Sword of Doom (29 page)

Dane found her in the woods where he had given her the Thor's Hammer locket she still wore. Alerted by his
footsteps in the crusted snow, she turned to face him as he approached, and he saw the shine in her eyes, a sign that she'd been crying. Coming closer, he thought he glimpsed another figure nearby, but now as he drew near, he saw that she was alone. Her eyes were puffy and red and she wore a look of such distress, it made Dane worry even more.

“What's going on?” he asked. “Who were you talking to?”

It took a long time for her to answer.

“I didn't know how to tell you. The thought of it was…too awful.”

“Tell me? Tell me
what
?”

“I wanted to—so many times—but I had no idea how. I was going to leave without even telling you, but now…”

“Oh, for Odin's sake,
tell
him!”

Dane looked around. Where was that voice coming from? Then he and Astrid were standing in a sudden pool of light, the reflected glow, he saw, from a figure who hung suspended above them. It was Mist, he realized. The Valkyrie.

“Why are
you
here?” He looked from Mist to Astrid and back to Mist again. Seeing that Astrid was still too tearful to speak, Mist saw that she would have to.

“I fault myself for some of this,” said Mist apologetically. “You were fated to die—”

“You saved my life,” said Dane. “Twice.”

“Yes, but the Sisters found out and ordered me to take
your life for real. And then she took my feather cloak and forced me to take her to the Sisters, and
they
said—”

“Sisters?” said Dane, confused.

“The Wyrd Sisters. The Norns, the Goddesses of Time, the Keepers of the Book? And they said no, absolutely not, they would not intercede, rules were rules, but your friend here, Ester—”

“Astrid,” said Astrid.

“Astrid—she pitched quite a fit, you should've seen it, and well, they finally agreed to the deal and that's why I'm here and it's time to go.”

“Deal? What deal? I still have
no
idea what you're talking about.”

“She gave her life for yours.”

For a moment Dane was too stunned to speak. He looked into Astrid's teary eyes. “No…no, it's impossible. You can't die!”

“She's
not
going to die,” Mist said. “She'll merely live on a higher plane, serving Odin as a corpse maiden, a Valkyrie. She'll have all the perks and powers that come with the position, including flying, invisibility, a nice horse—”

Dane took an angry step toward Mist. “No! You will take me instead! I was supposed to die, so take
me
, not
her
!”

“I'm afraid it's decided,” Mist said. “It is her fate to have saved you from yours.”

He gazed at Astrid as if for the first time realizing how
truly beautiful she was, and it broke his heart all over again. She ran to him, into his arms, and he kissed her. Tears streamed down his face as he held her and felt his whole future with her slipping away.

“You're mine, Astrid,” he whispered, holding her tightly, “always and forever.”

But then she was gone from his arms. Gazing upward, he saw her astride a beautiful golden-maned stallion, his hide as smooth as satin, his head tossed back in pride, Mist floating beside her on another mighty steed. And seeing his Astrid, bathed in a glowing light that gave her more beauty than ever, a deep pain arose in him as if his very vitals were being torn from his body, as if she were a piece of him ripping away.

“I love you!” he called to her.

“And I you
…,” he heard her whisper in response. But strangely, it seemed she had spoken without even moving her lips. It was as if she were speaking to him from inside his mind, as if her voice had come to him from another realm. The stallions let out otherworldly whinnies, and up they went. As he watched her fly up and away into the night sky, growing smaller and smaller atop the stallion, her glowing image seen through his tears made it seem as though she had begun to sparkle just like one of the frosty stars in the sky. And when he wiped the tears from his eyes to look again, the light of her in the sky was gone
altogether, and Dane felt a great, gaping hole in his world, a wound in his heart that would never heal as long as he drew breath.

He slumped to the ground, too weak to make a sound, his head a whirl of emotions. He wanted to weep. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run and tell his mother what had happened and cry like an infant in her arms. He had an overwhelming impulse to jump into the sea and drown himself. And he probably would have had he not heard approaching footsteps.

It was Lut the Bent walking toward him, his figure silvered by the moon. Upon his face Dane saw an ineffable sadness, and in his voice he heard the echo of his own torment. “At times like these,” Lut said, “a man wishes he were dead, so that he will not have to feel the pain of loss and lamentation.”

“Did you know?” Dane asked. Lut nodded. “She gave up her life for
me—because
of me. How can I live knowing that it is at her expense? Were it not for me and my so-called heroics, she would be right here beside me and we would have a life together.”

“But who's to say
you
would have lived? The Norns had foretold that you would die on your rune sword journey. But through sheer force of will, she has given you another chance at life. Don't throw it away.”

“But how can I live without her?”

“Courage comes to those who need it most,” said Lut, laying a hand on Dane's shoulder. “But only if you choose to live. To embrace the new possibilities that lie before you. To devote yourself to those who love you. Those who need you. Your mother. Your friends. The elderly and infirm. Me, for instance.”

“Devote myself to those I love?” Dane said bitterly. “Like Astrid? Look what my love for her has caused!”

Lut kept silent for a moment. “Hope,” he said, “is the food we feed the ailing heart.” Knowing the boy was in too great a pain to engage in further conversation, Lut laid a hand on Dane's shoulder and left him there alone to wrestle with his anger and grief. Dane watched the old one walk slowly back to the village, recalling the many gems of wisdom he had imparted. The answers would come by living the questions? What kind of life philosophy was that?

The music and merriment of the village celebration drifted back to him on the cold night air, and to Dane these sounds were like further stabs to his heart.

Staring again into the stars, he found himself talking aloud to Astrid. He could not accept a life without her, he said, and he vowed he would spend the rest of his days trying to find a way to be with her again. If not in life, then perhaps in death. For if he were to end his life valiantly, defending his people in battle, would it not be possible to reunite with her up in Valhalla, the realm in which she now
dwelled? And live with her there, in the heavens among the gods themselves?
Yes!
And the thought of a reunion with his dear one, a reunion even in death, filled his heart with new hope. For he knew with sudden certainty that he would someday see her and hold her again. Alive or dead, he would make it so.