Chapter 39 - Danica
Danica
The sun barely peeks over the horizon as I trudge through fresh snow toward the stables. My breath clouds in the frigid air, and I swear my eyelashes are developing icicles. But duty calls—specifically in the form of one demanding magical horse.
Gullfax stands regally in his stall, somehow managing to look both majestic and slightly judgmental. How a horse pulls that off, I'll never know.
"Good morning, Lightborn," he greets, his voice carrying that mixture of ancient wisdom and barely concealed sass that I've come to expect.
"Morning, Your Royal Horseness," I reply, pulling my jacket tighter. "Care to enlighten me about our destination? My overprotective Viking isn't thrilled about me galloping off into the unknown."
Gullfax gives me what can only be described as an equine eye-roll.
"Either I'm imagining things, or you two need to hash out whatever storm cloud is hovering over your relationship.
" He tosses his magnificent mane. "Perhaps some time apart will do you both some good.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that mortal nonsense. "
I sigh, my breath creating a dramatic swirl of fog in the frigid air. "It's complicated," I deflect, channeling my inner teenager.
Gullfax fixes me with one of those ancient, all-knowing equine stares that makes me feel like I'm being cross-examined by a thousand-year-old therapist in horseshoes.
"Lightborn, I've carried heroes into battle since before your ancestors figured out which end of a sword to hold.
Trust me when I say that 'complicated' is usually mortal-speak for 'I'm avoiding an uncomfortable conversation. '"
What is he now, my therapist? Dr. Phil with hooves?
I ignore his emotional probing and head for his reins. "Where to, O Cryptic One?" I ask, stepping into his stall. "And please don't say 'on a journey of self-discovery' because it's way too early for that nonsense."
He huffs, his nostrils flaring. "Somewhere I think you'll appreciate," he says, managing to sound both mysterious and smug.
Well, that's not vague at all. Good thing I didn't need actual directions or, you know, basic information about where we're heading. Who doesn't love a surprise trip with a snarky horse at dawn?
Without my Viking beefcake here to toss me onto this ginormous beast like a sack of potatoes, I'm suddenly facing a logistical crisis. How exactly does one mount a horse that's roughly the size of a small building?
As if reading my thoughts (and probably judging them), Gullfax steps regally out of his stall. "Follow me."
He leads me outside, his hooves crunching through fresh snow, and stops beside what looks like a medieval mounting block. It's basically a fancy ladder for vertically challenged humans like myself who can't spontaneously levitate onto horse-back.
"Ah, nice," I grin. "Your own personal human-loading dock. Very considerate."
I scramble up the mounting block while Gullfax sidles alongside, probably trying not to laugh at my attempts at dignity. The moment I settle onto his back and grab the reins, he launches into the air without so much as a "hold on tight."
"A little warning would be nice!" I yelp, thighs already burning as we soar into the pre-dawn sky.
Despite the Arctic temperatures trying to freeze my face off, it's breathtaking up here. My fur-lined cloak battles the wind chill while my inner supernatural space heater kicks in, finally making this morning flight somewhat bearable.
Gullfax banks gracefully around the compound, heading toward the shadowy cliffs behind it. A colossal structure emerges from the morning mist, its spires reaching toward the stars like dark fingers.
"That's the Twilight Eyrie," Gullfax announces. "The sacred roost of the Valkyries, where they gather between their soul-collecting missions. It's where warriors worthy of Valhalla are first brought for judgment before ascending to the halls of the honored dead."
"Wow." The word escapes in a frosty puff as we soar past the Eyrie. Below us, a gigantic frozen lake stretches into infinity, its depths disappearing into darkness that makes me seriously question my desire to ever go ice skating again.
Gullfax gallops through the low-hanging clouds, his hooves striking invisible paths in the air. "There," he announces as another towering structure materializes through the mist. "The Hall of Wings."
"Within those ancient walls lies the collected wisdom of every Valkyrie since the first warrior maiden took flight," he explains.
"Scholars—both current Valkyrie and those found wanting of wing—devote their immortal lives to preserving every tale, every battle, every soul-gathering.
Though I must say, some of the more dramatic scribes do tend to embellish their accounts.
One would think every soul-collection involved a raging tempest and at least three acts of impossible heroism. "
"So basically like any author ever," I snort. "Let me guess—they also love cliffhangers and dramatic pauses?"
My inner nerd practically vibrates with excitement. The thought of all those stories, all that knowledge hidden behind those walls... I'm practically drooling. "What I wouldn't give to browse those shelves," I sigh wistfully. "My scientist brain is having a total nerdgasm right now."
"Not today, Lightborn. I have other plans." His tone carries that 'just wait and see' that makes me nervous. "Hang on."
Oh, now he warns me?
Gullfax launches us higher, and I grip his mane like my life depends on it (which, let's be honest, it absolutely does).
We streak through the sky like a golden meteor, the world blurring around us as he banks in the opposite direction.
I settle in for the ride, putting my trust in this ancient, sassy stallion who seems determined to play mystical tour guide this morning.
An hour later, ásgard materializes before us in all its glory.
The transition from arctic wasteland to eternal summer still gives me whiplash—one moment we're flying through air cold enough to freeze your thoughts, the next we're bathed in golden warmth.
Gullfax touches down near the great river that winds through the realm like a liquid silver ribbon.
Gullfax actually shows mercy this time, lowering himself onto the sun-warmed grass so I can dismount without risking life, limb, or dignity.
Birds perform their Disney-worthy symphony overhead, as I shrug off my fur-lined cloak, already sweating in the eternal summer of ásgard. No sooner have I draped it over my arm than His Majestic Snarkiness rises to his full height.
"Come," he commands, because apparently we're still playing the cryptic mentor card.
Gullfax leads me along the riverbank, where crystal clear waters dance over ancient stones that seem to shimmer with their own inner light. The path winds through a grove of trees with silver-white bark and leaves that chime like tiny bells in the breeze.
We emerge into a hidden valley where the air itself seems to dance. Floating spheres of light drift lazily through the air, each one containing what looks like a moving memory.
"The Valley of Windborne Memories," Gullfax announces.
"Here, the winds of ásgard preserve moments of great significance.
The Valkyries use this place to study the patterns of fate and destiny.
" He pauses, giving me a meaningful look.
"Including the trials faced by those who sought the Zephyrite stone. "
I watch, mesmerized, as one of the spheres drifts closer. Inside, I see a warrior battling what appears to be living wind, her form flickering between solid and transparent. Another shows someone trying to catch lightning with their bare hands.
"Past attempts," Gullfax explains. "Some succeeded. But most..." He trails off meaningfully.
"Let me guess—they became part of the permanent decoration?"
"Indeed. Though I must say, being transformed into an eternal wind chime is one of the more creative outcomes I've witnessed."
I swallow hard. "And you're showing me this because...?"
"Because, Lightborn, sometimes the best way to face what lies ahead is to understand what lies behind." A sphere floats between us, showing a familiar face—Thor, in his prime, wielding the Zephyrite stone. "And because you'll need every advantage you can get."
The memory sphere bursts suddenly, showering us with tiny motes of light that dance around me like curious fireflies before sinking into my skin. Knowledge floods my mind—fragments of ancient wisdom about air magic, the stone's true nature, the proper way to harness wind itself.
"Did you just—"
"Give you a head start? Perhaps." Gullfax's eyes twinkle with ancient mischief. "Though if anyone asks, I merely took you on a scenic tour."
The motes of light continue to dance around me, each one sinking in with a tiny spark of insight. It's like downloading centuries of knowledge straight into my brain, except instead of a progress bar, I get sparkly magical fireflies.
"So these memories," I gesture at the floating spheres, trying to process the information download happening in my head, "they're like a supernatural cheat sheet?"
Gullfax snorts, managing to make the sound both elegant and judgy.
"More like echoes of those who came before.
Each attempt, each failure, each rare success left its mark on the winds of ásgard.
" Another sphere drifts close, this one showing a woman wielding what looks like solid air as a weapon.
"The winds remember, Lightborn. They remember everything. "
"Including how not to become a wind chime?" I ask hopefully.
"Among other things." He steps closer to a particularly large sphere, his reflection rippling across its surface. "Watch this one carefully."