“You would let the girl provoke a fight and then interfere?!”
“You provoked a fight, oaf!” Tove screamed from behind Göll. “And you should not have stopped it, Göll!”
Göll spun, taking Tove by the shoulder. The girl froze, it was the first time Erik had seen Göll touch anyone other than him. “If you wish to fight, then learn to!”
“Why don’t you teach me then!”
“I intend to!”
Tove stood dumbstruck by Göll’s proclamation and the man shouted, annoyed at having been ignored. Göll turned her head toward him, her face showing that she did not intend to hear his voice any longer. The warband saw what Erik had, at least, and was quick to come and lock arms under the raging fighter, pulling him away from Göll as Flosi came forward. He yelled at the man.
“If you want a fight, pick one properly.”
“He—”
Flosi immediately struck the man on the jaw with full force, knocking him unconscious. The rest let him fall to the ground. The warchief turned to Erik, walking at him, hammer on his shoulder. “I’ll apologize for my man. If he wanted a fight, he ought to have said it outright.”
Erik looked at the man, slowly working his way back up on unsteady legs. “It’s fine. I have no intention of fighting any of your people.”
“I’ve told them as much, but you understand how fighters are.”
“I know the type, sure.”
Flosi turned and ordered the warband to begin their march again, the light having faded nearly entirely. The moon was much the same as the sun had been, keeping itself low in the sky. It provided nearly no light. Ahead of him, he saw dim green lights come out. Flosi kept beside him when they returned to their walk.
“I’ve noticed you watching Jari.”
Erik was on edge after the fight and he kept an eye on Flosi’s hammer. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
Flosi held up a hand. “We sent him, I know. But he was not told to lie to you.”
“I’m gonna call bullshit on that, Flosi. He had a pack full of fucking rocks.”
The man sighed. “Fair, then. We meant to attack you before we knew you were a berserker.”
“And now you don’t intend to attack me?”
“Not unless we must. I have given my word and unless you mean to malign my good name, I will keep it. You allowed my men to taste battle with valkyries and showed the face of a berserker to those who have not seen it. There is more value in those than I think you know. We followed you meaning to take those things and you gave them to us and more. That is a debt we’ve made for ourselves and I’ll repay it.”
Flosi walked away with that and went to the front of the warband. He was given a glowing green stone and the pace of the warband increased to a speed beyond what they’d managed during the day. It was a slavish march through a too-long night. Erik’s legs had not failed him in the days of walking, but whatever kept wounds healing did little for him when the work had been so constant with so little rest. There was no room for a complaint from either himself or Tove about the speed or the awkward terrain of the dark valley with the warband leading them through. They were in strange territory, now without light for the bulk of their waking hours and only dim shadow for the rest.
Even with the fur over him, the pain in his side was there, a constant feeling of needles jabbing into him. It was dimming slowly, but Erik figured sleep would be the only way past it. His feet had gone numb hours before he realized that the warband had no intention of stopping in the dark. They had gone quiet, all of them staring down in silence as they walked along with their strange glowing stones. It wasn’t until the sky showed the first signs of light that they slowed. Erik watched them as they seemed to come out of a trance, the stones dimming and showing themselves to be simple rocks carved on every face with runic shapes. He was near enough that he could see them, but they didn’t form anything resembling words that he knew.
They stopped as soon as they found enough level ground to form a camp, a trio of fires being set up immediately, one that seemed to be for Erik and his group. He laid out bedrolls beside it, wanting to sleep immediately, though he knew he’d be too hungry to manage it. Once the camps were prepared, Flosi came to them as Erik rubbed on the wound in his stomach.
“It will clear completely if you die.”
Erik frowned down at the red line on his stomach. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
Flosi waved Asfrid over and she brought heavy ale for them. She went away, promising to bring back meat when it was prepared. The ale had been warmed in spite of the fact that they’d just stopped. Erik looked over to the meat and found it wasn’t frozen either.
“How’d you keep this stuff liquid?”
Flosi smiled. “The runestones.” He took a massive swig and let out a satisfied breath after it had gone down. “They have been forgotten by most. Takes tens of years to learn to carve them so they do anything at all. Like most things, the younger ones think they are just old stories, but Odin gave us the runes and he would not give us a boon so powerless.” Flosi took another drink, shaking his head. “You’ve distracted me. I wanted to come and understand you and hope that you would understand me. You seem to have taken offense at our plan to attack you. A warband fights, Erik.”
“Is that a law?” He did not want to provoke the man, but Erik was growing tired of being told what his actions were meant to mean.
“There is no such law. Only the word of a warchief.”
The man wanted to continue but Erik was tired of listening. “And if I told you how to run your warband, what would you say to me?”
Flosi stopped, any politeness fading from his face for a moment before it returned. “You’ve made your point well. I have not respected you. But why call yourself a warchief and those who follow you a warband?”
“I have a war.” Erik’s eyes turned reflexively to the sky, scanning it.
Flosi followed his eyes up and realization grabbed the warchief. “I cannot argue with that. I find myself wishing that it were mine after the battle I saw.”
“Agree to disagree,” Erik said, shaking his head at what sounded to him like a madman’s wish.
The meat was brought and Flosi asked Erik about his time in Helheim. He recounted the story, Flosi insisting on details of every minute of his time in Lofgrund and jealous that he’d met with Völundr.
“I have looked for his place in—”
Göll stood as Tove finished her meal. “You will train, Tove.”
Tove leapt to her feet, not wasting a moment. “Good.”
Erik called after her, “What about sleep?”
“I’ll sleep when I can no longer move!” Tove didn’t bother looking back. A few cheers rang from the far side of the camp.
“She is another thing I’m jealous of.”
“Tove?”
Flosi laughed. “Yes. There are few I’ve seen who would defend their warchief so readily. Twice no less. A death is not something that passes so easily as in Midgard.”
Erik looked off at Tove as Göll began showing her how she ought to hold her sword. He hadn’t given much thought to her act when the valkyries had attacked. He hadn’t thought much of death at all, even as her pained screams from the night before tore at him. Flosi had put a different view of it in his head.
“Flosi, would you go to Valhalla if you were chosen?”
He seemed caught off guard by the question. “Would I…” Flosi’s brow furrowed under the weight of the question and he looked into the flames of the fire. “Of course… An honor like that, you could not hope to ask for more in life.”
“Even if it meant leaving your warband? Or seeing them destroyed for being unworthy?”
Flosi’s eyes did not look away from the fire, his voice was soft, unsure. “You ask strange and difficult questions, Erik.”
That was all
he said. They finished their meat in silence, Flosi leaving when the meal was done. Asfrid came to collect the flat plates and mugs and returned to check his wounds.
“I’ve not seen Flosi so talkative in many, many years.” She smiled up at him. “We are all thankful for you for that, even those who do not show it well.” She poked at the wound and Erik jumped. She giggled, standing. “Sleep will do you good. There is only so much sun here.” She bowed her head and walked away.
Erik stood, rubbing his hand over the still aching place Asfrid had touched. He walked to the edge of the area where Göll was practicing with Tove. The valkyrie was pulling her punches, but only barely. Tove was soaked with sweat and had stripped off her overcoat even though it had only been a few minutes. He wanted to smile, but found himself, instead, worried. Tove had died for him, suffered willingly, and she would be destroyed if she was not found worthy. Göll helping was a step toward saving her, but there was only so much time before they would find themselves at Valhalla. The valkyries would not allow them the time Tove might need.
He returned to his bedroll, lost for what to do, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it then and there. He would sleep. It was all he could do in the valley. He would have to leave the rest to Göll for now.
chapter|27
Erik lay half-asleep in his bedroll when a sudden wave of freezing cold water came rushing over him. He shot up, looking around, ready for a fight but found only Jari standing with a bucket, laughing.
“Ha! Warm in your bed, berserker?”
Erik rushed over to the fire, pulling off the wet overcoat as he went and counting himself lucky that the clothes beneath were still more or less dry. The cold of the mountain pass had forced him to wear as much as he could to get a decent sleep, even as tired as he’d been. It was night again and the world beyond the fires was pitch black the way the forest had been.
Jari followed him over to the fire, satisfied with having ruined Erik’s morning. He tossed the bucket onto the ground casually, taking a seat well out of arm’s reach from Erik.
“You been real comfortable since you got to Helheim, ain’t ya?” He talked entirely different than he had during his stint pretending to be a lost traveler. “How’d one soft as you end up so blessed?”
Erik scoffed, rubbing his arms, trying to will the fire to warm him more quickly. “Blessed? That what we’re calling it?”
“How’d you count it, berserker? Such a terrible life being chosen, folk who’d die for you, able to stand alone against a valkyrie? The things of legend and you’d even question it?”
“Not everyone wants to be a legend. I’d trade your jealousy for not having a burning spear jammed through my chest.”
Jari stood up, disgusted at the suggestion. “Might as well you spit in the mouth ah the gods!” He took a step toward Erik. “And we’re on some fool walk by your account. Nothing to fight in here, nothing to kill!”
Erik wrapped his hands around his grips and as Jari noticed the movement he took a step back, calming himself.
“Could be I was hasty in my words…” He paused for a moment, considering what to say next. “But I’d not waste such gifts, not near the way you do.”
Jari walked off and Erik went back to watching the fire. When he was warm enough he went to retrieve his coat, laying it by the fire to dry. It had not absorbed as much water as he’d worried it might. He could hear the sound of Tove and Göll practicing not far from the fires, but he wasn’t able to see anything more than the occasional flash of dull orange through Göll’s blade. There was a consistent sound of metal on metal, which told enough about Tove’s progress. Erik went to their packs and retrieved some of the thoroughly frozen meat. He began slicing it thin, returning to the pack to see to the ale casks, finding them to be filled with half-frozen slush. He filled a pot with ale and took it to the fire. The meat cooked slowly, the cold in the air pulling much of the excess warmth away nearly as fast as the fire put it in. Tove and Göll returned to the fire as the food was nearly done. There were cuts all along Tove’s arms and a few across her sides and back. They were shallow and the blood had already frozen, stopping the bleeding, if any of the wounds even still remained open.
Tove sat down and, without a word, set to eating the meager meal that Erik had prepared. She focused intensely on the food, turning between bites to snap off small lumps of frozen blood.
“Did you get any sleep?” Erik asked.
Tove looked over at him, smiling. “An hour, maybe. I couldn’t stand being in the bedroll, so I had Göll make good on her word.”
Göll came over to Erik’s side, watching the other men in the camp. She looked as composed as she always did. Erik spoke to her, keeping his face aimed at the fire and trying to keep the cold out of his mind.
“So, she’s not terrible, Göll?”
“Her way with a sword is passable. But she moves faster than she ought to be able.”
Erik raised an eyebrow looking over his shoulder at Göll. “How can you tell?”
“I have observed humans in Helheim many, many times. She moves as though she was touched by Odin, handed the gifts of the chosen.”
He perked up at that. “So maybe she’s worthy?”
Göll shook her head. “I cannot say. I do not feel her. If she was chosen, she is not mine.”
Erik turned to Tove. “Do you feel anything? Any… like… magic?”
Tove shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve felt less tired as we’ve continued on, but nothing more than that. Even when I fight, I feel as I always have. Only…” She thought of how to say it. “The world seems to move more reasonably.”
Erik thought of how Haki moved in the cell in Lofgrund, almost as though his speed were second nature. There had been nothing special about him to the people in the prison. But who would have chosen her?
“Göll, if she’s in a warband with me, she could still be chosen?”
Göll nodded. “Nothing prevents it. But, normally…” She hesitated.
“Normally, what?”
“It is common to be able to feel the chosen for all valkyries. It…” Her words caught in her throat and Göll straightened. He could see a strain in her neck and she fell silent.
Erik stomped the dirt, his jaw clenching in annoyance. Something kept Göll from speaking, and he suspected it did not do so gently. Whatever his existence was, hers was as bad, at least, and tied to stronger, crueler bonds.
The food was done and they packed. The fires were extinguished with buckets of melted snow and the usable wood was reclaimed and stowed. The speed of their march was as punishing as it had been the day before. Shortly after they began the pace slowed and Flosi came to the rear, sidling up to Erik with a pleasant smile.
“A beautiful night,” Flosi said sarcastically, laughing at his own jest.
“Yeah, hard to keep myself from enjoying the view.”
“At least your spirits are high. You’ll need them.” Flosi gave a satisfied exhale after sucking in the cold air. “We are a day and a bit more from Gjallarbrú. I intend not to stop until we’re in sight of it.”
“Works for me. I’m not really interested in an ice-cold alarm clock.”
Flosi didn’t seem to understand him, but laughed after a moment’s awkward look. He returned to the head of the warband and the speed picked up again.
The dark seemed to move in on them, pulling even the scattered lights of the runestones closer to their sources. The wind picked up, bringing flecks of ice with it. Erik struggled to keep his eyes open as much of the time as he wanted, the ice making it nearly impossible. The blister of the wind and its debris were beginning to numb his face as well. He trudged on through it, feeling Tove regularly grab at his coat to be sure she was still near him.
The wind began to let up, even as the terrain worsened. The light did not return to the runestones, somehow still dimmed by the oppressi
ve night around them. Suddenly, as they reached a plateau, the line ahead of him halted. He narrowed his eyes, closing on the lights at the rear. He heard the unsheathing of weapons and wrapped his hands tentatively around the grips. A torch was lit at the front end of the plateau and it was then that Erik realized what had stopped them.
There was a dense fog forming around the warband. More torches were lit, revealing the area as best as they were able. Erik felt the warmth of the fog as its edge rolled over him. He balled his fists around the grips.
“Tove, sword.”
Göll had pulled hers already, the spear glowing dim in the night. Erik marched through the warband, their eyes locked to the edges of the light of the torches.
He hadn’t made it to Flosi when the first hiss swooped overhead. Erik could not see it, even with the vision afforded to him by his power. He rushed for the front and found Flosi holding his hammer at the ready. At the back, where Erik had been, the first sounds of clashing steel came, along with pained screams.
“They’ve come Erik!” He laughed, running over. The warchief pressed a runestone into his hand, a leather loop run through a stone to allow it to be worn on the wrist. “Here. It will pull you toward Gjallarbrú. Trust in it and leave this battle to us.”
“I can’t just—”
Hlökk swooped over, striking down at Erik. It was Flosi who struck out at her, swinging his hammer with incredible speed. It was not enough to catch the valkyrie. The man’s face was glowing with excitement.
“Go, berserker! I led you along hoping for this fight! Do not take it from me!” Erik nodded and Flosi turned. “My thanks! I’ll repay you at Ragnarok!”
The warchief charged off, the runes in his stone hammer glowing a deep black-purple. He let out a thundering cry and slammed the weapon against the ground. Ice flew into the air and the fog blew back, revealing the valkyries in the sky. Spears flew at them immediately and they swarmed away, then back at the attackers below. Tove pulled Erik’s shoulder and he spun, taking the chance to flee.
From Death to Valhalla (The Last Einherjar Book 1) Page 23
