Chapter 21 Ven
Ven
“She’s been twitching like crazy!”
Ven glanced from Eyrun to the Valkyrie sealed in the glass coffin on the dais. Sure enough, the female’s fingers danced, as if she played a tune only she could hear.
All evening a gnawing sense had plagued Ven, a feeling that something unwelcome was headed their way. The twitching Valkyrie was yet more evidence. “Twitching doesn’t mean waking, Eyesore,” Ven said.
“I know. But she has to wake sometime.” Eyrun spent too much of her life in this tower, keeping vigil over their entombed sister—the so-called Coffin Valkyrie, the one who’d once predicted the wrath of gods and a place called the Skein.
The one who’d spoken of a Lore of immortals who’d kept themselves secret in Gaia in a different lifetime.
This tower in Valhalland’s stronghold held their relics: the Book of Warriors, detailing the glories of their worthy sisters; talismans of battle, both won and stolen; and the Coffin Valkyrie’s gleaming breastplate and armor, waiting for her to rise again.
Some believed she’d awaken any day, sound the horn, and lead them to victory against all their foes.
Ven didn’t share their optimism about this particular sister. Unlike Eyrun and many of the second- and third-generation Valkyries here, Ven had met her before the Exile. Visions had interrupted her reality like continuous lightning in storm clouds.
Eyrun said, “She’s likelier to wake during an Accession, right? Why not this one?”
Some claimed she would reopen her eyes when the witch’s Awaited One came into power or when the Horde rose once more. Or when all the monsters in the Helter secured their freedom.
The claims sounded more like superstition, but superstition had claws in the Skein.
Ven studied the Valkyrie in the glass, her lustrous mane of black hair, color blooming beneath pale skin. Still heartbreakingly beautiful.
Right before the All-Battle had exploded, a lightning strike had felled her. They’d all assumed it was a divine favor from Freya and Wóden. Instead it’d been a coma, the deepest slumber.
As a shield-maiden, she didn’t need food or water, would live on as long as her sisters did. Their shared Valkyrie energy thrummed in all their bones, a collective heartbeat.
Tonight that pulse tightened with unease. Even the clang of swords from the training yard below sounded sharper, more agitated.
The Valkyries were still furious about the Red Riders’ ambush, but Battle-Ax Brigid had forbidden retaliation until they knew more about the Witchwood’s new high priestess.
Ven asked her sister, “What do you think about when you come up to this room?”
Eyrun faced her, honey-brown eyes solemn. “That she must have known this was coming.”
“She knew,” Ven agreed. “She couldn’t predict her own future, but she had to have seen a hole where her predictions should have been. She knew, and she sacrificed herself for a reason.”
“Makes you wonder how bad her foreseen future must’ve been.”
“Pretty bad,” Ven said grimly.
Eyrun gestured toward the twitching hand. “Maybe she won’t wake soon, but she reacts when heavy shit goes down in the Skein. That’s the most twitching I’ve ever seen. Could mean something epic.”
Ven arched a brow. “Is that why you like chaos? Are you trying to jolt her awake?”
“Just passing the time between battles.”
“Fair enough.” Ven moved to the tower window and gazed out at the night. Aurora and lightning umbrellaed the area. Below, dozens of Valkyries sparred, practicing their already lethal moves.
Training, passing the time. What else was there?
Movement flickered across a snow-dusted field. A glint of armor in the lightning.
Her stomach tightened, and the sword at her side seemed to hum. “Fucking Chiyo. Here?” No one trespassed in Valhalland, because most shied away from certain death.
Chiyo was long-lived—like Ven, she’d come to the Skein in the original Exile—but age must not have brought wisdom.
Eyrun joined her at the window, whistling low. “The guts on that one, huh? Talk about a stone-cold fox. I’m almost impressed.”
But Ven was already running, her boots echoing off the spiral steps. Outside, she sped over the field that separated her from Chiyo. The fox didn’t flinch when Ven skidded to a stop right before her, so close their breaths mingled.
Eyrun arrived a heartbeat later, hand on her own sword.
“The hells are you doing in our territory?” Ven snarled.
Chiyo sniffed the chill air, glancing around warily.
“No need to look around. The threat is directly in front of you.”
“I came to talk,” Chiyo said evenly. “To tell you I didn’t sanction the witches’ actions. And that their new leader—Ditch—wouldn’t have either.”
Ven tilted her head. “Then why attack? To hide your cattle theft?”
“No. Rosewyn wanted to start a conflict. She could have killed you with her opening shot, but she didn’t. She wanted you angry. She wanted you to take the fight to Ditch.”
Eyrun nodded with understanding. “Ah. A chaos connoisseur.”
“Uh, no? She just hates the high priestess and wants help taking her out.”
Ven frowned. “If Rosewyn could’ve killed us, why did she allow Eyrun to bite parts off of her?”
“She allowed herself not to finish you and took her lumps.”
“Hardcore.” Again, Rose, we coulda been best friends. “Why tell us this?”
“Because my fate is tied to the witches.” Some said Chiyo had an illness—strange for an immortal—that only their potions could hold at bay.
“A war with Valkyries would destroy their coven. And me with it.” She gestured toward the yard, where warriors had stilled, watching with glowing eyes.
Lightning backlit their bodies, a wall of fury.
Even Ven had to admit it: the sight was supernaturally eerie.
Chiyo straightened, trying to look unbothered, but Ven heard her heart pumping harder. “We’ve picked up the intensity coming from this stronghold from miles away,” she said. Then her gaze darted around them again. The growing moon and the slight breeze seemed to put her even more on edge.
Ven’s own uneasiness deepened. Something in the Skein unnerved this fox shifter more than an army of shield-maidens. “What do you sense?”
“Trouble,” Chiyo said simply. “Lots of it, attacking in waves. How can you not feel it?”
Ven’s jaw flexed. I can! “An Accession’s always trouble.”
“Not like this.” Chiyo shook her head, her long hair cascading over her slim, armored shoulders. “Something’s coming. The kind of something you can’t hide from.” Her claw-tipped fingers hovered above her sword.
Ven remembered watching her fight once—elegant, relentless, unflinching. The kind of enemy you’d rather trade war stories with than kill. And Freya help her, Ven felt conflicting urges to do both. “You’ve got your ear to the ground,” Ven said. “What are you hearing?” What are you fearing?
“Not much concrete,” Chiyo admitted. “But the air tastes the same as it did before the Exile: doom flavored. I sought a soothsayer back then, and she warned me, Don’t bother to run. The gods’ reach is long.”
Ven asked, “Do you think that this present doom is as unavoidable as the Exile?”
“I don’t know.”
Chiyo’s freckled nose twitched, and Ven didn’t want to punch it. Strange.
“This feels different. I don’t know why.”
Eyrun crossed her arms. “So what’s your plan?”
Valkyries liked action. Decisive steps.
Dwelling? Never.
“How do I fight an enemy I can’t name?” Chiyo asked. “That’s another reason why I came. You two run the Skein. Help me find what’s stirring.”
“Us?” Eyrun asked innocently. “Because you can’t stray from the Witchwood for long.”
Thinned lips. No reply.
Ven said, “We’ll think about it.” When Chiyo gazed up at the tower where the Coffin Valkyrie slumbered, she narrowed her eyes. “Which soothsayer did you talk to?”
Chiyo’s focus never left the tower.
“You met her?” Ven pressed.
At length, the fox faced Ven with a nod.
Eyrun leaned forward eagerly. “Did she tell you anything else? Oracle-speak? A phrase that didn’t make sense? Tell us everything!”
“She said I’d work with Valkyries someday,” Chiyo said, “and that I was to tell them a certain phrase. I looked it up and found out it means to duck in Old Norse—”
Lightning flared. The air crackled.
Both Ven and Eyrun hit the ground. Ven grabbed the fox by the ankles and snatched her down with them.
A wing talon whistled right where Chiyo’s neck had been.
“Strigoi!” Ven grated, leaping up with her sword.
The first Valkyrie shriek split the night.
War had come to Valhalland.