Valkyrie

  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?’

  Freya hesitated. This was the one order she knew was going to be hardest to follow. Who were they to decide who was worthy or not? How could she be expected to judge someone? It was all so unfair.

  ‘Say “I swear”!’ Orus whispered. ‘Freya, swear it!’

  Freya could hear the sharp intake of breath from the others behind her as she hesitated.

  ‘Answer me,’ Odin commanded. ‘Do you swear?’

  It went against
everything Freya believed, but with the pressure of her mother beside her and all of Asgard gathered behind her, Freya finally nodded. ‘I swear.’

  She could hear her mother release her held breath.

  Odin inhaled deeply before continuing. ‘Do you understand your position as Valkyrie? That you possess the power to keep the Angels of Death at bay and with a word can command them away from the battlefield. They resent this ranking, but accept it. Do you?’

  ‘I understand and accept,’ Freya said.

  ‘Then it is by my order that I command you to arise, Valkyrie. Rise and receive your armour and sword.’

  Freya climbed to her feet as Odin took her hand. He drew her back to his wife, Frigg.

  Frigg raised the new silver armour. ‘By this breastplate, I give you the power of wisdom in choosing the best slain for Valhalla. May it guide you and protect you always. I welcome you, young Valkyrie.’

  ‘Lift your arms and open your wings,’ Orus softly instructed.

  Freya felt as if she was in a dream as she lifted her arms and opened her wings fully. Frigg approached and placed the silver breastplate into position on her chest. The heavy armour fell down past her waist. She had never been measured for it yet, somehow, it fit the lines of her body perfectly. The leather straps were then fed around her body and under the wings at her back to be fastened at her right side.

  With her breastplate in position, Frigg kissed Freya lightly on the forehead and took several steps back.

  Next, Thor came forward. He put his hammer down as he lifted the silver winged helmet high above Freya’s head.

  ‘With this helmet, I grant you speed and stealth. No human eyes will rest upon you as long as you wear it. Only the dead and dying may see you as you truly are. Take this helmet and protect it. With it lies your power of secrecy.’ He paused and his blue eyes threatened. ‘But be warned. Never allow a living human to wear your helmet. To do so will cause the helmet great suffering and its cries will be heard in all Asgard.’

  Thor took a step closer and put the silver winged helmet on Freya’s head. When it was in place, Freya felt everything change. She became dizzy and light-headed. The world around her drained of colour, as though she was gazing through a dense fog. Maya always said it was harder to see with her helmet on. Freya now understood what she meant. Though the helmet made her invisible and part of the ethereal realm, it had a cost. That cost was her clear, colour-filled vision.

  She felt herself starting to fall. Thor’s strong arms went fast around her.

  ‘Steady . . .’ he said. ‘It takes a moment to adjust.’

  Freya recovered, but still felt very strange, almost as if she weighed nothing. Distracted by the strange sensations coursing through her body, Freya was unaware of the silver gauntlets being drawn up her arms or the heavily jewelled dagger being placed at her waist.

  When she was fully dressed in the armour of the Valkyrie, Odin came forward again. In his hand he carried a newly forged sword. Her sword.

  Freya had seen Odin perform this part of the ceremony many times, and had watched her sisters going through it. But now that it was her turn, her fear returned.

  Odin lowered the sword until the tip was resting halfway down her gown, just above her knees. He reached forward and pierced the fine fabric with the sharp tip. Then, as Freya stood perfectly still, he used the sword to cut away the lower length of the gown all the way around her body.

  When he finished, the jagged edge of fabric rested against her thighs as the lower half of her beautiful gown lay on the floor in ruins. Looking down at herself, she knew this signalled the end of the life she had known. She was turning fourteen. It meant she was no longer a child, or a girl or even a young woman. She was now . . .

  Valkyrie.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The rest of the ceremony proceeded in a kind of blur. Freya was given gifts and her first taste of mead – the strong drink of Valhalla. It was what all the fallen warriors drank and most nights left them unconscious on the floor of the Great Hall.

  Freya couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Mead was bitter and left an awful taste in her mouth which no amount of water could wash away. She much preferred the fruit drinks that she was used to.

  When the formal celebration ended, Freya waited outside Valhalla to prepare to join her sisters on her first reap. Everyone else retired to their homes or back to the battlefield to join in the fighting of the slain warriors. Freya watched them taking up their arms and cheer as they entered the fight. She sighed heavily. Would she ever understand it all?

  Lost in thought, Freya didn’t hear her mother approach until the clopping of horses’ hooves was almost upon her. She turned to see her mother standing with a stunning, winged chestnut mare.

  Every Valkyrie had a horse to ride to the battlefields. These special Reaping Mares were used to transport the valiant dead over the Rainbow Bridge to Asgard and Valhalla. This was the only part of the First Day Ceremony that Freya had been excited about. She loved the Reaping Mares and spent a lot of time in the stables, brushing their rich manes and grooming their feathers.

  ‘Freya,’ her mother started as she handed over the leather reins to the mare, ‘this is Sylt. She is to be your Reaping Mare.’

  Freya’s heart thudded with excitement as she approached the tall mare. ‘She’s beautiful. Is she really mine?’

  Her mother nodded. ‘I chose her especially for you. Look at the feathers under her wings.’

  Freya stroked the smooth neck of the mare and approached one of the heavy chestnut wings folded neatly on her back. Lifting it, she was shocked to find black feathers instead of brown.

  ‘Black?’

  Her mother smiled. ‘Sylt is as unique to Asgard as you are, my child. Treat her well and she will serve you for all time.’

  ‘Sylt,’ Freya repeated. ‘Hello, Sylt, we are going to be the best of friends.’

  The mare’s rich brown eyes followed Freya as she moved back to her head. As she stroked her head, Sylt nickered softly.

  ‘Thank you, Mother. She really is beautiful.’

  ‘Hey, what about me?’ Orus complained as he flapped his wings and nipped her ear.

  Freya couldn’t help but smile. ‘Orus, are you jealous?’

  ‘Of that great big thing?’ he blustered. ‘Of course not! But I didn’t spend all morning trying to look nice for your ceremony, just to be ignored because of this beast.’

  Freya reached up and pulled Orus off her shoulder. She gave the raven a hug that nearly squeezed the life out of him before kissing the top of his feathered head. ‘Orus, you know you will always be my first love. All I was saying is that Sylt is beautiful. And she is, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is just a horse, Freya,’ he said indignantly as he wiggled free of her grip. Getting back to her shoulder, he ruffled his feathers into place again. ‘There are hundreds of them in the stables.’

  ‘Yes there are. But Sylt is unique and that makes her even more beautiful. And now she’s all ours.’

  ‘Oh, joy,’ the raven complained.

  Freya’s oldest sister, Gwyn, approached. She was putting her sword back in its sheath and adjusting her gauntlets. ‘Honestly, Freya, why you put up with that ill-tempered bird is beyond me. You should have chosen a better companion, like my own bird, Gondul.’ Gwyn raised her arm in the air and a black raven soared down and landed neatly on it. It crawled up to her shoulder and settled there.

  ‘See what I mean? Gondul loves me and would never nip my ear.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Orus agreed. ‘But Gondul doesn’t have enough sense to come in from the rain. He’s hardly companion material, if you ask me.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you!’ Gwyn stuck her tongue out at Orus before focusing on Freya. ‘Are you ready for your first reaping?’

  The smile dropped from Freya’s face as she was reminded of the horse’s purpose and her dark mission. To bring dead warriors back to Valhalla.

  Maya came up behind her, dressed in her silver armo
ur and helmet. She had a big grin on her face. ‘Of course she’s ready. She’s been looking forward to this for ages.’

  Freya managed a strained smile as Maya put her arm around her and whispered, ‘It won’t be so bad. I promise. Just stay with me and do what I do. It won’t be a big reaping today, just a few soldiers.’

  ‘One soldier is too many,’ Freya muttered softly.

  Maya looked at her and shook her head. ‘Just talk to your soldier. Let him show you they aren’t all bad. Now, mount up – it’s time to go.’

  As it was Freya’s first mission, she took a position directly behind her mother’s massive pearl-grey Reaping Mare. Freya was riding Sylt as they made their way to Bifröst, the Rainbow Bridge, which linked Asgard to the World of Man. Even with their wings, the Valkyrie and Reaping Mares could not leave Asgard any other way. The bridge was the only route in and out.

  Maya rode her own Reaping Mare behind Freya and her three other sisters followed further back. As they approached Bifröst, the bridge’s Watchman stepped forward and held up his heavy sword. He was massive in size and immensely powerful, with a head of bushy blond hair and a moustache that went down to his belly. It was said that Heimdall’s hearing was so keen he could hear grass grow and his vision so accurate he could see across all of Asgard both day and night. And if Heimdall didn’t want you to cross the bridge, there was little you could do to get past him.

  ‘State your purpose,’ he said formally.

  ‘Greetings, Heimdall,’ her mother responded with equal formality as she bowed her head to the Watchman. ‘We come in the service of Odin. It is Freya’s First Day and we journey to the reaping.’

  ‘Be welcome and journey well,’ Heimdall said as he bowed and swept his sword wide to invite them on to the bridge.

  As Freya directed Sylt past Heimdall, he winked at her. ‘Good luck, child.’

  Freya really liked Heimdall. Often times when she was feeling particularly lost or restless, she would fly to Bifröst and Heimdall would let her go halfway across the bridge to peer down into the World of Man. He wasn’t big on conversation, but that was another thing she liked about him. Sometimes they would walk out together and he would stand with her. Silent and unmoving. She often felt that Heimdall was as lonely as she was and understood all that she felt.