Chapter Ten

Violet gingerly lowered herself into the nearly scalding water and a visceral, shamelessly gratuitous groan rumbled in her throat. The hot water soothed her sore muscles and aching joints, providing instant relief from the nagging pains. She sank as low in the tub as she dared, grateful for the copious amount of bubbles that graced the surface of the water.

She lifted her hands and regarded them with an oddly satisfying mix of pride and dismay. Blisters rose on every fleshy part of her palms and she’d had to file her nails down to nothing. Scratches, cuts, and bruises adorned the lengths of her arms, legs, torso, and back. She even sported a couple bruises on her cheek and jaw—trophies earned in the sparring ring from her recent bo staff match with Thor himself.

Despite the pain she was in, she smiled to herself.

It had been a good day.

Her first week in Valhalla put her on a devastatingly steep learning curve but Violet was never one to back down from a challenge. She’d learned how to carry the monstrous drink trays, what each warrior in Odin’s retinue favored for drinks, how to set the Great Hall’s tables properly, and the appropriate way to serve the food. That was just day one.

Day two? She’d begun sparring with Gondul. She got her ass kicked by the raven woman, who she quickly learned was not Freyja, and the woman had no mercy, even for her own children. She was learning the basics on how to use a spear and shield, though both seemed unwieldy and impractical to her. She was an apt and devoted pupil, however, and she took her lumps without complaint.

Day three found Violet learning basic riding skills. The Asgardians didn’t need the mounts anymore; they had ships that could traverse entire galaxies. But the riding was good practice for balance and core strength. Riding a Pegasus made it an even better balance-building task—one did not want to fall off mid-flight, lest they face disastrous consequences.

Day four had been archery. Day five more spear and shield work. Day six was a tour of the city of Valhalla and patronage to the surrounding hamlets. She began to learn the lay of the land and appreciate the beauty of the place.

Day seven, which began that morning, Violet finally was able to start learning that in which she had taken a surprisingly keen interest: Swordplay. Her brother Thor had been her primary instructor and he was damn good at it. He taught her how to hold it, how to move her feet, how to parry and strike. Of all the lessons she’d embarked on learning that week, the swordplay was hands down her favorite.

For every meal since that first morning, Violet worked with the Valkyries in Odin’s Hall to serve the chosen ones, warriors who had been invited into Odin’s elite inner circle. She learned that it was an ancient tradition and while it sounded incredibly misogynistic to the outside viewer, it was regarded as a high honor in Valhalla.

Violet learned that each warrior that sat at Odin’s table had been chosen by a Valkyrie for the honor, and each of the 13 Valkyries were hand chosen by Odin himself. Each man chosen by a Valkyrie to treat in Valhalla had fought and proven himself in battle at one time or another. Each man was worthy of respect. The men had served in life, and the Valkyries served in the afterlife.

While Violet didn’t agree with the practice herself, she understood and respected it. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the matter anyway—serve or die had been her dichotomous fate and it came with the territory.

She sighed and sank even lower into the water, until it reached her chin. Her thoughts turned to the life she temporarily left behind.

She missed her brother. She missed the work she’d done. She missed Tay and Elaina. She missed Peyton.

Peyton.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of him, and she let them fall in silent rivulets down her cheeks. She wondered what he was doing at that moment, far, far away from her and completely out of reach. The crushing helplessness he must have felt. How much she knew he would blame himself for the damage inflicted on her.

If only there was a way she could reach out to him, reassure him, let him know that she would be back…

She sighed and sat up, groaning again as the soapy bubbles found their way into a cut located in a particularly sensitive spot on her back. She rubbed the sore spot, alarmed when her hand came away covered in blood.

She turned and looked at the water with surprise, which suddenly had turned pink.

“What the hell?” she asked aloud, abruptly standing and turning to look at her reflection in the mirror across the room.

Blood seeped from a large open wound in her spine. It hadn’t been there when she entered the tub. She quickly scoured the bathroom for a medical kit and found some cloth bandages in the cupboard near her sink where extra towels were stored. She wrapped the wound as tightly as she could stand it, slipped into some clean undergarments, and quickly donned the sleep shift she’d been given as pajamas.

The blood continued to flow steadily at a frightening rate into the bandages and Violet knew something was very, very wrong. She stumbled out of her apartment and went to the closest door down the hall, pounding frantically.

A split second later, the door whisked open and Thor stood there, still in his armor from their training earlier. He regarded her with shock.

“Gers—Violet, what’s wrong?” he asked, waving her in.

She turned around and pointed at her back, the blood already soaked through the bandages and her shift. It ran down the backs of her legs and pooled beneath her in slow, steady droplets on the floor.

“How did this happen?”

“I don’t know! I went to take a bath and noticed that it started to sting and all of the sudden, I was bleeding out.”

“We have to get you to the infirmary,” he declared, ushering her toward the door.

“I don’t think I can handle that many stairs with as much blood as I’m losing,” she dubiously replied, applying more pressure over the bandage with a closed fist.

“You’re right. I’d carry you, but that might do more damage. Go back to your room. I’ll get help,” he gently commanded.

Violet woozily made her way back to her room while Thor bolted for the infirmary. She didn’t know whether to sit or lie down and didn’t want to ruin any of the fine furnishings that existed within the rooms.

She dizzily made her way back to the bathroom and grabbed a few of the towels, spread them on the bed in several layers, then lay above them. What seemed like eons later, Thor and a few others entered the room. It may well have only been minutes, but Violet was lightheaded and so very tired.

“Let me see,” Odin’s voice said through the sleepy haze that clouded her mind.

She weakly moaned in protest as she felt the shift lifted. Strong fingers prodded the wound and she gripped the pillow beneath her tightly to keep from crying out.

“Who was she sparring with today?” Odin asked, his voice seemingly far away.

“Just me, All Father,” Thor’s voice replied.

“Did you do this?” Odin venomously snarled.

“No! We only used blunted weapons in sparring and she was not bleeding when we left the training ground,” Thor quickly responded.

“Violet, who attacked you?” Odin asked.

“No one,” she quietly replied. “I just wanted to take a bath.”

Odin started barking orders to whomever had joined them. Violet was too weak to lift her head and look. Someone went to the bathroom to check the tub, another went to the infirmary to fetch the healers, and still another went to Valkyrie Hall to rouse the others.

“Tell me what happened, child,” Freyja’s voice said near her head.

“I was in the bath,” Violet softly answered. “The pain was sudden. I was bleeding. I asked… Thor… For help…”

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“She’s fading,” Freyja worriedly interjected. “Where are the damn healers?”

“She needs blood,” Thor said.

“Will you sit for her?” Freyja asked.

“Yes,” Thor quickly replied.

Violet heard the scraping of wood across the marble. Someone tugged one of her arms out from under the pillow. A moment later, she felt the tiniest of stings in the crook of her elbow. And then the world faded completely to black.

*****

“What’s happening?” Peyton hoarsely cried as several nurses and doctors flooded into the room.

Before him, he watched as Violet’s body violently writhed on the bed. The tubing that fed and helped her breathe strained and pulled in a terrifying fashion. She sounded like she was choking.

“She’s seizing,” one of the nurses nearest to him replied. “Please, Mr. Ashley—it would be better if you left the room. We need to be able to work.”

A couple aides escorted Peyton gently from the room and led him to the all-too-familiar waiting room at the end of the hall. He worriedly watched as doctors, nurses, and aides ran in and out of the room. The image of her body violently contorting on the bed replayed over and over in his mind, a fresh new terror to further torment him.

It was almost midnight and he’d dozed off next to her in the chair. He woke to the feel of her hand tightening in a death grip around his and for a moment, he’d been elated, thinking at first that she was awake. She wasn’t.

She’d been in the hospital for a month. Comatose, but with high brain activity. They’d had to do multiple surgeries on her spine to repair the damage done. The prognosis was grim.

If she woke, it was likely she’d never walk again. Still—she was alive. She hadn’t given up. As long as her heart still beat and her lungs drew breath, he had hope.

Unsure of what else to do, Peyton fished out his phone and tapped Dezzy’s number. The phone rang twice before the young man sleepily answered.

“Yeah, what’s going on Pey? Is she awake?”

“Something bad is happenin’. Vi just started violently seizin’,” Peyton said, his voice hoarse and breaking.

“I’m on my way,” Dezzy grunted, rustling noises hindering his voice as he said, “Hang tight, bro.”

“Okay,” Peyton replied and the line went dead.

*****

Violet opened her eyes and found herself alone. The floor around her was wet and the room was dark. In the distance, she heard water dripping steadily. She pushed herself up and looked around, squinting in a vain effort to discern whatever she could.

It was too dark. Feeble light shone in the distance of what appeared to be a long, narrow, roughly hewn stone tunnel. She gingerly pushed herself to her hands and knees, then eventually, shakily, to her feet. Behind her, she heard the scrape of metal on stone and the splash of water.

Instinctively, she moved away from the noise, wincing as her own movement caused the water to splash and gave away her own position.

“I cannot reach you, Odin-child. For that you should be grateful. If I could, you’d be dead,” a deep, rasping voice reverberated in her ears and in her head.

It was like the slow, deliberate grinding of very large stones and gooseflesh broke out across her entire body in its wake.

“Who are you?” Violet asked, backing away yet another few paces from the sound of the voice.

“They have not taught you yet, Otherworldling. Valkyrie. They have not taught you because you are broken. You are neither here nor there. You don’t exist anywhere,” the voice replied, further unsettling her stomach with its foreign, unpleasant timbre.

It began to chuckle, the sound easily the most sinister thing she had ever heard in her entire existence. The visceral way her body reacted to his voice was absolutely terrifying. She frantically searched for a way out, or at least the opposite direction of that deep, loathsome voice.

“Okay, well, this has been not fun, so I’m gonna just go now,” Violet called over her shoulder, heading for the light.

“Are you sure you want to go that way, Odin-child?”

“It’s the opposite direction of you, so yes,” Violet yelled, quickening the pace.

“Light at the end of a tunnel does not necessarily mean redemption awaits,” the voice replied, a note of temper seeping into its peculiarly grinding tone.

“I’ll take my chances, thanks,” Violet replied, finally able to see well enough to run.

She clambered through the tunnel until she reached a staircase. Violet frantically climbed up the steep, roughhewn steps, and stumbled through the arch at the top into strange, soft light.

She suddenly found herself staring into the single eye of the All Father.

“Ah! There she is!” he cried with relief.

“You had us worried,” Freyja said from next to him.

“What did you see?” Odin asked. “You hovered between realms.”

“It was dark and creepy, there was a light, I went to the light, and poof, back in Valhalla,” Violet groggily replied.

“Welcome back, daughter,” Freyja sighed, leaning down to hug her. “Sif will stay with you this evening. Rest now. Tomorrow, we have a special journey to make.”

Violet didn’t watch them go, opting instead to turn her head toward the open patio at the end of her bedroom. Sif lay on the chaise lounge reading a book of some sort near the patio door. She clicked her tongue in disapproval when Violet sat up.

“You heard Freyja. You have been commanded to rest,” the frost fae chided half-heartedly.

Though they had only known each other a week, being in near constant contact had afforded them the opportunity to really understand one another. Violet agreed not to do anything that would get Sif beheaded and Sif agreed not to be a completely insufferable know-it-all in addition to Sif’s agreement that she would not hold Violet accountable for whatever beef Sif obviously had with the old Gersemi.

Sif didn’t honor the agreement. Violet did—but only because the frost fae’s offenses against her weren’t something for which someone deserved decapitation. Capital punishment was way too far.

“I am resting. I just need some air,” Violet replied, shakily getting to her feet.

Sif sighed dejectedly and helped her cantankerous charge to the dais on the patio. The waif dragged a chair over and sat within reach of Violet. Violet smiled gratefully at the frost fae, who begrudgingly returned it.

The stars shone brilliantly in the night, strange constellations, and new colors she’d never witnessed in Earth’s sky. Asgard had three moons, all of which occupied different sections of the sky above. One was green, one was similar to Earth’s, and the last, smallest moon, was a pretty icy blue.

The sea lapped at the stone break walls in the harbor, creating an undulating, soothing, dull roar. The breeze carried the salty, earthen scent of the shore to her and Violet breathed deeply. She snaked her hand around her back to check the wound and gave a little gasp of surprise.

“What is it?” Sif asked, immediately sitting forward.

“Don’t worry yourself,” Violet chuckled. “I’m just surprised to find the wound is… It’s gone.”

“Do you not have healers on Earth?”

“Well, yeah, but we can’t just disappear deep gashes in the blink of an eye,” Violet scoffed. “Stitches and time. That’s what healing is where I’m from.”

“Primitive culture,” Sif snorted, returning to her book.

Violet shook her head in mock dismay and returned to surveying the harbor and the sky. A shooting star blazed across her view a moment later, eerily green as it fell across the sky. She found herself wishing Peyton was there, that he could have seen it.

“Peyton would have loved that,” she mused softly aloud.

“Loved what?” Sif monotoned, completely unmoved.

“The shooting star,” Violet replied.

“Rocks falling through the atmosphere aren’t an occurrence on your planet?”

“Oh they are. They’re just… Not common. We make wishes on them,” Violet answered.

Sif scoffed, “What good does that do?”

“It’s nothing. I’m being silly,” Violet said quietly, looking down at her hands.

“You miss him very much.”

Startled by the compassionate tone of the waif’s voice, Violet abruptly looked up. She met the frost fae’s cold, deep blue eyes and smiled.

“With every fiber of my being,” Violet softly replied. “And my brother. And my friends. I loved my life. Finally. I finally loved my life and then it just…” She stopped, giving a bitter, short laugh. “Poof. All gone. Again.”

Sif closed the book then and reached into a pocket on the fanny pack thingy she wore on her hip. She pulled out a sparkling, clear gemstone and walked over to the small fountain at the edge of the patio. She cast it into the shallow pool and waved Violet over. Violet cautiously stood and joined her.

“Picture Peyton in your mind,” Sif gently instructed. “Close your eyes and hold his image there.”

Violet did as she was told, conjuring an image of Peyton in her mind’s eye. Like he was just before she left that fateful morning. Sleeping, peaceful, beautiful. Hers.

“Do you see him?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, yes. There he is. Look,” Sif said, tugging on Violet’s arm.

Violet opened her eyes and followed where the waif pointed one slender, too long finger at the surface of the pool.

Peyton sat in some sort of odd lounge. Dezzy sat next to him. Both of them looked exhausted. Peyton’s eyes were red and puffy, as though he’d been crying recently.

“Oh, Peyton,” Violet whispered, pain evident in her tone. “Why do you cry?”

It was then that Violet realized she could also hear him. He and Dezzy talked quietly together. Violet leaned in toward the pool and listened closely, as did Sif.

“She’s quiet now but they’re still running some tests. They don’t know what caused it,” Peyton was saying.

“I wish she’d just wake up. It’s been a month. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be awake,” Dezzy replied.

“I don’t understand it, either,” Peyton agreed. “Did they find anything out yet?”

“No. Last I knew, they’d dusted for prints and were waiting for results on those. They collected a bunch of other things too, but they haven’t said anything. I just got her phone back from them yesterday.”

Violet turned and looked at Sif, bewildered.

“I’ve been in a coma for a month? But I’ve only been here a week!” she shouted.

Sif grabbed desperately for the stone and Violet glanced back at the surface of the water, realizing that Dezzy and Peyton frantically looked around them in evident shock. Their befuddled images faded as Sif removed the stone. She huffed an exasperated breath and glared at Violet.

“They heard you!” she hissed angrily.

“Wait, what?” Violet asked, looking back at the water, then at the stone that Sif hurriedly tucked back into the pouch on her hip.

“You’ve been here a week but on Earth, it’s been a month. Time passes differently between realms,” Sif explained. “And don’t use the seeing stones without my supervision. There are dangerous consequences.”

“Is that what that’s called? A seeing stone?”

Sif glared at her and said, “You would do well to forget I have one. Or else I’ll never help you with anything ever again.”

Violet made an X-motion over her heart and nodded.

“I don’t know what that was supposed to mean, but I hope it was something along the lines of ‘I promise I will never tell anyone about the stone, Sif’,” the frost fae retorted.

“That’s exactly what it means. Cross my heart, hope to die,” Violet replied.

“We just stopped that from happening and now you’re hoping for it?”

“It’s a saying—nevermind. Thank you, Sif. I appreciate what you did. Truly,” Violet said.

“Let’s just hope I didn’t do more damage than good,” Sif snarkily stated. “Are you ready to go back to bed yet? Because I’m tired of babysitting you.”

Violet giggled and grabbed the fae’s arm, gently tugging her towards the patio doors. Sif said nothing more and Violet was content with the silence. She laid back down, pulling the soft, downy coverlet up over her shoulders, and soon, Violet lapsed into beautiful, dreamless sleep.