[Welcome to our Special Feature for June 2026. Our story this month comes courtesy of Ginger Strivelli, who has written a deeply moving tale about the true nature of heroism.]    

Three Valkyries sat atop a hill looking down upon a Bavarian village. The electric lights and the noise coming from the village insulted the ancient Valkyries’ senses. Sigrune rolled her eyes as she looked to her sisters, Saga and Selda. The threesome all sighed in near perfect unison.

     Sigrune was stirring their bonfire, but suddenly got up and headed down the hill. She disappeared into the village briefly. When she returned, Saga held out both hands in a gesture meaning she wanted Sigrune to share her tale. Sigrune shrugged.

     “Come on, sister. Tell us of the battle. Tell us who you escorted to the hereafter. Were they a great warrior? Did they die honorably?” Saga asked.

     “Just another internet troll. He died of a heart attack while arguing online with some guy in England and a woman in the States about politics.” Sigrune spat on the ground to get the sour taste of the words out of her mouth. “He was no warrior. There was no honor. It was a meaningless battle of words, not even words spoken face to face.”

     “Sister, don’t fret, there are still valiant fighters out there … somewhere.” Saga looked back at the village.

     Selda scoffed and laughed a low sad chuckle, but said nothing. She took up her knife and went back to carving a ship on the wooden shield that lay in her lap. Saga took up her spindle and began spinning thick black wool thread. Sigrune lifted her loom from the frosty ground and started weaving an algiz rune into the fabric she was making.

     Selda suddenly looked up like she had heard a bell ring. Her sisters both looked at her. She got up and headed back into the forest away from the village. Her sisters went on with their handiwork without her.

     Selda took ages to return. The sun was rising in the east, reddening the sky. She stretched, making her back pop as she sat back down.

     “So?” Sigrune asked impatiently.

     “A tale not worth telling.” Selda shook her head.

     “Tell us anyway. We are bored and curious,” Saga begged.

     Selda placed her face into her hands and spoke through her fingers. “Just a Karen. She was in a car accident. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was driving as she demanded to speak to the manager of the pizza place she was ordering from on her phone. They wouldn’t honor her coupon because it had expired.”

     Saga began to giggle. Selda looked unamused, but had to crack a smile as her sister was laughing so hard. Sigrune laughed for a moment then muttered a prayer to Freya to help them.

     Sigrune conjured drinking horns of goat’s milk out of the air. Saga waved her hands over the fire between them and three roasted eggs came floating up from the ashes to each of their right hands. Selda, not to be outdone, picked three bits of honeycomb from behind her bee shaped hair ornament. The Valkyries then ate their breakfast in silence, watching the sunrise.

     Sigrune had finished her breakfast and was washing her hands and face in a floating pool of water she had called up from the ground when she went rigid. Letting the spell and the water fall from her hands, she rushed off over the far mountains in the distance on a horse that she called down from the clouds to carry her away.

     Saga and Selda finished their meal and sat singing songs on the hilltop for hours until Selda felt herself being called away. She walked down to the road by the village and kept walking to the next village. When she approached the battle, she was disappointed to see the battlefield was just a pub. Half a dozen men had gone from playing darts to playing fisticuffs once they had drunk too much mead. Alas, one drunk fool had gotten himself tossed out the glass window. He lay bleeding to death in the ambulance when Selda arrived. The paramedics were working feverishly to save him. Selda thought they were the real warriors … warring against death on behalf of the drunk. She waited, watching, knowing they would lose their war. The drunk was coming with her in the end.

He looked rather shocked upon his crossing over to find a Valkyrie in full armor there to greet him. He bragged that he had given as good as he got in the fight. Selda didn’t have the energy to point out to the fool that the other men had survived the petty fight. She just did her duty and ushered him on to the next world before returning to her sister.

     “Was it a good one?” Saga called as she saw her sister Selda approaching their bonfire.

     “Drunk idiot lost a bar fight.”

     “Thor damn him,” Saga said with disgust.

     Sigrune came swooping down on her white horse. She slid off the creature, letting it gallop back into the sky, disappearing into the white clouds.

     “Sisters!” Sigrune said in a singsong tone. “I have a tale of a true warrior who has gone to Valhalla upon this day!”

     Both her sisters broke into huge smiles and settled down on opposite sides of the fire to hear the story.

     “Her name was Olena, which means sunshine. She was called that because her fur was the color of the sun. She was such a good dog, they told her over and over as she lay dying. She had been the shield maiden for her division of human soldiers.  She protected them by sniffing out the mines the enemy left hidden in the battlefields and even in the yards of civilian homes. She used her nose to smell survivors and her paws to dig them out of bombed buildings. She comforted traumatized children who were running from the battles and the brave men and women who were running into them.”

     “Olena! What a wondrous heroine!” Saga said.

     “How did the honorable warrior die?” Selda asked.

     “Olena lost her life today defending her country, Ukraine. She lost her life protecting a small girl named Vira and Vira’s cat named Kutia. May Freya’s cats bless Olena! She lost her life when an enemy soldier was shooting at the poor child and her pet. Olena took the bullets instead. Her fellow soldiers chased the shooter away before anyone else was wounded. Olena was brave and did not cry or whimper as they tried to bandage her wounds. She licked their hands as they petted her telling her she was such a good girl. When her spirit left her body she glowed like the sun she was named for and I guided her to Valhalla to sit at Odin’s feet.”

[Ginger Strivelli is a disabled artist and writer from North Carolina, USA. She has written for Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Circle Magazine, Human Rights Campaign Arts Movement, Autism Parenting Magazine, Silver Blade, Solarpunk Magazine, The New Accelerator, various other magazines and several anthology books. She loves to travel the world and make arts and crafts. She considers herself an Appalachian storyteller entertaining and educating through her writing.]