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Chapter Three
“She wants a warrior lover with wild eyes, strong-hands, and a poet’s heart.”
—The Tale Of Gunnlaug The Worm-tongue And Raven The Skald
“Valkyrie…”
“They must be Valkyries…”
“Why have they come?”
“A great battle must soon be upon us…”
“Merciful Freyja save my son!”
“May Odin bless me for Valhalla!”
Eir was used to the humans’ whispers, gasps, and cries of trepidation and awestruck anticipation by now. Wherever she and her sisters travelled in this realm, men, women and children alike worshipped, begged and fell enthralled in their wake.
“Mist,” she called softly.
That was all she needed to say. The other Valkyrie spread her magic like a comforting cloak around the humans attending this gathering.
Immediately, the murmurs died down, calm descended, as well as an unconscious, inexplicable acceptance that defied the observers’ senses and experience.
That defied logic.
Six inhumanly striking, strange women suddenly appearing in the dark of night was nothing out of the ordinary, these humans were led to believe. As if the demigods weren’t even there, they carried on their revels. Laughter and boisterous conversation resounded within the Jarl’s Great Hall once more.
This was why the Valkyries didn’t bother to disguise themselves. There was little point with Mist’s magic to mask their truth.
But if the humans were completely cogent and aware, it would be clear to anyone who gazed upon Eir that she was a warrioress. If not a Valkyrie out right, then at least a mighty shieldmaiden, equal to any man.
Instead, what their minds absorbed was merely a blurry impression of her. Perhaps she was simply an unusually tall woman. Average in looks. A servant or slave who blended into the background. At most she could be a formidable fighter, but no one of any renown. A secondary character in the Jarl’s vast web of allies and friends.
They would never suspect, after the initial, fleeting burst of clarity, that she and her sisters would determine the destinies of men.
With supreme equanimity and objective dispassion borne of hundreds of years of experience, ushering men into the afterlife, Eir surveyed the crowded gathering before her.
She stood just shy of six feet in her battle boots. Her long, black hair wove over her shoulder in a utilitarian fishtail braid. A form-fitting leather armor encased her torso, leaving her arms bare in this summer heat. Arm guards wound to her elbows, and shin guards reached her knees.
Her shoulders were far broader than those of untrained maidens, and not just because of her strength and the diligent practice of martial arts. They had to be sturdy enough to hold her wings, after all, when she chose to materialize them.
Over her back, she carried a cross-slung sword crafted by the god Freyr himself, a gift to Eir from his twin sister Freyja. But her favored weapon was sheathed at her hip. A magical spear that looked like a short sword when at rest. When she unleashed it in battle, however, it extended to a full length of ten feet from end to tip.
“He is here,” Eir murmured, scanning the bustling longhouse for her quarry.
She couldn’t see or hear him in the din of the celebration, but she sensed him. Her body hummed with an indescribable energy whenever he was near.
Even though she had never personally interacted with him in this realm, sheknewhim.
“What will you have us do?” Hildr asked. “’Tis not his time yet. The battle is yet weeks away. It is unlike you to attend the affairs of men beyond the call of duty.”
This was true. Eir was the coldest, most ruthless of the Valkyries, as far as the gods and her sisters knew. While Hildr, Herja, Kara, Mist and Rota each had their unique temperaments, they had one thing in common: the ability to bear affection for the warriors they chose to die.
When her sisters chose men for Valhalla or Fólkvangr, they liked to send the unmated fighters off fully satisfied with life. In other words—fuck them hard and sweet, take them to heaven to bolster their reserve to endure the coming hell.
It wasn’t that Eir never partook. She did. Valkyries were as lusty as the warriors they chose.
