by Nick Harrow
The battle dragged on for long minutes after the reinforcements from the lodge arrived, but the end was never in doubt from that moment. The hamingja from the jötnar felled by the warriors flowed into Gunnar, refreshing his strength and healing the worst of his wounds. His battle cry drove the men and women under his command into a brutal frenzy. They hacked their enemies into bloody chunks so small not even Hyrrokkin could animate them.
And then, with no fanfare, the battle was over.
The last of the jötnar glared at Gunnar. Its shattered leg forced it to kneel. The creature leaned on its spear, yellow eyes burning with hatred. “This battle is yours, pawn of Odin,” Hyrrokkin spat through its misshapen jaw, “but do not revel in your pathetic victory. When you least expect it, I will return. My forces will burn Midgard from end to end, and you will taste the ashes of your allies blowing on the wind. You will watch as I defile your witches, you will listen to their—”
“Oh, fuck off.” Gunnar drove his spear through the top of the jötunn’s head, impaling the creature from crown to crotch. Its eyes bulged from their sockets, and Gunnar hoped Hyrrokkin saw the wide, feral smile that pulled his lips tight.
GUNNAR PUT HALF THE new warriors on guard duty, while he and the others tossed chunks of dead monsters into the blazing bonfire. They laughed and taunted one another with severed hands, golfed jötnar balls into the fire with axes, and bolstered their spirits with dark humor. The men and women who’d donned the armor from the Hall of Battle were brave as hell, but Gunnar knew the experience had changed them. They’d come face to face with actual monsters. They’d be whistling past the graveyard for days, if not longer, trying to reassure themselves they didn’t have one foot in the grave.
But, by some miracle, none of them had fallen in battle. They’d suffered wounds, some of which would linger for a long, painful time, but they’d all lived.
“Gunnar,” Ray called out as the jarl tossed another severed head into the burning pile. She stood atop the rescue truck, waving to him. “Come here. Hurry.”
The tone in her voice shocked Gunnar into instant action. He raced to the truck and jumped onto its hood. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Erin said, then coughed. She sat on the truck’s wheel well, one hand pressed to her side. “I’m fine. Other people are hurt worse than me. Check on them, first.”
Ray gave Gunnar a subtle shake of her head, her face ashen.
The jarl dropped into the truck’s bed, careful not to jostle the injured warrior. He knelt down, heedless of the blood that soaked into his boots. Erin had saved his life; he’d wear her blood as a badge of honor if that’s what it took to save her.
A cold anger filled his heart. She looked so small, so young. She’d left the safety of the lodge when he needed her the most. He would not let her die. “What got you?”
She pulled her hand away from her side. A spearhead jutted from the tear in her fur vest, and blood flowed freely from around it. The deadly weapon had pierced her from back to front. Gunnar had seen wounds like this before, and it rarely ended well. “One of them came out of the smoke, got the drop on me while I was reloading the quadzilla. She ran away right after.”
She shivered then, and Gunnar wrapped his arms around her. Erin was burning up, and her skin was dry. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ll get you some help.”
Gunnar vaulted out of the pickup’s bed. He raced across the battlefield and gathered Bridget and Mimi.
“What’s happening?” Mimi asked as the three of them rushed back to the truck.
“I need your help to make a long-distance call,” Gunnar responded.
“Who are you—” Bridget’s voice broke off when she saw Erin slumped in the pickup’s bed. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”
“Stop that,” Gunnar growled. “Ray, get down here. We have to get hold of someone. Now.”
“Who?” Mimi asked.
“Odin,” Gunnar said. “That motherfucker owes me, and I mean to collect.”
The jarl grabbed Bridget and Ray’s hands, and Mimi did the same.
As soon as the four of them were linked, Gunnar threw his head back and shouted to the sky, “Odin, get your ass down here, now!”
The thick banks of clouds overhead rumbled in response, and a cold wind swirled over the battlefield. The fire shifted and writhed. Its smoke gusted toward Gunnar in a thick blanket, stinging his eyes and blinding him. When it cleared, a figure had appeared inside the circle he’d formed with the völva.
And it was not Odin.
She was nearly as tall as Bridget, with long, willowy limbs and a mane of golden hair that spilled down past her ass. Her short dress was so sheer it left nothing to the imagination. Gunnar’s eyes were drawn helplessly to the heavy globes of her breasts and cherry-colored nipples that jutted through folds in the fabric.
“I’m sorry, warrior,” the woman said. “But Odin holds no sway here. I am Freya, and mine is the right of first choosing. This dear child of war has earned her place in Folkvang, where she will wait with me until the final battle comes.”
Gunnar bowed up until his chest touched Freya’s. His blue eyes were cold as glaciers, and his heart hammered like a war drum. “You can’t have her.”
Freya’s fingers drifted to the jarl’s cheek. He wanted to flinch away from her touch, but it was as relentless as the tides and couldn’t be resisted. “You are powerful, Gunnar Odinspawn, but you have not earned the right to question the gods. I want this woman, and she will be mine. Odin himself handed down this treaty to make peace between his people and mine. The pact of ages cannot be broken.”
The goddess reached down and took Erin’s hand. Her eyes glowed with the sun’s warmth and banished the cold that surrounded them. A faint nimbus of milky, opalescent light flowed around the injured woman, and she stood as if in a dream. “I’m so tired,” she said to Freya.
“I know, child,” the goddess responded. “I shall take you to a place of rest.”
The pair rose into the air, drifting like balloons on the wind. They’d climbed above Gunnar’s head when an old man’s voice called out, “Hold, Freya.”
Odin stepped out of the shadows and threw back the hood on his cloak. His dead eye socket gleamed with pure white light, and he pointed his staff at the goddess. “That one is not yours to claim. Her heart still beats.”
Freya’s frown was like a thunderhead passing before the sun’s face. “Not for long. Would you have her suffer the pain of the grave when it can be so easily avoided?”
Gunnar felt like screaming for them all to shut up. Deke and Mark had rushed over to the disturbance, and now their eyes were wide with fear that they’d lost Erin.
The Jarl’s heart ached at the thought of Erin’s death, at the pain her family would know because they’d tried to help him, while the two deities acted like it was nothing more than an exchange of game pieces on a chessboard. He tried to pull his hand free from Bridget, but the völva held tight to his fingers and shook her head. There was sorrow in her eyes, and her mouth was set into a firm line. Her warning was clear: there was nothing Gunnar could do here. Anything he tried would only make things worse.
“She will not die,” Odin said. “There is a place for her, if she wants it.”
Freya’s frown faded as a look of awe spilled across her features. The warm light of her eyes bathed Erin for a long moment before she turned her attention to Odin. “You would claim her as one of yours? It has been a long time since you’ve done such a thing, Spearman. Do you have the strength?”
Odin’s chuckle was as cold and brittle as frost on a window. He nodded his head, slowly, his empty socket glinting with pale fire. “It is her choice. Tell me, Erin,” the old man said, “would you go with Freya to your well-deserved rest, or would you tarry a bit longer and watch over the jarl as my shield maiden?”
Erin’s shoulders slumped as if a great weight had just been placed upon them. She slipped from Freya’s grasp and drifted back into the truck. “I will.” She smiled at Gun
nar. “He saved my people. And I saved him. He clearly needs someone to keep an eye on him.”
“Very well.” Freya bowed low, first to Odin, then to Erin, and finally to Gunnar. “Heed my words, Jarl. I will not stand in the way of this bargain, but as you are the one who benefits from it most, the weregild is your debt. A life for a life, yes? No, not yours, you are too valuable to Midgard as the Fimbulwinter approaches. But a time will come, and soon, when I will demand you take a life for me. This you must do. Agreed?”
“If it saves Erin’s life? Fuck, yes, I’ll do it,” Gunnar said without hesitation.
“Great,” Erin croaked. “Can we get this show on the road before I bleed out?”
Odin shouldered Gunnar and the völva out of his way and hopped into the truck. Freya drifted higher into the air, giving him room to do his work. The old man put his hand on the young woman’s side. Honey-colored light flowed from his touch into the wound. Erin shuddered as the light poured through her. Her skin took on its golden hue, her hair shone like the sun, intricate braids covering her head like a living crown. Her fur vest transformed into a scaled shirt, and gleaming silver greaves appeared on her legs, with bracers on her forearms. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, and when they opened again, they were featureless orbs of purest silver.
And a pair of wings, feathers luminous white and radiant gold, unfolded from her back and stretched toward the sky as if aching to be used.
“Behold mine valkyrie,” Odin intoned, presenting Erin to the rest of them. “She is my eyes and ears, and my wisdom is in her voice. She is a shield maiden, sworn to uphold my cause. While she draws breath, she will strive to protect the jarl and his circle.”
The air shimmered around Erin for a moment, and Odin and Freya vanished on a winter’s wind. Erin blinked again, her silver eyes taking in the people who stood before her. She sat down on the wheel well again, held her head in her hands, then looked at Gunnar.
“Told you you’d need me,” she said. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 28
GUNNAR AND HIS INNER circle rode in the Dodge’s bed as Deke limped the battered truck back to the lodge. It held on until they’d passed through the gate, then its engine coughed one last time and died. When the passengers abandoned the old rig, it completed its transformation into an oversized cart that had seen far better days.
“Guess it’s real horsepower from now on,” Deke said with a rueful chuckle. “Shit, quadzilla’s dead, too.”
A heavy ballista had replaced the deadly machine gun, and the ammo belt was now a stack of heavy quarrels. It wasn’t a trade any of them would have made, but they’d learn to live with it. It’s not like they had a choice.
“The wheel turns,” Gunnar mused and clapped a hand on Deke’s shoulder. “Even for an old fucker like you. Thanks for coming. If you need anything—”
Deke looked up at Gunnar and shielded his eyes against the sun. “My daughter,” he started, but his voice choked up and faltered. “She made us come to the fight. Said you needed us. If it wasn’t for her...hell, man. She might have saved all of us.”
“I won’t forget it,” Gunnar promised. “You have my word.”
“It’s not that,” Deke sighed. He spat on the ground and raked his gnarled fingers through his wiry gray hair. “She’s always been a little rebel, but now she’s gone and got herself some wings. She’ll be out there in the thick of it with you now, won’t she?”
Gunnar nodded. “She’s a special lady, Deke. I can’t promise she’ll be safe, but I will tell you she’s a lot tougher now than you could imagine.”
“That’s not real comforting,” Deke chuckled. “Just tell me you’ll do your best to keep her out of the wringer.”
“I will,” Gunnar said. “But something tells me she’ll be the one yanking me out of danger.”
Deke laughed at that and headed inside, shaking his head.
The jarl leaned against the wagon, his spear close at hand, and waited for the rest of his people to return from the battle. He watched his warriors march through the gate, their spines straight, chins held high, and greeted each of them.
“Thank you,” he said, “for fighting by my side. You saved my life today, and I will not forget what I owe you.”
Then he embraced each of the soldiers. Not one of them left that hug with dry eyes. Like the völva, the men and women who’d fought alongside Gunnar loved him. They would follow him through the gates of hell if it came to that.
When the last of the soldiers headed inside, Gunnar threw his head back and looked up at the blue sky. They’d done it. The lodge was safe, and Hyrrokkin could choke on a bag of dicks.
It had been a good day to die.
It was a better day to live.
THE JARL USED THE UPGRADE he’d earned from activating Draupnir to open the Hall of Feasting, and the lodge’s people celebrated like true Vikings. They ate and drank more than their fill, and those with women snuck off to the caves for some alone time. Gunnar sat on the edge of the hot spring that had replaced the kidney-shaped pool as the last of his people stumbled off to sleep. He couldn’t help but smile, not just because they’d won, but because he’d been vindicated.
If he hadn’t saved Deke and his family, if he hadn’t given shelter to the refugees, he’d be dead. It felt good to know that doing the right thing paid off. “Fuck you, old man,” he whispered.
“Talking to yourself is a bad sign,” Mimi said. She had a lit cigar tucked in the corner of her mouth and handed another to Gunnar. “Don’t make a habit of it, but I figured we deserved a celebratory stogie.”
The jarl took the offering and puffed on it, smiling through the smoke. It was hard to believe how much they’d all changed, and how much he liked those changes.
“Don’t look at me like that, you pervert,” she said as she took a seat next to him. She bumped shoulders with him and blew a smoke ring. “You’ve done a hell of a job, Jarls Barkley. When you showed up on my doorstep, I’d have given even odds you’d be dead before morning. But, somehow, you turned this shitshow around. I still miss the electricity, but the fire’s growing on me.”
“Thanks. You think you could stop calling me stupid nicknames before everyone else starts?”
Mimi laughed again and blew smoke into his face. “Don’t be so full of yourself, asshole. Let an old lady have some fun.”
“You’re hardly old,” Gunnar said and rolled his good eye. “You look like you’re eighteen again. Which, by the way, you’re fucking welcome.”
She hefted a boob in each hand and squinted at Gunnar. “You want credit for these tig ol’ biddies? No way, man. I was born with this shit. Maybe if you’re nice, you’ll get to see them again some day.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you show them to me,” he snickered. “I love you, Mimi.”
“Fuck you,” she sighed.
GUNNAR FOUND BRIDGET on the surface. She’d slipped out of the bed he shared with the völva before sunrise, and he’d come looking for her not long after. “No note?” he asked.
She blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment by pushing her long hair back over her ears. She’d given up on the high ponytail after the battle and now preferred to leave her mane loose and wild. “I didn’t—I wasn’t running away.”
“I know.” The jarl rubbed her back. “Want to tell me why you left us yesterday?”
Chill wind blew around them, kicking up dead leaves that had fallen from the tree that grew up through the lodge’s roof. Her dot poured purple light on the ground between her feet. Bridget took a deep breath and stared out at the sky above them. “I saw the path ahead of me,” she said with a shrug. “We’d never be able to find the ring. Arthur had his own völva, and she’d hidden it. I knew you and the girls would find me. And that would let you find Draupnir.”
Gunnar’s hand froze on Bridget’s back. “You should have told me. We’d have gone with you.”
“You couldn’t,” Bridget explained with an exasperated sigh. “If t
he jötnar had seen you with me, they’d have just killed us all. Or tried. And then we’d never have found the ring. It had to be this way.”
“I really don’t like hearing that you thought I’d mess this up,” Gunnar said with a sigh. “But I see your point.”
A wan smile tugged at one corner of Bridget’s mouth. “I don’t like this either. But it was destiny. If I hadn’t gone alone, Bogie wouldn’t have captured me. You wouldn’t have found Draupnir. I wouldn’t have been on that platform. We’d—”
Gunnar frowned. “We’d all be dead.”
They sat in silence for a long time after that.
Gunnar considered what Bridget was telling him. That there were secrets she knew that she couldn’t share without endangering them all. As much as the jarl hated knowing his völva hid things from him, he imagined she hated it even more. It would be a terribly lonely way to live. There was nothing he could say that would make that easier for her, so he didn’t try. Instead, he pulled her close, rubbed her back, and held her as the sun turned the sky pink.
“HEY,” ERIN CALLED OUT to Gunnar as he stood up from lunch. “Gotta second?”
Gunnar nodded and motioned for her to follow him. He headed for the stairs. The cave was cozy, but he didn’t want everyone watching his business. Because he really wasn’t sure what to say to Erin.
It had been a week since they’d claimed Draupnir and stopped Hyrrokkin. During that time, Erin spent a lot of effort trying to get some alone time with Gunnar. But there’d always been something to interrupt their discussion. Things had finally settled down enough that Gunnar felt confident they could talk without someone needing his input.
They reached the surface and headed through the gate, Gunnar’s spear in his hand, Erin’s sword at her side. “So what’s up?” the jarl asked.
The Valkyrie’s wings rustled the air behind them. She blushed a little, then cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder as the gate rumbled closed behind them. “I just...where do I fit in here?”
