Hanna's Mythology

Hanna has spent lifetimes in battle and conflict, rooting her feet on the fields of war and her eyes upon the soldiers that set fiery fear in the hearts of their opposition. She is a warrior, yes, but it is her job to walk among warriors and seek out those whose bravery outshines others. She observes the strength that launches a sword, but can tell when there is fear held in one’s heart. This (she knows) is what separates the coward from the warrior.

Hanna’s Mythology

She had been a Valkyrie so much longer than what she recalled as being fully birthed into being. Hanna had captured and honored truly brave souls by taking them to warrior’s heaven for a time spanning many lifetimes. Although she possessed the keen sight of a hawk, a path had been hidden from her for some time. But like with all things, time ever so finely draws back the veil from our eyes…

Born human in the 1600’s, but made a Valkyrie when she died at thirty, Hanna was just shy of being immortal. She experienced profound intensity every day as a Valkyrie. So much so, that it took something quite rare to surprise her. In January of 1981, Hanna was drawn to a soul inside a burning building in South London. Standing feet away, she was struck by just how young a girl lay dying. It was not her small form, but more the small child she felt inside these soft brown eyes, albeit now lit with waves of heat and flame. She had carried each soul the same way every time. Around her neck was black tourmaline as large as the child’s fist and the stone was smelted to a metal crescent moon that lingered up toward her shoulders, like two proud horns.

The child’s last heartbeats hypnotically pounded through Hanna. “Ba-bum”… Hanna felt dizzy and fell toward the ground, near the child. “Ba-Bum”… Her head and neck fell across the little girl’s arm and hand. The fire slain heart began to pulse its last two beats, when child’s hand reached out and was sliced open by one side of the crescent moon. For such a small hand, her red blood released itself with the snapping force of the wind; against and down Hanna’s necklace. The black stone swallowed so much blood, that it took the child’s last heartbeat as its own to keep along with her soul.

This realization poured through every inch of Hanna. She jarred her head upward, feverishly pondering what to do. Her job was to take souls for safe passage, souls she found by staring into one’s heart. She would never steal one’s heart and felt it wrong to trap a heartbeat, let alone their last one before death. But she only could take, she couldn’t return the heartbeat. She could not restore life to the fallen, but still had to honor the heart of the slain.

Hanna stood, looking down at the girl. The fire that claimed her, now crippled most of the building. Hanna walked through the fire with the child’s warrior soul and her last heartbeat stuck to her chest. She walked past others now dead, out and past the chaos of the mourning and riotous crowds, all the way to a small field, stopping near a patch of rosebay willowherb. The tiny pink flowers reminded her of the delicate, small feminine form of the child. The way the flowers clustered and the height, reminded her of the girl’s strength. Hanna could barely recall being a child. She imagined the idea of playing in a field such as the one in which she was standing.

Hanna felt more part of the earth than like a person that stood on it and she was very tired. She recalled the last time she felt beckoned to her knees by a beating heart. It was 200 years prior and she had captured 10 souls in what seemed to be mere moments. She quickly recovered her footing and continued to claim 20 more before the next day’s dawning. But that day, Hanna had only claimed one soul: just a small girl’s. She realized right then that there had been a moment in which she longed for death with such demand that she stole the child’s last heartbeat.

Hanna took her soul to warrior’s heaven, but kept the heartbeat entombed in her tourmaline stone. She wore the heartbeat as she took soul after soul. Sometimes, she would sit still for days in hopes of hearing it, but it never made a sound. And for a time, that was fine. It was rare and hidden and special and hers (and hers alone). But as years past, she started to savor, more and more, hearing the last “Ba-bum” from a warrior’s heart, as if it were a song created from a vanishing miracle. As a Valkyrie addicted to the sound of a beating heart, she started to crave ownership of the sound. She had always served the hearts of other warrior’s but never her own and an anger had started to grow. She tried to block out her feeling by existing with her eyes shut, only to listen for “her music.” But when she would capture a soul, she would have to look down upon the slain and all she began to see was death.

Before long, the smell of death far surpassed the scent of her own sorrow. It was palpable and pungent and she could barely stand to be awake to it, so she slept. First, for days at a time. Then weeks. Months. Then years. Each time she would lay down to slumber she would lie atop a higher and higher mountain. She would awake to a beautiful view of the land (changed or unchanged) and, for a brief time, she would forget about her heartbeat and she would be happy. The sadness though, only grew when her thoughts recalled her felt loss.

Some days she would jump off of the mountain tops, over and over. Falling and landing. Scream and not screaming. One day a crow was flying by and started to watch as she dove off the side of the mountain again and again. Eventually, the crow began to do the same and would fly down the side of the mountain with swift force and met her back atop the mountain again. The sound of the crow’s caws were not heard at first by Hanna, but slowly she started to listen and felt a sense of joy. “Caw!” she would cry out, as she catapulted from the cliff. “Caw, caw!”

After many days of dismounts into a freefall, she sat atop the mountain with her crow friend. They cawed at each other till the sun went down and rose again. Hanna stared at the crow’s crisp black feathers. The color looked like ink to her and seemed to be speaking as clearly as well-penned words. She started to keep her black tourmaline pristinely polished and would wipe the dirt off immediately when a strong wind blew up. Her crow friend seemed to appreciate this and she believed them to be more interested in her because of it. She began to speak to the crow more and would often tell them that she “understood.” While referencing her stone, she would say, “I am black in the daytime, under the bluest skies, just like you.” Their friendship deepened and they began to seek out food and water together and would sleep only a few feet apart.

One morning Hanna awoke to find her friend with their head cocked to the side, only inches away from her stone. Her friend stood listening to the trapped heartbeat. She feared had been found out. “Caw!’, she cried out, “Caw!”. But the crow didn’t waver in stance or place. She began to weep and tell her tale of the warrior in the fire and her brief surrender. The crow began to pace, almost in contemplation of how to react. Hanna feared that after hearing this, the crow would fly far away, never to see her again. The crow stretched its wings wide and flew off and down the side of the mountain. Hanna lay almost paralyzed on the ground and then jumped to her feet and ran to the edge ready to “fly” after the crow, but then the crow landed behind her and roared a mighty “Caw!” And then another and another and another until Hanna yelled “What?!” What am I to do?!” The crow took a few steps toward Hanna, as she remained perched at the edge of the mountain top. The crow stretched its wings out, cawed twice and then settled still, only to cock its head to the side once more.

Hanna was locked in an almost hypnotic gaze with her friend and before she knew it her hand gripped down upon her necklace, clutching so hard, that she pressed her palm through the stone. Falling to her knees, she feel backwards from the edge and forcefully ripped the necklace from her neck. She threw the necklace so far that it landed in the ocean and when it did the heartbeat was finally released. The energy of thousands of souls had been carried for transfer to warrior heaven in that same stone, many lifetimes over. With the force of every soul that had been held- the heartbeat pounded out. The water rose hundreds of feet into the air only to come crashing straight down again and then leapt out, flooding the land within ten miles in every direction.

What was once stolen in fire had been raised in water and Hanna heard every sound produced, every drip and spill and pound of water against the lands. It was her song and her miracle. It was her blind leap. And in those moments, it felt like her heartbeat.  Crow flew down to her side, as she lay at the bottom of the mountain. Even without her black stone, she turned and said- “I am black in the daytime, under the bluest skies- just like you.” She sat up, feeling the rocks now imbedded in her back and her skin torn away. Her friend walked behind her in silence, only to abruptly pierce her skin. One peck! Another! Hanna twisted her torso around and called out a roaring “Caw!” She stood and spun around to see the crow picking up something small and soft with their beak.

Frantically, her hands felt around the skin on her back. Something was soft. She looked around, but could see nothing but dirt and rocks surrounding her. She reached her hands to her back again and felt the softness on her fingertips. She looked at the crow with an understanding smile and said, “I am just like you.” With a gentle tug, she broke off the tips of small smashed feathers. They were right below her skin, but she had not felt them before. Her body had been torn raw at times on battlefields of every kind imaginable, but nothing had every truly changed her form, at least not for long.

Hanna no longer carried souls, but wings. Smashed and bloody upon her first encounter, but wings nonetheless. This time she knew when she healed she would also be transformed. Looking upon her friend she shared, “I have become anew. I have felt the power of my heartbeat and now I grow wings. I wish only to change with my growing creature hidden within.” Hanna and the crow slowly started to walk. They walked until they reached the top of the next mountain, where her body changed form again. Revealing, with every mountain peak reached, a profound gift from within.