Young Writers Society

Chapter 21: Report

Once more, Hilda finds herself in the infirmary. At least it’s not as bad as last time – only her hands are in dire need of healing. The burns didn’t feel as bad when the adrenaline was rushing through her but, as things calmed down, it feels like she shoved her hands into a smelter. Through and through, her palms are covered in blisters and torn skin, more than a little swollen, all compounded by a smorgasbord of red, white and purple colors. It hurts as bad as it looks, too: like dozens of nails have been jammed into her flesh and a particularly sadistic craftsman is trying to hammer them in. Hilda’s been regretting her desperate – and ineffective – attempt at escaping that Valnr’s spell for the past half hour.

Matu’s been hard at work since she arrived, a spell conjuring streams of green lights around his fingers. He’s been running them over every square centimeter of burnt skin, slowly but surely restoring it all to its normal state. Doing so means popping those blisters and Hilda needed to bite down on a piece of cloth to keep her pained roars under control. With all those gone, however, it has been smooth sailing.

“You got lucky – those were only second degree burns,” Matu says as he wraps both her hands in bandages. “Had it been worse, healing would have been a lot slower and much more painful. Or parts of your hand might have needed amputation.”

Hilda cringes at the thought. “I kinda need my hands whole to do this work, you know…”

“Well, Alterium can be used to make small replacements, so losing a finger or two won’t end your career as a warrior. It takes a while to get used to it, however.”

Matu punctuates his words by lifting the left cuff of his white woolen pants. Hilda’s gaze widens immediately, as she sees a chunk of Alterium replacing the outer half of his calf. It is melded directly with the flesh, as though it is a naturally occurring part of the doctor’s body, glowing with green energy veins across its smooth red surface.

“How did that happen…?” she gapes at it, though Matu doesn’t seem bothered by her staring.

“Occupational hazard, you know how it is. All it takes is one attack in the wrong place,” he answers without a pang of hesitation, likely used to telling this story to other Novitiates. “Legs are easily replaced, same as fingers, flesh and bone – but not the hands. The seals of the body are located in the palms and if they, or their vessels in the elbows and shoulders, are damaged enough, there is no fixing them.”

Hilda can’t even find it in herself to say anything, a chill running down her spine as she think what’d be of her were she to lose an arm. Between fighting with a two-handed blade and waitressing, everything she’s done over the past years has been dependent on the things. Matu notices the worry in her narrowed lips and curved eyebrows, a satisfied huff leaving his nose as his point has been made. With a few more finishing touches, the bandage wraps around her hands are finished.

Cleaning his bloodstained hands on the piece of cloth Hilda was using, he raises his index finger in warning. “I say all that because you’ve been quite the regular client here – more than the usual Novitiate. From what I’ve heard, you’re rather reckless in how you fight, so you ought to tone that down before it is too late.”

“Blame it on fate for getting a kick out of screwing me over, doctor.” Hilda shrugs as she moves her stiffened hands around.

Matu raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh? You believe in fate?”

“I want to.” Hilda takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes, the words that come out of her lips bearing a dark, rueful tone. “Couldn’t have made it this far otherwise...”

“You did not answer my question,” the doctor asks, staring at her like she’s a sample he’s studying.

“Truth is, I’m still trying to convince myself…” she lets out a light scoff. “I’ll let you know how that turns out.”

“Please.” Matu nods. “And let those hands rest for at least twelve hours.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for the help,” Hilda answers with a smile, waving him farewell. A brief wave, that is, as the jolt of pain that rushes through her palm and fingers brings it to an immediate end. Best to let those hands rest, just as the doctor said.

Hilda shoves the infirmary door open with her shoulder, stepping into the main hallway to find Owen and Ryouma waiting right against the nearby wall. Owen walks over as soon as he sees her, still wearing the armor and gambeson he had during the mission. Seems like he and Ryouma have been waiting here since she went in, and she is more than happy to see their caring faces after all that mess. Just the sight of them lessens her weariness.

“How are you feeling?” Owen asks.

“Good enough, all things considered,” she answers, blowing her bangs off her eyes. The maritime air plus the sweat she worked up during the mission and the healing process have left her silver locks so very droopy.

Ryouma meets her gaze with evident relief written in his face as he sees her hands merely bandaged up. “I’m glad to hear that… Looks like things got quite complicated out there, hm?”

“You can say that again but…” Hilda says before her brow contorts with equal measure of regret and worry. “The sword you gave me snapped… Yurushite kudasai, Shishou!

She offers Ryouma an apologetic bow, arching her back as far as she can and with such speed, one would expect there to be a gold bar on the floor. Ryouma, however, is quick to press his palm against her shoulder and push her back upright.

“Kimi ga warui no dewa nai,” he says with an understanding nod. “And, relax, that is easily repaired. It’d be a different story had it shattered completely, but that? It’ll be fine.”

Her frowning face eases up upon hearing his words, as Hilda closes her eyes and lets out a breath of relief. “Really? Oh, thank the gods; I don’t feel as bad hearing that…”

“I’ll take care of it later but there is another place where you should be,” Ryouma says and gestures for her to accompany him down the hallway. “Now that your hands are healed, I was asked to bring you to the Hall of Generals to report on what you saw.”

Hilda looks at him with very wide eyes, like he’d just told her she’s been invited to hang out in the Pope’s own living room. She’s spoken to and gets along with most generals but to stand before all of them, in the nerve center of the Corps, and present a thorough report on what could be a very significant enemy… The mere thought of it makes her skin crawl.

Goosebumps spread throughout her arms, though she can’t well rub them away, so Hilda tries getting her mind off things by turning to Owen. “What about you? Have you talked to them yet?”

“What I saw was the same as Lady Alexandra – I hadn’t anything new to add.” He shakes his head.

“You were the first to get close to that Valnr, Hilda,” Ryouma adds. “Any information you reveal could be important. Quickly, now; the others should be there already.”

His haste is quite evident, as he prods Hilda onward towards the entrance of the Hall of Generals. On the other hand, she isn’t in any hurry, making use of any extra minutes available to recall every small tidbit of information she can. Hilda drags her feet, feigns needing to tie her boots – anything to buy herself a few precious moments. It is a very transparent ploy, as evidenced by the panicking countenance that she’s incapable of hiding.

Despite her procrastination, however, it is still not a long way from the infirmary to their destination, right beside Eliza’s office. The wide double doors, ever branded by the Corps emblem, stand as mighty as they did when she first laid eyes on them all those months ago. While they are made of wood like all others, they feel as imposing as massive stones now that Hilda’s paying attention. Appropriate, considering behind them is one of the pillars of their organization. Ryouma pushes them wide open and beckons both Hilda and Owen inside.

And it is as grand as she imagined and more. An expansive, circular chamber made of the same fine oak that comprises the interior of Valarheim. Carved pillars rise alongside the wall, supporting the tall room under their strong grip; in between every pair, golden-rimmed windows run all the way to the roof and provide an ample view of the dark tundra outside. Hanging from the pillars, golden sconces shaped like bundles of long plumes bring a soft glow into the place from the spheres of golden light that they cradle.

The whole room is designed around a single item: a wide round table, four meters across, that lies at the center of it all. At least Hilda assumes it is a table, at first glance. In truth, what she’s seeing is a massive Alterium slab, floating above the ground, and flattened in the shape of a table. The Alterium’s smooth, shimmering surface lies molded like clay, in incredibly detailed representation of the Northern Reaches. Several markers dot the map, depicting everything relevant, down to even the smallest of creeks and passes in the mountains.

Five large wooden chairs lie set around the Alterium table, all of such fine make that they wouldn’t look out of place being used by royalty. The polished structure showcases a mirror-like sheen as clear as the map itself, carved with painstaking attention to its smooth contours. All of them boast soft cushions on the seat and backrests, its surfaces a glimmering, darker shade of brown – like fur from the world’s most pampered bear.

Owen isn’t all that impressed – he’s probably seen places like this back in London – but Hilda is blown away. She looks on with amazement in her progressively widening eyes, her gaze trailing every square centimeter of the generals’ glorious chamber. Halfway through it, however, she feels something of an unseen force tugging at her. Like someone’s calling out, she feels compelled to face upwards; Owen himself has seemingly felt the same tug, as he does the same. And not even he can keep his jaw from all but hitting the ground at what they see.

There is no ceiling atop the chamber, only a glass dome displaying the same sea of stars that Hilda saw when she laid her hand over the Nexus Crystal – its grandeur hasn’t diminished one bit. The countless lights glow like a blanket of fireflies atop the infinitude of a dark lake, static but with more life to it than any of the previous times Hilda gazed at the night sky. Amid the shining spectacle, a single light does stand out – it is from it that she feels the force beckoning her attention. Compared to the white ones found all around, the cyan light it gives out shines far brighter. Hilda feels the sort of familiarity from it that she would expect from a very dear friend.

As it twinkles in her eyes, she understands why: this is Orlen’s star, irradiating the same light that surrounded him during her conscription. Owen’s sight is set in the same direction as hers, only Hilda figures he is looking at the equally bright red star that sits by Orlen’s right side – Taserus’.

Their awe is cut short, though, as they’re brought back to earth by the loud snapping of Ragnar’s fingers. “We know the view’s nice, kids, but there’s work to do.”

All five generals are already sitting at their respective seats by the Alterium table, eyes fixated on the Novitiates. Barring Eliza’s stoic mask, they all stand relaxed and friendly but that doesn’t really help. Something about this entire room makes them all feel twice their normal size – or maybe Hilda feels twice as small – and it does no favors in assuaging her nerves.

“O-oh!” she stammers before saluting them in a hurry. “Sorry, sir!”

Owen does the same, his body’s movements a tad stiffer than usual. It seems not even he’s immune to being the focus of all of the generals’ attention either.

“Novitiate Hilda Solberg,” Eliza speaks up from the bigger chair at the table, her stern voice filling every bit of the room with her mighty presence. “Step closer, please.”

Owen plants his feet on the ground and stands at attention while Hilda does as told, though she keeps her eyes fixated on all generals but the commandant. Without her previous blinding rage providing support, she once more can’t well stand to face Eliza without feeling her breath getting a bit shallower.

Her nervousness is very obvious to everyone present, to the point where Ryouma makes slight gestures for her to relax, mouthing Ichiisenshin.

Eliza herself does not seem to care, however, and continues. “Alexandra has given us an overall view of the Usoluk mission but, considering what happened, we’d like to hear what you have to say about the Valnr you encountered.”

Hilda gives her a faint nod as her eyes trail down to her shoes. Taking in a long breath, she follows Ryouma’s suggestion and whispers to herself: “Ichiisenshin…”

With that, she lifts her head back up and starts presenting her report. She tells them about the ritual it was attempting – and seemingly failing – to do in the magic that engulfed that chamber, it’s almost passive attitude towards her, going as far as simply shooing her away, and the crushing power she felt, despite sensing it as a Drone, when she looked into its wholly white eyes.

The generals, and Owen, listen to it all with impassive, focused faces – though Alexandra showcases a far graver look upon hers. Hilda tells them every bit of information that springs to mind, unsure what to make out of with something like that. The being she saw feels like something so incredibly different from the other Valnr that she might have thought it all no more than a bad dream. But it was very real and just thinking about it makes her heart run faster.

“…And, then, Lady Alexandra came in to save me. That is all,” Hilda concludes and stands at attention, waiting for their reactions.

Eliza herself is deep in thought, her fingers crossed by the bridge of her nose. In truth, everyone looks like they are feeling the same as her: tons of questions and absolutely no answers. It’s easy to see it in their furrowing brows, pursed lips and fingers tapping a nervous beat on whatever is close at hand.

Ragnar is the first to talk, clearing his throat. “That Valnr – Virrath or whatever its name was – has gotta be the one acting up over these last months. The hell is it doing, messing with those ruins?”

“Trying to tamper with the spells within, obviously. The slaughter in Usoluk was likely to use the people’s Prana to fuel the ritual,” Ryouma adds. “Do we have any idea what is going on within that chamber? By your description, it was like the one Michael Hammond’s team found in Bathurst.”

“We have sent a full platoon over to study it… though I would not hold my breath. The Valnr left no traces this time and, from a cursory glance, the Qusam spell is beyond even my ken,” Alexandra says. “It held such complexity, power and reach… I cannot even begin to fathom what something that mighty could be used for, or why those are found in various places.”

Vanessa runs her fingers down her chin, biting her lips as she attempts to find a bit of a silver lining in this discovery. “At least the Knight couldn’t do anything to it. So he, or she, hasn’t made much – if any – progress with that.”

“Um…” Hilda speaks up, trying to interject in a discussion that is far above her stature. Still, she feels compelled to put words to the bad feeling that’s wriggling in her gut. “I…I don’t think that was a Knight…”

“Why do you say that?” Ragnar asks, as Eliza’s fingers shimmy a bit out from the front of her occluded eyes – she’s paying attention, too.

“Like I said, I felt a huge amount of power when I looked into its eyes… Much more then when I saw Nokor, Vanessa,” she says, nodding towards the general as her eyes grow progressively narrower with concern. “To be honest… it kinda felt a bit like you guys…”

A dread-filled silence spreads throughout the Hall of Generals, like a bucket of the coldest water. The generals exchange worried looks between one another, looking as though they want to find another possible explanation for this. Even Hilda and Owen understand the gravity of this situation if it her assumptions are true.

“… You sure you’re not exaggerating?” asks Ragnar, his eyes bearing a very clear wish for a positive answer. “Upper class Knights can be really damn powerful, you know.”

“I don’t think she is…” Alexandra cuts in. “It hid its presence, evaded my attack… When I stared it down, I could sense its might and, truthfully, I felt… worried.”

Her words send powerful ripples across the metaphorical cold water that bathed the room. For the first time since Hilda has known any of the generals, they do not stand tall, firm as iron and seemingly invincible. These giants among humanity are ill at ease by the thought of this new Valnr and the sight of it all makes her heart sink as though rocks are tied to it.

“Are you implying we’ve a Valnr Lord in our midst?” Ryouma asks in a very grave tone.

“I don’t remember our predecessors mentioning ever running into those,” Vanessa ponders, her fingers twirling like mad around her long brown locks. “How long has it been since one came to our world?”

“Six hundred years, if I remember our records. Even our teachers’ teachers didn’t have to deal with this sorta thing...” Ragnar sighs and rubs his eyes.

Eliza finally reacts, standing up and pushing her chair back, its loud creak cutting across the heavy air that’s set in the chamber. She presses her hands against the metallic map in front and looks at every single one of her comrades. “Wondering about that’ll make no difference. Whether it is Valnr Drone or Lord, an easy or tough opponent, it is, ultimately, another threat to mankind and we will destroy it as such. Our mission hasn’t changed in any way.”

Unlike the others, her overall bearing has not changed face this new information. In fact, Hilda feels the aura around her to have hardened as if in ready defiance to their newfound foe. Where her fellow generals wavered, she stands like an unmoving line in the sand. In that moment, Hilda looks at Eliza and doesn't fear her usual displeasure. She sees a leader, steady and solid, and understands - at least a bit - why the others follow her.

“It will be a difficult fight for any of us,” Eliza continues, “but the Corps has defeated its ilk before and we can do it again. Instead of fretting over its arrival, go and prepare for when it rears its ugly head.”

Her stern words strike the other generals as a slap to the face, and Vanessa is the first to straighten up and give her a firm nod. “… You’re right. It’s a Valnr and it’s up to no good; we need to stop whatever it’s planning and worrying won’t help with that.”

“Sonae areba urei nashi.” Ryouma crosses his arms and huffs with confidence. “That’s what should be our focus now.”

“Translation?” Ragnar raises an eyebrow at Ryouma and cocks his head towards Hilda, bearing a weary smile.

“You need not worry if you’re prepared, sir,” she salutes and answers.

Eliza’s timely intervention seems to have cut the comparatively young generals’ worries at their root, though Alexandra still seems ill at ease. Her eyes are fixated on the map of the Northern Reaches in front, her fingers tapping against her tense chin.

Without shifting her gaze, she speaks up once more. “Some other things about this one bother me, though. Its eyes, for instance… Are there any records of a white eyed Valnr emerging?”

“I am all but certain it hasn’t happened before... And, indeed, that is cause for attention.” Eliza shakes her head almost immediately. “I’ll search the archives later and see if there is anything useful.”

“The other issue is that we have absolutely no idea what it is planning. Why has visited all these ruins and interacted with the spells within? The Valnr, Virrath, must know what they are for, which already gives it an advantage over us…”

Saying that, Alexandra taps her finger on the Alterium map; small trails of silver energy run across the metallic wheel, causing it to glow and shift around. Small cross-like markers appear in seven different locations around the map. Hilda inches her head closer, narrowing her eyes in confusion as she recognizes a few: Almadalir, Bathurst Island and Usoluk. The other four locations are unknown to her, however, at central Greenland, by the Alaskan coast, in southern Iceland and northern Norway.

“What are these? Places that Virrath’s been to…?” she ponders aloud, her curiosity speaking louder than the thought that she’s probably out of line.

“Could be,” Vanessa says, not bothered by her question. “These are places where we’ve found the Valnr poking about and traces of Qusam energies. We only found the actual chambers with the spells in Bathurst and Usoluk, but it’s likely Virrath has tinkered with them in the other places too.”

Ragnar props his bearded chin on his hand, taking a firm look at the markers. “Still, clues are scarce. The freak never leaves anything useful behind or, in Bathurst’s case, just blows the place up to keep us in the dark.”

“We’ll need to take measures to be sure the same does not happen to the Usoluk ruin,” Ryouma adds, eliciting a quick nod from Eliza.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Owen asks from his corner of the room, his eyes firmly locked in a determined gaze despite the tense atmosphere around this discussion.

“You’ll know soon, after we’ve reached a decision. Take the rest of the day off to recover, in the meantime,” the commandant speaks up before waving at the door and forcing it wide open. “Dismissed.”

Hilda grunts inwardly, dejected that she’s being thrown out with so many questions left unanswered, but she is not about to object. It wouldn’t help, really. Owen salutes the generals in earnest and she does the same, before turning about and leaving the Hall of Generals. The door closes right behind them and, when it does, Hilda lets out a long sigh – looks like she pulled through without any mistakes. That’s a weight off her back.

Owen takes a sideway glance at her exhausted countenance and lets out a quick chuckle. “Things are turning rather complicated but you seem more at ease.”

“Aah… I’m just glad that’s done. Though, yeah, I guess it’ll only get worse now,” Hilda says, stretching her arms upwards with a loud crack of her bones. “At least we’ve got good bosses to lead the way.”

“Hm. I resent not having anything to do amidst a crisis but this is likely far beyond our current capacity. I suppose our hands are tied for the moment… pun not intended.” Owen bears an embarrassed grin at her bandaged hands.

Hilda answers with a sassy smirk of her own, giving him a soft tap on the shoulder. “Hah, we oughta let the queen know that we’ve a jester handy if she needs one. But, jokes aside, you’re right – and with these hands, I guess I’ll just take it easy for a few hours.”

“I think that is for the best. Meanwhile, I should check in with Greta, as I’ll be helping with tomorrow’s New Years’ dinner,” he says.

“Ooh, nice.” Hilda perks up at this piece of information, thoughts of the upcoming food tossing her weariness to the curb. “Get going then – can’t risk disappointing your adoring fans.”

Owen bids her a joking bow of the head and sets off towards the kitchen. “I promise I won’t. Until later.”

As he leaves, Hilda’s gaze turns to the window in front, showcasing the training grounds. After what she felt with Virrath, she very much feels compelled to train something. Still, her sword is yet broken and she can’t even channel electricity lest her bandages burn off. Once more she blows the bangs in her hair off her eyes and tries thinking of how she’ll actually “take it easy”. Maybe she ought to look for Paula. Hilda couldn’t find her before having to head to Alexandra’s office but it’s likely she’s still bummed out after what happened with Eliza.

First, however, a bath. Now that Hilda has the time to stop for a minute, she realizes the pungent smell in Usoluk has seeped into her clothes and commingled with the scent of her own blood and sweat. This needs to be fixed right now, lest she end up painting Valarheim’s red carpets a much more sickly color…