Chapter Twelve

As soon as Violet’s finger touched a memory on the screen, the world fell away. She found herself standing in an open field. The spires of Valhalla gleamed in the midday sunlight in the distance, the indigo mountains looming ominously behind it.

“Gers! Let’s go!” a childlike male voice called.

Violet watched as a little girl, maybe seven or eight years in age, raced through her, as if Violet didn’t exist at all. The girl tore up the grassy knoll, stopping when she reached the top. She wore strange ice blue leather armor with a bright white feather cape. A tiny version of a short sword glowed in her right hand, a crystalline round shield on her left.

“Hurry up, Thor! The giants are coming!” the little girl called, turning to survey the land from her perch on the hilltop.

A young blond boy scrambled to catch up with her, a hand axe and tiny shield occupying his own little hands. He looked to be barely out of toddler years, though his bright blue eyes were determined as he struggled to catch up with the dark-haired little girl.

“You go too fast!” he complained, panting heavily as he climbed the hill.

The scene ended abruptly and Violet found herself back in the study, staring down at the little red memory pad in front of her.

What an odd thing to remember, she thought, swiping through different pictures and videos, looking for anything that could be found pertaining to Loki or Ragnarok. Not that she knew what she was looking for. The alternative was being stuck in her bedroom staring at Sif, who seemed even more cantankerous than usual that morning.

No thank you, she snidely thought.

She saw an image of herself that was close to her current age and tapped on it.

She found herself standing on the bedroom patio balcony. It was late at night; had to have been during summer because the air was uncomfortably warm and humid. She saw herself bent over the railing, looking out across the courtyards and in the distance, she saw the harbor.

“Sif!” Gersemi hissed as she leaned further across the stone railing.

“Ugh, what!” the frost fae snarled from somewhere below.

“Hurry the fuck up already! You’ve been dawdling for an hour!”

“Do you want to come find it yourself then, Princess?”

“Do you want me to tell Thor you lost his favorite dagger?”

“I didn’t lose his dagger!” Sif shouted back. “You did, you little—”

“Sif! I know you are not talking to a Princess in that tone,” Odin’s voice boomed from across the courtyard.

“No, All Father,” Sif replied, barely audible.

“Gersemi, stop terrorizing your guards. What’s this all about?” Odin admonished, looking between Gersemi on the balcony and Sif in front of him in the courtyard.

“We were practicing knife throwing earlier with Thor’s throwing daggers and lost one,” Gersemi answered her father.

“This one?” the All Father asked, holding up the missing dagger.

Violet found herself back in the study once more. What strange memories to hold onto. What did they mean to Gersemi? Both of them seemed to feature Thor in some way. Both featured weapons. When Violet could think of no other similarities, she went back to scanning the screen, watching the images and videos float by.

“Find anything yet?” Sif’s voice startled her.

Violet looked up at her and sighed, “No. It would help if I knew Gersemi better.”

“You are Gersemi,” Sif huffed, settling bodily into the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Don’t you have a young child to torture or something?” Violet flippantly asked, watching more of the memories drifting about haphazardly on the screen.

“I’m doing it right now,” Sif retorted, glaring pointedly at Violet.

“Point,” Violet conceded. “Ugh! I can’t find what I’m looking for when I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Sif rested her elbows on the surface of the desk, her head in her hands. She stared at Violet for a moment, cocking her head quizzically to the side.

“What?” Violet asked, her voice carrying her irritation.

“It’s hard to hate you when you’re so bloody helpless.”

Violet glared in response, then turned back to the screen. She hated feeling helpless. Sif kept studying her and a moment later, her deep blue eyes flew wide.

“Let me see your back,” Sif suddenly said, disappearing from her seat at the desk and reappearing immediately behind Violet. “I don’t think it’s a curse or poison.”

“I hate it when you do that,” Violet snarled as the fae tugged the back of her tunic up. “And your hands are cold,” she added when the frost pixie began prodding at the area where she’d been injured.

The cold intensified and Sif giggled when Violet shivered.

“You’re a sadist,” Violet sighed in agitation.

“Did you always have this birthmark?” the fairy continued, ignoring the barb.

“Birthmark?” Violet parroted, turning to look over her shoulder.

Sif groaned and disappeared for a second, then reappeared with a mirror in one small, cold hand. She handed the mirror to Violet. Violet took the hint and held the mirror up so that she could see her back in it. Sif pointed to a small, dark splotch just over Violet’s spine. It was inconspicuous enough to easily be overlooked, but was it an odd shape; a single horizontal line that ran perpendicular to her spine that was fettered oddly at the edges. It was a couple inches long and maybe half an inch wide.

“No, that’s new,” Violet finally said.

“How new?”

“This is the first time I’ve noticed it.”

Violet pulled the shirt back down and adjusted the hem. Sif sat on the desk, her slender legs dangling childishly. She stared at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought. Violet ignored her and went back to scanning the memories hovering on the screen.

“How did you die?”

The question startled Violet and she looked up again, watching for a second as the fae continued perusing the mural on the ceiling.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I’m not dead,” Violet finally answered, drawing the fairy’s eerie, deep blue gaze.

“How did your attacker rend your spirit from your body, then?” Sif pressed, grinning and revealing her feline-like teeth.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” Violet countered. “On my pain. On my struggle.”

Sif giggled, “Not gonna lie, it feels good to watch you get your comeuppance.”

“What did I ever do to you?” Violet asked, exasperated.

“You’re a spoiled little brat,” Sif replied, shrugging.

Violet glared at her again and remained silent, staring the little monstrosity down.

“It’s important because whatever happens to your body has an impact on your spirit. Your spirit is what is immortal, not your body. But it can incur similar damage. Like an echo, or ripples on a pond,” Sif finally said.

“I was stabbed in the back and then beaten. I didn’t see or feel it happen,” Violet answered the initial question.

“Stabbed with what?”

“A knife. Like, a black hunting knife. Wicked looking thing,” Violet softly replied.

“Did you see the handle?” Sif pressed.

“No, just the blade. Covered in my blood,” Violet offered.

“Who wielded it?”

“I don’t know. He was wearing a mask.”

Sif made a harumphing noise and hopped off the desk. She motioned for Violet to follow her.

“But Odin said—” Violet started to protest when Sif went out on the balcony.

“Do you always do what you’re told?” the fairy asked.

“When it’s in my best interest,” Violet replied.

“He won’t know we’re gone. Come on,” Sif said, holding out her hand.

Violet tentatively placed her hand in the tiny, cold fairy’s hand. Immediately, the world around them shifted and spun, the colors and lines of the patio blurred. Suddenly, they stood in a dark, cavernous room at the edges of which ran a towering, spiral staircase.

“Where are we?” Violet asked, looking around and hugging herself against the sudden, pervasive, damp chill of the air.

“The frost dungeon,” Sif curtly replied. “Let’s go. We can’t linger here.”

Violet followed the waif into a low, ominous looking tunnel.

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” Violet muttered under her breath.

“I do,” Sif quipped.

The tunnel into which they walked was pitch black. Violet was forced to follow blindly as Sif tugged at her hand in the dark. Water dripped in the distance and there were strange scuttling and clanking noises that echoed ominously around them. Violet swallowed the lump of fear in her throat as they continued for what seemed like many minutes. She couldn’t tell how far or how quickly they walked without being able to use landmarks around them for context.

Finally, they emerged in another cavern, which allowed ambient sunlight from high above to trickle down and softly illuminate the area. Icicles graced every ledge. Violet watched the fog of her breath and rubbed at her arms. Throughout the cavern, there appeared to be cells. Holding cells for prisoners who would never again walk the worlds freely. It was a place where prisoners were sent to be forgotten.

“What is this place?” Violet asked, looking up at a similar spiral staircase whose steps were covered in ice.

“Exile,” Sif quietly replied. “Be quiet and stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Before Violet could protest, the frost fae disappeared. Violet looked around, trying to discern where the creature had teleported. She rubbed at her arms again and listened as the wind above howled mournfully. Snow began to fall in fluffy, fat flakes. Violet caught a couple in her hand and noted they were light blue in color, not white.

“Did the knife look like this?” Sif asked, suddenly appearing immediately in front of Violet.

Startled, Violet slipped on the ice and landed soundly on her ass. She glared up at the smirking fairy, who offered her a hand. Violet begrudgingly accepted the assistance and allowed the sprite to pull her back to her feet.

The knife hovered in the air between them, seemingly at the behest of Sif’s fingers. The handle was made of strikingly white wood, the grain of which sparkled and shifted color, like the iridescence of a raven’s wing. The blade itself was wicked looking. Black metal that seemed to suck all color and light from its immediate surroundings.

“It could have. I just saw the black blade. It was serrated near the hilt like this one but without having seen the handle—”

“It was like this one. Come on,” Sif dismissively said, grabbing Violet’s hand again.

The world spun and shifted and Violet stumbled as they reappeared on the balcony outside her bedroom. She clutched at the railing and doubled over it, quelling the dry heave that threatened to empty her stomach right there.

“I hate it when you do that,” Violet muttered through ground teeth.

“And that’s why I love doing it,” Sif giggled.

“Violet! Sif! Where are you?” Freyja’s voice called from within the apartment, carried out to them and echoing oddly across the patio.

“Out here!” Violet called back, side-eyeing Sif with no small amount of disdain.

A moment later, Freyja joined them on the patio, followed by both Odin and Thor. They sat together at the large, wrought iron table on the balcony. Freyja looked worried. Odin looked unperturbed. Thor—well Thor looked positively giddy.

“You have to go back,” Freyja said once they’d settled.

“That was the original plan, yes,” Violet said.

“She does—but not for the reasons you think,” Sif interjected, tossing the knife onto the table.

Odin and Freyja flinched away from the small weapon. Odin glared at the frost fae.

“What do you mean by this? Where did you get that foul instrument?” Odin barked.

“Her would-be murderer apparently has ties to the Dwarven Assassins’ Guild,” Sif replied.

“Sure. Why not. Let’s get dwarves involved. We already have gods, winged horses, a sadistic ice pixie, and a giant wolf. All that’s missing? Dwarves,” Violet quipped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I am not a pixie!” Sif screeched. “How dare you!”

“Oh, so that’s where we draw the line?” Violet countered.

Thor’s thunderous outburst of laughter drew their focus. He laughed long and hard, slapping the table several times.

“I’m not sure what in this situation is so hilarious,” Sif snarled at the god.

“It’s nothing,” Thor coughed, finally getting his amusement under control. “Pixie.”

Sif abruptly stood, her pale cheeks flushed a deep coral color as she stared daggers at the Prince of Valhalla.

“Sif, sit down,” Odin chuckled. “It’s not like she meant it that way.”

“Pixies are tiny, frivolous, vengeful little creatures who only exist to scare children and harass adults with stupid pranks. I am Sif Silverwing, guardian of Valhalla and daughter of the Frost Fae’s queen consort. I will not be insulted by some amnesiatic, helpless little godspawn.”

“Pixie,” Thor sneezed.

“Enough!” Odin rumbled in amusement.

They were silent and Odin continued.

“The assassin complicates things. Is it possible that you are mistaken, Sif?”

Sif stalked over to Violet and motioned for her to stand. She reluctantly did so and grunted as Sif spun her so that her back was to the gods seated at the table. Sif tugged Violet’s shirt hem up and pointed at the mark.

“That wasn’t there before,” Freyja said, quickly standing and investigating the stain on Violet’s skin.

“No, it wasn’t,” Odin agreed, joining them, his fingers assessing the mark.

Violet spun away from them and pulled her shirt hem back down. She wasn’t a lab rat or a guinea pig and she was sick of being poked and prodded by relative strangers.

“Regardless, she’s going to have to go back,” Odin said, offering Violet an apologetic smile.

“How do I get back? What am I looking for when I do?” Violet asked.

“Sif will send you,” Freyja replied. “And Thor will be going with you.”

“What?” Sif and Violet asked in unison, though each had a completely different reaction than the other.

Sif was outraged. Violet was ecstatic.

“It’ll be fun! You can show me all your fighters and I can drink them under the table,” Thor bellowed enthusiastically.

“Are we sure that’s a good idea?” Violet asked Odin and Freyja, looking pleadingly from one to the other.

“That’s why Sif is going too,” Freyja added.

“I am not,” Sif snorted. “The last time I went to Earth, that one,” she said, pointing at Thor, “Wouldn’t stop calling me Elsa.”

It was Violet’s turn to laugh, which garnered a smug grin of approval from her godly brother. He held out his fist and she was quick to bump it with hers.

“What’s wrong with Elsa?” Odin asked.

“Just let it go,” Violet replied, failing to rein in more laughter and finding herself joined again by Thor.

“Your Highnesses, I must decline,” Sif snarled. “I will not be disrespected and taunted—”

“Like you’ve done to Violet since she got here?” Thor interjected, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Sif was silent as she glared icy daggers at him. He blew her a kiss.

“You will need to find the knife. It was a soul catcher blade. If so, it trapped part of your soul but was interrupted when Gondul interceded. Find the knife and bring it back here. Once we have it, we can release Gersemi and you can complete Valkyrie training,” Freyja said, standing.

Violet watched as Frejya and Odin stood and made their way back inside.

“And Sif?” Odin said just before he went through the door.

Sif regarded him with a carefully neutral expression.

He grinned and said, “You’re going. End of discussion, pixie.”

Sif turned away from him, denying him the satisfaction of seeing just how angry the jibe made her. She stomped to the balcony and glared at the horizon.

“So, do you still have those hot dogs on sticks there?” Thor asked, standing beside Violet.

“Corndogs? Yeah—they’re bad for you. Don’t eat them,” Violet replied.

“But they’re sooooo good!” Thor exclaimed. “How can something that tastes so good possibly be bad for you?”

“Do you ever think about anything but food?” Violet lamented, heading toward the door that led inside.

“Yes. Sometimes I think about battle. Good beer. Good sex,” Thor chuckled. “Be ready to leave in ten minutes. Bring that soulblade and your Queensguard sword.”

“Where are we meeting?” Violet asked.

“In the training yard at the outward portcullis,” Thor answered, disappearing through the door.

Violet turned to look at Sif and was shocked to see the fairy was gone. Maybe she’d insulted the little creature too much.

And maybe the fae should just… Let it go.