Fallen Mortal

by J. A. Culican

  I glanced around as she grabbed the desk chair. The lights were muted and the room was quiet. There was no sound other than the chair scraping the floor and my breaths, long and deep. I stepped closer to the bed and each inch relieved the ache in my skull.

  I fell on the bed, grasping for the pillows. Sweat had formed on my forehead and it began to trickle down the sides of my face. I closed my eyes and burrowed into the softness of the pillows.

  “I have a feeling you’re doing more than protecting an investment.”

  “Really?” Her voice drawled.

  I opened one eye and was met with the picture of her sitting there, straddling the chair. A spasm went through my skull and I quickly shut my eyes. The vision of her in my room, sitting this way, felt like a memory. Maybe not a memory, but a dream. A dream of her kissing me while I slept. Or not slept, but was mentally unaware. I used greater force to keep my eyes closed and saw starbursts.

  I had said she was here for more, but how did I know that? There was, of course, the unspoken electricity between us. She was a pretty girl, smart, rich. There was no reason for me not to be attracted to her.

  “Blue surrounds you,” she murmured.

  She had an aura as well, but I’d never spoken of it. I had to open my eyes. “I see darkness around you.”

  A stream of blue and liquid black fused between us. It licked up to the ceiling and the floor until it contained us in a bubble of calmness. My head ceased its pounding and for a moment, I was paralyzed by what I saw and felt. I’d not felt this safe since my father had lived. It couldn’t be really happening as I imagined. The image was animated as a scene of an outlandish movie. I blinked, but it remained.

  I lifted my head from the pillow, my breaths jagged.

  Oria’s face paled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth. “How are you doing this?” she whispered.

  I blinked again and still, it was there. She was there; all lavender and strange eyed. Lovely and terrifying at the same time. For a glimmer, there was an outline of wings behind her, flickering as a dying light would.

  “You’re beautiful,” I couldn’t help but say. Seeing her as she was was breathtaking. A portion of my heart broke at the vision.

  Abruptly, she stood and kicked the chair away, and with that, the pain returned. The image was shattered with a loud bang and what was left was us, here, in this drab, dark dorm room.

  I closed my eyes again.

  She touched me, her fingers soft on my temple. “Sleep,” she commanded.

  And so, I did.

  ***(Oria)

  I brushed my hand over Maxwell’s dark hair, allowing my fingers to spread to cover the area. There was no unusual sensation. Silky smooth strands that smelled of the bergamot shampoo he used. I stepped away. What a stunning creature he was. My eyes took in his slumbering form and my soul wept. It had to be the kiss we shared that allowed this connection. Immortals were forbidden to taste a mortal for the danger of bonding was a risk.

  I was a fool.

  Geirolf and Orum were worried about becoming involved. They had no clue that they didn’t have any other choice. This mortal was an end to something. Perhaps not Ragnarok, but something sinister. Beauty often masked evil.

  I scanned the room and found myself examining the bookcase. Mostly textbooks, but he had a thing for mythology, too. Not surprising at all. I pulled a book from the shelf and flipped through the pages. He’d highlighted portions of the text pertaining to Loki and his offspring. Notes riddled the margins, questions for further research, perhaps. The book belonged to his grandmother; her name was scrolled largely on the first page. The woman had managed to make him paranoid concerning his roots. She’d filled his head with superstitions and lore. Why? Was it a ploy to keep him fearful or to make him curious?

  I looked over my shoulder to where he slept. The pain had left him in his sleep. His breaths were rhythmic and slow. My eyes tapered. Orum’s feat had left Maxwell with an ailment. An elf had once told me that matters of the mind messed with the brain’s ability to synthesize imagery and memories. Having a reaper wipe your mind had to hurt, but only when he was conscious.

  I tossed the book to the floor and walked over to the mini-fridge. I could get one answer out of the way by a simple test. There was a can of opened soda and a moldy taco. My nose crinkled. It affected his appetite as well. He wasn’t a halfling. Halflings were notoriously resilient to any immortal touch. The immortal side of them created a balance. If he’d been a halfling, his eating habits would have remained. That dram of knowledge should have caused me relief, but it didn’t. He’d bled into me when I’d shown myself and now, he commanded our essence to merge. I’d felt my wings twitch earlier—almost as if they’d materialized.

  I walked over to the bed. My body folded down until I was crouched eye-to-eye with him. His pillow and hair were drenched with perspiration. I reached out and pushed the blankets from him. Sensing the movement, he murmured unintelligibly and shifted.

  “What are you?” My voice sounded hollow and only then did I noticed that I’d shed my mortal form. The tooth Orum had given me burned the inside the pocket of my robe, signaling its divine protection to shield me.

  His eyes moved rapidly behind his eyelids. Despite Orum’s efforts, Maxwell was getting too close. Ironic that I was the one who needed intel, but he was practically kissing my immortality and not even trying. At this rate, Odin would have him reaped prematurely and I’d face a firing squad of sorts. Perhaps, even the veil.

  I stood abruptly. My wings tucked as I took a step back. Surveying his room once more, I noted the pictures on his desk. One of his parents and grandmother, and another of Sandy. No girlfriends or friends. No other foster siblings save for one. His detachment from the reality of today surrounded me.

  “No, no,” Maxwell whined. “Take me. Me. Not her.” My eyes cut to where he thrashed on the bed. His hands clawed at the mattress and tears streamed from his closed eyes.

  “To Folkvangr,” I whispered and disintegrated from earth.

  Chapter 13

  Theta, in her irritating way, was only trying to help me from a bad mood. As far as pets were concerned, she had a wicked sense of discernment, but I was having none of it. When I wanted to brood, no one could stop me.

  Instead, I shut her in a cage on the terrace and lay face down on a chaise, feeling like crying but not capable. I hadn’t cried since Freya and Odin had separated the reapers into Imperium and Divine. Since I reserved my tears for the strongest of emotions, I wondered why I’d consider crying now. The fleeting image of Maxwell crossed my mind. There was something soft about him, but something sinister as well. If I had to hide something of great value, I’d go with an oxymoron and put it in plain sight.

  A knock sounded at my door. Hastily, I sat up. Theta made a ruckus on the terrace, begging to be set free to gouge and purge. My visitor was an unwelcome one, then. I felt for the knife bound to my ankle before bidding entrance.

  “And I only had to knock,” Ottar drawled as he stepped into my chamber. With a wave of a hand, he shut the door quietly. “I was expecting more.”

  “Had I known it was you, I would have bolted the door with a charm.” My lip curled when his smile turned downward. “The only animal I allow in my chamber is Theta.” I stood up, being sure he saw the blade I held.

  Ottar, better known as Hildisvini, Freya’s prized boar. My skin grew cold and my eyes dimmed as they turned blood red. There was none more feared as a messenger than Ottar. To see him outside his boarish form was a harbinger of punishment.

  “You won’t be needing that.” Ottar disabled my blade using the power Freya allowed him. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and that sent Theta into a tizzy. His smile returned. “Someone needs to teach your bird manners.”

  “Stop,” I hissed.

  Ottar’s hand suspended.

  “I’ll take care of her. No need for violence.” A guttural noise left my throat as I marched to the terrace. Reaching into my robe, I pr
oduced a sleep medallion and placed it over the cage, then covered it with a blanket of silk. When I returned to my chamber, Ottar was assessing my things.

  “I think you know why I’m here,” he answered. He was in my head. My hands clenched around my robe and my wings expanded as I worked to clear my mind of topics that could incriminate me. He turned. “And you’re not wrong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My voice quivered. I closed my eyes until the heat dissipated. Anger and fear were a lethal combination and I needed to be sharp. Quickly, I produced a tea service. “But since you’re here, let’s speak in a civilized way. Tea?”

  Ottar’s nose turned up. “I don’t drink things grown by elves.”

  “Pity.” I shrugged and vanished the spare cup. “There is a certain healing property to it.” Gathering my wits, I walked over to the service and poured. “Contrary to what you believe, your visit comes as a surprise.”

  “I’ll bite.” His tone sent a shiver up my spine. My hand trembled as I placed the pot back on the tray. I looked over my shoulder when silence drew. “But only if you insist on drinking that awful stuff in my presence.”

  I snapped and the tea service disappeared. “Shall we sit?”

  Ottar sat, taking the chaise. He spread out his long legs and fluffed his dark blue robes. Taking a moment to collect myself, I sat on the closest tufted stool.

  “You’re frightened,” he stated.

  My eyes watered as I took in his hard features, the clean-shaven goatee and dark complexion. I clasped my hands in my lap and tucked my wings close, hoping I appeared disabled and submissive.

  “I haven’t seen you in this form in many years. Decades. Of course, I’m apprehensive.”

  His eyes searched mine and then panned to the table. For a second, I thought to throw a disappearing charm over the papers from Jord, but he’d already focused. This was where being sharp was needed.

  “Bring those to me,” he said.

  I could only obey. I steadied myself as I stood and reached for the documents. “This isn’t anything criminal.” I passed the pages to him and sat back down. If I stood any longer, I might have fallen. Terror such as this had not gripped me in an age.

  He flipped through the pages, his eyes bright with interest.

  “I’ve a halfling fetish,” I said coolly. He looked up. “Ever since Jasper, I’ve sought ways to ensure something like that would never befall a creature again. As I said. It isn’t a crime to read.”

  “But it is a crime to interfere with beings marked by Odin.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know whom you speak of.”

  Ottar tossed the pages in a heap. “And here I thought we were being civilized.” His shoulders slid into a more relaxed position. “Lying has no place in civility.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. If I admitted that I knew of Maxwell, I was signing my warrant. My head tilted. “I think you should state your business with me. Is that civil enough?”

  “Maxwell Adamsen is marked by Odin. It has come to the attention of our mother that you are…” His hands rotated as he appeared thoughtful.

  “That I’m trying to keep this reap safe?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  There was no way to know how much he knew—how much Freya knew. The less information I gave, the better. “I study halflings to be sure it doesn’t happen again. One human soul cast into the veil is enough for eternity. I noticed a mortal marked by Odin and I’m doing what I can to see that he is reaped for Valhalla.”

  “So, you believe him to be a halfling?”

  I was horrible at interrogations where I was in the hot seat. Geirolf had once told me that my poker face sucked. He’d been correct. “I believe he’s complicated.” Total truth.

  “You and I are complicated beings,” Ottar said. He crossed his arms, his hands disappearing into the folds of his elaborate robe. “Adamsen is arduous.”

  “How so?” I dared ask.

  “His family is multi-generational Valhalla, but I’m not telling you anything that you don’t know already. Such a gifted mortal requires the utmost respected protection of our pantheon. We ensure the world’s survival.” Ottar’s mouth twisted when Theta’s cage trembled with her unspent rage of being silenced. He glanced skyward and gave his head a shake. “I digress. I’m not here to speak of unmentionables, but rather royal business.”

  Promptly, I stood. “I’ve committed no crime.”

  “Would you like to know what Freya thinks of your extracurricular activities?”

  “I would like to know why you’re here.” Iron shackles fastened on my ankles. I jumped at the assault, moving aside my robes to view the heavenly items. It was a tracking device as well as a stabilizer. If I ventured from immortal realms, my body would be cast into the veil. I looked up, my jaw slack. “House arrest? You’re placing me on house arrest?”

  “For the time being, yes.”

  “People will starve if this is allowed,” I spoke loudly. “If I can’t reap, I will lose life force, as will many handmaidens.”

  “You barely reap as of late.” Ottar’s shoulder lifted. “Your dismal efforts have left Magna an emotional skeleton. It has been granted that Orum will fuel your portion of immortals until the trial is over.”

  “What crime have I committed?” My face heated with shame. “I’ll admit that I’m curious concerning the mortal, but I’ve done nothing to warrant a trial.”

  Ottar came to the edge of his seat and I squirmed with the intensity that he radiated. “You’ve done nothing to warrant a trial? How dare you insult the wisdom of Freya. I could escort you to the veil now and receive a hero’s medal for it. It would save valuable time and energy spent on a trial in which we both know you will be outed.”

  “Fine,” I bit out. “A trial that will end in my exoneration.” I flopped back onto the seat behind me, my legs thrust out to reveal the ghastly shackles of disdain. “Will you tell me the charges? I’d like to be informed. I do have rights, you know?” My being churned with anticipation. I’d done so many things wrong, there was plenty to choose from.

  “Yours is a trial of loyalty,” Ottar spat as if the words tasted bad. Obviously, he disagreed with Freya’s choice. But a trial of loyalty meant that she didn’t know how low I’d dropped my standards. If she knew I’d shown my immortal form, there would be no trial of any sort.

  I was safe. Minimally, but still.

  “Freya desires your willing commitment to the realm of Folkvangr. It has come to her attention that you are prying in dealings that are none of your business. A soul marked by Odin is an untouchable, and you’ve meddled. Folkvangr needs champions, not busy bodies. It’s quite a simple task. Prove your loyalty and you’re free.” Ottar’s expression darkened. “Do you think this task, this trial, too severe?”

  “No,” I ground out. There was nothing left to be said. Any words would be used against me, and I still didn’t know how much they knew.

  A scroll materialized on the table near the chaise. “Freya’s requirements aren’t burdensome. I’ve provided you a copy of the law and what is expected of you during this trial, lest you’ve forgotten.”

  Without another breath or word, Ottar disappeared, leaving me to piece things together.

  Reluctantly, I walked over to the scroll and picked it up. My chest ached with the tension no one other than me had caused. My pride had put me on this path. If I’d only stayed away from Geirolf and his human. All the game pieces had to work together. I crumpled into a heap on the chaise, grimacing when I smelled the lingering scent of wild animal. I needed a plan, but being grounded in limited worlds inhibited what I could accomplish. Having a tracker on my being should deter me, but it didn’t.

  There was too much at stake to quit now.

  I changed into my longer, formal robes, and walked in short, quick steps in an attempt to conceal the monstrosity attached to my ankle. Not that the thing wasn’t common. It was wid
ely used by the gods. The uncommon factor was that it was a reaper sporting one. That never happened, and the last thing I needed was to be more inconspicuous. My gait and wardrobe worked. I managed to get to the elves’ surplus without suspicion. I ducked into the tent and immediately slammed into a jumble of elves.

  “Pardon me,” I said. Contrary to popular lore, elves didn’t have pointy ears, but their eyes were feline like. That was their distinguishing trait. At the moment, four pairs of yellow eyes stared at me with trepidation. I was surrounded. “I’m here to see Tove.”

  The black-haired elf sniffed the air, while two others fought over the piece of material she held. The one on the floor lifted the hem of my robe and snickered. I kicked her in the face and snatched my robe from her hand.

  “Do you have something to trade?” I turned and saw a slight elf, older than the rest of them. She sat on a high stool behind a stack of bolted silks and wool. The glasses she wore were muted and foggy. She was blind.

  “We’ll take this,” the elf on the floor giggled, pointing at my ankle.

  I scoffed, pushing her with my foot. She fell backward in a fit of giggles. “I have something of interest; yes.”

  “Tyra,” the blind elf spoke to the black-haired one. “Bring her to the back where the other immortal awaits.”

  My wings twitched. “I will have a private audience with Tove.” I looked about the tent. Seemingly plain on the outside, the interior was elaborate and much larger than expected. Magic sizzled in the air.

  “Depends on the trade,” Tyra replied. She glanced at my feet, or rather, the spot where the anklet was bound. “And let’s hope your request doesn’t get us all into trouble.”

  “Tyra,” the blind elf rebuked. “Lead her to the back. Tove will want to see this one.”

  Tyra roughly grabbed my arm, but I didn’t fight her. It was market day in Asgard, and there were plenty of witnesses about if I was to be roughed up by a parcel of elves. The tent was loaded with dwarfs and immortals. An Imperium reaper nodded as Tyra led me into another part of the tent. We passed through a door of curtains and I was hit by icy air. The hair on my arms stood as I sensed the presence of giants. As we walked on, the light diminished until the only thing that illuminated our path was a string of multi-colored bulbs. She thrust me into a darkened area filled with crates and barrels.