Valhellions, p.29
Valhellions, page 29
Then I was in the woods, chasing Aelwulf’s fleeing shadow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
We made a desperate, ridiculous pair. Aelwulf hobbled through the forest ahead of me, left arm hanging blood-streaked at his side, limping from the dagger I’d put into his knee. I was in hardly better shape. Every time I put my foot down, my ankle screamed in agony. I strongly suspected that I was only still upright because of the stiff support of my sabatons, and the fact that I was too angry to quit.
There was something fae about the woods, too. When I first emerged from Hack Valley High School, I remembered the surrounding trees as sparse, barely hanging on to their leaves. But not ten paces into the forest and I was engulfed by trees with trunks as wide around as my mom’s car, and the air was alive with lightning bugs and other, more mischievous lights that hovered and spun overhead.
“You’re not going to get away, Aelwulf!” I shouted. “We have this place surrounded. You’ve either got to deal with me, or with Mundane Actual. And those guys don’t mess around.”
“If that’s true, why are you still chasing me?” he asked, twisting around to watch my hobbled pursuit. “Eh? You look like you could use a break, Rast. Why don’t you find a nice log and fall off it?”
“No, I’m fine,” I said, though I wasn’t. “You’re the one leaking more blood than a vampire movie.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“In Valhalla, maybe. This isn’t Valhalla. You die here, and it’s over.”
“Everything ends.” He turned back around and picked up the pace, jerking back and forth as he limped away. “Even these miserable conversations.”
“I’m an excellent conversationalist!” I called after him. The Viking answered with a rude gesture, then disappeared behind a tree. I hurried to catch up with him. In the distance, the sirens from the MA tactical vans grew silent, to be replaced by the ratchet of crickets and the hooting of owls.
I was starting to regret my earlier statements about hero business. This was quickly turning into too much running, and not enough heroing. At least I was running toward danger, rather than away from it, as had been my wont for so much of my life. I considered that an improvement. Perhaps not the kind of improvement you put on a plaque and hung on your wall, but still. A step in the right direction. Well. A limp in the right direction.
Just as I came around the tree, I heard a twig snap to my right. I barely turned in that direction before Aelwulf erupted from a stand of bushes and rammed into me with his shoulder. I flinched back just enough to make it a glancing blow, but as he barreled past me, the big Viking took a swing at my jaw with his elbow. My mouth clapped shut, sending stars spinning through my vision and filling my mouth with blood.
Aelwulf screamed in fury as he stomped to a halt, then spun and slammed his sword straight at my skull. I barely got my shield up in time, but he followed that up with another swing at my leg, then a third at my suddenly exposed midsection. This assault forced me back, wincing in pain each time my weight came down on my left ankle. My head was swimming in shock. Tingling numbness stretched down my arm, and my vision narrowed into a roaring black tunnel, with Aelwulf at the bright spot in the middle, trying to kill me. Fatigue sapped my every movement, while the Viking seemed tireless, furious, and unstoppable.
I went on the defensive. If I held sword and shield close together, supporting one with the other, I could just hold off Aelwulf’s assault. Each blow he landed rattled my bones. I spat blood and bore down. There was no way he was going to beat me. I wasn’t going to let him. But my mind was reeling and my body failing. I had to figure a way around this, no matter the cost.
There was a moment’s reprieve. Aelwulf retreated, his chest heaving. Blood dripped like a leaky faucet from his wounded arm. If I was tired, he must be completely drained. But thousands of years of practice fighting and dying gave him a clear edge in our little competition. How could I get around that? What was he doing wrong that I could exploit? Listening? Was that it?
“How’d a hack like you get into Valhalla in the first place?” I asked through gritted teeth. “I mean, I get Mr. Valhalla and Solveig. They’re tough bastards. But you’re just a loser with a magic sword.”
“Ah, very clever, Sir Rast. I know how your type works. Anger the opponent, in the hope that they’ll make a mistake.” He shook his head in amusement. “But that is not how Vikings work. Anger makes us stronger.”
“So you’re not going to fall for that?”
“Not unless you want me to hit you harder?”
“I think I’ll pass,” I said. “But I meant what I said about your stupid magic sword. Only reason you beat Gregory and Bee was because you cheated. You were fighting for the touch. I used to do that, before Knight Watch. Before I learned how to fight for real.”
“Vikings never fight for the touch,” he said.
“Yeah, well, just calling it like I see it.”
“I’ll show you fighting for the touch, you bastard.” He tightened his grip on Totenschreck’s complicated hilt, then came at me hard. “I’ll touch your damned heart!”
He approached sword first, slicing a long gutter down the face of my shield before reversing and cutting upward. Each of his blows was with the edge of the blade, and suddenly I saw his mistake, and my chance. It’s a little difficult to analyze in the middle of a sword fight, but the simplest explanation is that he was fighting with the longsword the same way he fought with a Viking blade, which were shorter and lighter and designed for chopping. Ironically, the typical Viking sword was designed to be used with a round shield, and was optimized for chopping through ring mail or leather, and thought nothing of cutting clean through a leg bone. But steel plate was another matter.
The longsword, on the other hand, was a thrusting weapon. Its narrow point and wide ricosso were ideal for finding the chinks in heavy plate armor. It could slice, as Aelwulf was handily demonstrating, but it usually wasn’t suited to the task. Meant to be held two-handed, while Aelwulf was forced to swing with one hand due to his injury. And the manner of his attack, focused on slicing limbs and crushing skulls, instead of poking its way into the joints of my armor or seeking out the seams between plates. Everything about his attack was wrong. Still deadly, but wrong.
“What’s the matter, Rast? Forgotten how to swing a sword?” he asked, taunting. “I’m perfectly happy breaking this shield if you’d like. What will you do then?”
“I don’t know. Die, I guess?”
“As you wish.” He made a quick pass, two feinting strikes on my shield and then a blow meant to cut off my injured foot. Fortunately, I didn’t have any weight on it, so could move it quickly out of the way. The Totenschreck’s green blade sliced through the gnarled roots of the earth, sending a clod of dirt flying.
The strength of his blow overextended him, though. The weight of the sword carried his arm clear across his body, only stopping when it reached his opposite shoulder. I slid forward and poked at his bicep, drawing a pinprick of blood before he dragged the sword back. I caught the blow with my shield, but the force of that swing nearly tore my arm from my socket. He laughed.
“Not much longer, Rast. I have the reach, and the experience, and the strength.” He shuffled back, leering at me.
“Then why are you screwing around? Come, kill me, if you have it in you. Kill me, old man. Before the valkyries show up and drag you back to hell where you belong!”
He answered with an overhand chop that shattered my shield down the middle. The two halves hung on my arm like missized bracelets. I clenched my fist and secured the half closest to my hand, letting the rest fall to the ground, holding it like a long, thin buckler. Aelwulf tried to cut me in half, but I clipped the edge of his sword with the lower half of my poor shield. The blade stuck in the wood, twisting my wrist until I could hear the joint pop. Sharp pain blossomed down my arm as Aelwulf tried to jerk the weapon free. I took the chance to punch him once with the hilt of my sword, catching him in the shoulder and leaving a long, fresh cut from collarbone to ear.
Finally, he worked the sword free and kicked me back. I fell onto my butt and tried to scramble away, but he was on me, fast and angry.
“You are a sorry excuse for a hero, Rast!” he shouted, chopping down at my head. “And I’m going to make sure your name is forgotten, and that no one remembers your deeds! You will die alone, and frightened!”
I deflected the first blow with what remained of my shield, but the second turned the buckler into splinters in my hand. I got to one knee and leaned toward him, throwing my sword overhead, tip near my shoulder, flat of the blade resting against the crown of my head. He struck with fury, and it was all I could do to fend him off. Still, my blade reverberated against my scalp, dragging the edge across my face. Hot blood spilled down my forehead from fresh cuts at brow, nose, and chin. Aelwulf reared back to strike again. I stared up at him, helpless.
When the blow came, it was straight at my eyes. I wasn’t going to be able to stop it, not with my sword, not even with my shield, if it hadn’t already been destroyed. I didn’t need to.
Sometimes part of being a hero is sacrifice. Sometimes it’s the only part that matters.
Sliding forward, I let my sword drop, rotating it so the point was up. Aelwulf’s blow skidded off my skull, took my ear, then buried itself in my left shoulder. Bones cracked. Steel bent. Flesh tore, and blood flowed. But none of those things were fatal. My counterstrike, however, was as deadly as old age, and as fast as lightning.
The dull gray steel of my sword entered just beneath his rib cage and traveled up, through lungs, through heart, into his throat and skull. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out but blood and a dying whimper. Letting go of the sword, I collapsed backward. Totenschreck wrenched free of my shoulder.
Aelwulf took a step back before collapsing. With my one good arm, I dragged myself to his side. He stared at me with wide eyes, gurgling quietly in his heart blood.
“I am not alone,” I whispered. “I fight, and die, and overcome bastards like you, with my friends.”
“John!” Chesa’s furious voice reached me. I closed my eyes and slumped against the dying Viking. “Matt, over here! John, are you alright?”
I was. For once. I passed out just as soft hands turned me over.
Valhalla was waiting.
CHAPTER FORTY
The next day, a newspaper headline declared Freak Lunar Eclipse Completely Explained By Scientists and, on the next page, Mass Drug Event Ruins Soccer Game. The reporters made reference to hooligans fighting on the pitch, and a brief description of Aelwulf’s sugar-induced rampage, but chalked it up to tampered hot dogs from a childish prank. I folded the paper and set it on the bed.
“So that’s it?” I asked. “The end of the world averted, and they blame it on hot dogs.”
“Hot dogs are a good excuse,” Esther said. “No one really understands what’s in them. So how are you feeling?”
“Like someone buried a sword in my shoulder.” I eased my way back onto the bed, closing my eyes as pain racked my body. I was in the medical wing of Mundane Actual, between the real world and the magical. This area was kind of a containment area, to ensure no trace of the mundane got into our domains. The team’s doctors had done what they could with my shoulder and the bite on my ankle, along with the dozen other small cuts and bruises I had picked up over the last week, but there was only so much they could do. I had to wait until the mundane had dissipated before I could get back to the magical world, and get some real healing.
At least the real world had good drugs.
“How long until I can get back to my domain?” I asked.
“Not yet. Soon,” Esther said. “That was a significant incursion, and you spent a lot of it in the mundane. We have to ease you back into the Unreal, or that dog of yours is going to get loose. And no one wants to clean up after that.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I pushed the newspaper away. “Doesn’t a newspaper count as a modern convenience? Isn’t it corrupting me further just sitting there?”
“Not really,” she said. “No more newspapers in the real world. I could have brought you a scroll, or had a bard sing you the news, but the printed word is mostly harmless.”
“Well, the sooner I’m back in the cabin, the better. How’s everyone else?”
“Chesa and Matthew are fine. She was scared to death when she found you. Nearly tore Rodriguez’s arm off dragging her to your body.” Esther chuckled. “Tembo healed up just in time to help round up the last of those zombies. I couldn’t bring myself to killing all those zombies. I know a lot of those folks.” She sighed and sat back, hands folded on her knee. “I think we’re just going to leave them where they are. Keep them supplied with soccer balls and books and whatever else they need.”
“They seemed harmless enough, once Aelwulf lost control of the Totenschreck.”
“They’re just people, after all. And Bethany and Greg aren’t really talking about what happened. We figure the less said, the better, though Chesa keeps leaving pink bows in places they’ll find. Gonna have to step on that, eventually.”
“I’d rather not get involved. But I’m glad everyone else is doing alright.” I closed my eyes and stretched. “Too bad Solveig got away.”
“Yeah. She and that wolf took off like heat lightning. Chesa had to choose between following her and saving your life.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad she made the right choice. Just wish we’d gotten our hands on Bashful.” I put my arm over my eyes. The lights in here were relentless. “Can I get a little rest?”
“Actually, no. I woke you up because we need you for something.”
“For what?”
“A closing ceremony of sorts. The valkyries want words with you,” she said, standing up. “So get some pants on. We’ve got enough drugs in you.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” I said.
“It’ll be fine. They don’t have a lot of bite left. Not after what happened.” She started to leave, but paused in the doorway. “They owe you one.”
I waited until she was gone before I tried to get up. My gambeson and leggings were waiting, along with my sword. The shield, magic or not, was still lying in splinters on a soccer field somewhere in the real world.
“They owe me a lot more than that,” I said as I started to get dressed.
The trip on the Naglfr was less terrible than usual. I don’t know if my travels in the whale or down the rainbow bridge had softened my attitude, but the HMS Hangnail seemed positively luxurious. I almost couldn’t smell the foot odor of thousands of dead Vikings. Almost.
The whole team was there. Bee and Greg sat on opposite sides of the boat, never making eye contact. Tembo was on one side of me, and Matthew the other, while Chesa sat beside me, fussing with my cloak or asking if I was comfortable every time I shifted. Esther watched us with barely disguised amusement.
Valhalla was much changed. The pennants and music declaring Mr. Valhalla were gone, along with all the sounds of merrymaking and war. We settled down right in front of the main door. A figure leaned beside the door, arms crossed. It was Lillie, still in her overalls with a meshback trucker hat pulled close to her eyes. Her ever-present shotgun leaned next to her. As we disembarked, she turned and shouted inside. A short time later, Revna and Inge came out. I barely recognized them. Their wings were gone, and instead of leather armor and steel, they wore mundane clothes.
Wincing, I limped across the field alongside Esther, to stand in front of them. The rest of the team hung back.
“What the hell happened to you guys?” I asked.
“Ragnarok,” Revna said. “For us, at least, it was the end of the world.” She motioned to the beer hall behind her. “Our loyal dead are gone, and the ranks of the valkyries have thinned to nothing. We are all that remains.”
“Wow. That sucks. So you’re just . . . shutting down?”
“Not exactly. There will still be worthy dead, and some portion of them must come here. But not until we have valkyries to ferry them across the veil.” She motioned to Lillie, then Inge. “The three of us can’t do that on our own. So we are going to be recruiting, searching the world for women worthy of bearing the shield and standing guard against the end of the world.”
The real end of the world, I took that to mean.
“You looking for suggestions? My mom can pack a hell of a wallop, but I’m not sure she would put up with the kind of shenanigans you guys get up to.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “Chesa, maybe? She seemed to enjoy herself here.”
“Knight Watch is off-limits,” Esther said.
“Of course. You have your duty, and we have ours,” Revna said. “Like it or not, we must close Valhalla for a time. But before we go, I think we owe you something.”
“Is it a hug?”
“It is not,” Revna said firmly. “Inge?”
The other valkyrie sighed. “You’re sure about this?”
“He sacrificed much protecting us,” Revna said. “Do it.”
Inge pulled her mirror shades off, then lowered the visor on her helm. Wings sprouted from her back, and she launched into the air, flying straight at the sun. I followed her path until I couldn’t bear staring at the light any longer. Suddenly, there was a dimming of the sun’s brilliance. A shadow moved across the sun’s surface, and it got unnaturally cold.
“This feels ominous,” Chesa said.
“Quiet,” Esther whispered.
A moment later, Inge returned, carrying a round shield. Its face was glossy and black, with clasps of dark iron, and a leather strap for a handle. She held it gingerly, as though it might bite her.
“This is Svalinn, the shield that hides the sun, and protects the earth from its flames,” Revna said, taking the shield from Inge. She pressed it against her forehead, then lifted it up and presented it to me. “It is yours, if you wish to bear it.”
