Inheritance
The raven had been soaring for quite a long time. Théa could feel it high above.
She hated it.
Théa stood still, crouched, weeping, wishing herself to be smaller, invisible. She knew it wouldn’t work.
She heard a flapping. Without looking, she knew the bird was there.
“Greetings, my lady,” the bird said.
Théa said nothing. The raven coughed.
“Greetings, my lady,” it repeated.
Théa looked between her tears, between her fingers.
“You speak?”
“Of course I do, my lady.”
“I mean… do you really speak? Is it not my imagination?”
“I must say I really do speak. Though if my speaking was a work of your imagination, my lady, it would be quite difficult to be certain about it, wouldn’t it?”
“I… don’t know.”
The raven tilted its head and stared hard at her.
“Don’t you recognize me, my lady?”
“Should I?”
“I’m Muninn, my lady.”
A flash blinded Théa. Muninn… it meant memory, and hers started to fill with strange images. Things that she could not remember, yet somehow, she did. It was like watching a television series where she was the main character, as if she had been played by another person.
She screamed.
Everything went blank.
“My lady? My lady?” she heard the raven’s voice. How long had she been unconscious? She stirred and opened her eyes. Just a slit, hoping everything would go away.
It didn’t.
“You… were two. The other… Huginn,” she said.
The raven jumped uncomfortably from one leg to the other.
“My brother, yes. He was lost. In the war.”
“The war…” More flashes. But she shouldn’t have known about that, should she?
“My lady, you are needed.”
“No,” Théa said.
“I’m afraid so,” Muninn insisted. “Another war looms in the horizon.”
“I don’t mind. I don’t want to know!”
“But, my lady…”
“Stop calling me that! I’m no-one’s lady!”
“I’m sorry, my lady, but you indeed are. Certainly, you must have had some warning I was coming…”
“I’ve been having these… dreams, nightmares, for months! And you… you were there!” she pointed a finger at him. The bird fidgeted. “What does this all mean?”
The raven stared directly at her.
“You know. You are Théa Odinsdottir, last of his offspring. You must take his mantle in this time of need.”
“No,” Théa said, knowing it was true. “There must be another…”
“There are no more children of Odin alive,” Muninn said, and he actually seemed to shrink. “There’s almost no-one left. Not after Ragnarök. I know you, my lady. I have watched over you for years. Believe me, had there been any other option, I would have chosen it.”
“But there’s not,” Théa said.
“But there’s not,” Muninn said.
Théa sighed. She was already feeling the strength filling her.
“You shall need Gungnir’s shards, my lady. I can take you to them,” Muninn said.
“I have one question,” Théa said.
“Yes, my lady?”
“Do I have to lose one eye?”
This is my story for this week’s prompt from Wording Wednesday, the group I recently joined on MeWe.
When I saw the image, I immediately fixated on the raven, imagined the girl to be weeping, and the story unravelled itself. To my surprise, it can be imagined to somehow follow from my previous story. What will next week bring?
