Valkyrie (Kate O'Hearn) - By Kate O'Hearn Page 0,46
Heimdall, not lie. But if he doesn’t ask, please don’t tell him. I know you care for Freya please help me find her.’
‘Freya is one of the few who is nice to me,’ Heimdall said. ‘She cares not that I am a lowly watchman.’
Heimdall was a mystery. He was born of nine maiden mothers and had no known father. This caused much suspicion to most in Asgard. But he had always been exceptionally loyal to Odin and was happy to take on the mantle as Watchman of Bifröst when asked. Once Heimdall befriended you, he was your friend forever.
‘Please,’ Maya continued, ‘I do not ask that you come with me. Only that you let me cross Bifröst to see if she is in Midgard.’
Heimdall looked at the sparkling Rainbow Bridge and then back to Maya. ‘I will do this,’ he said, ‘on one condition.’
‘Anything,’ Maya said. ‘Just ask.’
Heimdall’s cheeks reddened. ‘I like your sister very much. She has such spirit. But you are the fairest Valkyrie in Asgard. If I let you go, will you dance with me at Valhalla?’
Maya was stunned into silence. She had no idea he’d even noticed her, let alone wanted to dance with her.
‘Does my request repulse you?’ he asked, sounding wounded.
‘No,’ Maya said quickly and truthfully. ‘Not at all.’
‘Then do we have an agreement?’ he asked.
‘Don’t do it, Maya,’ Grul warned. ‘It will lead to disaster.’
Without hesitation, Maya nodded. ‘Of course, Heimdall. If you let me pass to search for Freya, I will gladly dance with you at Valhalla and be happy for it.’
Heimdall gave Maya the biggest, brightest smile she had ever seen. He bowed respectfully to her. ‘Then we are in agreement. You may pass. But be sure to return before sunrise. Odin would have my head if he knew what I was doing.’
Maya climbed back up on Sylt. ‘No, Heimdall, it will be my head – and my wings, and my eyes – if he finds out.’
‘Stay safe, Valkyrie,’ he called as Maya directed Sylt on to the Rainbow Bridge.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Freya was getting the hang of school life. She was even starting to enjoy some of her assignments. She had just written a History essay on the American Civil War. Freya had attended all the battles in the war, and was confident she had aced it. She took her seat in class eagerly anticipating getting the assignment back with a high grade. But as soon as Mr Powless, the history teacher, entered the class, he asked Freya to stand.
‘Greta, I was most entertained by your essay. What was it about the assignment that you didn’t understand?’
‘I understood everything,’ Freya answered frowning. ‘You asked for a description of a battle during the Civil War, I described the Battle of Gettysburg.’
‘What you gave me is pure fantasy.’ He waved her essay in the air. ‘Here you talk about the casualties.’ Mr Powless cleared his throat and started to read it out loud. ‘At the end of the third day, the overall battle was drawing to a close. The air was heavy with the stench of blood, filth and gunpowder. Men’s cries could be heard rising high in the sky and drowned out the roaring of the approaching Valkyries.
‘On that final day, there were more Valkyries on the battlefield than living soldiers. With only twenty-one warriors earning a place at Valhalla, we spent our time causing mischief with the weapons, teasing the men and misdirecting cannon fire.
‘All told, in the Battle of Gettysburg thirty-five thousands fighters were wounded and eight thousand, nine-hundred and fifty-two warriors killed. Of those, seventy-nine were reaped by Valkyries and delivered to Valhalla while the remainders were left to the Angels of Death.’
Mr Powless lowered the essay. ‘If I could give points for originality, you would get a perfect score. However, this is History, not creative writing. Not only are your descriptions of the battle scenes inaccurate, your figures are wrong. You didn’t separate your casualties into losses on each side.’
‘The specifics don’t matter,’ Freya defended herself. ‘Dead is dead. It doesn’t matter which side they fought for. They all died and valiant warriors from each side earned a place in Valhalla.’
The class laughed and Mr Powless’s face went red. ‘Of course it matters. We learn from these statistics, and plan better strategies.’
‘Humans learn nothing from war!’ Freya fired back. ‘I could cite all the losses in all the battles throughout time, and still humans would not change.’
Mr Powless went back to the blackboard and snatched up a piece of