Authors: T. G. Ayer
"We do not require time to rest. Valkyries and Warriors have strength. It is the nature of who we are and what we do. We live very long lives. We have been gifted with the strength to endure the battles, to endure the passing of time." Sigrun scanned my face, her features thoughtful, as if she were choosing her words carefully. "Have you felt your need for food diminish in the last few weeks?"
I nodded.
"Water?"
I nodded again, wondering where she was going with this line of questions.
"Sleep?"
"Yeah, now that you mention sleep, I haven't been sleeping much these days. I can actually get by on a couple of hours." I shook my head. Why hadn't I noticed this before? Perhaps I'd been so absorbed with the golden auras, and Joshua's death. My ridiculous sham of a romance with Aidan. Brody. "But I slept like a baby after my wings appeared."
I'd barely been able to keep my eyes open after the torture of the Rites of the Valkyrie.
"That was the power of Mead," Sigrun responded between mouthfuls.
"So what exactly is this Mead? I remember reading that it was a drink of the gods."
"Yes, the Mead is the drink of the gods, the Milk of Strength. The goat Heidrun produces the Mead, which keeps the Warriors, the
einherjar
, strong."
"Ayn what?" I frowned.
"
Einherjar
. It is the Norse word for Warrior or fighter." Sigrun laughed and shook her head at my confusion. "The Mead regenerates the Warriors after a battle or after training. It heals wounds, soothes muscles, relaxes. It is why the Warriors on the field do not fear being wounded."
"I would've thought they wouldn't fear mere flesh wounds since they were dead anyway."
"No, you must not think that at all. The
einherjar
and the Valkyries are all very much alive. The Warriors who have been retrieved have been given life again. The beautiful glow they possess means their death will not be final."
"Won't that make them zombies?" I smiled behind my goblet, before draining it.
"Zombies? What is this thing you call zombies." Little furrows wrinkled Sigrun's forehead.
"They are people who have been dead but are brought back to life," I said. Sigrun nodded, so I continued. "They usually look horrible, with dead, half-decomposed bodies, and go around killing people."
I gave Sigrun the standard Thriller Zombie stance complete with raised arms and flared fingers. Her expression stayed blank. She didn't seem amused or impressed with my reenactment. In fact, she didn't even crack a smile. Just looked at me as if I were a demented creature best put out of its misery.
"You have some strange beliefs in this
modern
world of yours." Sigrun shook her head sadly. "The scout teams go out into Midgard and bring back stories of your world. To be honest, I have never wanted to visit your world simply because of your strange beliefs. I believe I may have been right in my choice."
"I'm sorry, I was just teasing." I touched her arm, hoping to coax a smile, and I was relieved when she offered a tiny one.
"Never mind that. How do you feel today? I hope we have not taxed you too much."
"Oh, I feel fine," I said. "Really good, actually. And I want to thank you for being so nice to me."
Her smile was gracious.
As I turned back to my plate, the hairs on my neck lifted. Someone was watching us. Watching me. I raised my eyes slightly and caught Astrid staring at me, three tables over. From this distance I couldn't hear her words, but her expression made it easy enough to make out her feelings. Why did she dislike me?
She caught my eye across the tables and lifted her goblet, sending me a toast. I returned the gesture for propriety's sake only, despite her frigid stare. Beside me, Sigrun stiffened. She'd seen it too. I wondered if she'd noticed Astrid's eyes remain on my neck. The girl she sat with stared at it too. Perhaps it was wise for me to lengthen the cord so the gem hid beneath my armor. I wasn't enjoying the attention the jewel kept receiving.
"What's her problem?" I asked. The nervous, quivering rustle of my wings reminded me they were actually there, that they existed.
"She is afraid of you. She feels threatened now that you are back."
"Back? I'm not back. I haven't been here before, Sigrun."
"But that is just the thing. You have been here before." Sigrun grasped my arm, "You were here a long time ago, Brynhildr. And Astrid still feels you took her lover from her."
I almost choked on a mouthful of butter-soft meat, glad when I managed to swallow it down instead of ejecting it across the table. "So, she has it in for me because some Valkyrie who lived here hundreds of years ago stole her boyfriend?" I laughed. This sounded so like high school.
"Not just some Valkyrie. It was you." Sigrun spoke in earnest, leaning closer. "Gunnar was her first love, but then he met you and you two fell deeply in love. A love that was incomparable. They overcame so many obstacles to ensure their love survived. Their love is a message we all hold dear. That love can conquer all."
"But I was created in a lab, Sigrun. My father stole DNA from the dig site that uncovered Brunhilde's remains. And he merged those DNA strands with mine. It can't mean I'm Brunhilde. Or even a reincarnation of her."
"That is just what it does mean. Your human father created an easy route for you to live again, and your soul and spirit took that route. He made it possible."
Invisible fingers squeezed all the breath out of my lungs. What Sigrun was trying so say was inconceivable. Me, the reincarnation of the Warrior Princess Brunhilde? It didn't make any sense at all.
***
I awakened from a dreamless sleep. Not a common occurrence in recent months. I stiffened, sitting up in the bed, remembering that since my arrival in Asgard I'd been dream-free. No dreams of armor-clad, bloody men, or ravens or howling wolves. I snorted. No reason to dream when the dreams were now my reality.
Turi arrived soon after with a tray of hot coffee and pastries. The coffee was way too weak and milky for me but I drank it anyway. Gratitude and thirst were eager bedfellows. I savored the buttery, flaky flavors of the pastries and stretched the sleep from my body while the fire warmed my toes.
Turi hustled around the room. "I have brought your armor," she said. "And Sigrun says for you to dress and go down to the training field as soon as you have broken your fast." She nodded vigorously and turned to tend the fire, flicking her strange cow-tail. I made a mental note to ask Sigrun about Turi and her strange tail. I'd intended to do just that yesterday, but after the encounters with Astrid and Fenrir, and with all the new information Sigrun had heaped on me, I'd forgotten all about it. Until now.
Lost in thought, I didn't hear Turi grasp the clinking chainmail and bring it over to me until she said, "Here you go, I will hold it for you and help you get into it." She lifted the armor in her hands as if it weighed nothing. I stared in awe. I knew very well how heavy the armor was, and it looked like this particular set had additional chainmail for the upper arms, and a double breastplate too.
My stomach twisted as I wondered exactly what was in store for me on the field that required additional armor. Fenrir didn't seem like the kind of trainer who held back. In fact, he scared me, and I wasn't sure I even wanted to be trained by him. Surely someone else could do the job.
I decided to ask Sigrun when I got to the field. For now, I tried not to think about it and quietly slipped my arms into the armor, allowing Turi to make quick work of tying the buckles and belts at my back.
The weight of the armor settled onto my body, but it took mere seconds for my torso and limbs to adjust to the feel of the metal. As if the chain armor had learned the pattern and shape of my body, learned the curves and crevices, and now lay warm and gleaming against me.
It was much like my wings. They'd become so much a part of me that I only remembered their presence when a stray feather floated off, or a random breeze rustled through them and set them in motion.
Or, of course, when I was upset or afraid. But the last time that happened was at the dining table when Astrid stared daggers at me.
The only other time I was ever truly conscious of the wings was when they forced my upper body to support their considerable weight. Like now. As I sat on the stool, just bending forward to tie the laces on my lower leg armor threatened to topple me forward.
Turi giggled. "Wait. I shall help you. We really do not want you falling onto your head." She knelt before me and reached for the laces. I sat back, blood rushing from my head as I watched her finish the job with deft fingers, probably in one-tenth of the time it would have taken me. I was still pretty useless, still had so much to learn about the city and my purpose here.
"Thank you," I said softly, grateful for her kindness and her help.
"No need to thank. It is my job." There she went with that nodding again, accompanied by a bright smile and a slight rustle at her skirts.
I bristled slightly; her subservient manner didn't sit well with me. "Yes, there is a need to thank you."
She shrugged, then stood behind me, tugging at my hair and running a brush through my tousled locks. My hair had been left to dry after bathing at the glorious pool. I'd forgotten all about drying and styling it, with my fearful fascination with Fenrir the great wolf-man. So it was now a mess of knots. Turi made quick work of them and was soon brushing the length of my hair in long strokes.
She came around, gave her handiwork an assessing glance, one hand on her hip, the other still wielding the brush. Satisfied, she turned back to the large chair and retrieved another bronzed piece that glinted in the firelight.
I inhaled a gasp of appreciation at what she held aloft: an incredible helmet. It was rounded, clearly meant to hug my skull. Turi placed the headpiece over my hair, adjusting it until she was happy. The weight of it was not at all as alien and uncomfortable as I'd expected it to be. It totally felt like it belonged.
"Come and look at yourself." Turi inclined her head, urging me to a corner of the room where the strangest thing I had yet seen in Asgard confronted me: a full-length, factory-made wall mirror.
I blinked, not at my reflection but at this bizarre piece of modern furniture smack dab in the middle of a room that otherwise looked as if it had last been decorated in Viking times.
Then I saw my reflection and forgot all about the mirror. I gawked at the beautiful creation I now wore as if I was born to wear it. It curved gently around my skull, riding low all the way down my forehead. Intricate knots, reminiscent of the pillars and walls in Odin's Great Hall, decorated the forehead piece. The helmet curved around both my eyes, two little scallops just revealing my eyebrows. Though it covered most of my upper face, it wasn't restrictive at all.
I stared, my attention drawn next to the pair of wings on the sides of the helmet. Gilded wings, meant to provide further protection, curved around and down my cheeks and accented my face. Ingenious, and beautiful. Each wing carved so intricately and so accurately that I half expected them to flutter and quiver against my cheeks.
"There, it is a perfect fit." Turi rubbed her hands together, smiling with glee.
"How did they know my size?" I marveled at the immense skill of the craftsmen who'd worked on my armor and now on this incredible helmet. It looked much like an artifact, like it belonged in a museum, not like part of your regular training uniform.
"Oh, because this helmet is yours, Brunhilde." There she went nodding again.
I frowned, staring at the gleaming headpiece. "This isn't mine." The girl was clearly off her rocker. Spaced out.
"Of course it is. The helmet, the armor. They belong to you. We have kept them safe for you, Brunhilde. We knew you would return to us and now, at last, you have come home." She clasped her hands together, her eyes shining in delight as she stared at me.
The awe in her eyes creeped me out. That, and the fact she insisted on calling me Brunhilde. I turned to leave, still slightly off balance both from the weight of the new armor and the weight of new possibilities.
"Wait, there is one last thing." Turi dusted out a cloak and came around to rest it on my shoulders. Made of heavy wool, weaved so beautifully, it felt like cashmere wherever it caressed my bare skin. "It is cold outside, and the armor will absorb the cold too quickly. The cloak will keep you warm until you get to the training fields."
The last thing Turi did was pull the hood over my beautiful helmet and nod happily. Her job done, she left, taking with her the cheerful smile and her strange cow's tail. I stared at the closed door. Could it be?
First Sigrun had gone on about how I was the reincarnation of the real Brunhilde. And now Turi was also convinced I was this ancient Valkyrie?
Could I really be the Warrior Princess Brunhilde reborn?
The morning light cast a bleary net across the sky, with no hint of sunny skies or rain clouds. I shivered as I walked the route to the training fields, pulling the warm cloak around me, grateful to Turi for her thoughtfulness. But my mind whirled with images of the training fields, and with anxiety. I was unsure if it was the cold or the prospect of seeing Fenrir again that caused the tremors. I marched on.