Dark Devotion: Dark Series 3 (18 page)

Tove woke to the smell of roasting pig, the sweet scent filling her nose. Was she still at her wedding feast? Her eyes opened slowly, the sight of huge fires burning in stone hearths coming into focus. She sat up, alarmed. Where was she? The hall was huge, larger than any building she had ever seen before. Vast columns held the roof in place, the white stone carved with depictions of great battles. Tove thought she also saw all of the greatest gods in the images too – Odin and Thor, Tyr and Freyja. They had their spears and swords drawn, engaging in fierce battles with Fenrir, Surt and Nidhogg. The ceiling was thatched with golden swords and spears, all of them reflecting back the warmth of the fires. In front of her were long benches with tables – all of them empty.

Standing up slowly, she shuffled forward a few steps, expecting to feel a lancing pain through her back. She had been impaled by a spear, hadn’t she? Her memory was foggy, like the battle that had broken out in her home had happened years ago rather than minutes. She came to a doorway, the width of it large enough to fit at least eight hundred soldiers through, shoulder to shoulder. Through the opening, she saw two wolves standing on either side. One turned and snarled at her, making her take a step back.

“They won’t harm you.”

Tove spun around. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair was standing there. Her eyes were a curious mix of two shades of blue.

The woman smiled at her warmly. “And I won’t harm you either. You are safe here, Tove.”

“How do you—” Tove stopped, startled by the guttural sound of her voice. Bringing her hands to her neck, her fingers brushed past a thick scar running across the front of her throat.

The woman’s serene expression darkened for a moment. “I’m sorry about that. I tried to get him to heal all of you, but he wouldn’t.”

Tove swallowed. “Who wouldn’t?” She recoiled at the harsh timber. “Where am I? What is this place?”

The woman shook her head, giving her that same friendly smile again. “I’m being so rude. Let me introduce myself. I’m Brynhildr.”

Tove could feel her eyes widen. “The Valkyrie?” she whispered.

Brynhildr shrugged almost sheepishly. “The one and only. And Odin was the one who wouldn’t heal your throat.”

She almost swallowed her own tongue. “The All-Father?”

Brynhildr nodded and held out her hand to Tove. She took it, feeling a power flow through the goddess’s fingers and into her. It gave Tove an inner strength she didn’t know was flagging. “I’ll take you to him. He wanted to see you when you woke.”

The Valkyrie led her through another large doorway and into a hallway inlaid with more golden shields and spears. Along the walls were stone statues, although Tove didn’t recognize any of the faces. Tove’s bare feet moved soundlessly across the stone floor, following Brynhildr deeper into what she could only assume was a vast building. “What is this place?” Tove hated the sound of her voice, but she needed answers too badly.

“Valhalla.”

Of course she had heard of Valhalla before; it was the great hall of the dead located in Asgard. If she was there, it would mean she was …

“Am I dead?” The Valkyrie didn’t slow, didn’t turn, didn’t answer. Tove wasn’t sure Brynhildr had heard her. “Brynhildr?”

“Yes.”

Dead?
“How long have I been gone from Midgard?”

The goddess stopped walking, drawing Tove to a stop. “No more than three hours of your human time. Time passes differently here though. Here, in Asgard, you have been sleeping – recovering – for a week.”

Tove’s head started to spin. “What of my father? And Soren? Did they survive the battle?”

Brynhildr started walking again. “I’ll let Odin tell you. He has his reasons for doing things, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything to you.”

Tove started to follow Brynhildr again. They arrived at a door that looked no different from any of the other hundred they had already passed. The Valkyrie knocked before entering, not waiting for permission. Inside, a large fire burned in a hearth against the wall. Animal skins layered the floor, keeping the room warm. On the opposite wall to the fire was a large bed, and against the window directly opposite to where they were standing were a table and bench.

There was a man with his back to them, his head bent over something she couldn’t see. He had dark hair and the shoulders of a warrior. This could not be the All-Father. He was supposed to be a wizened old man with long gray hair and a beard. Brynhildr cleared her throat, drawing attention to them. The man turned, and Tove immediately felt as if she was standing in front of the sun. There was so much power, so much radiance coming from him. He had one green eye, the other was just a simple black orb. He approached them, stepping up to Tove and inspecting her closely. She could see her fearful reflection in his glass eye, and it was unnerving.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” she replied softly.

His gaze fell to her throat, and he softly thumbed the scar. “I’m sure Bryn told you I did not see fit to heal this wound.” She nodded, feeling his thumb sweeping back and forth along her skin. “Has she told you why?”

“No.”

Odin’s eyes traveled to Brynhildr for a mere second before his lips flexed into a smile. “Why did you kill him, your husband?”

Tove licked her lips, unsure what to say. Did he already know the answer before she spoke it? “He was not a good man.”

His head cocked to the side. “Go on.”

“He raped and killed my faithful servant and then tried to rape me also.”

“But he is your husband. Who are you to stop a man from getting something he desires?”

Tove bristled. “He
was
my husband and just because a child wants to touch a fire, it does not mean you should let them.”

Odin’s features hardened, causing Tove’s heart to race. Had she spoken out of turn? She only relaxed when the god threw back his head and laughed. The sound boomed around the room.

“I can see why you were watching this one, Brynhildr.”

She had drawn the attention of the gods? Tove didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing.

Odin continued, “If you are to join us here, you must abandon everything from your former human life – your family, your friends, everything that you know, including your name. Forget it all. That is the only way to truly become one of my Valkyries.”

Tove blinked dumbly. “Your … Valkyries?”

“Did you think I simply brought you back to life for no reason? You are here to serve me.” Odin touched his chin thoughtfully. “Your new name will be Gunner. It means ‘battle’.” He looked her over speculatively. “After what your actions caused, it seems like a fitting name.”

Tove licked her lips, nervous for a moment. “Odin, what of my father?”

“Dead.” Odin went to the fire, staring into the flames. “He was struck down moments after you were killed.”

“Where is he? If he died during battle, he should have been brought here to Valhalla.”

The All-Father didn’t even acknowledge her. “He died cowering from his enemy, begging for mercy.”

His words lit a fire inside Tove. Halvdan was not a coward. Her father was feared for his ferocity on the battlefield and he was respected for his even-handed rule. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, the urge to defend her father still as strong as it had always been. It was only Brynhildr’s hand on her shoulder that stopped her.

“You will not win against him.” It wasn’t a warning she was giving. It was just advice. Tove turned to look at her.

“What about Soren? Did he survive the battle?”

“No.”

“Take her to see what the consequences of her actions were,” Odin said. “Let her see what she brought down on her own people.” Tove glowered at the All-Father. He glared right back. “You can hate me. I did not want to save your life.”

“Why did you do it then?” she spat.

The god looked to Brynhildr. “You have her to thank. She was the one who wanted you.”

“Come,” Brynhildr urged, taking Tove by the arm and leading her away. Brynhildr led them out a large doorway and outside into a courtyard; the sun was shining down on them. Tove shielded her eyes, her gaze falling on a gilt tree. Its bark, its branches, even its leaves were gold. There seemed to be a glow coming from within the trunk too, lighting it up from within.

“Close your eyes, Gunner.” The new name jarred Tove, but she had to think of herself as Gunner now. “Good. Now I want you to think about your old village. Imagine yourself standing in the market. Smell the smells, hear the sounds.”

Although she didn’t understand why, she shut her eyes and let the memories come. The sound of hawkers calling out above the din of the crowd filled her ears, the smells of fresh fish and cooking meats surrounded her, dragging her back to when she’d walk through the market, looking at everything, sampling mead from traveling merchants and tasting the sweetest plums and strawberries.

“Open your eyes,” the Valkyrie instructed. Tove did, gasping when she saw where they were standing. The buildings surrounding them were nothing more than glowing embers and charred wood. The ground was black as well – scarred – and the scent of burned timbers sat heavily in the air.

“Where are we?” Tove asked, staring wide-eyed at her surroundings.

“Your village.”

She turned to the goddess. “What happened?”

Brynhildr’s dual-ringed eyes tracked over what remained of Tove’s home. “Vadik Dalgaard’s warriors, the ones who survived the fight in the great hall, swept through the rest of the village, raping and pillaging as they went. When everyone was dead, and the ones who had fled were cut down, they set fire to every building.” She met Tove’s eyes. “Your home, as you knew it, is gone.”

Tove started shaking her head, trying to deny what she already knew was truth. “No,” she whispered, her voice dropping down to a low, hard rasp.

“This is the reason Odin would not repair your throat. He said you could live the rest of your immortal life with the reminder of what you did. He never wanted you to forget.”

Tears formed in Tove’s eyes. “Why?”

Brynhildr sighed. “The All-Father gave his eye at Mimir’s Well in order to know everything there was to know. That knowledge is a burden he lives with … Let’s just say he likes to make others feel his pain sometimes.”

Tove was speechless, but she could see the god’s reasoning if she squinted at it for a long time: she had made a decision – a decision which had repercussions much larger than she could have foreseen or ever imagined. It didn’t make it better though. She had killed her father. She had killed Soren. She may not have been wielding the sword, but she was responsible. She looked around, seeing the ghosts of everyone in the village. Their lives had ended because she couldn’t accept – no –
wouldn’t
accept her father’s ruling.

It was all her fault. She felt ashamed of herself for being so selfish. She wasn’t worthy of calling herself Tove Norling.

“Why did you save me, Brynhildr?” Her words were nothing but a hoarse whisper.

“Bryn,” she said. “Just call me Bryn. Only Odin calls me by my full name, and only because he knows it annoys me. And the reason is simple. You are a fierce warrior, and I can see some of myself in you.” Bryn touched Tove’s cheek softly, briefly, before letting her hand drop to her side. “Come. There is nothing but waste and desolation here.”

Letting out a breath, Tove closed her eyes. The smell of smoke, ash and death disappeared completely, the scent of ale and slow roasting meat taking its place. She opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of the gold tree once more.

Tove stepped away, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “I wish to be alone for a while.”

Bryn’s eyes studied Tove’s face, searching for something. She nodded. “I’ll take you to your chambers.”

As they walked through the halls of Valhalla, the sounds of a great feast drifted through the corridors with them. Passing the largest doorway, she could see hundreds of men drinking, eating and fighting, the scuffles lasting no more than a few moments before each man would sit back down again and drink some more.

They continued on to a quiet hallway where Bryn stopped at a huge ash door. “This will be your room.” Bryn pushed on it, revealing a room filled with furs, a large bed and an immense hearth. “There’s some new clothes for you in the trunk at the foot of the bed.”

I don’t deserve any of this,
Tove thought grimly.

“If you need anything, just knock on my door – my room is right next to yours.”

Tove nodded, counting down the seconds until she could be alone. When the door finally shut behind her, she stripped off her mother’s torn and bloody wedding clothes and held them in her hands for a few moments. Even though it pained her, she threw them into the hungry flames. As she watched the fabric burn, she thought of her old self burning with them. She decided that she would embrace her new name, her new life.

Looking around, she saw a platter of fruits and a knife on a nearby table. She picked up the knife, testing its edge. The blade bit into the skin on her thumb effortlessly. Tipping the fruit from the platter, she looked at the polished surface, seeing her face reflected back. The image was distorted and crude, but it would be sufficient to her needs.

In front of the fire, she propped the dish up against the stone hearth and sat before it. Taking a hank of her hair in her hands, she brought the blade up, pressing it close to her scalp. Her blonde hair came away from her head easily. It was almost like skinning an animal. Tove stared at the blonde locks, letting the fine hairs sift through her fingers. They fell to the ground, dusting the furs on the floor.

She looked at herself in the platter once more, seeing the huge patch where her hair had once been. She took another bunch in her hands and sheared it off, letting it fall. Again and again she did this, her actions more and more frenzied. With every movement of the blade, Tove felt more distanced from her former human life. Like her clothes in the fire, Tove was being burned away, revealing something new, some
one
different.