Page 3 of Between Broomsticks and Beating Wings
I chuckled, relaxing the tension that had been accumulating in my chest. I snatched the broomstick out of his hands playfully and tossed a single small coin onto the table.
“Listen, I’d rather them think I was a nut. It’s harder to disappoint them that way.”
Arnesson simply shook his head at me, his shoulders lifting and falling as if he were still chuckling but the sound hadn’t yet made it out of his mouth. He raised a large hand into the air, offering me a wave as I made my way down the dirt path.
I’d choose to be a nut over a goddess any day.
I reached into my basket, attempting to give Tove a good scratch, but my hand fell to the bottom of the basket. Tove let out an angry meow, and I whispered an apology under my breath. I didn’t like the reminder any more than he did. The sassy creature decided to up and jump out of the basket, leaving me in his wake as he trotted through the market ahead of me.
“Little asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
The frail older woman walking close by shot me a concerned glance.
For Valhalla’s sake!
My apology to her lingered in the air behind me as I hurried after Tove. That demon cat was going to pay for pulling embarrassment out of me twice in one day. I swore he stuck around the mortal realm of Midgard just to torment me. Then again, wasn’t that what my sisters and I had done when they were alive, tormenting each other to show our love? When Tove turned back around and waved his little orange tail at me, my jaw relaxed, and the truth settled in. I would curse out every frail old woman in Stormheim to keep him around.
CHAPTER TWO
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS LIVING
Rune
Boredom. Oftentimes, I wondered if it could ever be enough to kill a person. Sure, my life was a beautiful symphony of clashing swords and golden goblets, but all blades eventually began to dull if not sharpened, and all cups were drained if not refilled. My life was full of dull blades and empty cups, though the gods loved shoving new, shiny weapons into my hands and throwing feasts in my sister’s honor large enough to fill bellies for a century.
“Dragomir,” a voice boomed, pulling me out of my wandering mind. “It’s about time you showed up.”
The wood of my chair creaked under my weight as I leaned back in it to get a better look at the approaching man. The man named Gro towered over me, his blond locks cascading down his left shoulder. He wore a diagonal scar across one of his rosy cheeks from one of the many battles he’d fought in his mortal life.
Dragging my chin up to meet his eye, I grumbled, “Well, how could I miss tonight’s feast? It’s only the fifth one this week.”
A hearty chuckle filled the room, shaking the round belly of the bronze man who peered down at me. I kicked my feet off the chair my boots had been resting on and lazily stood to greet him. It didn’t suit my ego, having a warrior scrunch his neck to meet my eye. My ass had grown sore from sitting anyway, so when I rose, I stretched my spine and tilted my chin toward the chandelier above.
“Ah, well, that’s the glory of Valhalla, isn’t it? Feasts every night, celebrations grand enough to fill these golden halls to the brim, you and your sisters at the center of it all.”
“You mean with Odin at the center?” I lightly corrected him, the corner of my mouth twitching.
The man chuffed, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “Would you have it any other way, Dragomir?”
My gaze darted around the feast and its guests, knowing the only appropriate thing to do was to say no, so that’s exactly what I did. I was too sober to cause a scene. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Ah!” The man scooped a goblet off the table and shoved it into my hand. He smashed it against his own, a smile cracking his perpetually merry face in two. “Isn’t that the truth.”
Gro stumbled away, and I watched him as he went. How many times would I have these same conversations, agreeing to unchanging sentiments posed by unchanging people?
The most exciting thing around these parts was death itself, and while I didn’t wield it, I did bless these very halls with its victims. The dead brought a new life to Valhalla, unfamiliar faces belonging to unfamiliar names. It was never long before I memorized them too, even through drunken hazes and forgettable revelry. Time would do that, and here, time never lacked.
I took a swig of the mead gifted so generously by Gro. Mead. It was my cure to the bounty of years here on this plane of existence, a plane filled with bodies standing on golden floors,living for war. Even in death, vikings fought battles in search of endless glory. This place was glory personified. It lived within us all like a beating pulse.
Maybe I didn’t wish for war like the rest because I was the one who cleaned up the messes left behind by mortal battles. In life, these viking men and women lifted swords and great axes, screaming out their gods’ names as they fought in their honor. They ran into battle with banished fear, knowing they would live to see another day or earn a warrior’s death, either outcome just as welcome. When their blood was shed, and the day’s battle had ended with another setting sun, I would be there, plucking souls from the slain.
Warriors rode pegasuses into the skies, awaiting the place boasted by all since the time they were babes. My younger sisters were always caught up in the excitement of war and the newness of it all. They saw nothing but heroes, and their chests were swollen with honor for carrying the souls of warriors to their next destination—their eternal reward.
But with many battles and many setting suns, their pride and excitement too would fade, and they may begin to look around at everything those heroes had left behind. It was easy to ignore at first, the intoxication of removing a soul from its body. You didn’t need a stomach of steel if your eyes were clouded by battle haze.
Every drug wore off eventually. Eyes would clear and minds would open. It was nearly a hundred years ago I finally saw a battlefield for what it was. I noticed every drop of blood, every torn family, every burning longhouse. While we celebrated nightly with warriors in golden halls, I worshiped all those they left behind in thatch huts.
There would be another collection of souls tonight. I had a feeling I would be dragging my feet yet again, flying down to the mortal realm and allowing my younger sisters to have their fill.The faster they collected, the higher on battle haze they became, and the less they noticed I was missing.
