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pant. ‘I can’t leave them.’
    Freya crept closer and gazed at a photograph displayed on the mobile phone. It was the image of a dark-skinned girl, not much younger than her, holding a baby. Her face was beaming with joy.
    ‘That’s my Tamika and her new baby sister, Uniik,’ the soldier said proudly, with a sudden surge of strength. ‘I’ve never even held her. I was supposed to go on leave next week . . .’ The soldier started to cough and shiver but managed to recover himself as he focused on Freya.
    ‘Please, I must live to see my baby. I need to know they will be all right.’
    He coughed again and struggled to breathe, as though his chest was filled with water. ‘I’m begging you,’ he gasped. ‘My wife says they are in trouble. I must go back . . .’
    Freya was almost too shocked to speak. This soldier was fighting to live. Not for himself, but for his family. He was nothing like the warriors at Valhalla. As he lay dying, his only thoughts were for his family.
    ‘I am so sorry,’ Freya said softly. ‘There is nothing I can do. I must bring you back with me. It is your destiny. Your time on Earth has ended.’
    ‘What’s your name?’ the soldier rasped. ‘I’m Tyrone Johnson.’
    ‘I—’
    ‘Freya, no!’ Orus warned. ‘You know you can’t give him your name while he lives. You must wait until he is dead!’
    ‘Tyrone,’ Freya said softly. ‘It is time for you to go. I am sure your family will be fine.’
    ‘How can you be sure?’ He fought to get each word out. ‘Does being the Angel of Death give you insight into the living?’
    ‘I’m not an Angel of Death,’ Freya said. ‘I’m a Valkyrie, chooser of the slain. I am here to take you to Valhalla. You have earned your place among the valiant dead.’
    His eyes were fading with each passing moment. ‘It’s not valiant to die in a landmine explosion,’ he coughed.
    ‘But your heart is valiant, I can see that. You must be rewarded.’
    ‘I don’t need rewards,’ he struggled. ‘I need to protect my family. Please—’ He began coughing again and fought to catch his breath. Death was very near.
    From the back of the truck came Maya’s urgent voice. ‘Freya, hurry! You must take him. Mother is waiting. Just touch him with your bare skin and bring him home.’
    Freya looked back at the soldier. ‘I am sorry. I cannot leave you here. It is your time. Odin commands me to bring you.’
    Tyrone coughed harder and blood pooled at the corners of his mouth.
    ‘You are suffering,’ she continued. ‘Let me end it for you.’
    As Freya reached to touch the soldier’s cheek, his gloved hands caught hold of hers. He placed his phone in her hand and closed her fingers around it. ‘Take this . . . They are in danger . . . I can’t die until they are safe . . .’
    He started to choke, but then stopped abruptly and his eyes closed. Whether she reaped him or not would not change the final outcome.
    ‘Do it now,’ Orus said softly. ‘You must take him.’
    Still clutching his phone, Freya did as she was born to do. She reached out her hand and gently stroked his warm cheek. ‘Come with me, Tyrone. Let me free you from your suffering . . .’

CHAPTER THREE
    T yrone Johnson was the first soldier to be reaped by Freya the Valkyrie. With his body left behind in the burning truck, he took Freya’s hand and followed her to Sylt. He paused briefly to gaze back at the friends he was leaving behind. But then he did as Freya instructed and climbed up on to the Reaping Mare to start the journey to Valhalla.
    When they reached Asgard, Freya spent several days with him, showing him all the things he could be part of. From the daily battles at Valhalla to the feasting, drinking, singing and dancing with the Valkyries late into the night.
    But as the time passed, the soldier wanted none of it. He begged her to take him back to his family, insisting they needed him. He showed her how to use his phone to look at photographs.