Red Blossom
Freezing air seeped through the thick, fur-clad helmet and onto Psahisël’s face, bringing coarse snow from the dim sky to his skin. Even though he was used to the cold snow of the moorland, this unusually cold blizzard still send chills down his spine. His arms, clad in armor covered in dulled silver, clutched against his body tightly, steadying himself lest others mistake his shivers as one from cowardice.
Although they would not be wrong.
On one hand, as a Palkyrie and a part of the Palherjar, a follower of the valkyries, it was his nature and duty to fight the enemy, to seek freedom and glory in the fields of battle. He knew that every enemy he slayed would bring him and his people one step closer to liberation. And if he had to fall, it would be the most honorable death he could ever have.
On the other hand, no matter what they said, it was in his nature as a living being to fear death. The undiscovered country from which no visitor returns. The seeds of doubt never stopped sprouting no matter how many times he weeded his mind. But more than that, he feared what would become of his lover, the lost life with her that he would never share should he fail to return home. Even if others would tend to her, the wounds in her might never heal like the ones that would take him.
This was no time to dwell on that, however, and his calmer self prevailed. The gloved hand touched the flower tucked into the gap between his riveted armor and warm clothes. It was a small, white flower he found this morning in the camp, peeking out from the thickening layer of snow. The nameless flower reminded him of his lover, and he could not help but give it his warmth, like the one he could not give to her.
Beneath his saddle, the reindeer twitched in the snowstorm as well. On its antlerless head, the horned skull helmet gave it a fierce appearance, but did little to help against the cold. Seeing that, Psahisël offered its neck a pat, the only thing he could offer his steed. “It’ll be all over soon,” one way or another, for he could already see the standard bearer galloping before him, before the tight pack of armed riders next to and behind him, reminding them to ready for battle. With every step, the reindeer let out a clicking and clopping noise against the shrieking blizzard.
“Ready yourself! The order has been given!” the standard-bearer shouted, the trail of footsteps leading from the center had already been obscured by the piling snow. Through the heavy storm, Psahisël could only see the faint blocks of shades forming the rest of the soldiers. It mattered not, though, as what he had to to had already been drilled in his mind. Both the unusual nature of this attack, and the risk that came along with it. Still, it had to be done to achieve an unlikely victory.
He just hoped he would return with glory rather than with the valkyries.
His thought was purged with the sound of horn, echoing across the snowy field. His fingers held tightly at the shaft of his staff-sword, his tail coiling at its rear end, steadying the blade towards the snow.
“May the goddesses light our way!”
“To glory, or to Valhalla!” mustering all his courage and strength, Psahisël raised his voice and blade into the frozen air, the war cry melting into that of others. His legs squeezed against the warm hide of his steed, and the legs began trotting forward. From its joints came the clicking sound, immediately joined by others into a chorus as the wedge marched towards its fate.
The ground around the squadron began morphing as it marched forward in a steady pace. The rugged snowland started to rise around them, the moorland giving way to a gentle slope, forming a trough towards the lowland. Beneath the hooves, the sound of clacking against frozen soil and slush transformed into that of thick ice. The piling snow packed above the frozen river, forming a steady ground for the cavalry to descend downstream, like a flood of iron and flesh. Filtered through the heavy snow, the dim sky barely lit up enough ground for the Palkyries to see their way even with their better vision in the night – for regular humans, it would be like a thick fog in pre-dawn darkness.
The cavalry continued their steady trot in tight formation against the unchanging scenery. Only the racing heartbeat beneath the armor betrayed the passage of time and distance. Eventually, someone else emerged from the winter darkness. At the end of the valley, faint shapes of buildings and fences began to reveal themselves under the flickering lights of torches. Behind the jagged silhouette, Psahisël could see human figures, stumbling behind what little shelter they had.
They would see to the end of that.
The hooves leaped through a small ledge, lined with fine rocks across the snow just as intended. With that signal, the riders rose from the saddles slightly, their heels digging into stirrups. The war reindeer, long since trained to learn its implication, quickened their pace into a full gallop. Psahisël’s free hand tightened against the rein, while his main hand and tail steeled around the shaft of the pole-arm to brace for impact.
BANG!
The first thing to hit the Palkyries was the sound of gunshot. A shattered, panicked volley of lead joined the snow against the squadron. Muffled cries and grunts were quickly washed away by the strong wind, and Psahisël could only feel a single muted punch, chipping away a bit of the shiny armor to reveal the cold steel beneath. It was like throwing pebbles against packed snow.
Without slowing down at all, the wedge clashed into the enemy line like an avalanche. Tilted stakes and fences crumbled before the weight of the charging warriors, and anyone who did not abandon their post was skewered or crushed by the wall of blades and hooves. Torches were toppled into the snow, their weak flame extinguished by the piling snow, their smoke joining the smell of iron and sulfur.
The front did not slow down – those who followed them would take care of what remained of the first defense line. Like the other riders still marching knee behind knee beside and behind him, Psahisël’s only concern should be the next enemy lines. They were not to stop until they reached their rear, to keep them from forming a defense against the core of the incoming army. His tail tugged against his heavy lance, turning its tip aside and let the dead weight slid away.
The rumbling march, the continuous clicking and clopping no doubt alerted the rest of the enemies, giving them a small luxury of preparation. Psahisël clutched tight against his weapon, and his head lowered briefly to let his bare lips touched the flower before his chest.
Even though he did not speak the language of the enemies, his instinct as a soldier already informed him what their strange tongue meant. As much as he wanted to lift his head and chest up in pride, he could not help but cuddle against the white flower instead, longing for the comfort he felt with his lover.
«Sswara!»
BANG!
Another wave of deafening thunder enveloped the charging cavalry, but unlike the rain of lead before, this was a hail of iron. Before Psahisël could ignore the salvo, something tore him from his mount, twisting his light body away from his charging steed into the iron-tainted air, and the iron-tainted air in his lung through his soaked mouth. Strangely enough, even though the force against him must be terribly strong to dismount him with ease, he could not feel a single thing – not the blow that intruded upon his embrace, and not the thuds when his body landed on the grayed snow. It felt almost dream-like if not for the taste of iron seeping from his.
“Ah…” of course, his duty and instinct would not allow him to sleep right in the middle of the battlefield. He had to help himself up lest he got flat-footed. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not lift himself off from the powdery snow. Even the drenched hand reaching for his holstered pistol could not find its mark.
Because there was nothing beneath his waist anymore.
The armor and clothes was reduced to tattered rags and shrapnel, the snow around his reddening slowly but surely. For a brief moment, his survival instinct tried to compel his hands to press against the tangled red and white, but his arms could not follow the order anymore. His instinct quickly dissolved into the wind as his reason took over.
Is this how dying feels like? his mind asked a question and received no answer. Strangely enough, despite the reality sinking in, he could feel neither pain nor despair – in fact, he felt almost serene, as if he was freed from a heavy burden, his worries until this point being drained from his body. The battle no longer mattered to him. Even the fate of his people, the reason he was willing to make the final sacrifice, felt like a remote memory, a distant story penned in fading ink. Even the warm embrace of his lover became less and less special, as he felt a surge of warmth permeating in what remained of his body despite the snow enveloping him. He never knew snow could be this warm. He wished he could tell others that…
His final thoughts were interrupted by an unexpected voice. A familiar voice that he had never heard before.
“Lioha.”
Along the pure snow, she descended from the brightening heaven. A woman clad in clothes of white and armor of night. Her hair was like the finest silver, and her eyes the daylit sky; her shining garments were adorned with gold, and her fluttering wings with stars.
A valkyrie… the valkyrie was coming to claim him. Her warm smile melted the invisible ice holding the fallen warrior captive, and his weightless form raised from the ground to bow to her.
“I… didn’t expect to see you,” confessed Psahisël.
“Why? Have you no faith in me?” Liora asked half-jokingly.
“No! It’s just…” he could not help but avert his gaze from her beautiful form. His cheek would blush if it could. “I’m shamed to admit, but in my final moments, my heart was not completely with you, but with a more… earthly love of mine.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to make her jealous,” his admission was answered with an infectious chuckle, seemingly putting his mind at ease once more. “It’s only natural to think of those you love in times like this.”
“Wouldn’t that exclude me from the honorably slain?”
“You fought and died with honor,” said Liora, “that’s all that matter.”
“I see… I must thank you,” Psahisël’s words was halted by her gloved hand, gesturing him to be by her side. He did not belong with himself any more, but with her. From the depths of the fading darkness, he could see his countrymen following their charge, gliding across the drift snow around the freezing corpse like streams of water around a pebble. However, following them, he saw another charging host approaching from the distance. The ethereal warriors rode not reindeer, but wolves with fur of snow; they wore not earthly armor, but the dignified clothes of the valkyries. “How many valkyries are there?”
“As many as there are souls to guide,” Liora answered, lifting her eyebrow as she saw hers sighed. “What’s the matter?”
“Not that any of us would refuse becoming your champion,” explained the Palkyrie, “but I had hoped we would win and live for another fight, especially a pivotal one like this.”
“Who said my faithful would all die?” Liora’s finger guided his attention forward. There, the heavenly host galloped through the frozen vale and joined the unsuspecting warriors and soldiers. Their gleaming blades guided that of the earthly warriors into others, liberating their souls from the mortal coil. What surprised him was that the choosers of the slain did not discriminate – warriors of both sides were felled by their clean blades side by side and offered a seat to ride with their guide.
“Do our enemies get to ride with us too?” he dared not to question the decision of his goddess, but his omitted word was nonetheless audible.
“They fought and died with honor,” said Liora as she looked onward, “that’s all that matter.”
“Let’s go,” the valkyrie reached out to the thinking warrior, his wounds fading away as he ascended with her guide.
With that, at last, he let his duty end.