“My people, the jotnar, fought and died in the final battle against the primordial deity, Typhon. I was only a child at the time—too young to fight—which is why I survived.”
I rapidly recall what my mother told me about the old gods and the jotnar. Many perished in the old wars against the Titans. She mentioned Typhon several times and there was a warning in her voice because even in death, his bones were considered dangerous.
“I was raised in the north by the Valkyrie,” Jonah continues. “They chose to take me in, even though I was not one of them,” Jonah says. “When I was old enough, I repaid them for their kindness by protecting them and watching over their followers: the humans called ‘Einherjar’.”
It isn’t a total surprise to me that Jonah was raised by the Valkyrie. Lucian mentioned it to me when we were talking about learning to fly. It was Jonah who helped Lucian understand how to use his wings, teaching Lucian in the same way Jonah had observed the Valkyrie teaching their young.
“When the Valkyrie Queen was forced into a deadly war, I fought beside her,” Jonah says. “But the devastation to her racewas horrific. I lost my family for a second time and after that, my purpose was gone.”
He falls silent, and I give him the space to remain quiet for as long as he wants, the fire crackling softly nearby and my pack unmoving around us.
Jonah finally clears his throat. “About five hundred years ago, I was wandering across the forests and mountains of what is now known as the Cascade Range east of Portland. I found myself within a ring of mountains to which I had never been before. I stumbled through a wilderness of overgrown foliage that appeared to have claimed what might once have been a great city. It was all crumbling stone by then. In the middle of that wilderness was a single intact building: a cottage very much like that one.”
He inclines his head at the structure that now sits on my right before he turns in the other direction toward the orchard on my left. “Right beside the cottage was an apple orchard, much like that one.”
I clamp my arms closer to my legs, unnerved by the existence of these structures outside of my dreams.
“Galeia stood in the open doorway of the cottage holding a broom, of all things,” Jonah says. “She took one look at me, held out the broom, and told me to sweep.”
A smile plays around his mouth. “I asked her where I should sweep and she told me—” He stops, swallows visibly, and I’m shocked when his eyes fill with tears. “She told me to sweep wherever the pain needed cleaning out.”
He takes a deep, shaking breath. “She had a way of knowing what to say.”
Suddenly, I’m hanging on to Jonah’s every word, afraid of asking him to tell me more about what she was like, what her dreams were, and who she was.
Somehow, he seems to know that’s what I need. Maybe it’s the way I’m leaning forward or the desperation that I can’t keep from my face.
“She had an infectious smile,” he says. “And a wicked sense of humor. And she could take down an opponent in less time than I could transform into my full jotunn form. And then, somehow, she’d make friends with them.”
He gives a laugh. “Fuck, I could never figure out how she did that. She gathered people around her. Sometimes, I thought that Halle and James followedherand not the other way around. She was her name, Veda. Galeia meansnew life. Did you know that?”
I nod. When we were on the island, Ryuji, the dragon master, told me the meaning of my mother’s name. As he said, it’s a confusing name for a dark creature.
“Wherever she went, a sparkling darkness seemed to follow her.” Jonah shakes his head. “By the dark saints, she was loved.”
My mother’s long-ago voice echoes in my memories, a constant reminder of the message she gave me.
We were loved.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my voice strained as I fight the burn of tears in my eyes.
Fuck, I yearn for my anger and rage to surge again. I hate how much my sadness is overwhelming me right now.
“Because you need to know how badly she wanted you to live.” Jonah’s eyes are even duller now. “In the first few months of her pregnancy, she collapsed. Twice. Her heart stopped entirely. We couldn’t revive her. We thought we’d lost her until her heart started beating again all on its own. After the second time, we searched for answers.”
His focus shifts to the book and my shoulders slump as I mentally follow what must have been the path of their reasoning at the time.
“You thought the book could help her,” I say.
“Halle was adamant that it couldn’t. But even though she was its custodian, she had never dared to read it, so she couldn’t say for sure.
“She refused to open it. She and James argued like they’d never argued before. He, and your father, were convinced that because Galeia’s heart had been created from dark metal, the book would tell us how to save her. When Halle wouldn’t hand it over, James stole it.”
I consider my clasped hands where they rest in my lap and the tips of the dark metal that will protrude further from my fingertips if I call on it.
If I’d been in the same position as them, I wonder if I would have stolen the book, too.
When I look up, Jonah says, “James has never regretted anything more than the moment he handed the book to your father.”
