Hi, I'm Ottopilot. You may know me from my NSFW main blog @ottopilotreturns, my writing blogs @ottopilot-wrote-this/@ottopilot-wrote-this-txt, my SFW blog @ottopilot-sfw, my AI image blog @ottopilot-ai, former blogs such as "ottopilot" and "opcaptions," or any of the many shadowbanned blogs I had before I figured out Tumblr hates VPNs.
The focus of this blog is original works of a sexual nature intended for mature audiences only. All characters are 18 years or older. Minors DNI. Except for posts specifically related to my writing and creative process, this blog's content and created works are fantasy and fiction. While the general themes are in the hypnosis/mind control genre, I strongly believe in informed consent and equal rights. This post is a living document and is subject to change.
I have used tags to denote both fetishes and content warnings, and content warnings are also called out iat the beginning of the text.
This blog does contain images created using AI (specifically Stable Diffusion 1.5). My rationale for using AI images is here. This isn't up for debate at this point. If you want to read them without the AI, I started a blog for just the text versions at @ottopilot-wrote-this-txt. (s/o to @subliminalbo for the suggestion).
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The Valkyrie, Chapter Four: Atrocities and Iniquities
The Valkyrie is a work of serial fiction, told in eight chapters. It is intended to be suitable for young adult readers. Content warnings for the series: mind control, corruption, fantasy violence.
The Valkyrie, Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Startled, Rukhan put his book down when he heard the knock at his door.
He rose slowly from his chair. Drifters like Rukhan, passing through villages like Kethram, didn't expect visitors. He made his way silently to the door. He kept the room dark; he didn't need a light to see. He glanced at a knife on his dining table, and with a slight twist of his wrist, the knife sailed through the air, the handle landing in his open hand.
With caution, he cracked the door, then opened it wider. What he saw gave him a shock.
"Tahrapi."
Tahrapi stood before him, holding a dingy cloth sack. They were still wearing their leather armor and gauntlets, even though training should've ended hours ago. Their dark brown hair, which had been in long, wavy locks to their mid-back just yesterday, was cropped roughly above their shoulders. Their weary eyes bore the telltale puffiness of someone who had been crying, and the redness and dilated pupils of someone who had been drinking. Most alarmingly, their face and upper body were splotched with blood.
"I don't want to be alone tonight," they said, their voice cracking. "I need you."
Rukhan faced the wall, resisting the urge to turn around. To take just a peek. To maybe catch a glimpse of Tahrapi's bare back, the nape of their neck, the hint of a breast. Instead, he just sighed.
Tahrapi stared at their gauntlets lying against their bag, caked with mud and blood.
Korima, the hulking valkyrie, pointed at their mud-caked gauntlets. "Dirty armor?" she said, mockingly. "Fitting for a filthy mudrat. What a disgrace."
They scrubbed their hands, their knuckles scraped and bruised. The washcloth was stained red as they wrung it out into the washbin. So much blood. They scrubbed harder.
"Mercy," Korima pleaded, through tears and blood. No, Tahrapi thought. No mercy for me, none for you. They struck again. And again.
Sitting on Rukhan's bed, they dried their face on the towel he left them. Hands trembling, they slipped one of his shirts over their bare torso.
Korima had been cocky, and they exploited it. They drew back their right arm, revealing the detail she had missed in her mockery: sharp rocks, embedded in the mud of their gauntlets.
It smells like him. It was impossible not to notice. They looked down at the scrap of fabric in their hand.
Standing in front of The Broken Wing's fireplace. Half-empty stein of mead in one hand. They'd lost count how many. Two things in the other hand. It'd be so easy. Toss them both in the fire, then drink to forget. Like Sanija.
The letter, first. Now, the other thing.
But they can't. They won't.
Psst. Coward. Mother was right. Maybe about everything.
No matter. Drink and watch the words burn. Burn into ash, and burned into their brain.
Goodbye forever, Tahra.
Tahrapi swallowed hard. They stuffed the scarf under their pillow. "You can turn around now," they said, their voice practically a whisper.
Rukhan turned around, and walked toward the bed. Tahrapi sat on his bed, wearing his shirt loosely. They looked lost. Small. He recalled the moment they met, when Tahrapi leaped off a roof to confront him. They were a different person then.
He motioned his hand, seeking permission to sit next to Tahrapi. They nodded, and he sat next to them, at a polite distance. "Do you want to talk?" he offered.
Tahrapi looked at the ceiling. Their breath reeked of cheap alcohol. "I was expelled," they said, matter-of-factly. "It's all over."
"You fought your adversary today," Rukhan said, glancing to their discarded gauntlets. "It looks like you won this time. Was it worth it?"
Tahrapi let out a hollow laugh. "I did. Didn't enjoy it like I thought I would. Maybe she was right about me."
"About what?"
An instant before they were pulled away, they swung their forearm in a vicious backhand, slashing Korima's face with their rocky gauntlet, sending a spray of blood across their chest and face.
"That I'm dirty. Vermin. A m—"
Rukhan put his hand over theirs. Their hands were sensitive, rubbed raw from the compulsive scrubbing. "It's not true, Tahrapi. Don't believe it,"
Rukhan's attempt to reassure Tahrapi failed to register. I acted like a caged animal today. A feral monster. They lost control, and now they were paying for it.
Maybe this is why Sarima didn't want me.
I always thought Tahra would be here for this. Even if they weren't with me at the altar.
"I do," Sarima said, her hand in Prince Valerian's.
And I thought this would be the happiest day of my life. But it's become just another move on the chess board.
Valerian slid the wedding band onto Sarima's left hand.
There's a time I would've considered what I'm about to do to be monstrous. Am I a monster?
"I now pronounce you husband and wife, Prince and Princess of Ryshanam."
Or am I just willing to do what's needed to get what I want?
Tahrapi shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I lost the reason I joined the order in the first place. Since I have nothing left, I thought I'd have a drink."
"What was the reason?"
"It's stupid." Tahrapi's head found Rukhan's shoulder. "I thought if I could be a valkyrie, I could protect her. But I can't even get through basic training, much less assigned to the castle."
"The castle?" Rukhan asked, intrigued. "Who is she?"
"Does it matter?" Tahrapi's hands found Rukhan's shirt, and they hung onto him like they might fall off the bed. "I don't have her. I don't have this," they looked at the armor draped over their bag, before looking at Rukhan with desperation. "The only thing I have left is you."
Rukhan's hand closed over theirs, before he removed it from his shirt. He placed their hand on their thigh, holding it for a second, before he lifted his hand. "Not tonight, Tahrapi. Not like this."
"Call me Tahra," they said, their voice wavering, their eyes brimming with fresh tears. "It's what she called me."
"Tahrapi, don't do this to yourself." His voice was kind but firm, though internally, he screamed at himself to kiss them.
Tahrapi started to cry. "I'm sorry," they sobbed. "I've tried to be strong for so long. But I can't keep doing this!" The tears flowed freely now, running down their flushed cheeks. "I don't understand. I don't understand why she's changed, why she cut me off. It hurts so much, Rukhan. I never told her how I felt, and now..."
Rukhan put his left arm around them, pulling them into his chest. He felt their hot tears saturate his nightshirt. "There there. Why do you think she's changed?"
"I don't know!" Tahrapi exclaimed. "She was unhappy when she arrived there. She's brilliant, but no one would listen to her, except this one man she met. The mage. Severian something. She–"
Rukhan stiffened at the name, and he looked Tahrapi in the eyes. "Did you say Severian? Severian Draeven?"
Tahrapi nodded. "Yes, that sounds right. Why? Do you know him? What do you know, Rukhan?"
"Let's talk more tomorrow, Tahrapi." Rukhan said, calmly deflecting the question. Inside, the mention of that name made his blood boil.
Rukhan raised his right hand near Tahrapi's cheek. "Tahrapi. Sleep."
Tahrapi looked into Rukhan's eyes. They saw it again, that glimmer, like the flame of a candle. They were incapable of looking away. Their eyelids fluttered as their resistance faded, then they closed completely. His hand pushed forward and, untouched, they sunk into the mattress. Asleep.
Rukhan clenched his teeth. Severian Draeven. A million thoughts raced through his head, in every direction, but all leading to the same singular word.
Vengeance.
He felt a pang of regret using the sleeping spell on Tahrapi. But he needed to organize his thoughts before morning, and talk to them sober. He looked at their beautiful face, peacefully still, free of the violence and turmoil that possessed them just minutes ago.
As his hand brushed their cheek, he figured he owed them the truth.
Sarima's left hand closed the king's eyes. Her wedding band caught the sun's reflection as she retracted her hand from his lifeless body.
She expected taking a life to be more difficult. She expected to hesitate before she used shadow magic to steal the king's last breath. Once the act was done, she assumed she'd feel guilt, or shame, or remorse.
Instead, she felt powerful. And it made her feel... good. The fact that extinguishing a life felt pleasurable should trouble her greatly, she thought.
But instead, she felt emboldened that she could do it again. A smile crept across her tight lips.
Queen Sarima Dharomanthe left the king's chambers, still in her wedding dress from the morning's ceremony. A sleeveless crimson dress with a high collar and a bare back was an unorthodox choice. But, then again, this was an unorthodox day.
It was going to be a long day.
Many thoughts go through the mind of a person the morning after a drunken stupor. Shame. Confusion. Regret. But the first thing Tahrapi felt was an immense headache.
The second thought they had, waking in a strange bed, in a man's clothes, was akin to panic, as they let out a little shriek.
The shriek woke a startled Rukhan, who was sleeping in a chair, his head tilted back. "Good morning," he said with a chuckle, rubbing his stiff neck.
"Rukhan!" Tahrapi exclaimed, clutching at the blanket. The combination of sudden movement and their own excited voice made their temples throb. "Ow ow ow," they muttered, rubbing their forehead.
"Looks like you're doing better," Rukhan said, rising from the chair and sitting on the bed, at Tahrapi's feet. He patted their shin under the blanket. "Except for the headache, of course."
Tahrapi looked away, avoiding eye contact. They looked at Rukhan finally, their lips parting as if ready to speak, before they swallowed their words.
"No," he said, with a soft smile, "we didn't."
Tahrapi exhaled loudly, then let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, Rukhan," they said. "I didn't mean it like that. I like you, I... care for you. But I'm in love," their smile faded a bit. "Heartbroken, but in love."
Rukhan nodded. "You mentioned a name last night," he said, looking at the floor. "Severian Draeven."
"Yes," Tahrapi said. "He's been a friend to Sarima since she arrived there. He respects her, and she trusts him."
Rukhan's face took on a serious look. "I need to tell you about Draeven."
Once upon a time, dragons and man lived in this realm together. Dragons preferred the mountains, which was fine for a while, because man enjoyed the valleys, forests and coasts.
But man is never satisfied. They have a taste for conflict born within them, a natural tendency toward violence. And to slake that thirst for bloodshed, they needed iron. Coal. Steel.
Dragons and man skirmished as man tried to take over the mountains. A dragon attacked Ryshanam Castle, killing the queen, and instigated an all-out war. Man would not stop until every dragon was dead.
The response from the Kingdom of Ryshanam was both bloody and hateful. The dragons had to contend with valkyries on one front, and a campaign of blame and bigotry on another.
The dragons had great size, and powerful, innate magical skill, but they were vastly outnumbered. Their ranks thinned, and they had to resort to subterfuge, masquerading among man in their image for survival.
One dragon, Vaelthryxa, settled in a land far from here, away from the watchful eye of the kingdom. She took the human name Vaela, a name as beautiful and unique as she was. Vaela was extremely clever and very resourceful, and made a trade as a baker.
She had a customer one day, a traveling merchant named Kael. He was pudgy, with a flat nose and high forehead. But he was kind, and made her laugh. They were an odd couple, the homely vagabond merchant and the gorgeous, enchanting baker.
They fell in love, and she trusted him enough to reveal her secret. And she was surprised to find he had a secret as well: he was a mage, a practitioner of the arcane arts, in hiding due to the kingdom's ban on magic.
It made them closer. Two lovers, forced to hide in plain sight in public, but able to unmask themselves alone. They had a child, a boy, and they tried to instill in him love and respect for both of his cultures.
But all glamours, all illusions, reveal themselves eventually. Vaela and her son were attacked by pirates. Fearing for his life, she transformed into a majestic purple dragon, picking up her son and carrying him to safety. But this safety was temporary, for now, rumors and public hysteria over the last dragon were spreading.
Vaelthryxa fought bravely when the valkyries came for her, but it was for naught. She burned the bakery to the ground, giving cover for Kael to disappear with their son. She assumed they would kill her, like they had the others. She probably wished they had.
Instead, Vaelthryxa was captured, and taken to Ryshanam Castle. Imprisoned, she was subjected to horrifying experiments, as the young royal archon harvested every bit of draconic magical knowledge for his own purposes. Vaelthryxa died sick and alone, worried that her son might suffer the same fate by the same man.
"Draeven," Tahrapi said softly, their hand over their mouth. "Oh no. And you..."
"I need you to see something," Rukhan said. He pinched his thumb and forefinger together, like he was going to snap them. But instead, he opened his hand quickly, and inside, a small purple flame danced in his palm.
Then they saw it. Not for a flash this time. Rukhan's eyes reflected the flame, and in a blink, they had changed. They were golden, with narrow dark slits.
They're beautiful, Tahrapi thought. And then he waved his hand, and everything was normal again.
"So now you know my secret," Rukhan said, taking Tahrapi's hand in his own. They expected it might be hot from the flame, but it wasn't. "You and I are different, Tahrapi. Different. Not monsters."
Tahrapi was speechless, their lips parted. They half expected Rukhan to lean in for a kiss, but instead, he held the silence and the moment, and that was somehow more intense.
"Um, I..." Tahrapi started, trying to find the words. "Rukhan, the Uldara, we're not always... accepting of other cultures. Because they don't like us." They wrung their hands. "So when dragons moved to the mountains, we understood what that's like. To just want to live our lives. The stuff people say about dragons... that's not what I heard growing up."
"What I'm trying to say is, Sarima, she accepted me for who I am. I want you to know, I feel the same about you. Your secret is safe with me, Rukhan."
"Tahrapi, I—" Rukhan stopped. There was a series of knocks at his door. Two fast, one long, pause, two fast. He stood up and went to the door. "Thank you, but we have a visitor."
Rukhan opened the door wide, and Sanija cheerfully barged in. "Rukhan, to what do I owe ya the—OH," Sanija stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Tahrapi in Rukhan's bed.
Tahrapi blushed crimson red. "It isn't what you think!"
Sanija laughed heartily, her bosom heaving. "Are ya sure? You tell me, Mouse, what do ah think? Hmm?"
"Very funny," Rukhan smirked. "Sanija knows you got drunk and slept here. I left her a note with Branek to come see us when she got here."
"Ahh, yer no fun," Sanija snorted. "Sorry about the valkyries, Mouse," she said, her tone softening. "They don't deserve ya. But word travels fast. And Korima's done, by the way. Lose like that to a runt, no one wants ta trust ya with their life. Ya ended two careers yesterday, kid."
Tahrapi recounted everything that had happened the day before, but when they got to the letters from Sarima, the gregarious Sanija became quiet and white as a sheet.
"Sanija?" Rukhan asked, concerned.
"There's something I gotta tell ya," Sanija said. "You got something to drink?"
Once upon a time, there was a valkyrie. She was an ideal captain: strong, confident, and good-natured, but also a relentless warrior. She led a diligent squad of valkyries. Kedra, her second, and her best friend. Helka, a hothead, but a fierce scrapper. Mirekha, a tactical genius. Tavri, the rookie, just a teen, but eager to help.
One night the valkyrie squad was given the honor of being called to Ryshanam Castle. They would stay in fine quarters and eat a hearty meal, before leaving in the morning for their mission to Rethkar Hollow.
Perhaps it was chance, perhaps fate, but the valkyrie captain fell ill on the way to Ryshanam. She decided to go on to Rethkar Hollow to get some early rest. The next day, the captain rendezvoused with her squad, who carried new orders from the archon, by decree of the crown. The captain frowned, and read the order: attack a coven of witches, leave no survivors.
The valkyries found the coven's camp and waited for night. Her squad was acting peculiarly, especially Helka. The fiery valkyrie was unusually subdued and quiet today. They all were. She shook it off.
Mirekha ran point and the valkyries ransacked the camp. Fireballs were cast, and objects hurled at the valkyries, but they targeted the most powerful witches and overpowered them easily.
While her crew handled the witches, the captain went to the tents one by one, searching for stragglers, then lighting the tents and contents on fire. When she got to the last tent, her blood ran cold. Inside the tent, cowering together in the darkness, were five children. She guessed they were no older than ten years old. The camp was a school.
"Change of plans," the captain said. "We're taking prisoners. Five of 'em. Just children."
Kedra stepped up to her and put a gloved hand on the captain's shoulder. Her expression was vacant, and her voice distant when she spoke. "We have orders from the king. No survivors."
The captain was taken aback. "Kedra, my friend," she gasped, "they're children. Stand down." Her hand eased slowly to the hilt of her sword.
"Valkyries follow orders. Our orders are no survivors. Move, Captain." The other valkyries closed ranks on the captain, fire reflecting in their glassy eyes, their bloody blades brandished in attack positions.
The captain drew her blade, blocking and parrying her comrades' attacks. She tried to keep herself between them and the children. Her squad fought like women possessed, unrelenting and stoic.
She leaned forward, using her weight advantage to shove Tavri to the ground. It was a tactical error, as she felt the hilt of a sword slam into the base of her skull.
The captain hit the ground, and the last things she heard before she lost consciousness were the screams of the children, and the sickening sound of steel cutting flesh.
She woke up alone. When she reached Ryshanam, she was turned away. She had been stripped of her command for insubordination, and expelled from the valkyrie order.
The captain, in disgrace, settled in Kethram Ford, home of the valkyrie training camp. Being a valkyrie was all she knew what to do, and she couldn't let go of it. The screams of children haunted her dreams, and the only thing that muffled them was mead.
There is an epilogue to this sad tale. The captain kept tabs on her old crew, and what she heard disturbed her. Tavri, the youngest, was found dead by her own hand. Mirekha had risen the ranks to captain herself within the walls of Ryshanam, but rumor was her squad did dirty work the royals would rather keep quiet. Helka had gone mad on the battlefield, engaging a full battery of enemy combatants and screaming for bloodlust until her dying breath. Then there was Kedra. A disgrace herself, the captain's best friend had developed a taste for murder. Her body count in the double-digits, she was expelled from the order, and on the run.
One night, the captain awoke from the sound of her window opening, but did not move. She knew who it was. Sleeping on her side, the thick fingers of her left hand curled around the blade she kept under her pillow.
She let Kedra get closer. Her right hand gripped the pillow. Closer still.
In a swift movement, she flung the pillow in the direction of her would-be assailant to distract her, then flipped her body around to face her. She slid off the bed into a ready stance, across from Kedra. In the moonlight, she barely recognized her old friend.
Stray hairs across Kedra's face complemented the deranged madness in her eyes, and the wicked grin on her pale face. She also gripped a standard-issue dagger in her right hand, identical to the captain's. Her clothes were dirty and reeked of disregard. Her hair, once blonde like strands of wheat, had shockingly turned dark as a raven.
"It should have been you, Sanija," Kedra growled. Looking at her was like looking into a distorted mirror, a twisted reflection of what the captain could be at their absolute worst. "Why are you still you? You did something to us. This is your fault. I'm going to take your heart for this."
The captain, still tipsy from a day of hard drinking, struggled to make sense of Kedra's insane babbling. They peered across the dark room. The open window that Kedra came through, directly behind her, the light of the moon giving only the slightest visibility. The door to her left. The captain made a break for the door.
Her left hand was reaching for the knob as she instinctually felt danger. Not a second too late, she shifted her weight to the right, in time to avoid the dagger flying for her head. But not in time for her left hand.
The captain screamed as the knife's blade sliced the back of her hand, severing a tendon. Missing its mark, the dagger fell helplessly to the floor. As did the captain, as she reached for her injured hand.
Kedra pounced on the captain, taking them both to the ground. She grabbed for one of the daggers, pinning the captain. Kedra had one hand on the captain's throat, the dagger raised with the other. The captain grabbed Kedra's right wrist with both hands, leaving her nothing to combat the squeezing on her windpipe.
"Such a rush, feeling you go limp," Kedra exclaimed with glee. Dizzy, the captain wondered if this was the end of this valkyrie's tale. Then she remembered one of her guiding principles: the path to victory sometimes requires sacrifice. She took her hands off Kedra's wrist, instead grabbing the wrist pressing on her throat.
The blade of the dagger drove forward. The captain's hands eased the pressure on her throat, allowing her to shift her upper body. The knife missed her head and chest, plunging into the meaty part of the captain's shoulder.
The captain freed a leg and wrapped both her thighs around Kedra's right thigh. She rolled her body on its side—and Kedra's along with it—pinning Kedra's right arm as her grip on her dagger slipped. Now she laid on her left side, the blade lodged in her left shoulder, but with Kedra's arm trapped under it.
The captain knew she had seconds before the surprised Kedra would recover. With her right hand she pulled the dagger from her shoulder, eliciting a spray of blood, and in the same fluid arc, dragged the blade across Kedra's throat.
Reaching for the captain's hand, Kedra's free hand instead went feebly to her throat. Unable to contain the gurgling sounds from choking on her own blood, Kedra's eyes, wide with shock, froze, pupils dilated. The captain had slit a throat before, but never of a person she knew. Of someone she loved, who she cared for.
In an interminable instant, it was over. The captain rolled Kedra's body on her back and gasped for air. She was alive. A jolt of pain reminded her to treat the wounds in her hand and shoulder. She stood, wobbly, and tied clean scraps of her nightgown tight to temporarily quell the bleeding, as she was trained.
Then she saw it. Easy to miss in the dim light of the moon, the purple translucence of its flesh catching a reflection as it inched out of Kedra's open mouth and onto the floor. With a flat body like a leech, it was roughly the width of the captain's thumb and the length of her hand span. Without hesitation, the captain picked up the bloody dagger, and brought it down on the abomination.
The room fell silent, save the sniffling of the normally gregarious Sanija, who wiped her tears.
"A mind leech," Rukhan muttered. Tahrapi and Sanija turned to him.
"It's a tool of the dark arts. Shadowmancy, to be exact. It's a small parasite, originally, like a grain of sand. They used to live in streams, but their larvae can be slipped into food or drink undetected." Rukhan stood, pacing the small room, rubbing his short beard. "It immediately affects decision making, and will make even the strongest will bend without effort."
"At last," Valerian smirked, raising a chalice filled with wine. "While I will miss my father, I am finally king, with my queen at my side." His free hand grasped Sarima's possessively, and she offered a demure smile.
"Yes, Valerian, my lord and master," Sarima purred. "I am sorry for my headstrong behavior when I arrived in Ryshanam. I look forward to many years at your side."
Valerian leered lustfully at his beautiful bride. "That's right," he said, grinning. "And now it's time to claim what's mine."
He leaned in, snaking an arm around Sarima's waist, and giving her a lecherous kiss.
"As it grows, it changes the host without their knowing. There are gradual physical changes they don't notice: pale skin, dark circles under their eyes, darkening hair color. But it changes their mind foremost. They abandon their morality. They crave power and ambition. And the mind leech rewards those choices with pleasure. Each immoral choice leads them farther down the path to corruption."
"Sarima," Tahrapi gasped.
The goblet fell to the ground, spilling red wine all over the ornate rug.
Valerian's eyes grew wide and he convulsed. He struggled to break the insidious kiss, to no avail. Sarima, for her part, held her eyes closed, deepening the kiss.
Valerian had fallen into her trap, and she had played it perfectly. At no point had she tipped her hand. Not while she and Severian had planned this moment together. Not while a second mind leech incubated inside her body over the past week. Not when she feigned sadness at the passing of the king she had murdered. Not while she felt the vile creature crawl up her esophagus and into her throat, where she could pass it to her unknowing husband.
"If the mind leech reaches full maturity, it destroys the host's capacity to recover. They no longer feel guilt or remorse for their actions; in fact, they feel justified. Each unspeakable act of cruelty fuels a desire for more. There is no turning back as the host is driven mad with power and bloodlust."
Sarima withdrew from the kiss, her hands resting on Valerian's chest. His eyes rolled back into his head as the shaking subsided. "Ah," she said with a wry smile, "that's better. How does it feel, dear husband, to have a taste of your own medicine?"
Valerian's expression was no longer proud or boastful. His eyelids sagged. Drool formed at the corners of his lips. The muscles in his cheek were slack. He looked... docile. "It feels right, my queen," he mumbled finally.
"Because it IS right," Sarima cackled. Her face, by contrast, was practically glowing. Increasingly made pale by the effects of the mind leech, her cheeks were bright with giddy arousal. Her eyes danced with dark desire. Her lips, painted crimson to match her wedding dress, curled into a wicked smile.
Checkmate.
"If Sarima is indeed affected by a mind leech, how much time does she have?" Sanija asked.
"Impossible to tell. Obviously, it depends on how often she gives in to her urges. Each depraved act, each line she crosses and erases, makes it harder to bring her back. If it grows aggressively..."
"Stop," Tahrapi ordered. Rukhan and Sanija both turned towards them as they got out of bed and rifled through their sack. "If there's a chance Sarima can still be saved, I'm going to Ryshanam. Right now." There was something different in their voice, something that had been lacking before. Conviction.
The Valkyrie, Chapter Four: Atrocities and Iniquities
The Valkyrie is a work of serial fiction, told in eight chapters. It is intended to be suitable for young adult readers. Content warnings for the series: mind control, corruption, fantasy violence.
The Valkyrie, Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Startled, Rukhan put his book down when he heard the knock at his door.
He rose slowly from his chair. Drifters like Rukhan, passing through villages like Kethram, didn't expect visitors. He made his way silently to the door. He kept the room dark; he didn't need a light to see. He glanced at a knife on his dining table, and with a slight twist of his wrist, the knife sailed through the air, the handle landing in his open hand.
With caution, he cracked the door, then opened it wider. What he saw gave him a shock.
"Tahrapi."
Tahrapi stood before him, holding a dingy cloth sack. They were still wearing their leather armor and gauntlets, even though training should've ended hours ago. Their dark brown hair, which had been in long, wavy locks to their mid-back just yesterday, was cropped roughly above their shoulders. Their weary eyes bore the telltale puffiness of someone who had been crying, and the redness and dilated pupils of someone who had been drinking. Most alarmingly, their face and upper body were splotched with blood.
"I don't want to be alone tonight," they said, their voice cracking. "I need you."
Rukhan faced the wall, resisting the urge to turn around. To take just a peek. To maybe catch a glimpse of Tahrapi's bare back, the nape of their neck, the hint of a breast. Instead, he just sighed.
Tahrapi stared at their gauntlets lying against their bag, caked with mud and blood.
Korima, the hulking valkyrie, pointed at their mud-caked gauntlets. "Dirty armor?" she said, mockingly. "Fitting for a filthy mudrat. What a disgrace."
They scrubbed their hands, their knuckles scraped and bruised. The washcloth was stained red as they wrung it out into the washbin. So much blood. They scrubbed harder.
"Mercy," Korima pleaded, through tears and blood. No, Tahrapi thought. No mercy for me, none for you. They struck again. And again.
Sitting on Rukhan's bed, they dried their face on the towel he left them. Hands trembling, they slipped one of his shirts over their bare torso.
Korima had been cocky, and they exploited it. They drew back their right arm, revealing the detail she had missed in her mockery: sharp rocks, embedded in the mud of their gauntlets.
It smells like him. It was impossible not to notice. They looked down at the scrap of fabric in their hand.
Standing in front of The Broken Wing's fireplace. Half-empty stein of mead in one hand. They'd lost count how many. Two things in the other hand. It'd be so easy. Toss them both in the fire, then drink to forget. Like Sanija.
The letter, first. Now, the other thing.
But they can't. They won't.
Psst. Coward. Mother was right. Maybe about everything.
No matter. Drink and watch the words burn. Burn into ash, and burned into their brain.
Goodbye forever, Tahra.
Tahrapi swallowed hard. They stuffed the scarf under their pillow. "You can turn around now," they said, their voice practically a whisper.
Rukhan turned around, and walked toward the bed. Tahrapi sat on his bed, wearing his shirt loosely. They looked lost. Small. He recalled the moment they met, when Tahrapi leaped off a roof to confront him. They were a different person then.
He motioned his hand, seeking permission to sit next to Tahrapi. They nodded, and he sat next to them, at a polite distance. "Do you want to talk?" he offered.
Tahrapi looked at the ceiling. Their breath reeked of cheap alcohol. "I was expelled," they said, matter-of-factly. "It's all over."
"You fought your adversary today," Rukhan said, glancing to their discarded gauntlets. "It looks like you won this time. Was it worth it?"
Tahrapi let out a hollow laugh. "I did. Didn't enjoy it like I thought I would. Maybe she was right about me."
"About what?"
An instant before they were pulled away, they swung their forearm in a vicious backhand, slashing Korima's face with their rocky gauntlet, sending a spray of blood across their chest and face.
"That I'm dirty. Vermin. A m—"
Rukhan put his hand over theirs. Their hands were sensitive, rubbed raw from the compulsive scrubbing. "It's not true, Tahrapi. Don't believe it,"
Rukhan's attempt to reassure Tahrapi failed to register. I acted like a caged animal today. A feral monster. They lost control, and now they were paying for it.
Maybe this is why Sarima didn't want me.
I always thought Tahra would be here for this. Even if they weren't with me at the altar.
"I do," Sarima said, her hand in Prince Valerian's.
And I thought this would be the happiest day of my life. But it's become just another move on the chess board.
Valerian slid the wedding band onto Sarima's left hand.
There's a time I would've considered what I'm about to do to be monstrous. Am I a monster?
"I now pronounce you husband and wife, Prince and Princess of Ryshanam."
Or am I just willing to do what's needed to get what I want?
Tahrapi shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I lost the reason I joined the order in the first place. Since I have nothing left, I thought I'd have a drink."
"What was the reason?"
"It's stupid." Tahrapi's head found Rukhan's shoulder. "I thought if I could be a valkyrie, I could protect her. But I can't even get through basic training, much less assigned to the castle."
"The castle?" Rukhan asked, intrigued. "Who is she?"
"Does it matter?" Tahrapi's hands found Rukhan's shirt, and they hung onto him like they might fall off the bed. "I don't have her. I don't have this," they looked at the armor draped over their bag, before looking at Rukhan with desperation. "The only thing I have left is you."
Rukhan's hand closed over theirs, before he removed it from his shirt. He placed their hand on their thigh, holding it for a second, before he lifted his hand. "Not tonight, Tahrapi. Not like this."
"Call me Tahra," they said, their voice wavering, their eyes brimming with fresh tears. "It's what she called me."
"Tahrapi, don't do this to yourself." His voice was kind but firm, though internally, he screamed at himself to kiss them.
Tahrapi started to cry. "I'm sorry," they sobbed. "I've tried to be strong for so long. But I can't keep doing this!" The tears flowed freely now, running down their flushed cheeks. "I don't understand. I don't understand why she's changed, why she cut me off. It hurts so much, Rukhan. I never told her how I felt, and now..."
Rukhan put his left arm around them, pulling them into his chest. He felt their hot tears saturate his nightshirt. "There there. Why do you think she's changed?"
"I don't know!" Tahrapi exclaimed. "She was unhappy when she arrived there. She's brilliant, but no one would listen to her, except this one man she met. The mage. Severian something. She–"
Rukhan stiffened at the name, and he looked Tahrapi in the eyes. "Did you say Severian? Severian Draeven?"
Tahrapi nodded. "Yes, that sounds right. Why? Do you know him? What do you know, Rukhan?"
"Let's talk more tomorrow, Tahrapi." Rukhan said, calmly deflecting the question. Inside, the mention of that name made his blood boil.
Rukhan raised his right hand near Tahrapi's cheek. "Tahrapi. Sleep."
Tahrapi looked into Rukhan's eyes. They saw it again, that glimmer, like the flame of a candle. They were incapable of looking away. Their eyelids fluttered as their resistance faded, then they closed completely. His hand pushed forward and, untouched, they sunk into the mattress. Asleep.
Rukhan clenched his teeth. Severian Draeven. A million thoughts raced through his head, in every direction, but all leading to the same singular word.
Vengeance.
He felt a pang of regret using the sleeping spell on Tahrapi. But he needed to organize his thoughts before morning, and talk to them sober. He looked at their beautiful face, peacefully still, free of the violence and turmoil that possessed them just minutes ago.
As his hand brushed their cheek, he figured he owed them the truth.
Sarima's left hand closed the king's eyes. Her wedding band caught the sun's reflection as she retracted her hand from his lifeless body.
She expected taking a life to be more difficult. She expected to hesitate before she used shadow magic to steal the king's last breath. Once the act was done, she assumed she'd feel guilt, or shame, or remorse.
Instead, she felt powerful. And it made her feel... good. The fact that extinguishing a life felt pleasurable should trouble her greatly, she thought.
But instead, she felt emboldened that she could do it again. A smile crept across her tight lips.
Queen Sarima Dharomanthe left the king's chambers, still in her wedding dress from the morning's ceremony. A sleeveless crimson dress with a high collar and a bare back was an unorthodox choice. But, then again, this was an unorthodox day.
It was going to be a long day.
Many thoughts go through the mind of a person the morning after a drunken stupor. Shame. Confusion. Regret. But the first thing Tahrapi felt was an immense headache.
The second thought they had, waking in a strange bed, in a man's clothes, was akin to panic, as they let out a little shriek.
The shriek woke a startled Rukhan, who was sleeping in a chair, his head tilted back. "Good morning," he said with a chuckle, rubbing his stiff neck.
"Rukhan!" Tahrapi exclaimed, clutching at the blanket. The combination of sudden movement and their own excited voice made their temples throb. "Ow ow ow," they muttered, rubbing their forehead.
"Looks like you're doing better," Rukhan said, rising from the chair and sitting on the bed, at Tahrapi's feet. He patted their shin under the blanket. "Except for the headache, of course."
Tahrapi looked away, avoiding eye contact. They looked at Rukhan finally, their lips parting as if ready to speak, before they swallowed their words.
"No," he said, with a soft smile, "we didn't."
Tahrapi exhaled loudly, then let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, Rukhan," they said. "I didn't mean it like that. I like you, I... care for you. But I'm in love," their smile faded a bit. "Heartbroken, but in love."
Rukhan nodded. "You mentioned a name last night," he said, looking at the floor. "Severian Draeven."
"Yes," Tahrapi said. "He's been a friend to Sarima since she arrived there. He respects her, and she trusts him."
Rukhan's face took on a serious look. "I need to tell you about Draeven."
Once upon a time, dragons and man lived in this realm together. Dragons preferred the mountains, which was fine for a while, because man enjoyed the valleys, forests and coasts.
But man is never satisfied. They have a taste for conflict born within them, a natural tendency toward violence. And to slake that thirst for bloodshed, they needed iron. Coal. Steel.
Dragons and man skirmished as man tried to take over the mountains. A dragon attacked Ryshanam Castle, killing the queen, and instigated an all-out war. Man would not stop until every dragon was dead.
The response from the Kingdom of Ryshanam was both bloody and hateful. The dragons had to contend with valkyries on one front, and a campaign of blame and bigotry on another.
The dragons had great size, and powerful, innate magical skill, but they were vastly outnumbered. Their ranks thinned, and they had to resort to subterfuge, masquerading among man in their image for survival.
One dragon, Vaelthryxa, settled in a land far from here, away from the watchful eye of the kingdom. She took the human name Vaela, a name as beautiful and unique as she was. Vaela was extremely clever and very resourceful, and made a trade as a baker.
She had a customer one day, a traveling merchant named Kael. He was pudgy, with a flat nose and high forehead. But he was kind, and made her laugh. They were an odd couple, the homely vagabond merchant and the gorgeous, enchanting baker.
They fell in love, and she trusted him enough to reveal her secret. And she was surprised to find he had a secret as well: he was a mage, a practitioner of the arcane arts, in hiding due to the kingdom's ban on magic.
It made them closer. Two lovers, forced to hide in plain sight in public, but able to unmask themselves alone. They had a child, a boy, and they tried to instill in him love and respect for both of his cultures.
But all glamours, all illusions, reveal themselves eventually. Vaela and her son were attacked by pirates. Fearing for his life, she transformed into a majestic purple dragon, picking up her son and carrying him to safety. But this safety was temporary, for now, rumors and public hysteria over the last dragon were spreading.
Vaelthryxa fought bravely when the valkyries came for her, but it was for naught. She burned the bakery to the ground, giving cover for Kael to disappear with their son. She assumed they would kill her, like they had the others. She probably wished they had.
Instead, Vaelthryxa was captured, and taken to Ryshanam Castle. Imprisoned, she was subjected to horrifying experiments, as the young royal archon harvested every bit of draconic magical knowledge for his own purposes. Vaelthryxa died sick and alone, worried that her son might suffer the same fate by the same man.
"Draeven," Tahrapi said softly, their hand over their mouth. "Oh no. And you..."
"I need you to see something," Rukhan said. He pinched his thumb and forefinger together, like he was going to snap them. But instead, he opened his hand quickly, and inside, a small purple flame danced in his palm.
Then they saw it. Not for a flash this time. Rukhan's eyes reflected the flame, and in a blink, they had changed. They were golden, with narrow dark slits.
They're beautiful, Tahrapi thought. And then he waved his hand, and everything was normal again.
"So now you know my secret," Rukhan said, taking Tahrapi's hand in his own. They expected it might be hot from the flame, but it wasn't. "You and I are different, Tahrapi. Different. Not monsters."
Tahrapi was speechless, their lips parted. They half expected Rukhan to lean in for a kiss, but instead, he held the silence and the moment, and that was somehow more intense.
"Um, I..." Tahrapi started, trying to find the words. "Rukhan, the Uldara, we're not always... accepting of other cultures. Because they don't like us." They wrung their hands. "So when dragons moved to the mountains, we understood what that's like. To just want to live our lives. The stuff people say about dragons... that's not what I heard growing up."
"What I'm trying to say is, Sarima, she accepted me for who I am. I want you to know, I feel the same about you. Your secret is safe with me, Rukhan."
"Tahrapi, I—" Rukhan stopped. There was a series of knocks at his door. Two fast, one long, pause, two fast. He stood up and went to the door. "Thank you, but we have a visitor."
Rukhan opened the door wide, and Sanija cheerfully barged in. "Rukhan, to what do I owe ya the—OH," Sanija stopped dead in her tracks as she saw Tahrapi in Rukhan's bed.
Tahrapi blushed crimson red. "It isn't what you think!"
Sanija laughed heartily, her bosom heaving. "Are ya sure? You tell me, Mouse, what do ah think? Hmm?"
"Very funny," Rukhan smirked. "Sanija knows you got drunk and slept here. I left her a note with Branek to come see us when she got here."
"Ahh, yer no fun," Sanija snorted. "Sorry about the valkyries, Mouse," she said, her tone softening. "They don't deserve ya. But word travels fast. And Korima's done, by the way. Lose like that to a runt, no one wants ta trust ya with their life. Ya ended two careers yesterday, kid."
Tahrapi recounted everything that had happened the day before, but when they got to the letters from Sarima, the gregarious Sanija became quiet and white as a sheet.
"Sanija?" Rukhan asked, concerned.
"There's something I gotta tell ya," Sanija said. "You got something to drink?"
Once upon a time, there was a valkyrie. She was an ideal captain: strong, confident, and good-natured, but also a relentless warrior. She led a diligent squad of valkyries. Kedra, her second, and her best friend. Helka, a hothead, but a fierce scrapper. Mirekha, a tactical genius. Tavri, the rookie, just a teen, but eager to help.
One night the valkyrie squad was given the honor of being called to Ryshanam Castle. They would stay in fine quarters and eat a hearty meal, before leaving in the morning for their mission to Rethkar Hollow.
Perhaps it was chance, perhaps fate, but the valkyrie captain fell ill on the way to Ryshanam. She decided to go on to Rethkar Hollow to get some early rest. The next day, the captain rendezvoused with her squad, who carried new orders from the archon, by decree of the crown. The captain frowned, and read the order: attack a coven of witches, leave no survivors.
The valkyries found the coven's camp and waited for night. Her squad was acting peculiarly, especially Helka. The fiery valkyrie was unusually subdued and quiet today. They all were. She shook it off.
Mirekha ran point and the valkyries ransacked the camp. Fireballs were cast, and objects hurled at the valkyries, but they targeted the most powerful witches and overpowered them easily.
While her crew handled the witches, the captain went to the tents one by one, searching for stragglers, then lighting the tents and contents on fire. When she got to the last tent, her blood ran cold. Inside the tent, cowering together in the darkness, were five children. She guessed they were no older than ten years old. The camp was a school.
"Change of plans," the captain said. "We're taking prisoners. Five of 'em. Just children."
Kedra stepped up to her and put a gloved hand on the captain's shoulder. Her expression was vacant, and her voice distant when she spoke. "We have orders from the king. No survivors."
The captain was taken aback. "Kedra, my friend," she gasped, "they're children. Stand down." Her hand eased slowly to the hilt of her sword.
"Valkyries follow orders. Our orders are no survivors. Move, Captain." The other valkyries closed ranks on the captain, fire reflecting in their glassy eyes, their bloody blades brandished in attack positions.
The captain drew her blade, blocking and parrying her comrades' attacks. She tried to keep herself between them and the children. Her squad fought like women possessed, unrelenting and stoic.
She leaned forward, using her weight advantage to shove Tavri to the ground. It was a tactical error, as she felt the hilt of a sword slam into the base of her skull.
The captain hit the ground, and the last things she heard before she lost consciousness were the screams of the children, and the sickening sound of steel cutting flesh.
She woke up alone. When she reached Ryshanam, she was turned away. She had been stripped of her command for insubordination, and expelled from the valkyrie order.
The captain, in disgrace, settled in Kethram Ford, home of the valkyrie training camp. Being a valkyrie was all she knew what to do, and she couldn't let go of it. The screams of children haunted her dreams, and the only thing that muffled them was mead.
There is an epilogue to this sad tale. The captain kept tabs on her old crew, and what she heard disturbed her. Tavri, the youngest, was found dead by her own hand. Mirekha had risen the ranks to captain herself within the walls of Ryshanam, but rumor was her squad did dirty work the royals would rather keep quiet. Helka had gone mad on the battlefield, engaging a full battery of enemy combatants and screaming for bloodlust until her dying breath. Then there was Kedra. A disgrace herself, the captain's best friend had developed a taste for murder. Her body count in the double-digits, she was expelled from the order, and on the run.
One night, the captain awoke from the sound of her window opening, but did not move. She knew who it was. Sleeping on her side, the thick fingers of her left hand curled around the blade she kept under her pillow.
She let Kedra get closer. Her right hand gripped the pillow. Closer still.
In a swift movement, she flung the pillow in the direction of her would-be assailant to distract her, then flipped her body around to face her. She slid off the bed into a ready stance, across from Kedra. In the moonlight, she barely recognized her old friend.
Stray hairs across Kedra's face complemented the deranged madness in her eyes, and the wicked grin on her pale face. She also gripped a standard-issue dagger in her right hand, identical to the captain's. Her clothes were dirty and reeked of disregard. Her hair, once blonde like strands of wheat, had shockingly turned dark as a raven.
"It should have been you, Sanija," Kedra growled. Looking at her was like looking into a distorted mirror, a twisted reflection of what the captain could be at their absolute worst. "Why are you still you? You did something to us. This is your fault. I'm going to take your heart for this."
The captain, still tipsy from a day of hard drinking, struggled to make sense of Kedra's insane babbling. They peered across the dark room. The open window that Kedra came through, directly behind her, the light of the moon giving only the slightest visibility. The door to her left. The captain made a break for the door.
Her left hand was reaching for the knob as she instinctually felt danger. Not a second too late, she shifted her weight to the right, in time to avoid the dagger flying for her head. But not in time for her left hand.
The captain screamed as the knife's blade sliced the back of her hand, severing a tendon. Missing its mark, the dagger fell helplessly to the floor. As did the captain, as she reached for her injured hand.
Kedra pounced on the captain, taking them both to the ground. She grabbed for one of the daggers, pinning the captain. Kedra had one hand on the captain's throat, the dagger raised with the other. The captain grabbed Kedra's right wrist with both hands, leaving her nothing to combat the squeezing on her windpipe.
"Such a rush, feeling you go limp," Kedra exclaimed with glee. Dizzy, the captain wondered if this was the end of this valkyrie's tale. Then she remembered one of her guiding principles: the path to victory sometimes requires sacrifice. She took her hands off Kedra's wrist, instead grabbing the wrist pressing on her throat.
The blade of the dagger drove forward. The captain's hands eased the pressure on her throat, allowing her to shift her upper body. The knife missed her head and chest, plunging into the meaty part of the captain's shoulder.
The captain freed a leg and wrapped both her thighs around Kedra's right thigh. She rolled her body on its side—and Kedra's along with it—pinning Kedra's right arm as her grip on her dagger slipped. Now she laid on her left side, the blade lodged in her left shoulder, but with Kedra's arm trapped under it.
The captain knew she had seconds before the surprised Kedra would recover. With her right hand she pulled the dagger from her shoulder, eliciting a spray of blood, and in the same fluid arc, dragged the blade across Kedra's throat.
Reaching for the captain's hand, Kedra's free hand instead went feebly to her throat. Unable to contain the gurgling sounds from choking on her own blood, Kedra's eyes, wide with shock, froze, pupils dilated. The captain had slit a throat before, but never of a person she knew. Of someone she loved, who she cared for.
In an interminable instant, it was over. The captain rolled Kedra's body on her back and gasped for air. She was alive. A jolt of pain reminded her to treat the wounds in her hand and shoulder. She stood, wobbly, and tied clean scraps of her nightgown tight to temporarily quell the bleeding, as she was trained.
Then she saw it. Easy to miss in the dim light of the moon, the purple translucence of its flesh catching a reflection as it inched out of Kedra's open mouth and onto the floor. With a flat body like a leech, it was roughly the width of the captain's thumb and the length of her hand span. Without hesitation, the captain picked up the bloody dagger, and brought it down on the abomination.
The room fell silent, save the sniffling of the normally gregarious Sanija, who wiped her tears.
"A mind leech," Rukhan muttered. Tahrapi and Sanija turned to him.
"It's a tool of the dark arts. Shadowmancy, to be exact. It's a small parasite, originally, like a grain of sand. They used to live in streams, but their larvae can be slipped into food or drink undetected." Rukhan stood, pacing the small room, rubbing his short beard. "It immediately affects decision making, and will make even the strongest will bend without effort."
"At last," Valerian smirked, raising a chalice filled with wine. "While I will miss my father, I am finally king, with my queen at my side." His free hand grasped Sarima's possessively, and she offered a demure smile.
"Yes, Valerian, my lord and master," Sarima purred. "I am sorry for my headstrong behavior when I arrived in Ryshanam. I look forward to many years at your side."
Valerian leered lustfully at his beautiful bride. "That's right," he said, grinning. "And now it's time to claim what's mine."
He leaned in, snaking an arm around Sarima's waist, and giving her a lecherous kiss.
"As it grows, it changes the host without their knowing. There are gradual physical changes they don't notice: pale skin, dark circles under their eyes, darkening hair color. But it changes their mind foremost. They abandon their morality. They crave power and ambition. And the mind leech rewards those choices with pleasure. Each immoral choice leads them farther down the path to corruption."
"Sarima," Tahrapi gasped.
The goblet fell to the ground, spilling red wine all over the ornate rug.
Valerian's eyes grew wide and he convulsed. He struggled to break the insidious kiss, to no avail. Sarima, for her part, held her eyes closed, deepening the kiss.
Valerian had fallen into her trap, and she had played it perfectly. At no point had she tipped her hand. Not while she and Severian had planned this moment together. Not while a second mind leech incubated inside her body over the past week. Not when she feigned sadness at the passing of the king she had murdered. Not while she felt the vile creature crawl up her esophagus and into her throat, where she could pass it to her unknowing husband.
"If the mind leech reaches full maturity, it destroys the host's capacity to recover. They no longer feel guilt or remorse for their actions; in fact, they feel justified. Each unspeakable act of cruelty fuels a desire for more. There is no turning back as the host is driven mad with power and bloodlust."
Sarima withdrew from the kiss, her hands resting on Valerian's chest. His eyes rolled back into his head as the shaking subsided. "Ah," she said with a wry smile, "that's better. How does it feel, dear husband, to have a taste of your own medicine?"
Valerian's expression was no longer proud or boastful. His eyelids sagged. Drool formed at the corners of his lips. The muscles in his cheek were slack. He looked... docile. "It feels right, my queen," he mumbled finally.
"Because it IS right," Sarima cackled. Her face, by contrast, was practically glowing. Increasingly made pale by the effects of the mind leech, her cheeks were bright with giddy arousal. Her eyes danced with dark desire. Her lips, painted crimson to match her wedding dress, curled into a wicked smile.
Checkmate.
"If Sarima is indeed affected by a mind leech, how much time does she have?" Sanija asked.
"Impossible to tell. Obviously, it depends on how often she gives in to her urges. Each depraved act, each line she crosses and erases, makes it harder to bring her back. If it grows aggressively..."
"Stop," Tahrapi ordered. Rukhan and Sanija both turned towards them as they got out of bed and rifled through their sack. "If there's a chance Sarima can still be saved, I'm going to Ryshanam. Right now." There was something different in their voice, something that had been lacking before. Conviction.
The Valkyrie is a work of serial fiction, told in eight chapters. It is intended to be suitable for young adult readers. Content warnings for the series: mind control, corruption, fantasy violence.
The Valkyrie, Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8
Tahrapi picked themselves up off the dirt. Their arms felt heavy, but not as much as their aching legs. They left their practice blade on the ground and took a pull from their canteen. "I need a break," they gasped.
Sanija sheathed her practice sword, and let out a small laugh as she reached for her own water. The valkyrie veteran wore her full armor, shiny and maintained with diligent precision, even after all these years. It was considerably heavier than Tahrapi's leather armor, which was pared back for better agility and freedom of movement, yet Sanija had barely exerted herself.
"You're getting better, Mouse," she said. "Ya got a couple good shots in. But it'll be harder against a woman half my age—or a man who’s faster and stronger."
Rukhan sat on a stump nearby, finishing off an apple. "I've been watching you two for an hour," he said. "Do you want some friendly advice?"
Tahrapi glared at Rukhan and scowled. Why do I let him get under my skin?
"No. I'll figure it out myself," they said.
"I said, I can take care of myself."
Tahrapi stood askance, arms crossed, glowering at Sarima. "I know you were trying to help, but we're not kids anymore."
Sarima sighed in frustration. "Why are you mad at me? There's no justice for you in Jathruk, and you know it. I was protecting you, Tahra."
Just like my mother. Tahrapi swallowed hard. They growled, "The people were on my side. No one ever stands up to these vultures. I'm tired of staying in the shadows so others can live in the light." I thought you'd understand, Sarima.
Sarima blinked, her mouth open, then she frowned. "I don't understand."
Draeven sat across from Sarima in a plush oversized chair. Recently, the two had been spending more time together, alone, in the archon's private sanctum, as she secretly learned magic under his tutelage.
He leaned forward, fingers tented, his grey eyes betraying no malice. "When you first arrived, you seemed frustrated by Prince Valerian's unwillingness to share power with you and treat you as a partner. Why do you think that's changed?"
Sarima took a sip of tea and set the cup and saucer on a side table. "It's true, I was. But he's the prince. Soon he'll be king, with or without me," she said with resignation.
Draeven looked down, stirring his own tea with a silver spoon. "A forbidden magical parasite has been stolen from my laboratory. Called a mind leech, its larvae can be ingested by an unknowing subject, making them susceptible to mental manipulation by the person who administered it."
Sarima's brows were knitted. "Are you suggesting..."
Draeven continued. "I don't know when it was taken, I only found it missing this morning. The only persons with access to my laboratory, other than myself, are the royal family. And the king is not leaving his bed to steal a forbidden magical artifact."
Sarima stared at the teacup on the side table, her eyes narrowing. Lashing out with her nascent powers, Sarima's thoughts propelled the delicate china cup across the room, where it crashed into a stone wall and shattered. "That cretin."
"You're right to be angry, Princess," Draeven said, reclining in his chair, tenting his fingers. "And your abilities have improved quickly. You're a natural mage. But the prince has crossed a moral line, and his willingness to do that makes him dangerous. The question, my dear," he said, pausing for emphasis, "is whether you are willing to do the same."
Sarima's eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, Severian?"
"You have struck me, Princess, since your first day here, as a woman who understands that the only thing power respects," Draeven said, "is greater power."
Sarima fidgeted with the hem of her dress. "Tahra, I know you're angry," she said softly, trying a different tactic. "I wasn't trying to prevent you from speaking up for yourself. But I had to step in to prevent retaliation. I hate that I have to use my privilege like a weapon, but if it's to protect you, so be it." Sarima reached out a hand, gingerly.
Tahrapi recoiled, stopping just short of slapping Sarima's hand away. Sarima withdrew, hurt. "He accused me of stealing, Sarima!" they exclaimed through tears. "If I couldn't prove my innocence, I'd be rotting in a cell right now. I had every right to make him pay."
"You pick the fights you can win, Tahra,” Sarima pleaded. “This wasn't one of them."
Tahrapi snarled, "When will you learn, Sarima, that I don't pick fights I can't win?"
"When you learn how to accept help!" Sarima snapped back.
Rukhan rose from his stump. "Suit yourself. But since you're taking a break... Sanija, are you up for a challenge?"
Sanija laughed heartily. "Oh, I've been looking forward to this for a while."
Rukhan picked up Tahrapi's practice sword. Tahrapi watched as he sauntered, leisurely, in front of Sanija. "Oh wait, I have to tie my boot," he said, putting the apple core between his teeth and dropping to one knee.
Rukhan tied his boot and, without looking up, hurled the apple core from his mouth at Sanija's left ear. Unsure of what he had thrown, Sanija reacted quickly, swinging her sword with her left arm to deflect the apple core.
Rukhan leapt up from his crouch, and brought the short sword down square on Sanija's left hand. His aim true, Sanija yelped out in pain and surprise, dropping her sword. She grabbed her crippled hand with the right, just in time to feel the practice blade at her throat.
"Dragonspawn," Sanija snarled.
Rukhan gave Sanija a sardonic wink before withdrawing the sword. "Don't swear at me just because you lost, Valkyrie." When he turned to an astonished Tahrapi, the playfulness had dissipated. He addressed them in a measured tone, but with a hint of exasperation.
"Tahrapi, your strategy is correct. You know your opponent is bigger and stronger, so you evade and hit quick strikes. But you let her bide her time and tire you out."
Rukhan pointed at Sanija. "Valkyries are predictable. You've been trained in their tactics, so exploit them. She wasn't ready for my attack, because you both play by arbitrary rules of decorum. There are no rules in life and death. Your best weapon is not in your hand, it's in your head. So watch your enemy, and break them down. I watched her favor her left side, and I didn't have to see her left hand to know she doesn't trust it."
Sanija scoffed. "That worked against one old lame valkyrie. It won't work against a squadron."
Rukhan nodded. "You're right. But it's not meant to. If Tahrapi has to fight through an army, they're dead. People like us, we have to pick our battles."
Tahrapi sighed. I've heard that one before. "Any more lessons for me, teacher?" they said, their voice thick with sarcasm.
Rukhan closed the distance between them until they could practically feel his breath. Am I blushing? I'm blushing, they thought, trembling slightly.
"Yes," Rukhan said softly, holding the blade up horizontally, offering it back to Tahrapi. "Doing it your way doesn't mean doing it alone."
Tahrapi looked into his eyes, their lips parted. There it was, that glimmer again in his eyes. Then it was gone. They looked down at the sword, taking it in their hands.
They nodded in acceptance. "Break's over, Sanija. Let's go again."
It won't happen, not again.
Sarima wrote furiously, with conviction, like a woman possessed. Fitting, she smirked, because, thanks to my darling prince, I am one.
I was a fool to think I could change things from within the system. The only way to defeat power is to seize more of it. And if that means having the will to go where others will not, then so be it.
The mind leech, gestating inside Sarima, was changing her physically, as well as mentally. Her auburn hair, bright and fiery when she arrived in Ryshanam, had turned the color of bronze. Her skin had paled, her once-rosy cheeks drained of color, as the darkness thrived within her.
I see now the opportunity within my reach. And I see that past attachments will only hold me back from my destiny.
I need now only the courage to cast the rules aside, and forge my own path ahead. I learned that from you.
That ‘comment on your a03 work’ email hits like a line of cocaine every time. unmatched dopamine increase. shoutout to everyone who leaves a comment on fics. you deserve the world
That ‘comment on your a03 work’ email hits like a line of cocaine every time. unmatched dopamine increase. shoutout to everyone who leaves a comment on fics. you deserve the world
For anyone worried because they write the same trope more than once: I love that shit. I will love that first one and I will still be excited for the thirtieth one. Let these idiots do the same thing over and over again. We deserve that.
