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Try as she might, Aimee just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.
It was more frustrating than she would’ve thought possible. Sleep had never been a problem. Storms zonked her out, loud music like a lullaby. There was nothing in particular keeping her awake. She stretched and adjusted for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes, doing her best not to wake Constance. She pulled the covers up; she kicked them off. Just infuriating.
Eventually, Aimee decided there was nothing left for it and sat up. Leaning over, she brushed Constance’s hair back, whispered, “Sommeil gentiment, rayon de lune,” and kissed her on the cheek before turning to place her feet on the floor. A shaft of moonlight through the curtains lay across the floor like a spear. Aimee padded over to her suitcase, rummaging through her clothes as quietly as possible. She shimmied into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, zipped up a pair of boots, and grabbed her keycard.
Aimee cast one last glance back at Constance, worry creasing her features. She finally gave a lopsided smile and stepped out into the hallway. Her mind remained unsettled, her thoughts a jumble. Chrys’ death, Steve the whatever he is, all this mythology. It all made no sense, or a kind of sense she wasn’t ready to deal with yet. Either way, maybe a walk or, better yet, a ride would clear her head.
The ride down the elevator and walk across the lobby did nothing to silence her brain, but Aimee stopped cold, literally, as she stepped outside.
“Fuck, its freezing. Jacket would have been a good idea. Well, at least my mind will be on something else.” She wandered over towards where Shadowfax was parked, freezing as she saw someone kneeling beside the bike. As Aimee crept nearer, she could see it was a woman, who seemed to be talking to the motorcycle. For that matter, Shadowfax sounded like she was running.
“What the hell!?” Aimee yelled, rushing over, “Get away from my bike!” Despite the short distance she had run, Aimee realized she was breathing heavy, staring down at the woman.
“Not the nicest greeting, nor is this your ‘bike,” the woman said as she rose, turning. Aimee drew in a sharp breath as the light revealed the lady’s face. Her hair was a deeper blond, golden even in the harsh light of the streetlamp, her eyes were deeper blue and spoke of years of hard life and a lot of laughing, but it was unmistakable. She looked a few years older, with a few specific, almost intentional mistakes, but the woman was obviously Aimee’s mother.
“Oh my God,” Aimee managed to croak out, stunned.
“Precisely. Well, not exactly precise, as I’m a goddess, but the idea is the same. Really, daughter, you should work on these things. It pays to get your details correct.”
Aimee took a step back, wary and confused.
“Daughter. Huh. So, you’re, what, the ghost of Christmas future?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, everyone else’s parents keep telling us about where we come from and where we are. I thought maybe you might actually have some answers. For instance, who are you?”
The woman smirked, sizing Aimee up. “I’m Freya, Aimee. And, said somewhat redundantly, I’m you’re mother.”
“How?”
“Excuse me?”
“How’re you my mother?” Aimee asked, leaning against Shadowfax. “I mean, I have a mom. I like my mom. There’re pictures and certificates and all that. How can you be my mom?”
The goddess sighed and gave a weary smile. She leaned against Shadowfax with Aimee, hesitantly settling a few inches from her daughter.
“Your sister was a hard birth. I don’t know if your mother ever mentioned it, I don’t know why she would have. But there was…damage, and she couldn’t have any more children. And she wanted to. Rachel and Joseph both so wanted more children, they worried so much about it. They prayed, hard, though not to me. But I was the one that listened. I healed your mortal mother, I sent them a daughter, my daughter. And here you stand. Or lean, as the case may be.”
Aimee listened intently, but stood quickly as Freya finished. She began pacing, cradling her face in her hands, stretching, then turning to face the goddess as she walked.
“Ok, I’m gonna take that one at face value. I’ve been managing fine not thinking for the last couple of weeks, but I’ve got an opportunity here I think people would kill me if I passed up.”
Freya raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, but let her daughter continue.
“I’ve got questions, and you’re the only one I know that might be able to answer them. Connie would want to know why exactly we’re supposed to listen to you. Simon and Nils would want to know, well, a lot, but, I think, specifically how it is you all exist. Ronnie would want to know why you haven’t helped anyone, or at least you don’t seem to. I guess the thing with my parents counts. And Bea would want to know what this means about, you know, God god and all that.”
Aimee continued to pace, getting louder as she rambled, finally turning to glare down at her godly parent. Freya returned the look, though her eyes remained calm and sad.
“What about you, Aimee? Those are their questions. What is it you want answered?”
Aimee raised her hand and opened her mouth to yell, only to pause, gaping. Slowly, she lowered her arm and she bit her lip. Moments dragged on, until, for the first time in weeks, tears started rolling down her cheeks. It took even longer for her to recover her voice, and it broke even then.
“Why? Why us? Why now? Why did Bea have to get hurt? Why did Chrys have to die for your stupid war that we didn’t know about and don’t want to get involved in? Why can’t we just live our lives? What do we do now?”
Without her conscious knowledge, Aimee fell to her knees at Freya’s feet, burying her head in the goddess’s lap, sobs racking her body. Freya smiled forlornly, softly stroking Aimee’s hair, letting her cry.
“I wish I had answers, daughter. Even the gods can’t always answer why. I am truly sorry about your friend. Nothing can make that better. But you have an opportunity to keep it from happening again.”
Aimee looked up, tears streaking down her face. She sniffled and wiped at her face, accomplishing little. As she rested back on her knees, she asked, “How?”
“Aimee, dear, you have always chosen your own path, and I am loathe to dictate one for you. But you are and were always meant to be a warrior, daughter. It is in your blood, and I would see you prepared. Rise, child of the Vanir, and receive your gifts.”
Aimee stood, brushing off her knees and rubbing her hands together to fight off the cold. When she looked up again, Freya was standing, holding an ornate sword in its scabbard and a painted shield. Aimee took a step back before speaking, her tone unsure.
“Um, mom, I suppose, those aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”
Freya’s tone was amused as she answered, handing them over to her daughter.
“I’m aware, Aimee. Just take them and see for yourself. I had them made especially for you, by… a friend. A good man, and a fine craftsman, but he has a weakness for pretty faces. Still, I think these should suit you well.”
Aimee took the items awkwardly, but reverently, running her fingers over the shield’s hammer and anvil device. As she did so, the shield seemed to dissolve, curving over her arm and lengthening over her shoulders until she was wearing a leather jacket, perfectly tailored for her. She gasped, stunned for a moment before unsheathing the sword. It was slightly wider than what she was used to, its crossguard smaller, but it felt perfect in her hand. She noticed the golden teardrop etched into the blade as she looked it over. As she did so, the sword shortened, thickening, taking the form of a pistol slightly larger than Aimee thought necessary. It retained the teardrop, now on the grip. Astonished, she finally glanced back up at her mother, whose right eye shed a single golden tear, quickly wiped away.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you…mother.”
Freya smiled proudly as she spoke, “One more gift is here presented, little valkyrie, though she’s been watching over you for some time, waiting to be called.” She turned to regard the Harley, her voice imperious for a moment. “Myrkrnipt, its time you showed your true shape, that you might better guard she of my blood.”
Aimee watched in equal parts horror and fascination as her bike, her baby, her beloved Shadowfax shuddered, its edges blurring, becoming furry before settling into the form of the largest wolf Aimee had ever heard of.
“Holy crap!” Aimee cried, but fought the urge to retreat a step. Instead, she moved forward, her hand extended, finally touching the beast’s muzzle as the wolf nuzzled her hand. “Umm, hi. Meerkirnipt, was it?”
“Close enough, pup of the goddess,” came the reply, vaguely from the wolf’s direction. “I am your servant and protector, until either of us hunts no more.”
Aimee smiled resignedly, moving in to scratch the giant wolf behind her ears. “You know, that should surprise me, but I think I’ve blown a fuse on that.” She turned back to regard Freya. “I understand…well, not a lot, but I get that our lives are going to be different now. And I plan on being there between my friends and whatever comes our way. But what exactly are we supposed to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
Aimee paused a brief second before answering, “Find whoever killed Chrys and make them pay.” Her tone of voice scared even her.
Worry crossed Freya’s features for a moment, but she nodded. “Justice has been absent the world too long, daughter. Perhaps you can find some.” She reached into the air next to her, producing a carved and painted tankard, simple but beautiful. “I have one more gift, though not for you, dear one. This is for your love, abed upstairs. It will never go dry, though I believe is has a use unknown even to me. It is written that it should be hers; let is pass from my hand to you, and so on to your Constance.” Freya smiled serenely, adding, “You have chosen well, daughter. I wish you all the happiness you may find.”
She stepped forward, silently embracing Aimee for a moment. She kissed her mortal daughter on her forehead, gave her one last bright smile, and turned away, walking into the darkness and out of the world.
Aimee regarded Myrkrnipt after Freya left. Sizing the huge wolf up, she said, “So, can you, you know, turn back into a motorcycle?”
It was more frustrating than she would’ve thought possible. Sleep had never been a problem. Storms zonked her out, loud music like a lullaby. There was nothing in particular keeping her awake. She stretched and adjusted for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes, doing her best not to wake Constance. She pulled the covers up; she kicked them off. Just infuriating.
Eventually, Aimee decided there was nothing left for it and sat up. Leaning over, she brushed Constance’s hair back, whispered, “Sommeil gentiment, rayon de lune,” and kissed her on the cheek before turning to place her feet on the floor. A shaft of moonlight through the curtains lay across the floor like a spear. Aimee padded over to her suitcase, rummaging through her clothes as quietly as possible. She shimmied into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, zipped up a pair of boots, and grabbed her keycard.
Aimee cast one last glance back at Constance, worry creasing her features. She finally gave a lopsided smile and stepped out into the hallway. Her mind remained unsettled, her thoughts a jumble. Chrys’ death, Steve the whatever he is, all this mythology. It all made no sense, or a kind of sense she wasn’t ready to deal with yet. Either way, maybe a walk or, better yet, a ride would clear her head.
The ride down the elevator and walk across the lobby did nothing to silence her brain, but Aimee stopped cold, literally, as she stepped outside.
“Fuck, its freezing. Jacket would have been a good idea. Well, at least my mind will be on something else.” She wandered over towards where Shadowfax was parked, freezing as she saw someone kneeling beside the bike. As Aimee crept nearer, she could see it was a woman, who seemed to be talking to the motorcycle. For that matter, Shadowfax sounded like she was running.
“What the hell!?” Aimee yelled, rushing over, “Get away from my bike!” Despite the short distance she had run, Aimee realized she was breathing heavy, staring down at the woman.
“Not the nicest greeting, nor is this your ‘bike,” the woman said as she rose, turning. Aimee drew in a sharp breath as the light revealed the lady’s face. Her hair was a deeper blond, golden even in the harsh light of the streetlamp, her eyes were deeper blue and spoke of years of hard life and a lot of laughing, but it was unmistakable. She looked a few years older, with a few specific, almost intentional mistakes, but the woman was obviously Aimee’s mother.
“Oh my God,” Aimee managed to croak out, stunned.
“Precisely. Well, not exactly precise, as I’m a goddess, but the idea is the same. Really, daughter, you should work on these things. It pays to get your details correct.”
Aimee took a step back, wary and confused.
“Daughter. Huh. So, you’re, what, the ghost of Christmas future?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, everyone else’s parents keep telling us about where we come from and where we are. I thought maybe you might actually have some answers. For instance, who are you?”
The woman smirked, sizing Aimee up. “I’m Freya, Aimee. And, said somewhat redundantly, I’m you’re mother.”
“How?”
“Excuse me?”
“How’re you my mother?” Aimee asked, leaning against Shadowfax. “I mean, I have a mom. I like my mom. There’re pictures and certificates and all that. How can you be my mom?”
The goddess sighed and gave a weary smile. She leaned against Shadowfax with Aimee, hesitantly settling a few inches from her daughter.
“Your sister was a hard birth. I don’t know if your mother ever mentioned it, I don’t know why she would have. But there was…damage, and she couldn’t have any more children. And she wanted to. Rachel and Joseph both so wanted more children, they worried so much about it. They prayed, hard, though not to me. But I was the one that listened. I healed your mortal mother, I sent them a daughter, my daughter. And here you stand. Or lean, as the case may be.”
Aimee listened intently, but stood quickly as Freya finished. She began pacing, cradling her face in her hands, stretching, then turning to face the goddess as she walked.
“Ok, I’m gonna take that one at face value. I’ve been managing fine not thinking for the last couple of weeks, but I’ve got an opportunity here I think people would kill me if I passed up.”
Freya raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, but let her daughter continue.
“I’ve got questions, and you’re the only one I know that might be able to answer them. Connie would want to know why exactly we’re supposed to listen to you. Simon and Nils would want to know, well, a lot, but, I think, specifically how it is you all exist. Ronnie would want to know why you haven’t helped anyone, or at least you don’t seem to. I guess the thing with my parents counts. And Bea would want to know what this means about, you know, God god and all that.”
Aimee continued to pace, getting louder as she rambled, finally turning to glare down at her godly parent. Freya returned the look, though her eyes remained calm and sad.
“What about you, Aimee? Those are their questions. What is it you want answered?”
Aimee raised her hand and opened her mouth to yell, only to pause, gaping. Slowly, she lowered her arm and she bit her lip. Moments dragged on, until, for the first time in weeks, tears started rolling down her cheeks. It took even longer for her to recover her voice, and it broke even then.
“Why? Why us? Why now? Why did Bea have to get hurt? Why did Chrys have to die for your stupid war that we didn’t know about and don’t want to get involved in? Why can’t we just live our lives? What do we do now?”
Without her conscious knowledge, Aimee fell to her knees at Freya’s feet, burying her head in the goddess’s lap, sobs racking her body. Freya smiled forlornly, softly stroking Aimee’s hair, letting her cry.
“I wish I had answers, daughter. Even the gods can’t always answer why. I am truly sorry about your friend. Nothing can make that better. But you have an opportunity to keep it from happening again.”
Aimee looked up, tears streaking down her face. She sniffled and wiped at her face, accomplishing little. As she rested back on her knees, she asked, “How?”
“Aimee, dear, you have always chosen your own path, and I am loathe to dictate one for you. But you are and were always meant to be a warrior, daughter. It is in your blood, and I would see you prepared. Rise, child of the Vanir, and receive your gifts.”
Aimee stood, brushing off her knees and rubbing her hands together to fight off the cold. When she looked up again, Freya was standing, holding an ornate sword in its scabbard and a painted shield. Aimee took a step back before speaking, her tone unsure.
“Um, mom, I suppose, those aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”
Freya’s tone was amused as she answered, handing them over to her daughter.
“I’m aware, Aimee. Just take them and see for yourself. I had them made especially for you, by… a friend. A good man, and a fine craftsman, but he has a weakness for pretty faces. Still, I think these should suit you well.”
Aimee took the items awkwardly, but reverently, running her fingers over the shield’s hammer and anvil device. As she did so, the shield seemed to dissolve, curving over her arm and lengthening over her shoulders until she was wearing a leather jacket, perfectly tailored for her. She gasped, stunned for a moment before unsheathing the sword. It was slightly wider than what she was used to, its crossguard smaller, but it felt perfect in her hand. She noticed the golden teardrop etched into the blade as she looked it over. As she did so, the sword shortened, thickening, taking the form of a pistol slightly larger than Aimee thought necessary. It retained the teardrop, now on the grip. Astonished, she finally glanced back up at her mother, whose right eye shed a single golden tear, quickly wiped away.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you…mother.”
Freya smiled proudly as she spoke, “One more gift is here presented, little valkyrie, though she’s been watching over you for some time, waiting to be called.” She turned to regard the Harley, her voice imperious for a moment. “Myrkrnipt, its time you showed your true shape, that you might better guard she of my blood.”
Aimee watched in equal parts horror and fascination as her bike, her baby, her beloved Shadowfax shuddered, its edges blurring, becoming furry before settling into the form of the largest wolf Aimee had ever heard of.
“Holy crap!” Aimee cried, but fought the urge to retreat a step. Instead, she moved forward, her hand extended, finally touching the beast’s muzzle as the wolf nuzzled her hand. “Umm, hi. Meerkirnipt, was it?”
“Close enough, pup of the goddess,” came the reply, vaguely from the wolf’s direction. “I am your servant and protector, until either of us hunts no more.”
Aimee smiled resignedly, moving in to scratch the giant wolf behind her ears. “You know, that should surprise me, but I think I’ve blown a fuse on that.” She turned back to regard Freya. “I understand…well, not a lot, but I get that our lives are going to be different now. And I plan on being there between my friends and whatever comes our way. But what exactly are we supposed to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
Aimee paused a brief second before answering, “Find whoever killed Chrys and make them pay.” Her tone of voice scared even her.
Worry crossed Freya’s features for a moment, but she nodded. “Justice has been absent the world too long, daughter. Perhaps you can find some.” She reached into the air next to her, producing a carved and painted tankard, simple but beautiful. “I have one more gift, though not for you, dear one. This is for your love, abed upstairs. It will never go dry, though I believe is has a use unknown even to me. It is written that it should be hers; let is pass from my hand to you, and so on to your Constance.” Freya smiled serenely, adding, “You have chosen well, daughter. I wish you all the happiness you may find.”
She stepped forward, silently embracing Aimee for a moment. She kissed her mortal daughter on her forehead, gave her one last bright smile, and turned away, walking into the darkness and out of the world.
Aimee regarded Myrkrnipt after Freya left. Sizing the huge wolf up, she said, “So, can you, you know, turn back into a motorcycle?”
