation. You’ll have to trust me.”

  His curt laugh dripped acid. “You expect me to sign this without reading it? It could be a contract unleashing mayhem on the world for all I know. A great apocalypse.”

  “Please. You read too much fiction. This isn’t how it works. If I wanted to play dirty, I’d have you worked over first. You’d be so placid, you’d sign anything. Do you understand that your ambition has led us to this? It has written itself, by the blood of your desire.”

  “It has nothing to do with the fact I’m gifted by Odin?” Maxwell asked.

  “You think you’re gifted?” I laughed. His face fell. “I’m gonna go with grandma on that one. Did the old lady tell you that?”

  He shifted in his chair.

  “Let me be frank. Odin doesn’t gift mortals with anything. True, you have a mark. For some reason, Odin has his sight set on you and wants you for Valhalla. Do you know what that means?”

  “No,” he barked. “But I do know that I can see things others can’t. It’s how I recognized reapers on the day I had an accident. It’s what made me give you that stupid note.” His hands scrubbed through his hair. “I have dreams, too.”

  His tone caused me to hesitate. The emotions that flowed from him were capricious. First fear, rightfully so, and now anger. “Dreams can be nothing more than illusions from the subconscious. Fantasy and lies.” My head tilted. “But I am curious about the other. What is it you think you see?”

  “Images. Blurred. Bright lights.” He waved his hands while he spoke. “ Haloes. Surrounding people or things.”

  “Interesting.” I couldn’t deny that he had a point. I’d sensed it when he discerned my presence in the alley and when he’d had the gumption to give me the note.

  “It’s like a knowing.” He touched his chest. “I can tell when one of you is around. It started after my grandmother died, so did the dreams. Before,
I was just normal.” He ran his hands through his hair again. “I can’t believe that I was right. Am right. You’re really here, wings and all.”

  He definitely wasn’t normal. Of that, I was positive. “Did she ever mention the mark?”

  He shook his head.

  “Interesting,” I repeated. A lot of information could be gathered if I could keep him talking. This riddle had hints galore.

  “What does the mark mean?”

  “It’s a death stamp. Any Imperium Reaper who goes near you is repelled by it. You’re marked for Valhalla. I mean, an Imperium Reaper could reap your soul, but it would be difficult.” I left out the fact that it would shake the foundations of the Norse pantheon. Odin would want blood spilled. When Odin ordered a mark, it was to be respected and given a very wide girth. If reaped for Folkvangr, he could end up in the veil. Small details.

  “My grandmother was right about one thing then. She said the Adamsens were destined for Valhalla. We are descendants of Urd.”

  “Urd?” A laugh rumbled up and popped from my mouth. “Urd? Urd doesn’t have a loyal bone in her body—strictly speaking mortal that is.” It was funny, but another clue as well. The nords never minded their own business. “Your mind is filled with stories that have no grounding in facts. You do realize the only things known about Norse mythology are what we’ve allowed to circulate?”

  “I’m not stupid,” he said, but his expression was doubtful.

  “Just stating the facts.”

  He scoffed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head bowed. Our knees touched, but he didn’t move away. Instead, the dew of Folkvangr seeped onto him, lighting him with a blue glow.

  The strength of the mark was impenetrable. The touch of an Imperium Reaper shouldn’t be able to have an effect and yet, Folkvangr was leaking all over him. Where we touched stung, so I sat straight and broke contact. Tucking the scroll into my tunic, I stood.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “Wait,” I touched his forehead with my finger and suspended time.

  I needed space, but what I needed more was answers. I stepped back from Maxwell’s body and flashed into Jord’s presence. The giantess had no specific home, but rather anywhere on earth she desired. At present, she was on a beach in Malibu.

  I melted into the scenery donning a bikini and sunglasses.

  “You’re blocking the sun, darling,” Jord said, her eyes closed.

  I stood over her perfectly toned and tanned body with my hands on my hips.

  “Maxwell isn’t normal.” I didn’t care that I was shouting. Let people stare. Half of the beach-goers could use a lesson in what normal was anyway. “My essence merged with the mark. That is not normal.”

  “Hush, hush.” She sat up, adjusting the brim of her overly large hat. She looked about and lowered her voice. “Did he sign the contract?”

  “Of course, he hasn’t signed the contract yet. I freaked out when I literally bled into him.” I folded into a heap beside her on the sand. “I felt pain. It went straight to my heart.” I touched my chest. Her lips parted, but I silenced her with a glare. “Don’t even say it. I know I’m more mortal at present than good for me, but I was in reaper form. I should have been protected.”

  “Freya knows,” Jord whispered and quickly covered her mouth with her fingertips. “Or Odin. Or even worse,” she reached out and touched my arm. “That boy is a divine.”

  “We all know Odin has fidelity problems,” I said sarcastically. “Don’t think that didn’t cross my mind. But relax, I think we have a lesser problem on our hands. He looks nothing like Odin’s offspring.”

  “The boy is handsome and well-formed. He’s exactly what Odin would create.” Jord’s face grew red. “That bastard. You’d think he’d be satisfied having a son who can rule both Asgard and Earth.”

  “Speaking of Thor,” I said, an idea popping into my head. We needed more resources. I didn’t have time for Jord’s jealousy. “Do you think he would procure something for us? Something out of the library in Asgard?”

  “The Book of Halflings?” she asked, a bend to her neck. She ran a finger over her lips as she considered it. “I could ask, but he’d have questions.”

  “We need that book. There’s a reason it isn’t circulated into our worlds. Only someone with complete access to Asgard can get it, and Thor is perfect. He’s the one god with complete clearance into the library’s restricted area. He can get us that book and no one will suspect.”

  “Hmm,” Jord hummed. “Damn Loki for his foolish antics or else I’d be able to get that book without question.” She leaned back onto her lounge chair and adjusted her hat. “Something like this is delicate. If I involve Thor, he will run to his daddy.” She rolled her eyes. “’Sound the alarms in Valhalla, Jord’s gone stark raving mad again. Helping mortals and reapers.’ I’d never hear the end of it, or I’d end up in the veil.”

  She was right. Thor had the pretense to be a whiny brat. But, what other citizen of Asgard could we trust?

  Jord snapped her fingers. “Alfheim. I have a favor I’ve been waiting to call in.”

  Alfheim was one of the nine worlds, and the homeland of elves. On a whole, they were tactic, quiet, and peaceable. Unless the one interfering into their world was a giantess.

  “You can’t be serious?” I asked.

  “It’s an old agreement,” Jord smiled. “Trust me. A certain elf owes me her life. She’ll help us, and she’s the ideal little reader too. I’m willing to bet she knows everything that’s in that book.”

  Jord was the least likely friend to make in a time like this. I might as well draw up a divine scroll and sign it in my own blood. Sitting here, cutting a deal with her, was surreal. But she was my only resource outside of Folkvangr and that left me with no choice. I used the word trust, but I knew better. No one in the Norse pantheon could be trusted. We were borrowing time until Odin and Freya uncovered this insane mission. The time would come when we’d have to pay for this. I only hoped it was worth it. I could only pray that the part Maxwell played in the scheme of life’s board was benign. For all I knew, he could be the harbinger of death itself.

  “He also mentioned Urd,” I said hesitantly.

  Jord’s laughter caused heads to turn our way again. “Urd? How preposterous. What would that little maggot have to do with a halfling?”

  “We aren’t positive that he’s a halfling,” I pointed out. “He could be something else. You of all goddesses must understand that things are never what they seem. It seems evident that he’s halfling, so there’s a great chance he really isn’t. We have to know what we’re up against. Search all leads until we find the right one.”

  She huffed and laughed again. “Fine, darling.” She waved her fingers at me. “You handle the fates. I’ll get information as to what is in that sacred book. I want no part of those three worms. Good luck.”

  My work here was done. I flashed back into the dorm room.

  Maxwell’s body stood frozen as I’d left it, but something about me was different. Instantaneously, my form turned mortal and our faces were inches apart. I’d never been this close to him before. His breaths blew the bangs on my lavender hair and my eyes fluttered. A warmth settled in my belly. It was disparate, this closeness. Long ago, when I was this close to Geirolf, my body reacted in the awareness of an immortal. The knowing that two beings were as bonded as possible. It was salacious and sublime. This, however, was jumbled up with all the feelings humans experienced, along with the knowing in my inner being. It was more. As I brought my hands to touch his arms, my thoughts scrambled and the last thing on my mind was business. I forgot that what I’d done was forbidden. The trepidation I’d felt about him was gone.

  He was more than I’d suspected. He was trouble in the worst way.

  Strength and reason escaped me. For a moment in time, I was just a girl and Wells was a boy asking to be kissed. I may never have the chance again to experience this. I leaned forward.

  “Wake up,”
I whispered just as my lips touched his.

  Chapter 8

  Maxwell

  I may not be known for being suave, but I’d kissed my fair share of girls. In my short life span, however, nothing compared to this. Blindingly beautiful, Oria was a dream. I pressed into her and returned the gentle pressure of her kiss. Her arms reached around my neck and she came closer to me. In this second, there was nothing I’d ever wanted more. It was the kind of kiss a young boy would sell his soul for.

  I shoved her away, holding her at arm’s length. “What are you doing?”

  She kissed me again. “Isn’t it evident?’ she asked against my lips.

  I stepped back. “Stop it.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “You think I’ll sign that contract now?”

  Oria blinked and the depths of her eyes weren’t lost on me. Anyone would consider me a fool for denying her, but they didn’t know the truth. I kissed death and I liked it.

  “What did you do to me?” I hissed. I kicked the chair behind me and walked to the window. There had been a minute I’d spaced out. What happened? I ran my hand through my hair, my mind trying to recall what we’d spoken about. Something was missing.

  “It’s just a kiss,” Oria said.

  I looked at her agog.

  She clasped her hands together, looking every inch like an unsure, young girl who’d just been thoroughly kissed. “You were there and I was here.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry?”

  I flipped my hand in the air. “You have a contract that involves the selling of my soul and you say you’re sorry?” I rested my hands on my hips. My heart rate thumped to an unnatural rhythm. “Get out.”

  She blinked owlishly, which to my horror, I found charming.

  “I said, get out.”

  “What about your theater?”

  “You have to choose the best person for the job, right?” I asked.

  Oria’s eyes narrowed. I sensed confidence returning to her. The haze of our mutual delight evaporated.

  “We both know I’m that person. I don’t need to sign a contract to get what I want.”