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  Time Magic

  The Portal Sagas: Valkyrie’s Gift 1

  Kelly N. Jane

  1

  Every morning started with a battle to the death. That was the way of things in Valhalla. Today, they had paired me with the only other Valkyrie I called a friend. Probably as the final piece of my punishment for the day before.

  I knew she’d regenerate. It would be fine, but I’d rather it had been anyone else.

  The gray clouds held their rain as Gertie and I entered the training area, a large field worn to dirt behind the barracks. The combatants fought while encircled by cheering members of the sisterhood, waiting their turn to battle. As a harvester order apprentice, I was in the largest circle. A smaller circle on the opposite edge of the field held the commanders. The masters, the highest ranking Valkyries, would train in private after we all left for our assignments.

  What I’d give to watch that spectacle!

  “Pay attention, Niasa!” The shrill soprano of the drillmaster’s voice spiked into my temple.

  It didn’t help my concentration when she yelled. I didn’t know why it was such a common tactic. I was paying attention, at least until she screamed and startled me.

  A crunch sounded in my ear as Gertie’s fist landed against my cheek.

  The blow caught me off guard, as I was distracted by the drillmaster’s shouting . . . or maybe not. Once the stars cleared from my vision, I focused on my friend. She had a smile on her lips, which urged me forward.

  It was not part of my nature to sit back politely when challenged. Gert knew that.

  I saw the gleam in her eyes as her red aura shimmered.

  Just as I rushed forward to ram her midsection with my shoulder, the leather string holding back my wild, curly hair broke. The thick curls sprang loose and covered my face. Startled and angry, I swiped at them, but it was too late.

  A boot landed in my gut and sent me flying backward.

  I would have been disappointed if Gertie hadn't taken advantage of my disarray. But it was momentary.

  Closing my eyes, I dug my fingers into the dirt, letting the vibrations flow through me. Gertie circled to my left, the drillmaster stood along the edge to my right, and the others watched from the circle they made around us.

  I threw myself to the side avoiding Gert’s next powerful right hook. Dropping into a crouch, I swung my leg out and caught her in the knee. She slammed to the ground on her back as a whoosh of air escaped her lungs. I pounced and stomped my foot down onto her chest.

  Gert’s body relaxed when she knew I’d beaten her. Smirking, I lifted my foot and held out my hand to help her to her feet.

  The next thing I knew, I was tumbling forward onto my face.

  She played me!

  I hadn’t struck the killing blow. A slide of my foot, and I'd have crushed her windpipe. But no, I’d treated her as my friend, not my enemy.

  I deserved to have my nose smashed into the dirt.

  Gertie exploited my confusion, and crashed her elbow into my back. She held me down while my lanky arms and legs seemed to tangle around themselves. Though, Gertie knew she only had a few seconds to claim her victory.

  Time was up.

  I jabbed my elbow into her rib cage, hearing her grunt. Her hesitation was all I needed to squirm my body to the side. I pushed my arms up and slid my legs into a crouch beneath me. When I sprang to my feet, I also snapped my wings open sending Gert flying off of me.

  I spun, landed a punch to her kidneys, and an uppercut to her chin. As her head snapped backward, I pulled her close, wrapped my arm around her head, and, using my body weight, yanked her neck around as we fell to the ground. I heard, and felt, it snap.

  When her body went limp, I rolled away and hopped to my feet.

  Amid the cheers of my fellow sisters, and the master’s praises, I stormed away, not looking back. Bile burned the back of my throat, and disgust filled my chest.

  Who does that to a friend?

  It wasn’t a question I should ask. We were required to fight whoever they told us to, but I never felt good about it.

  Gert would regenerate before I finished eating, probably. Then she’d meet me in the dining hall, and pat me on the back for my skills.

  At least, that's what I hoped. I couldn’t remember the last time I had to regenerate.

  No one cared about my regret because that was a Valkyrie’s duty, and I needed to accept it. I couldn’t let Odin down. He needed a strong army at Ragnarök, and I needed to do my part.

  I could never repay the debt, but I would do everything I could to prove that he hadn’t been wrong when he’d chosen me.

  I could already taste the cinnamon-flavored scones drizzled in maple glaze that would be awaiting me in the dining hall. It was the only comfort I allowed myself after a victory. I’d tried one once when I was on a mission, and had brought the recipe home. Lydia, master of the provisioner order of Valkyries, had made them for me every day since.

  The smaller, informal dining hall sat near the barracks and the harvester hall, on the opposite side of the battlefields from the great feast hall. We only used it for the morning meal, where we served ourselves. Two long tables with benches on either side sat end to end on the dirt floor. Platters of food were continuously replenished until midday for those who came to eat whenever they had the chance. Always dim, the hall’s only light sources were sconces on the walls, or numerous candles scattered throughout the space.

  Lost in my thoughts, I bumped into someone as I entered. With my fists up and ready, it took a couple blinks to realize who it was: Toril, the bane of my existence. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she had one leg out, as if she had the right to appraise me.

  Her long, wavy, brown hair shimmered even in the low light, and her flawless, pale skin practically glowed. She was beautiful, and she knew it. It surprised me that she didn’t trip more often, keeping her nose so far up in the air like she did.

  Honestly, there were no ugly Valkyries, but some of us didn’t stand out as much as Toril. While most had the same light features, others had a variety of darker complexions, like me. The cascade of curls that hung down past my shoulders was uniquely mine. They were heavy and not the easiest to control, as they’d reminded me that morning.

  My attention focused again on Toril, her cocked eyebrow and smirk enough to make my muscles tighten. It might be worth having my wings clipped again. Even though we were inside, it would be worth it to knock out a few of her teeth.

  “Get out of my way, Toril,” I said as I allowed my arms to hang loose at my side.

  “Nice work out there. Good to know you’ve got it in you to cause the injury that gives a massive headache and takes the longest to heal.”

  Two other Valkyries stood behind each of Toril’s shoulders and giggled, like the sycophants they were. Toril kept her sneer directed at me.

  I ignored them all.

  Though a good head shorter than me, her stature didn’t stop her from asserting herself as superior. It didn’t help that they had promoted her to unit leader. She led team missions to Midgard, bringing back multiple einherjar for the army. They were always the same—strong, hulking heroes slain on battlefields by an axe, mace or sword.

  In contrast, I went on my missions alone, to retrieve a single, assigned target. Though, I had a terrible habit of ignoring my orders in favor of a better fighter.

  At first, the men had all come from muddy combats in small villages. However, as the humans adopted different fighting techniques and more complex weapons, I’d had to adapt. Small villages like Milan, Frankfurt, and Boston turned to bustling towns, then to concrete cities. I found it easier to change into a corporeal form and blend in with the inhabitants of Midgard, changing back to my ethereal form only after I identified
my target.

  That’s how I’d discovered delicious scones and espresso.

  Thoughts of the cake-like pastry with its sweet topping tempted my mouth to water. But, first I had to rid myself of the annoyance standing in my way.

  “If you have nothing to say other than your typical drivel, I’ve more important matters to attend to,” I told Toril. I couldn’t even remember the names of the other two.

  I pushed past them, but Toril stopped me with a straight arm to my shoulder. We stood glaring at each other. I knew my nostrils were flaring as I tried to take calming breaths.

  “Just because you win during training, doesn’t mean that you’ll keep getting away with defying the rules when you go out on your assignments. I happen to know you’re being watched.” Toril tossed her chin to send a wavy tendril behind her shoulder. “You won’t be able to stay Odin’s little pet for much longer.”

  “You are so delusional. Get out of my way, I’m hungry.”

  “That poor excuse of an einherjar you dropped off yesterday, is already in pieces this morning. It reflects bad on all of us, Niasa. Keep bringing back those weaklings, and you’ll be staring at the Gap. When you do, I’ll volunteer to push you over the edge.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better about yourself,” I said with a grin. “My record in sparring is better than yours. Finding yourself flying over my shoulder should concern you more than sending me anywhere.” It was true that I hadn’t gone to watch the daily battles, but I was sure the men I’d chosen on my own, were proving their skills just fine.

  I bumped her with my shoulder as I continued on my way.

  “It’s only a matter of time. You don’t belong here, and Odin will see it,” she called after me.

  As far as I knew, I posed no threat to Toril or anyone, other than with my fighting skills. Outside of those, I had nothing to offer. Gert was the only one who’d dared to befriend me . . . everyone else thought I was unnatural.

  That was fine by me. I preferred solitude.

  That she thought of me as Odin’s pet made me laugh out loud; one more reason for concerned looks to dart in my direction as I walked through the sparsely populated hall. ‘Look at the oddity’ was the message floating through the air, loud and clear.

  My situation was not typical, and everyone knew it. It was the reason I had to prove myself more than the others. As the only Valkyrie born, not claimed, in Valhalla, I was an anomaly.

  I grabbed one of the golden plates sitting in a stack at the end of the long serving table, and waited behind Old Bette.

  No one knew how ancient Old Bette was. If the stories were true, she was an original, created sometime after the war of the gods, but before Loki’s imprisonment. She was slow and steady, making her choices with care, though I’m sure they were the same every day.

  Why was she here now? Waiting behind her would take forever.

  Embarrassingly tall as I was, I had the advantage of being able to see over Bette’s head. There was only one scone left on the platter. The anticipation killed me while Bette poured gravy over her biscuits, filling half her plate. The smell alone made me want to gag.

  In horror, I watched as her shaky hand grabbed the last triangle of perfection and slapped it onto her plate. It squished into the nasty gravy.

  Life lost all meaning.

  2

  Who does that? How could one not understand that vile gravy should never cover such sweet goodness?

  When Old Bette moved on, I stood in front of the empty platter, staring at the bits of crumbs left scattered across the glittering silver. Two other Valkyries arrived at the table, and chatted with each other while waiting for me to move, oblivious to my pain.

  “No, you can’t lick them,” a voice tinkling with mirth said in front of me.

  I looked up to see the earthy-brown eyes of Lydia smiling at me.

  She knew me too well.

  “Please tell me there are more somewhere?”

  “They’re almost out of the ovens. Try the bacon while you wait. You know it offends the boar, Saehrimnir, when you reject him.”

  “I will later. Right now, I just need a scone.” The whine in my tone clear, but I didn’t care.

  “That bad, huh? Who did you beat this time?”

  Lydia and I didn’t talk often enough, and never somewhere that I could confide in her, but she did her best to fill in as a mother figure.

  “Gertie,” I mumbled and picked at a thread on my leather corslet.

  “Ah, I see.” Aunt Lydia wiped her hands on the apron that hung over her gown. “Come to the end of the table where we can talk for a moment.”

  I stepped away and shuffled after Lydia.

  It made sense that I would be one of the best fighters, since I was the only Valkyrie, ever, to have grown up in Valhalla. Everyone else was made later, in their teens or twenties, but I had started my life in the hall of the slain.

  “You always look so downcast after sparring. Most want to celebrate. You’re always looking to drown your sorrows in sweet pastries.”

  I rolled my eyes. She was right, but I didn’t enjoy having it said out loud.

  “There is nothing wrong with doing well,” she continued. “You should accept your talents and be proud of them.”

  “I know, but . . . it isn’t just that.” I didn’t know how to explain myself.

  “No, it’s that you enjoy winning. You want to be the best, and you don’t care who it is that you have to beat to do it—even if it’s a friend.”

  I snapped my eyes up at the words, and saw her kindness radiating toward me. She understood me and still looked at me as though it was okay.

  “I don’t want to be that way. Everyone else laughs and has fun together. They hate me because I’m unnatural. They earned their positions by doing something great. I’m here because I killed my mother.” I brushed dirt from my trousers, unable to hold her gaze.

  “That’s not true. You are not unnatural, nor did you cause your mother’s death. Childbirth is difficult and dangerous for every woman. I know your mother would be proud of you, maybe as much as I am.” Lydia gently raised my chin so I had to look into her eyes. “Be yourself no matter what, and there will come a time that you’ll find yourself among many friends. Don’t let it eat away at you so much. You are talented and valuable, Niasa.”

  I knew she was trying to comfort me. It made me feel somewhat better, but I also knew that she hadn’t been in the fighting corps for a long time. She’d traded in her spear for a spatula decades ago, and it was probably different now.

  I smiled and nodded, letting her believe that her words were as comforting as the missing scone. They weren’t.

  “Wait here, I’ll go check the ovens.” Her lips curved in a knowing smile as she left, the light catching the honey-colored highlights in her soft, brown hair.

  Standing alone at the end of the tables, I turned and watched Toril. Devouring a plate of boar meat, she laughed with the other Valkyries around her.

  Out of habit, I pulled the medallion I wore on a string out from under my leathers. It had been my mother’s and was all I had from her. I fiddled with it as I waited, tracing the raised markings on the coin with my fingers.

  The other Valkyries accepted the way things were because that was how it worked when they'd arrived in Valhalla. It was why I had to prove myself more. They only had to do their duty, I had to change the world.

  As I’d watched how the human realm made improvements in warfare over the centuries, I’d formed a plan. Because of more efficient weapons and strategies, they could fight wars with less bloodshed, in less time—mostly. The warriors I was assigned to claim were basically the same type of uncivilized brutes as in ancient times, from what I could tell. I opted for better ones.

  Toril and all the rest were the same as the warriors; they did as the commanders told them, didn’t analyze their orders, and felt good about themselves. Maybe I needed to stop trying to change things. What made me believe I could make a difference?<
br />
  I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out with a vengeance. I needed to get over myself. Do what they told me and that's it. It would be a better life.

  Would Odin really let Toril push me into the Gap?

  I closed my eyes then, catching the scent of cinnamon and maple wafting through the air. My mouth watered instantly. When I turned around, a plate piled with scones still warm from the oven landed in my eager hands. The maple glaze still ran down the pile, not yet hardened, and I wanted to drink it like mead.

  “Thank you!” I already felt the tension begin to slide off my shoulders.

  “You’re welcome, my love.” My aunt tried to brush my curls out of my face, but they sprang back wherever they liked, as always. “Please remember what I said. You are perfect just the way you are. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

  I smiled. “I’ll remember.”

  Maybe I would. But for now, all I wanted was to devour the warm pile of deliciousness in my hands.

  ***

  Someone plopped down in the seat opposite me at the table. Ignoring whoever it was, I continued to lick my fingers as I swiped up the glaze leftover on the empty plate.

  When I finally looked up, Gertie smiled at me.

  “Looks as though Lydia gave you an extra portion,” she said, chuckling.

  “Yeah, I was especially good in training this morning—so they told me.”

  She smirked and looked away. I’d never had my neck broken before, and I wondered if the pain lingered. Did she have a headache like Toril said, or still feel where I’d severed her spine? I shuddered and pushed the topic out of my mind. It would be insulting to ask her about her weakness.

  “You should get some, I can see there are still a few left. If you don’t grab them, I might,” I teased.

  “There are other foods, you know.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’ll be right back, I’m starving.”

  I watched her walk to the front tables, then resumed my finger cleansing. The sticky goodness had eased my nerves considerably, and now that Gertie was awake, all was right again.