From Death to Valhalla (The Last Einherjar Book 1)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  The next houses went smoothly enough, with Erik offering to grab it for them if they wanted. They declined and didn’t seem to suggest that he was disgusting or in some way mentally deficient. As he worked his way back toward the square, he began to see white and yellow blocks on the pegs as well. He stopped a man who was walking toward the square.

  “Hey, sorry. Are these… do I have to do anything about the white and yellow blocks?”

  The man looked down at his hands, seeing the bag. “Bread? No. Those mean they’ll have milk and eggs as well.”

  Erik thanked him and the man continued on. The houses were a bit farther apart in this part of town and as he neared the end of one row, he noticed there were no more red blocks. Deciding he was being clever, Erik decided to cut between a pair of houses. He was halfway down the way when the houses came closer together than he’d expected and he had to turn sideways. As he did, he looked behind and saw the silhouette of a head looking at him. He froze, watching it for a minute.

  “Hello?”

  There was no response and it didn’t move.

  “Hey! Why are you staring at me?”

  He saw the head look to the side and then back to him, but the sun had become too strong to see any features. Erik started shuffling sideways between the houses as fast as he could, the head still watching him. He started to panic even though he was only a few feet from the back of the houses. He stopped looking behind, worried there might be an accomplice at the other end waiting for him.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  He popped out into the small side street, stumbling and whipping his head back and forth. The street was empty except for a few women talking to each other a few houses down. One turned to look at him but quickly lost interest and returned to her conversation.

  It was nearly impossible for Erik to relax as he finished handing out the bread he’d been given but even when he decided to randomly spin around and walk a different direction he didn’t catch anyone following him. There was an amount of whispering, though. It wasn’t the best way to make a decent impression.

  He returned to the bread shop, not looking forward to another interaction with Ósk. He could hear arguing through the door before he knocked and Ósk’s annoyed voice came closer. Erik put on his best smile when she opened the door.

  “What’s wrong with your face, boy?” She stuck her head out the door and looked up at the sky. “Took you long enough.” She grabbed the bag from him. “I’ll get your coin.” She closed the door for a moment and then came back. He held his hand out and she pressed two coins into it. “There. Deal’s done.”

  She started to close the door and, against his better judgment Erik spoke.

  “Sorry, wait! Please!”

  She stopped closing the door but didn’t speak.

  “Do you have a bathroom?”

  She opened the door. “You want a bath?”

  “No, it’s not… Jesus. A… restroom?” Her face was souring with every passing second. “Toilet?”

  She rolled her eyes, finally understanding him. She turned around, leaving the door open. “Raggi! Take this boy to have a shit.”

  A rotund man, wearing patchy stubble, came walking up to the door. He waved Erik in.

  “Yer the new one, eh? Heard some stories. Well, reckon you shit like the rest of us.” He laughed. “S’out back.”

  Those words did not fill Erik with a sense of confidence. It occurred to him that none of the doors in Gerhard’s alehouse seemed to go to a bathroom. And that there was already liquid in the bucket he was heading to the river with.

  He walked through the main room of the house. It was a wide kitchen with three ovens at the edge of the house farthest from the other rooms. Ósk was already back to work, rolling what looked like much more normal bread. It wasn’t nearly as dark, with white flour.

  Raggi opened the rear door and led him out into a small yard in the back. There was an outhouse standing in it, along with some parts that looked to be for ovens.

  Erik looked at the wooden rectangle, despondent. “So, there’s no plumbing?”

  “Hm?” Raggi looked at him, eyebrows raised, and then at the outhouse. “Oh. Hah! Fancy man, aren’t you? You’ll get used to it.” He pushed him toward the outhouse and turned to head back toward the bakery.

  Being in no rush to find out how bad the smell would be, Erik dragged his feet toward the suspect building. He opened the door and saw a small box of dirty sheep’s wool sitting beside the hole that had been cut into a wooden bench. He whimpered looking at it, but went inside, expecting to vomit from the smell. Instead he was greeted by a quiet babbling. Against his better judgment, Erik looked down the hole and could just barely make out rushing water. Looking at the side of the small reservoir, he could see pipes made from hollowed rocks. They’d redirected the nearby river to run through pipes.

  Erik had no idea he was capable of feeling such relief and he quickly undid the rope around his new pants and pulled them down, sitting on the seat. The water was very relaxing, it turned out, and he felt stress falling away as he sat on the borrowed wooden bench. He tensed again, hearing footsteps outside. Raggi must have been coming to check on him. Wanting to avoid a conversation he decided to speak first.

  “I’m doing fine, thanks!” He gave a half-chuckle. “I thought it was going to be awful in here.”

  There was no answer and the footsteps moved to the side of the outhouse and then around the back. He heard a sound like someone jumping and landing.

  “Hello? Raggi?”

  The footsteps sped up, moving to the far side. There were vents toward the top of the outhouse that Erik had just noticed. He had no way of closing them. He heard jumping again, this time on the side. The sound of a door creaking open sent the footsteps running away from the outhouse and as Erik was looking frantically around, he heard Raggi’s voice coming closer.

  “Not so bad, is it?” There was pride in the statement. “Took years to get those damnable things working right. Worth it though, eh?”

  “Yeah, it’s… it’s really amazing. Listen, did you see someone around the outhouse just now?”

  There was a brief pause. “No, no one out here but you. I’ve heard you’re called Erik, is that right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They say you’re from some new land in Midgard, what’s it like? Been stuck here with the missus— and I love her, mind you— but I used to dream of adventure.”

  This was not relaxing. Erik explained that the Italians found it and that there were natives, trying to end the conversation. It failed. Finally, he gave up and just forced as much from his bowels as he could manage considering the situation. There was a second box next to the one full of wool, it was covered unlike the other. Erik grabbed a handful and cleaned up as best he could with what was clearly not prime grade material. He understood thoroughly after opening the closed box why Gerhard used the river.

  Erik left, thanking them both on the way through the bakery. Ósk grunted at him, but Raggi seemed to have taken a liking to him.

  He headed back to the alehouse. It was mid-morning from the looks of the sun in the sky, and he opened the door to find Gerhard cleaning the tables with a rag. He stood up when Erik came in.

  “Good, Fulla saw to some clothes.”

  Erik looked down at the clothes and then back up at Gerhard. “She’s not married.”

  Gerhard laughed. “Oh, that girl. She’s never been good around people. Was there work?”

  Erik held up his two coins, moving over to the bench nearest Gerhard as he did.

  “Work well done, then. Ósk is usually a stingy one. Must be she likes the look of you.”

  “Is that what that means?” Erik huffed out something like a laugh. “At least she shows it somehow. What should I pay you for letting me stay here? I don’t really—”

  Gerhard held up
a hand. “Keep what you earn.” He wrung out the rag into the bucket of water. “Earn enough to buy some drink and buy it from me. Now, let’s eat. There’s work for you in the afternoon.”

  chapter|7

  Gerhard finished his cleaning, tossed the rag into the bucket, and then made for the door. Erik stood up, following him, and they both left the alehouse into the late morning sun. It was a warm day, pleasant, if a bit too humid. The haze of the morning had burnt off in the half hour that Gerhard had finished the cleaning and more people were out now with the sun up.

  Erik watched people smile at Gerhard and greet him graciously as he passed by the shops. There was an integrity about the man that Erik admired, likely all the more because that integrity meant that he’d been given a place to stay and protected, in a way, from what the people in Kvernes might have thought of him.

  “Where are we eating? Is there a restaurant or something?”

  Gerhard waved at a group of women who looked to be about his age and they seemed happy with the gesture. “Something, yes.”

  Gerhard stopped in front of a modest house and knocked on the door. A few minutes later Fulla pulled it open, holding a pair of small pots.

  “Gerhard, I…” She stopped talking when she saw Erik was there.

  “You?” Gerhard chuckled.

  “You hadn’t said you were bringing him as well. I have cooking. I have to… take these.” She handed the pots to Gerhard. “The rest’ll be done in the afternoon.” She looked at Erik and swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  Erik raised an eyebrow. “For?”

  She blushed and turned around. “I have work!” Fulla closed the door and Erik could hear her walk quickly away from it.

  Gerhard handed the pots to Erik and motioned for him to follow. “Seems she likes you.”

  Erik gave a nervous smile at the statement. “She seems nice.”

  There was something too normal about it all. There was no way he could say that to Gerhard, at least it didn’t feel like he could. And what would he say? Where are all the sword fights? Why haven’t any giants attacked? He wasn’t even sure what he wanted or expected Helheim to be like, but somehow it wasn’t what he imagined. That was something of a running theme since Göll showed up. Gerhard’s popularity meant regular stops along the walk back to the alehouse to chat with people. They all welcomed him, no one asked any questions beyond his name and where he’d come from. Gerhard was subtle in interrupting anyone who asked much more, but he did it each time without fail. They were nearly back to the alehouse when Gerhard explained himself, even though Erik hadn’t asked.

  “They will have plenty of time for questions later,” he said, not looking back. “Best you have some time to arrange your thoughts. Us in Kvernes… we’ve been about a very long time. We forget what it was like.”

  Gerhard pushed open the door of the alehouse and shut it back behind them. He sat his pot down on a table near the windows and opened the shutters.

  “Sit. I’ll fetch the drink.”

  The thought of the syrupy alcohol from the night before made Erik think it might be better to decline the offer, but he didn’t, sitting across from where Gerhard had put his food. He came back with a pair of the odd spoons and two mugs. Instead of the golden liquid from the night before, they contained a dark brown liquid that smelled much more like normal beer, if more pungent.

  Gerhard took his place across from Erik and pulled the lid from his pot, smelling it and smiling. He noticed Erik eyeing the mug. “Problem?”

  Erik looked up, seeing Gerhard had opened his pot and so did the same. “No, no.”

  “Not used to the drink, are you? Had a few like you through Kvernes before. Ale for lunch and dinner, mead for dessert.” Gerhard took a big spoonful of the stew in the pot and shoved it into his mouth. “That is the way we live. In time, you’ll wonder how you lived without them.”

  Erik doubted that. “Is Kvernes the only town?”

  “There are others. Are you a restless sort, Erik?”

  The stew was well-made, if a bit light on beef. “I don’t think so. No one’s ever called me restless. I’d just like to know where I am.”

  Gerhard looked at him, considering the statement for a moment. “There are other towns, if they could be called that. More you’d call them farmers who’ve banded to one another. Two and three dozen at most. Best that you get your bearings here before venturing too far without some guidance.”

  Erik didn’t know enough to argue with the point, though the city seemed safe and generally happy. He hadn’t seen all of it, though. Maybe the world was dangerous. It was strange that he hadn’t heard any mention of Hel or of gods or valkyries out of anyone.

  When lunch was done, Gerhard grabbed the pot and mug and carried them toward the kitchen, talking as he went.

  “There’s work for you. Real work.” He went into the kitchen, coming back running a dry rag. “At the south edge of town, there’s a small farm.”

  “South?”

  “Right. The main path runs east to west, same as the sun crosses the sky.”

  Erik looked out the window, as if that would confirm something. “Okay.”

  “The work won’t kill you, it’s a small plot. Enough to grow some root vegetables we need. House with a green door.” Gerhard looked out the window to the street. “Best you get there. Sun won’t shine forever.”

  The streets weren’t exactly bustling, but there were enough people to make Kvernes feel larger than it had in the morning. No one talked to him without Gerhard leading him around the city. They stared, though, and a few gave idle waves. Erik wondered if it was simply because he was new or if it was somehow related to the reaction to his mention of Göll the night before.

  The farmhouse was easily found just past the south edge of the rows of houses. A field about fifty yards square had been marked out with a fence, though it didn’t really look like a farm so much as just a big rectangle of patchy land.

  Not sure what he’d be doing, Erik knocked on the door with some hesitation. It was a few minutes before anyone came to answer.

  “Had to get dressed, y’see.” The woman looked up at him without issuing any sort of greeting. “My fool arse of a husband broke ‘is leg yesterday mornin’. Won’t be right again ‘til tomorrow. You can hear ‘im moanin’ if you listen close.” She stopped talking, lifting her chin and waiting for the noise. She laughed when a moan came from the main room. “Hah! Slipped on a rock. Anyhow, I got a woman’s work needs doin’. Ever pushed a plow?”

  “A plow? No. I’ve—”

  She pinched his arm between thin fingers and grimaced. “Didn’t figure from the look o’ ya. It ain’t so hard and you seem a smart one. Stick it in the ground and push it straight. You menfolk ought to understand that well enough.” She cackled, pushing past him to come out into the street. She closed the door and pointed absently toward the fence. “Plow’s it. It’s all you’ll need. Do all you can before sundown and we’ll call it a day’s work.”

  With that she started northward toward Kvernes, leaving Erik standing in the middle of the street. He looked at the closed door and figured he was expected to just hop the fence, so he did. The house was a part of the fencing itself, with a side door letting out to the main area. He doubted the man inside would welcome his presence. He hadn’t even gotten the wife’s name so explaining why he was there would be difficult at best.

  The ground in the field wasn’t nearly as soft as what he’d walked on near the well. He spotted a wood-handled device with a wheel on the front and a maybe foot-wide claw behind it. It was held in place with a large bolt and there was a more spade shaped piece of iron on the ground with roughly the same look. Erik could sort of remember seeing much larger versions of similar tools attached to cows at the old longhouses he’d had to visit. He hadn’t been interested enough to watch them do the work, but he could assume the order of t
hem easily enough. One tilled up the dirt, the other made rows for planting.

  He groaned as he pulled the plow up, looking at the size of it compared to the field around him. It seemed so much larger now than it had. As he got to the edge of the field, Erik pushed the edge of the tiller into the dirt, thankful that at least the handles were smooth. He started pushing, surprised that the dirt gave way fairly easily. He had no idea how harsh the winters were, but no one seemed to mention it. Maybe they were mild enough to keep the dirt pliable come the spring. It was a bit of luck he hadn’t expected, but it was welcome enough. Even with the weather as pleasant as it was, the work was hard and so he pulled his shirt off, tossing it on the ground beside the plow. In the span of a few hours, he’d managed to till almost half of the field. Wanting a change of pace, and to keep his mind off the lack of ready access to water, he switched the tiller for the plow and curious if it would save time, walked to an untilled bit of dirt. He plunged the plow in and it stuck, not wanting to move. He strained, trying to push it forward, making slow progress.

  “Erik!”

  He looked to the side and saw a short girl with dirty, light-blonde hair staring at him. She had an annoying grin on her face.

  “What?”

  “You’re meant to till it first.”

  He rolled his eyes and pulled the plow from the dirt, deciding to ignore her. He walked to the area he’d tilled to start practicing with the plow.

  “Erik! Oy!”

  He ignored her, starting down the line with the plow hoping she’d go away.

  “Why would you pretend not to hear me? I offer good advice and this is how I’m treated?”

  He did his best to move down the tilled soil in a straight line, but it was much harder than he’d expected and the row veered a foot out in places. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl climbing the fence.

  “Hey! You can’t be in here.”

  She ignored him, landing on the dirt at the edge of the field and started walking toward him.