by P. W. Child
“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, Nina. Just do me a solid and go see a doctor after this little trip, alright?” he implored. She perceived intense sincerity from him and elected not to spoil the moment with some jesting remark. Instead, she simply nodded and rubbed his hand.
“I think we found something,” they heard Gunnar exclaim. He showed them the wording of the plaque and pointed out where it represented an ancient code, only taught to very few Nordic tribes. The Brotherhood and Sleipnir itself possessed four members who were taught this method - and Eldard was one of them. The gentle giant smiled proudly. He took the book from Nina and noted the code vertically on the edge of the page. After some scrutiny, he came to the conclusion that the code revealed a succession of numbers in three groups:
’64.1333’
‘21.9333’
‘871±2’
“Great. What are they?” Sam asked, genuinely curious.
“They might be coordinates?” Gunnar answered, shrugging and looking at the others for their opinion. Nina felt her temperature rise, but she said nothing for fear of digressing from the task at hand should she admit that her health was indeed failing rapidly. In her growing fever her eyes saw the numbers dancing before her. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred on the last number sequence.
‘Why do I know this? I’ve seen this somewhere,’ she thought to herself, while repressing her rising discomfort for the sake of her companions. Like a bolt of psychic lightning the number flashed in her reminiscence, written in red upon a rock by a river. Nina staggered backward, her eyes fluttering. Gunnar caught her, but she recovered quickly and laughed affectedly, “I’m such a clutz! Fell over my own damn feet.”
They laughed with her, but Gunnar could feel her skin scorch his. He knew it was imperative that they get to a medical professional soon, even if just to determine what she was afflicted with. In her clouded mind, she tried her best to retrieve the memory of the rock and the writing, but it eluded her every time she attempted to peer further than the short replay of what she did remember.
In her current state, it would be exceedingly taxing to assemble any sense anyway, as her head grew heavy as granite under the force of the impending blackout. Nina collapsed suddenly, hitting the shiny floor with a thump at the feet of her companions. Her cheekbone cracked under the gravity of her fall and she submitted to the gathering darkness while her ears convinced her that, overhead, she could hear the whinny of horses and the restless clopping of hooves.
Chapter 33
Over the limp body of the once beautiful, and living, Hannah, the two leaders were locked in battle. After the first few blows, Erika quickly learned to keep her distance from the full contact devastation Lita delivered. The Nazis had after all engineered her to be a human Wunderwaffe, a superhuman reminiscent of the master race they believed had visited earth and spawned the Germanic peoples. The tall woman with the sore voice possessed the strength of ten men and almost precognitive reflexes, blocking Erika’s attempts at every turn.
With the raging storm overshadowing the battle, the two women engaged in a fight to the death.
Time was wasting, but Lita relished the heated rush of warfare above all. It had been a long time ago since she last had the pleasure of a worthy adversary, but she reserved the praise of Erika’s martial skills only for the boasting of her defeat. After all, it was more rewarding to kill a lion than it was to kill a hare, and Erika was a lion of note. Lita knew that she had to flee soon, lest she be discovered by the rest of the deadly clique Erika headed. There was no sense in sealing her own doom for the thrill of a good fight.
So far, she had managed to avoid the lethal blades brandished by the leader of The Brotherhood. Lita, having studied the basic rules of the magic practices of Odin and Freya, knew that Erika’s weapons could cause her some serious damage, even though she was virtually indestructible by normal standards. Erika was furious that one of her soldier was so callously dispatched of by the pet of the SS elite.
Sinking to her knees, she slid the left blade through the lower quadriceps of the redhead tyrant, the runes emitting a smoky punishment in her flesh. But right before Erika’s eyes, Lita’s flesh regenerated moments after the silver and magic wreaked havoc on the pink tissue of her thigh. What made this recovery different from those of regular bayonets and swords, was the scar tissue evident on Lita’s previously perfect skin. The red queen did not like this at all and lashed out at Erika.
Refusing to abandon hope or voice her dismay at failing to injure Lita, Erika made sure that she evaded every strike. Defense was now her best offence. In her good judgment, Erika made sure that she delivered seemingly meager cuts to important areas of Lita’s anatomy. If the pictures and sketches of the folder held any truth, she would be able to at least immobilize her foe long enough for the other women to assist in her apprehension.
“You little bitch!” Lita fumed as the scar smiled on her smooth skin. She marched towards the crouching blond, vigilantly minding the position of her silver banes. Erika waited for her near the wall where the precipitation was now pouring in like an ice cold shower. When Lita came into striking distance, Erika lunged, but the tall tyrant was faster. Like a mighty troll, she stepped forward hard, trampling the petite Erika’s right arm against the ground, snapping her radius and dislocating it at the elbow. With her other foot, she kicked Erika against the side of her head. Even over the clamor of the weather, Lita could hear the delightful sound of Erika’s teeth clapping together from the impact, silencing her instantly. Laughing hoarsely, Lita picked up her opponent’s limp little body and without another thought threw her from the window to the rocks below.
From somewhere in the distance of the second floor, Lita heard a group of soldiers from The Brotherhood coming, their feet too light too perceive, but she was no normal warrior. The SS made sure of that. Her senses were as strong as her muscle. The barefoot beauty gathered up the rucksack she had packed before her nemesis’ unscheduled visit and slipped in under the bed and, through the fake trunk, she made her way into the hidden stone staircase that led to the concealed walkway between walls. Within a few minutes she had progressed to the other side of the enclosure and emerged in the courtyard where her helicopter was waiting.
Inside the fortress, The Brotherhood had ransacked the place for documents on the Black Sun’s other endeavors and campaigns. They had recovered medical reports on experiments done at Deep Sea One and Ice Station Wolfenstein, an incomparable treasure trove of crippling information that they would pass on to several governments and covert agencies in order to initiate countermeasures.
Slokin sat next to the helicopter pilot and Lockhart waited in the back for the mistress to join them. Lita was dressed only in a long black dress, her lavish red tresses turning a rusty dark brown in the showers as she ran toward the Jet Ranger with large powerful strides.
“Let’s get out of here,” she ordered in her raspy voice.
As they took off towards the eastern skies where the weather was a bit tamer, they silently looked down upon the once glorious structure on Dùn Anlaimh being set alight. They darted over the calm waters, while behind them, the blazing ancient building became nothing but a bright flare of orange in the bosom of the ghostly grey fog that devoured the island of Coll as if it was never even there.
Lockhart cast his eyes to the endless expanse of Ægir’s mighty abode below them. The waves foamed in erratic line formations upon the great sea. It seemed to breathe as it heaved and fell like a sleeping giant moving under his bedclothes. The noise of the flying machine drowned out most sound and all four occupants elected to avoid unnecessary conversation. Lockhart had lied, of course, about his vision. It was all he could do now to stay alive. Deception would be his salvation if he could draw it out long enough. If Lita knew the truth, she would undoubtedly kill him right there and then, not just because he deceived her, but more so for the information he harbored. If she were ever to discover that he was a more precious
commodity than any holy relic he would be dead within seconds, therefore it was important to maintain this ruse.
His eyes stared at nothing in particular as his mind wandered off to the day when his mother took him to what he thought was her book club get-together. Through the miserable streets traversing the inner city of pre-World War II Warsaw, she led the 10 year old Hermann by the hand. His mother, as he recalled, seemed a tad stressed, but otherwise in high spirits. Her ‘group of friends’ were waiting in a small basement living room. Young Hermann was quite cheered by the bunch of ladies sitting on the cozy couches, smiling and playing with his hair. They remarked on how adorable he was, what an important boy he was and how he was their champion. Not knowing quite why he was the receiver of such exaltation, the young Hermann enjoyed the company of all the surprisingly attractive ladies.
Some were stout, some were skinny, but all of them appeared to be smart, athletic women in their 20s and 30s. They treated him to a tall glass of milk and homemade ginger cookies for a while, while his mother was in the next room behind closed doors with two rather big ladies in white coats. With them was an older gentleman, a doctor of sorts.
Herman Lockhart reached up to his hair, fondling the area right in the middle of the top of his skull. He did it inconspicuously, as not to alert suspicion to the area.
He could still feel the scar tissue under the cover of his hair. Pain had many levels and Herman had experienced most of those levels, but that fateful day he learned of a different kind of pain. One of exhilaration and purpose. He had no idea that his mother’s friends merely kept him occupied while the sedative numbed his skin and dampened his pain receptors. When he felt drowsy, he saw his mother emerge from the room with the other two women and they carried his incapacitated little body into the white tiled room – a makeshift operating area. Of course the child was terrified, and felt that his mother had betrayed him, but she stood right next to him, holding his hand.
The old man in the helicopter sighed as his memories burned in him.
He recalled the feeling of the scalpel in his scalp. Although the skin was numbed, the penetration of the point still stung. It was the most surreal feeling he had ever, and since, experienced. Feeling how his scalp was peeled back, he looked up at his weeping mother. Then she squeezed his hand, telling him that what he was enduring was very important, that he was a champion of the world, a savior of all mankind. In simple words she explained to him that the procedure had to remain the biggest secret ever. He had to keep it to himself forever, otherwise the evil people of the world would win. Hermann didn’t really understand, but he was happy that his mother was so proud of him. She explained that he was going to feel pain, but that he had to remember that it was for the good of all mankind. It made him feel a bit like Jesus at the time. It sounded like the time Jesus was terrified at being crucified, but God told him that it was necessary for him to suffer in order to save mankind.
Then he felt it.
One by one, a steely punch from some surgical tool engraved something into his skull bone. The little boy wailed in pain and discomfort, even though he was mostly sedated.
After he had recuperated enough to stand up and walk, the ladies of the book club cheered and hugged him. They treated him like a hero and it was wonderful.
Only decades later did he discover the truth of his ordeal in a library kept by The Brotherhood – the very ladies in that book club were Knights of the Hammer, also called The Brotherhood, sworn to keep secret the location of a chieftain’s council hall where an unmatched force of destruction had been hidden. And that the cypher created as lock of the great Hall of Valhalla, Odin’s Hall of the Slain, had been carved into the skull of a boy child. But no-one ever knew that the boy was in fact still alive. What a barbaric thing to do to a living child!
Now he knew he had to lead Lita on a goose chase long enough for The Brotherhood to find Valhalla before her. Nina. Was she dead already? Herman Lockhart had trouble coming to terms with his betrayal of his friend. It saddened him, but he assumed her dead by now, hoping for the contrary.
Now, more than half a century later, Lockhart was in the same position as his mother had been that day with Krieger at the mound where she drew her last breath. He was taking Lita to Iceland, to the very same place, under the very same false pretenses. The Brotherhood’s Hero hoped that this time the sound of the Horn in the forest would not be the last sound he ever heard.
Chapter 34
While Sam and Gunnar settled the unconscious Nina on the captain’s bed below deck, Eldard was on the internet. He had to get to the bottom of Nina’s ailment without having to consult a doctor. The risk of finding an illegal substance in her system was just too high. Besides, he figured that was exactly what Lita and her monsters banked on. Personally, he would have taken the chance, had they not been pushing a time limit. The Festival of St. Blod was almost here, and if Valhalla’s malevolent captive was to be released, it would be on the day of St. Blod. The Black Sun would certainly pursue the opportunity and therefore the champions of The Brotherhood, he and his three allies, would have to abandon all other agendas to make it there on time – wherever it was.
That was cause for more concern. They still did not know where the place was.
Nina was murmuring as Sam removed her shoes and the boat groaned onward over the water of the Danube back towards Regensburg. Her wet hair clung to her skin as she panted from the escalating fever.
“She is in terrible pain, Gunnar. What are we going to do?” Sam whispered.
“Eldard is checking on what could be causing this. Once he knows, we will get her something for the pain. I adore that woman. Really, I do, but we cannot neglect this mission, Sam. By the way, you don’t exactly look ready to fuck a harem of belly dancers, either. When last did you have something to eat? You have to look after your own health, too. We need her and we need you. I can’t do this on my own and you know that,” Gunnar explained in a low grunt that made his whisper just a bit more audible over the roar of the boat’s engine.
They looked at the moaning, frail woman on the bed. She was clutching her stomach, salivating profusely, and muttering a mixture of things about a rock with red paint on.
“You stay with her,” Gunnar said. “I am going to see if we can get her something for the pain.” With that he ascended up the stairs.
Sam sat down on the bed, holding Nina’s hand in his, her bandaged forearm over his thigh. He refused to give in to what felt suspiciously like a crying spell, but it did not help his despair subside. If only he could manipulate these visions he could rush them along, but even when he now hurt himself to initiate the waking dreams, nothing came of it. It was growing late in the day and he felt the hand of fatigue sweep his brow.
They were still 40 minutes from Regensburg and he was exhausted.
“Just a quick nap. Just quickly,” Sam mumbled, and gently lay down next to Nina. His weary eyes closed for but a minute when she suddenly sat up with a start, it gave him a potent shock of fright.
“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I saw it! I know this shit now!” She noticed the lanky male body next to her. “Sam? Are you so desperate to tell people we sleep together?”
Sam was not amused, ripped from the much needed embrace of Morpheus. Nina was loud. She grabbed him and turned him on his back, sliding her wet hair back over her ears.
“I dreamed it before! Now I dreamed it again, sort of. But this time, it helped me recall the first dream I had a while back before all this started, Sam!” she babbled. “Give me your phone, quick. I have to look up that number Eldard wrote at the bottom!”
In the fresh cool air up on deck, the two bikers were navigating websites on their cell phones to research Nina’s symptoms. There were many possibilities, all of which spelled a bad outcome. Astonished at the small woman’s resilience, they watched an excited Nina come at them with a befuddled Sam in tail.
“We got it, guys!” she shouted with a small measure of pain in her voice. No
w and then, as Nina spoke, she would catch a quick gasp. “I dreamed this a long time ago. I don’t know why, but I did. This whole…whole…” she gestured wildly, only too grateful that she could contribute to the mysterious side of the entire search, “…like an epic saga played out in my dream and this voice telling the story.”
The three men stared at her in mute amazement. “Never mind that, look here,” she said and showed them the sequence she had dreamed of, that coincided with the strange combination of numbers Eldard had. “The number represents a place in Iceland. I Googled it,” she smiled happily, although her eyes bore evidence of rapidly deteriorating health and energy. “The town is called Reykjavík and the ‘871±2’ part is the name of a permanent exhibition of the alleged first longhouse in Iceland, a hall from the Viking Age and other shit,” she babbled as she checked the information on Sam’s cell phone.
Her breath raced as she explained, so Sam thought to take control of the conversation, “Okay, so…that cannot be Valhalla, right? Because, if it was Valhalla, wouldn’t it be guarded instead of tons of tourists walking through it all day. What I want to know is, if The Brotherhood’s sole purpose is to protect unwanted agents from finding Valhalla, why do they not know where it is?”
Gunnar looked amused.
“You think that is the sole purpose of our order?” he chuckled. “No, my friend, our tentacles are a little longer than that. But, the lady warriors of The Brotherhood, also called Knights of the Hammer, hailed directly from fathers who walked with Wotan, the chieftain.”
‘Wotan, the chieftain in my dream at the river,’ Nina remembered.
Gunnar continued, “Along the ages, some of the information had to be encoded over several sites to preserve the secret, just in case they were ever infiltrated or in the event of the entire order being killed off before the information was passed on, see?”
