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This wasn’t right—and yet, somehow she knew it was.

As she approached, she saw an unfamiliar woman tending to a garden. The woman’s clothes were as oddly off as the rest of this place, but when the woman looked up, there was recognition in her eyes.

“There you are!” the woman said, warmly. “Go on inside, dear. Brian and your dad are getting dinner ready.”

Lorelei looked at the door. This felt so much like home to her. But she knew it couldn’t be.

She didn’t have a family. She never had.

‡ ‡ ‡

A violent thunderclap woke her back to reality. A late-summer storm was pounding down on the encampment, and rain was drip-dropping through a small hole in the yurt’s seams. Lorelei sat up in her cot, and sighed. She rose, and slung her sword around her waist, and headed out into the storm.

Radulf whined as she reached the door. “I’m just going out for a moment, girl. I’ll be right back,” she told the wolf, as she slipped out into the deluge.

She walked through the center of the encampment. It was Ravenwood; this was her home. She had been brought here twelve years ago as an orphan. It was the closest thing to family she’d ever known.

Herja herself had rescued her from the temple orphanage. She had told the abbot that she would do great things, that she had the soul of a Valkyrie, and needed only the proper training to gain the skill of one. Herja had brought her into the fold, and had raised her to be one of the Daughters of Odin, the Choosers of the Slain. She had known battle since, and danger. But she had never again known the kind of aching want that she had felt as a child in the care of the church.

She let the rain pound down on her, let it wash over her. She hoped it would wash out of her the desperate desire for family—real famly—that she thought must be behind the dreams.

“Lorelei! What are you doing?”

Her reverie broken, she turned and saw a figure approaching. The woman was slight for a Valkyrie, with short black hair that was already slicked down from the rain.

“Nothing, Miia,” said Lorelei, turning fully toward her friend.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, Lorelei. I’ve known you too long. It’s another dream, isn’t it?”

Miia was as close to a sister as she had. She had been adopted a year after Lorelei, and they’d been friends from the first. “Yes, it was a dream.”

Miia walked up to her friend and put an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right, Lorelei.”

No, it isn’t, Lorelei thought. It wasn’t all right at all.

She wanted to break down, but a Valkyrie doesn’t cry. Instead, she let out a deep sigh and walked with her friend back to the tent.

“Come on,” said Miia, lying her friend down. “Get under the blankets. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“It’s just so real,” said Lorelei. “It isn’t like a dream. It’s like I’m there. I can smell the grass, I can feel the wind. It’s real.”

“I know it must seem to be,” said Miia, calmly, putting another blanket on Lorelei. “I dream about my parents too.”

“It’s not like that,” said Lorelei, just softly enough so as not to wake the others. “It’s not a dream about what it would be like to have parents. It’s like I’ve stepped into the skin of someone who has a family.

“And I hate it. I already have a family here,” said Lorelei, trying and failing to convince herself.

Miia merely smiled. “Yes, you do. Now get to sleep. Alexandra will be waking us up soon enough. Best to be ready.”

Lorelei settled in, and tried to go back to sleep. After an interminable time, she even succeeded.

‡ ‡ ‡

Morning started early as it always did at Ravenwood. The rains of the previous night had given way to a sunny, muggy daybreak—it was a typical late-summer morn. No doubt the night would bring another storm; it was the usual pattern. The women awoke (save those who had just finished the night watch—they were getting to bed at last), and began the regular morning routine. They dressed, armed themselves, and lined up for breakfast.

It was the adepts’ week to cook, which meant gruel and a bit of pemmican per woman; the adepts did not need to win favor with their underlings, and they had more important business to attend to. Indeed, most of the camp was simply glad that at last the lutefisk had been finished; comparatively, pemmican was a luxury treat. Lorelei brought out her bowl, thanked Alexandra with a slight bow, and walked to the large tent at the edge of the camp that served as the Valkyries’ meeting hall.

Lorelei walked proudly into the pavilion, head held high as she walked to the table where the apprentices were gathering. The younger apprentices grew silent as she approached—not quite full attention, but deference to her senior position within the group. The elder girls knew Lorelei too well to come to attention, of course, but they too greeted her with respect, for the most part.

Miia smiled a greeting, but Lorelei’s eyes locked instead on Annalie, who sat to Miia’s left and directly across from Lorelei’s customary seat. Annalie was not showing any more respect than custom dictated; indeed, she was showing quite a bit less. But that was neither unexpected nor unusual.

“So, nightmares again?” sneered Annalie, tossing her blonde mane frivolously. “The stress of the Trials getting to you at last?”

“She’s rock solid,” said Miia, staring down her friend’s inquisitor. “And at least she knows the stress of the upcoming Trials. You won’t know that until the seasons pass again, will you, Annalie?”

Annalie glowered back, trying in vain to hide her frustration; it was no secret that she blamed Lorelei for stealing the glory during the Battle of the Western Plains. Lorelei had been jumped ahead a year in her apprenticeship for that and made senior of the apprentices after Geiravör passed her trials. Annalie had never quite forgiven that success.

Lorelei kept her counsel. It was not that she needed Miia to fight her battles for her. It was simply that Miia enjoyed fighting them so much more. Besides, it was unbecoming of a senior to upbraid her juniors, even if she really wanted to.

Miia and Annalie glared at each other until someone spoke to break the standoff.

“Enough, you guys,” said Satu. “I’d really like to make it through breakfast without a fight once in my life.”

Annalie gasped, but Miia guffawed. “Now that’s a leader, ladies. Sixteen winters, and she’s backtalking those with eighteen behind us. Satu, you’ll win glory yet.”

“I hope so, Miia,” Satu said, evenly.

Further discussion was forestalled as the gong was sounded, heralding Herja’s arrival. She was flanked by Alexandra and Reginleif, as always. Her face seemed much younger than the seventy winters it was said to have survived. Her short grey hair was crowned by the helm she had worn for sixty years, and her neck was wreathed with a simple silver chain. Lorelei had always been amazed at how they caught the sun—it seemed as if she was perpetually bathed in ethereal light.

Or perhaps it was simply the glow of Herja herself; it wouldn’t have surprised anyone.

“Rise, fellow warriors,” she intoned with practiced ease, “and sing.”

As one, two hundred fifty warriors arose and sang the words of the ancient text:

“Vindum, vindum

vef darraðar,

þars er vé vaða

vígra manna!

Látum eigi

líf hans farask;

eigu valkyrjur

vals of kosti!”

We course-choosing sisters have charge of the slain! Lorelei felt the surge of power each time she sang it. It eased her visions, her aching for family. It grounded her anew in the ways of the sisterhood. The song was more than her life; it was her destiny.

As the group sat, Herja remained standing. “Good morning, ladies,” she said. “I trust we have all come through the rain. Summer’s end is approaching, Daughters of Odin. And with it, this time of calm we have enjoyed of late.

“I have word that the army of King George has been turned back at Blue Earth; the army of Reginald Fowler has seized control of Two Rivers.”

There was a gasp at this news, but Herja remained calm.

“We have not been called yet to battle, yet we know that the day that call comes will soon be approaching. Perhaps it will be Prince Wallace who approaches us; perhaps it will be Fowler himself, looking to buy us off.

“We shall go when Odin wills it; that moment may come at any time. You shall fight with honor, as always.”

Herja smiled beatifically as the group roared their affirmation. “But before we move out, there is other business to attend to. Within one week’s time, the time of the Trials will be upon us. Apprentice Lorelei Voss, rise.”

Lorelei was on her feet before she realized it had been requested of her.

“Lorelei, the untimely death of your comrade Waltraud has left you alone to face the Trials. Are you ready?”

“Yes, mistress,” she said boldly, though her stomach suggested otherwise.

“No, you are not,” said Herja, eyes twinkling. There was good-natured laughter from the adepts and the warriors; Annalie’s snicker was more pointed.

“Nobody is ever truly ready for the Trials, and you, young Lorelei, are no exception. But you have fought with honor in your time with us. You have proven yourself worthy as a warrior. Now you must prove yourself worthy as a Valkyrie.

“As such, you shall begin to assume the duties of a full Warrior in the week preceding the Trials, as tradition demands. Let this be your first test: in front of your sisters, the Daughters of Odin, the Choosers of the Dead, do you accept?”

Lorelei had heard this speech every year, but somehow, she’d never accepted the meaning of it until now. All it had meant in the past was that someone had to leave the apprentices’ tent for night watch, or that an apprentice was sent on a mission alone. It was a snippet of a promotion, a taste of what lay after the Trials were completed successfully.

But now she realized that Herja was asking her to commit, even before her apprenticeship was concluded, to remain with the sisterhood. Lorelei did not have to; she was a free woman the moment she turned nineteen. Committing to Herja now before all her sisters was committing herself to the life of a Valkyrie, now and forever.

But it was the only life she’d ever known; it was not perfect, she thought, but it was a good life. And as she looked upon Herja, she knew there was only one answer.

“I do,” she said, proudly.

“Good,” said Herja. “Report to Reginleif after breakfast. You may be seated.”

Lorelei sat down, and was startled by the raucous applause that broke out. Miia beamed at her friend. “Congratulations!” she mouthed. Lorelei was glad and sorry; Miia was her age, but still had one year left before she would face the Trials. Lorelei hoped that Annalie would not take her ire out on Miia. Then again, knowing Miia, she was probably hoping Annalie would step out of line and give her an excuse.

Breakfast continued as was routine; Reginleif gave a report on the stores, Alexandra discussed the need for additional armaments, nothing the assembled hadn’t heard a thousand times before. By the time the morning report was concluded, and the gruel and pemmican consumed, most everyone was ready to get on with their day.

As the dismissal gong sounded, and the bowls were collected, Lorelei turned to Miia. “Wish me luck,” she said, quietly.

“You’ll need it,” shot Annalie.

“You’ve got it,” Miia said. “And Annalie? If you say one more word, you’d best hope your fighting skills have improved.”

‡ ‡ ‡

Reginleif was waiting patiently by the rostrum as Lorelei approached it. She was young for an adept, perhaps forty—Lorelei had childhood memories of her being a playful young woman who loved to engage the toddlers. But her sportiveness seemed to have disappeared in the same battle that took her left eye, replaced by a flinty determination that had propelled her to third-in-command.

“Apprentice Lorelei Voss,” she said, impatiently. “So, you believe yourself ready for The trials.”

It was not a question, but Lorelei nevertheless answered.

“I—I fear that Mistress Herja is correct, Madame Reginleif. I just felt that I should not begin afraid.”

This elicited a raised eyebrow from the commandant, and the barest hint of a smile. “Indeed. Your ability to accept un-comfortable truths has been one of your strengths, Lorelei. You are right; you’ll have enough cause for fear without creating more for yourself.

“At any rate, your success or failure has been placed in my purview; and so I would advise you to be prepared. Mind Mistress Herja’s phrasing: ‛Within one week’s time.’ The Trials can begin for you at any moment. They could begin as soon as our conversation ends; they could begin in the middle of the night. For all you know, your Trials may have already begun.”

Lorelei swallowed hard at that, but simply nodded.

Reginleif looked distant for just a moment. “Lorelei, I have an assignment for you. It’s nothing much—a trivial matter, really. Just a need for you to travel into Pipestone to secure two dozen swords from Jarlath O’Shea. He has already been contracted for the work, and they should be ready; it is simply a matter of you bringing an apprentice and a horse-and-cart, and giving Mr. O’Shea a hundred gold—that’s the balance owed. Do you think you can handle that assignment, Apprentice Lorelei?”

Lorelei bowed slightly. “Yes, m’lady.”

“Very good. I assume you’ll be bringing your friend, Apprentice Miia Aalto, am I correct?”

“If that pleases you, Madame Reginleif,” Lorelei replied, hoping that her sudden vision of a trip into town with Annalie was just nerves.

“Oh, that’s fine; just be aware of your mission first, Lorelei. Remember, you’re not just choosing a traveling companion. You and she will be on your own. You’d best trust Miia in a fight.”

“I trust her with my life.”

“Good. I hope your trust is not misplaced. Return in one hour, and Margarethe will have your mount and your money ready. Dismissed.”

Lorelei turned, her head swimming. She’d never left the encampment except to accompany a senior Valkyrie; she’d never been entrusted with any significant amount of money before.

A hundred pieces of gold was an awful lot of money to entrust a still-training Valkyrie with.

Wait a minute.

This could well be part of the Trials, she thought. This was an easy mission—no hacking or chopping involved. Hopefully, at least. But it was a big responsibility. How easy it would be for her to take the hundred gold pieces and abscond, and start adult life free of burden….

Yes, she realized quickly. This was a test—a test of her commitment to the group. She quickened her pace toward the apprentices’ yurt; she wanted to be on the way the moment Margarethe hitched the wagon.

‡ ‡ ‡

“Show me again.”

“All right,” said Lorelei, opening the coin purse just enough to display the unmistakable shimmer of gold.

“So there are two pieces just for us?”

“One hundred for the swords, two for us. That’s what Reginleif said. Now, mind you, that’s just in case we need to stay the night in town, and I don’t intend to do that. If we need to stop, we’ll camp just outside of town; I’d like to come back with two coins in my hand.”

“I know, I know. But could we at least get dinner at The Drunken Pig? I’ve heard it’s a bit of an adventure.”

“Miia, we’re going to Pipestone to recover swords, not to drink mead and flirt.”

“Hmpf. I’m not sure I like this whole ’responsibility’ thing you’ve got going, Lor. Next thing I know, you’re going to tell me to get along with Annalie.”

Lorelei had to laugh. “That’ll be the day. You’d think she’d find a way to just be happy for once.”

“Never. She’s got nothing but hate for you, Lor. When you go through the Trials—check for booby traps.”

The two friends dissolved into laughter, until they were silenced by a growl from the back.

“What is it, Radulf?” asked Lorelei, her eyes not diverting from the road ahead as she eased the horses to a stop.

Miia’s sword was already drawn, and as the cart stopped, Lorelei armed herself as well. She rose and surveilled the forest path, but saw no one.

“What is it, girl?” said Lorelei, following the blue eyes of the wolf into the woods.

“An animal, you think?” questioned Miia.

“Maybe,” said Lorelei, quietly. “Here, take the reins. I’ll go in and check it out.”

Lorelei leapt from the cart gracefully, immediately crouching low, moving quickly-but-silently into cover behind a large oak. She slid along its trunk, and exited into the cover of a maple. She continued this movement, from tree to bush, bush back to tree, slowly moving deeper into the woods.

Presently, she found it—an abandoned campsite. The ashes of the fire were still warm. This place had been inhabited recently. Lorelei looked carefully for tracks, and heaved a sigh of relief as she saw them moving out and through the woods, away from the main road. She listened, and thought sure she could hear the sound of someone or other departing further into the forest.

Still, she took no chances, moving backward toward the cart in the same manner as she’d left it. She reached the road, and sheathed her sword. “Someone was camping, but they’ve left. Radulf must have heard them go.”

“Good,” said Miia, following suit. “The last thing I want is to get involved in a battle—not that I won’t fight.”

“I know.”

“Because I’ll fight, you know I will.”

Lorelei rolled her eyes. “I know, Miia.”

“I mean, I’ve killed several dozen men. And I’m quite fine with killing a few more. It’s just that I’d just prefer not to have to when I’m planning to take a nice, fun trip into town with my friend for the first time in my life.”

“That’s fair,” said Lorelei. “But still, Miia—be on your guard.”

“I always am,” said Miia. “That’s why I’m still alive.”

‡ ‡ ‡

The woods opened up almost right on top of Pipestone, which was a city in the same sense that a kitten is a mountain lion. The sleepy hamlet was the center of what passed for commerce in this region; there was a smith, and a baker, and a miller, and of course, The Drunken Pig, which owed its name to an unfortunate incident involving a farmer, his pig, the Baker’s wife, and two hogsheads of mead—a story that had grown to Brobdignagian proportions in the two generations since the name had been affixed.

Lorelei guided the draft horses down the dusty path, which sort of expanded to become a dusty road; she was guiding them toward the swordsmith’s, which was exactly where Reginleif had said it was, at the end of the strip in a small shack with a scimitar hanging loosely above the door.

“All right, this should only be a minute,” said Lorelei, looking back over her shoulder at the setting sun. “It took longer than I thought it would to get here; we probably will seek a room at the inn. It would be best not to have a hundred gold worth of swords just lying about while we sleep.”

“Shouldn’t we come back here in the morning, and get them then?”

Lorelei considered. “You know, if we did that we could camp outside of town….”

“Come on, Lor! That wasn’t what I was saying!”

Lorelei smiled. “I know. Actually, I think we should stay at the inn—it gives us a place for the smith to find us. But before we rent a bed, it’s probably best if we alert Mr. O’Shea of our intentions. Don’t you think?”

Miia beamed. “See? This is leadership!” she called, as Lorelei descended from the cart with a chuckle.

“Wait with Radulf and the horses,” she said, simply, and she approached the shop.

She ducked through the door and headed into the small shop. A bell tinkled as the door slammed shut. “Hello?” she offered.

“Just a minute! Blast it—Meallan! I’ve got a customer—get a move on, damn ya! ’Sblood, put the daggers down and come give me a hand with these swords. The Amazons are comin’ for ’em tonight or tomorrow, and I’ve got to get ’em together! No, damnation…not those swords—well fine then! Never mind! Come up when you’re blasted good and ready then!”

From the back room came a soot-stained man who looked to be about a thousand years old by face, but much younger given the bulging physique he sported. Lorelei couldn’t quite determine if he was seventy or thirty. He was a large man, but he still looked up slightly at Lorelei.

“Jarlath O’Shea, I presume.”

“Aye, and you’d be the one of the Amazons, I suppose. Well, your swords are done, and a good lot they are if I do say so myself. Here, I’ll have my boy fetch one for you—Meallan! Bring one of the short-swords! Now, damn ya!”

A blandly handsome younger man, perhaps seventeen, emerged from the back carrying a gleaming sword. It was not bejeweled or festooned, and bore no device other than a simple arrow pointing away from the hilt—the sigil of Tyr, God of War. The boy seemed familiar, but Lorelei put it out of her mind.

O’Shea wiped the blade, spun the sword and presented it, hilt-first, to Lorelei. She took it without comment, and taking a step back, lifted into a parrying position. It was nicely balanced, she noted; O’Shea may have been disorganized, but he did not lack skill. Lifting the blade to her eye, she saw it was sharpened to razor-fineness. Dropping the sword toward the ground, she handed it back to O’Shea, hilt-first.

“Very well done, Mr. O’Shea. Ninety gold, then?”

“Actually, lass, it’s one hundred; I hope that’s not a problem.”

“No problem,” said Lorelei, smiling evenly. She’d not wanted to deprive the smith, but she had wanted to make sure that he didn’t suggest the swords were one hundred and ten.

“Mr. O’Shea, may I ask a favor?”

“Ask away,” said O’Shea.

“My friend and I intend to sleep at the inn tonight. Would you be so kind as to have these ready for us to recover in the morning?”

“Well, of course, lass, but why would you want to spend a coin at Drunk Piggy when you could sleep for free here with Meallan and me? We don’t lack for room”

“I couldn’t trouble you so,” said Lorelei, smiling. “But thank you.”

“Oh, lass, I insist. Indeed,” said O’Shea, his voice lowering, “there might be a way for you to receive a discount on the swords themselves, if you catch my meaning.”

Lorelei’s smile faded; she had caught the meaning of what O’Shea was saying before he had suggested there was a meaning to catch. “Well, Mr. O’Shea,” she said, calmly, “there’s just one thing I can say to that.”

“Yes, lass?”

She was upon him before he even could react, spinning him around and pulling his right arm nearly out of its socket and throwing him against the wall before drawing her own sword and placing it at his neck. She tugged with her left arm at his right, and he cried out in pain.

“Mr. O’Shea,” said Lorelei, coolly, into his left ear, “did you actually suggest that I would trade myself for a few gold coins?”

“Aargh! Ye beast, I was just thinkin’ of the way you all live up in your camp, with no men around to keep you company. I thought you’d want—”

“You thought very wrong, Mr. O’Shea. I might give my love; I would never sell it. Tell Meallan to get the swords together, and I will gladly pay you fifty for them as long as they’re loaded in my cart before my patience wanes.”

“Fifty! That’s robbery!” O’Shea sputtered.

“Think of it this way; I could simply slit your throat.”

O’Shea closed his eyes, and nodded slightly. “You heard the lass, Meallan. Load their wagon.”

Lorelei looked over at Meallan as he gazed upon her and his father, mouth agape, when suddenly, the world dissolved.

The memory flashed into her mind, filling it fully and taking the space of the very world. She knew it to be a memory. She knew it was not her own.

Meallan was still there—he was closer now. On top of her. Forcing her. No, she had to stop him. She’d told him no. Why wouldn’t he stop?

She’d loved him!

The world swam away, and Lorelei kept her sword from bobbling. If Meallan or O’Shea had noticed her spell, they gave no indication. So Lorelei simply repeated O’Shea’s directive, shocking Meallan into action.

As he quickly began to gather swords haphazardly, Lorelei released O’Shea, but kept her sword high.

“You’ve made a big mistake,” he said. “You’ll never get as much as a dagger from me.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” said Lorelei. “After all, if you refuse to sell to my sisters, I can always come back and avenge my dishonor. And then the rest of them can avenge my dishonor as well.”

O’Shea looked down, beaten. “Please, give me at least fifty-five. The Kobolds have been merciless—they charged me sixty for the metal for your swords. I didn’t have but twenty—and they demanded I pay them fifty-five when they return. They’ll kill me. They’ll kill Meallan.”

Lorelei was patiently counting out her money while she listened; after a moment she handed sixty coins to O’Shea. “There, you blackguard. So that you can continue to make swords for the sisterhood. Pray you, save your best blades for us.”

“Thank you,” he said, falling to his knees. “For your kindness, please, you may take any sword in the shop—any at all.”

Lorelei scanned the shop; most of it was disordered, but one blade shone out. It was slightly longer than the swords O’Shea had created for Reginleif, and lighter. She lifted it, and felt the balance; it was perfect, like an extension of her arm. Like it had been waiting for her alone.

“This blade will do, I think,” said Lorelei, looking closely at the Sun of Mithras inscribed at the hilt.

“You’ve a good eye,” said O’Shea. “I made that blade for Prince George himself—may God rest his soul. Take it, lass. And a thousand apologies for my behavior.”

“Our debt is squared,” said Lorelei. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

And with that, Lorelei exited.

Two

The Madman at the Inn

There had just been room for twenty-five swords, one wolf, Lorelei, and Miia in the tiny room they’d rented above the tavern at The Drunken Pig. It had cost them three silver pieces, leaving them forty-one gold and three silver after dinner. Lorelei was quite proud of herself—she’d handled her first foray alone into the wider world with aplomb, and she wanted to simply savor the moment. She’d even let Miia order a flagon of mead in celebration, though she herself had stuck to cider. And they were eating a roast of some sort, and potatoes, and spinach—truly, a finer meal than they’d enjoyed in months.

All should have been good, but Lorelei could not shake her reverie in the shop.

It had been the first vision she’d seen, about a year ago now. She remembered waking, screaming, at what she’d thought was an incredibly vivid nightmare.

The flashback in the shop, though—that was something new, and something that she was not entirely sure she owned. A part of her thought that it was not her own mind that called the memory back in such detail.

Regardless, it shook her. And she found herself dwelling on the memory, and the memory of the first vision, the memory of the memory—replaying it over and over, unable to shut it out.

She had heard echoes of a voice that sounded like hers, felt like it was coming from her, but it was not hers.

“Allen, stop it! Stop! I said no! You’re raping me!”

Rape. It wasn’t a word she was unfamiliar with—a female warrior has to be ready to deal with the consequences of being captured, however unlikely that may be—but it was a word she’d never dreamed she’d say. After all, she’d long believed that a man would have to kill her to force himself upon her; indeed, that was all but certain—and before dying she would certainly ensure that he’d enjoy precious little pleasure from that day forward.

Certainly, Meallan—a strong boy, obviously, but no fighter—he could no more rape her than he could leap to Blue Earth in one jump.

But it had been his face, clear as day, clear as the face of her friend across the table. There was no doubt in her mind.

And she pondered the other weirdness of the vision. He wore a blue tunic with numbers inscribed on it, covering the entire front of the shirt. The style was alien to her, as alien as the feeling of the pants in her dream the previous night, or the mother she’d never had.

And yet it had flooded back to her as real as if it had been her own.

“So, why are you so down?” Miia asked, causing Lorelei to start. “You just destroyed a guy who threatened your honor, and saved the sisterhood forty gold pieces; I can’t imagine this little mission going any better. If this is your Trial, you must’ve passed with flying colors.”

“That would be nice,” said Lorelei. “But I think—”

“NONE OF YOU EXIST!”

Well, that was enough to stop most-anyone mid-sentence, and it had just that effect on Lorelei (and the half-dozen others drinking that night). The man who had shouted that line was staring, wild-eyed; his stool had flown backward with his sudden ascent.

“Ian, calm down,” said the man next to him, quietly—but loudly enough to be heard by everyone, given the entire tavern was holding its breath.

“No, James, no! This world—this whole world is wrong! We’re supposed to have, uh…kars. And kom-pew-tors. And—those candles! Torches! That’s not right! There are lights that are supposed to light with the flip of a switch. That’s the real world! This is just a fantasy land!”

“Go on, Crouch, get your brother out of ’ere. ’E’s gone off again,” said the innkeeper, approaching the table sternly.

“Of course, Peter. Of course. Just give us a second, please, he’s just out of sorts.”

“’Ad another one of ’is ‛spells,’ ’as ’e?”

“They aren’t spells! My God, why don’t you understand? I can see it like it’s here—there’s a box that shows pictures, plays, music…it exists, confound it, and that’s where I’m supposed to be, not trapped back here in medieval land!”

“That’s it,” said the innkeeper. “If you don’t get ’im out of ’ere, Crouch, I’m going to have to get Johann.”

“No, no,” said James, plunking down a coin and grabbing his brother. “Come on, Ian. Before things get even worse.”

James dragged his brother behind him, Ian sputtering all the way. They passed by Lorelei, and her eyes locked with the madman’s. And Ian gasped.

“You! You—you know! You have the sight! You have seen what I’ve seen! Please, tell them! Tell them it’s real! James—no, James…stop!”

Lorelei watched James drag his brother out of the inn, and pausing nary a second, rose to follow.

“Lor, what are you doing?” demanded Miia, as she rose.

“He’s right,” said Lorelei, quietly. “Just now, back in the shop—I recognized the swordsmith’s son. He was the rapist, from my visions.”

Lorelei let the statement sink in. Her friend’s eyes were wide. “How can that be?”

“I—I don’t know, Miia. But it was him; it was a face I’d never forget, that’s for sure. There has to be some sort of connection.” She gestured to the exiting man. “I need to talk to him.”

“He’s mad. And I think you might be, too.”

“Maybe,” averred Lorelei, “but I have to get answers.”

Lorelei walked out the door, and Miia followed quickly after. Ian sat slumped on the ground, while James spoke to him quietly and earnestly, trying to calm his spirit. Those efforts were quickly made useless as Ian spied Lorelei.

“You came,” he said, smiling, and rising unsteadily to his feet. “Ian Crouch, nice to meet you.”

“Lorelei Voss. How did you know about my dreams?” she asked, directly.

“The sighted can often tell someone has the sight. You’ll probably soon be able to recognize us, too. There aren’t many, Mithras knows. But it’s good to meet someone who has seen the world as it truly is.”

“I don’t know that I have,” said Lorelei, quietly. “I know I have been a Valkyrie since I was seven years old; the world I’ve seen in my dreams is…different.”

“Yes, different. And better. Nobody dying of gout, no civil war, no bloody Kobolds, that’s for sure.”

His eyes seemed to calm somewhat. “But…no magic. No chivalry. No gorgeous Amazon warriors walking around—begging your pardon, but it’s true.”

Lorelei smiled weakly. “This is not the night to try a line, Ian.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, soberly. “It never is.” He heaved a heavy sigh.

“Look, that world is a different one, to be sure. But it’s predictable, comprehensible. This place…it’s like a giant vomited out half the myths mankind ever dreamed. There’s no balance here, no firm ground to get your feet against. That’s all I want—balance.

“You—in your dreams, what do you see of the world?”

Lorelei thought quite some time before slowly answering, “I have a family. A mom, a dad. A brother, I think. I’m not as strong as I am here, though. I have a memory of being attacked—I could have fought him off here. Not there.”

Ian nodded, soberly. “It’s not a perfect world, sadly. But neither is this one. Maybe you were attacked in that world—but you don’t have to fight marauding vandals there.”

“Do you know why we can see the other world?” Lorelei asked.

“No. Not that I haven’t tried to suss it out. I studied at Neri—oh, you wouldn’t know it to see me know, but I was a bright boy. One of my professors there, Zvonimir Pasternak, taught us about the idea of parallel worlds. I started having the visions then, and I asked him whether I was seeing reality, or if I was just insane.

“‛Mr. Crouch,’ he said to me, ‛I have peered through the curtains myself, though with only middling success. You are seeing another world—one specific world. A permutation of your existence lives there.’”

Lorelei paused, before asking, “What does that mean?”

“Haven’t the slightest idea. He tried to show me using mathematics—something about n possible worlds and x possible gateways, but it was beyond me. Well, it shouldn’t have been, but by then the visions were coming more often, and I was starting to get confused.”

Lorelei’s heart sunk. As if reading her mind, Crouch said, “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m far worse off than most. I’ve met a dozen—well, now a baker’s dozen—people who have these visions. And all save yours truly have been able to accept and adjust to them. I’ve no doubt you will too.”

“I hope so,” Lorelei said, quietly, as she watched Ian seem to collapse inward, his emotion spent.

“I should get my brother home,” James said, lovingly stroking his brother’s hair. Then, sotto voce to Lorelei and Miia, he added, “Thank you for calming him down.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lorelei said, thinking that she was now more confused than she’d been before. Well, at least the madman seemed placid. “Good night James. And good night, Ian. It was good to meet you.”

“Good night, my dear. Madam,” he added, nodding to Miia.

They had no sooner turned to the inn when suddenly, Ian cried out, “Voss! Voss! Dear Mithras!”

Miia wheeled, hand on hilt. “What are you on about now, madman?”

“Not you, her! You must be the Fox!”

“Excuse me?”

“‛There came a Valkyrie with second sight/The Fox would take the worlds and put them right.’ You’re her! You’re the chosen one!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You must go to Neri. Seek out Zvonimir. Zvonimir can help! Oh, please, you must!”

“I can’t,” said Lorelei. “I’m needed back in Ravenwood.”

“There are other Valkyries. Her, that one for example—she can do it! She can tell them why you had to go. You have to go! Listen, the Sacred Tome of the Gates foretells you—‛Voss’ means ‛fox,’ and Valkyrie—well, there aren’t many of you running around with the sight. Look, it must be you. You have to go to Zvonimir! I’m too addled, but he is brilliant. He’ll be able to tell you what steps you must take to end this world, and bring back the true world!”

“I can’t, Ian,” said Lorelei. She started to say more, but sensing the futility in reasoning, she concluded, quietly, “Fare thee well.”

“You can’t escape your destiny!” he cried out as she turned and returned to the inn. “You must go to Zvonimir! Please! I can’t take another day without Burger King!”

“Ian,” they heard James ask as they disappeared back into the inn, “who in Mithras’ name is the Burger King?”

“I don’t know,” said Ian, plaintively. “But I know his food was delicious.”

‡ ‡ ‡

Lorelei lay in the bed, feeling the straw in her back, staring at the ceiling. Radulf was dozing quietly in the corner, and Miia slept soundly, but Lorelei couldn’t help but replay the madman’s words.

Her destiny? To go to Neri, to seek out…Zanzibar? Zasparilla? Zoetrope? The name escaped her. Pasternak. Professor Pasternak. That she remembered.

Did “Voss” really mean “fox?” She didn’t know. The name had been given to her at the orphanage—a family name for a girl without a family. They had named her for her hair, they’d said. (She’d known her name was Lorelei. It was one of the few words she was willing to say when they found her. They wouldn’t change that.)

Well, foxes did have red fur; it could be. But she couldn’t be sure. For all she knew, “Voss” meant “strawberry” or “sunset” or even “grass.” She had no idea of whether the nurses even knew what her name meant, or if they’d just come up with a reason to answer her question.

But even if it did mean “fox”—why should she give up her life to go to Neri, of all places? There was nothing there but a university, and even that was a small one; everyone knew of the great schools at Blue Earth or Two Rivers. Neri was something of an afterthought.

And yet he’d been so sure, and dead on in what he’d said, at least that which had been coherent. He’d known of her dreams. How could that be? Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was chosen.

No, no, that couldn’t be—he was by his own admission confused. Could she trust him to remember some old saying accurately? The actual book probably spoke of a blacksmith named Buffer, who would take the worlds and make them suffer. Lorelei sighed, and thought it very possible that there was no Zvonimir Pasternak at all, only the insane ramblings of a lunatic.

No, she couldn’t abandon the sisterhood. Not now. Not ever.

She finally decided that when she returned to Ravenwood, she would meet with Herja. She would tell her of her dreams and visions. She would tell her of the madman and his revelation.

Herja would know what to do. She always had before.

Content in that thought, Lorelei allowed herself, finally, to drift off to sleep.

‡ ‡ ‡

“What are you up to, Lori?”

She turned to the voice. He was young, tall, relatively handsome, with black hair cut short, an odd white shirt with some sort of heraldry emblazoned on it, those odd blue trousers that she’d felt in her last dream on her own legs.

“Not much, Brian, surfing,” she heard herself answer in a voice that was both her own and not her own.

“What’cha looking at?”

“Wikipedia,” came the odd word.

“Good,” he said. “I was worried you were reading the news.”

“No. God no. I’ve had enough of the press for a lifetime. No, I’m looking up Valkyries.”

“Valkyries? Like Ride of the Valkyries?”

“Something like that.”

“Why? Have you been listening to Wagner?”

“No way! That’s worse than the nerdcore stuff you’re into.”

“So why Valkyries?”

“I don’t want to tell you. You’ll laugh.”

“Come on. I’m your little brother. Would I laugh at you?”

“Yes.”

“True,” said the boy—Brian—smiling. “But I won’t laugh about this. Probably.”

Lorelei felt herself roll her eyes, and turn them back to a box that was glowing with a strange light. There were words and pictures on the screen. What magic was this? “I had a dream I was a Valkyrie.”

“A Valkyrie. That’s kinda cool. They were warriors, right?” asked Brian.

“‛The choosers of the slain.’ Really, I was more a shieldmaiden than a Valkyrie, I guess. At least, I don’t think I was a goddess. But I could definitely kick ass.”

“That must have been some dream. You watching Xena reruns? Or just dreaming of ways to kill Allen?”

“I don’t know where it came from,” her voice said. “Not that I’m opposed to Allen’s death.

“But it was such a clear dream—the only reason I know it was a dream is that I’m not a Valkyrie. At least, I don’t think I am.”

“You were a backup keeper; I can’t see you marauding through France.”

“Iceland. At least, that’s where they were from, originally. Anyhow, I’ve surfed enough for the day. You going to see Brittany tonight?”

“Yeah. Lori?”

“What?”

“You know I would kill him.”

Lorelei felt the long sigh. “That’s sweet, Bri. It really is. But I’m not having you wreck your life over him; I’m not going to. He’ll go to jail, and that’s enough. Anyhow….”

Lorelei didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. The world suddenly collapsed inward on itself, and she found herself sitting bolt upright in the bed.

Radulf rose quickly, and gave her a quizzical look.

“I don’t know either, girl,” Lorelei said, shaking her head. “I need to get back and talk to Herja.”

She scooted backward and leaned up against the wall, looking out the window into the night. She sat there silently until the sun rose.

Three

The Meeting With Herja

The journey back to Ravenwood was traveled in silence. Lorelei looked over her shoulder often. Often enough that Miia finally felt compelled to say something.

“He was crazy, Lor. You do know that, right?”

“He knew about that other world,” came the numb reply

“Yeah, well maybe you’re crazy too,” said Miia, before quickly correcting herself. “Look, Lor, I know you think you see what you see is real, and maybe it is—but that doesn’t mean he was someone worth paying attention to.”

“I dreamed last night about the box with pictures on it,” Lorelei said, absently. “I was reading about Valkyries. I had dreamt I was one.”

“You are a Valkyrie!”

“Am I? Or am I dreaming this?”

Miia shook her head. “Lor, snap out of it. You’re a Valkyrie Apprentice, you have taken the heads of three dozen men, you’re soon to become a full-fledged Valkyrie, and at the rate you’ve ascended, you’ll be an Adept in a dozen winters.”

“I know, Miia,” said Lorelei, heavily. “I really do. It’s just—you haven’t seen the visions like I have. They’re not dreamlike at all. They’re…” she fumbled for the world, before settling on, “…real.”

“Well, maybe you do have second sight, and maybe you have seen another world. But you can’t trust a madman on what to do about it. Talk to Reginleif. Talk to Alexandra. Talk to Herja. But you can’t go off to Neri—not without their blessing.”

Lorelei sighed, and gave a smile. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “It’s what I’m going to do. I’ll talk to Herja. She’ll know what to do.”

“Good. Just so we’re clear, no matter what, I’m going with you. I’m not going to suffer Annalie’s attitude while you’re off on some misbegotten quest.”

Lorelei laughed at that. She was lucky, she thought, to have a friend like Miia. “Don’t worry, Miia. I’m not going without Herja’s blessing. I am a Valkyrie, right?”

“You will be soon.”

“Right. If Herja tells me to go, I’ll go—but I’ll bring you with, and I’ll come back. I have duties to attend to. And don’t worry, Miia. No matter what, I’ll be around. And soon, Annalie will have to obey my orders.”

“Ooh…that’s something I hadn’t thought about. That’ll be fun. I can’t wait to see Annalie choke back some snide comment. Please, tell me you’ll make sure to give your first order to her when I’m around? Pretty please?”

“Miia, I wouldn’t let you miss it,” Lorelei replied, idly daydreaming about the look on Annalie’s face when she had to salute her. By the time the cart reached the blind turn toward the encampment, she was lost in a pleasant daydream, and her concerns about visions had almost faded away. Had she been paying more attention, she may have caught a lone growl out of Radulf; as it was, the cart continued on its bumpy path.

‡ ‡ ‡

It was late in the day when they finally reached Ravenwood. Of all the places they’d set up camp, Lorelei thought this was the prettiest. It was a large clearing in the middle of a forest of oak and pine, with a creek running north of the encampment that led a few miles down to a smallish lake full of pike. She was saddened to know they’d be leaving soon; Herja’s comments had said as much. In a few weeks, perhaps a month or two at most, they’d be striking their yurts, loading the carts, and sallying forth into battle on the side of those who Odin had moved to ask for help. Lorelei prayed that they’d find their way back here when they were done, or that their next home would be as pleasant.

At any rate, where the Valkyries lived, that was Ravenwood; it was not the land, or the tents, or the sacred scrolls, but her sisters that made it so.

Reginleif strode purposefully to the cart as they entered the center of the encampment. As Lorelei pulled the reins, Reginleif simply said, “It is good to see you again, Lorelei. Apprentice Aalto. I see you have the swords.”

“Yes, m’lady. And I have forty-one gold for you in return.”

Reginleif smiled at the news. “I imagine there’s a story behind that.”

“It’s a good one, m’lady,” said Miia.

“It’s not that good,” said Lorelei, modestly. “Mr. O’Shea acted up a bit, that’s all.”

“Oh really,” said Reginleif. “I assume you didn’t kill Mr. O’Shea, because if you did, I expect more than forty-one of those back.”

“We just…came to an understanding.”

“Ah. Good. Can’t have the best swordsmith in a hundred miles dead, even if he is a lecherous old fool. I assume he blubbered about the Kobolds?”

“Yes, he did,” said Lorelei, feeling suddenly a bit taken.

“Well, he should. With what he owes them, he’ll be lucky to survive the winter. But by then, we’ll be on the march. Let’s see—ah yes, all twenty-four…and another?”

“He gave that to me in gratitude. I’d like to keep it for my own use…with your permission, of course.”

Reginleif smiled broadly. “I think you’ve earned it, Lorelei,” she said, handing the sword to her. Lorelei placed it on her belt, removing the sword she’d carried as an apprentice and laying it to the side of the others. Reginleif nodded, and said, “Apprentice, you are dismissed—report to your quarters. Lorelei—with me.”

Lorelei nodded to Miia, who was giving her friend a broad grin. Lorelei wanted to return the expression—Reginleif hadn’t smiled that warmly at her since she was eight. As it was, Lorelei simply said, “Miia, can you please get Radulf something to eat? I’m sure she must be hungry.” Lorelei and Reginleif headed to the adepts’ quarters; she hoped this was a good sign.

“You’ll need to return the coins to Margarethe, of course.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

“You’re sure there weren’t fifty at some point?”

“No, m’lady! I should say, there’s also two silver left; I’ll give those to Margarethe as well.”

“At your convenience. You wouldn’t have brought back forty only to hide ten; if you were dishonest, you wouldn’t have brought back anything.”

They reached the entrance to the quarters. Reginleif turned to Lorelei, and said simply, “Herja has asked me to bring you to her as soon as you return.”

“M’lady?”

“I’m not sure why, to be honest. She seemed concerned about you, Lorelei.”

“Concerned?” Lorelei felt her heart sink. Maybe she wasn’t doing as well as she’d thought.

Reginleif smiled tightly. “Don’t worry, Lorelei. She’s concerned about you personally, not about your performance. I daresay, you passed my test.”

Lorelei’s head snapped up. “Your test?”

“I had told Herja that if O’Shea was his usual idiotic self, you’d end up taking twenty off the price for the insult; forty is a spectacular performance. Getting a sword off him—and a fine one at that—you must have scared him but good.”

Reginleif clapped her right hand on Lorelei’s shoulder. “You’re going to be a fine Valkyrie, Lorelei. I’ve no doubt of that. Now go on and talk to Herja. I’ll see you later tonight.”

Lorelei bowed slightly, and could not keep the smile off her face this time. She turned, and headed into the tent.

Herja sat in the center at a small writing desk, which was bathed in light streaming from an open flap above. “Please, sit,” said Herja, without looking up.

Lorelei approached cautiously; she loved Herja like a daughter loves her mother, but that didn’t mean she’d spent hours on end with her.

She felt the force of Herja’s personality as she always had; it was a tangible thing, a force that flowed about the leader, supporting and embracing those who came into contact with it. Lorelei sat in the chair, in the midst of Herja’s presence, and said quietly, “Madame Reginleif said you wanted to see me.”

Herja looked up, her crystal blue eyes sparkling as always. “Yes, child. I did. More to the point, I should say that I knew you wanted to see me.”

“How did you know?”

“I have my ways, my dear. You have been having visions.”

Lorelei couldn’t help but answer, “Yes, I have.”

“They seem real to you—as if you are experiencing them.”

“Yes, they do. It’s like…it’s like I’m living another life.”

Herja bowed her head a moment, and said, “Tell me of them.”

Lorelei told her of the dreams, of the vivid vision of the assault, and the visions that followed. She told her of Ian and his pronouncements, of his claim that she was chosen. She told her everything she could think to, and repeated anything she considered important. Through it all, Herja simply listened, impassively, occasionally nodding or asking a question here or there. Herja had lit the candle on her desk by the time the story was done, and the dinner gong had come and gone.

“Am I insane, mistress?” asked Lorelei, finally. “Am I going to end up like Ian Crouch, hysterical and mad, unable to accept her reality?”

“You’re too strong for that,” said Herja, crisply. “Besides, I have seen no indication that you are in denial about reality.”

“Well, I’m having visions.”

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