Valkyrie is a mutant constantly struggling with her destructive abilities. What happens when she meets a cocky, arrogant jerk with no recollection of who he once used to be? What more will get in their way when an anti-human mutant by the name of Ma...
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SALEM 1693
AMONG THE DARK FACES THAT loomed over her, those men standing at their pedestals built on death and torture, only four faces in the crowd that remained to observe her judgment held no contempt. Others in the room had eyes full of hatred and disgust, she could feel the fierce flame of their heated glares piercing the skin on her back. A very small portion of the number that had gathered bore eyes that shone with sadness and pity, namely women who had been in her position once before, and were only standing today because they had denounced another sister before the fierce jaws of an unjust system's deadline clamped shut on them and their families. The gaze Valkyrie struggled the most to face belonged to her family. A mother, father, and two younger siblings both of which were trying to hold back their sniffles and tears.
"Be strong," her mother's soft but strong voice had whispered to the two youngest of the house when those they'd dreaded for so long came knocking at the entrance of their home.
"Stand behind me." Her father ordered in Old Norse, stern and commanding as he tried to hide his dread behind an indestructible shield he'd spent many years and many wars building. His wife obliged, corralling the children behind his broad frame that came close to covering them completely. He knew who they were there for, and he'd be damned if he let his oldest be taken from him.
They'd pounded away at the rotting wood until the door was struck from its hinges and went flying to the floor. Bjørn stretched out his chest, using every inch of his staggering height to intimidate. It was all for naught, as his oldest daughter quickly side-stepped his form and faced the mob of angry men head-on, many formerly neighbors and friends now held nothing for her but resentment and distrust. She stood straight and without visible fear apart from the gentle quaking of her shoulders, something her mother had long ago taught her to stifle, exuding confidence in the presence of men.
Now, confined to the gallery and forced to act the typical gentleman so as to not expose his true heritage, a long line of fierce Viking warlords, her father was defeated and trapped in his misery at the very thought of his daughter being tried and killed. He silently fought the urge to rip these men to shreds with clenched fists and bristling anger that came through only in his grating teeth and seething looks toward the officials. Her siblings, no doubt, were as much of a wreck as he was, Arne struggling to conceal his quaking sobs and Sigrid trying to comfort him to the best of her ability. Her mother was the typical pillar of strength she displayed in all situations, sat with her head up, back straight, hands in her lap, legs crossed, and eyes facing forward like she was personally challenging every man in the room.
"Miss Valerie, you stand accused. Have you anything to declare before the judgment is brought down?" The voice boomed throughout the courthouse. As a last-ditch effort to migrate to the colonies, her father had changed their names so they stuck out less. Bjørn was now Ben. Arne Andy, Sigrid Selma, Revna Rachel, and Valkyrie was known among the townspeople as Valerie Lothbrok. It was just one more thing they'd taken away from them, all just for a chance at a better life. These wannabe English Puritans had no idea what they were getting into.
Despite all this, she could not deny she was terrified. Valkyrie could feel it now; the noose around her neck, the water swallowing her up, the agonizing burn of hay on fire.
"When fear leads the way the destination is never glorious. You have callously murdered young men and women, some of which were my close friends. You left a child to be born and die in prison; a child who was supposed to be my goddaughter. When women did not act as you believed they should, you chose to take the folly of two sick children's delusional accusations as opposed to the testimonies of your wives and sons and daughters. One day, your descendants will see what you have done here and they will be disgusted. This place will be a cautionary tale. And when I die, having died a warrior's death, I will arise and ascend to the eternal halls of Valhalla."
She could feel the pride exuding from her mother and father despite their fear, knowing what would happen next. Dying with honor was better than dying a coward who spoke nothing of the injustices surrounding them.
"Valerie Lothbrok, on behalf of the people of the great town of Salem, Massachusetts, I find you guilty on all charges including the illegal practice of witchcraft and conspiring with Satan. I sentence you to hang by the neck until dead." With the bang of a gavel, her fate was decided.
Less than four hours later, she stood on a high platform facing the people of Salem who gathered to witness her execution. Her arms were tied behind her back, the noose tightly fit around her neck. The bruise had formed already, her family hadn't attended much to her relief. She did not need this image haunting the minds of her family for the remainder of their natural lives. Her father had been torn apart, broken sobs wailing from his tight chest and she could see the pain barely constrained behind her mother's brown eyes. The strength of that woman inspired her now more than ever.
"If you have any final words to put forth, speak them now."
"January fifteenth, 1697, the Day of Official Humiliation, you Puritans will repent for the sins you have committed here. In 1702, your court's actions will be declared unlawful. In 250 years, an apology will finally be issued by the state of Massachusetts. Let it be known, these lives will be remembered and worshipped in the Halls of the Slain. Bridget Bishop, Sarah Good, Rebecca Nurse, Susannah Martin, Elizabeth Howe, Sarah Wildes, Martha Carrier, John Willard, Reverend George Burroughs, George Jacobs Sr., John Proctor, Giles Corey, Mary Eastey, Martha Corey, Ann Pudeator, Samuel Wardwell, Mary Parker, Alice Parker, Wilmot Redd, and Margaret Scott. Lydia Dustin, Ann Foster, Sarah Osborne, and Roger Toothaker died in your jail awaiting their execution dates. Two hundred more falsely accused and imprisoned who only stand among you now because they gave up someone else. Let it be known, forever."
The town sheriff sneered, and the priest said a prayer for her soul before the pulley was released and her neck broke on impact, a loud crack resonating throughout the crowd and a huge wave of scarlet magic pushing through all of them. If her family had been there, they would have known that scarlet was the color her magic turned only when pure rage had completely consumed her very being.
