Pegasus and the Rise of the Titans

  Freya looked at her sister and sighed. Maya was beautiful. All four of her sisters were, but Maya was the most enchanting. She was tall and lean with long flaxen hair. The skin on her sculpted face was unblemished and she had the palest pearl-grey eyes in all of Asgard. Her wings were fine-boned with elegant white feathers lying neatly over each other. She was everything a Valkyrie should be, which was why most of the reaped warriors fell instantly in love with her.

  Compared to Maya, Freya, the youngest of the five sisters, felt like a plough horse. She wasn’t as tall, beautiful or graceful. Her wings were large and stocky. Their raven-black feathers always looked as if they could use a good grooming. Instead of pearl-grey eyes, Freya’s were dark blue. And although she was the fastest flyer in Asgard, it was always Maya who attracted attention.

  But for all their differences, Freya adored her older sister. Many times Freya had watched Maya with envy as she confidently approached the battlefields. Without a trace of hesitation, she reaped the warriors she was assigned to and escorted them back to Valhalla.

  ‘Don’t you ever question what we do?’

  Maya shook her head. ‘We do as we are intended to do. As Odin tells us to.’

  ‘And if we don’t want to do it?’

  Maya put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you are even my sister. How can you not want to be a Valkyrie?’

  Sitting on her shoulder, Orus whispered in her ear. ‘Stop arguing. Maya cannot understand. Don’t condemn her for that.’

  Freya looked into the dark eyes of the raven on her shoulder. Orus was right. No one in Asgard could understand how she felt. At times she didn’t even understand it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said finally. ‘I guess I’m nervous for today.’

  Maya nodded and combed her fine fingers through Freya’s wild, unkempt hair. ‘I understand. Now come, let’s get you prepared for the ceremony – before Odin sends out a Dark Searcher to find us.’

  Freya and Orus followed Maya and her raven back to Valhalla. Beneath them, the Great Heavenly Hall was being prepared for her First Day Ceremony. This was to be the final ceremony for some time as there were no Valkyries younger than Freya. Everyone in Asgard wanted this ceremony to be the best ever – everyone except Freya.

  In the fields surrounding Valhalla, the reaped warriors who had chosen to remain in Asgard did what they were always doing. Fighting. The clanging sounds of sword upon sword rose up in the air as fighters spent all day battling against each other until night fell. Then they would enter Valhalla and drink and sing – preparing for the next day’s battle.

  To Freya, it all seemed so pointless. There were so many other things to see and do. Why these warriors should choose to fight, day in, day out, was something she couldn’t comprehend.

  They veered away from Valhalla and flew over the beautiful buildings that made up the main city of Asgard and back to their home. It was a magnificent mansion standing alone on a hill, surrounded by gardens that turned into dense forests.

  The Valkyries lived in the most extravagant palaces, and as Freya’s mother was Senior Valkyrie, she had the biggest, most opulent – second only in size and beauty to Odin’s palace.

  Landing on the main balcony, they found their mother pacing the large reception room. Shields and weapons of battles throughout the ages adorned the walls and the floor was lined with sheepskin rugs.

  Their mother was dressed in her shining silver armour. The feathers on her wings were groomed and bejewelled and her ceremonial dagger was at her waist. Her winged helmet was cast on a chair.

  ‘Freya!’ she shouted as she charged over. Her ice-blue eyes blazed and her white wings were half open in fury. ‘Where have you been? Do you realize the time? You will be late for your own First Day Ceremony! Odin will be in a rage.’

  ‘Mother, it’s all right,’ Maya said calmly. ‘Freya and Orus went out for a quick flight and lost track of time. Odin need never know. If you tell him we’re on our way, we’ll be there shortly.’

  ‘It will take an age to get her prepared,’ her mother ranted. ‘Just look at the state of her, she’s filthy!’ She snatched up a comb and tried to drag it through Freya’s tangled blonde hair. Just look at the state of your feathers! I’m amazed you can even fly . . .’

  ‘Mother, please,’ Freya begged. She caught the comb as her mother pulled it through a large knot. ‘I can do this. Just give me a bit of time.’

  ‘Of all my children, you have always given me the most trouble. Your sisters were dressed and ready to leave at sun-up. They’ve already gone to Valhalla to join the honour guard. Don’t you realize how important this is? You are my youngest child and the last Valkyrie. Today, finally, you will join us in the reaping. It is a great honour.’

  Freya opened her mouth to protest, but her sister cut in. ‘Of course Freya understands how important it is. We all do. Just give us a moment to prepare and we’ll meet you at the entrance to Valhalla.’

  Her mother seemed unconvinced, but nodded as she reached for her winged helmet. ‘Just don’t keep Odin waiting long. You know how impatient he can be.’ Without a backward glance she crossed to the balcony, opened her wings and leaped off.

  ‘Remember to bow when you approach Odin,’ Orus warned. Well preened, he sat on Freya’s shoulder as they prepared to leave for Valhalla.

  Freya nodded her head nervously. ‘I’ll remember.’

  Maya put the finishing touches to Freya’s gold and white gown as she flitted around her. ‘And try not to yawn when he gives his speech.’

  ‘I’ll try. But why does he always have to talk for so long?’

  Orus leaned closer to her ear. ‘To hear himself speak!’ The raven started to laugh and caw at his insult to the leader of Asgard.

  ‘Don’t let Odin hear you say that,’ Maya warned, swatting at him. ‘Orus, you should show more respect – like my Grul.’ Maya reached up and stroked the raven at her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t try to educate Orus, Maya,’ Grul teased. ‘He’s too thick to learn anything.’

  ‘Who are you calling thick?’ Orus challenged, cawing loudly and flapping his wings.

  ‘You,’ Grul answered.

  As the two ravens cawed at each other, Maya held up her hand. ‘Enough! When will you two finally get along?’

  ‘Never!’ the ravens said as one.

  Freya reached up and stroked Orus’s smooth black chest. ‘Calm down. He’s just trying to upset you before the ceremony.’

  ‘He’s doing a fine job of it,’ Orus muttered. ‘One of these days, Freya, I’m going to show that Grul just how clever I really am . . .’

  Ignoring the bickering birds, Maya finished fastening a plain gold chain at her sister’s neck. ‘Oh, and try to look interested when Odin tells the story of Frigha.’

  ‘Oh no, not again,’ Freya moaned. ‘Why does he keep telling us the same old story every time there is a First Day Ceremony? Surely, by now, we all know it.’

  ‘He tells the story as a warning to all of us,’ Maya said. ‘So no one forgets what happened to the one Valkyrie who defied him and ran away from her duties in Asgard. You remember what happened to her?’

  ‘How could I forget? Odin had to summon a Dark Searcher to find her. Then he let loose the Midgard Serpent to punish those who helped hide her from him. Half the Earth was destroyed in his rage.’

  ‘Yes,’ Maya said. ‘And then he cut off her wings and took out her eyes before he banished the Valkyrie from Asgard for all time. She was left to wander the World of Man – blind, alone and flightless. To lose our wings is a fate worse than death.’

  ‘I know the story,’ Freya said tiredly. ‘You don’t have to remind me.’

  ‘I’m just saying that Odin will repeat it. You must show him respect and try not to look too bored.’

 
‘I’ll try.’ Freya inhaled deeply. ‘So how do I look?’

  Maya took a step back and surveyed her work. ‘You look beautiful. Not even Mother could find fault.’

  Freya grinned and opened her dark wings. Her sister had applied fragrant oils to the feathers that had them shining brightly. In the full sunlight, the black feathers shone with rainbow iridescence.

  Freya looked to Orus. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘You’ll do,’ the raven said casually. He gave her a playful nip on the ear with his polished long beak. ‘Just as long as they don’t look too closely at your fingernails.’ He cawed in laughter and flew off her shoulder towards the balcony. ‘Now, hurry up before they start the ceremony without us!’

  Valhalla had been dressed for the ceremony in the most beautiful flowers that grew in Asgard. The high walls had been scrubbed, the spires that rose high into the air all flew the flag of the Valkyries and the weapons adorning the doors had been cleaned and polished. All the grounds surrounding the hall had been groomed. There wasn’t a thing out of place.

  Outside the Great Hall, the slain warriors stopped fighting and gathered together along either side of the entrance to greet Freya. As she approached, they all bowed their heads.

  ‘See, they’re not so bad,’ Maya whispered as she smiled radiantly at the gathered warriors.

  Freya wasn’t convinced. ‘Just you wait. The moment we’re inside, they’ll go back to slaughtering each other in the name of amusement.’

  Maya sighed. ‘That is the afterlife they have chosen. Why must you condemn them for that?’

  ‘Because it’s foolish.’

  ‘It is their choice,’ Maya insisted.

  Their mother appeared at the entrance. ‘You’re late,’ she chastised. ‘Everyone is waiting.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ Maya said. ‘But doesn’t Freya look beautiful?’

  Her mother was much like Maya. Tall, elegant and beautiful. ‘Yes she does,’ she admitted. She embraced Freya warmly.

  ‘You are my youngest child and I am proud to welcome you into the sisterhood of the Valkyries. Come, my daughter, come and take your rightful place among us.’

  Freya stood directly behind her mother, while Maya took position behind her. As they approached the wide doors of Valhalla, Maya donned her winged helmet and then placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m right behind you, Freya. Always.’

  Grateful for her sister’s presence, Freya reached up and gave Orus a stroke on the chest. ‘Well, this is it.’

  ‘Good luck,’ the raven whispered. ‘You’ll do fine.’

  As her mother led her into Valhalla, Freya felt the eyes of Asgard resting upon her. Lining the aisle leading up to Odin were all the other Valkyries. They were dressed in their full armour and wearing their winged helmets. Their wings were open in salute as they raised their swords high in the air.

  Freya knew them all by name, but there were none among them that she could call friend. She was the youngest and the last in the long line of Valkyries. But this wasn’t what made her different. For reasons no one understood, Freya was the first Valkyrie born with solid black feathers, as opposed to the white or grey wings of the other Valkyries. This difference made her stand out and was the subject of much talk and rumour. At times, she felt almost as if they resented her and didn’t trust her. Her mother had always said that her father was a powerful warrior of dark hair and piercing black eyes. She had been told that he remained in Asgard and was one of the warriors fighting outside Valhalla. But her mother had never pointed him out.

  When she was younger she would walk among the warriors and wonder if she could find him. But as time passed and she saw how brutal they could be, she lost interest. Besides, she reasoned, he could have come forward to find her. He knew her mother – surely if he wanted to meet her he could. So if he wasn’t interested, why should she waste her time trying to find him?

  The blasting of horns pulled Freya from her thoughts. Everyone in the huge hall stood to attention. As Freya followed her mother down the long aisle, she walked past her three sisters at the front. Their swords were held high, their armour shone and their extended wings glistened as they all smiled proudly at her.

  Finally, Odin appeared with his family on a tall dais at the front of the hall and took a position to receive her. Following close at his heels were Odin’s two pet wolves, Geri and Freki. At Odin’s command, they sat and panted softly.

  Freya’s mother bowed before the leader of Asgard, stepped to the left and knelt down. Freya followed suit and knelt before Odin. Her sister bowed and then knelt on Freya’s right.

  ‘Rise!’ commanded Odin.

  Freya rose and stood before the imposing leader. She felt awed in his presence. Odin was a terrifying sight in his full, well-used battle armour. His wild red hair spilled out from under his large horned helmet and his red beard grew long and thick, down to his waist. His left eye socket was covered with a gold patch. It was rumoured that he had sacrificed his eye in pursuit of wisdom, but Freya didn’t know if this was true or not. In his bare arms he carried his famous spear, Gungnir.

  Freya had never been this close to Odin before and the sight of him petrified her. All the wild stories told about him and his strength and battle prowess now seemed possible as she stood before him.

  Standing behind Odin was his wife, Frigg. She too was dressed in her golden battle armour and in her hands was the new silver breastplate that was to be given to Freya. Her long blonde hair was neatly styled in two bejewelled braids that almost reached down to her fur-lined boots. It was said she was the most beautiful woman in Asgard. Up close, Freya could see it was true. The only one who could ever rival her beauty was Freya’s own sister, Maya.

  Beside Frigg was Thor. He was the spitting image of his father, Odin, except for the colour of his hair. Thor’s hair was long and blond; only his beard showed a trace of his father’s red. Thor stood stone-faced and unmoving as his blue eyes bored into her. He was clutching his hammer, Mjölnir, in one hand and holding a newly crafted winged helmet in the other.

  It was said that Thor didn’t have a lot of time for the Valkyries and, by the dark expression on his face, Freya could see that this was true. What caused the animosity remained a mystery. But for as long as she had lived, Freya had done her best to avoid him and his sharp tongue.

  Standing back against the wall behind the dais was Loki, the trickster and unrelated blood-brother to Odin. Unlike the other men of Asgard, he wasn’t strongly built, nor did he wear armour or carry a weapon. He had long dark-brown hair and sparkling, mischievous eyes. Freya knew even less about him than she did Thor. Only that, for reasons untold, Odin tolerated his presence in Asgard despite all the trouble he liked to cause. Her mother said he was dangerous and was always warning Freya to stay away from him.

  As he caught her eye, he gave her a charming grin and bowed elegantly.

  Odin cleared his throat loudly to ensure he had everyone’s attention. ‘Welcome to this final First Day Ceremony.’ He dropped his eyes and they landed directly on Freya.

  ‘Freya, today you are the last to join your sisters in the reaping. This is a sombre occasion indeed, filled with reverence for a time-honoured tradition assigned only to the Valkyries. It falls upon you to bring only the best of the slain to me, here at Valhalla. They have earned their place among the glorious dead and share in the celebration of battle . . .’

  Freya stood before Odin, trying her best to stay focused and listen to every word of his long speech, but as the moments passed it was becoming harder and harder.

  To her, there was no glory in being a warrior killed in battle. It was wasteful. Where were art, music and all the other parts that made up a life? Maya kept insisting there was more to the World of Man than just fighting. But if that was so, why did Odin revere it as he did?

  As her
eyes drifted around the Great Hall, she saw how everyone hung on Odin’s every word. How they murmured in agreement as he spoke of the glorious dead and of battles fought and won. Looking at the masses of people surrounding her, Freya had never felt more alone.

  Why was she so different?

  Why couldn’t she feel the same way everyone else did?

  A sharp nip at her ear brought her out of her reverie. She stole a quick look at Orus on her shoulder. ‘Freya, stop daydreaming!’ he warned softly. ‘Prepare to swear your oath.’

  With a quick nod, Freya turned her attention back to Odin. She hadn’t been aware of his speech and suddenly realized he was now deep into telling the story of Frigha, the runaway Valkyrie.

  ‘It gave me no joy to blind and de-wing her,’ he was saying. ‘Finally she was banished from her home in Asgard. To this day, she wanders the Earth alone, lost in her shame and betrayal . . .’

  On and on Odin droned, giving warning to all Valkyries that once they swear the oath, they are bound to their duties. Freya wondered if he ever stopped talking long enough to actually breathe.

  Finally he offered her his large hand. ‘Come forward, Freya,’ he commanded.

  ‘Go on,’ Orus ordered into her ear. ‘This is it!’

  Freya nervously took hold of Odin’s outstretched hand and stepped up on to the dais. ‘Kneel, child.’

  Freya opened her wings wide enough to allow her to kneel before the leader of Asgard as Odin placed a hand on the top of her head. ‘Freya, do you swear to carry out your duties to the best of your abilities?’

  ‘Say “I swear”,’ Orus whispered softly in her ear.

  ‘I swear,’ Freya repeated sombrely.

  ‘Do you swear allegiance to the sisterhood of the Valkyries and promise to fulfill your obligations as one of the favoured?’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘Do you swear your allegiance to me to do my bidding according to the laws of the Valkyries – bringing only the best of the best warriors to my Great Heavenly Hall, Valhalla, and leaving the others to Azrael and his Angels of Death?’