In reality, it was the uniform of the winged warriors. Small beads of sweat
pooled on their shirts right under their heart. It looked as though they had just
come from combat training.
Jealousy roars through me as I gaze at those beautiful white wings. I am only
too aware of my lack of wings protruding from my shoulder blades. So many
days, I curse the day I was born without wings. My fifteen years of life would
have been entirely different if I were born with wings.
Rota glances over my scattered books, and something catches her eye. I
cringe. Instantly, I know what it is. I scramble to my knees and dive for my
books, trying desperately to gather them quickly together. A click of a heel
sounds near my ear, and I grimace. I’m too late.
“What do we have here?” Rota stoops down and picks up the book lying just
out of my reach. “The Tale of How Brynhildr Got Her Wings.” Malice colors her
voice, and sniggers sound behind me. Some more winged Valkyries from the
academy have gathered around.
I force my eyes to rise, traveling up her body and connecting with her eyes,
only to be met by stones. She turns the pages, and I watch her hard face as she
scans the contents.
After a few moments of only the rustling of pages slicing through the silence
as she flicks through the book, her piercing eyes focus on me. “Oh, poor
Wingless.” Her voice holds no sympathy. “You know this is just a tale, don’t
you? A myth and make-believe story.” I don’t know how, but her face turns
colder. “This is not possible. No matter how much you read the story, you will
never grow wings. You will never be as magnificent as I or my friends.” Her
gaze flicks to her sneering companions. “You will always be a scavenger on the
ground as we fly the skies, swooping down and picking out the greatest warriors,
and sending them to Valhalla. You will remain as our slaves and our servants,
scrounging through the corpses that we have left behind and cleaning up behind
us. You will never be known for the glory of building the army for Ragnarok.”
Her words cut deep, yet I pull from deep within and plaster on a brave face. I
scramble to my feet, scooping up my books before yanking the book out of her
grasp and hugging it to my chest.
Her face is a picture of beauty distorted by a thin-mouthed smile that edges
toward a sneer. “Not all Valkyries can be born from the pure blood of the direct
line of Odin’s creation. And because of this, you will never have wings.” Her
sneer creeps higher. “Now, why don’t you run along and clean out the dragon
stables.” She flicks her hands at me in a dismissive gesture.
Clasping my arms tighter around my books, I use the rest of my willpower to
retain my tears that are creeping closer to the edge of my eyes. I must not show
her how much she has upset me, or she will never stop.
Holding my back straight and my head high, I turn and walk down the pale-
tiled hallway and out the door. It’s challenging, yet somehow, I pull it off. Her
words cut deep. I know they are true, but I always hold on to hope that I can be
part of the elite squad of Valkyries. I long to be more than a bottom cleaner and a
dragon-stall cleaner.
When I know that I have left her sight, I run to my dormitory. I throw my
books down on the bed and run out the door to the gates of the academy. Tears
blur my vision when I pass through its gate. Though I know I shouldn’t let her
get to me like this, I can’t help it. I desperately want to be so much more than
this.
A winged Valkyrie from one of the patrol groups flies ahead, swooping low
over me, then rises high again, heading for the sky as though I were insignificant
and not worth the time. She flaps her wings, moving higher, toward the sun. I
start to run, and I bolt as far away as I can. Though her wings are glorious and
magnificent, I don’t want to see them.
I need to get away and clear my head.
I run until I can no longer breathe, and my surroundings evolve to become
drier and more desolate. Trying to impress the Valkyrie leaders and get their
attention, I have been training hard so they will focus on me and give me
something better than what the wingless Valkyries must do. Many of my friends
have mocked me for my hope, but I can’t give up. It is harder for me to face the
future of being a bottom dweller and being a wingless Valkyrie than for me to
give up hope.
I expel my final breath, halt my running and slump over, gasping. Blocking
out all sounds except the thrumming in my ears, my heart thumps profusely, and
my lungs burn. My vision is blurred as I stare at the dry, hard ground. It takes
several minutes before the thumping subsides in my ears, and I hear a noise. I
glance up. Before me is a hideous flying beast.