Valkyrie

  Curtis’s eyes went wide. ‘That looks enough to buy half of Chicago! Valkyrie, are you sure you want to sell this?’

  ‘What good are cold stones unless they can help someone?’ Freya remarked. ‘I don’t care about the jewels – Asgard is filled with them – but I do care about Tyrone’s family.’

  ‘I can sell it for you,’ Curtis said. ‘But it sounds like those developers want more than money. They want that property.’

  Freya dropped her head. ‘I know. If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to do it my way. I don’t want to hurt them, but to stop them, I will.’

  ‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that.’

  Freya paused, struck by his kindness. ‘Why are you helping me?’

  ‘Because it’s the right thing to do,’ Curtis said. ‘Besides, I owe you. After your warning, I kept my eye on that guy I was working with. I saw a few things I shouldn’t have and called my nephew. I told you he’s a cop. Well, it turns out, Joe was wanted for murder. He was one nasty piece of work.’

  ‘He was,’ Freya agreed.

  ‘Someone is coming,’ Orus warned.

  ‘Your friend is coming back,’ Freya said as she pulled on her helmet.

  ‘Let me send him home. Then we’ll take my van to your friends’ house.’

  Freya had never ridden in a human vehicle before and hoped never to do so again. Trying to sit in the front of the van was more painful than she could have imagined. She needed to keep her coat on to hide her wings, which meant she had to sit on them in order to fit in the front seat.

  Every bump and turn caused her pain in the bones and muscles of her constricted wings.

  ‘You OK?’ Curtis asked as he helped her from the van when they arrived at the Johnsons’ house.

  ‘I will be,’ Freya complained, ‘once I get this coat off!’ She paused. ‘Curtis, here they call me Greta. Would you do the same?’

  ‘That’s not your real name, is it?’ he asked as he followed her up to the house.

  ‘No,’ Freya answered. ‘But I like it.’

  When they knocked, Tamika answered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Freya asked her tentatively. ‘May I come in?’

  Tamika nodded sheepishly and stepped aside to let her pass. ‘I’m really sorry, Greta. You just scared me when you showed me your . . .’ She paused and looked at Curtis.

  ‘Wings,’ Freya finished. ‘This is Curtis. He knows all about me.’

  Curtis laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say all about you. But I’ve sure seen plenty.’ His eyes landed on Tamika and he smiled brightly. ‘Greta here has told me all about you and your baby sister.’

  A sad smile crept to Tamika’s lips. ‘Greta, were you really the last to see my dad?’

  Freya nodded. ‘He was a very good man. He earned a place in Valhalla, but wanted to go on to be with the rest of your family.’

  ‘So he’s with my mom?’

  ‘I believe so,’ Freya said as she walked into the house.

  Freya introduced Curtis to Alma. She was busy feeding Uniik. When she finished, Curtis asked to hold the baby.

  ‘My wife and I never had kids,’ he said, making funny cooing sounds to the baby. ‘Nearly broke our hearts. Now we’re too old to adopt.’ As Uniik started to cry he reluctantly handed her back to Alma. ‘Show me those papers Greta told me about – maybe I can help?’

  Alma handed over the paperwork. As Curtis read every page, he shook his head. ‘I’m no expert, but something feels wrong with this paperwork.’

  ‘Of course it’s wrong,’ Tamika said. ‘They’re trying to steal our house.’

  Curtis smiled at her. ‘Well, we aren’t going to let them, are we?’ He looked towards Alma. ‘My wife is a lawyer. Can I bring her around to take a look at these?’

  Alma shook her head. ‘I can’t afford a lawyer.’

  ‘She won’t mind. She loves a cause,’ Curtis said. ‘I promise it won’t cost you a dime.’ He held up the papers. ‘Men like these gotta be stopped before they take over the world.’ He stood up. ‘I better get back – but I’ll speak to my wife tonight.’

  As he made for the door, he leaned closer to Freya and whispered, ‘I’ll take care of that other thing we discussed. I’m sure my wife can find a buyer for the jewels.’

  ‘Thank you, Curtis.’

  He grinned. ‘Don’t thank me yet; this fight is just getting started.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Maya had spent half the night soaring in the skies over Asgard. It was still a long time before dawn but she couldn’t find her sister anywhere.

  Finally she headed to the one place she prayed Freya hadn’t gone: Bifröst. The Rainbow Bridge was shimmering brightly in the cold, clear night. At the entrance, Heimdall stood guard.

  Maya landed before him. ‘Greetings, Heimdall.’ She bowed her head formally.

  ‘Greetings, Valkyrie,’ Heimdall responded, as he also bowed to Maya. ‘There is no reaping this night. What calls you to Bifröst?’

  ‘Heimdall, you are a friend of Freya’s.’ Maya approached him gently.

  The shy Watchman smiled and nodded. ‘She comes here often, though usually it’s late at night. We walk out on Bifröst and watch the human world. Most times, we do not speak. I can feel a great sadness in the child. She is restless. I do what I can, but nothing seems to calm her troubled mind.’

  Maya nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Did you see her tonight? Has she come this way?’

  Heimdall frowned. ‘Not tonight. Why? What concerns you?’

  ‘I can’t find her,’ Maya explained. ‘I came home from Valhalla and she wasn’t in her bed. I’ve searched everywhere. Normally I get a feeling for where she is. But now I feel nothing. I fear something may have happened to her.’

  The Watchman’s fair eyebrows knitted together in a frown. His face revealed he was deeply troubled.

  ‘What is it?’

  Heimdall shook his head. ‘It may be nothing, and I beg you not to tell Odin. But sometimes I have episodes. I am at my post one moment; the next I am on the ground. Nothing around me has been disturbed and I have seen no one. You know I require very little sleep and am certain I have not dozed off. But when I wake, I find a fraction of time has passed.’

  ‘Did you have a similar episode tonight?’

  Heimdall nodded. ‘It wasn’t long. But I awoke on the ground again.’ He paused and rubbed his chin. ‘Wait, I remember. Loki was here not long after; he said he caught me sleeping on the job and that he was going to tell Odin.’

  ‘Loki?’ Maya said. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I told him if he said one word to Odin, I would squish him like a bug.’

  Maya bowed again. ‘Thank you, Heimdall. You have been most helpful.’

  Maya turned to walk away, now convinced something was wrong. First Grul saw Freya with Loki, and then Loki was at Bifröst causing grief for Heimdall. It was too large a coincidence for such a short time.

  ‘Maya, wait!’ the Watchman called.

  The ground around him shook as Heimdall jogged over to her. ‘Go to the stables. The Reaping Mares are bound to their riders. Take Freya’s mare. She can lead you to your missing sister.’

  Maya felt like an idiot for not thinking of that first. Sylt was devoted to Freya, just as her own mare, Hildr, was devoted to her. ‘Thank you, Heimdall. I shall do that.’

  Opening her wings, Maya and Grul launched into the air and flew to the stables. Sylt’s stall was at the very end. Just as Freya was the youngest Valkyrie, Sylt was the youngest Reaping Mare.

  ‘Easy,’ Maya said as she entered the stall and stroked the mare’s smooth chestnut head. ‘Sylt, I need you to find Freya.’

  The mare nickered softly.

  ‘Freya,’ Maya repeated as she put the reins on the mare and climbed up on to her back. ‘Take me to Freya.’

  Sylt nodded her head and pulled at the reins. She trotted out of the stables, opened her large dark wings and took to the air.

  Moments later, she landed bef
ore Bifröst. Sylt pawed at the ground, shook her head and snorted in distress. None of the Reaping Mares would dare cross the Rainbow Bridge without permission. To do so would mean their death.

  Moments later, Heimdall reappeared. ‘It is as I feared,’ said the Watchman. ‘I believe your sister may have crossed Bifröst without leave to do so. This is a grave offence. Odin will be furious.’

  Maya climbed down from Sylt and knelt before him. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please, let me pass. I must see if this is true. If Freya has left Asgard, Sylt will lead me to her. I will bring her back. Odin need never know.’

  ‘You want me to lie to Odin?’ boomed the Watchman.

  Maya quickly shook her head. ‘No, Heimdall, not lie. But if he doesn’t ask, please don’t tell him. I know you care for Freya please help me find her.’

  ‘Freya is one of the few who is nice to me,’ Heimdall said. ‘She cares not that I am a lowly watchman.’

  Heimdall was a mystery. He was born of nine maiden mothers and had no known father. This caused much suspicion to most in Asgard. But he had always been exceptionally loyal to Odin and was happy to take on the mantle as Watchman of Bifröst when asked. Once Heimdall befriended you, he was your friend forever.

  ‘Please,’ Maya continued, ‘I do not ask that you come with me. Only that you let me cross Bifröst to see if she is in Midgard.’

  Heimdall looked at the sparkling Rainbow Bridge and then back to Maya. ‘I will do this,’ he said, ‘on one condition.’

  ‘Anything,’ Maya said. ‘Just ask.’

  Heimdall’s cheeks reddened. ‘I like your sister very much. She has such spirit. But you are the fairest Valkyrie in Asgard. If I let you go, will you dance with me at Valhalla?’

  Maya was stunned into silence. She had no idea he’d even noticed her, let alone wanted to dance with her.

  ‘Does my request repulse you?’ he asked, sounding wounded.

  ‘No,’ Maya said quickly and truthfully. ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then do we have an agreement?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t do it, Maya,’ Grul warned. ‘It will lead to disaster.’

  Without hesitation, Maya nodded. ‘Of course, Heimdall. If you let me pass to search for Freya, I will gladly dance with you at Valhalla and be happy for it.’

  Heimdall gave Maya the biggest, brightest smile she had ever seen. He bowed respectfully to her. ‘Then we are in agreement. You may pass. But be sure to return before sunrise. Odin would have my head if he knew what I was doing.’

  Maya climbed back up on Sylt. ‘No, Heimdall, it will be my head – and my wings, and my eyes – if he finds out.’

  ‘Stay safe, Valkyrie,’ he called as Maya directed Sylt on to the Rainbow Bridge.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Freya was getting the hang of school life. She was even starting to enjoy some of her assignments. She had just written a History essay on the American Civil War. Freya had attended all the battles in the war, and was confident she had aced it. She took her seat in class eagerly anticipating getting the assignment back with a high grade. But as soon as Mr Powless, the history teacher, entered the class, he asked Freya to stand.

  ‘Greta, I was most entertained by your essay. What was it about the assignment that you didn’t understand?’

  ‘I understood everything,’ Freya answered frowning. ‘You asked for a description of a battle during the Civil War, I described the Battle of Gettysburg.’

  ‘What you gave me is pure fantasy.’ He waved her essay in the air. ‘Here you talk about the casualties.’ Mr Powless cleared his throat and started to read it out loud. ‘At the end of the third day, the overall battle was drawing to a close. The air was heavy with the stench of blood, filth and gunpowder. Men’s cries could be heard rising high in the sky and drowned out the roaring of the approaching Valkyries.

  ‘On that final day, there were more Valkyries on the battlefield than living soldiers. With only twenty-one warriors earning a place at Valhalla, we spent our time causing mischief with the weapons, teasing the men and misdirecting cannon fire.

  ‘All told, in the Battle of Gettysburg thirty-five thousands fighters were wounded and eight thousand, nine-hundred and fifty-two warriors killed. Of those, seventy-nine were reaped by Valkyries and delivered to Valhalla while the remainders were left to the Angels of Death.’

  Mr Powless lowered the essay. ‘If I could give points for originality, you would get a perfect score. However, this is History, not creative writing. Not only are your descriptions of the battle scenes inaccurate, your figures are wrong. You didn’t separate your casualties into losses on each side.’

  ‘The specifics don’t matter,’ Freya defended herself. ‘Dead is dead. It doesn’t matter which side they fought for. They all died and valiant warriors from each side earned a place in Valhalla.’

  The class laughed and Mr Powless’s face went red. ‘Of course it matters. We learn from these statistics, and plan better strategies.’

  ‘Humans learn nothing from war!’ Freya fired back. ‘I could cite all the losses in all the battles throughout time, and still humans would not change.’

  Mr Powless went back to the blackboard and snatched up a piece of chalk. ‘All right, you claim you can give me statistics? Fine. Let’s stick with the Civil War for now. Give me the details of the Battle at Antietam!’

  ‘Deaths or overall casualties?’

  ‘Both!’

  Freya stated the statistics of the battle, including soldiers reaped by the Valkyries. Mr Powless scribbled her answers on the blackboard.

  He turned on her. ‘The Battle of Shiloh?’

  Freya recited figures and Mr Powless recorded the casualties and deaths on the blackboard, ignoring the figures about the Valkyries and Angels of Death. His writing became more and more erratic.

  He turned to face her again. ‘All right, let’s move away from the Civil War. There was a battle fought at Little Bighorn. What can you tell me about that?’

  ‘Gee,’ Archie whispered frantically. He pulled on her coat sleeve. ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Not this time. I may not know a lot about humans, but war is the one thing I do know. My figures are correct.’

  Freya stated the details of the battle between General George Custer and his men against the Cheyenne and Lakota tribes. ‘Chief Lame White Man was reaped and delivered to Valhalla. He is still there and is very much respected by all the warriors.’

  Mr Powless shook his head. ‘Let’s talk World War II and the Battle of Stalingrad.’

  Freya confidently recited the figures of one of the worst battles in the war. When she finished, her teacher stood back from the battle statistics on the blackboard. ‘Wrong, wrong and wrong,’ he cried, crossing out each answer. ‘These are all wrong and your essay is an embarrassment!’

  ‘You are the one who’s wrong!’ Freya shouted indignantly. ‘I was there. I saw them with my own eyes!’

  ‘Gee, enough!’ Archie cried.

  ‘Freya!’ Orus cried as he gave her ear a sharp nip. ‘Stop now. Say nothing more!’

  Mr Powless raised a shaking finger to the door. ‘Get out. Get out of my classroom right now. Go to the Principal’s office. I will be there in a few minutes.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Freya waited outside the Principal’s office and listened to her history teacher ranting. When he came out of the office, he glared at her but said nothing.

  Dr Klobucher appeared at the door. ‘Greta, please come in.’

  Freya entered the office feeling as though she had been summoned to stand before Odin.

  Dr Klobucher sighed. ‘Normally I like to give new students a few weeks to get settled. But in the short time you’ve been here, I have received complaints about you from several teachers. You are argumentative in class and constantly correct them.’

  Freya opened her mouth to protest, but the Principal held up a warning finger. ‘Right from the start I’ve felt something’s not right. I’ve tried to be tolerant and sensitive ab
out your situation but you are putting me in a very difficult position. None of the paperwork you’ve supplied is genuine. I have more questions about you than answers and unless you tell me the truth about yourself right now, you are facing expulsion.’

  ‘Please don’t do that,’ Freya started. ‘I am not ready to leave here yet. People are depending on me.’

  The Principal leaned closer. ‘Then talk to me. Tell me who you are. Where are you really from? Are you a runaway? Whatever it is, we can deal with it. But I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ Freya said.

  ‘You don’t have a choice. You either tell me right now, or I’ll call Mrs Johnson to collect you.’ The Principal walked round her desk and softened her voice. ‘Greta, whatever it is, I will understand. I have been in teaching for a very long time. There is nothing you could tell me that I haven’t heard before.’

  ‘Believe me, you’ve not heard this.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  Freya was trapped. There was no way out. She rose and reached for the buttons on her coat.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Orus warned her. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

  Freya’s hands trembled as she opened her coat and let it fall to the floor. ‘My essay wasn’t wrong, Dr Klobucher. I know those figures are correct because I was there . . .’

  The principal shook her head. ‘You’ve lost me. What do you mean you were there?’

  ‘The reason I can’t sit properly in a chair isn’t because of my back or a brace. It’s because I am a Valkyrie and I have these.’ She pulled off the slip cover and extended her wings.

  Freya was prepared for screaming, or even the woman begging for her life. But there was none of that. Dr Klobucher stood very still and silent for several moments. Finally she lifted her hand and reached out to touch a wing. Freya pulled it back and folded it tightly.

  ‘Please don’t touch. If you do—’

  ‘I’ll die,’ the Principal whispered dreamily. ‘Valkyrie: a reaper of souls from the battlefield. Also known as the Battle Maidens of Odin. I studied Norse Mythology in university. You are death itself.’