Morning Star

—

On the eighth day after the fall of Asgard, I depart with Sefi, Mustang, Holiday, and Cassius to join Sevro in overseeing the final preparations for the migration. The Valkyrie bring Ragnar with us on the flight, wrapping his frozen body in rough cloth and clutching him close in terror as our ship cruises just beneath the speed of sound five meters from the surface of the ocean. They watch in awe as we enter the tunnels of Mars through one of the many Sons’ subterranean access points. This one an old mining colony in a southern mountain range. Sons lookouts in heavy winter jackets and balaclavas salute with their fists in the air as we pass into the tunnel.

Half a day of subterranean flying later, we arrive at Tinos. It is a hub of ship activity. Hundreds cluttering the stalactite docks, taxiing through the air. And it seems the whole city watches our shuttle as it passes through the traffic to land in its stalactite hangar, knowing it bears not just me and our new Obsidian allies, but the broken Shield of Tinos. Their weeping faces blur past. Already rumors swirl through the refugees. The Obsidians are coming. Not just to fight, but to live in Tinos. To eat their food. To share their already-crowded streets. Dancer says the place is a powder keg about to erupt. I can’t say I disagree.

The disposition of the Sons of Ares is dour. They gather in silence as my ship’s landing ramp unfurls. I go first down the ramp. Sevro waits beside Dancer and Mickey. He slams me into a hug. The beginnings of a goatee mark his stoic face. He holds his shoulders as square as he can, as if those bony things alone could hold up the hopes of the thousands of Sons of Ares who fill the docking bay to see the Shield of Tinos brought back to his adopted home.

“Where is he?” Sevro asks thickly.

I look back to my shuttle as Sefi and her Valkyrie carry Ragnar down the ramp. The Howlers are the first to greet them. Clown saying a respectful word to Sefi as Sevro steps past me to stand before the Valkyrie.

“Welcome to Tinos,” he says to the Valkyrie in Nagal. “I am Sevro au Barca, blood brother to Ragnar Volarus. These are his other brothers and sisters.” He motions to the Howlers, all of whom wear their wolfcloaks. Sevro produces Ragnar’s bear cloak. “He wore this to battle. With your permission, I’d like him to wear it now.”

“You were brother to Ragnar. You are brother to me,” Sefi says. She clicks her tongue and her Valkyrie pass stewardship of her brother’s body to Sevro. Mustang glances my way. Sefi’s generosity strikes me as a promising sign. If she were a covetous creature, she would have kept his body in her lands and given him an Obsidian funeral pyre before burying his ashes in the ice. Instead, she told me she knows where his true home lies: with those who fought beside him, who helped him come back to his people.

Mustang moves closer beside me as the Howlers drape Ragnar’s cloak over his body and carry him through the crowd. The Sons part for them. Hands reach to touch Ragnar. “Look,” Mustang says, nodding to the thin black ribbons that the Sons have tied into their beards and hair. Her hand finds my smallest finger. A small squeeze sends me back to the woods where she saved me. Making me feel warm even as we watch Sevro leave the hangar with Ragnar’s body. “Go.” She nudges me his direction. “Dancer and I have a conference scheduled with Quicksilver and Victra.”

“She needs a guard,” I tell Dancer. “Sons you trust.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mustang says, rolling her eyes. “I survived the Obsidians.”

“She’ll have the Pitvipers,” Dancer says, examining Mustang without the kindness I’m used to seeing in his eyes. Ragnar’s death has taken the spirit out of him today. He seems older as he waves Narol over and nods to the shuttle. “The Bellona on board?”

“Holiday’s got him in the passenger cabin. His neck’s still torn up so he’ll need Virany to take a look at him. Be discreet about it. Give him a private room.”

“Private? Place is crammed, Darrow. Captains don’t even get private rooms.”

“He’s got intel. You want him shot before he can give it to us?” I ask.

“Is that why you kept him alive?” Dancer looks at Mustang skeptically, as if she’s already compromising my decisions. Little does he know she’d have let Cassius die more readily than I ever would. Dancer sighs when I don’t relent. “He’ll be safe. On my word.”

“Find me later,” Mustang says as I depart.

—

I find Sevro slumped over Ragnar in Mickey’s laboratory. It’s a thing to hear of a friend’s death, it’s another to see the shadow of what they’ve left behind. I hated the sight of my father’s old workgloves after he died. Mother was too practical to throw them away. Said we couldn’t afford to. So I did it myself one day and she boxed my ears and made me bring them back.

The scent of death is growing stronger from Ragnar.

The cold preserved him in his native land, but Tinos has been suffering power outages and refrigeration units play second zither to the water purifiers and air reclamation systems in the city beneath. Soon Mickey will embalm him and make preparations for the burial Ragnar asked for.

I sit in silence for half an hour, waiting for Sevro to speak. I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to see Ragnar dead. Don’t want to linger in the sadness. Yet I stay for Sevro.

My armpits stink. I’m tired. The scanty tray of food Dio brought me is untouched except the biscuit I chew numbly and think how ridiculous Ragnar looks on the table. He’s too big for it, feet hanging off the edge.

Despite the smell, Ragnar is peaceful in death. Ribbons red as winter berries nestled in the white of his beard. Two razors rest in his hands, which are folded across his bare chest. The tattoos are darker in death, covering his arms, his chest and neck. The matching skull he gave me and Sevro seems so sad. Telling its story even though the man who wears it is dead. Everything is more vivid except the wound. It’s innocuous and thin as a snake’s smile along his side. The holes Aja made in his stomach seem so small. How could such little things take so large a soul from this world?

I wish he were here.

The people need him more than ever.

Sevro’s eyes are glassy as his fingers glide over the tattoos on Ragnar’s white face. “He wanted to go to Venus, you know,” he murmurs, voice soft as a child’s. Softer than I’ve ever heard it before. “I showed him one of the holoVids of a catamaran there. Second he put the goggles on I’d never seen anyone smile like that. Like he’d found heaven and realized he didn’t have to die to go there. He’d sneak in and borrow my holo gear in the middle of the night till one day I just gave him the damn thing. Things are four hundred credits, max. Know what he did to repay me?” I don’t. Sevro holds up his right hand to show me his skull tattoo. “He made me his brother.” He gives Ragnar a slow, affectionate punch to the jaw. “But the big fat idiot had to run at Aja instead of away from her.”