New You

Jill Nied

“Hey Sadie,” I said, falling onto the firm plastic-covered couch in front of her. “Having a good day?”

She didn’t respond.

I plucked the romance novel, the one with the shredded cover, off the coffee table and began to read aloud. I couldn’t make myself discuss the trivial events of my day. Monologuing to my close-eyed catatonic sister was exhausting.

I read, each syllable I enunciated echoing off the walls of the vast empty house. Dust hung low and thick enough to clog pores and line throats. I only read a few sentences and my throat was already sticky and dry. I needed to get around to cleaning the place.

Even after months, it was still strange being back in my childhood home. My departure for college had been a great escape. The moment I had waited for through all four years of highschool. A real God-given miracle. I finally escaped the twin sister who had held me down for so long. She didn’t ever mean to keep me down. Especially not when we were little. When she was the loud, rambunctious life of the party, and I was her shadow, invisible to everyone but her. She was at the top of the cheerleading pyramid and I was in the back, the pom poms falling out of my grip. She was the Halloween princess, smothered in glitter and Mom’s makeup and I was the frog. I hardly noticed what she was doing back then, how I was suffocating under her.

I read a chapter and a half before Sadie’s eyes peeled open. Now that I felt her gaze, I read deliberately, pronouncing each word with intention and even doing a little voice whenever Mr. Rochester spoke. Anything to keep her engaged and awake.

I think it surprised everyone that it was Sadie who became this thing instead of me. I had always been the one in the back of the crowd, only brought into the light by Sadie’s confident voice calling for me. When Sadie stopped speaking, stopped going out, being Sadie Furmanski’s sister took on an entirely different meaning.

I was Sadie Furmanski’s sister so boys wouldn’t talk to me. I was

Sadie Furmanski’s sister so I had to miss the homecoming game to drop her off at that institution in Boston. I missed junior prom because another miracle doctor insisted on family therapy sessions. Graduation wasn’t even on my mind because my sister got so crazy, my mom took a trip to the grocery store and never came back.

A dozen pages later, Sadie shifted in her seat and produced an off-white business card from where it had been wedged between two cushions. Without making eye contact, she slid the paper across the coffee table.

“Unhappy?” the card read, in bold Comic Sans lettering. Underneath, in smaller font, was an address. I turned the card over, but there was nothing else. No logo, or slogan, or anything helpful. There was no way of even knowing if the business, whatever it was, was still operational. The card was paper thin and the corners were velvety and rounded. Sadie had it for a long time.

I glanced back up at Sadie, but her eyes were closed again, her fist knocking against the armrest, like a ticking clock.

“Should we check this place out?”

She nodded, eyes still closed.

The office was not at all where I’d imagined it’d be. It wasn’t in some shining glass tower, its height compensating for some architect’s fragile masculinity, nor was it in some modern artist dream structure, all sleek lines and sophisticated curves. The miracle office, that was the object of my sisters’ fascination and motivation for non-verbal communication, was in a strip mall, wedged between Hilda’s Hair Salon, and a failed fast-food knockoff.

The storefront itself was well maintained. The windows were sparkling clean and a small flower pot sat outside the door, though the purple flower inside had begun to droop.

We stepped into the waiting room and Sadie fell into the first seat available while I stood over her. It was lit like a high school, fluorescent and white enough to exaggerate unpleasant features. It was the type of lighting that provides pubescent and adult insecurities a ripe feeding ground. The walls were painted an unassuming beige and the floors were sterile. The room’s only pop of color was the receptionist, who had pink hair of the cotton candy lollipop variety.

“Welcome,” a booming voice called, “to the New You,”

The door behind the receptionist’s desk swung open to reveal an elderly man with a halo of shocking white hair. He held a cane and wore glasses, but didn’t seem to rely on either.

“My name is Montgomery. Montgomery Clearwater. And you,” he said, gesturing to my sister, “must be Sadie Furmanski,”

I knew the look of a salesman, and Montgomery Clearwater hit every nail on the head. His suit was cheap, his voice was as animated as a kid’s TV puppet show, and he had a slightly crazy gleam in his eye. My first instinct was to grab my sister and bolt.

“Yes, this is Sadie.”

The man, with grace counterintuitive to his wrinkles, lept atop the desk. His legs swung against the side like a toddler on a swing set. The receptionist barely looked up. She flipped her hair over one shoulder, popped her gum, and continued typing.

“How wonderful,” he said, oblivious to my discomfort, “Ready to get started?”

Sadie blinked.

“I’m glad to see you’re as excited as I am.” The man hopped off the desk, “Follow me please.”

Sadie obeyed the man, following him behind the desk, through the door, and into the nondescript hallway painted the same blinding color as the waiting room. He bowed as she passed through. “My lady.”

I was halfway behind her desk when the receptionist grabbed my wrist.

“Please,” I knew I had lost this fight, “I need to know what you’re going to — “

The door slammed shut.

It wasn’t until I replayed the conversation over and over in my head that I realized I’d never told any of them Sadie’s name.

The sun was setting when the man, Montgomery, appeared, his glasses crooked and his cane nowhere in sight. He threw a clipboard onto the desk and crossed in front of it, as if heading for the door.

“Sir,” I stood, “Where is my sister?”

His white eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You’re still here.”

His reaction wasn’t fake. His voice was no longer that of a children’s puppet. He had genuinely thought I would leave my sister with him and his techni-colored receptionist.

I craned my neck, as though I’d be able to see Sadie through the door behind him. “I think you now know as well as I do, that Sadie can’t be left in strange places unattended.”

“Yes,” he said, “she was rather ethereal,”

He had to be joking. “No sir, she’s sick. Now, I’m not going to ask you a second time. Where is my sister?”

“The operation worked sweetheart,” the man smiled, “You’re free.”

My heart beat against my ribcage so hard it was painful. I was seconds away from storming his office and stealing Sadie back for myself. “Take me to my sister. Now,”

The receptionist handed Montgomery one of his business cards without looking away from her computer screen.

“Remember, your sister chose this. There wasn’t anything either of you did wrong. It was simply a choice,” Montgomery handed me the card and helped me into the nearest seat. “Why don’t you read over our card again to help jog your memory,”

He flipped the card to the back where words, words that had not been there before, were sprawled in a familiar obnoxious font.

When I finished reading, my head spun. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even hear the words coming out of the man’s pinched little mouth.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. If I stopped moving, if I thought too hard, even for an instant, I doubled over, the guilt and fear was overwhelming.

Weeks passed. Finally, I reached a breaking point. I stopped at the real estate agency and the Goodwill and I was rid of everything that reminded me of my guilt. She was no longer my problem, no longer my responsibility. One day later, I stepped off the plane and into New York, a single backpack slung over my shoulder.

After a month I found a job as a barista in a small coffee shop, the type that plays the Smiths, burns lemongrass incense, and has a million and one different milks except the kind produced by a cow. It was a good job if you didn’t mind teenagers who wore oversize t-shirts advertising bands even you, an adult, don’t remember, and debating over politics even you, an adult, don’t understand. I worked there for almost five years, and slowly the pain was beginning to fade.

I was halfway through a shift, steeping tea for a woman wearing only a bandana as a shirt when a phantom walked into the shop. She was stunning. Her hair was ironed straight and tied into a half up style that would make anyone jealous. She wore large sunglasses, a silky pantsuit, and held a designer purse. But what really set her apart was her toothy smile. A smile like that wasn’t only uncommon amongst New Yorkers, but also wholly out of place on this particular face.

I dropped the recyclable cup and tea spilt on my ancient boots. “Sadie?”

The woman’s expression twisted for a moment before smiling at me again. “Sorry to disappoint,” she laughed, “My name’s Eloise.”

I knew she was wrong. There was my sister standing right in front of me, less than an arm’s length away, without a care in the world. She was in New York City. She wore pantsuits and studied chalkboard menus at hole-in-the-wall coffee shops. She spoke. Her name was Eloise and she didn’t remember me.

My gut lurched into my throat. I ducked under the counter, my face flaming, and began sopping up the spilt tea, not bothering with my shoes.

I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t tell her my name or explain that she was my family, my sister, my twin. I couldn’t reminisce about Halloween nights or our elementary cheerleading days. I couldn’t apologize for not keeping a better eye on her and taking care of her the way she deserved. I couldn’t scream at her for abandoning me or beg to know why she had chosen to forget me and forget Mom and Dad. I couldn’t risk stealing away her voice.

“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice angelic. “Could I have a large coffee please? No cream or sugar or anything like that”

My sister still liked her coffee black.

I took my time brewing her drink. I couldn’t speak to her or touch her, but I could brew her the perfect cup of coffee. It would be one last gift to her, to thank her for everything she had ever done for me and apologize for not doing the same for her.

She thanked me when I handed her the warm cup, slid three dollars into the glass tip jar, and left without a moment’s hesitation. I watched her through the large fingerprint-stained window, her purse swaying and her steps tiny and even, until she vanished into the city.

Conspiracy

Mickie Kennedy

Clouds scatter to the north, an expanse of indigo darkness with stars as speckled blossoms on an unseen vine. Somewhere out there, life might exist, likely a few cells reproducing, unsure if something greater, more evolved, like the grays from Area 51. They are not really aliens but humans that evolved for fourteen-thousand years, breaking temporal protocols in stolen crafts, ending up here stuck in the past.

A guy on a private forum, Mike1993, says we aren’t really supposed to study them because of timeline integrity, but we do, analyzing the changes that they’ve accelerated in their DNA. With heads so large they are grown in artificial wombs, their reproductive urges stripped out—without lust and attraction, years of wasted mental and emotional space recovered for higher thought and technological advances.

Explain why addiction is still a thing? Cravings so great that as they are removed from the genome, a few rogue members create new molecules to stimulate the part of the mind that triggers euphoria. If they survive the trip back here, they live devoid of such chemical pleasures, subsisting on a fat and protein paste, no solid foods, watching Netflix and Hulu on a screen in a small cell, needing their diapers changed.

Mike1993 says he used to work there, helping the survivors detox. One was obsessed with Roger, the alien from American Dad. He would point at the screen and laugh, saying something that loosely translated to “that should be him,” wigs and outfits, serving mixed drinks from an attic bar.

The gray explained he used to make clothes despite fashion being outlawed as superfluous, back room pop up fashion shows, where gaudy makeup and colorful dresses were revered. He stopped when the criminal sentence was increased to delimbing. After a few days, he died like most of the others, researchers unable to synthesize each changing designer drug.

One of them from Roswell in 1947 was kept alive nearly 14 months, thanks to a mixture of heroin and an early form of meth.

Mike1993 says he doesn’t understand why they come here, nearly all the time-crafts were heavily regulated and only allowed forward-bound jumps and returns. He suspects they are getting help from others, fed up with their way of life, a mix of apathy and oppression. He said one told him that the far, far future is fucked, everyone left earth for greener pastures like Mars or one of the orbiting cities. Everyone has lost the urge to create, they just sleep and watch old recordings, old songs, old shows. Art and entertainment have ceased being made. It was never banned but very few cared anymore, so it has been forgotten, relegated to back-server archives. Systems are breaking down as no one knows how to fix things, or exhibits the desire to fix them. Culture demanded uniformity until all differences were smoothed over: one language, one way of life; a government that is your family and your captor. No need for travel as all monuments and architectural differences have been erased.

Despite initially living to 200 years, very few make it to 100 years of age anymore due to a regression simply labeled failure to thrive. What our government is learning from the grays, says Mike1993, is the need to hopefully prevent this shit from ever happening.

Island in the Sun

Based on ancient Greek hero statues, these figures stand guard in an abstract landscape.

A Curse of Fate A Gift of Death

Alex Hulslander

Languages:

• Cat

• German

• Old Norse

Germany 2017

It was 1 a.m. on Friday when a woman found herself wandering the streets of Cologne, Germany, looking for entertainment. She normally was out during this time to watch people get thrown out of pubs; it was always more dramatic than necessary. She made her way down a popular pub street just in time for a show, as the doors were kicked open and three large men threw-out another man. He fell to the ground in a drunken stumble after a failed attempt to keep himself up. The three men laughed and shut the doors behind them, leaving the man to groan in pain. Slamming his hands to the ground, he hoisted himself up enough to make eye contact with her.

Both stared at each other in shock. They hadn’t seen each other in centuries, and she thought he had died. Yet here they both were, alive. Her face remained unchanged though, shoving down any emotions she felt. He however, sobered up quickly and made no attempt to hide the shock and slight fear on his face.

Time stood still as they stared at each other. Without a word, she shook her head and walked away, leaving him confused on the street. However, she was focused on a thought repeating itself in her head: I want to hit him with a truck. Though she wasn’t one for violence anymore, something about seeing him sparked a fire within she hadn’t felt in centuries.She remembered seeing a decent sized truck a few blocks away and was rapidly making her way towards it. She found it quickly, caring not for the law, and busted in through the window. She hot-wired it and hauled ass back down the narrow street searching for him.

He wasn’t hard to find.

Slamming her foot on the gas pedal, she drove straight towards him. He turned around just in time to see the blinding lights of the truck before getting rammed through the nearest building. She strengthened the impact with a bit of her magic, something she rarely used these days, creating a large hole in the pub as she rammed him through. She backed out and rubble fell off the truck and from the hole in the wall. She got out of the truck, slammed the door causing the glass to shatter, and walked through the rubble to him.

“Out!” she yelled. Panicked, the patrons grabbed their drinks and ran out. Their memories of the event were gone once they left because of a spell she had upon herself to be forgotten by everyone she met. The man had smashed a table in half during the impact and was lying amongst the damage, groaning.

“What the actual fuck,” he groaned and looked at her.

“Traitor,” she said with pure spite. With her left hand, she summoned her Berserker staff, shifted it into a sword, and impaled him with it. The staff was something Berserkers could summon with their weaker hand and it was used for magic, battles, and defense.

He stared at her in disbelief, unfazed by the weapon that was now sticking through his chest. She yanked it out and watched him heal, knowing nothing she did would hurt him since he was like her. Frustrated, she turned and walked out of the giant hole in the wall, dragging the sword along the cobblestone.

“Wait!” He stood and followed her out. “You’re just gonna run me down with a truck, impale me, and walk away?” He tried to keep his voice level but the rage was noticeable.

“Yes.”

“You can’t just attempt to murder someone and walk away!” He bumped into her as she stopped with no warning. She spun around and kicked him in the chest, causing him to fall on the ground.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want and I’m not going to waste my time trying to kill someone who can’t die, especially you,” she said with pure spite while she pointed her sword at him. She turned to leave again.

“Hell of a way to say hello to someone you haven’t seen in centuries.” He stood and stretched out his back. “That fucking hurt.”

She rolled her eyes and stopped again, glancing back. “You shouldn’t feel any pain. The Norn’s are cruel but they’re not that cruel,” she huffed. Her sword faded into nothingness.

“Must be nice,” he rubbed where she kicked, “to not feel anything.” As much as she didn’t want to stay, as much as she hated him, something was keeping her from walking away. Turning around again, she crossed her arms and eyed him.

“It is actually, thanks.”

“I wasn’t cursed by the Norns like you were,” he said bitterly, but his bitterness was not directed at her. Her eyes widened slightly and she looked over him closely.

“By whom then?”

“Hel. For every life my men took, another was added to mine. And for every life I took, 100 more are added to mine. That includes lives I still take, for as long as I live,” he glanced to the ground.

“Well, that sounds like a fair punishment for what you did.”

“Ylva…”

“Don’t call me that.” She stepped forward and her voice was filled with rage. “You’ve no right to use my name or even talk to me. Don’t follow me. I don’t want to see you for the rest of time.” She walked away quickly and he watched her go. His heart hurt as she left, but he couldn’t leave it like this. He had to speak to her again.

She returned to her small home, feeling the ache of his betrayal once again. It shook her to her core, and the silence in her home resembled the silence on the field that day.

Norway 26 B.C.E.

The field was full of bodies. Warriors from both sides had fallen after fighting against their enemies. What was left of the Berserker’s enemies stood off in the distance, watching the Berserker Queen herself stare at her people on the ground.

Slowly, she fell to her knees and watched as one of the enemy warriors walked up to her with confidence, wielding his sword in his right hand. She looked up at him and waited to join her people in the halls of Valhalla. With a single motion he impaled her with his sword. She felt nothing.

The warrior stared at her as she stood and slowly pulled the sword out, watching herself heal and staring in disbelief. Afraid he had angered the gods, the warrior ran back to his men. She dropped the sword on the ground, running her eyes over the enemies. She knew who she was looking for but prayed to Odin that he wasn’t there. But he was. Standing next to their leader. Vidar stood watching her with pain in his eyes. She couldn’t hear him, but she could read his lips.

“I’m sorry Ylva.”

She snapped. Every ounce of her magic was unleashed as she yelled her last battle cry. It swept over the land, killing everyone who had fought against her. She thought it had killed him too. But Hel had other plans.

Germany 2017

Ylva lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, lost in memories. So many promises had been made between them growing up, but they had all been broken. She knew mother’s death was his fault; he would have returned that day if it wasn’t. But she always had hope he wasn’t the one who killed her.

There was a small scratching noise at her window. Smirking, she sat up and slid the window open. A fairly pudgy, green-eyed black cat entered and rubbed its head on her hand.

“Well good evening to you too Pudge. Did you eat today?”

“Meow.”

“Sure you didn’t. Come on, let’s get you some chicken.”

Norway 42 B.C.E.

Ancient halls were lit by torches whose flames danced whenever someone walked by, echoes of two young children could be heard throughout the kingdom as they chased each other through the halls. The girl, age 7, was chased by her brother, age 11. Both lived as royalty, but only the girl was born to the Queen.

“Ylva! Vidar! Come to bed! It is late and you are disturbing the kingdom!” The Queen called out to her two children who scurried to their shared room. They crawled into their beds and the Queen sat between them in a wooden chair. There was only one torch still lit in the room between the beds, providing just enough light to see her young troublemakers.

“Momma! We want a story!” Ylva exclaimed.

“Yes Helka! A story!” Vidar agreed. Helka sighed and brushed some hair out of his face.

“My child, when will you stop using my name? You are mine, even if I did not have you myself. As for you,” she turned to face Ylva, “It is too late for a story, you must sleep. How will you two ever grow strong and lead our warriors, if you do not sleep?”

“Vidar will help me be strong! He promised he would always protect me,” YIva smiled widely and looked over to him.

Helka sighed; there was a part of her that feared he would return to his people one day, but she hoped that his bond with Ylva would prevent this from happening.

“As he should, he is your brother. It is his duty to care for you,” she stood and grabbed the torch, “Sleep, or else Fenrir will come chop you up!” She imitated the growl of a wolf and left the room.

Vidar rolled onto his side and whispered to his little sister. “I will always protect you, and mother.” He yawned and she giggled a bit.

“I know Vidar…” she drifted off to sleep.

Germany 2017

Ylva made her way to a local bookshop, as she always did in her free time. It was a peaceful place full of adventures within stories. The smell of books filled the air as she flipped through the pages. Nothing was more relaxing than an old book smell. Unfortunately, footsteps made their way towards her aisle and stopped near her.

“What’s up?” Vidar said with a grin. Irritated, she grabbed the nearest book and chucked it at his face. It landed on the ground with a thud and his hand flew up to rub the spot it hit. “Accuracy, but that fucking hurt.”

“I will hurt you every damn time you bother me, which should be none.” She began to walk away but he followed, determined.

“That seems fair. So, this is what you do with your free time? Go to local shops and review them online? Seems boring.” He glanced around the shop.

“It’s peaceful.”

“Says the former murder Queen,” he smirked.

“May the gods help me...why are you stalking me?” She stopped in a new aisle and began browsing the books.

“Not stalking, observing. Honestly though, compared to killing this really is boring. When was the last time you killed someone?”

He pretended to look at the books but was watching her reactions to everything he said.

“Stalking. Piss off Vidar.” She grabbed a large book and was about to chuck it at him but hesitated. A voice rang inside her head: Ylva, he may not express his concern, but he cares for you. You mustn’t argue so much. Mother hated it when they fought, but walking away didn’t work and she didn’t want to cause a scene here. He watched her face.

“Ya know, you still make funny faces when you’re debating things,” he chuckled. Setting the book back on the shelf, she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

“World War II. Nazi Germany. Saw too much red, blood red. Had to do something about it,” she said in a low voice.

“Bet it felt good.”

“Fuck off. Where were you anyway? Cause I didn’t see you doing anything about it.”

“I was a pilot for the Americans thank you very much. Love America,” he smirked.

“Of course you love that place. You fit right in,” she rolled her eyes.

“You don’t like it?”

“The first time I went I was burned at the stake for being a witch. It was horrid. Went back again later, got hit with a cannon ball because the damn country was fighting themselves! They’ll fight anybody!” she rolled her eyes again and moved farther down the aisle. He followed.

“You’re not wrong. But you need to kill again, it’s what we were born to do!”

“I don’t kill anymore.”

“You ran me down with a fucking truck with every intention of killing me,” he said flatly.

“You’re different! All there is with you is pure rage, not with others though. Others are no longer my concern,” she shook her head.

“You can’t tell me you don’t see red anymore! There are so few innocent people left in the world and they are being drowned out and ruined by the bad! If you just looked for a moment, all you would see is red,” he lowered his voice, “You can help them!” he paused, “Look, I know I fucked up, but you can’t spend eternity ignoring what you were born to do. What you’re destined to do!”

“Fucked up? You fucked up? That’s all you think it was? A fuck up? You betrayed me! You betrayed us! You were supposed to protect our family!”

“I was never a part of your family! She wasn’t my mother! ” Their voices were beginning to raise and their old language was causing them to get some funny looks.

“She was our mother, and you were my brother. She is dead because of you.” Ylva shoved him and stormed out while he was trying to think of a response. He tried to follow her but she was long gone, using magic to disappear. He sighed and wandered off, he would find her again soon.

Norway 48 B.C.E.

The sun was setting and the night air was settling on the land. Creatures had stowed away in their homes and the people had fires going to keep warm. However, for the Queen and her warrior party, the dark of the night provided them with an opportunity.

There had been rumors of enemy clans camping in the Berserkers territory, so the Queen took a few warriors and set off to investigate. Many thought the Berserkers were too harsh in their ways and found their magical practices to be an indication of evil rather than a gift from the gods.

Traveling at night would provide them with the element of surprise on the resting enemies. It didn’t take long for them to find a small camp hidden in the dense forest. Without hesitation, the Berserkers killed most of them, leaving one barely alive to return to his people as a warning.

Helka looked around the destroyed camp and noticed a small figure hidden amongst the trees. Cautiously, she went over to the figure to investigate. Realizing it was a child, she crouched down and reached her hand out.

“It’s ok, I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?” Cautiously, a young boy peaked his head around the tree trunk.

“Vidar…”

“Vidar, a fighter in the woods, fitting. Did you know these people?” He shook his head. “Do you have a home?” He shook his head again. “Would you like a home?” He smiled shyly and went up to her. Gently, she picked him up and mounted her horse with him on her lap. She knew he was lying about knowing the warriors and having a home though. Often the enemy clans would bring young boys to a battle to learn to fight, or die trying. Where his loyalties would lie was unclear for now, but she wanted Ylva to have a sibling, and that was something Helka couldn’t give her naturally. She would teach him to be a Berserker and pray to the gods that he would never return to his people.

Germany 2017

The next day came as an unwelcome presence. Pudge had rolled over onto another pillow and Ylva’s heart ached. All she dreamt of was her mother. Begrudgingly, she got dressed for the day and went outside. The sun was forcing its way through some clouds as she locked the front door. She made it about two steps down the sidewalk before a voice stopped her.

“Ylva.”

“God fucking dammit,” she mumbled under her breath. Turning around, rage and pain burning in her eyes, she looked at him. But this time was different. She looked at him through her second sight, a sight that allowed her to see if someone was worthy of life or not based on the things they had done. If someone was red, they no longer had a right to live. If they were white, they were still good, pure.

“Ylva, please just listen to me, please,” his voice was begging, full of pain and regrets.

“You, you’re not red...you’re not even white you’re, black…” She stepped closer, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Yea well, I’m not technically alive. I told you, Hel cursed me, not the Norns,” he sighed, “I’ll show you what that means.” With that, he changed himself to show her what he had become. He took the form of a half-man, half-skeleton. The half-skeleton part was engulfed in flames. A true curse of Hel, one that matched the god themself.

Both of them used magic to mask it for others though, afraid of causing panic. There was more to it though, more than just the looks. His abilities had changed as well.

“You’ve changed, changed too much. What can you do now? Do you even still have your staff?” she asked. He nodded. He did, but it no longer changed into a sword like it used too. It had become a more violent weapon, a chain on fire, with a large spear for impaling others on the end of it.

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? None of this fucking matters! I found you again, it must be for a reason! I know what I did. Every day I relive it, regret it. I know there is no way for me to make it up to you. I know there is no way for you to forgive me. But I know I found you for a reason, and I’m not going to let you go. Not again.” He shifted back. “These people, all around us, they’re terrible. All you see is red, isn’t it? We, you, were born to be a Berserker. You were born to cleanse the world of people who shouldn’t be alive. I will swear myself to you, I will follow you until we are the last two people on the planet, but please just, don’t waste eternity doing something meaningless.” Tears were peeking out of his eyes. For centuries he felt the pain of what he had done. Now that he found her again all of those feelings were bubbling up inside of him.

“You swore yourself to me before! How will this be any different?”

“Because I’m the reason you’re still alive. I begged and begged for the gods to spare you. I knew what I had done and I knew it was too late to go back, but I couldn’t have your death on my hands. The Norns answered me, but I didn’t know they would make you immortal. I thought they would just spare your life…” This information had weighed on him since the night the Norns had answered his prayers, but in a way, telling her hurt more. She just stared at him in disbelief.

“You-, why couldn’t you just let me die?”

“Because I swore to protect you. I never broke that promise, I know you think I did, but I didn’t,” his voice was shaky, true regret was painted on his face.

“Vidar, I don’t know what to say to all of this. You just dumped a shit ton of stuff on me and are expecting me to know what to say. Please leave me alone now.”

“Just, please, consider meeting me tonight, so we can talk,” he handed her a paper with a time and location on it. “Think about what I said, please.” He watched her for a moment before running off.

Norway 25 B.C.E.

Helka and Vidar rode into the woods alone for a sparring session. Despite Ylva’s protests, Helka didn’t want guards with her because she wanted to talk to Vidar privately.

They stopped in a small break in the trees and dismounted. Vidar cleared his throat and glanced around nervously.

“Something bothering you?” Helka asked.

“Just wondering if Ylva had a point.”

“Curious,” she remarked, “You can drop the act my dear Vidar, I know you’ve been speaking to those who were once your people.” She unsheathed her sword and examined it. “Our enemy has moved on us with skill, with information only someone from our people could have given them.”

“And you’ve assumed it is me? Because deep down I’m not a Berserker?”

“No Vidar, I’ve had my men follow you,” she pointed her sword at him, “I raised you as my own, I gave you a weapon, taught you our magic, I trusted you with my daughter, and yet here we stand. Why?”

“Because the ways of the Berserkers cannot continue! Your enemies are closing in on you and your ways will be your doom. I am not your child, I am not your people, I will not fall alongside those who will not be remembered,” he said angrily.

“Those are not your words Vidar. You have spent too much time with them; they have tainted you. What will Ylva think when she finds out? Is she not your sister anymore?”

“She is no more my sister than you are my mother!” He drew his weapon. From the trees some men emerged, wearing the colors of the enemy.

“You may not consider me your mother, but I consider you my son, and I will not take the life of my child,” she threw her sword to the ground in surrender. “Your instincts are to survive, which is why you came with me that day, but in your heart you know this is wrong. Should you continue down this path then may Hel put a curse on you to suffer the pain you will cause your sister, and the pain you have caused me,” she said angrily. Vidar said nothing. Instead he turned and left so he would not have to see her fall, he couldn’t bear to watch it.

Helka didn’t fight, she accepted her death silently. Vidar was told to return to the Berserkers and report her death but he refused, he couldn’t lie to Ylva about that. He knew they would find her body in the woods within the day, and they would declare war.

Germany 2017

It was freezing outside, a brisk wind misting the empty docks. Why he had her drive across Germany to meet by the ocean was beyond her, but his entire existence in her life again was beyond her. Sighing, she made her way to his figure standing at the edge of the water. She waited a moment before speaking coldly.

“Alright, what do you want?”

“My life has basically been pointless this entire time. Yours hasn’t. You once led the greatest army the world had ever seen.”

“That army fell,” she said flatly.

“Because I wounded you emotionally, but you’re stronger now. You can kill those who are red again.”

“I can’t just go around killing people like the old days. There are laws in place, societies have their own way of dealing with these things.”

“But they’re not really doing it effectively. I know the ways of the Berserker’s were considered harsh and cruel, but your magic was a gift from the gods.”

“Maybe back then, but not now. I told you, I can’t just go around killing people like the old days. I can’t throw the world into chaos because I lost my way after I lost everything,” she shook her head.

“I believe the gods brought us back together. I believe the time of the Berserker is coming again!”

“And what of us?”

“I never stopped being your brother. I don’t expect you to trust me, but I know you believe the gods brought us together again for a reason. I will follow you until we’re the last two people standing, if that’s what it takes,” his voice was genuine.

“Say we do this, really, truly do this, others might follow. What’s your plan then?”

“Then, you have your army once again. You’ll be the Queen you were born to be,” he paused, “What do you want?”

She stared at the water for a moment. An ancient fire burned within her once again. The feeling of being a Berserker was a feeling she had missed.

“To fulfill our destiny.”