The Quest for Valhalla

Chapter 22

The brittle walls of the ancient fortress looked deceivingly timid. Grey and stained with the green and black of years on the shoreline, it still looked rather imposing upon the end of the landmass. Above it, the dark skies threatened to unleash a shower, but waited. It was cold and the air was moist when there was no breeze to move along the breath of the tides. The barren windows of the old castle stared blankly across the sea, reminiscing about the vessels used to traverse the expanse of water to pillage, plunder and claim it.

Inside the massive structure two floors, the top and one below, effectively resembled the deterioration of the place.

The stone floors and stairs had crumbled in places, amounting to nothing but a heap of moss-riddled rocks below on the next floor’s back room. Skillfully closed, it looked like just another section of the floor, but the brickwork adorned with a dark velvet drape in emerald green. The two floors below, however, were subterranean. One was quite lavish, considering it was part of a ruin, containing most of the modern necessities to house a few people for short periods of time.

Below this floor was one that differed vastly from it. It made no secret that it was utilized during the time of the Third Reich. Little had changed in its structure and contents, apart from perhaps being somewhat more decrepit, but other than that, it remained an intimidating chamber of cold wet walls and the smell of rotting marine matter under the corners that reached over the rock beneath it and caught some of the frigid lapping waters.

From one side to another, a long hallway stretching in the middle of it, the bottom floor was slightly submerged in a thin sheet of tidal water, gradually eating away at the structure over the centuries, but it was far from collapse. Such a floor gave the place a surreal image, the arches of the ceiling reflecting in the mirroring water and when the tide was out and the water lay still, it gave the chilling effect of a chasm. This was such a day.

With the tide low and the wind still, most of the passing vessels lay quietly off shore, much farther out than usual. It was a serene sight for anyone who would stand sentinel on the broken towers of the stronghold, in sharp contrast to what was happening in the bowels of the building. In the ill lit chambers of the lowest floor where the floor was flooded, several cells populated the west side of the castle. In one of those cells, a petite brunette sat on the bunk that was starkly new in relation to the stone room it furnished. Nina was cold, her lips and nails light blue from the chill. In the freezing bare rooms, the cold sea air had permeated all night, rendering her unable to sleep at all. Under her normally wide and bright dark eyes, dark circles haunted her pretty features and she pulled her knees up tightly against her chest to generate some form of warmth. Nina tried to ease her breathing, the shivering just exacerbating her torment, but it was not working. Everything around her, everything inside her, was cold. It was the kind of frigidity that burned through the tissue and tightened the ligaments and tendons to that movement would be impaired severely, so much that rapid animation could well tear muscle or sinew.

From afar, she could hear voices approaching and she desperately hoped for broth or a blanket, perhaps. It sounded like three or four people, and among them a female voice comforted her at first, but then she realized who it could be. This gave her a new coldness to suffer from and she buried her face between her knees. The voices grew louder, the female being the most prominent voice and not a moment later, after the echo of a steel lock being clacked open, three people entered the cell. One was the man in the suit Nina recognized as one of the two men in the cemetery who abducted her. With him was the horrid looking imp who had kidnapped Gunnar, the leader of the Sleipnir Motorcycle Club, Jasper Slokin. The awful little bastard was fidgeting madly at the sight of her, so eager to please the towering mistress next to him. Like an Omega, he cowered in her shadow, constantly looking up at her as he spoke, seeking approval and praise, none of which she ever freely gave to anyone.

Nina laid eyes on the woman Val had told her about, the untouchable genius with the delusion that she could extinguish all resistance that still existed in this world. The historian combed Lita’s stature, instantly fathoming the intimidation she wielded in others. Tall and powerful the scarlet haired Amazon stood between the two men, her eyes dropped to the ground for a moment as she waited for Slokin’s groveling to subside.

“Where is the old man now?” she asked. Nina started at her voice. It was remarkably beautiful for its damaged quality and she listened attentively to the eccentric woman’s pronunciation. It was odd. There was a German hardness to her consonants, broken only by the rolling of some of her vowels that gave it a Scandinavian flair. She was most certainly not Scottish, but she resided in Edinburgh most of the time, for Scotland’s central location served her best in her endeavors to chase after Viking relics.

“He is en route, madam,” the man from the cemetery replied quickly and clearly. It struck Nina as if the man was terrified and responded with utmost efficiency and speed as not to aggravate his employer. Then she remembered what Val had told her about Lita. She was so intelligent that she had gone insane, but her knowledge of psychology foiled any attempts at having her committed. Cleverly, she would play her way around their diagnoses, changing her behaviorisms daily to elude their damning findings and nullify their arguments. It only reinforced their opinion of her mentally unstable capacity for manipulation.

“When he gets here, bring him to me immediately,” she ordered.

“Yes, madam,” the man said, and with a nod he left the room.

Nina looked up through the dark strands of her hair. She felt strangely numb, but she could feel an impending fear sleep just beneath it and it made her unsure of her position.

“Dr. Nina Gould,” Lita rasped as she lit a cigarillo. Her long red hair was rolled up in a bun that sat right at the top of her head and it looked like an absurd pagoda. It made her neck look exceedingly long under her obviously Teutonic features. A striking ruby pendant adorned the center of her chest, just below the jugular notch where Nina’s keen eye detected a small vertical scar. She reckoned that it had something to do with the woman’s voice — an operation, perhaps?

“What do you want?” Nina snapped, but she kept her hostility to a level of disregard instead of disrespect.

The barefoot lady strode gracefully toward her cell, kissing the tip of her cigarillo to suck in the smoke it yielded. Her long red dress reminded Nina of the old paintings in books on Arthurian Legend. Folding only under Lita’s breasts where her abdomen was flattest, it flowed down closely against her hips and thighs until the hem came to rest on the wet floor.

“What do I want?” Lita asked with a wry smile, birthing thick white smoke as her lips parted into words. “From you? Absolutely nothing. You are bait, doctor. That is the only use I have for you.”

“Bait for whom?”

“Bait… for what, you mean,” she winked. “I want that trinket your bitch friend claimed and hid among her harlots. I know all about that,” Lita said and cast a glance to the repulsive little man behind her, “I believe your dear friend is…” she looked back at Nina, “…dead as a door nail.”

Slokin rubbed his claws together, sniggering under his breath. Nina felt the hate seething through her, her trademark fiery temper rising. She clenched her fists, but she remembered Val’s advice on taking on Lita without proper preparation. Nina could not allow the mean psychopath to get to her, especially when she had to protect The Brotherhood and Sleipnir from failing to keep Valhalla hidden.

“What are you laughing at, fucktard?” Nina barked at Slokin, wiping his grin off his face within a second. His beady eyes pierced her with disdain and he opened his mouth, but Lita raised her arm, the cigarillo between her two fingers and pointed at him, shaking her head. He ceased immediately, but his eyes kept burning through his small adversary in the cell.

“Slokin, go wait for Lockhart,” the tall woman ordered in a mellow tone, expecting absolute compliance.

Without any protest, Slokin left the room, but Nina could see that his obedience to Lita was the only restraint she enjoyed from him. He would be a most unfortunate opponent should the bars of her cell come down. Still, he killed Val and she would give anything to watch Gunnar take him apart for it.

“Val Joutsen and her troop had something I want, something I need. And I want it now. You are going to tell me whom to call and I will tell them to bring me that most special item in return for you,” she informed Nina, the sharp light above her throwing shadows upon her slender face that formed the precise shape of her skull. It looked quite macabre. “You know, just like they do in the movies.”

“That’s it?” Nina played along, even though she was fully aware of the red dragon’s reputation for merciless disposal of used goods. Why would she keep Nina alive after she had obtained the vial?

“That is it, my darling,” Lita said and she sank down on the floor in one move, her controlled agility impressive. For a brief moment, Nina cold have sworn that she saw something twitch next to Lita’s knee as the dress pulled up slightly, but as soon as she blinked she saw only Lita’s ankles and dirty feet peek from the hem of the red dress. The powerful observation skills of the historian took in small details about her enemy, most notably the small fresh cuts under her feet.

“What are you looking for?” Nina asked, her voice quivering from the cold that bit her skin.

“‘The Vision of Kvasir’, as you well know. I am sure The Brotherhood filled you in on it all while you were licking their feet,” she sneered through the last smoke of the cigarillo. She flicked it on the ground and doused it with her bare foot. Nina winced at it, but she noted that her captor’s face showed no iota of discomfort as her ice blue eyes stared Nina down. The pretty historian was no fool. She knew a warning when she saw one.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Nina told Lita, hiding the shudder in her tone as best she could.

Lita laughed. It was a laugh of genuine amusement without any competition or intimidation in it.

“That’s sweet, my darling,” she said, refusing Nina her war. “But I did not bring you here to scare you, did I? Keep your defensiveness in check, please. Don’t provoke my intolerance. I want the vial and you are going to call your friends to bring it to me,” Lita sighed. She sat on the floor, waiting for Nina’s answer like a bored schoolgirl.

“And if I refuse?”

“My goodness, peach, I thought you were smart. What exactly about that question seems a little off to you?” Lita chuckled. Nina had to admit to herself that it was a very stupid attempt at defiance that just made her look dumb. She intended to recover quickly and get things moving along. Doing the Ping-Pong bantering would just waste time and it was just childish.

“Give me the phone and give me an address,” she demanded.

“Ha!” Lita clapped her hands together with a giggle and rose without the support of her hands on the floor. It looked unnatural. She pulled a cell phone from a small sewn in pocket on the front of her dress, just below the waist beading and handed it to Nina through the bars.

‘Don’t try anything with this one,’ Nina warned herself as the temptation of grabbing her captor’s hand mounted, releasing adrenaline through her.

Lita wrapped her slender hands around the bars and leaned in, pressing her hauntingly beautiful face in between. With her hair pulled away and her face isolated between the iron bars, Nina realized that her nemesis had the youth of a 20 year old. According to Val’s records, Professor Lita Røderic was a member of the Thule Society and involved in the Ahnenerbe, of which the last member reportedly perished somewhere in the mid-1940’s. Nina looked at her face as she dialed Sam’s number and she could have sworn Lita’s skin displayed just a faint hint of luminescence.