From Death to Valhalla (The Last Einherjar Book 1)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  They were both wielding short swords. The first had blonde hair braided tight. She charged ahead of her brown-haired sister. The blonde showed no signs of slowing and Erik knew what they meant to do, the first would swipe and the second would stab at him. He had no intention of playing into their game. He charged himself, causing the trailing attacker to slow, surprised by his speed. The blonde kept her sword aimed at his chest. She moved more quickly than Göll, but it was nothing he wasn’t prepared for. He slapped the sword to the side and swung upward, catching her in the chest and sending her spiraling skyward. She recovered and flew away.

  Tove had grabbed the knives they’d bought, leaping quietly at the brown-haired valkyrie and nearly managing to plant the knives into the leather armor, but just missing. Erik watched the scene, amazed at Tove’s speed. She’d never shown anything like it before. More, she was quiet, unbelievably so. The valkyrie swiped at her, recoiling away, but the swing was shallow and Tove found her footing, moving toward Erik.

  “How many?”

  “Four, at least!”

  The blonde was rounding for another charge when the fourth swooped above them. She was far faster than the other three. “Göll, your chosen outfights you! How much shame can you bring upon yourself? I’ve dirtied myself with the air in Helheim, and this is all you have for me?” She flew off, cackling.

  Göll was in something of a stalemate with the other valkyrie, but she was keeping one of their number busy, at least. As Erik turned his eyes to the fourth, the brown-haired valkyrie charged him. Erik shifted toward Tove, not having his balance quickly enough to do anything more than dodge.

  “Hlökk, you are as embarrassing as Göll! At least put a cut to the boy.”

  A thundering crack sounded from behind and Göll slid back toward them, her feet dragging snow as she barely kept upright.

  “Why have you come, Róta?! This is not your place!” Göll barked the words up, but did not wait for an answer, readying her spear and flying toward the valkyrie she’d been in combat with.

  The valkyrie above was no longer talkative, as Hlökk and the blonde came again for Erik, this time stopping short to drive their blades at him from the ground. Erik slapped the spear tip away from his stomach and charged. As he ran up the length of it, the blade followed him back, forming into a short sword. He was forced to reverse course. Behind he heard another thundering blow. He could not turn to see it as the blonde slid in to his side. He had barely dodged the blades aimed at his gut when he saw Tove move out of the corner of his eye. She ran behind him. He heard a hissing at his back as soon as she’d started toward him and spun to see Göll on the ground and the third valkyrie charging. Tove planted herself in front of his body and before the space of a blink, a glowing white blade punched through her chest. It was ripped away again, pulling Tove forward onto the ground, where she fell, motionless.

  Erik let out a vicious scream, turning back to the valkyries who were readying their blades against him. His eyes met Hlökk’s and he saw panic flush over her. She moved to flee but he grabbed the neck of her leather armor. He could feel it trying to shift its shape underneath his hands, but he refused to let it and the armor obeyed him. Hlökk screamed in terror and Erik swung, his knuckles crashing against her face, pressure blowing her hair aside before the impact. She crashed across the ground, tumbling away into the fog, her body limp and still. He screamed again, hearing Tove’s screams as she reincorporated, and rushed at the blonde who fled outright.

  He’d almost caught her when Róta dropped between them, jabbing a sword into his side before he could change course to avoid it. Without thinking, he swung, catching Róta’s shoulder. She was pulled back by the blow and the sword was pulled free, leaving a gushing wound.

  From the fog, he heard shouting and a loud crack split the air around them. At least a dozen human men and women pounded into the camp, swords pointed toward the valkyries. He fell to his knees as Róta called for a retreat. The fog faded away entirely and Erik rolled forward, bleeding freely from his stomach. He put a hand over the wound, desperate to hold in whatever he could. They would find him alone in the woods. He rolled over onto the ground, staring up at the moon at the far edge of the dark sky. A man with long, wild hair and a full, braided beard came over to him, crouching down and smiling.

  “We won’t let you die, einherjar.” He laughed. “The walk would be too long to find you again.”

  Erik’s strength faded and the world went black around him. When his mind returned to him the first time, he realized it felt like far too much time had passed for him to have died. The pain came shortly after, but he swore he saw a woman pressing the area with something and an awful smell.

  He woke again, the cold wind blistering against his face as the light of day had started to fade in. He heard Tove’s screams from somewhere not far off and, though the sound made him wish to rise and do whatever he could for her, his body would not listen and sleep took him again.

  The sun was on his face when he felt a dried crust get pulled away from his skin. His eyes shot open, but an attempt to move failed him almost immediately. A woman with high cheeks and pale, freckled skin leaned over him, putting a cool hand on his head.

  “You’re wounded, einherjar. You should sleep.”

  Her soft voice was kind and convincing. Erik closed his eyes again as another warm, terrible smelling paste was applied to his wound. It was calming, aside from the smell.

  It was dusk when he finally woke with enough strength in his body to fight sleep back. He was lying on top of his bedroll, covered with sheepskin blankets. There was a large fire burning and at least a half dozen men sitting around it. There were two women as well, one cooking and the other tending to Tove. Her screams had turned to pained moans, at least.

  Erik stood himself up, groaning through the hurt as he did. Behind him, he heard the shifting of familiar leather. He turned to see Göll standing quietly behind him. The wound had closed, but not enough to allow him easy movement. The noise had drawn the attention of everyone in the camp. As surprising as it might have been, Erik’s grips were still on his wrists and he began to ball his fists when the men reached for the hilts of their swords. The wild-haired man from before stood facing Erik and holding a hand up to the others.

  “Don’t be so eager to die, you lot.” He smiled at Erik, blue eyes running over the patched wound and back up. “Come, berserker. Sit and eat.”

  Erik watched them for a second, not moving. The men had pulled their hands from their swords but it wasn’t entirely convincing. The women still tended to Tove and one even stood as if she were waiting to tend to him as well.

  “Who are you?”

  The man pulled a hand across his beard, smoothing it. “I am Flosi. And those here are my warband. Some of it, at least. I will explain, but we must dine. And Asfrid should see to your wound.”

  There wasn’t much reason left to be concerned about them, though his brain wouldn’t allow him to calm down. Being stabbed left him antsy, but they had kept him alive and Flosi showed no signs of ill-will. Erik walked to the fire and sat on the ground beside Flosi who had already taken his seat. The other men sat down after Erik had and Flosi went back to cooking meat over the fire. Asfrid came over, lifting Erik’s shirt to tend to the ball of mashed herbs that was laid over the wound on his side. Erik noticed a heavy stone hammer carved with runes beside Flosi.

  “You are a warband as well, are you not?” Flosi shook his head in disbelief. “Why else would an einherjar travel with a girl.”

  Erik looked over at Tove. “We are.”

  “And you are the chief? Surely the valkyrie has not joined your band as well.”

  “I guess I’m the chief. And I don’t know what constitutes joining, so much. She hasn’t sworn anything to me or whatever.”

  Flosi poked at the meat in the fire. “Still, a berserker and chosen, walking as a warband.” He huffed a l
augh. “You are an impressive and very curious creature.” He waved a hand over the others at the camp. “These are a third of my band. The rest are guarding and tending the risen in the woods where we slept. They will be there days, yet.”

  “Days?” It sounded as though Flosi had meant to see to the wounded, but the pain had never lasted more than a few hours for Erik. He remembered that the guard had said something similarly curious about Haki.

  “Truly you have not been here long,” Flosi said, turning an eye toward Erik. “Could be you are blessed. Certainly, you heal faster than most from even a grave wound. But the pain worsens and fades more slowly each time you feel it. Death is no blessing in this place.” He nodded toward Tove as he spun the meat on the fire. “The girl knows well enough. She must have known death dozens of times now the way she screamed.”

  Erik looked at Tove. “She… she lived in Spring. In a town with no fighting or anything.” Asfrid finished removing the herbs from him, running her fingers across the wound and stood up to go. “Thanks, sorry. I appreciate it.” Erik turned his head back to Flosi.

  “There are horrors, even in such peaceful towns full of smiling people.” Flosi waved one of his men over to remove the meat from the fire. “A place where every man only smiles makes it impossible to see what lies behind it.” The warchief turned his full attention to Erik. “But I am uninterested in that girl or her life in some town full of soft, unmanly things. I am interested in you, berserker.”

  “Why?”

  The men all laughed and Flosi gave a wry smile. “I think you have an answer for that without asking it.” His lips curled in consideration as he looked Erik over. “I have seen many berserkers in Midgard. Fought them. They were devout men, touched by the rage of the gods as blessing for their life lived in glorious battle. In Helheim, I have never seen their like. Not in my thousands upon thousands of battles. So…” Flosi’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to fight you.”

  “No thanks.”

  Flosi broke out into laughter and the others followed him, a few pointing at Erik. “I’d thought you might say that.”

  Plates of meat were brought. There were no vegetables, just slabs of elk or deer.

  “I have a proposition…” Flosi stopped a moment. “I’ve not asked your name.”

  “Erik.”

  “Is that all?”

  He wanted to sigh, but held it in. “Haki Erik Styrsson.”

  “Hm.” Flosi seemed to consider his name, taking a large bite of meat and chewing it thoroughly before speaking again. “Then Erik, as I said, I have a proposition.”

  “Sure.”

  “I assume you make for Gjallarbrú.”

  Erik’s expression went blank. It wasn’t a place he’d heard of. He turned to Göll who stepped toward the fire for the first time. “We do.”

  “Of course,” Flosi said, tearing off another bite of meat with his teeth, chewing it loudly. “We will guide you to Gjallarbrú as payment for a chance to test ourselves against the valkyries. They fled, but it was a glorious battle for what time it lasted.”

  “We can’t really sit here for a few days.” Erik looked toward the woods to the south.

  Flosi followed his gaze. “Oh, they will stay. We will travel with those who are here, so soon as the girl is well enough for the trip.”

  “How will the others find you?”

  “Does the girl not see to the runes? Is she not your wife?”

  “Tove? No, she’s… we’re just a warband.”

  Flosi chuckled. “You are a strange man. Then I will put your mind at ease. The runes will guide my wife to me. That is her work to do and she does it well.”

  “Then, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

  Ale was brought and they drank a toast to the agreement, sealing it according to Flosi. Erik felt out of place among the warband. They were familiar with one another and only Flosi seemed to react to him with anything approaching civility. The meal had passed and the men sat talking when Jari approached, limping. He was welcomed without a second thought, most making fun of him for having had his guts split. The man’s angry eyes followed Erik for a time before he was handed a mug of ale and his attention was drawn away.

  Erik motioned for Göll to follow, taking her toward Tove, who slept fitfully. The women gave him space and he used it to talk privately, so much as he could in the small camp.

  “You recognize that face, don’t you?” He talked in as low a whisper as he could, keeping his eyes on Tove and running a hand over her hair, smoothing it.

  Göll nodded silently.

  “We need their help through the mountains but I don’t like this. I didn’t like it before. If they do anything, anything, I want you to cut them down as fast as you can.”

  He sat the rest of the night with Tove, Göll at his side. They all stared at him but none more than Jari. The uncomfortable night wore on and Tove was finally able to sit toward midnight. Not long after Flosi called for the camp to be broken down. It was time they started their march to the north.

  chapter|26

  One of Flosi’s men came over and quietly laid a sword on the ground in front of Tove. The sheath looked to be expertly made. Tove picked it up and pulled the blade free from its housing. It was no cheap, cast-off sword that they had in spare from the look of it. It was well-cleaned, well-kept, and thoroughly sharp. She sheathed it and stood slowly.

  “It will be better than the knives, at least.” She winced as she swung the belt around to fasten it to her waist. “Maybe I’ll even manage to cut one of them if they return.” Tove looked around the camp. “Who are these people? They helped us, so I assume they mean us no harm.” She spotted Jari. “Though…”

  Erik grabbed Tove’s pack, holding it up for her to put on. “They’re a warband. They’ll guide us to Gjallarbrú.”

  “The great bridge?” She flushed with excitement. “How far?”

  Erik turned his eyes to Göll and got no answer. He shrugged. “No idea. And… it’s a bridge?”

  “It was in the old tales. The great golden bridge that Hermód crossed to retrieve Baldr from Hel’s side and return him to Asgard.”

  “So Hel’s land started on the other side of that bridge?”

  Tove looked around the camp. “I believe so. I cannot know for sure. Though only the dead may pass the bridge. It’s said to be guarded by a giantess.”

  “Well, great. So, warband, valkyries, giantess. That’s a reassuring list.”

  Erik rubbed his hand across the wound at his side. It itched even though it had mostly healed. He’d not survived such a wide wound before, so it was possible there was nothing odd about the lingering discomfort.

  The warband was packed, and Erik picked up his supplies, joining Tove and Göll as the lot of them got underway. The flat of the valley was crossed simply and they made good pace to the foothills of the mountains that towered above them. It was a winding path that only occasionally went north so much as it moved up into the hills. They’d traveled for only half a day, but the sun was already nearly below the horizon, and worse they had topped a hill and were moving into a narrow valley. Mountains rose up sharply on either side of it and as they descended into their shadow, Erik realized that the sun had not risen above where the mountains now towered above them.

  The cold deepened and the shadows were thick around them, the light fading quickly. Still, the warband ahead of them seemed not to notice the difference. They laughed and carried on. It wasn’t rare for them to turn and stare at Erik from time to time. Tove watched them, annoyed.

  “I’ll bet they’re mocking you. Saying you’re skinny and have no muscles. I hate it.”

  Erik laughed. “Aren’t you the one saying I’m skinny and have no muscles?”

  She looked up at him. “Of course I am, but I am allowed. They are not our warband and they should watch their tongues.”

&nb
sp; He let his amusement fizzle away, leaving a half-smile. “Are those the only complaints you have?”

  Tove scoffed. “We haven’t the time for me to list my complaints.”

  “Sounds like you picked a terrible warchief all on your own then.” He turned to Göll, enjoying the atmosphere more than the serious walk they’d been on so far. “And what about you? Anything you want to get out?”

  “It would do well for you to learn to fight,” Göll said flatly.

  Erik laughed again and one of the men from the warband slowed to come back toward them. “It’s good you’re enjoying yourself so much, berserker.” The words were not meant in good nature, that much was obvious from his tone. “Refusing a duel and carrying on among women. It’s some wonder the gods would bless you.” The man looked at Erik, sneering. “Or maybe they haven’t. All I saw was a man stuck like a pig and crying.”

  “Shut your mouth, oaf! If it’s a fight you want, I’ll gladly send you back to your bed!”

  The man spun, a mocking smile on his face and the laugh to match about to leave his mouth. Tove charged him, putting her leg behind his and pulling him down. She planted a boot firmly in his ribs and jumped back as he swung for her foot. Tove pulled her sword as a roar of laughter rang out from the warband ahead of them. The man rose, incensed, drawing his sword.

  He was easily twice her size in every meaningful way. Tove was ready for him, though. The man charged and Tove side-stepped, letting his falling blade glance off of her own. She wasn’t nearly as fast as the night before, but she moved better than she had in Völundr’s yard. The man charged again and she parried him, slapping the flat of the blade against the back of his leg. He shouted in frustration and Erik saw a faint glow in the man’s hands as he spun to come at her again.

  Göll became a blur, appearing in front of Tove as the sword came down. A spear of blue energy shot off of the end of the sword as it struck against her unmoving shoulder. The magic misted harmlessly in the air and the man scrambled back away from Göll, his rage turning to fear with each step. When he saw that the valkyrie was not moving to harm him, he started back forward, shouting complaints.