The Quest for Valhalla

Chapter 27

Gunnar finished his call a slight distance from Sam and Nina who were waiting outside the yacht club house. Sam looked at Nina, who was leaning against him. Her eyes were empty, although she did respond to his fingers on her brow with an almost inaudible sigh, blinking her eyes at his touch.

“Nina, what did they do? You have to tell us,” he said softly, doing his best not to apply even the mildest stress to her. It was imperative that they found out what happened to her while she was detained in the talons of the redhead, Swastika eyed witch.

Gunnar came over with a determined gait, a steely look, and something reminiscent of excitement in his face.

“Come, we have to get going. Lita is leaving her fortress in two hours. She is going on an expedition to find Valhalla and we have to get there before she does,” he rambled hastily as he flicked on his helmet and mounted his bike.

“Wait! Wait! What?” Sam protested, pointing at Nina behind her head with a puzzled expression.

“Don’t you worry about Dr. Gould. We’ll sort her out when we get to the Serpent Stone,” Gunnar replied as he sucked in the last of his cigarette and flicked the butt between his middle finger and his thumb.

“The Serpent Stone?” Sam asked. The leader of the Sleipnir boys did not reply. Deafening, his motorcycle roared as he revved it and nodded, urging Sam and Nina to get on their bike and follow. Nina said nothing, but she was coherent and responsive, which brought Sam some relief. He felt his chest well with warmth as her petite arms wrapped around his body and met on his chest. He could feel her body press against his back in a tight embrace and it made him feel strangely safe, even in all this madness of life threatening chaos they were now plunged into.

The two motorcycles wove through the streets of the city, across the lanes, not speeding, but moving swiftly through traffic. Eventually, they turned onto the open road south and made their way towards the countryside. Flanking the road was dense forest, broken only by the occasional narrow dirt path escaping into the main road. Sam could feel Nina’s head resting on his back and he silently wondered what exactly had befallen her while she was at the mercy of the Black Sun’s main bitch.

It infuriated him, not only that they got their claws on his best friend, the woman he had successfully hidden his feelings for over a long period of time, but also that he was in part responsible for her taking. It killed him to know that he elected to get drunk instead of running her errand in due time as she had requested. Had he just done as he was supposed to, he would have been with her when she received that ill-fated phone call. He would have gone with her to the cemetery. He would have… he would have saved her from the trauma that followed, whatever it was.

Now and then, Gunnar would grow small ahead of them as he sped forward and Sam would remember to give the accelerator a bit of a challenge to catch up. He had no idea what the Serpent Stone was.

‘Knowing these lads it’s probably a temple. Serpent Stone. What the hell is it? I know, it sounds like a shrine. Oh god, not another shrine. I’ve had my fill of those last time in Tibet,’ he thought, his ponderings taking up most of his concentration. It made the trip feel shorter and before he knew it, Gunnar’s turn signal flashed right.

They meandered along a canopied trail, slowly navigating the hobbling road. The area seemed deserted, however the road appeared well traversed. Various track lines lay embedded in the shallow moist soil, proving that the path had had been travelled quite recently. Ahead of them, around a slight bend in the road, a small building came into view. Brick and tile met a roughly tarred area in front of it where two vehicles stood parked.

It was a small makeshift parking lot and when they pulled into it, Sam saw a gritty, rusty sign crown the roof. It was intended that way, not at all damaged, but ground away on the edges for ornate value to look old and worn. From the grated edges and the deliberately faded paint, there emerged Celtic motifs, beautifully intertwined, twisting like vines into circular coils. In the center of the sign, written in calligraphic perfection, the words Serpent Stone Tattoos.

‘Ah!’ he thought. ‘I did not see that one coming!’ Sam smiled in amusement at the constantly surprising things Gunnar and his clan introduced them to. When they stopped next to Gunnar he could see that same determination in the man’s face. It made Sam wonder if Gunnar ever smiled.

“Bit early for a dare, wouldn’t you say? You have time for a stamp while we have business to attend to?” Sam asked, gesturing with his head toward the quiet Nina who was wrestling with her helmet strap.

“Oh, it’s not for me, pal. It’s for you two,” Gunnar said in his dead serious grunt. Sam blinked a few times before asking, “Would you repeat that? Gunnar. Gunnar!” He chased after the big biker who led a surprisingly eager Nina into the establishment, ignoring the confused mutterings of the journalist in their trail. Nina’s eyes looked more alive as she entered the cozy tattoo parlor, fascinated by the brilliant artistry displayed all over the walls. Designs of all kinds adorned the brick walls, from logos to the typical intricacy of dragon scales and Nordic bands. Two leather couches and a coffee table filled the small waiting area and Sam saw four thick albums on the table, sporting photographs of the artist’s previous works. In all his reluctance at playing Gunnar’s game, he was at least cheered to see the lift in Nina’s disposition. The small woman glared at the art works wile Gunnar roared out some coded greeting to the giant long haired brute in the back of the shop, wiping off the leather chair where he inked his paying masochists daily.

His name was Eldard. He was a bear of a man, light brown hair falling straight over his shoulders. He towered at 6’5” with ice blue eyes and he weighed the heavier part of a small bull. Aptly, his voice resonated through the Creedence Clearwater Revival on the speakers like low rumbling thunder and he immediately took a liking to the pretty little beauty scrutinizing his art.

“You available for the next hour?” Gunnar asked as the two men locked forearms in a brotherly grasp.

“Aye! I gots until 2pm, brother,” Eldard chuckled. “Who wants a bit of needlepoint, then?”

“These two,” the leader of Sleipnir rasped with authority, pointing to both Sam and Nina.

Sam looked bewildered, his face ashen in denial. Nina’s big black eyes looked innocently upon the two big men by the leather chair and she cocked her head.

“I’ll do the lassie first. The boy looks like he needs a Xanax,” the tattoo artist laughed.

Without hesitation, Nina walked toward the chair, passing a friendly glance at her best friend.

“Don’t worry, Sam. I can handle needles,” she said, almost sounding like her old snappy self again. She whispered something in Gunnar’s ear that wiped his smile from his face. What she said hit him like a Mac truck and he nodded reverently, suddenly looking saddened.

Nina had always wanted a tattoo. Never did she desire those petty little doodles most women preferred for the ‘feminine touch’. Butterflies or roses on delicate places didn’t appeal to the historian. No, she was always partial to the more meaningful artworks, especially with some of the more fascinating and beautiful symbols she had come across in her line of work. Some historical finds delivered the most striking sigils and seals, but she never knew exactly what she would have wanted to permanently imprint upon her body, until now.

“What happened here, love?” the massive tattoo artist asked caringly, his glorious eyes piercing hers as he wiped her other forearm with disinfectant to prepare her skin. He was referring to her bandaged arm.

“I don’t… really… know,” she whispered. Her soft brown eyes fell to the bandage as flashes from her corrupt memory afforded her the brief glimpses she would rather have forgotten. The pain was mild, she remembered. Her German was reasonable, yet there were words spoken too rapidly, voices too hushed in tone and of course the drug too powerful to overcome, while they placed her on that table. The last thing Nina recalled was being laid on her back, looking up at the dome above her, the awful symbol of the Order of the Black Sun lurching over her like a black hole of negative energy sucking her life from her. Then, only the darkness.

Sam paced up and down in front of the gallery of Eldard’s work, pretending to look at the myriad of designs when actually he was fighting the urge to jump on the bike and race back to the safety of home where he could be comforted by Bruich’s tail in his face. That reminded him to call Patrick. He had almost forgotten to call his best friend at the police department to do him a solid and check in on his beloved cat while he would be god knows where, risking his life once more.

“That lad looks like he is going to faint, Gunnar. Are you sure this is a good idea?” Eldard asked as he stepped on the switch of the machine, bringing to life the buzz of the tattoo gun in his hand. He latched gazes with the pretty woman in his chair. She liked Eldard. He looked like a vicious ogre but his entire aura beamed with noble protection and valor. Nina mustered a smile, knowing what he was about to draw, and she nodded for him to go ahead.

“I don’t care if he has to cry into a box of Kleenexes. He has to do this. His fucking life depends on it,” Gunnar replied, standing with his huge arms folded. He looked at Nina, impressed by both her bravery and her honor in what she was doing for them all. Nina really had no idea what they were doing at the Serpent Stone, but her elation to be alive and back amongst friends was so rich, that she did not care. In fact, she was quite enjoying her surroundings at the moment.

Another good thing was Gunnar paying the tab of her tattoo. Never had she thought she would ever find just one thing that would be good enough for her to cut into her flesh for good. It just felt right. With all the bad, with all the sickness in the pit of her stomach over all this Lita business, Nina felt like she was finally doing something important. It felt like destiny. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew at some point she would have to deal with what had happened to her — she would have to try and remember the barbaric treatment and above all it was of dire importance that she remembered the sordid operation they had forced on her. Lita would never let her go, knowing that she was affiliated with the enemy, not without some nefarious precaution. But that, and the mysterious wound in her left arm, would have to wait until she had acquired the marking she so zealously desired to carry with her forever.

“So what exactly is the reason for all this, then, Gunnar?” she finally dared asked. Her eyes flashed to Eldard. She was not sure if she could ask in front of him, but Gunnar’s candid response revealed the ink master’s involvement in the deeper things of The Brotherhood and their so-called foot soldiers.

“After this symbol there is one more you must get. Him too,” he said, pointing at Sam, who was speaking to DCI Patrick Smith with some urgency. “This is very important for you both to help us, Nina. You and Sam, you will be our oracles, so to speak, on this trek to find Valhalla before that Nazi bitch reaches it and opens it,” he explained.

“How do you mean that? Do you not know where it is? I thought you were its guardians,” she frowned.

“Not since the 1940’s has The Brotherhood known where it was. The only person who knew, who was in charge of stopping anyone from finding it was a Polish woman named Marie Brozek. But she was shot dead during the Second World War and since we have lost the trail to Valhalla.”

“Shit,” she whispered, ignoring the sting of the needle penetrating her skin with a constant circular motion. “What are we supposed to do to find it?”

“Not you, so much. Only your knowledge at German history might help us. But him, the lad who looks like he is about to soil himself… he has the liquid in his veins and we have only a few days at most for him to tell us where to find Valhalla. Not only will Lita find out that the vial is filled with fake elixir, but we have a limited time to learn from Sam’s visions before they disappear,” Gunnar sighed, looking utterly concerned at the nervous journalist.

“Has he had any visions?” the tattoo artist asked seriously, his eyes fixed in deep concentration on his work forming in Nina’s skin.

“One or two. He walked in Hel, but there has been nothing concrete. I hope getting him inked will help bring it on,” Gunnar said, opening a can of Cola.

Nina looked at him questioningly.

“Pain induces visions on the elixir, Nina. The needle should do the thing for us. Once Sam gets the first vision to lead us to Valhalla, we can start. We’ll follow the clues until we discover the location that died with Marie Brozek in World War II,” he explained. Sam heard it all and joined them.

“Wait, that is what the tattoo is for?” he asked, feeling a tad better that the pain would serve a purpose.

“Well,” the artist groaned from the thick focus of his eye on Nina’s developing mark, “in part, Sam. It is also very important that we get this mark on you.” He stood up to stretch his back and looked at Sam. With a sigh he added, “It will keep you from getting killed, hopefully.”

Sam gasped and Nina’s hair lashed from side to side as she looked at Sam, then Gunnar, then Eldard.

“Killed?” she asked.

“You are dealing with ancient evil, my dear. You are dealing with the most power-hungry tyrant since Adolf Hitler, since Julius Caesar, since any delusional maniac who ventured to destroy the freedom of mankind for his own gain. Lita Røderic will stop at nothing to end the world as we know it and to usher into it the terrible powers of the occult to help her rule it,” Eldard explained to Sam and Nina before continuing the needle work. “The problem is, as with most servants of evil, that she does not realize that evil never shares power. Evil never keeps its word. Certainly, whatever evil Odin contained inside Valhalla would never allow some mortal to command it. Odin knew this, as did his consorts. But I suppose even genius cannot deduct through the haze of greed and lust for power. She has to be stopped. The Black Sun organization has to be stopped.”

“Exactly what is your role in this whole play, Eldard?” Sam asked, his old journalistic scrutiny returning to his tone. Nina smiled.

“Eldard is an aid to The Brotherhood, Sam,” Gunnar revealed. “He is, as they would have called him in earlier ages, the Scribe.”

“Cool,” Sam nodded to himself.

“Before we undertake this journey…” Gunnar started, but Sam interrupted.

“Sleipnir and the Brotherhood?”

“No, you, Nina and I,” Gunnar answered. “Before we undertake this journey to find the Hall of the Slain, we have to ink this into your skins for protection.” He lifted his shirt and turned to show them the marking on his lower back. It was a succession of symbols, plainly drawn in lines along a common horizontal line. It was not at all remarkable or esthetically pleasing. It was obviously a mark for purpose, not prettiness.

“It is called the Lukkustafir,” he clarified, “an ancient Icelandic symbol to ward off any bad luck. The luck stave.”

“Whoever carries these signs with them… no bad luck or harm will befall them, neither on sea or land…” Eldard recited with a smile and a wink to Nina. She smiled. “There, this one is done. Now you, Sam.”

Sam felt remarkably ready for his turn, all of a sudden. Maybe he was influenced by the lore, or the importance of his role, but he lay down on the padded table to receive his mark. The buzz of the machine did not scare him now. Nina sat admiring the Tiwaz rune tattooed on her forearm, exactly like the one Val had.

When Eldard sank the sharp throbbing needle into Sam’s flesh, his eyes shut, his body jolted, and before him, a portal opened. In front of his eyes a red flag unfolded. Upon it, he saw two keys crossing.

“Two crossed keys on a red background…” Eldard said, in thought.

Nina used Sam’s phone. She jumped up.

“Regensburg, Germany!”