Master of Miasma (The Valhalla Series) (24 page)

Now I know why the harii are considered warriors. Mac certainly thinks like one. He's looking for reasons, causes, rooting out a ruse and sniffing for evidence. He's all strategy, reasoning it out and finding a gaping hole for motivation. In court it wouldn't even stand up to reasonable doubt, so why does Kake just believe the wind without substantiating the threat?

Crouching in front of me, impeccably keeping his balance, he says softly, “Because he was vindicated when Eagle attacked. If I do this I will be defying my grandfather. I'll be acting as a rogue warrior. He won't let a single harii go with me, not even you.”

“Fuck that, Mac! I'm coming! I refuse to let that old dodger segregate us again.”

His smile splits the twilight, “I was hoping you'd say that. It will snow tonight which means we move out at first light. We'll fly out over the mountains so you can practice your skills out there, then we'll use conventional transport until we reach their lair.”

The waning daylight blots with a tenebrous flurry of activity and I automatically flip to camo-mode. Pulling annoying white mist around myself and looking as out of place as a ship in the middle of a sand dune.

Mac doesn't hesitate, throwing shadows over both of us, pressing the valhalla mark on his hand to dim my light, reaching me in one fluid move and gripping my mark to his, blacking us both out of existence instantaneously.

Too harried to breathe I watch a flock of crows land at the edge of the lagoon, my eyes so wide I'm even afraid to blink.

Are they birds, are they enemies, or are they our ravens?

Chapter 26

Emma:

Stiff and apprehensive I watch as the large group take turns bathing in the shallows, sending up huge sprays of agitated water when they fluff out feathers and do the bird-bath routine.

Amazingly at all times at least ten of them keep a lookout, sentries on duty all surveying different focal points before swapping places.

Mac's grip on me slowly wanes, communicating absolute stealth might not be required. He stands in a sudden gust of movement, advancing into the exposed strand of fine pebble and sand, pointing at a bird, “Arghin!”

The bird flaps wildly, cawing in surprise (or delight, it's hard to tell), and instantly multiplies size until my familiar tutor is standing in front of Mac, the two dudes macho hugging and thumping in relief and solidarity.

Holding Arghin at arm's length, he demands, “Tell me all are safe!”

The rest of the blackbirds become a varied selection of jötunn men, all looking harrowed and concerned. Arghin looks back, checking on them while smiling.

“We all managed to vacate the premises,” answers Vighorn for Arghin.

Arghin scowls, “Those bastards attacked with appalling rapacity. What the hell did we ever do to them to incite them to bomb the entrance? Luckily we had plan A,B,C,D, and E, as back up.”

Mac grins, “As is the harii way. We're not stupid Arghin, and they fucking know it.” His expression darkens, “Listen, I won't be coming back for a few weeks. I'm taking Em on a field trip to complete her training, and I won't be lugging the thundereggs with me. We have two sacks of them which you should take back to the catacombs.”

Sven points at Macala, “It was you! Holy fuck Mac, we thought it was them bombing the shit out of us!”

“It
was
them, I defended us you stupid fuckwit.” With ire clearly marring his features in decoupage crackles he stomps into our den, returning with the bags and handing them to his trusted friend, Arghin. “You go by foot with the bags, take someone you trust with you, the rest can fly home. If anyone gets in your way or tries to stop you, you have my full authority to break a few of these in their faces,” orders Mac.

The way the band of motley men all nod instant compliance reminds me of Mac's lineage. He's third in command and it shows. The deference and respect they give him ruins my view of equality. I'm dancing with the big cheese, not an average harii, but the one they'll all one day swear allegiance to.

I notice the valhalla triangle on Mac's palm is livid red. Now I understand. He's a commander, he embodies the power and it shows in his sigil. I wonder what happened to Kake? These dudes look relieved to have someone else do the decision making for them. I need to ask Mac where his dad is as I never read that far down his page in the Book of Shadows.

Mac and Arghin do a weird punch and hug thing before Arghin swivels, points at a guy with blue-black hair tied back like a ninja, handing him the extra bag of supplies, and then off they go without even saying goodbye, quietly slipping into the shadow of the sheer rock, becoming shadows themselves, which makes climbing as easy as walking down a cobbled street in the dead of night.

Macala faces the remaining harii, “Who's in the raven's nest?”

They all look guilty, looking away, up, at their feet, altogether noncommittal.

“This is a load of
uskit'r
! If you aren't willing to adhere to protocol you have no business calling yourselves Raven. Balli, you take the north post, Dúfa take the south, Randvér the west, and
Brúnn you take the east.” Glaring at them, he sounds deadly when he says, “The rest of you draw lots to take the second shift. Now get your hides home and secure the den. Move the Book of Shadows and seal Asgard's pool until I get back. Understood?”

A huge man looks up, his all seeing eye flaring brightly, “What if you don't get back?”

That damn Odin eye betrays us, they can read Mac's plans without him saying a word. He shrugs, “Cross that bifrost when it comes. In the meantime you have duties. If peril lurks you stand true and defend. I'll do a recon before we leave, if anyone's out there you'll see it appear on my page in the Book.”

Looking ashamed they glance about at each other, obviously trying to elect a new leader.

Mac huffs impatience and points at the biggest man, “Ríki, lead the flock home.”

He nods and immediately diminishes, standing insignificantly on the sand bank of the lagoon as a large black raven. The gathered follow his example, changing form back into an innocuous group of blackbirds.

The flock caw as they take flight, sounding very much like an incantation, an esoteric tiding of goodwill. Mac salutes them with a fist pump to his left shoulder, his elbow up and his arm rigid, the way you'd imagine Dracula to flick his cloak closed, that's the gesture.

Turning to me he offers me his hand, drawing me off my rock and strolling back indoors with me, closing the door and opening two hatches to welcome light and air in.

“What does
uskit'r mean?” I ask while we dawdle.

“
Crap, shit, excrement.”

“
You were pissed off then, huh?”

He nods, giving me a concerned look, “I might have to go back and check on things before we head off.”

“Why?”

“
Something's not right. Plus I need to do that recon to see if they have any scouts still watching and waiting for a weak entry.”

Frowning at him I sit down, “Can I come too?”

“I don't know. It might not be safe and I'd rather you were safe.”

Getting irate I sit straight up on the dining chair and give him the fierce glare, “I'd rather know what the hell is going on than sit here fretting.”

“You're a raven alright,” he says in that bone numbing timbre of approval.

It makes me feel coy and I look back at my hands, caught between wanting to hide from the world and relish him and our sanctuary, but knowing he has responsibilities he doesn't shirk, he has to know what is going on back at home.

“Why a raven?” I eventually ask. It's bothered me not knowing and now seems as good a time as any to ask.

Sitting on the lounge couch he meets my stare with a wry expression. “What do you know about the Raven family?”

“Not a damn thing other than they're spooky and surrounded with superstition.”

Patting the puffy seat next to him he beckons me in for a cuddle, pulling me down when I reach him and slumping sideways with me, absently stroking my hair where my head rests on his chest, the muscular pillow now familiar and comforting.

“Allow me to enlighten you. Ravens live a long time for a bird. They're the same family as crows, jackdaws, magpies, blackbirds and rooks. We're all essentially the same with minute variations, and you'll see different traits in the shadow warriors when they flock together in bird form.”

“
Get to the point, Mac,” I prompt. He loves to tell historical raven tales. I should have known when I unlatched this door to his mind he'd not be satisfied with it ajar, he has to waltz on through and fling the door wide.

“
Ravens live up to thirty years in the wild, and double that in captivity. They're not carrion eaters as is assumed, but instead they eat everything and anything from insects to grains. They are intelligent, very, being a bird that can count, use tools, work together as a team, forage and hide supplies that last them seasons, play sports together, use bait for fishing, and employ experience to predict future interactions. You can never fool a raven twice. They remember so well and learn with just one episode of experience. In short they top the avian IQ scale and are vastly underestimated. And more than anything they stick together and aren't averse to challenging each other to dogfights in the air. We share this trait with Eagles.”

“
You still haven't answered my question,” I grumble.

“
Haven't I? Okay, well if those points don't impress you, then allow me to educate you further. The Raven is the only bird in every mythology, along with the Eagle. Chaldean, Irish, Norse, Aboriginal, Greek, Indian, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, included in Hinduism, Buddhism, and of course Native American. We were here at the beginning and we'll be here when the humans have perished. We are black as night and sharp as the brightest star lighting the galaxy.”

Shifting, he manages to twist my head and plant a kiss on my lips, “And that's why I hated seeing you so down on yourself. If you really knew who you are you'd know you're intelligent, beautiful, part of a legion of valkyries with the blessings of all the gods for every feather on your body, and you'd have known that you are one blistering hot catch. Fuck humans. They always say 'it's for the birds', yet they never realize the wisdom of that phrase. Freedom is our divine right and when they attack us in bird form we even the score by adopting our shadow form. They can't escape us, and we cannot be caught. You can't cage a shadow, or kill it. That is why we are raven, Em. We are more real than the rise and fall of short empires, we are forever, immortal, and we are impossible to vanquish. Only the light of Asgard removes shadows, but it doesn't hurt us, it simply liberates us from our charges, freeing us to the sky and the halls of the great.”

“Badass motherfuckers. When I asked you if we were, you didn't commit. But we are.”

“
Emma, you weren't ready to hear it then. Let me set your mind at rest right now, in every mythology of every age the raven is the one who tells the truth, exposing lies and being the brunt of anger because we cause trouble for liars when we tell the honest and unadorned truth. A raven cannot lie. It's impossible. We can outsmart, outwit, and trick, but we cannot ever lie. When I tell you something, I mean it. I have no agenda but the one I state clearly and without omission.”

“
I know, Mac.”

I smile, aware that he knows my words are true too. Holy moly this is going to be the most genuine relationship of my life. No more Guy's who cheat and run off with Desiree's. It's upfront and honest from the get go.

My heart starts the helium imitation with this epiphany. I'm so freaking blessed.

Swallowing thickly, I have to ask the last issue bothering me. I'm a frost giant now. A jötunn. My biology has changed and I don't know what the status quo is any longer.

He answers before I can ask, exercising his oracular gift. “A raven mate can only fall pregnant during three small windows of her lifespan. At the age of one hundred, three hundred, and four hundred. Because we are warriors who are immortal for all intents and purposes, we don't need to procreate like bacteria. We have a three week window when a mated couple can choose to exercise this option or deny it. Most choose not to have children.”

“
Why a hundred? That's like … old!”

“
Because a young couple need time together before bringing a new responsibility into their lives. And by that age we have patience and maturity, and hopefully a bit of wisdom beyond the gift of Odin's. We're only hitting maturity stride at four hundred, that's when we're fully adults, and that's generally the age when couples mate. It gives their children four hundred years with them, long enough to see the next generation born before they join the Wild Hunt and return to true Valhalla,” he says.

“
What is Jotunheimr? You said when I joined you, you said welcome to it. What is it?”

“
Jötunn is giant, heimr is home. Welcome to the giant's home. It's what we call our land in Valhalla.” Slipping me back into a sitting position he leans forward to examine my eyes, “Are you okay? What's with all the questions?”