Fallen Mortal

by J. A. Culican

  Orum frowned. “It needs to be vocalized what you are doing here. Chasing after a soul marked for Odin.” He looked at me. “Revealing your immortal form to such an individual would have grave consequences. Allowing the desires of Maxwell to write an unbreakable contract…” He shook his head. “It’s unthinkable. You may believe that you’re safe now, but you’re not. Each and every one of your actions will have its recourse.” He tipped his chin to Jord. “And allowing a giant a front seat to it all. That’s just extra stupidity. It’s only a matter of time befpre I’m attending your funeral, sister.”

  “Listen to me, you insolent demoted god,” Jord said, her voice rising. “The only reason you stand before me is because you have the freedom to do so, but there is a time coming where every step you take will be treading on the bones of the deities who give you this privilege. Your sister’s funeral will be the least of your worries.”

  “Jord,” I sat down and put my hand on her arm. While she was on a roll, we had to be careful. “Your eyes. They’ll give us away.”

  Jord’s eyes flamed the color of molten lava, revealing her godhead. For a beat, she stared at Orum until he took a step away. Only then did she close her eyes until she regained control.

  I looked to the stage where another scene had begun. Maxwell was pondering the script again, barking commands. The fact that he’d called for me was forgotten in his business of the play. Everyone eagerly did his bidding, much like things worked in Asgard. When Odin spoke, people scurried. No one concerned themselves with our skirmish while Maxwell was in charge.

  “I will admit that something is amiss with this soul,” Orum said lowly. “I’ll even go as far to say that the situation needs follow through, but not by my sister.” His eyes became heavy with sorrow. “There were rumors that the nords are involved, but I didn’t believe it. Until Magna intercepted their courier in Folkvangr coming directly from Freya’s throne.”

  If the gods consulted nords, it was because they desired an unchangeable outcome. Odin and Freya could play with souls for centuries, but when a nord gave a fate, it was the end game. It seemed the information Magna chose to give me was sifted against her loyalty to my brother.

  “Is this recent?” Jord asked, coming to the edge of her seat.

  Orum nodded. “Mere hours. I came here directly to warn Oria. The scroll the courier carried was stamped in Freya’s blood. No one can know the contents other than Freya herself, and the nords.”

  “Perhaps Freya’s dealings with the nords has nothing to do with Maxwell,” I said.

  “Magna overheard part of the conversation when the missive was exchanged,” Orum replied. I opened my mouth, but Orum spoke over me. “She’s positive of what she heard. She was delivering water to Freya’s handmaidens. Only a thin golden wall separated them.” His eyes darted briefly to Jord. “She allowed the courier the use of her chariot, and Hildisvini served as guard. Magna saw them leave from the balcony.”

  Freya’s beloved cats pulled her chariot, and she loaned it out to no one. She must have been concerned with her choice as she sent her boar, Hildisvini, along to protect her cats. If they’d departed from her balcony, Freya must have used a spell to shield them from view. No expense would be spared to ensure the missive and her cats were delivered safely.

  “And you have the nerve to warn us from this mission,” Jord seethed. She stood abruptly, securing her bag on her shoulder. “We may be the only thing standing between life and Ragnarok.” She lifted her hand to flash out, but Orum caught her.

  “Mortals, Jord,” he chastized. “You’ll blow the lid off this operation in a moment of anger and fear.”

  She yanked free from him, eyeing us both.

  “See if your elf friend can give us a spell or potion for interrogation,” I said. Jord’s lip curled. “Please,” I added.

  “And who will be the misfortunate fool to ingest said potion?” Jord asked.

  I glanced at Orum, pulling in my bottom lip. “Freya,” I mumbled.

  “She’ll kill you,” Orum hissed.

  “We’re all dead if I do nothing.” The weight of the possibilities crushed me. So many people to save, so little choices. This kept getting bigger and bigger.

  “You’re that blind to see that there is no I in this any longer,” Orum said. His jaw grinded. “We will all be implicated if Freya catches you.”

  “Then, we shall be sure she isn’t caught,” Jord said. Orum scoffed and opened his mouth, but Jord’s tone increased and drowned his words. “If we pool our resources and talents, we can get to the bottom of this. As you said, Orum. There is no one excluded from being touched by this any longer.” Jord looked down to where the actors were reciting the scene. Again. “The very nature of our existence is in the balance. Isn’t it time we stop allowing the gods to play with the fates of free-willed beings?”

  I put my hand over my heart. “Did you just say something nice about mortals?”

  Jord eyed me.

  “In an off-handed, almost undetected sort of way?” I asked.

  “There comes a time when I, the goddess of earth, have had enough of others meddling with realms that don’t belong to them. If this is what we suspect, I don’t appreciate Odin and Freya hiding their problems in my realm.” Jord shifted, glancing between us. “This is my realm and it’s time I remind them of that.” She put up her hand, facing Orum. “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. I didn’t know how large this was when I started prodding. I know, I know.” She laughed acidly. “I was actually doing my job and here we are, making unlikely alliances and planning on drugging a goddess. How things have...progressed.”

  “If you do this, it changes everything,” Orum warned. “Interrogating a god using methods of magic are strictly prohibited.”

  “Hiding a harbinger of death and destruction on earth is also prohibited,” I interjected.

  “We don’t know that is what he is,” Orum said.

  “Then, what is he, brother?”

  Orum rubbed his brow.

  “If we do nothing, we risk everything,” I said slowly.

  “And if we continue this course, we risk an end such as the one of Jasper,” Orum said. “Or worse.” His voice revealed his burden and I didn’t like it. “There is a reason our pantheon has laws. To protect.”

  “I’m doing this, Orum,” I said. “With or without you. I have to. The signs have left me no choice.”

  Orum’s hand fell from his brow. “The nords, Freya, Odin...You’re just going to take them all on? Is that it? I came here to warn you, but you’re bent on destruction. I feel as if my coming only strengthened your resolve.”

  “The information you brought is vital,” I said. “The very reason we should work together. If Freya is making a deal with the nords, things are already set into motion. We can’t just ignore it. Can’t you see that?”

  “No,” Orum replied. “I can’t. And you’re too stubborn to see what I do see.” He turned to leave, but I caught his arm. “Don’t. And don’t follow me. I’m not part of this.” His eyes clashed with mine and he slipped something into my hand. I fisted the small item and pulled away. “We all keep secrets, sister. See that you remember who your true allies are.”

  Orum skirted down the stairs and wove between seats until he disappeared into the darkness of the lower theater.

  “He was only trying to help,” Jord said slowly. Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. “But not join in our cause?” She clasped her hands and leaned forward. “Why would he do it? Why would he bring such valuable information to you and refuse to help?”

  I knew the answer but wasn’t willing to share it. He knew bringing me information of the nords would either scare me off or spur me forward. He had hoped I’d be level-headed and choose the first, but I was already in too deep to turn back.

  And I think he knew it.

  The item he’d passed to me was small enough to almost slip from my closed hand. Seeing that Jord was preoccupied with the production, I opened my hand
and glanced down. Orum had given me a Valkyrie’s tooth. Teeth collected from a fallen Valkyrie held powerful magic. Some even believed that if one possessed such a rarity, it would provide invisibility passing through the nine worlds.

  My brother had given me a gift and his alliance.

  Chapter 12

  “A celebration is in order!” I called as I walked through the mob of actors surrounding Maxwell. I put my hand on his arm. “Congratulations. You’ve earned every dirty penny I’m going to sign over to you.”

  Maxwell’s countenance beamed. “I can’t believe I did it.”

  “I can,” Sandy said, looping her arm with his. “I never had a doubt.”

  Me either. My eyes narrowed.

  “Let’s go to the Irish pub on the corner. I hear it’s all the rage with the local bands and celebrities,” Sandy suggested.

  My nose crinkled. “I was thinking some place more formal. One that screams ‘I’ve just won the biggest contest of my life.’” I nudged Maxwell. “It’s your call. I’m paying whether you like it or not.”

  “I definitely like it,” he smiled. “I’m a broke college student until I have the title to this place in my hand.”

  “What will it be, then? Italian? Tex-mex?” I had an extensive list and hoped at least one included a decadent dessert with pumpkin.

  “The Irish pub,” he said, glancing at Sandy. She hugged his arm close. “The Damned is playing tonight. You’ll love them.”

  My face was going to be fixed in a scrunch for the rest of the evening. “The Damned?”

  “A pop punk band. I know the guitarist. He tried out for the play but didn’t make the cut. I promised him that if I won this, I’d make it up to him.”

  “Ever the nice guy,” Sandy grinned.

  “He’s a great guitarist, but an awful actor,” Maxwell said. “The arts have many venues and I respect every one of them.”

  “Perhaps his luck has a lot to do with the name of his band,” I said.

  Yes, I was peeved. This was my chance to probe Maxwell’s mind, but I had a feeling the atmosphere of an Irish pub with the musical stylings of the Damned was not the place to do it. Added downer was that Sandy would be tagging along.

  “Luck has nothing to do with his abilities or his courage.” Maxwell shrugged. “He wanted to try his hand at acting. It just isn’t for him, but music is. I like to give back to the community and now, I can.” He touched my arm. “And you’ve made this possible for me. I can help so many more people other than actors. To be able to support all artistic effort is important to me and now I can. Thank you.”

  I hummed. “The Damned? That’s a band you want to support?”

  “Where’s the rebel girl I know?” Maxwell laughed, but it sounded forced. He fumbled in his pocket and came up with a packet of Tylenol. He used his teeth to rip it open. “The same girl who left New York to come here and see to a small theater going down the tubes.” He popped the pills into his mouth as he leaned forward. “Besides, they’re called that because they are anything but the social norm. I thought you loved that sort of thing?”

  You can give a reaper lavender hair and a pair of jeans, but can you make her understand mortals? Damned things in Asgard were never a good thing. Damned things anywhere were never a good thing, but maybe that was the point. Suddenly, I felt old and out of my element. I was just like the guitarist Maxwell spoke of—I auditioned for a part and should’ve gotten the ax, but here I was, playing a part I had no right to.

  “Sounds stellar,” I said. My mouth tipped up to one side. “Round up the cast and your professor. I have to make a call, so I’ll meet you there.”

  “It’s just around—” Maxwell began.

  “I know where it is,” I said, already typing a text to Jord. I looked up and smiled. “It’s next to the cafe that sells those wicked pumpkin muffins.”

  Going out to celebrate the mortal’s win. R U in?

  “You’ve gotten a phone?” Maxwell grinned.

  “Only for business,” I said over my shoulder as I walked away.

  I wove through the crowd, hating the excitement in the air. It felt like too much. I needed a reap to get rid of this mortality seeping into my bones. The time I spent tracking Maxwell was cutting into my day job. I needed a better handle on things, but I didn’t know how to slow things. Time moved on and waited for no one, and time was all I had to uncover the truth.

  My phone chimed.

  Pass. I have a date with Grey’s Anatomy.

  I tossed the phone into the nearest trash bin and snapped to make it disappear just as it nestled among the trash. In a way, I was glad Jord declined. The less people there, the better. Once the party died down, it would be just me and Maxwell.

  ***Maxwell

  There was something wrong with Oria. She appeared to be happy that I’d won, but underneath, she was hiding something. It was in the way she spoke and remained detached in the conversation. I didn’t know her well enough to ask if everything was alright. I had the niggling feeling that I knew what was wrong, but every time my thoughts turned to the topic, an overwhelming pain shot through my temples. I’d suffered from migraines lately and couldn’t seem to shake them at certain times.

  After our celebratory dinner, the night dwindled down quickly as everyone was tired from the production. I felt it necessary to stay, being it was my party, but I was bone tired as well. By midnight, only Oria and I remained as the Damned finished its set.

  “Are you well?” Oria asked after ordering a final round of beer for the two of us.

  I was massaging my temples. “I’m a horrible actor,” I admitted. She smirked. “But a wicked director and screen writer. Have I lost my scholarship with this admission?”

  A waitress placed the beer on the table along with the bill.

  “Think they’re trying to get rid of us?” she asked, smiling at the waitress who turned to leave in a huff. She looked at me. “I’ve never seen faster service for a mortal.”

  The pain in my head intensified and caused me to hiss.

  “Hey,” Oria reached out. “What’s going on?”

  I brushed her away and sat straight. “Stress. Ever since I accepted that challenge of yours, I’ve suffered from stress migraines.” Half a grin tipped my mouth. “We mortals are weak like that.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she smiled as she spoke. “I’ve been reading loads of mythology. Can’t seem to get back into the real world when pretend is so much more interesting. Mortals versus immortals. I think I’d like to be just a mortal. Gods can be so rigid and nasty.” She looked around. The band was packing up, but several patrons were still drinking. The noise level had dropped considerably. “Maybe we should leave. You obviously need quiet and rest.”

  I reached for my beer. “Just one more.” I lifted the glass. “To getting a great night’s sleep.” She picked up her glass and touched it to mine. “May I sleep like Odin tonight.”

  Her glass hovered. “May you sleep as Loki. One who has no remorse or care.”

  I laughed. “Here’s to sleeping like Loki.” I sipped the cold beer. “I forget that you’re a mythology fan, too.” I stared into the foamy drink, wondering how I’d forgotten something as trivial as that. Oria had told me once that she was a Norse mythology buff. It was there, in the recesses of my mind.

  “Somewhat,” she muttered, sipping her beer. She made a face and put it down. “Novice, really.”

  I doubted that but didn’t understand why. If it were possible to have greater pain, it was upon me. I winced and put down my drink so I could feel my temple area. The pulse points were throbbing.

  “We should leave,” Oria offered. She rummaged through her purse and placed cash near the check. “Do you want me to take you to an urgent care? There’s one around the corner that’s open twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll be fine once I lie down.”

  “If it’s money you’re worried about,” she said as she shimmied out of the booth, “I can cover you. Stress tends to make
a body susceptible to illness. You need to be in top form to run a theater.”

  I glanced at the money, noticing it was a large, wadded stack of hundreds. “It’s just a headache.”

  She grabbed my arm when I tipped unsteadily on my feet. “The least I can do is see you to your dorm.”

  The night air provided some comfort. It was odd how I could go most of the night with manageable pain to this agony. Again, I was struck with the notion that intense pain and Oria went hand in hand. The moment I was alone with her, it intensified. It was moronic to believe such a thing. Headaches didn’t morph around certain people. Perhaps it was her perfume or something she wore that aggravated me. That had to be it.

  The walk to the dorms took fifteen minutes. I’d timed it before, being a regular at the Irish pub. I stumbled up the stone steps leading to the entrance. I’d had a few beers, but I was sober.

  “Thanks,” I said, fumbling with my ID to scan the locked system.

  The door chimed and Oria opened it. “Oh, no you don’t. This dorm is co-ed and I’m walking you up.”

  Momentarily, our contact broke and there was a pause in the pain. I stepped into the building, putting space between us. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t, but I will.” She brushed past me, nodding to the dorm’s door monitor, who smiled and waved at her. She’d been here before, but I couldn’t remember the details. Just a knowing somewhere deep in my gray matter.

  Oria led the way, and as I expected, she knew where she was going. She put her hand out for the key.

  “Rather pitiful, aren’t I?” I snickered.

  “You’re ill. Happens.” She unlocked the door and let me pass.

  I floundered my way in. “All safe now. Goodnight and thanks.”

  “Not so easy, champ,” she said, closing the door. “I’m protecting my investment.” She motioned to the bedroom area. “Lie down. I’ll wait until you go to sleep and then I’ll leave.”