The Valkyries

about the angels,” the warrior said again.
    “No! I won’t tell you about the angels.”
    The warrior’s eyes changed, and she was delighted. He would show no mercy. The only thing that frightened her was that the warrior might be governed by the rule of morality, and spare her life. She wasn’t deserving of that. She was guilty—dozens, hundreds of sins accumulated during her short life. She had disappointed her parents, disappointed men who had grown close to her. Deceived the warriors who had fought at her side. She had allowed herself to be taken prisoner—she was weak. She deserved to be punished.
    “Hatred!” they heard a distant woman’s voice say. “The secret of the ritual is hatred!”
    “We made a trade,” the warrior repeated, andnow his voice was as cold as steel. “I lived up to my side.”
    “You are not going to let me leave alive,” she said. “But at least I got what I wanted. Even though it’s of no use to me.”
    “Hatred!” The voice of the woman was beginning to have an effect on him. He was allowing his worst feelings to surface. Hatred was permeating the warrior’s heart.
    “You are going to suffer.” he said. “The worst tortures anyone has ever experienced.”
    “I will suffer.”
    “I deserve this,” she thought. She deserved the pain and the punishment. She deserved death. Ever since she was a child, she had refused to fight—she didn’t believe that she was capable of it. She accepted everything from others, suffered in silence the injustices to which she fell victim. She wanted everyone to see that she was a good girl. That she was sensitive in her heart, and able to help everyone. She wanted to be liked at any cost. God had given her a good life, and she had not been able to make use of it. Instead, she begged that others love her, lived her life as others wanted her to, all in order to show that she was kindhearted and able to please everyone.
    She had been unfair to God, had thrown her life away. Now she needed an executioner who would dispatch her quickly to hell.
    The warrior felt the belt becoming alive in his hand. For a moment, his eyes met those of his prisoner.
    He was waiting for her to change her mind, beg his forgiveness. Instead, the prisoner winced as she awaited the blow.
    Suddenly, everything disappeared except his rage at having been tricked by his prisoner. The hatred came in waves, and he was beginning to see how capable he was of cruelty. He had always been wrong, he had always allowed his heart to give in at the very moment when he should have meted out justice. He had always forgiven—not because he was a good person, but because he was a coward. He was afraid that he couldn’t see such things through to the end.
    Valhalla looked at Chris, and Chris returned her stare. The moonlight prevented each from seeing clearly into the eyes of the other. And that was a good thing, because each was afraid to reveal what she was feeling.
    “For God’s sake!” the prisoner screamed again, before the blow was delivered.
    The warrior halted his stroke in midair.
    But the enemy had arrived.
    “Enough,” said Valhalla. “That’s enough.”
    Paulo’s eyes were glazed. He grabbed Valhalla by the shoulders.
    “I feel this hatred!” he shouted. “I’m not making it up! I’ve let some demons loose that I wasn’t even aware of!”
    Valhalla took the belt from his hand, and went to see whether Rotha was injured.
    She was crying, her head between her knees.
    “It was all true,” she said, embracing Valhalla. “I provoked him, and I used him as my instrument of punishment. I wanted him to destroy me, to put me to death. My parents blamed me, my brothers and sisters blamed me. All I’ve ever done in life was wrong.”
    “Go and put on another blouse,” said Valhalla.
    Rotha stood up, trying to arrange her torn clothing.
    “I want to stay this way,” she said.
    Valhalla hesitated for a moment, but said nothing. She walked to the wall of the canyon and began to climb. At the top, she was surrounded by three Valkyries, and she gave a signal that the others climb up, as well.
    Chris, Rocha, and Paulo climbed the wall in silence. The moonlight showed them the way; with the many handholds in the rocks, it was not a difficult ascent. At the top, they could look out at a vast plain riven by arroyos.
    Valhalla told Paulo and the girl to come together again, face to face, embracing.
    “Did I hurt you?” Paulo asked. He was horrified with