"What about her?" I asked Valeska, motioning toward the woman. "Is she a friend of yours?"
Valeska paused and furrowed her brow. "No, I don't think I've ever seen her before in my life."
"Well, she definitely sees us," I said, since she'd started walking over to us.
"Is the enchantment wearing off?" Valeska asked.
"No, it shouldn't be. Not yet." Oona glanced around. "And no one else seems to be looking at us."
We'd stopped walking, since this woman was coming straight for us and it might cause more of a scene if we tried to run away. It wasn't until she got closer that I realized she wasn't looking at us, or even at Valeska, the way I'd assumed she was.
No, her dark chestnut eyes were locked on me.
"Do I know you?" she asked, sounding as confused as I felt, and my hand hovered above the dagger sheathed at my side.
"I ... I really doubt it," I stammered, unsure of how to respond.
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "There's something familiar about you. We must've met."
I knew for certain that I hadn't returned her. I remembered the faces of everyone that I had killed. But I couldn't say the same about who my mother had killed. No one had ever told me that I looked a lot like Marlow, but there had to be some family resemblance.
And if Marlow had killed this woman, and hers was the last face she'd seen on earth, I imagine that it would be etched in her mind forever. That she could see the similarities I shared with my mother.
"I really don't think so," I insisted and started walking, afraid of what this confrontation might uncover.
"Tell me your name, at least," she persisted, following after me. "Let me put my mind to rest."
I tried to brush her off, but she was right at my side, and others had begun to look at us. I had to do something. "Malin. My name is Malin."
"Malin?" she repeated, and then suddenly she was in front of me, blocking my path, and her eyes had taken on a frantic intensity. "Do you know my daughter?"
"Your daughter?" I asked.
"I'm Lyra," she said, speaking rapidly. "My daughter is Sloane."
"Sloane?" I asked, barely able to hear my own voice over the sound of my pounding heart.
Sloane Kothari, my classmate who had given me the solarsteinn. The same solarsteinn that had once belonged to her mother, an Apsara who had been killed years ago during an attempted uprising against the Valkyries.
For a moment I was frozen, unable to respond. My fingers lingered on my dagger, and I cleared my throat.
"How do you..." I began, then started over. "When you died, I didn't even know Sloane. How could you possibly know of me?"
"I hear from her in her prayers." Lyra smiled sadly at me. "She's mentioned you a lot recently." Then her smile fell abruptly, and her eyebrows arched in suspicion. "But you ... I know what you are, and you shouldn't be here."
SEVENTEEN
My mouth had gone dry, and I wanted to take a deep breath to help clear my head of the electric panic that coursed through me, but the air only burned, feeling as if flames were lapping down my throat and into my lungs.
The handle of the dagger felt cool and comforting against my skin, but that did little to combat my tension. I glanced around, looking for an out. All around me were immortal creatures--ranging from small peaceful goblins to violent lumbering giants--and the one thing that united them all was that they had been put here by a Valkyrie.
If Lyra decided to out us, there would be nothing I could do. I couldn't possibly defeat all of them. The only thing I could do was tell Valeska to grab Oona and fly off, leaving the two of them to complete the mission.
I swallowed hard and looked at Lyra, preparing to say just that, but before I could, she put her hand on my arm. The gentleness of her touch startled me. It was almost ... comforting.
"We shouldn't talk here," Lyra said, lowering her voice as she glanced around. "There are too many prying ears."
"Do we need to talk at all?" Valeska asked, with an edge to her words that let me know she'd been playing out the same scenario that I had, with dozens of immortals descending upon me and tearing me apart.
"Yes," Lyra replied firmly. "I have somewhere we can go."
She let go of my arm and readjusted her sari, then motioned for us to walk on. I looked to Valeska, but she only shook her head grimly. What choice did we have but to do as Lyra asked?
We continued on the way we had been going, following Lyra around the bend past a thicket of trees. Beyond the trees the ground sloped down in a hill before coming to a vast canyon. A bridge extended over it, carved from the same sienna-colored stone that made up the chasm itself.
Across the bridge was a large city carved into the rocky mountain that extended miles above the canyon and bridge. Despite the sheerness of it--it rose at nearly a ninety-degree angle--hundreds of square buildings had been carved into it, with narrow winding paths running between them.
Based on the dozens of immortals going back and forth across the bridge, it appeared to be a bustling city. With all the music and chatter, barking animals, and even clotheslines draped between the homes, it reminded me so much of my neighborhood back in New Edgewater.
"That's Tartarus," Lyra said, motioning to the city. "My home is at the bottom, across the Acheron Gorge."
"We're going to your house?" I asked.
"It is the best place for us to talk," she replied simply and kept walking.
Oona leaned in close to me and whispered, "Do you really think this is safe?"
"No," I said honestly. "But I can't see what choice we have."
Lyra led the way across the bridge, while I followed behind a bit more slowly. I wasn't afraid of heights, but this definitely made me nervous. It was only about ten feet wide, and it had no railing. There was nothing preventing us from tumbling over the side, or any of the beings passing us from pushing us over the side.
I made the mistake of looking over the edge, at the darkness that fell far below us. Through the shadows I saw hints of gray hands and arms reaching out, clawing futilely at the air. Under the murmur of the urban life and the chatter of the population, I could hear the faint sound of wailing echoing off the walls of the canyon.
Once we crossed the bridge, I expected us to head into the city, but Lyra turned sharply. At first I thought she was about to walk off the edge of the cliff and fall down to the grasping clutches of the damned souls below.
But then I realized there was a very narrow path, maybe a foot or two wide, that ran down the sheer wall of the canyon. The walkway was so narrow that Valeska had trouble navigating with her wings, and eventually settled for flying along beside us. From the path, the wailing seemed louder, and the acrid air smelled of death and decay.
Finally Lyra stopped in front of a small door crudely carved into the cliff face, and motioned toward it. "This is my home."
I went in eagerly, happy to be away from the edge, and entered the quaint little cave home of the Apsara. It was one small room, with a lumpy daybed next to a makeshift wood-burning stove, its small chimney disappearing into the wall. A table sat in the center of the room, with two chairs, but several overstuffed cushions were on the floor, resting on a threadbare rug. On one wall was an antique armoire, with intricate mandala-like designs carved into it.
Once we were all inside, Lyra closed the thick wooden door and bolted it shut. She walked around, lighting a few candles and a stick of incense before closing the shades over the only two windows.
She turned to us, wringing her hands as her eyes darted among the three of us. The dim light from the candles made her skin glow, adding to her ethereal beauty, and I understood exactly how she had been a muse for humans in her life on earth.
"I presume none of you are dead," Lyra said finally. "So what is it exactly that you are doing here?"
"We're on a mission," I answered evasively, but she only raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to explain. "From Odin."
She let out a joyless laugh. "Of c
ourse. Only a Vanir god would be arrogant enough to tamper with the underworld."
"We're not trying to tamper with anything," I insisted. "We only want to make things right."
"I'm certain you do." She smiled at me. "But nothing is ever that simple, now, is it?" Her smile filled with pity. "Maybe you're too young to understand."
"We understand plenty," Valeska interjected haughtily.
"Are you all friends of Sloane?" Lyra asked.
"No. Only I am," I said, then corrected myself. "I mean, we're sorta friends. I guess. We're classmates."
"Is she well?" Lyra asked with a hopefulness that was almost painful to hear. "Is she happy?"
"I think she is," I said as honestly as I could. "But she's troubled by the same things that I am."
"She helped Malin on our quest," Oona piped in, referring to the solarsteinn. "She believes that what we're doing is the right thing."
"I know. She hopes so, anyway." Lyra looked at me pensively for a moment, before nodding, as if deciding something. "I suppose that's settled, then, isn't it? I will help you. That's what Sloane would want, and I can do so little for her from here. But I can do this. I can help her friends."
EIGHTEEN
Oona and I sat across from each other at the table on the wobbly old chairs, while Valeska had taken a cushion on the floor. Lyra was at the armoire, pouring a syrupy pale peach-pink liquid from a crystal decanter. We'd tried to refuse, but Lyra insisted that we drink while we talk.
When she set the brass cups of what appeared to be lassi in front of us, a sweet scent wafted to us--like honey and fresh-cut flowers.
"What is it?" Oona asked, as she admired the liquid swirling in her cup.
"Amrita," she explained. "Some call it the 'nectar of the gods.' It will give you strength and courage for what lies ahead."
I drank first, while Valeska stared down at her cup as if she expected a monster to leap out and bite off her face. It was almost overly sweet, but not quite. Despite the viscosity, there was a lightness to it, almost reminiscent of cucumber lemonade, but with an earthy undertone, like it had been left to age for a very long time.
"Did Sloane tell you how I died?" Lyra asked as I sipped my beverage.
Already I could feel the liquid coursing through me. It was soft but heady, like the exhilaration right after a first kiss, without all the heart-pounding and butterflies. Just a good, strange intoxication. But unlike alcohol, which muddied my thoughts, this made me feel more clear-headed and alert.
When I breathed in, the air no longer burned my lungs.
"She told me some," I answered carefully. "An uprising against the Evig Riksdag."
"Against Valkyries," Lyra amended. She stood, leaning back against the armoire, with her gaze resting heavily on me. "But I want you to know I never held any hatred toward you or your ilk personally. You were merely the weapons. You were as exploited as the rest of us."
"I wouldn't really say I'm exploited," I argued, but without as much conviction as I would've had a few weeks ago. "I was born a Valkyrie, but I didn't have to be one. Not if I didn't want to."
"I used to think like you," she said with a bemused smile. "Then everything changed. I went my whole life believing I had a choice, that I had free will. Then one day I realized I was wrong."
Oona had gulped down her Amrita, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before asking, "What changed?"
Lyra sighed and then began. "I lived for a hundred years before getting married, and then Sloane's father and I waited another fifty years to have her. As immortals, we were always very conscious about having a mortal child."
Lyra and her husband were immortals, but they were different species. She was an Apsara, he was a Devi, and while there were many similarities between the two, they were not the same. The child of any mixed parentage--even of two immortals--will be mortal. Since both of Sloane's parents were divine immortals of different species, she was a mortal Nephilim.
"I didn't think I'd ever have children after I fell in love with a Devi, knowing that meant that we'd most likely outlive any child we had," she went on. "But we both had so much love, and we wanted to share it with our own baby.
"So." Lyra paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. "We had Sloane, and I loved her with all my heart. I still love her with every part of my being.
"When she was still very small, she fell off a changing table. I ran and barely caught her. If I had arrived a moment later, she would've fallen to the floor. She could've been hurt or even killed. Mortal babies are so fragile, and that's why I had never wanted to have a child."
Lyra held her arms out, miming as if she were cradling a baby, and she stared down into them, lost in her memory. "Then, as I held my beautiful baby girl, worrying about all the ways she might be maimed or killed, I realized that I had never wanted her."
She looked up sharply then, her voice strong. "Don't mistake that for me saying that I didn't love her--I do. I did. Always. But I never made a conscious decision to have her.
"I remembered the conversations I'd had with her father, where we talked at length," she went on. "I could hear my own words coming out of my mouth, saying, 'Let's have a baby.' But in my heart, deep within me, that's not what I wanted." Her smile turned bitter as she spoke. "But I had been compelled to say it."
A chill ran over me, and I wondered painfully if Marlow had felt the same way about me. If she had never wanted me, but had been compelled. Unlike Lyra, she'd never mustered the ability to love me the way Lyra loved Sloane.
"Many women experience things like that," Oona countered gently. "Having children is life-changing. It's easy to have regrets and fears."
"No, this was different," Lyra insisted, with a finality in her words. "And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that so many things in my life I did, I hadn't wanted to do. Part of that was my nature. Because I'm an Apsara, I had a duty to be good and kind and to motivate others to do the same. It's instinctual, the same way a robin knows how to make a nest. I knew how to inspire."
"Because you're immortal, you have stronger instincts," I said. "But I have them, too."
"Of course," Lyra agreed. "It's only the humans who were favored by the gods that were truly given free will." She rolled her eyes at that. "But I had come to realize that it was stronger than that for me.
"Like having Sloane," she went on. "It was as if something else was controlling me. I investigated more, and it occurred to me that would be the only way that Valkyries make sense: If there is someone else writing our destiny, controlling our fate. Making us do things that we don't want to do."
"So you think you don't have free will. What about me?" I asked, then motioned to Oona. "Or Oona?" Then I pointed to Valeska, who responded with a groan of annoyance that I was bringing her into the argument. "Or children of mixed parentage, like Valeska here or Sloane?"
"How can any of us truly have free will if the entire immortal population is controlled by someone--something--else?" Lyra persisted. "They're behaving as they are made, behaving around you without choice, so all your interactions have become choreographed. None of us can be free. That's why I wanted an uprising. I wanted to liberate Sloane.
"But then I realized the truth far too late, not until after I had been down here for some time," she said with a weary sigh. "I can't break free. I can't do anything I wasn't destined to do. To go against destiny would be to tear at the very fabric of our existence, causing the magic that traps all of us into our respective worlds to fail, and it would only be a matter of time before all the immortals here found a way back to earth. There are so many here who want only to reclaim what they believe was stolen from them--their time up in the sun--and they will do anything to get it back, even if it means destroying everything."
Her eyes were downcast as the weight of her words settled in around us.
"So I stay here," she said finally. "I will toil away for as long as my daughter is alive. She has such a short time on the earth, and I
want her to enjoy it as much as she can. I want her to be happy and alive."
Valeska broke the ensuing silence with, "That's very admirable of you."
"What choice do I have?" Lyra asked with a bitter smile. Then she straightened and clasped her hands together. "I'm certain you didn't come down here to listen to the ramblings of an old woman. What is it that I can help you with?"
"We are--" I began, but Valeska cut me off, clearing her throat loudly.
"No offense, but after everything you've told us, I don't know how we can trust you," Valeska said, and I cast her a look, but she just stared impassively at Lyra.
"Sloane helped you because she believes your mission is good, and I want only to keep my daughter safe," Lyra replied evenly. "But if you don't want my help, I can't force you."
"I think we need as much help as we can get," I clarified, still glaring at Valeska, but then I turned to Lyra. "For your safety and ours, it's for the best that you don't know the details of our mission. But I don't think it would hurt, and it would help us a great deal, if you could assist us in getting to Zianna."
Lyra arched a dark eyebrow. "You're going to Zianna? You won't be able to get in without the help of a divine immortal like myself. They won't let just anybody wander in."
"But you think you could get us in?" I asked.
"Yes. But you'll need to get cleaned up first." She motioned to our dirty skin and tangled hair. "I'm not sure what we'll do about your clothes. I have things you can wear, but they might be too ragged for strangers like you to be let through the door."
"I think I can help with that," Oona said with a hopeful grin. "But we'll be happy to take whatever you can spare."
NINETEEN
Valeska gave another irritated grumble, and I looked at her from the corner of my eye, since Lyra held my head still as she carefully plaited my long black hair.
"Is this really necessary?" Valeska asked, her husky voice almost pleading, as she motioned to her changed look.
Her wild hair had been tamed into loose curls thanks to a combination of Lyra and Oona's expertise, and a bejeweled ribbon headband ran across the back of her head to keep it all in place.