Air Awakens

“I didn’t say I was going to make you scream.” The bow woman turned and looked at Vhalla.

Vhalla straightened as best she could, instinctively scooting away from her assailant, ignoring the stabbing pains in her wounded shoulder.

“I don’t doubt you, prince. I’m sure your pain threshold is very high. But there are many different kinds of pain, aren’t there?” The sadistic woman almost cooed, her emerald eyes gleaming. “I wonder if hers is as high.” With a cold smile the woman walked over to Vhalla.

Vhalla looked at Aldrik helplessly before staring up at the Northerner who was about to decide her fate.

Grabbing the shaft of the arrow sticking out of Vhalla’s shoulder, the woman pulled upward, dragging Vhalla to her feet. She shook with the pain and the effort of keeping in her screams. Vhalla didn’t want to die like this, and she didn’t want to give these people the satisfaction of her anguish. Still gripping the arrow, the woman pulled Vhalla along over to where Aldrik knelt. His eyes wore a tormented mix of fury and sorrow.

Vhalla’s foot caught on a piece of rubble and she tripped. The fall ripped the arrow, fletching and all, clean through her shoulder. Vhalla cried out as she rolled in pain among the debris and human flesh littering the ground. Aldrik attempted to jump to his feet, but the man pressed the sword against his throat.

“Down,” he grunted, like Aldrik was a dog.

“Come girl, we’re not done yet.” The woman grabbed her by the hair and pulled Vhalla over the rest of the way. She was dumped an arm’s length from Aldrik but it seemed like half the world as Vhalla stared at him blankly, shattering at the sorrow of his beautifully dark eyes.

Pulling Vhalla up into a seated position, the woman plucked an arrow from her quiver.

“Tell me, prince, what is it you like about her?” The archer’s voice was rough.

“I like nothing, really; she is little more than a cheap whore I found,” Aldrik forced out with a flat voice.

“Is that so? Very fine clothes for a cheap whore. Do you like her face?” The woman ran the point of the arrow down Vhalla’s cheek, leaving a dripping red line in its wake.

Vhalla winced softly, her lower lip trembling.

“Why soil your weapon with her blood?” Aldrik tried, attempting to glance away casually.

“She has a nice figure. What about her breasts?” Two more cuts were upon her body and Vhalla felt tears on her cheeks.

“Enough,” Aldrik said softly, his eyes were back on her.

“Enough? She’s not just a whore?” the woman sneered. “What about her legs? Want to see them?” The woman lifted the hem of his jacket and Vhalla’s tattered skirts with the arrow, making a deep incision along the way.

“Enough!” Aldrik cried.

Vhalla looked at him and saw the panic in his eyes. The woman had won. The Northerner knew it too as she let out a laugh and released Vhalla, the broken library girl falling to the ground.

Vhalla stared at the world lifelessly. She would be torture for Aldrik to watch her die. They would kill him next. His, Sareem’s, and Roan’s deaths would all be on her hands.

“Don’t kill him,” she whispered.

The woman’s laugh quieted and she leaned over Vhalla. “What was that, you little shit? I didn’t hear it,” she snarled.

“Don’t kill him,” Vhalla repeated. She never took her eyes of Aldrik. “Do what you will to me, but don’t kill him, please.” Vhalla struggled to sit.

The woman laughed again. “You are nothing,” she snarled. “You are less than nothing. You were only something because it was amusing to hurt you.”

“And now it is no longer amusing,” the man said, raising his sword.

“No,” Vhalla whispered.

Aldrik stared at her unmoving. He didn’t try to run or flee—he simply stared.

“This ends now!” The man brought his sword down over Aldrik’s head.

“No!” Vhalla screamed. In less than a second, the only sound that filled her ears was the wind of the man’s sword cutting the air.



VHALLA SHIFTED ON the cracked and uneven stone floor and cried out in pain. Her shoulder felt swollen and hot; simple movements were agonizing. She tried to prop herself up but she fell back to the floor with a dull thud. Dried blood and smoke were crusted around her eyes; trying to rub it off was pointless as her hands were coated as well.

The room was a simple square, and the air was heavy with the stench of excrement and bodies. One wall had a large portal with a great iron door made of interlocking bars fastened with a padlock larger than her fists. She saw the shoulder armor of two palace guards on either side.

“Hello?” Little more than a dry rasp escaped her throat.

The guards turned and looked through the bars. One had a large mole on his left cheek. The other had two front teeth that caused him to look like a rat.

“Oh, she’s awake,” mole man said. “Better go ring the bells.” Rat man scampered off.

“Where? Where am I?” Vhalla asked, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

“What does it look like? A prison cell.” The man picked his nose and flicked it at her.

“Why?” Vhalla’s head hurt and the warm pulsing of her shoulder didn’t help either.

“Oh, clever. I see you’re trying to play the innocent right away.” Mole man shook his head. “The Senate’ll see right through that.”