Erik extended his hand and Gerhard clapped his own around Erik’s forearm. The grip was strong and as much as he might’ve wanted to match its firmness, he knew he’d just embarrass himself.
“Erik.”
“A good name.” Gerhard nodded, smiling wide under thick bristles. “Come. Let’s get you out of those odd clothes and feed you.”
As much gut as he had, there was muscle under it all. Erik found himself entirely thankful that Gerhard seemed to be a kind man. Although, maybe when he was in the alehouse, they’d kill and eat him. Erik was troubled that he couldn’t bring himself to entirely dismiss the thought.
“Go on! Stop starin’!”
Gerhard waved his hands, prompting the gathered onlookers at the door to head back to their seats. The building was warm inside and there was the smell of food and thick drinks. There was conversation about him that no one made any particular effort to keep secret. Most of the chatter was about his clothes. It was definitely not the thin wool that they wore and they seemed to have never seen its like. The denim was especially curious to them. Gerhard pointed at a place at one of the long benches between a pair of women who looked to be in their 50s.
Erik sat down and hands were immediately on his body, pinching at various places and squeezing others. They rubbed the fabric between their fingers.
“So soft! Oh, it’s been ages since we’ve had someone new.”
He smiled politely, not sure what to say. The women were hardly talking to him, and more to each other and the people around.
Across the table questions began to come at him.
“So what were you, boy. A farmer?” one man asked.
Another spoke up, “Nah, look at his arms. Scrawny. He’s a jarl’s son for sure.”
They didn’t wait for answers and quickly devolved into spirited debate about what he was and where he’d come from.
“Shut up, the lot of you!” A younger looking woman in the corner shouted. “Ask him, not yourselves!” The room quieted and she looked at Erik. “Where’ve you come from? What’s your name? No sense in only Gerhard knowing!”
“My name’s Erik. I lived in America.”
Everyone looked at him without a hint of understanding on their faces. The mumbling began.
“Some new country?” “Things change so much back in Midgard.”
They forgot about him for a moment, long enough for Gerhard to come back through the door to the kitchen area holding a mug and a dish that was somewhere between a plate and a bowl. He placed them both down in front of Erik along with a wood-handled knife and a metal spoon that flattened at the end something like a shovel. The bowl was filled with simple food, boiled turnips and carrots and a fatty cut of boiled lamb that looked as though it had at least some herbs on it from the liquid it was cooked in. Gerhard ran off two of the men sitting opposite Erik at the table and sat in their place.
“This is for me?”
Gerhard laughed as did a few others. “Of course. Can’t expect you to arrive in such a place with a full stomach.”
“I can’t pay.”
Gerhard nodded. “No need for that yet, boy.”
Erik started eating, stopping after the first bite. “Thank you. I should have said it before. For the food. I’m grateful. It’s delicious.”
It wasn’t, really. It was fairly bland, but he was hungry enough that his stomach seemed not to care.
“Fulla prepared it.” Gerhard turned his shoulders, pointing to a woman behind them. She looked young and blushed to be pointed out. “She’s got skill in cooking.”
Erik smiled at her and Fulla hid her face to the amusement of the entire alehouse.
“You’ve not been here long, is that true?” The room went quiet as Gerhard spoke.
Erik shook his head between bites. “No. I just… I woke up near a well.”
There were murmurs of knowing agreement with the statement.
“And you walked here?”
“Yeah. I came, uh, there was a path near the well and I just decided to go left.”
Gerhard nodded. “Well, it’s good you did. The other direction would have led you into the woods. Not so many folk out there. Kvernes is easily the better place to find yourself.”
“Ey!” The patrons all raised their mugs and shouted in unison.
Erik hurried to do the same, taking a drink as the others did. The light golden liquid inside was thick and warm and heavy with alcohol. He coughed, nearly spitting the drink all over his food. They laughed.
“You’ll get used to it, boy!” An old bald man encouraged him from the back of the room and others did the same in response.
Erik spoke up when the shouting died. “Kvernes isn’t a word I know. And this building isn’t like the longhouses. I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just strange to me.”
“You live, still, in longhouses in America?” Another man shouted the question in disbelief.
Erik spoke up. “No, I just… I’ve never seen a building like this.”
Gerhard put a hand up at the chatter. “This is how things were made in my home, Kvernes, when I died. I came to Helheim as all men do and was unsatisfied with what I saw, so I came to this field and built what I knew. More came and for ages we’ve lived as we please here.”
“When did you die?” He blurted the question without thinking and was thankful when Gerhard laughed.
“I can hardly remember now. They’d remind us every winter. Thirteen and something. Always the year of their lord.”
The patrons booed and then broke into laughter.
The food had disappeared from Erik’s plate and he was in no hurry to take another drink. He had questions, but most of them he didn’t want to ask. There was no way of knowing how people would react if he mentioned how he’d died. “Is all of Helheim like this?”
Gerhard leaned back, crossing his arms. “No. But there’s little reason to travel. There are other cities, but they are harsh or full with criminals.”
“Is there any way someone could find me here? If they were looking?”
Gerhard chuckled. “Who would look for you, boy? Were you married so young?”
“No, there’s… A girl. Her name is Göll and…”
The faces of the people around him changed at the mention of the name and Gerhard stood up. He walked around the table briskly and grabbed Erik by the shirt, dragging him toward the kitchen. He was pushed through the door and Gerhard came in behind him. There was a low din from the main room. Erik looked around frantic, there was a door behind him.
“I don’t mean to hurt you, boy, but you’ve just said something that it’ll be hard for folk to forget.”
Erik shook his head. “Look, I can just go. It’s fine.”
Gerhard’s face was stern. “I will ask for a clear answer from you. Göll, the one you believe will come and find you, she is a valkyrie?”
“Y-yes. Yes. She is supposed to guide me to Valhalla she said.”
The large man in front of him softened, heaving a weary sigh. He pointed to a door at the side of the kitchen. “Go upstairs. And keep yourself quiet for a while.” Gerhard rubbed at his temples, shaking his head. “They’ll be badgering me all night.”
He prepared a handful of mugs and went back into the main hall, people shouting questions at him immediately. Erik decided it was best to get upstairs before anyone came to look for him, so he did as quietly as the stairs would allow.
The room at the top of the stairs was simple, furs and a small table with roughly hewn chairs. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling lit things well enough. Erik sat at one of them, listening to the sounds of the hall before. The shouting died and turned to laughter as they forgot whatever had made them angry about Erik’s presence.
Hours passed and the noise died until it was just the sound of mugs being cleared away. Gerhard came up the stairs and
into the room, grumbling about having had to serve so much drink.
Erik stood as soon as Gerhard entered. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I didn’t know.”
A dismissive hand was waved. “How could you? They forget that. Sit.” Gerhard moved to a chair and sat. Erik did the same. “You may not have seen it before you ended up here, but valkyries are not gentle creatures.”
The look on Erik’s face must have told Gerhard enough since he left the explanation there.
He continued, “I can’t promise you much, but you’d do well to make yourself a welcome addition. I can find you work come the morning.”
“Shouldn’t I try to find Göll?”
Gerhard gave him a pitying look. “You’re welcome to do as you like. But valkyries sometimes leave their chosen, forsake them. I hear it’s some sort of game for them. A way to seek Odin’s favor. And with you ending up out here… I can say you’re a rarity. We haven’t had a new face through here in hundreds of years, such as they are in Helheim.”
With what Vár had done to him, Erik could imagine that explained most of the situation he found himself in. His mind wanted to jump to conclusions but the only reasonable thing to do was wait and see.
“I’d like to pay you back, if I can. So I’d like to work.”
Gerhard smiled. “Good man. Fulla’s said she has some clothes she thinks might fit you.” He chuckled. “She’ll bring them when the sun’s up, give you something to wear that isn’t full of holes and bad memories.”
Erik looked down at his shirt. “I’m grateful for that. For all of this. I hope I can pay it back.”
Gerhard stood, and moved to a small closet, pulling some furs. “Keep up like that and I’ll really believe you were chosen.”
chapter|6
Gerhard slept heavy and loud and that meant Erik spent the rest of the night sitting in the corner staring at nothing. What little moonlight made it through the shutters landed on Gerhard’s bed and that scenery had become boring fairly quickly.
The sun seemed to take forever to crawl into the sky. Gerhard woke up before when the room was still dim orange and rolled himself out of bed. He looked at Erik and jumped back, having forgotten he was there.
“Oh, right. Apologies boy.” He slapped his naked stomach and exhaled heavily. “I forget the world when I sleep.”
Erik stood up, looking at the window. “It’s fine, really. You think there’s any work for me? I just want to do… something.”
Gerhard walked toward a bucket, pulling it up from the ground. “This early? Won’t be much.” He stopped by the door, turning around. “Maybe Ósk and her husband, Raggi. They own a bakery and Raggi is as lazy as I’ve met.” He laughed. “They might need something this early. They’re back the way you came. You’ll be able to smell the bread.”
Erik followed Gerhard down the stairs. “They won’t be angry with me?”
Gerhard turned as they entered the kitchen, unlatching the back door. “They haven’t a reason to be. Wary, might be. Not your fault. The valkyries choose who they choose.” He yawned looking over Erik’s clothes. “No sense going out in that. Best you wait in the front hall for Fulla. I’m going to wash and fetch water for the cleaning.”
He left without anything else, leaving Erik alone in the hall. It was quiet again, something he wasn’t entirely accustomed to. Erik walked out to the front hall and sat at one of the benches. The hall was fairly large, with ceilings higher than he would have expected. Last night, when it was full of people drinking and shouting, it had seemed so much smaller and all the more terrifying. The feeling wasn’t helped by their reaction to him saying the name Göll. He walked around the hall, looking at the tables and benches. They were made of boards at least, unlike the rough chairs in Gerhard’s room above. They were smooth to the touch and felt as if they’d been sealed with something. They definitely weren’t bare wood. They may have even been shiny at some point. There were divots worn into every single seat and the edge of every table where people had sat. There were knife marks among the chips and stains. He ran his fingers across them in the silence, forcing himself to accept where he was. Everyone in the hall had accepted it.
A light knock at the door to the alehouse startled him.
“Fuck. Just…” He straightened himself up. “Coming. Hold on.”
He ran to the door, looking at the latch. A metal spike through a pair of loops and a metal handle that operated an iron bar to hold it shut. He pulled the spike and opened the door. It was the girl from the night before. She seemed surprised to see him.
“Oh, cock.” She flushed, eyes opening in surprise. “No! I didn’t mean to… not you. I just… I hadn’t expected you would be here.” She looked down at his ripped shirt and held out the clothes she’d brought. “I’m not married.” She shook her head, panicking. “No, I mean. The clothes. I…” Her hands opened and she let out a squeak. The garments landed on the stone by her feet and she turned and ran off.
Erik reached a hand out. “Wait!” She kept running. “Thanks!” He yelled it after her and the girl stumbled.
He winced through a smile, not wanting to laugh at her. Erik really wished he could thank her properly. She’d made him feel more normal than anything else. He bent down and picked up the clothes, shutting and securing the door. There were shoes as well, something he was thankful for even though they looked strange. Leather with wood on the bottom. All of it was used but it seemed clean enough. He pulled his clothes off and laid them on the table, dressing himself in the things Fulla had brought. The clothes were rough but comfortable enough. As much as his brain screamed to keep his old clothes, he figured that was a bandage best ripped off now. He’d be used to the wool before long.
Erik opened the door and stepped out into Kvernes again, this time in the light. The dim orange had changed color, but a fog was hanging over the town. It wasn’t terribly thick, but it kept the morning light reasonable. He was thankful for that, really, never having been a morning person.
The path was much easier to see in the early morning light, as were most of the shops of the square. Some part of his brain told him that the words on the signs were in runes, something he’d never learned to read, but he could understand them. They were all simple signs bearing the name of the owner and what the shop was for. “Smithy” on the top line of the blacksmith’s sign and “Halfdan of Kvernes” on the bottom.
It was quiet, generally, along the main street. A few people standing by their doors and talking. They waved at Erik as he went by and he returned the gesture. He wondered about the magic that made him able to understand everyone and even read the signs. It was useful, either way, and in the face of shape-shifting weapons, it seemed almost a given.
The smell of bread surrounded him all at once, reminding him of why he was walking down the main path in the first place. He looked around, noticing a single-floor wooden house that took up more space than most of the ones around it. There was no sign hanging near the door, but rather one on the ground. “Bakery.”
Erik guessed there weren’t likely to be multiple bakeries in a town of maybe a hundred or so people and he knocked at the door. He heard bickering from inside and then the locks being seen to.
The door swung open to show a middle-aged woman who looked him up and down. “What’re you after?” A wave of realization swept over her. “Oh, you’re that one. Want work, I’ll bet?”
He chuckled, not sure what to make of her but nervous either way. “I think I’m that one, yeah. Are you Ósk? I’m Erik. I’d love to help out.”
“Expecting pay too, I bet.”
“No, I mean—”
“Fool enough to work for no pay, is it?”
“I don’t—”
She threw a bag at him which Erik caught. It was warm, full of soft loaves of bread. “Work pays two coins. Don’t eat it. If there’s red wood hung outside, they want bread. Knock. Th
at’s it.”
She slammed the door and Erik stood in the street, not entirely sure which way he should walk or what he was supposed to say. He looked around, seeing no red wood on any of the doors around. What he did see were small black hooks to the side of some doors and in the center of others. He went for the side streets, deciding that would be the best place to start and quickly found the first house.
He walked up, standing awkwardly in front of the door for a minute, listening for the sounds of people inside. He heard the creaking of wood and decided he’d be alright. He knocked and immediately heard footsteps coming toward the door. It opened just the slightest, a man peered out, his grey-streaked beard pressing through the crack.
“What? Bread?” He opened the door. “Alright, let’s have it.”
Erik opened the bag and reached into it, pulling out a loaf. The man looked at it and then at Erik.
“You’re new.” He reached into the bag on his own and pulled out a loaf, then pulled the red wood block off the peg beside the door. “Don’t touch the bread.”
The door shut and Erik stood there holding the bread in his hand and feeling like most of an idiot. He told himself there was no way he could know. The man wasn’t even particularly clean looking, really, so it made no sense he’d be upset at someone touching his bread. Erik smelled the bread in his hand, figuring it couldn’t do any harm. He’d had barley bread a few times and it smelled like that. Not something he really enjoyed immensely. He put the loaf back in the bag and moved to the next house with a red block on the peg.
He knocked and an old woman answered in a loose gown that looked like it was for sleeping. He smiled.
“You wanted bread?” He held the sack out, opening it.
“You intend for me to bend over’n reach down into that bag?”
She did, holding her back with her other hand, shaking her head when she’d retrieved her loaf of bread. She didn’t say anything else, only pulled the wooden block and gave Erik a disapproving look.
When the door closed, Erik closed the bag, gripping it tightly in his hands, and stomped around in the dirt outside the old woman’s door. Somehow, he didn’t scream.
From Death to Valhalla (The Last Einherjar Book 1) Page 5
