Marked by Katrina Cope (free children's ebooks pdf txt) 📕

A grunt of pain escapes my mouth as my arms flail, and my books scatter in front of me. Hurried footsteps pass as people scramble to leave the hall, and sniggers bounce off the hard academy walls, assaulting my ears. Before I gather the strength to turn around and look up, I know what happened.

“Oh, Vanir! Wingless, did you trip on your clumsy feet again?” Disdain taints the voice.

I roll over, push my long dark hair away from my face, and look up. Rota towers above me, framed by her beautiful pure-white wings.

“My name is Kara, not Wingless.” My words are snappy as I glare at my archenemy, proven over the last few months from my first day at Valkyrie Academy.

She stands with her hands on her tiny hips, which are barely concealed in skintight blue leather pants. Her lustrous blond hair falls in waves down to her shoulders, tumbling over her unzipped tan leather jacket, which exposes her white, low-cut V-neck T-shirt. She looks amazing for her sixteen years of age, and I’m sure she knows it. Her blue eyes shoot daggers through her glare.

When she crosses her arms across her chest, her two winged companions, Mist and Prima, follow suit. The three of them standing together almost look like they were cut from the same mold and had decided to dress in the same clothes. In reality, it was the uniform of the winged warriors. Small beads of sweat pooled on their shirts right under their heart. It looked as though they had just come from combat training.

Jealousy roars through me as I gaze at those beautiful white wings. I am only too aware of my lack of wings protruding from my shoulder blades. So many days, I curse the day I was born without wings. My fifteen years of life would have been entirely different if I were born with wings.

Rota glances over my scattered books, and something catches her eye. I cringe. Instantly, I know what it is. I scramble to my knees and dive for my books, trying desperately to gather them quickly together. A click of a heel sounds near my ear, and I grimace. I’m too late.

“What do we have here?” Rota stoops down and picks up the book lying just out of my reach. “The Tale of How Brynhildr Got Her Wings.” Malice colors her voice, and sniggers sound behind me. Some more winged Valkyries from the academy have gathered around.

I force my eyes to rise, traveling up her body and connecting with her eyes, only to be met by stones. She turns the pages, and I watch her hard face as she scans the contents.

After a few moments of only the rustling of pages slicing through the silence as she flicks through the book, her piercing eyes focus on me. “Oh, poor Wingless.” Her voice holds no sympathy. “You know this is just a tale, don’t you? A myth and make-believe story.” I don’t know how, but her face turns colder. “This is not possible. No matter how much you read the story, you will never grow wings. You will never be as magnificent as I or my friends.” Her gaze flicks to her sneering companions. “You will always be a scavenger on the ground as we fly the skies, swooping down and picking out the greatest warriors, and sending them to Valhalla. You will remain as our slaves and our servants, scrounging through the corpses that we have left behind and cleaning up behind us. You will never be known for the glory of building the army for Ragnarok.”

Her words cut deep, yet I pull from deep within and plaster on a brave face. I scramble to my feet, scooping up my books before yanking the book out of her grasp and hugging it to my chest.

Her face is a picture of beauty distorted by a thin-mouthed smile that edges toward a sneer. “Not all Valkyries can be born from the pure blood of the direct line of Odin’s creation. And because of this, you will never have wings.” Her sneer creeps higher. “Now, why don’t you run along and clean out the dragon stables.” She flicks her hands at me in a dismissive gesture.

Clasping my arms tighter around my books, I use the rest of my willpower to retain my tears that are creeping closer to the edge of my eyes. I must not show her how much she has upset me, or she will never stop.

Holding my back straight and my head high, I turn and walk down the pale-tiled hallway and out the door. It’s challenging, yet somehow, I pull it off. Her words cut deep. I know they are true, but I always hold on to hope that I can be part of the elite squad of Valkyries. I long to be more than a bottom cleaner and a dragon-stall cleaner.

When I know that I have left her sight, I run to my dormitory. I throw my books down on the bed and run out the door to the gates of the academy. Tears blur my vision when I pass through its gate. Though I know I shouldn’t let her get to me like this, I can’t help it. I desperately want to be so much more than this.

A winged Valkyrie from one of the patrol groups flies ahead, swooping low over me, then rises high again, heading for the sky as though I were insignificant and not worth the time. She flaps her wings, moving higher, toward the sun. I start to run, and I bolt as far away as I can. Though her wings are glorious and magnificent, I don’t want to see them. I need to get away and clear my head.

I run until I can no longer breathe, and my surroundings evolve to become drier and more desolate. Trying to impress the Valkyrie leaders and get their attention, I have been training hard so they will focus on me and give me something better than what the wingless Valkyries must do. Many of my friends have mocked me for my hope, but I can’t give up. It is harder for me to face the future of being a bottom dweller and being a wingless Valkyrie than for me to give up hope.

I expel my final breath, halt my running and slump over, gasping. Blocking out all sounds except the thrumming in my ears, my heart thumps profusely, and my lungs burn. My vision is blurred as I stare at the dry, hard ground. It takes several minutes before the thumping subsides in my ears, and I hear a noise. I glance up. Before me is a hideous flying beast.