AN: Hello all! So, I've finally begun writing again. It's been a while, and while I was, how could I ignore my favorite characters? So I thought, why not add a couple small chapters? It's just a little something, more of Sweeney and Tove crossing paths in the past. Since I don't know the actual characters' backstories (they don't have much of one since the book wasn't super long) there's obviously a bit of creative license. Still, I hope you all enjoy!
Chapter 1
Pt. 1
Coming to America:
The War of 1812 had lasted three bloody and gruesome years. Battles had been fought for territory, both sides desperate to gain a stronger foothold over the other. Britain, still battered from fighting the tyrannical Napoleon and reaching financial ruin, bargained with the colonists that had once shared their flag. The news of this peace was slow to travel, however, and the fighting continued for another year.
In 1815, unaware that the war had ended, a man by the name of Andrew Jackson began a campaign that would later contribute to his winning the presidency. He gathered the Louisianan nobility, her gentry, her slaves and tribesmen. He even gained assistance from pirates and privateers, but what he couldn't have foreseen was not every soul would belong to men.
New Orleans, 1815
"Fuck. Off." He said for the third time. He wrapped his massive hand around the insufficient stein and drank his fill of the rat's piss beer they'd given him.
Undeterred, the "annoyance" sauntered up to his side.
"Don't be so sensitive." He said with a loud, sarcastic sigh. "You'll get your chance."
"You've been sayin' that shite for nearly four years now." Sweeney growled hatefully. "I'm gettin' tired o' followin' you 'round hopin' for my war. We're surrounded by it, for fuck's sake. Pick a battle and let's be fuckin' done with it."
Grimnir sighed once more, heavier than before and with a scowl just to show how annoyed he was with the leprechaun. Sweeney didn't give a shit. He couldn't if he tried. As he said, he'd been following the man around for too long with the promise of a war to die in, an Odin had yet to deliver.
"There will be another battle here, in a few days' time no less, but it's not for you. Not now. I have others for this one."
Sweeney slammed his mug down as he launched himself to his feet. The glass shattered, chunks of it cascading across the bar's surface with no effort. All action in the bar ceased and attention shifted to the abnormally-large ginger man hovering over his elderly compatriot.
"I'm getting' mighty tired of yer fuckin' games, old man."
"Games?" Grimnir mocked offense. To someone on the outside, it could've been mistaken for genuine, but Sweeney had spent too long with him. He could see the difference, so it immediately pissed him off more. "I'm merely stating facts, my friend. The war I have planned for you will be one for the ages!" He declared to the room. "It will be a war to end all wars and worthy of a man of your skill. Why waste your time with such silly skirmishes?"
Sweeney didn't reply beyond an angry sneer. After glaring hatefully at the old man, he returned to his seat and flagged down the bartender for another drink. When a replacement beer had been set in front of him, it was instantly taken away by Grimnir. Sweeney cast him a cold, borderline evil stare.
"No more of that." He said as he slid the mug to the man on his other side, who –by the way- was only too happy for it. "You need to come with me. They'll be arriving soon."
"Who?"
"My warriors."
Sweeney eyed him as though he made no sense, because he made no fucking sense. It didn't matter, though. Grimnir didn't give him the chance to speak again before he walked off, beckoning the leprechaun to follow. And reluctantly he did, cursing and spitting venom under his breath the whole way.
They'd been standing in the darkness outside of town for more than a half an hour and still Grimnir's "warriors" hadn't shown themselves. Sweeney was losing what little patience he had to begin with. He didn't even know why he was there. Grimnir had been hauling him around for the last couple of years, dancing between the little "tiffs" the Americans were having with the British. Sweeney swore it was just to taunt him. Most of the shit Grimnir did was to taunt him.
As he took another long drag from his hand-rolled cigarette, Sweeney leaned against the trunk of an ancient, twisted oak tree. His eyes rolled lazily over the scene. The moon was full which cast the forest in a gentle glow. At least it wasn't black as pitch outside. Spanish moss hung from the branches, thick clumps of dead-looking matter that added a strange, haunting atmosphere to the space.
It was late at night and they were in the depths of the woods, not far from a bayou –though the argument could be made that they were everywhere. Cicadas screamed from somewhere in the trees, and in the distance he could see the lights of New Orleans herself. All in all, it was a scenic and idyllic place to hide out, but he wasn't in the mood to enjoy it. In fact, he was in such a hideous mood that all of the loveliness only served to piss him off.
And then, he felt it. The ground began to tremble and rumble beneath his feet. It shook in a way that told him something massive was charging right for them. A touch of fear gripped him, forcing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Sweeney pushed himself away from the tree and took slow, tentative steps towards Grimnir.
The trembling grew closer and more intense, and Sweeney could have sworn he heard thunder.
"The fuck's that?" He asked, his gaze dancing.
When Grimnir didn't speak, Sweeney finally looked at him. The one-eyed bastard was smiling. And not just that, he was smiling so wide Sweeney could practically count his teeth, even in the dark.
It didn't matter that he didn't answer because seconds later Sweeney saw the source of the tremendous racket. A herd of animals charged forward, loud and powerful. It was a mass of horses, each with a rider atop them.
They were scattered through the trees, barreling towards the two men with unnatural speed. At any moment, Sweeney expected to hear a rider cry out because they'd hit a low hanging branch, but it never happened. Instead, each of them danced through the trees with an amazing level of grace.
All at once the riders broke apart and surrounded Sweeney and Grimnir. At that moment, he noticed a handful of things that didn't quite sink in.
First: they were all women, every single one of them.
Second: there had to be dozens of them, a giant mass of ladies that surrounded him and Grimnir on horses that seemed just a touch too big.
Thirdly: each and every face, stern as it may have been, was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen. All of them were otherworldly in their beauty and the fierceness they radiated.
Fourth: and what surprised him the most, was he recognized one of them.
A young woman slid effortlessly from the back of her horse and approached, leaving the beast behind. She glided forward, her dress swaying gently as she did. It was a pale color, delicate in appearance, which didn't suit the situation. In fact, she and all of the others' hair was still perfectly coiffed, their dresses immaculate, like they'd ridden to the meeting in posh carriages instead of on the backs of beasts.
When she reached Grimnir, she crossed an arm over her chest and bowed her head to him.
Sweeney didn't realize he'd stepped closer until she lifted her head and spotted him. There was no denying that she was familiar.
"I know you." He said loftily.
She seemed confused as well, but only for a moment. When recognition took over, a sultry smile formed on her lips.
"Hello again, Irishman."
Grimnir turned his curious eye from one to the other.
"Do you two know each other?" He asked leadingly.
Sweeney opened his mouth to answer, but he wasn't entirely certain what to say. It wasn't that he was afraid of Grimnir's reaction, just that even he wasn't sure how to classify the last time he met the Viking.
"We're married." She said plainly. The abject horror on Grimnir's face was something Sweeney felt he'd cherish, and lament.
When the shock seemed to subside, he mumbled, "No accounting for taste, apparently." And then spoke loudly enough for the others to hear, even though they already could. "My dears! We are on the eve of battle!" Grimnir held his arms out and spun languidly in his place to address them all. "Can you smell it, my sweet Valkyrie? Can you smell the blood in the air?"
Sweeney jumped when each of the women, his apparent wife included, let out a loud, joyful roar.
"Enjoy this night, my dears, for tomorrow, you shall choose my warriors!"
Another bevy of happy shouts filled the air alongside the neighs of their mounts. Sweeney felt like he was standing in the middle of a war party. Maybe he was.
Grimnir, laughing and smiling wide, spoke once more. "Then I will see you on the morrow." He glanced briefly to Sweeney, even went so far as to point a finger at him. "You too."
And then he turned to walk away, disappearing between two of the women on horses. Sweeney was angry once more.
"The fuck am I s'posed to do till then, huh?!" He shouted after the god, but Grimnir was already gone.
Movement caught his eye. Sweeney shifted to see the source and noticed it was the Viking woman he knew. She was still smiling that enticing smile.
"No worries, Irishman. I'm certain we can find something for you to do."
He grinned for the first time in a long while, and even let out a chuckle.
"Sisters," She turned in her spot to address the others. "The night is yours, but remember yourselves. We are in another's territory. Act accordingly." She turned once more and seemed to aim her full attention to a redhead with a wicked, unsettlingly-wide smile. "Especially you, Skuld."
The redhead's smile broadened even further, something he hadn't thought possible. She let loose a maniacal giggle as well that made his skin prickle.
"I plan to follow you tonight, Sister." She cooed. "Hilde and I are most curious about our hosts."
His Viking woman didn't seem happy with the thought, but nodded regardless. And then, with a sharp whistle, the others dispersed, vanishing as quickly as they'd appeared. The only beings left in the forest were Sweeney, his Viking, the psychotic redhead, and a blonde with nearly silver-colored hair. The two women on horseback stared at him and it made him uneasy for reasons he couldn't identify. It didn't help when the redhead, the one his Viking called Skuld, leaned forward, crossing her arms over the back of the animal's neck. It was as though she wanted to get a better look at him and he cringed because of it.
"The fuck's gonna happen now, hm?" He finally asked the Viking at his side. He wished he remembered her name, except the last time he'd seen her was just over four decades ago and he'd been shitfaced.
"I'm going to go speak with some friends. Care to join?"
"It gonna be worth my time?" He asked. Already he'd spent time being carted around for mundane bullshit. He didn't want it to continue.
She smiled at him again, a smile that seemed oddly genuine. Sweeney wasn't used to people looking at him like that. He was more accustomed to the derision he got from Wednesday, fear from the men he fought, and a sort of, yeah, sure from half of the women he chose to bed. He couldn't explain it, but it was almost as though she saw something hidden, something that made her smile like that.
"Come along, Irishman." She closed the distance between them and hooked her elbow with his.
All questions left his mind and whether it was a good idea or not, he followed the raven-haired Viking, her silent, unsettling silver-haired sister, and the disturbing redhead.
Tove guided the three others into the deepest depths of the bayou, far beyond the sparse lamps that lit the city streets, beyond the homes and plantations, and beyond where any mortal dare tread. She guided them so deep, in fact, that the paths themselves had disappeared some time ago. Tove knew where to go, however. She didn't need the paths to tell her. She could sense it.
Their trot slowed to a lazy amble. In the distance, she could hear them, hear the sounds of people through those of the bayou. The hair on the back of her neck began to prickle and stand on end. The sheer power that pulsed from the distance was without words.
Finally, torch lights were visible in the darkness. Tove clicked her teeth and her horse's pace increased as a result. The others followed suit.
The nearer they drew, the more she could see and hear. Lit torches were stuck deep into the soft earth, their bare flames dancing in the gentle breeze. Lanterns hung from gnarled branches, some were stuck in the crooks of the trees. The sounds in the distance grew louder and louder and soon she could hear the music and chanting.
Tove pulled the reins and stopped her beast. She slid from its back, an action repeated by the others.
"I think it best we leave them here." She told the others. "No need to spook them."
"Yer friends?" The Irishman asked.
"The horses." Skuld replied as she slinked forward. Tove noticed the glance she paid him in passing. "Can't you sense it, leprechaun?" His brows furrowed slightly. He looked at her like she was nuts. She was, a fact only solidified when she took a deep breath in through the nose and let out a soft sigh. "The power? The death?"
The Irishman looked her up and down, his confusion deepening and shifting into something more like faint disgust. He clearly didn't know what to make of her. Fair enough. No one did.
"Come," Tove said as she removed the sack from her saddle and set off toward the source of the sounds.
The woods became denser, the trees closer together. It was as though the bayou was trying to keep them out, but she persisted, pushing her way through the underbrush more stubbornly than it could keep her out until, finally, they broke through.
A different world awaited them on the other side.
The trees had suddenly dispersed, pushed back so that they were out of the way. Shanties and small huts littered the area, homes as eclectic and random as the people who lived in them. More torches, more lanterns, and now fires themselves in pits lit the area up brighter than the city itself.
A bonfire was visible beyond a throng of people, its flames stretching high into the sky, scratching at the blackness above. The music was almost deafening, a mixture of drums, rattles, and the subtle chanting of words in a melodic way. People danced and swayed, they celebrated and offered praise.
Tove's eyes darted around. Everybody within this community had skin as dark as night. They were slaves escaped from plantations all over Louisiana, men, women, and children who fled the title of "property" in search of a safe haven, and they found it in the heart of the New Orleans bayou. No man who called himself Master would dare follow them into it for fear of the creatures who called it home. It was those creatures she sought.
The closer she and the others drew, the more noticeable they became. In truth, it would have been difficult to remain hidden. Not only were their complexions on the fairer side, but all four of them stood nearly a head taller than most. There would be no hiding for the invaders.
The power guided her, told her where to go. It called to her so she followed.
The people began to pause, began to stop dancing and smiles faded as the four Europeans encroached on their camp. Some looked afraid, others simply angry. Regardless of the emotions shown, they parted for the strangers, and that was when she saw them. On the other side of the bonfire, in thrones built of sticks, trinkets, and bones, sat those who owned this part of New Orleans. It was disarming enough without the crocodile skulls for arm rests.
His skin was deep and rich in tone, but his eyes shined silver. They were hard and focuses solely on her because she stood in the lead. A top hat rested on his head, the band made of alligator teeth and in the center a bird's skull. His clothes were a mixture of those worn by the nobility, by the rich and powerful of the age, and something far more suiting to his style. He radiated darkness and strength.
To his left was a woman with skin the color of fresh cream and a mess of curly tendrils bright as copper. Her gown was modern, but the corset she chose to wear pushed her ample traits up for the world to see. Thick, full lips, soft rounded cheeks, and eyes that could burn a hole through any man. She felt formidable and just as powerful.
"Who, de fuck, are you?" He asked in a deep voice that rumbled like thunder.