Riding from Valhalla
02 Jan 2016Desert Fox CXVII
I can hear them; the Valkyries are calling for me. Their sweet songs welcome me to the halls of Valhalla. They sing of my battles and my triumphs. My Victories and defeats. I can feel their gentle hands and the soft feathers of their wings. The smell of blood, steel and mead fill my nostrils as their fingers close around my heart. My brothers welcome me to the eternal feast; I reach out to them, yearning to be re-united at last. I can feel the pain of life melting away; all the brother's I'd lost, the men I'd killed, the loneliness I'd felt, all gone to the glory of Valhalla. Warmth fills my soul, and I open my arms to death, ready to embrace eternity among the stars.
But through time and space, I also hear the sounds of battle; not the eternal contest of the halls of the Allfather, but the mortal struggle of Midgard. Behind the veil separating the worlds, I feel the searing pain of my mortal body; my heart still beats and my blood still flows, clinging desperately to life. I try to pull away, to follow the hands of the Valkyries beckoning me onward, but something drags me down. Like a foal trapped in a tar pit, I struggle to free myself from the force pulling me back. I reach out to the Valkyries, tears in my eyes; if I could only grasp one of their hands, I would be free. They stretch their hands to me, singing their mournful laments; but the more we reach, the further I fall from their grasp.
When I am at my limit, when all I want to do is lay down and rest, I hear a voice; a voice so beautiful and so haunting, it is as if a dagger had been thrust into my very soul. "Warrior, your time has not yet come. There are yet more battles to fight."
"But I am so tired. I just want to rest."
"There will be time for rest later. Your heart is weak; now is the time to fight."
"I've been fighting for so long. I don't think I can do it anymore."
"You must. My namesake carries you. You must fight on."
"Freyja, please. Take me into your arms. I cannot fight any longer."
"Your place is kept; when your time comes, you will be welcomed into Valhalla." Her voice is fading, barely audible over the roar of the ocean. "But for now, you must fight on."
She is gone, replaced only by the sound of waves crashing against the rocks. Her final words echo in oblivion, and I weep at her absence. My wails of sorrow fill the void around me, as I slip back, the gates of Valhalla fading from view.
"We've got a pulse. He's back."
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For what seems to be an eternity, I float weightless in the void. The darkness around me is so absolute, so all encompassing, I cannot even see my own body. Or perhaps I have no body, and I am in limbo, trapped between living and dead.
Sometimes I hear voices and snippets of conversation drift to me through the thick fog all around me. The words are faint and muffled, as if spoken from behind a closed door. I can never understand them, but the voices become an odd comfort to me, keeping me company in the otherwise barren darkness. Eventually I begin to recognize and differentiate them; some I like more than others. Sometimes there is a voice that I just can't quite place; it stirs a feeling of recognition in me, as if I should know who it is; but, like Tantalus, satisfaction eludes me.
Even though I do not know what she is saying, there is always a tone of concern about her words, however muted they are. Whenever she speaks, a wave of calm washes over me, and so I float, weightless in the void, letting her indistinguishable words wash over me.
After what can only be years adrift in oblivion, I notice a speck of light. It had been growing ever since I entered this realm, but its progress was so slow it hadn't registered with me until now.
No, it wasn't getting bigger, it was getting closer. I hadn't been drifting aimlessly, I had been falling towards this speck of light. Fear grips at me, my heart pounding in my ears. Beyond the veil, the voices begin to chatter with an urgency I had not heard before.
The light is expanding now, accelerating towards me at break-neck speeds. The wind roars in my ears, deafening me. The light fills my vision, searing my eyes with it's intensity. Tears stream down my face as I attempt to shield myself from it's blazing luminosity. Something is crushing my chest; I feel my ribs cracking under the pressure. I struggle to breath, but the air catches in my throat.
The light envelops me. I cry out in agony, my body writhing and seizing in pain. My hand lunges out and closes around something. My fingers clamp down like a vice, crushing whatever I am holding. The pressure on my chest vanishes and I fill my lungs with sweet air. I roar in pain and rage and lash out with my other hand; my fist connects with something soft and fleshy, and I hear a huff and the thump of it hitting the floor.
Hands grip my shoulders and arms, pulling and pushing me every which way. I try to throw them off, but they just redouble their efforts.
The blinding light begins to fade, and my surroundings begin to coalesce; I am in a sterile white room, surrounded by machines and tubes. A rapid staccato beep fills my ears, enraging me further.
"Mr. Fox! It's alright! You're ok. You're safe. It's ok." The voice thunders in my head, sending me into another fit of pain. "Please, Mr. Fox, let him go! You're killing him!" I squeeze harder, determined to destroy whatever it was that I held in my hand. "We need to put him under again. Nurse! 10 CC's diazepam, now!"
I feel a sharp sting in my neck, and a feeling of calm falls over me like a warm blanket. My grip loosens and falls away. I can hear a man gasping for breath.
The light fades and my hearing goes fuzzy. I'm so tired. I just want to sle-
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I can see the light again; it grows brighter and brighter, stinging my eyes. Groaning, I bring my hand up to rub my eyes, but something stops me.
"Mr. Fox, welcome back. I trust you aren't going to choke my colleague again." The voice is warm and welcoming, but I can sense the trepidation behind his friendliness.
I blink, trying to keep the light from stinging my eyes. Bit by bit, I adjust, and the room comes into focus. I am in a white room, covered in white sheets, wearing a white gown. Around me are several machines, all beeping at different paces. Tubes and wires hang from my body delivering and removing various substances. My arms are shackled to the bed frame with thick chains.
Despite all this, the only thing I notice is my right arm; instead of the olive colored skin and toned muscle I expect, I see servos and hydraulics plated in sleek white ballistic plates. Gutamaya is stamped in bold black letters across the bicep.
I tear the gown away from my torso and stare down at myself with a mixture of horror and sick fascination; my right pectoral and shoulder share the same white furniture as my arm. Glowing blue lines stretch down across my chest and ribs, stretching down to my abdomen and up to my neck.
The machines start to beep with increasing rapidity, and I can feel my heart pounding in my throat. Sweat starts to drip down my face, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision.
"Mr. Fox, please, calm down! It's alright."
"My arm! What did you people do to me?" I rattle the chains shackling me to the bed; the cuff attached to my right arm groans with the stress.
"Please, Mr. Fox, try to calm down and I'll explain everything." The man who I assume to be a doctor holds a hand out in supplication, his eyes wide and nervous.
I shoot a murderous glare at him, clenching and un-clenching my fists. I can hear the soft whir of servos coming from my right hand.
Taking my silence as acquiescence, the doctor begins to explain. "The blast caused extensive damage; your arm was cut off at the elbow, and the rest of it was so damaged that we couldn't save it. Your right lung was perforated with shrapnel, along with several other organs; we had to replace the lung, two chambers of your heart, and a meter of small intestine. Pulled as much shrapnel out as we could, but there's still a few pieces floating around in there. We also might have cracked a few of your ribs delivering chest compressions at one point."
My heart had slowed back down, but my breathing was shallow and labored. This is too much to take in, so I push it to the sidelines and focus on things I could understand. "Where am I?"
"Capitol. You were transferred over from some cut rate border hospital once you were stabilized. Took one look at your ID and called the Legion, or so I'm told. They shipped you here faster than you can blink."
I nod, taking it all in. Being an Praetor did have its advantages. If I had been any other asshole I'd probably be waking up in some dingy frontier chop shop, sans one arm and some pretty important inside bits. Things definitely could have turned out much worse.
"Whats with the cuffs?" I yank at the chain on my right arm. It groans again.
The look of fear on his face deepens, and he takes a moment before answering. "Well... last week, while we were prepping you for your final surgery, you woke up and attacked a doctor and one of my nurses. Broke the nurse's nose and almost crushed the doctor's larynx."
A wave of remorse washes over me. Had I really done that? "They're going to be ok, right? I didn't mean to..." I trail off, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
"They'll be ok, although they refuse to come into your room anymore." Emboldened by my remorse and apologetic tone, the doctor allows himself a tentative smile.
"I can understand that." Looking away from the doctor and back down at my new limb, I flex the fingers and rotate the wrist. It all felt the same; I could even feel the sensation of my fingers brushing against my palm. "So, whats with the...?" I wiggle the fingers and shoot a questioning look at the doctor.
"What's with the Gutamaya branding? No idea. The parts arrived before we had the anchors and the biological adaptors installed. Said something about repaying you for all the positive press you've been bringing them. Do you know what they meant?"
I chuckle and glance down at the black lettering on my bicep, thinking about that rescue mission I'd conducted all those months ago. Yeah, I can see how that would bring some positive press to the folks over at Gutamaya shipyards. "I think so, yeah."
When I don't elaborate, the doctor pulls a set of keys from his lab coat and unlocks the cuffs. "Now before we do anything else, I'd like to do a couple dexterity and cognitive tests. Make sure all the new parts are working properly, and that you don't have any lasting brain damage from the blast. Sound good?"
I nod and rub my wrists, grateful to have the shackles off. The tests were simple enough; easy questions like who I am or who the Emperor is, and little things like touching my nose or tapping each finger with my thumb. The doc seemed satisfied with the results though, and he gets up, ready to leave.
Right before he steps out the door, I stop him. "Hey, doc, who brought me in?"
He blinks, confusion in his eyes. "Why, your partner, of course."
It's my turn to be confused. "My partner?"
"Well, yes. Tall woman, red hair, prosthetic of her own. Said she had something of yours."
I let out a bark of laughter, causing the doctor to jump in surprise. "Right, my partner. Thanks doc."
The look of confusion still on his face, he walks out and shuts the door.
"My partner indeed," I laugh, "that little minx."