Valkyrie's Conquest. Sharon Ashwood

her. “What is the matter with you?” Sigrid asked.

      Tyra cast her sister a sidelong glance. Like all their kind, Sigrid was fair-haired and blue-eyed, but she was taller by a hand span. If the Valkyries had been allowed to ride to war instead of reaping the dead, demons would have fallen before Sigrid’s black sword like wheat at harvest. But that would never happen because they no more rode to war than they had families.

      “Why can’t we join Father’s battles?” Tyra blurted out. It was a good question, and she didn’t want to talk about babies or dragons. “We are excellent fighters! You are like Thor on the practice field.”

      Sigrid raised her eyebrows. “I’d need a beard and breath that smells like stale beer before I’m anything like Thor.”

      “I am serious! You are his equal with a blade. Why does Father forbid us to fight?” She had long wondered, but Odin had no time for questions from the youngest of his daughters. Frustration raked at her. “You are the firstborn. Has he ever told you?”

      They walked side by side through the meadows of Asgard, their soft boots rustling the grass. Asgard was the home of the gods, mountainous and starkly beautiful. Before them stretched a long valley beneath an azure sky, the air sharp with the snows of distant peaks.

      Sigrid didn’t answer for a long time, but when she did her voice was firm. “Our father says it is not our place to question him.”

      “Is that all? That is not a reason.”

      Sigrid shrugged. “I have my thoughts. The gods and their magic are fading. Humans no longer worship us.”

      “Why does that matter?”

      “Father likes things the way they are. We do nothing for our own personal glory. Our work is all about his army and nothing more.”

      “But why does that matter to Father? What harm is there if someone sings of our triumphs or names their sword Sigrid?”

      Sigrid folded her arms. “The Valkyries love no men except our father. Indeed, we do nothing unless it is in his name. I don’t think Father is about to let his devoted warrior maidens go. We are the last remnant of the old days, when being a god mattered.”

      “But we could help him fight demons!”

      “And someday we may have to.” Sigrid stopped walking and put her hand on Tyra’s shoulder. “But wait for him to give the command. He cannot stand disobedience.”

      “I know that,” Tyra said defensively.

      “You are his favorite. You’ve not seen that side of him,” Sigrid replied. “He punishes rebellion with a person’s greatest fear. Blindness. Hunger. The hot fangs of wolves. Whatever it is, Odin will use that terror to make an example of anyone who crosses him.”

      Tyra had heard the tales, but hadn’t wanted to believe them. Defiance flared in her heart. It lasted a mere breath, but it left an ashy resentment in its wake. She’d never felt such a thing before. She put a hand over her stomach where the sick feeling lay. Something definitely had gone wrong when she’d collected Macdonald’s soul.

      Unbidden, her mind darted away to Bron once more—which was pure madness. She was as forbidden to want him as she was to fight, even if she was a warrior and a woman. She was a reaper for her father’s army, nothing more.

      Sigrid was watching her with a cool, speculative gaze. Tyra clenched her hand and tried to look normal. Now was the moment to speak up about these newfound feelings, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. They were hers, and she had an irrational need to protect them from Sigrid’s ice-blue eyes—or Odin’s wrath.

      Tyra swallowed. “If there is no chance that Father will change his mind about riding to battle, then there is nothing more to say.”

      “No,” said Sigrid. “There isn’t.”

      The words slammed the topic shut. Tyra cleared her throat. “Then I have duties to attend to. I need to collect my assignment for tonight.” Without another word, she struck out across the meadow alone, leaving Sigrid where she stood.

      Her path took her to the foot of a great tree that stood alone in the sea of waving grass. The branches reached so high there seemed to be no top. A huge cleft at the base formed a sort of cave, where a small fire burned even though it was the middle of the day. The tree-cave was actually a tiny house. Three old crones sat inside: one weaving, one spinning and one measuring and cutting the threads. They were the Norns, the three Fates who wove the future. They were also the ones who told the Valkyries which souls to reap.

      The old women didn’t look up from their work as Tyra paused outside their dwelling. A tapestry lined the walls of the tiny home. One end hung unfinished, a mass of threads waiting on the loom to weave the future. The other end, the past, was so long that the fabric lay in piles along the floor—millions upon millions of threads begun and ended long before even the gods had been born. Though Tyra had seen the weaving many times, she could not help feeling awe.

      Tyra fell to one knee, bowing her head low. “Greetings, honored mothers, I have come to receive my orders.”

      As she waited, an image of a place formed in her mind. A dark alley. A door. Darkness. Without any effort on her part, Tyra knew when and where to wait for her next charge. “I shall obey.”

      “If one thread goes unattended, others may tangle in unexpected ways.” The words came from inside her head, but she couldn’t tell which of the Norns had addressed her. None of the three crones so much as looked her way.

      “I understand,” Tyra was deeply startled. The Norns almost never spoke directly to her. “I shall always do what is asked and keep the weaving pure.”

      The same dry whisper replied inside her mind. “Indeed? The demons have their own dark threads in the tapestry. Their pattern has changed and become unpredictable. They make choices that alter the weave. That is within your power, also.”

      Tyra heard the ring of truth in the words, but was unsure how to answer. Despite her conversation with Sigrid about riding to battle, changing the weave of Fate sounded far beyond a mere Valkyrie. “I am not so important. I change nothing”

      There was a long pause before the next words. “Even a child can open a door. There is no telling what might walk through.”

      “I am not a fool.”

      “I hope not. Your thread anchors whatever picture comes next.”

      Uncertainty swirled as if it were about to drag her down. The Norns had power even Odin feared. Could they somehow read the uncharacteristic emotions that had taken root in Tyra’s heart? Her whole body went cold, but she felt a touch of anger, too. She wasn’t ready to give up this new side of herself.

      Still, she knew the right words. “I serve and obey.”

      “Is that all?” The voice was bland. Somehow that was worse than if it had been dripping with scorn.

      Tyra swallowed down foreboding. “What more would you have of me?”

      “What you give the future is always your choice, Tyra of the Valkyries. There is no more truth than that. Now go and do your duty. Decide what that means.”

       Chapter Three

      Bron shouldered his way through the Friday night crowd. Bright light splashed from store windows, painting the passersby in garish brilliance. Giggling girls roved in packs, looking up from their smart phones to ogle him as he stalked by. Cars with thumping stereos slowed, the drivers plainly curious. Bron was taller than most humans, clearly something more than human, but few had any idea what he was.

      Rebellion had freed the dragons from their controlling queen’s wrath. Still, his kind was rare and few left the isolation of their mountain home. Always more adventurous, Bron had seized the opportunity to explore the outside world. The mountains