Dead Radiance(19)

The white shift beneath the chainmail stuck to me in soggy clumps while sweat dripped from my forehead and neck. I tilted forward to compensate for the new weight at my back, afraid I'd fall backward if I remained straight up. Hands gripped my arms and drew me with gentle care to my feet. Held on until my legs ceased pretending they were lumps of wobbly goo.

The soft melody continued, weaving threads of comfort around me. Sigrun held onto my arm and a rush of air touched my cheek. I turned and stared at her, exhausted and very frightened. I glanced around and saw that every woman in the room now had wings at her back, outstretched, fluttering on an invisible breeze.

But it wasn't Sigrun's or anyone else's wings which had caused the rush of air so close to me. The weight on my shoulders moved and I turned my head, taking in the sight of a pair of my own stunningly beautiful red-bronze wings, which shivered and fluttered.

I gasped at the beauteous sight. And fainted.



My respite in the land of unconscious bliss was welcome and relieving. Sleep felt wonderful. I wriggled and stretched like a lazy cat. My eyes were shut tight. It's just a dream, Bryn. Open your eyes and you'll be back in your bedroom at Ms. Custer's house, with this having been an amazing, scary, pain-filled dream.

But even while I spent time gnawing at the thought, a part of my consciousness registered the warm crackling of the fire and the comfortable caress of the wool underneath me.

I sighed and cracked an eye open.

Still the same room. The same fire. So it might be real after all. Unless it was like those strange dreams I sometimes had when I would wake with a start, try to shake off the dream, and go back to sleep only to fall straight back into the same dream.

I wriggled, then stretched my tight, sleep-drenched limbs and groaned as my muscles screamed from the torture. But it was not only my arms and legs that rebelled. A heavy constant weight at my back also pulled against my shoulders, which was agonizing all on its own.

Everything came rushing back to me. Sigrun. Asgard. Odin. The golden Mead and the warrior women and my initiation as a Valkyrie.

The wings.

I laughed aloud. This ridiculous dream was going way too far now. It had to stop. Soon, or I'd go stark raving mad. Pushing off the covers, I came to my feet in a rush of pulsing muscles and fluttering wings.

A feather floated past. It swirled and twirled on an eddy of air, as if an invisible tornado spun in slow motion, pulling the feather around and around in a silent dance. Soon it slowed and floated back and forth until it reached the floor in a soft silent sweep.

I couldn't hold back the tears. How long had I been gone from Craven? How long had I been unconscious before Sigrun awakened me the first time, and how many days had I slept after the Initiation?

I shivered. And the wings at my back quivered in answer, understanding and reflecting my fear.

The low fire gave out no warmth and I had no idea how to bring it to life. What sheltered, spoiled lives we lived in our modern age. Lights and central heating, computers and cars. I bet Asgard had no internet available. Or cell phone reception.

My phone! In the pocket of my jeans. I'd have to ask Sigrun for it, if she appeared again. I was beginning to accept this wasn't much of a dream. I got to my feet and scanned the stark room for something to wrap around my chilled body. The white dress looked pretty, but it didn't keep out the growing cold.

My only source of warmth was the amber pendant, still safely tied at my neck, still glowing like a miniature sun. I understood then what a deep sense of security the small jewel gave me.

I tugged the covers and stared at them, fascinated and slightly repulsed. Real animal pelts, not factory spun fake-mink like the one I had back home. I shivered again, and the desire to be warm overrode my revulsion. I drew the fur around me and rose to my feet.

The cold floor bit at my bare feet but I was determined to exercise my cramped muscles. I walked across the length and breadth of the room, pausing to lunge and stretch my thigh and calf muscles. Not quite yoga, but good enough.

I tilted forward to compensate for the bulk of the wings, and rounded my shoulders. Slow and easy does it. Amazing. It wasn't as difficult as I'd expected. My shoulders now possessed a natural strength to bear the weight of the wings. They still felt weird to me and I avoided looking at them. I concentrated on exercising the muscles in my back, neck and shoulders, to ease the tightness and soreness, to get my mind off where I was and how hopeless it seemed to return home.

At last, with some stiffness out of my legs and shoulders, I felt human again.

Human. A sharp stabbing pain wrenched through my heart. But I was not human. Wings were not human. I was more of a monster and freak than ever. Cherise had called me a freak. If she saw me now, what would she say? Mutant? Monster?

The abyss began to call me to the precipice. Loud. Insistent. I gritted my teeth, feeling the solidity, the reality of the pressure, and tried to focus on the here and now.

I felt a little more limber now, able to walk better, and I shuffled to the door, still unused to the weight of the wings. But, as if on cue, it opened and Sigrun glided into the room along with a rush of cold air. Shivering, I tugged the fur closer.

"Oh good. You are awake." She smiled.

A smile that warmed me inside out. I remembered that she'd been a friend to me. She'd helped me through the Initiation just by standing beside me. But it didn't mean she'd been entirely honest with me either.

A doubtful frown replaced my answering smile, but Sigrun just shook her head.

"I know you must be upset with me for not telling you what was going to happen, but those are Odin's rules. I really would have told you if I had been allowed," she said, bringing a large wooden tray to a stool by the fire.

She dragged the stool toward my bed and said, "Sit and eat. You need the strength. I will get the fire going again." She gave a delicate shiver and turned to tend the fire, throwing a few more logs onto it until it blazed happily, giving off the most welcoming toasty warmth.

I stared at the food. A goblet of gleaming Mead. A plate of bread, still warm and slathered with melting butter. A handful of blood-red cherries and a small bowl of honey. The Mead whispered, and though I worried about the deliciously addictive effect it might have on me, my traitorous tongue was already tracing my lips.

Naked thirst knifed my belly and my throat ached, parched, as if I'd roamed a desert for weeks. My body shivered and I gave in, reaching for the goblet, ready to gulp the contents of the goblet down.

"Do not drink the Mead too quickly, Brynhildr. Slow sips will be much better for you, or your stomach may rebel." She smiled as she raised her palms to the fire.

I folded my quaking fingers around the cup. "Call me Bryn, okay?" I still disliked the old name, and all it implied. I was annoyed that everyone kept using my full name, assuming I'd be happy with it.

Sigrun frowned, confused for a moment. Then her eyes brightened. "Ah, yes. Bryn is a shortened form of Brynhildr. Yes, the modern human proclivity for shortening names. If it makes you feel more comfortable then I shall call you Bryn. Now drink and eat and rest."

I sipped the divine liquid and it took all my strength not to swallow everything in one go. The drink was liquid cotton candy and honey straight from the comb. Sweet and warm and delicious.

"I don't think I could go back to sleep. I feel fine, actually." My eyes darted to the door, and despite the gorgeous drink, I longed to leave this claustrophobic room. Fresh air sounded wonderful, even if it was cold fresh air. "I need to get out of here for a while."

"Oh, there will be plenty of time to explore and learn about Asgard. But your recuperation is terribly important, Bryn. Not only for your own health. It is important to Odin and the Valkyries too. It is not often we receive a new Valkyrie into our fold. And besides, you need to get strong and prepare for the goddess to arrive. I am sure she is as excited to know that the child of the legendary Brunhilde has joined us in Asgard."

Content to drink my Mead, I listened to Sigrun's excited ramblings with only half an ear. Not until I'd dripped the last dregs into my mouth did the meaning of her last words register. Child of who? I coughed, sputtered. "Goddess?" I asked.

"Oh, Freya. She is our goddess. The leader of the Warrior Valkyries. She will lead us into the battle Ragnarok when it comes." Sigrun looked away, but not before fear flitted across her usually cheerful features. She even wrung her hands as she fell silent.

I wanted to ask her about Brunhilde, and what Ragnarok was and when did she think this battle would arrive, but my head began to swim, the room tilting at odd angles. The Mead must have been drugged. I struggled to keep my eyes open. But it was much more comfortable when I closed them and the world stopped spinning.

I gave in to the lure of sleep, and crawled under the covers. It was rude to ignore poor Sigrun, but I didn't get a chance to thank her for her help and kindness. As I slipped into the warmth of sleep, I recalled Sigrun's face, the worry and concern in her eyes as she looked at the amber jewel hanging at my throat.





Chapter 17



The fog of sleep evaporated, and I tensed as new sounds intruded on my lethargy. Fabric swooshed and rustled, and soft footsteps whispered across the floor. I cracked open an eyelid. A young serving girl, her dark hair braided to frame a plump, cheerful face, stopped in front of the fire and glanced over to me as I stirred. I sighed in relief and yawned, my hammering heart slowly returning to a normal plod.