Chapter Seven

Birdsong and a floral, sweet smelling cool breeze stirred her senses. She slowly opened her eyes and blinked several times, trying to make sense of the scene above her.

A mural of an epic battle greeted her sight: Winged horses and winged women, ravens and spears, fallen warriors and ravening wolves. At its edges, her eyes followed the elaborately carved, gold-painted rafters to the end of the room’s domed, cathedral ceiling, and down its polished stone walls to the smooth marble floor. Soft light emanated from recessed sconces on the walls, the source of that light not readily apparent. LED or flame? It was anybody’s guess.

Violet gingerly turned her head toward the tall, arched window from which the wind came. Warm sunlight poured into the room, casting everything in its deep golden glow. Whether it was dusk or dawn, she couldn’t tell. She heard the roar of ocean waves hitting rock faces, the calls of gulls, and the din of what sounded like many human voices in the near distance.

“Ah, she finally awakens,” a deep male voice softly declared from somewhere close by her head and she started, sitting up abruptly.

The sheets fell from her torso and she frantically clawed them back to her breast, realizing with stark horror that she was completely naked. She turned her head toward the sound of the voice.

An elderly man sat in an overstuffed, luxuriously comfortable-looking leather chair to her right. A black leather patch covered one eye, secured on a thick scarlet leather cord that wrapped the circumference of his large head. Long, shining white hair cascaded in resplendent, opalescent waves down his shoulders and back. He bore a thick, luxurious white beard and his one, sky-blue eye twinkled with mirth and mischief as he regarded her. A kindly smile spread full lips beneath the beard.

The man shifted forward in his seat, steepling his fingertips to his lips as he regarded her. He wore strange clothing; fashion from centuries ago in rich fabrics that flowed around an undeniably strong frame. Though he looked ancient, there was nothing of feebleness to be found in him anywhere.

“Who—who are you?” Violet croaked, her hand flying to her throat as she realized how dry and scratchy her voice sounded.

The man lowered his hands, catching a mug from the bedside table. He leaned forward to hand it to her. She obligingly accepted it, looking down at its contents.

“Drink. It’s just water,” he murmured.

Nodding her thanks, she tipped the mug to her lips. Cold, crisp, somewhat sweet water met her tongue and she greedily downed the cup’s contents before looking expectantly back at him and setting the empty vessel in her sheet-swaddled lap.

“Do you know where you are?” his voice rumbled.

“I feel like I’m in some sort of dreamworld,” Violet managed, looking about the room.

The furnishings were beautifully crafted and ornate. Leather chairs. Neatly aligned rows of comfortably made, opulent wooden beds, a couple of them occupied by silent, still forms. The room spoke of old-world elegance and expert, timeless craftsmanship.

“Essentially, you are,” the man laughed warmly. “But which one?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Violet softly replied, looking down at the cup in her hands once more.

He leaned forward and plucked the mug from her grasp with large, strong-looking hands and tipped a pitcher to its rim. He refilled it and handed it back to her, nodding at her to indicate that she should drink more. She complied.

“What is the last thing that you remember?” the man asked once she’d finished the second cup of water.

Violet pulled the sheets more tightly about herself and looked down at her hands. She considered the question, bewildered and unsettled. Her stomach did flip-flops and a dull ache throbbed at the back of her head.

“I was… Unpacking groceries and a man… I think it was a man. He attacked me. Then there was this raven woman asking me to choose. I agreed to go with her and I… I woke up here,” Violet said at length, blushing under the intense scrutiny of the man’s one-eyed gaze.

“You were attacked by an unworthy warrior.”

Violet looked up and met his eye with hers, unsure of what to make of his statement.

“What does that mean?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate further.

“When the unworthy seek to challenge and tarnish my champions, I bring them here.”

Violet sighed and did her absolute best not to roll her eyes. Did anyone answer questions directly here? Wherever here even was?

The old man chuckled, a truly amused, mirthful sound.

“You are impatient,” he said, “But wise enough to wait anyway.”

“I’m sorry, this is just—did I die? Is that what happened?”

He grinned and stood then, snatching up the wolf-headed cane that lay propped against the chair where he sat. The crystals in the wolf’s eyes began to emit prisms of multi-colored light and a sort of portal appeared at the foot of her bed.

“Look upon your world as it is now,” he softly commanded.

Violet gazed into the portal and saw a hospital room, as though she watched from the ceiling. At its center was a large bed with a few machines around it. Several tubes flowed from the strange machines into a form that lay motionless at the center of the bed.

She recognized herself. Well, a battered, feeble, unconscious version of herself. It was unsettling and hollowed out her stomach. Her face was a mass of purple, green, and black bruising. A tube went into her nose and down her throat. A brace constricted her neck.

A young man sat next to the bed, holding one of her limp hands in both of his, his eyes trained on her mangled face as though transfixed. His green-blue eyes were red and puffy, his tanned face mottled red. His dark blond hair tousled, unkempt, and dull.

“Oh, Peyton,” Violet sobbed, reaching toward the portal.

It snapped closed and Violet turned her gaze on the old man, anger flaring hotly within her chest. She had to get back. She had to make this right. She couldn’t leave Peyton like that.

“Am I in a coma?” Violet asked.

“In your world, the physical realm from whence you were birthed, yes.”

“Who are you?” Violet repeated the question.

He grinned at her and asked, “Do you truly not know, my daughter?”

“Uh, you’re definitely not my dad,” Violet snorted.

“Not in the sense of your conception and upbringing on Earth, no,” he amusedly rumbled. “I am the All Father. Ruler of this realm. King of Valhalla.”

Violet’s jaw dropped. She stared at him, trying to decide if she believed him.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I just opened a portal to another dimension and this information is what you doubt?” he gently chided.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it with a slight “pop” as her teeth clicked together. She didn’t really know what to believe or think anymore, it seemed. Nothing was real.

“I am Odin. And you, daughter, are my newest Valkyrie.”

Her eyes widened and she looked around the room once more. She tried to recall anything she knew about Viking lore, Norse mythology, or even just Valkyries and realized it wasn’t a subject with which she had much familiarity.

“But I’m just… I’m human. I’m just a physical trainer. I’m not—”

He silenced her with the raising of his hand and his smile did not fade.

“You can still be all of those things and more. You heeded the Raven’s call and came to Valhalla. You chose the path of the Valkyrie when it was offered.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t even know what a—what a Valkyrie is outside of that old Wagner piece,” Violet stammered.

Odin chuckled and regarded her kindly. There was such warmth and light in his demeanor that she felt herself drawn to him, a moth to flame. But she couldn’t find it within herself to fear him. He felt safe to her.

“Fear is not the way of the Valkyrie, daughter. You have a mentor. The Raven woman of which you spoke. The one who offered you the choice. She chose you as her next pupil. Heed her advice. She is my oldest, most trusted Valkyrie and she will guide you well.”

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“So, um, is she going to bring me clothes or do y’all just run around naked here?” Violet asked.

The roar of his laughter was strangely infectious and she felt herself smiling back at him as he chortled, “The accoutrements of the other worlds cannot make the journey through the Ways and you are only here in spirit. Gondul will see to it that you are properly attired. For now, rest daughter. You’ve a long enough road ahead and you will need all your strength.”

Violet watched as he strode from the room, his broad shoulders pulled back, his head high. The tap of his cane echoed off the vaulted walls and ceiling as he departed, though she didn’t think he actually needed its aid in walking. He didn’t limp or misstep as he left and he did not turn back before he pushed through the tall, heavy, oak doors into whatever lay beyond.

Violet knotted the sheet around her bosom and slung her legs to the side of the bed. She tested her footing on the smooth marble floor, pleasantly surprised by its warmth. Slowly, she stood. Her legs trembled and her stomach unsettled.

She abruptly sat back down, instantly frustrated with how weak she felt. She glared down at her legs, morosely wondering how long it was going to take to get back to her full strength.

“You’ll be smashing through shields in no time, Daughter,” a feminine voice said from behind her.

Violet’s head shot up and she turned to face the voice. A tall, willowy woman stood at the foot of the bed. Her long, shining, chestnut hair was arranged in intricate braids and knots in a crown about her head. A golden tiara with strangely iridescent jewels rested atop the crown of her hair. She wore a loose-fitting gown in some sort of light pink opalescent fabric, trimmed with black lace accents at the neckline, sleeves, and hem.

“I am Freyja, the Mother. Queen of this realm. But to the Valkyries, I am Gondul, your sister shield maiden and your mentor.”

“So—should I call you Freyja or Gondul?” Violet asked, bewildered.

“Do we not all have many names and roles?” she retorted, jerking her chin up haughtily.

The twinkle in the goddess’s dark green eyes bespoke a love of mischief and challenge. Violet studied her, trying to figure out an adequate response. Frustrated, she finally discharged.

“Why can no one just answer a damn question here?”

The goddess threw back her head and laughed. One of the occupants of a bed on the other side of the room stirred at the sound and sat up. A young man, clad in some kind of medieval-looking armor, crossed his forearm over his chest and inclined his head at the goddess.

“Mother, forgive me. I did not see—”

“Hush, Sten. Rest, my son,” the goddess kindly whispered, and the man returned to lying down, his back to them.

The goddess regarded Violet with an assessing gaze, looking her over from head to toe. Her eyes lingered on the tattoo that encircled Violet’s ankle, a slight smile tugging up the corners of her regal mouth.

“Your husband would be proud of you,” the goddess said then.

“What do you know about him?” Violet replied, covering her ankle from view with the sheet.

“He was a good man. He is an even better warrior.”

Violet’s eyes flew wide in surprise as she asked, “He is?”

“Slow, my daughter. The warriors in Valhalla remember nothing of their former lives and they form no attachments once pledged to Odin’s service.”

The unexpected spear of pain that lanced through her chest brought her to sudden, gasping sobs and tears. Violet abruptly turned away from the beautiful woman to hide her reaction, uncomfortable with a stranger seeing her cry.

The goddess’s hand was warm and soft on her shoulder as she turned Violet to face her. The goddess knelt beside the bed so that she was eye-level with Violet. Her expression was earnest and analyzing as they regarded one another.

“Grief should never be hidden. It should be expressed. It should be seen. It is how we know the ones who are lost were worthy of the love they possessed in life,” the goddess kindly spoke.

“May I at least see him?” Violet hiccoughed, swiping angrily at her eyes with the edge of the sheet-dress she wore.

“My daughter, he will not know you,” the goddess admonished again. “But you will see him. Soon. Your training begins now. And you will call me Gondul, as you are my apprentice, Valkyrie.”

Violet mutely nodded. Gondul stood and waved at the door where her attendants waited. Two young maidens, preteens in appearance, both so blond their hair may as well have been white, strode in. Their arms were laden with several packages of varying sizes and shapes.

“This is Sif,” Gondul said, pointing to the shorter, younger looking of the two girls. “Sif is your lady in waiting, for all intents and purposes. She will begin your induction into the ways of Valhalla. Heed her well—she will not let you stray.”

With that, the goddess and the other girl swiftly and silently removed from the room. Violet stared wide-eyed at Sif, the slender blond waif before her.

“I am Sif,” the girl said with a slight bow, crossing her forearm over her chest.

“I’m Violet,” Violet replied, holding out her hand.

Sif regarded the gesture with a cocked head and quizzical expression. Violet withdrew her hand and wiped it nervously on her sheet-dress. Sif smiled and crossed her arm over her chest again, the way the warrior in one of the other beds had done earlier when acknowledging the Queen.

Picking up on the game, Violet mimicked her.

“Good,” Sif sweetly chirped, her visage brightening with a lovely smile that sent a sense of calm stealing through Violet’s veins. “Here are your clothes. I will meet you outside the door as soon as you are properly dressed.”

The girl dropped a few of the packages on the bed next to Violet and skipped girlishly down the length of the room and out the doors. They closed behind her with an ominous “boom” and Violet winced. She turned and looked down at the packages.

Parchment paper wrappings with simple red string binding them sat in a haphazard pile next to her. She plucked at one of the strings and pulled it loose, then unwrapped the item. It was a shift dress in mossy green brocade. Violet ran her hands over the fine cloth, admiring the exquisite craftsmanship. Silver and gold threads throughout caught and reflected the light, drawing a smile from her.

Sighing, she set the dress aside and opened some of the other packages. A pair of knee-high, buff-colored, suede boots, a fancy armored corset with intriguing designs wrought into the metal links, a set of small clothes in the same color as the dress, a slip for under the skirt, and… A sword belt? With a short sword?

“What the hell?” Violet muttered to herself as she examined the blade.

The ice blue metal of the blade seemed to glow from within. It was deceptively light and seemed to thrum in her hand, like some sort of low-voltage electricity pulsed through it. The edges were extremely sharp and dangerous. She lifted it to further inspect the jeweled hilt and guard.

“That’s a proper nice blade, that is,” a male’s voice startled her.

Violet looked up to see the warrior from earlier sitting up in his bed once more, watching her.

“Is it?” she nervously asked, carefully re-sheathing the blade and setting the whole kit aside.

“That’s a Queensguard blade. I don’t recall seeing you in the guard before, though,” the man continued, taking the liberty of scanning her from head to toe.

It made her especially uncomfortable. She was damn near naked and a stiff breeze from the open window would expose her completely. She blushed and frantically looked around for a place to change without being open for his perusal.

“You don’t have the look of most the Queensguard. You’re… Too soft looking, begging your pardon.”

Violet rolled her eyes in agitation.

“Sten, is it?” she quipped, meeting his dark brown gaze.

“At your service,” he replied, crossing his arm over his chest and giving a slight bow. He winced at the end of it.

“What are you here for? What is this place?”

Sten arched an eyebrow and regarded her as if she might not be in possession of all her marbles.

“Are you asking these questions in earnest or do you mock me, m’lady?”

Violet exasperatedly threw up her hands, then scrambled to catch the nearly falling sheet, having forgotten that her hands and a feeble knot were all that held it up.

She blushed furiously as she said, “Why does no one here just answer the damn questions?”

Sten grinned broadly and perked up, suddenly interested.

“Eh! You’re an otherworlder!”

“I guess?” Violet snorted, fumbling with the sheet again.

“They haven’t had new blood in the Queensguard in a millennium!”

“Those certainly are words, but I’m not sure put together in that order, they actually mean anything.”

Sten laughed and smacked his knee, then winced and held his obviously injured side. He regarded her with a smile and pointed at a screen in the far corner of the room.

“You can change over there. I wouldn’t look at you anyway. Crossing a Queensguard is the souldeath and I’m not too keen on permanently perishing.”

Violet nodded her thanks and grabbed the pile of clothing, ignoring the last, nonsensical parts of his monologue. She tried to stand again…

And again, her legs were too weak to bear her weight. Her knees buckled after a couple seconds and she crashed awkwardly back to the bed. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, silently cursing.

“Can’t stand, huh?” Sten asked.

She heard his bed creak as he moved. He limped over to her and sat bodily in the chair that Odin had vacated moments before. He regarded her with kindness and looked over the garments in her hands.

“Dunno why you’re putting those on. Those are for serving in the Hall,” he said, indicating the clothes in her grasp.

He leaned forward, wincing before he opened some more of her packages. She watched him in silence, too embarrassed and angry to do much else. He laid out what looked like black suede riding breeches, a peasant blouse in a rich, emerald green color with a built-in corset of similar intriguing metal mesh design as the former, and a soft gray cloak.

“Those will probably do you better service for this evening,” he said, indicating the breeches and blouse.

“Thank you,” Violet sheepishly whispered, her cheeks on fire with her embarrassment.

“It is my pleasure, m’lady. If you wish, I can step outside while you change. The other fellow seems to have passed on. He can’t see you anymore,” Sten replied, waving at the still figure in one of the beds down from them.

“He’s—he’s dead?” Violet squeaked.

“Well, sort of. But that’s more of a topic for your lessons with Frey—I mean Gondul. You mustn’t keep them waiting. It could spell trouble for you.”

“I can’t even walk yet. How am I supposed to—”

“I’ll help you. Dress quickly. I’ll turn away.”

Violet rolled her eyes and waited as he went back to his bed, his back to her, hands over his eyes. She sighed and fumbled with the clothing, struggling the most to get the breeches on. They fit beautifully, like clingy, second skins are wont to do.

“Finished,” she called once she’d managed to wriggle and writhe her way into the clothes he’d laid out.

“Right. Now, strap that on,” Sten said as he limped up to her again, indicating the sword and belt.

“Really?” Violet scoffed.

Sten stared blankly back at her in response.

“Fine,” she snorted, struggling to pull the belt around her waist.

She cinched it and looked back at him. He held out his hand and she gratefully took it, allowing him to haul her unsteadily to her feet.

“So, which of the otherworlds are you from?” Sten asked as he slowly helped her step toward the doors.

“Earth, I guess?” Violet replied, concentrating on not falling down.

Why wouldn’t her legs work?!

“Earth! Oh, that’s Odin’s favorite of the otherworlds. You are extremely fortunate.”

“Why?” Violet asked.

“Why what?”

“Why am I lucky?”

Sten beamed at her and pulled her closer so that he could better help bear her weight. They moved faster as a result. She appreciated it immensely.

“You’ll adapt quickly. Earth and Valhalla are very similar. The—gravity, I think your people call it? It is denser here in Valhalla. Whenever you return to your world, you will be stronger.”

“I don’t know how that’s possible. My body isn’t even here.”

He stopped their progress and looked at her in staunch bemusement.

“What?” she asked.

“You are Valkyrie,” he suddenly breathed, his eyes flying wide with the realization.

“That’s what Odin said,” Violet replied. “I have no idea what any of this means.”

“It means you need to hurry and get to training. You have a long road ahead of you, Lady Violet, fledgling Valkyrie of the Queensguard,” Sten replied, renewing their trek toward the door together with a heightened sense of urgency.

“Great,” Violet sighed in response.