by P. W. Child
“Okay, okay,” he said, his eyes stiff in their sockets and staring ahead, blind to the world he was standing in, but guide in another. “It looks like the Parthenon…in Athens,” Sam exclaimed with his arms outstretched before him, his fingers fanning to pry and probe the unseen world before him. He frowned, waited. Then he stepped backward, but Alex and Gunnar simultaneously grabbed him before he could stub his heels and fall through the obscured old glass of the window.
“What is it, Sam?” Nina asked curiously, but her voice was void of its usual beaming zest.
“H-h…horses?” Sam stuttered and blinked hard a few times as if to clarify what he thought he beheld. But there they were, clear as the building they were galloping through. White, brown, and black horses, perhaps a hundred of them, were storming through the seemingly endless hallways which ran stretched with wall to one side and a uniform row of gigantic marble-like columns to the other. Then the horses, like the endless and identical pillars of the temple, formed a single file and became only two. One horse bore a crown on its head, the other not. As the entranced journalist described the vision, while Alex, Nina, and Gunnar took note of where this place could be - where horses crossed majestic white halls unperturbed, where their chaotic clapping of hooves could unite into a steady gallop of only eight legs reverberating through the enormous galleries of busts and plaques.
“Busts and plaques?” Nina gasped laboriously, her face pallid and moist, fringed by wet curls. Her eyes were blacker than usual now, encircled by darkened skin. She looked drained and ill, but her spirit was strong. She looked frail but smiled like a ninth grader know-it-all when she informed them, “It’s the Walhalla Memorial near Regensburg! A memorial site in Bavaria!” With great effort, her dainty hands pressed on the bed to help her rise to her feet and after she composed her stature upon weakened legs Nina announced, “Gentlemen, we are going to Germany.”
Chapter 30
It was two days later.
Under the northern sky, the water was wild, swept by the determination of the storm that rolled in over the North Sea. The darkness of the dying night allowed one more glance at the fading stars as daylight possessed the sky. Captains steered their boats to safer bearings and the horizon promised a thick bank of clouds that approached the vicinity of the Hebrides rapidly.
From a distance, the ancient fortress on Dùn Anlaimh looked like a mere mirage. Like a phantom castle, it shimmered through the sheets of sea spray that leapt from the foamy crests of the rising waves. Upon nearing it, the building became more solid, darker, and it grew considerably in size for those who saw it for the first time. The pale sun that barely managed to penetrate the mist and fog banks surrounding the place, cast a light yellow halo around the edges of the building, almost indiscernible in its frailty.
On the left tower stood a figure, a bodyguard of Lita’s. He lit his cigarette and scanned the great expanse of grassland and rocky hillocks surrounding the loch which enveloped the fortress of the tyrannical woman. It was going to be a very cold day, he figured. Dragging his cigarette, he winced at the icy wind licking his face and throat. He had neglected to bring his scarf up here in a rush to catch a quick gasper in the early morning before the she-beast and her demands woke and rose from her bed.
Something moved to his left and vigilantly, his eyes instantly located the source of the disturbance. But the rocks and grass looked the same, yet, and his suspicions were unfounded. Above him, the clouds devoured the last bit of sunlight that attempted to peer through. Another stirring drew his gaze and he whipped his head to the left, his vision sharp and scrutinizing. The reason for the movement soon presented itself as he tossed the butt of his cigarette downwind from him. At a distance, upon the machair, he discerned a hare of sorts, but he was not sure. It hopped among the leaning grasses as the wind bent them and disappeared promptly just short of the far shore of the loch.
Looking at the edge of the water, the sentinel’s vision caught another odd movement. It appeared that the shallow breakers of the water lifted higher than the edge in places. Such things were impossible by the laws of physics, so he leaned forward to have a better look. On the opposite side of the water, he could have sworn he saw a mermaid, but his mind did not allow him such fanciful delusions. Yet again, a woman’s form reached slightly above the surface of the grey lapping waves. The guard frowned, now convinced that he was playing witness to something supernatural, if not completely ludicrous.
She was not like any normal female he had ever seen, although her shape proved her to be just that. She had no hair, no face and her skin was made of water, for the lack of any other feature. In disbelief, the guard watched her move across the water towards the gritty beach on his side. Effortlessly, she slid through the waves, dipping her body just below the glistening silver of the surface, most of the time being completely invisible to his eager sight. He did not believe in mermaids, of course, but he had to concede that whatever she was, she had the capability to stay submerged for unnatural amounts of time, according to human standards. Her skin seemed to be made of silver, because the color of her body exactly resembled the greyish waves of the loch.
Finally, she reappeared again, alarmingly close to his side.
“How the hell did she swim so fast?” he asked out loud, his heart pounding at the possibilities of her strange species. By his calculations, the water nymph had propelled herself at vaguely the speed of a Dolphin! Astonished, he uttered, “That’s impossible! How the hell could she get here so fast?”
From behind him a female voice answered, “Because it’s not the same woman, you blithering idiot.”
Before he could turn, a thick rope that was holding up the pulleys of the drawbridge-like doors on the first floor dropped over his head, tightened itself around his frigid neck and pulled taut. Its coarseness peeled the skin from his throat as it was rapidly ripped backwards, crushing his windpipe before the small woman behind him shoved him forward so hard that his body tumbled over the wall. His hands were too slow to relieve the pressure as he dropped.
His neck cracked from the velocity of his weight it could not bear, but he did not die immediately. Paralyzed and mute, his dying eyes fluttered as he dangled against the rocky face of the east wall. Before the darkness took him, he witnessed them emerging, one by one, from the melancholic embrace of the squall. No less than 20 in number, the killer mermaids walked out of the water and onto the rocky sand of Dùn Anlaimh. As they moved stealthily toward the slumbering stone structure they wiped the gel from their faces and hair, revealing their unique features. As the wind gradually dried their skintight bodysuits, the gel disintegrated and shed the liquid look of water that had camouflaged them. At the head of the deadly unit was a blond beauty with eyes as cold as a shark’s, adamant to pluck the wings from Lita’s flies and burning her den to the ground.
The Brotherhood were skilled not only in Ásatrú and combat, but they were also exquisite athletes with hearts of fury who obliterated all enemies without prejudice or mercy. Already, three of their best women had broken into the antique structure, one of which was the petite Swede who had just hung the confounded lookout from the castle wall. Two others were already working their way through the first and second level, respectively, to scout for the location of the Black Sun tyrant and her consorts.
Erika and her warriors entered the lower level of the building through the very chamber where Nina Gould had been kept. Like Nina, Erika noticed the next level technology of the locking system on the cells, but she had little time to investigate the amazing workings of the secret technology utilized by the order. It did, however, warn her of the level of security and technology kept inside the ancient walls of the fortress. Through the high hallway, where the floor’s watery surface reflected the ceiling in stark detail, they navigated their way according to the information Lockhart had presented.
, They spread like a quiet cancer throughout the building as the noise from the surrounding body of water and the whine of the gale masked t
heir movement conveniently. In the kitchen one of the dark warriors found the medical doctor having sex with his assistant.
‘How convenient,’ she smiled as she drew her thin baton from her belt. Moving swiftly and silently towards the copulating Nazis, she flicked the steel baton, extending it to twice its length. The sound roused a moment’s attention in the assistant, but her lover obscured her view and shouted his vulgarities at her with a nauseating smirk. From behind his back, his assistant saw the woman’s fiery stare and slight grin just in time to see the skewering of the steel rod thrust right through them both. Her bowels burned from the sting of the cold bar.. From the assistant’s spinal cord, the point of the weapon protruded powerfully under the exuberant strength of the warrior and came to a sudden halt under her, lodged in the wood of the table. It split the wood, sending splinters around it.
The crunch of their collective bones under the swift stab of the unbreakable rod pleased the member of the Brotherhood, who waited sadistically for their panting to cease.
“How’s that for double penetration?” she chuckled heartily. As their bodies grew limp, she pulled the steel baton from them, stepping against the buttocks of the doctor to aid her in dislodging the weapon from the density of their raw flesh. Unceremoniously, she rinsed her steel and then she took an apple from the fruit basket on the table, taking a vigorous bite, and disappeared into the sunken darkness of the pantry.
On the upper floor, Erika swept the rooms one by one, finding nothing but a few barren chambers until the noticed the last door ajar, creaking as if it had just been bothered. Vigilant, she slowed down, rousing her hearing to listen beyond the escalating roar of the elements outside and distinguishing carefully between the noise of nature and the sound of mortal threat. Looking down the hallway behind her for any present danger, Erika elected to enter the suspicious room. There seemed to be no occupant and she briskly looked about for anything she could find that might be of importance.
The wild wind ripped the embroidered banners hanging on the walls, its urging reminiscent of the situation currently blooming within the old building. Like a symphony of doom, the continually flapping sound unsettled the intruder, making her immensely nervous. Erika never got nervous, especially in a martial capacity. She loved war; she reveled in battle and confrontation. Something did not feel right behind these enemy lines, though. Not one to be swayed by opinion or reputation, it was not the queen of this castle that had Erika tense, but the sudden realization that Lockhart may have lured The Brotherhood into an ambush. It was one of those thoughts similar to the state of panic dealt by ill-fated trust discovered too late. To her right, obscured partly under the large bed was a leather and iron trunk, big enough to hide a body in. Little did Erika know that this was precisely what it had previously been employed for. Next to it was a dented old World War II toolbox, once painted olive green from the remnants of color still left on the iron.
Consumed by curiosity and a need to educate herself in the manner of foe they were dealing with, Erika sank on her knees and grabbed the box quietly, hoping that her soldiers were still efficient in subduing Lita’s pawns. She flashed her eyes up to the whipping banners that made her feel deeply uncomfortable in the restlessness of the weather. To exacerbate matters, they were adorned with the repulsive symbol of the Black Sun Order she so despised. Erika felt utterly morose in the brooding silence Lita’s absence lent the room. The leader of The Brotherhood placed the iron box on the bed. Inside, she found yellow pages, tinted with rusty stains by age and they were all branded in letterheads from different Nazi societies – The Vril Society, the Thule Society, The Order of the Black Sun, and several lesser prominent factions of Himmler’s SS.
Among these documents, Erika discovered something that made her blood run cold in her veins. At the bottom of the pile, there was a folder containing medical records from a laboratory in Copenhagen and a birth certificate - July 27th, 1935, Gaelita Brunnhilde Røderic. In Danish and German, the different handwritten reports in dissolving blue ink noted that the mother of the female baby, an Icelandic national, was deceased and the father unknown.
Rain sprayed lightly onto the paper Erika was reading, imposing from the open windows between the angrily slapping wall banners. From the big faux trunk under the bed, a side panel came loose. Without a sound the panel was placed on the floor by a long slender arm. Gracefully, the hand curled around the side to facilitate a quiet exit. Thunder growled as the gale-swept loch grew more aggressive around the fortress, threatening to flood its banks within the hour. At the roar of the heavens, Erika was jolted back to reality and looked about her, but her presence was still undetected. What she discovered on the next page prompted her to cover her mouth with her hand in shock.
Lightning illuminated the awful sketches of anatomical modifications and the black and white photographs of the monstrous little girl. In the sheltered shadows under the bed a long pale leg emerged from the trunk, a bare foot flexing to find its grip while Erika stood reading merely inches away, unaware of her impending company.
A 10th birthday card from Josef Mengele fell from the collection of eugenic reports and medical notes and Erika knew at once that her adversary was not just a rich bitch with too much time on her hands. In fact, the redhead genius was not even fathered by normal means and was conceived for a purpose.
“Genetically altered? Skeletal modification…human growth hormone…neuro-mechanical adjustments to promote superior brain capacity…accelerated and sustained cell regeneration…what the fuck?” Erika whispered as she read through the medical observations of the various physicians working with Mengele and Himmler on this secret project. From what she thought she understood, being a layman at medical and psychological terminology, Erika found that Lita Røderic may or may not have been the product of Mengele’s most favored experiments: twins. Either that, since her German was extremely deficient, or Lita’s very biology ran on the principals of the phenomenon. Instead of being a twin, it appeared that binary fission took place as an agent of regeneration instead of duplication.
Erika shook her head.
Admittedly, she was as inept at medical terms as she was at the languages they were written in. Still, photographs needed no language to convey horror or explain the extent of the Nazi secret societies’ evil. This information was priceless. Erika scooped up all the photos, sketches, and personal reports on Lita Røderic and shoved them down the front of her bodysuit, securing them in the water tight compartment sewn in.
Footsteps hurried towards the room from the hallway and Erika quickly snuck around the large spark screen, soundlessly drawing her two identical blades. Forged from silver, bearing Norse runes of heathen magic, the 10 inch daggers held more than deadly efficacy. The ancient shamanist sorcery contained in the runes proved fatal to any flesh not ordained by rite to resist their potency. Flesh like Lita’s – Nazi meat. Erika smiled.
“Lita?” an old man spoke from the doorway. “Are you here? May I come in?”
Silence prevailed, save for the mad atmospheric chaos of the storm that had brought its fury inside the room. The floor was soaked by the downpour, wet almost halfway into the chamber.
“Lita, I think we should get out of here. I think you should come with me. There are strangers in the fortress and if we can make it to the courtyard we can escape,” he whispered loudly. “I…I had a vision of Valhalla. It was obscure, to say the least, but I know where to find the way…” he hesitated for a moment in the loud crack of the skies. “…I know you are in here. Lita, we need to go. Please. I don’t want to die.”
Erika kept hidden. If Lockhart was a traitor, he would have told Lita to expect The Brotherhood’s attack, would have warned her; but he kept his mask on as innocent advisor. She hoped he was mistaken about the red Dragon’s presence in the room, but she quickly realized the truth when she heard the disembodied rasp of the chain smoking she-monster emanate from somewhere in the chamber. “Hermann. Meet me at the helicopter. And get Slokin. Now!”
Without retort the old man nodded and took off into the corridor. Erika knew that Lita had her cornered. Her eyes widened into a bulging glare that bordered on exhilarated terror, had such a combination ever existed. Her fingers gripped the hilts of her knives as her mind shifted into the cold machine she became when engaging her opponent.
From the movement under the bed she recognized the tall, agile physique of her deadly foe. Still just a silhouette, Lita folded easily to accommodate her movement, much like a spider. Slipping out from under the cover of the bed, she groaned in boastful anticipation and her moan turned into a voiceless snicker as she dusted herself off.
“You may as well come out, darling,” Lita invited. “No use in hiding in a round room, is there?” Her words echoed as she spoke louder. Erika waited for her opponent to come to her, but the tall woman paced up and down in the same area. Both women held their tongue and only the thunder made its voice known. Suddenly one of Erika’s soldiers entered the room, short sword in hand, having no idea that the enemy was standing right behind the door. Erika was forced to act. She emerged from her hiding place, twirling both her blades menacingly as she moved forward.
Puzzled, her friend looked at her, but Erika was too slow in her confrontation. Lita lunged out from behind the door and locked her left arm around the girl’s neck, disarming her with the other in one smooth movement. The sword clanged on the stone floor as the barefoot monster placed her other arm around the neck of her prey and latched her hands onto her skull.
“NO! HANNAH!” Erika screamed and charged. She knew Lita was not the negotiating type and words of surrender or imploring would be futile. Again she underestimated Lita’s immense strength. The Nazi queen smiled gleefully as she twisted the girl’s skull sideways, upwards, slowly snapping her neck bone for bone as if she was cracking her knuckles. Erika would not see this as a reason for surrender. In fact, it was all the reason she needed to exact her wrath with everything she had in her.
