39. The Price of Doubt I
The Black Thunder was packed, as it had been for the past few months. The summoning of the Einherjar had made Gladsheim's largest and finest tavern even busier and louder despite Ragnarök's end.
The warriors of Valhalla, as proficient and dedicated as they were, were incredibly boisterous and terribly messy — they ate and drank until their belts burst; sang and laughed as if there were no tomorrow; made a mess and broke things as though they were at home; and fought over the most idiotic reasons imaginable.
In short, they did not create an environment any decent person would wish to remain in for more than an hour or two. She did not understand why Gná chose to meet in that place. She had already asked the new queen why, and she had answered that she appreciated the tavern's "lively" atmosphere.
Actually, Rist understood, deep down. After all, perhaps a little unrestrained amusement was necessary for some following the dreadful fate they had managed to avoid. Even so, she could not wait until they finished dealing with the remaining problems. After that, the Einherjar could return to Valhalla, and everything would go back to normal. Peace would reign once again in the nine realms. Maybe Rist might even have a life outside of work. Not that she disliked her job, of course.
In any case, Rist preferred not to distract herself with that sort of frivolity, not at that moment. She did enjoy having fun and letting her mind wander from time to time. It was just that she needed to stay focused. There was still so much to do...
Seated at a crowded table, but at the farthest corner of the long bench, Rist exhaled and took a sip of mead from her mug. Where in Hel are they? she thought, slamming the mug hard against the tabletop, exasperated. She had arranged to meet her sisters at the Black Thunder by late afternoon, but it was already night.
"Hello, beautiful," said a gray-skinned man with purple eyes, sitting down beside her before trying to suppress a belch and failing. His breath smelled of alcohol.
Rist turned her face and shot the Einherjar who had dared speak to her at that moment a murderous glare. She was not in the mood for that. He probably did not know her yet. If he did, he certainly would not have committed such foolishness.
"By Odin, you must be the most tempting creature ever to pass through here," he insisted. "What do you say we get a room with the tavern keeper, huh?"
However, even though anger had begun to heat her body, Rist sighed and simply answered, "No."
Starting a fight was not a good idea, and, in that place, someone only had to sneeze in the wrong direction for one to happen. She was stressed, overwhelmed by the duties she had been carrying out in recent weeks — training and coordinating the Aesir forces while keeping Valhalla under control and finishing her own training was quite exhausting — but she managed to restrain herself... for now.
The Einherjar, on the other hand, seemed not to notice her stress. "Ah, come on." He took a sip from his own mug and then leaned close to her ear and said, "If you accept, I promise you'll scream Odin's name like you've never screamed in your—"
In the blink of an eye, Rist drew the small dagger hidden under her gauntlet and stabbed the Einherjar in the throat. Then, discreetly, as his body slumped, she guided him down beneath the table, dark blood staining the floor. No one noticed or would notice. Just one more warrior her companions would need to bring back from Valhalla.
The tavern door burst open, and the dark silhouettes of three imposing figures appeared. No one seemed to care about the three Valkyries now entering the Black Thunder, their masks and armor adorned with golden engravings, their vast wings imposing the grand authority they carried. No one besides Rist.
After taking the last sip from her mug, she stood, picked up her helm from the table, and walked to the entrance. Her sisters did not move; they remained there, at the entrance, staring at her as she approached. Rist did not care about their coldness. The three were hard on her sometimes, especially when they wanted to reprimand her for some improper behavior.
What did I do this time? she thought, and sighed.
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Stopping before Gná, who led Hrist and Mist, she stared at the queen with one eyebrow raised.
"What?" she asked casually.
Hrist and Mist removed their helms, and finally Gná removed hers, revealing her dazzling beauty. That silky brown hair, that round nose, those fine lines of her jaw... they made Rist tense her own jaw. It was a little irritating that her sister, besides being Odin's strongest Valkyrie, was also the most...
Rist froze. The expressions on her sisters' faces... She had never seen anything like them. How deep the wrinkles on their brows were; how distorted their eyebrows were; how downward-curved the corners of their lips were. Anger. Pain.
"Come with me," Gná said, turning her back and leaving the tavern, accompanied by Hrist and Mist.
The muscles in Rist's back stiffened. She swallowed and followed her sisters to the open area before the Black Thunder. For some reason, the Einherjar came soon after — every warrior who had been inside the tavern, perhaps every Einherjar who inhabited Gladsheim.
When Rist placed herself at the center of the space, feeling each irregularity of the stony ground beneath her feet, she and her sisters were already surrounded by thousands of undead warriors, with bright, attentive purple eyes, moving and speaking in an anxious, excited manner.
The city vanished. Each of Gladsheim's ancient buildings vanished, clouded by a dark, black mist. The only thing Rist could see was the loud crowd around her, the shining moon above... and the three Valkyries standing ten steps before her. Her three sisters.
Their stares. Those brown irises of various shades, blazing with incandescent flames... Rist's heart raced. Her fists clenched with the insane desire she felt to summon Bifrost magic and flee. She had done something wrong, that much was certain.
But what? she thought, feeling the world below tremble. She did not remember doing anything that deserved the attention of practically every warrior of Valhalla. Her effort and her loyalty could never be questioned, no more than those of the other Valkyries.
"Gná, what is this?!" she asked, desperate.
The Valkyrie Queen did not answer. She only stared at her with the same fury she had seen inside the tavern.
Rist looked at her other sisters. "Hrist. Mist. Please, answer me."
Hrist bit her lips, and Mist narrowed her eyes and lowered her head. A moment later, the two looked at each other, and then Mist whispered in a tearful voice, but one somehow louder than the murmurs of the Einherjar:
"How could you...?"
A dreadful chill radiated through Rist's body. "How could I what?!" she exclaimed at once, overcome by anguish. "Sisters, what's happening?"
"Enough."
A voice echoed. Not a shout, but an order. The world shook. Houses and buildings trembled, and trees swayed. Warriors, men and women alike, staggered and fell. Then, after the chaos, came silence, deep as the darkest of seas.
Rist trembled, frozen. She knew whose voice it was. But she had never heard it with such a terrifying tone... such a furious one. The voice of the same man who had believed in her when her sisters had not. The god who had taught and trained her. Who had made her.
The god in whom she had placed her complete and unshakable faith.
Rist saw Odin crossing the black mist, supported by Gungnir, and stopping beside Gná. An old man, strong and handsome in his own way, who carried himself with such authority that even the dead fell silent in his presence. He exchanged a few silent words with the queen, then turned to Rist.
The expression on the All-Father's face, unlike the voice he had used, was familiar to her. He had worn the same one when he learned of Sigrún's betrayal and that of the other Valkyries. Exasperation. Disappointment.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense, Rist?" he asked.
Rist's legs trembled. Clenching her fists, she stated, "I don't know what you think I did, All-Father, but I'm certain it's only a misunderstanding."
Odin exhaled. "There's no need to lie anymore. Just admit what you did."
She took a step forward. "How can I admit to something I don't even know?!"
"You betrayed us," Gná said through gritted teeth. "You allied yourself with those who wish to destroy our people, sister. Do not try to deny it. We already know everything."
Rist froze. She had never felt as confused in her life as she did at that moment, nor as afraid.
"I would never betray you," she declared, bringing a hand to her aching chest. "You know me, sisters. Do you really think I'd be capable of trampling over the love we share?"
"No, Rist. We never believed you could be capable of something so vile..." Mist said, still with her head lowered. When she raised her face, she continued, her tone low, "Until we discovered that you colluded with that wretched queen and that little traitor god."
Rist's eyes widened.
"Do not try to deny it," Hrist added. "He admitted everything."
"He?" she asked, a dark premonition taking hold of her.
Something flew from behind her sisters and rolled until it stopped at Rist's feet. She lowered her gaze. The Einherjar shouted and punched the air, excited. At the sound of the bloodthirsty chorus, a shiver ran through her body. She could not stop herself from stepping back, her hands hovering uselessly beside her, fear invading her body like a plague spreading through a village.
A head. The face of a young man with black hair and mallow-purple eyes, twisted by pain and terror. The young man who had saved her life more than once. The same one who had helped her reunite with her family.