The Valkyries

through a volume until she found what she was looking for:
    VALKYRIES: the nymphs at Wotan’s palace.
She had no idea who Wotan was, but that wasn’t important.
    Messengers of the gods, they led heroes to their death—and then to paradise.
    Messengers.
Like the angels,
she thought. Death and paradise. Also like the angels.
    They excite combatants with the love that their charm excites in their hearts, and through the example of bravery at the battlefront, mounted on steeds as fast as the clouds and as deafening as a thunderstorm.
    They couldn’t have chosen a better name,
she thought.
    At the same time, they symbolize both the inebriation of courage and rest for the warrior, the adventure of love in battle, encounter, and loss.
    Right, absolutely. Paulo would want to talk to her.

Chapter 26
     
    T HEY WENT DOWN TO HAVE DINNER AT their own hotel—even though Paulo had tried to insist that they walk a bit, get to know this large city built in the middle of the desert. But Chris said she was tired, wanted to get to bed early, enjoy the comforts.
    They made small talk throughout the meal. Paulo was exaggeratedly attentive. Chris knew that her husband was waiting for the right moment. So she made it appear that she was interested in everything he said, and showed enthusiasm when he said that Tucson had the most complete desert museum in the world.
    In his enthusiasm, he mentioned that the museum included live coyotes, snakes, and scorpions, with a great deal of information concerning them. They could spend the entire day there.
    She said she’d like very much to see it.
    “You could go tomorrow morning,” Paulo said.
    “But Valhalla mentioned noontime.”
    “You don’t have to be there.”
    “It’s a strange hour,” she answered. “No one spends much time in the desert at high noon. We learned that—in the worst way possible.”
    Paulo had thought it strange, too. But he didn’t want to miss the chance; he was afraid Valhallamight change her mind, despite the ring and everything else.
    He changed the subject, and Chris could sense her husband’s anxiety. They went back to small talk for a time. They drank an entire bottle of wine, and she was sleepy. Paulo suggested they go right up.
    “I don’t know if you should go tomorrow,” he said.
    She had already tasted of everything—the meal, the place, Paulo’s anxiety. She was enjoying the chance of confirming for herself that she really knew this man well. But now it was getting late, and it was time to give him a definite answer.
    “I’m going with you. No matter what.”
    He was irritated. He told her that she was jealous, and that she was spoiling his process.
    “Jealous of whom?”
    “Of the Valkyries. Of Valhalla.”
    “That’s crazy.”
    “But this is
my
quest. I brought you with me because I wanted you at my side. But there are certain things I have to do alone.”
    “I want to go with you,” she said.
    “Magic has never been important to you before. Why now?”
    “Because I began the journey. And I’ve asked that I not be abandoned in the middle of the road,” she answered, putting the matter to rest.
    The silence was complete.
    Everyone was wearing sunglasses against the blinding sun. Everyone—except Chris and Valhalla. Chris had removed hers so that Valhalla would know that she was looking directly into her eyes.
    Chris had been bearing up under the woman’s gaze for some time.
    The minutes passed, and no one spoke. The only word that had been spoken the entire time had been Paulo’s hello when they had arrived at the meeting place. His greeting had not been returned. Valhalla simply approached Chris and stood directly before her.
    And, since that moment, nothing else had happened.
    We must have been doing this for twenty minutes,
Chris thought, but she didn’t know how much time had actually elapsed. The glare of the sun, the heat, and the silence confused her.
    She tried to distract herself a bit. They were atthe foot of a mountain—wonderful, the desert once again contained mountains! Behind Valhalla, an entrance had been carved into the stone. Chris tried to imagine what the door led to, and found that she wasn’t able to think clearly—just as on the day they had returned from the salt lake.
    No one was perspiring—the dryness of the air was so great that all moisture evaporated immediately, as Gene had said. Chris knew that they were rapidly dehydrating—even though she had drunk as much water as possible, and