Chapter 9: Guilt // Grief

Rebecka waited at Shooting Star's Dance Studio after practice for her mothers to pick her up. She had her little sheep shaped backpack with her dance shoes and water bottle in it. Neither of her moms had wanted to leave her alone during practice and had argued about the schedule that morning. Both of them had been busy finishing up things for work and agreed they could just take one car to pick her up. They had called her Uncle Blake to give her a ride from school to class. His car was messy but he said he'd get Rebecka ice cream if they had time before practice. They hadn't had time, which was okay. Rebecka didn't really feel like ice cream before dancing, anyway. Uncle Blake hadn't stayed, which was also okay. It wasn't like it was a performance, just practice, not that Uncle Blake went to her performances, either. He was always busy with the axe throwing bar he owned. Her parents had taken her there before and it always smelled like saw dust and the booths were sticky.

It had been thirty minutes since class ended and the six year old wasn't sure what to make of no one being there to take her home.

"Have you heard from my Mommas?" She asked.

"I'm trying to get ahold of them," the dance instructor, Ms. Charlotte, replied as she tapped away at her phone. She put it up to her ear again. "I'm sure they're just held up in traffic. I'm trying their numbers again, okay, Sweetie?"

"Okay."

Rebecka found a spot to sit near with her back against the big mirror of the dance studio. She hugged her little sheep bag and waited...and waited...and waited.

Ms. Charlotte got more frantic as another thirty minutes passed. Rebecka watched as the dance instructor spoke to a pair of parents who had stayed around the area. Rebecka didn't know their daughter, Natasha, too well. Natasha had called Rebecka 'weird' a couple times because she didn't go to Sunday school. So, she wasn't surprised that Natasha was playing a game on the tablet her parents had brought, far from where Rebecka was sitting.

The adults were talking about the stormy weather, hail, wind, driving rain, and flooding. Each asked one another who else they could call to come pick Rebecka up. After awhile, one of the parents came over to squat down nearby.

"Hey, Reb," Mr. Kenner said.

"No one calls me 'Reb,'" Rebecka replied.

"Right, sorry Rebecka. Who brought you today?"

"Uncle Blake."

"Do you know his phone number?"

She never had to remember phone numbers but she knew where her uncle worked. "He works at a bar where they throw axes."

"Right, near here?"

She nodded.

"Do you know what it's called?"

She shook her head.

It was impossible her mothers had forgotten her. They would never leave her. Mama Victoria and Mama Courtney loved her too much to ever do that. Which meant something bad must have happened. Like, their car tire had exploded or the engine had died.

Mr. Kenner gently pat her shoulder before getting up and going back to talk in more whispers with the adults. Rebecka held her plush backpack to her chest. Mama Courtney had given it to her for Yule and Mama Victoria had added the pink and gold bow to the little sheep's head. Mama Victoria had gotten her two ponies that year too. Rebecka wished she had thought to put them in her bag.

"The weather's pretty bad out there. I'm gonna look up axe throwing bars in the area. Maybe her uncle knows something or can come pick her up," Mr. Kenner said.

Rebecka started to cry silently, praying to any god she'd heard of that her parents were okay and they really were just delayed by traffic. That had to be what was going on.

It had to be.

Another twenty minutes passed before Uncle Blake showed up, dripping wet and haggard. His eyes were red and puffy. He ignored the other adults in the dance studio and went straight to Rebecka. Swallowing her up in a big bear hug, his whiskers scratching her cheek as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

***

Rebecka sat up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding in her ears, dried crusty tears making her eyes itch. Daylight shown through the window but the room hadn't changed.

It was still too small.

She wanted to scream.

I'm so sorry, Aettartagi said.

"Fuck you, Aettartangi! FUCK YOU. How dare you! Get the hel out of me!" Rebecka spat as she got to her feet.

I can not do that.

"Yeah, sure you can't. Stay the fuck out of my memories you piece of shit. You can go kill Yggdrasil yourself. Find someone else!" She yelled.

I can not do that, Aettartangi repeated.

"Because I'm some special weirdo that can sync with you? I don't buy that for one second. You left me to be a sword, right? That first dream was your memory. You weren't inside Ingimund at all, were you?"

Aettartangi was silent for a moment before replying, I was, but only a small portion to relay communications as the interference was too high otherwise.

"Interference?"

You have zero magical aptitude. Ingimund had the ability to negate magic, which itself is a magical talent. He wasn't perfect, but at the time, sufficed as a Host.

"And I'm just too perfect to leave, is that it? Fuck that. Hop out and find someone else, you asshole! I'm sure there's lots of other people who are shit at magic who were dumped here like me!" Rebecka shouted at the ceiling. She'd tear the axe out of her body with her bare hands just to be rid of it. The glint of light off her throwing axes resting against a side table next to the bed caught her eye. Maybe she could use those to cut the thing out?

If I leave your body, you will die.

Rebecka froze.

The guilt she felt from Aettartangi was far more severe and crushing than it had been before the weapon had knocked her out. Even stronger than when she had first woken after it had rifled through her memories of the day her parents died. It didn't feel bad about feeding on people or killing. The axe didn't give a shit about the skinhead or anyone else it had killed in the past. They were necessary deaths to keep it going so it could accomplish it's mission.

"I'm..."

You are in no danger of dying so long as we are synced, but you will not survive if we are parted...I am sorry.

"Ingimund lived without you."

He and I were not fully synced.

She was as good as dead.

The axe felt bad about it, more so since it had learned a bit about her past. Sure, it had 'updated its histories' but obviously that wasn't the same as experiencing the memory. The guilt she was feeling was mixed with an echo of her own grief.

"And...after we kill Yggdrasil? What then? You and I just live as roommates in my body?" Rebecka asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

Again, Aettartangi was uncomfortably silent. The guilty feeling intensifying in Rebecka's gut. She felt like crying the same way she had done as a child before she even knew her mothers were dead. She had been sentenced to death by the axe after all. It wouldn't be quite the same as how it killed the skinhead but, there was no way to deny that she was going to die. Maybe even the moment they stopped Yggdrasil. Did Aettartangi even know for certain? Did it matter? She could feel the weapon's regret, guilt, and grief over its actions.

"Don't tell anyone," Rebecka said shakily.

What?

Don't tell anyone I'm not going to live through this, Rebecka thought in her mind. I'm not forgiving you for what you've done to me, but I will help you kill Yggdrasil. We need ground rules. No replaying my traumatic memories. No using my body or modifying me without permission. Stuff like that. If you want to do something with me or to me you have to ask first, got it?

I understand.

Good. She thought a moment then asked, Why did you replay that particular memory?

I wanted to understand why you feared small spaces, Aettartangi replied, voice still dripping with guilt.

And that bit from you, with Ingimund, and...was Thor trans?

I wanted to search for any points of reference in the terrain that might help us find Yggdrasil. Also, yes. It was difficult for me to scan most of the gods given their magical properties, but based on information gathered from Ingimund compared with updated data from your histories, I would say Thor is a trans man.

He looked pissed off about the magical barrier, Rebecka said.

That would be an understatement. Would you like to see more of what happened? Aettartangi asked, hopeful.

"Not right now," Rebecka said out loud.

The door to the room opened and a nervous knight poked their head in to say, "King Nygard, would, uh, like to speak with you."

Great. We've probably freaked out the guards, Rebecka thought.

Sorry.