Lost Bloodlines

In a twist of fate that I am sure some cosmic entity pissed itself laughing over, the world as we knew it ended on a Monday.

Despite what would likely be a date remembered in infamy until the final demise of humanity, Monday, October 10

th

, 2022 started about the same as every other Monday. Millions the world over woke up too early and shut off their respective alarm clocks a little too aggressively in preparation for their weekly return to work. They drank too much coffee, suffered through morning meetings, answered emails, and struggled to stay sane as the tedium of life set in after a relaxed weekend. They fought off existential dread and exhaustion alike as the clock ticked ever onwards to the end of the day.

Okay, maybe that was just my Monday morning and I am projecting my impotent hatred of that wretched weekday on the rest of the world, but hey, I think I have the right to be a little melodramatic.

After all, this Monday was the day I died.

But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Let me start where most stories should; at the beginning.

-00000-

"Mr. Finch?" I heard a timid voice ask. I looked up from the disordered stack of papers on my desk, and blearily focused on the figure before me. Frizzy red hair, thick glasses, and the ubiquitous green and white school uniform of St. Paul High School. In my sleep deprived and generally miserable state I could not for the life of me remember the girl's name, but vaguely recognized her from one of my history classes. She was standing just inside my classroom door, a stack of textbooks and binders perilously balanced in her arms. I spent a couple awkward seconds attempting to conjure her name, but quickly gave up and waved her inside.

"Forgive me, but I seem to have forgotten your name, Ms...?" I finally managed to get out. God, it had been a rough morning. First an assembly, then back-to-back faculty meetings that could have very easily just been two emails. My afternoon classes hadn't been much better.

"Dahl, Mr, Finch, Victoria Dahl," she quietly stated, before entering the room and placing her books on one of the unoccupied desks. She turned back around and continued, "I'm in your European History class?"

"Ah, yes of course Ms. Dahl, I remember you now. Back right corner seat?" I asked with a smile. She nodded with a fleeting grin and leaned against one of the front desks. Victoria was a smart student, but barely spoke in class. She was definitely one who had mastered the art of fading into the class background, but her tests and papers so far had been well above average. "What can I do for you today?"

I admit that her presence in my classroom was somewhat of a surprise. In my limited experience as a high school history teacher, the student body of St. Paul's was particularly uninterested in being anywhere near a classroom unless forced. I started each semester with an offer to help any student who wanted to stop by my room during their study hall hours, but in my three years at the school only a handful had ever taken me up on the offer, and all had been to shamelessly beg, cajole, or even (once) threaten me to change their abysmal grades. To say the least, St. Paul's was not the academic environment I might wish it was, but I've got to make money somehow, and this preppy private school for the idiot offspring of the wealthy paid well.

"Um, yes, I actually had a question about one of your lectures that I hoped you could explain to me in more detail?" By her still timid expression I could tell she knew her presence in my room was an anomaly as much as I did. I for one was in somewhat of a state of shock. "In your lecture on the Viking Age, you mentioned that Nordic culture was somewhat unusual in its era for its positive depiction of female warriors? Could you tell me a little more about what you meant?"

I sat back in my chair staring at the curious student with something akin to amazement. Such a simple question, yet the first sign of actual academic curiosity in three years! Suddenly the wretched lethargy that had consumed this stereotypically awful Monday was replaced by rising excitement in me. "Of course, Miss Dahl," I replied with a large grin on my face.

Quickly turning in my swivel chair, likely startling the poor girl, I reached behind me to the large bookshelf, locating a thick leatherbound book with ease. Turning back around I waved Victoria forwarded to my desk and opened up the old book, my prized personal copy of the combined

Prose

and

Poetic Edda

, finding the illustration of interest. Victoria leaned forward on the other side of my desk as I pointed to a detailed illustration of a blonde woman in armor striding across a war-torn landscape, majestic white wings trailing behind her as she approached a fallen Viking warrior. "This, Miss Dahl, is an early modern rendition of a Valkyrie, a famous mythological race of warrior-women in the old Norse religion."

As I began to speak, I noticed Victoria examining the picture with avid interest and a certain gleam in her eyes that I couldn't quite place. "These Valkyries were the chosen warriors of Odin, the choosers of the slain. They were said to stride battlefields in search of worthy heroes to bring to Valhalla, the Norse warrior-heaven. In the sagas, the Valkyries are described as superlative warriors and executioners, killing the unworthy left behind on the battlefield, and challenging the greatest heroes and monsters of the age in combat to test their mettle. Though the Valkyries were but mythological constructs, some scholars believe they were based on a female warrior culture within Nordic society, the shield-maidens. Though the existence of shield-maidens remains hotly debated today, there are many accounts, as I mentioned in the lecture, that attest to Viking women fighting alongside men in raids across Europe, from Britain to Bulgaria."

It was rare that I was ever able to indulge my love of history and mythology outside the rigid syllabus assigned to me, and I allowed myself to ramble, giving a broad overview of the Norse sagas and the real histories of the Vikings to my attentive audience of one. To my pleasure Victoria asked questions throughout, seeking for clarification or elaboration. Gradually she seemed to come out of her quiet and reserved shell, and by the end of my impromptu history lessen she was smiling broadly. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and my jaded educational persona, the harsh and feared Mr. Finch of St. Paul's, began to crack as I relived the debate of my collage years through her infinite curiosity.

Accordingly, I was caught completely off-guard by her next question. "Mr. Finch, you said earlier that shield-maidens were likely the inspiration for Valkyries, but what if it was the other way around?" At this point Victoria had dragged a chair next to mine as I showed her relevant passages, and at her question I turned to her with eyebrows fully raised. "What if," she continued, eyes locked on the illustration from earlier as she seemingly gathering her courage for the next part of her question, "What if the Valkyries had been real long ago, and the shield-maidens were following their example?"

I merely looked at the excitable student in shock, and for a briefest moment, I almost wanted to speculate alongside her. Though I would never reveal it to the mocking seniors I taught, I was also an avid fantasy nerd, and the thought of the majestic warrior-maidens of myth coming to life before me was something akin to a dream. Yet my dogmatic academic training came crashing back down as I gently responded to Victoria, "I'm sorry Miss Dahl, but all these sagas and myths...they aren't real. The gods and their agents, heroes, villains, and monsters, they're just folklore. Tales told in the mead hall to inspire warriors, and religion to bind a culture together. I'm afraid there's just no proof that such fantastic beings ever existed." I expected the young woman to be hurt or put off by my gentle rebuke, but instead that odd gleam in her eyes only grew stronger.

She gave me a smirk completely opposite from the withdrawn frown that I normally saw in class, and I was suddenly struck by the beauty of the young woman sitting inches way. I recalled from the roster at the beginning of the year that she had already been 18 going into her senior year. For an unguarded moment I took in her high, aristocratic cheekbones, her full, upturned lips, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to contain both mystery and mischief. Her school uniform, unflattering though it was, hinted at very luscious curves hidden beneath the jacket. And then my professionalism slammed down on me and I mentally smacked myself for being a disgusting lecher. "

She's your student, you idiot!"

the angel on my shoulder yelled, as the devil on the other side whispered,

"She's legal, and you're only eight years her senior."

I mentally shook the two meddlesome imaginary celestials off my shoulders and focused on what really mattered; I'd rather like to keep my job, and I had a beautiful girlfriend waiting for me back home. I had more than enough self-control to keep my libido in check and treat this beautiful, intelligent young woman only as a student.

While I had battled my lustful demons, Victoria had rummaged around in her backpack for a phone, and had clearly been googling for something on it. "You don't watch the news much, do you Mr. Finch? This video went viral about a week ago," she said as she handed me her phone with a video already playing on it.

Absentmindedly I muttered, "Not so much, I've got enough negativity in my life without the media," as I began to watch the clip. It was grainy and rough, and seemed to come from that awful vertical view of a cell phone camera, but the footage immediately caught my attention. From the perspective of what appeared to be a fishing ship, the camera captured the unmistakable image of a woman hovering above frothing waves, clad in gleaming golden armor and framed by brilliant white wings holding her aloft. She was darting from side to side, stabbing down into the surf with a massive silver spear. I watched as something beneath the waves

heaved

and a terrible roar sounded from the phone's tinny speakers. A monstrous scaled head rose from the water and seized the woman in its jaws as red ichor dripped from wounds across its visible body. I recognized its visage from countless paintings and artistic atlases; the realization stopped my skepticism short. It was a sea serpent, and its head alone seemed to rival the size of the industrial fishing ship. "Here be dragons," I muttered, and continued to watch, spellbound.

I winced as I heard the mysterious woman scream in agony, and the leviathan bit down fully on the woman, crushing her in its mouth. The sea appeared to calm for a moment and I heard someone swearing in some Nordic language behind the phone's view before the serpent's mouth began to glow with an emerging white light. The light grew in intensity until it was like a star hovered above the ocean, and then the footage abruptly ended with a thunderous crack of sound.

I slowly lowered the phone and looked at Victoria, who gazed back at me with a truly infuriating "I told you so" smirk. "I'll admit..," I started with an unsteady voice. I awkwardly cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice steady. "That was remarkable." Remarkable my ass, what this student just showed me had rattled me to my core. Even in this age of CGI visuals and big budget filmography, this footage was something else. I couldn't place my finger on it, but it just felt too real somehow. I felt true fear as I had heard the roar of that leviathan, and something in that winged warrior had momentarily inspired some hidden heroic part of me. And yet...my logical mind just couldn't accept the footage as real. It refused, despite what my pounding heart and clammy hands indicated.

"See Mr. Finch! They say this came from a ship off the coast of Iceland last week, and everyone is losing their mind over it! This is the proof that those mythical creatures do exist! Don't you see..."

"Miss Dahl!" I managed to halt her fervent tirade in a serious voice. She leaned back from where she had been gesticulating wildly with her hands, and now I saw that expected hurt begin to form in her face. Nevertheless, I pressed on. "I know what it must look like, but there is simply no way this footage is real. Millions of years of archeological record, and we have never found evidence of anything magical or mythological! The mysterious dragon skulls and unicorn horns of history were naught but dinosaur bones and narwhal horns!" I took a breath as I saw my words truly had robbed the excitement from the young woman, and I suddenly felt ashamed.

"Look, Miss Dahl, in truth nothing would make me happier than to live in a realm of fantasy and myth where such incredible creatures exist. I've dedicated my education to the study of myth and legend, and to meet those beings in person... I may be a historian, but I can dream of the fantastic too." I gave the girl the best reassuring smile I could put together in my frazzled state. "This is probably just some leaked footage of a new movie. Isn't that new Thor movie in the works? If anyone could put together something like this, it would be Disney."

Victoria looked at me, and I could see the gears turning in her head. She didn't believe me, but now she was looking more determined than angry. She opened her mouth to speak, but then quickly shut it as we both heard a commanding voice from my door.

"Mr. Finch! Miss Dahl! What exactly is going on here?"

Ah shit.

The wicked witch of St. Paul's, Headmistress Heather Abernathy, doing her best impression of a cathedral gargoyle from my open classroom door, was glaring at the two of us. From her perspective, I realized my compromising position, with a female student sitting inches away from me behind my desk in my darkened classroom. In common parlance, this was a bad look. One that could cost me my cushy, if boring, position if handled poorly. I quickly stood up from my seat and brought my hands behind my back in my best approximation of a responsible educator.

"Mrs. Abernathy, Miss Dahl here had sought clarification on one of my lectures during her study hall." I gestured to the open book on my desk. "I was merely showing her some relevant passages and discussing with her some...historical realities of legends." I saw Abernathy's scowl deepen in suspicion, until Victoria popped up beside me.

"That's right, Headmistress, Mr. Finch here was just giving me with a quick history lesson. Its not my best subject, and he's been very helpful," she stated in a prim, but quiet voice. The reserved Victoria was back, but as I looked at her from the corner of my eye, I saw the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. I knew full well that history was in fact her best subject, the past hour had proven that readily enough. There's more to this student than meets the eye.

Headmistress Abernathy looked imperiously down her nose at both of us, before huffing and waving a hand vaguely in our direction. "Carry on, Mr. Finch. You have ten minutes until the end of sessions today." With her authority established over her personal fiefdom, she strode away, likely to harass small children and kick puppies.

I sat back down, relieved that the eye of Sauron had passed me by without incident. By Victoria's sudden impish grin, I could tell she felt the same way, and I let out a chuckle as I settled behind my desk. "You didn't hear it from me, but I'm convinced that the woman is at least half Jötunn

,"

I slyly joked to Victoria, and she giggled behind an upraised hand in response.

"There's all the proof you need that monsters exist, Mr. Finch," she coyly responded, before moving to her pile of books and beginning to gatherer them up. Despite the odd turn our conversation had taken, I found myself quite intrigued by Victoria, and I wanted to make sure that my skeptical outburst hadn't ruined her intellectual curiosity.

"Please feel free to come by any time I don't have a class, Miss Dahl. I'd be more than happy to continue this conversation or answer any other questions you might have. Just let me know, and I'll try to help out in your 'worst subject'," I added with a smirk at the last words. Her face lit up again in one of those hidden smiles, and she happily nodded.

"I promise I'll take you up on that Mr. Finch. Have a good Monday!" Carrying her precarious load, she walked out of my classroom with a skip in her step that hadn't been there when she entered. I chuckled to myself, shook my head in resignation and began to collect my scattered papers and stuff them into my briefcase. Suddenly, a thought struck me, and I grabbed up the open book of myths from my desk and ran out the door. Victoria was only a few paces down the hall, and turned when I called out her name. I walked up to her and placed the heavy book on top of her already sizeable collection.

"I'm afraid the school library doesn't have a copy of this book or really anything like it, so I'd like you to have my copy. You really impressed me with your interest today, and I hope it will help you in your quest to prove the mythical real." Again, she smiled at me, and dipped in a humorous attempt at a curtsey as she said "Thank you, Mr. Finch, I'll make sure to get it back to you when I'm done." With that, she walked away down a hall quickly filling with students as the school day ended. What had begun as a truly miserable day had turned into something far more interesting, and upon returning to my room I packed up the rest of my papers with a newfound vigor.

-00000-

My drive home was uneventful, but as I entered the small apartment at the outskirts of town that had been my home for the past three years, I was surprised as a small blonde missile streaked out of the living room and launched itself at me. I barely caught my assailant as I staggered backwards into the door, and suddenly warm lips were pressed against mine and the smell of coconut filled my nose. Recovering swiftly, my hands shifted to hold up the woman up by her ass as her legs wrapped around my waist. I gave as good as I got, kissing the bundle in my arms into submission. Finally, she came up for air, green eyes flashing happily at me above flushed cheeks. While my girlfriend of four years, Faith, was usually excited to see me after a long day, this kind of aggression was unusual for her. With a satisfied smile, she hugged me, placing her head on my shoulder.

"I missed you so much, Charles," she mumbled into me as I carried her back into the house and sat down on the couch. I ran my hand up and down her back as I simply enjoyed the feel of Faith basically wrapped around me. Compared to my 6', bulky frame, Faith was miniscule, barely reaching 5' and hitting perhaps 100 pounds soaking wet. She was absolutely gorgeous, with cascading blonde ringlets down to her shoulders, delicate facial features, and an adorable button nose. Her body was nothing to scoff at either, lithe and lightly muscled, with small breasts and a truly wonderful ass. Faith did not skimp on her workouts, and honestly the only reason I was somewhat in shape was due to her dragging me to the gym every day.

Truly I loved this woman, and my hands began to slip under her white tank top to feel at the silky-smooth skin of her midriff and inch towards the hidden bounty of her chest. As soon as I reach the edge of her bra, the one glaring frustration in our otherwise model relationship became apparent. She detached herself from my torso and grabbed my wandering hands with hers, bringing them back to the outside of her clothes, a disapproving frown on her beautiful face. I looked down in guilty acknowledgment of her disapproval and mumbled an apology. Her face quickly turned back up into a smile and she pecked me on the cheek. "Forgiven."