Master of Miasma (The Valhalla Series) (16 page)

I did.

And now I'm alone in a strange place without even a firefly for company, to keep the impenetrable black at bay. They could have at least left me with a colony of glow worms. Something!

The dark is so complete it's suffocating. I've not held a fear of the dark since a young child. Hitting my teens I discovered the night was a vista of sophistication and fun.

I longed to be old enough to go out for dinner to restaurants, to wear high heels and sexy skirts, to receive flowers and dance the night away. But it's a long wait because it's a societal age-ladder we have to climb, rung by crusty crumbling rung. First we have to haunt pool halls, frequent dodgy bars and nightclubs, before graduating to upscale jaunts.... the sleek cars and romance is something that just doesn't happen... well it didn't, not for me. And yet I always kept an outfit in my closet for just such an occasion. And now I'm too buxom and tall for it.

That's my life in a nutshell, a wardrobe of opportunities which pass as they become redundant.

This room is a shrine to a history that isn't me. I've been more alive in the recent twenty-four hours than I have in all the twenty-nine years leading up to this apex. I've reached my sell-by date, Guy running away pretty much surrendered me to a spinster life where I'd start painting watercolor postcards and taking group holidays so I have some old fart to share vacation photos with.

Alcohol was a refuge for a short interlude, hiding in the dark recesses at the Fallen Fraternity gave me a semblance of belonging, but romance is personified by Macala. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand, the way he carried me as if I was the most precious gift he'd ever found when he brought me here.

Screw Kake!

Sneaking out of bed I rebelliously tiptoe barefoot across the floor until I find wall, scavenging my way around the cave inch by painful inch, blindly feeling my way with sensitive fingers, following the labyrinth into the tunnel, creeping along until the dim light of his suite of caverns burns a twilight into the dark.

Running for it I sprint right to his bedroom, disappointed to find it vacant, everything exactly the way it was when I passed out. My love crystal glows warmth on the bed and I stroll to it, stroking the facets the way I would caress his face if he was here. Then I'd say I'm sorry, and cry, and climb into his lap and ask for a hug, and I know deep inside he wouldn't say no. He wouldn't hold a grudge or make me grovel.

He has no conditions.

Sighing miserably I heft the heavy crystal into my arms, checking the bathroom, dining nook, and his lounge, before giving up, dawdling despondently back to my room with a light that's truer than the rumor of heaven.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?” I ask the darkness, wondering if he's one of the shadows dancing in grotesque distortion against the tunnel arch now that I hold my stone of light.

It's a balsamic mural, turning even my shadow into a  monstrosity that would terrify children. I've become the devil of nightmares. I'm a giant, a myth, and as miserable as the child I was back when the dark scared the sweat out of my body.

*

Macala:

Settling into the raven's nest, I volunteer for tonight's guard duty.

I know I'll seek her out if I'm indoors. I'll hurt her because of Kake's adherence to protocol. Emma won't understand if I leave again, following orders, and that will permanently crack the fragile foundation we've built.

It's better to be a blackbird for a night, sleeping in the brisk night air, clearing my head and getting the foresight I need to plot my next steps with the utmost care.

Chapter 18

Emma:

I'm left to my own devices for what feels like days. Company appearing in the form of strangers bringing food to a prisoner. They come and go like breezes on the ocean, sometimes too shy to even announce their presence, arriving and leaving as shadows. Am I such a bitch?

Arghin finds me in my bedroom in the 'morning' of what I think is my fifth day here. It's hard to tell, being underside instead of topside. I'm deep in the underworld, which would usually thrill my inner Goth, but not so much right now. My room is full of old stuff that no longer fits my new life. Everything I held dear, everything that seemed important no longer seems to matter one iota. Arghin nudges his head, “Wanna read the book?”

“
What book?” I grumble, aggravated to the tips of my toenails.

“
The Book of Shadows. You, me, all of us, we're shadows.”

Blinking in denial, I attempt to halt my runaway careening fear of the implications that he's casually spewing, as if it's no biggie. “Dude,
what
?!”

“
That big book your blood wrote in, the day you arrived, Odin's book, it's the book I'm referring to sweetcheeks.” He shrugs nonchalantly, “Hey if you don't wanna go reading about Mac's lineage and shit, it's no sweat off my back.”

Oh hell yeah!

“Sure thing!” I say quickly, pouncing off my pity pot and meeting him in the doorway, walking in a hurry to keep up.

“
After this we'll have your first training session, then you go to Gudmund for botany lessons.”

“
What do I need botany lessons for?” I snap, annoyed all over again.

“
So you can live off the land. He has three caverns at different temperatures, where he grows our supplies. It'll teach you a lot,” he nods, as if fate has already been written and there's no point struggling against what will be.

Examining the corpus splayed before me I find Mac's story incredible. His mother died in childbirth and he was raised here in these mountains, sojourning often into the modern world on supply gathering and reconnaissance, looking specifically for me.

His father, like mine, is the giant. His mother human.

He knows what it's like to walk in my shoes but let me rant like a snotty brat instead of revealing that he understood. Would the exposing of that secret have killed him?

Reading faster I find his reasons much further down the page, writing in a bold script full of ornamental flourishes. His page is a thing of beauty, the attention to detail minute. Mirroring the man.

He respects my journey, knowing I needed to purge what's eating away at me, so instead of nullifying my experience with his own he simply absorbed it, being the proverbial shoulder.

Aw! See, once your perspective changes you simply fall harder for mister perfect. He is, truly, gorgeous, in every way possible. But I'm going to kick him for letting me ruminate on my agony and wallow in the shortcomings my parents embodied.

Clearly bored, Arghin interrupts, “Come on Emma, we've got stuff to do.”

Petulant, I glare at him, left no choice but to follow him to the gymnasium where a big oaf waits on the mats with a bunch of armory.

“
Emma this is Vigorn, he'll be helping me demonstrate the moves to you.”

“
Okay,” I mumble.

“
So you're Mac's new guest?” he says, way too enthusiastic.

“
Yup,” I nod, looking around at the items on the floor as we reach him.

“
Nice to greet you,” he says, grabbing hold of my hand and yanking me in for a kiss, on the freaking mouth!

Ugh!

Leaping back, I'm ready to dislocate my hips kicking the bastard in the groin, but hell I want to!

He gives me a leery smirk, releasing my hand.

“Let's start with the basics,” booms Arghin's baritone.

Shifting to face him I prop hands on hips and wait for the big revelation.

Scratching his head, scooping his long bangs out of his eyes, he looks me over with his freaky eye, “Can you change into your avatar?”

“
What's an avatar?” I volley.

“
Your bird form. Or animal form, to be more specific.”

“
Nope,” I shake my head. “Wouldn't that be better taught by a woman?”

He shakes his head, “Nope. It's a fallacy that we lose our clothing when we change form. It's a gift from Odin, we are always prepared for battle, we're never vulnerable like that.

“Oh,” I nod, appreciating the intel.

“
Okay, how about shadow? Can you shadow yet?” he delves, scratching at his cheek now.

I shake my head again, beginning to feel inept.

Exasperated Arghin looks across to Vigorn, who's ogling me blatantly.

As if to distract me from the lecherous prick, Arghin takes my hand, pulling me into the center of the mats, “Okay Emma, this is easy. Anyone can do it. Just close your eyes and feel the air pressing in on you.”

He stares pointedly, waiting for me to comply.

Sighing, I close my eyes, trying to feel 'air'. Oddly I
can
feel the air. That's new.

“
Now inhale, focus on pulling that air around you, being its center of gravity.”

Inhaling, it feels as if I have a heavy duvet I'm pulling over myself, it's a bit of an effort but I concentrate hard, yanking on it until it feels too weighty to hold.

“Holy
uskit'r,” exclaims Arghin, which pops my eyes open only to be standing in a cocoon of bright white fog.

“
Fuck,” I bitch. “No, I can't pull shadows in. This happened the other day too.”

“
It's fine, you're a rare white shadow. We get them every once in a while, but they usually belong to the wolf clan.”

“
Why the wolf clan?” I grumble, exhaling and waving my arms, trying to free myself from the mist.

“
Just release it,” orders Vigorn. “In your mind scatter it free.”

The way Vigorn stares is obscene. Ribald bastard.

But I do as he commands, feeling better when the vapor dissipates as strangely as it coalesced.

“
Wolf and Skadi have an interesting history,” winks Arghin. “We'll let Mac tell you that story.”

Stepping away from me, he lifts a sword, the blade lighting up like a love crystal the second his hand touches the hilt. “When the gods embrace you, you'll get your own valhalla sword. This is mine. And this is why we have to teach you to fight with a sword, okay?”

I nod, fascinated with the truth of the legend. It's awesome!

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he beckons Vigorn closer, casting his sword back to the ground and adopting a sparring stance. “Emma, I will show you the move with Vigorn, and then you repeat it with me. Alright?”

“Yes!” I snap, wishing this day was over already. When am I going to get Mac back?

He takes me through the paces, until I can kick, punch, strike, block, throw, and vanish into mist when I'm attacked. That part rocks, but I'm exhausted.

I hold up the timeout T, breathless and with a stitch in my side.

He nods, “Okay, while you get your breath back I'll show you the weapons.” Looking to Vigorn he nods, “Thanks for your help. We'll meet up with you at lunch.”

Oooh, they both look short tempered. Arghin is obviously PO'd with Vigorn's endless visual licking of my body, and Vigorn is pissed because he has to fuck off now. Up yours you ugly oaf.

I watch as he saunters off the way you expect a drug dealer to coast down the street with a gun in his pocket and a hypodermic in the other.

What a shifty character.

I want Mac! Stat!

Now I'm annoyed too.

Chapter
19

Emma:

“
When harii warriors spar, we call it
leikr
.”
He lifts up the broadsword, explaining, “This is a mækir.”

“
A maker? It looks like a sword to me.”

Arghin drops it so the point is next to his foot and sighs dramatically at me, “You're determined to be an outsider aren't you? Learn our words for things because in the heat of conflict you won't understand a shout of warning if the guy guarding your back is speaking the old dialect.”

“Fine!” I snap, giving him my best 'crawl back into your hole and suffocate on your own stink' stare.

Clearly moody, he points at the spear, “Geirr.”

“Gee-er?”

He nods, “Geirr is a spear.” Then he points at the arrows, “Oddr, are arrows. The shaft is gísil.”

“Odir,” I repeat diligently. “Geezil.”

He nods, flicking me an approving stare. Lifting the sword up he runs his finger along the sharp edge, “The blade of your sword is brandr.”

“Brunder?” I repeat.

He nods, “You get the bigger picture now as you see how root words have affected modern language. Somehow telling someone to meet their maker means a whole lot more when you understand a mækir is god's sword. We always laugh when we hear modern folk call someone an ass, because in our language it means a god.”