by Amy Sumida
“Is this a reenactment or a low-budget film?” I asked in confusion. “They really should have used braziers instead of tiki torches.”
“No; these are not actors, nor are they reenactors,” Blue said grimly. “That's live steel they're wielding, and they intend to use it.”
“What?” I huffed. “Who are these guys? Why are they fighting each other? Are there Viking gangs? Is this a gang war? It's like the Northmen meet West Side Story: North Side Story. All we need is some music.”
Eztli looked at me as if I'd lost my damn mind, but Elena chuckled.
“As I said; they are a sect of Asatru.” Blue waved his hand at the laptop, completely undisturbed by my crazy stream of questions. “Just watch, Vervain. All will be explained.”
“Odin a yor alla!” A man shouted from the top of a short rise as he waved his spear over the war. Then he jumped down and joined the battle.
Shivers ran over my arms, and Odin went deathly still beside me.
“What did he just say about you?” I asked Odin.
“It means; 'Odin owns you all,'” Odin murmured. “He's just dedicated the battle to me; effectively marking any who die as my sacrifices.”
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
The armies came together in a clash of shields, spears, and flesh. It was rough to watch. War is never how it appears in movies; it's not a pretty choreograph of perfect lines of men, bashing their shields together before waving their swords dramatically. War is chaotic, loud, and fucking bloody. Not just bloody—gory. You see parts of people that you never want to see—mainly, those on the inside.
I have never been in a human war, only god wars. You would think that god wars would be more brutal, and in some ways they are. But as far as gore goes; there was generally less with gods. Magic was used more in god wars, and although magic could do horrendous things, a lack of magic made for more creative killing.
I've seen men drowned in columns of water, incinerated from within, and even killed by jackals; only to be reanimated to fight on behalf of their enemy. All of these horrible things were done by gods. But humans make war into a game; they give names to the trauma they inflict and keep track of their kills. Take the blood eagle for example; that happens to be a Viking maneuver. A conquering Viking would cut along his victim's spine so that the lungs could be pulled out. Then the killer would watch the lungs flap as their enemy took his last breaths. As technology advanced, warfare became easier and even gorier. These days, humans don't just cut each other apart, they blow each other into tiny pieces.
The only battle more violent than a human one was one involving the Fey. In fact, my dragon was rising inside me in appreciation of the slaughter I was witnessing. Ironically, the human part of me cringed along with the goddess.
The battle was over relatively quickly, though it felt like hours. Afterward, the survivors went to shake hands with each other. Shake hands! I gaped at this peaceful conclusion to such disturbing violence. It was the actions of baseball players, not bloodthirsty warriors. I just couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. Then a man separated himself from the others and approached the camera.
“You've just witnessed the first sacrificial rite of the Rekkr Asatru—warriors who believe in the gods,” the main said stoically. “We have no honorable war anymore, which means that we have no way of sacrificing to our gods. So, we have created our own war, and have delivered sacrifices to our god in the way of our ancestors. This is our right as Americans; to practice our religion freely. All of the men participating today did so willingly. They knew that death was a possibility, but we believe that men who die in battle will be welcomed into Valhalla by Odin himself. For us, this is far better than dying as most men do today; from a heart attack or an accident. Those deaths take your soul to Niflheim, the cold land of Hel. To avert this fate, we have chosen a new path; we will live our lives as the Vikings did. Hail, Odin!”
The man continued to drone on about how to contact the Rekkr Asatru if you were crazy enough to want to join them. But that wasn't the most shocking part of the video. Because as the man spoke, a winged woman landed on the battlefield behind me. She was a valkyrie, there to do her duty and take the fallen warriors to Valhalla. She obviously had no idea that she was being filmed, and had dropped her glamour so that the warriors who had fought so valiantly for Odin could bask in her beauty.
The men behind the speaker dropped to their knees in awe as the valkyrie folded her feather wings back. The cameraman cut the speaker off, shouting for him to turn around and look, and the camera zoomed in on the winged woman. She knelt before a dead body and took the man's hand. As she stood, her hand seemed to go straight through the dead flesh, but she pulled something away with her. The camera only caught a hazy shimmer, but we all knew what it was—the soul of the dead warrior. The valkyrie gathered the soul to her chest and leapt into the air. The camera followed her flight, but the valkyrie traced away, disappearing mid-air.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
My eyes shot down to the title of the video: Valkyrie visits sacrificial battlefield.
“Let me see this,” I motioned for the laptop, and Eztli pushed it down the table a little.
I slid into a seat and started scrolling down the video comments. Most either thought the video was pure fiction; filmed to mimic reality, as they'd done with Blair Witch. Or they thought the Rekkr Asatru were scam artists, trying to grab their fifteen minutes of fame. Only a handful believed what they saw to be the absolute truth.
“Thank goodness,” I said with relief.
“Thank goodness? Blue asked. “Those men slaughtered each other, and then a valkyrie showed herself on camera. There is nothing to be grateful for.”
“First of all, I wasn't referring to the battle,” I huffed. “That was awful, but stopping men from fighting over their beliefs is difficult at best. It's what gods have been benefiting from for centuries.”
Nobody argued with me on that one.
“Hopefully, the police will handle them,” I went on. “But what I was relieved about was the valkyrie. Look at the comments.” I pushed the laptop back to Blue. “There are only three people who believe that was actually evidence of the existence of Valkyries. And three people are hardly enough to start a panic.”
“That's why I felt a power surge last week,” Odin muttered to himself.
“You're the one who should be doing something about this,” Blue said to Odin. “These are your people.”
“But they're right,” Odin said simply.
We all went quiet and stared at him.
“Honey, what do you mean by that?” I asked carefully.
“The old religion says that the only way into Valhalla is to die in battle,” Odin explained. “Vikings preferred to die as a warrior, and these men are trying to give themselves the same option. I can't fault them for it.”
“They could join the military,” Hades noted.
“Modern war is different. When there are casualties, they are numerous, but they are few and far between. It is more likely that soldiers live than it is that they die these days; at least American ones,” Odin countered. “I understand why these men chose this route, and I even applaud their creativity. They want my favor, and they want to go to Valhalla. Those are both valid choices.”
“Valid choices?” I stuttered. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Vervain,” Odin growled. “This is about religious beliefs, and my immortality is owed to these particular beliefs. What kind of god would I be if I stopped my followers from practicing the old ways? I'd be a damn hypocrite, that's what.”
“Shit,” I whispered. “I don't know how to counter that.”
“The Godhunter approving of human sacrifice?” Blue lifted an elegant brow. “This is unsettling.”
“I don't approve of it, but they're willingly sacrificing themselves, not others,” I huffed. “And they're doing so in a battle that they've chosen to participate in, knowing that there's a high risk of dea
th. Odin hasn't manipulated them or even asked for this. This is their choice, and it's also Odin's religion. I have to stay out of it.”
“And the valkyrie?” Elena asked carefully.
“It was Herja. I will speak to her and to the Valkyries as a whole,” Odin assured us. “They'll know to be more careful in the future.”
“In the future, when these yahoos decide to kill each other again,” Hades muttered.
“Don't act as if any of you would feel differently in my position,” Odin snapped. “I haven't forced them into war, I only accepted their sacrifice; something I actually have no choice in anymore. In exchange, I'll provide them with an afterlife. That is the deal I've always had with my people, and I will fulfill it to the best of my abilities. Just as you fulfill your duties by overseeing the torture of millions of souls in Tartarus, Hades. If you think I should stop these men, then perhaps you should release those souls.”
We all looked from Odin to Hades.
“This is so fucked,” Finn whispered. “I never thought I'd say this, but I'm grateful I'm just a swan-shifter.”
“You've made your point, Allfather,” Hades conceded. “Do as you must.”
“Right now, I must head to Valhalla to welcome some new souls and speak with the Valkyries,” Odin said crisply. “If you receive any news about Eros or the storm god, text me, and I'll return.”
“All right, sweetie,” I said gently and then hugged him. “Go do right by those men.”
“I love you, Vervain,” Odin whispered to me. “Thank you for understanding.”
Then the Oathbreaker traced to Valhalla to welcome the latest influx of Viking-ish souls.
I turned back to the God Squad and shook my head. “I hate to mock someone's religion, but those are some crazy bastards.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Those men are out of their minds,” Odin repeated my earlier sentiments as he crawled into bed with me the next morning.
I had taken some time to myself, and my other husbands had spent the night in their private bedrooms. It's nice to have someone to sleep beside you, but it's also nice to have the bed to yourself. I had stretched out and enjoyed my sex-free evening thoroughly. With all the stimulus my sex drive had been getting lately, my lady bits needed some time off.
“What's that?” I muttered as I came awake.
“Those new Viking wannabes,” Odin huffed as he fell onto the pillow beside mine. “They're absolutely insane. Completely bonkers. A bunch of raving lunatics!”
“No?” I said with sarcastic disbelief. “Not the men who are lucky enough to live in America, where fighting isn't happening in their backyards, and yet they decide to create their own war, and kill their friends. Not those guys!”
“Hey; I thought you were supporting me in this?” Odin leaned on an elbow so he could loom over me.
“I am,” I protested. “I support your right to see to your followers, and their right to follow your religion; even the outdated practices like dying in battle. But that doesn't mean that I agree with them.”
“Fair enough.” He sighed.
“You wanna tell me why you think they're crazy?” I asked him.
“These are modern men.” Odin waved a hand out in frustration. “They may follow a version of my religion, but they are not Vikings. They don't live in harsh conditions or go raiding other civilizations for treasure and glory. They live in the suburbs and get their big muscles from a gym. The only glory they have is when their fantasy football team wins. Yes; they've trained themselves to use sword and shield, but they didn't have a Viking teach them. There are things you learn from years of wielding a weapon that these men can't possibly understand. They are no match for the souls already in Valhalla.”
“And yet they think they are,” I concluded.
“Not only that”—Odin rolled his peacock colored eyes—“they think the Viking souls should welcome them and treat them like brothers.”
“Brothers?” I asked with a chuckle.
“They don't even treat each other like brothers!” Odin snapped. “The Vikings in Valhalla came from several villages all over Scandinavia, and from different times. They have grown accustomed to each other, even cordial—if you can call a Viking cordial—but they aren't comrades in arms. These men fight battles every day; real battles with each other. They're not huggers. They love to kill each other, and they revel in their victories in very barbaric ways.”
“But they can't kill each other,” I noted.
“No; which makes it even more fun for them,” Odin said. “One of the reasons that Vikings wanted to go to Valhalla was so they could continue their warrior ways forever. The myth was that they train to assist me in Ragnarok, though that ship has now sailed. They now train for their rides with the Hunt, and they are very serious in their allegiance to me and their warrior duties. It's not a peaceful existence. The most peace they get is when they pull a shift in one of my halls and do some household labor—which they abhor, by the way. The only reason they do it is that they respect and fear me too much to say no.”
“So, these new souls went to the battlefield expecting to be treated as comrades in arms,” I said.
“Half of the new souls went to Valhalla's battlefield,” Odin corrected. “And they got their asses handed to them—in one instance, quite literally.”
“Hold on; half? Only half of the dead warriors go to Valhalla?” I asked. “What happens to the other half?”
“They go to Freya; to fight on her training field: Folkvangr.” Odin chuckled. “I warned her about the new souls, but nothing could have prepared either of us for these morons.”
“I didn't know that Freya had her own battlefield,” I murmured.
“Freya has whatever Freya wants,” Odin gave me a look which clearly said that the goddess was not only hard to resist, but a force to be reckoned with.
“Yeah; I could see that.” I laughed. “And her half of the souls failed utterly on the battlefield too?”
“Not only that; they expected to be comforted by the Valkyries, if you catch my divine drift.” Odin waggled his brows at me.
“No!” I gasped in fascinated horror. “They came on to the Valkyries?”
“There was no romantic persuasion involved.” Odin shook his head. “These guys simply walked up to the women and grabbed what they wanted.”
“Oh shit,” I whispered. “Then what happened? Do I even want to know? Was that when the ass-handing happened?”
“The Valkyries flew the men out to the middle of the sea and dumped them there. The souls had to swim back to land, and once they got to shore, the Vikings kicked their sorry, soaked asses for disrespecting the Valkyries... and that's when the unfortunate ass incident happened.”
“The Norse heaven isn't quite what they expected, huh?” I chortled.
“I think they got the Norse Eddur mixed up with the Quran,” Odin said dryly.
“Those Valkyries are no virgins,” I hooted.
“Thank goodness,” he said with a huff. “I'd hate to have to deal with virgin goddesses.”
“What?” I chuckled as I shook my head at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Virgin goddesses are the worst,” Odin explained. “Just ask Pan; he'll tell you. They whine in little baby voices and complain about anything they can think of.”
“You're saying that having sex deepens a woman's voice?” I teased him.
“Well, this is pure theory, but I've never heard a woman cry out with a baby voice in bed before.” Odin smirked.
“I don't recall Hestia having a baby voice,” I noted.
“Because Hestia isn't a virgin.”
“What?” I gaped at him.
“She's been with men, but she had some bad breakups and swore them off,” Odin explained. “That's when she declared herself to be a virgin goddess.”
“No wonder she's so damn bitter,” I muttered. “At least if she'd been a virgin, she wouldn't know what she was missing, but she does know and is just
denying herself.”
“It's never a good idea to deny your body's needs.” Odin agreed. “But the point is that she is not really a virgin goddess, so your evidence has no standing.”
“Okay, let's move past the virgins,” I conceded defeat.
“What virgins?” Trevor asked as he came down the tower stairs on the right side of the room, holding Lesya. “We're not sacrificing virgins today are we?”
“You're holding one of the few virgins I know,” I said with a smile. “So, no; not today.” I went over to Trevor and kissed him, then Lesya. “You still feeling okay?”
Trevor had woken from his little healing nap a few hours after we left him to sleep. He'd been groggy but otherwise good and had sworn to never use those “gods-awful goggles” again. Teharon had checked him out and declared Trevor fully recovered, but I was still a little nervous that the goggles might have a lasting effect.
“I'm fine, Minn Elska,” Trevor said softly.
“Okay.”
I went over to the fridge to grab some food to start our breakfast, while Trevor got Lesya settled in her highchair. Lesya started smacking the wood tray of the highchair with her fists, and Odin groaned.
“What?” I looked to Odin in surprise. “You know she gets excited about breakfast.”
“No; it's not Lesya.” Odin came over and sat beside Lesya, leaning forward to give her a kiss.
Lesya giggled when Odin tickled her with his beard and gave him a kiss on his nose. He laughed and sat back before explaining.
“Those new souls,” Odin said. “During the feast we had at the end of the day, they pounded the tables with their fists whenever they heard my name. They would even shout out 'Hail, Odin' intermittently so they could pound the table more.”
“Wait; what?” I turned away from the bacon I was frying to stare at Odin in confusion.
“If someone said 'Odin,' they would pound the table with their fists.” Odin grimaced and pounded the table with one fist as an example.
