The Quest for Valhalla

Chapter 31

From the comfort of his home, he traveled across Spain and through France to reach Germany. Carlos Oliveira had contacted his friend and colleague of old, Miro Cruz, asking to accompany him. They would meet in Frankfurt, and from there they would take a train to Bavaria, where they were told The Brotherhood was headed. Another bit of intelligence reached Carlos that morning as he waited for his friend — Lita Røderic’s stronghold in the Hebrides was under attack by the very same people he thought he was pursuing

“God, I hope I did not travel all this way for nothing. If I find out that I took this trip on a wild goose chase, Oliver, I will have your fucking head,” the old, Portuguese snarled into the phone. He coughed from the exertion, his heart flaring a bit too much at the disappointing news. From the distance, he recognized the more robust physique of his associate appear as he sauntered along the edge of the platform.

“I shall be waiting for your information. But you have no more than three hours to get back to me. I am almost 85 years old. I certainly do not have the luxury of wasting precious time on shit like this! Now, get the intelligence I want,” he scowled and hung up the call. He chewed his lips in vexation and waited for Miro to join him on the bench of the platform where they would catch the train together.

“Wife?” his friend asked, groaning under the strain of seating his old bones.

“Oliver. My informant on The Brotherhood in Edinburgh. You know, he had always been quite accurate, but this sounds like a huge mess to me. He says that the Templars are currently wiping the floors of Lita’s den on Loch nan Cinneachan with her staff, but here we are, on his tell that they were on their way to Bavaria,” he complained.

Miro took it all in, finding it all too strange at they would operate in two different places instead of employing their German faction to do the dirty work here. He nodded to himself as his mind sifted through the probabilities, explanations and reasons for their actions while his perpetually ill friend blew his nose loudly into a blue handkerchief already creased from the trip here. He looked up at the information board which announced in red lettering that their train was still on time. Another 10 minutes.

“Perhaps they divided to get more done sooner,” he finally suggested. “We know that that insufferable little prick who came to accost us in search of the Brotherhood and his madam Führer managed to get their hands on the Vision of Kvasir. I suppose that is what The Brotherhood is searching for in the fortress?”

“How the hell did they get the vial without crippling bloodshed? The Brotherhood would never relinquish that damned relic. We know this, you and I. How many years did we try to locate it and no matter how many of them perished, that artifact stayed elusive to the Order,” Carlos argued, his voice laden with bitterness.

“I don’t know, old friend,” Miro answered, “but if we encounter them in Regensburg, it is best we do not reveal who we are. I think we should befriend their leader and so find out where they are headed, find out where Valhalla is.”

“I agree. I agree,” Carlos nodded with weary eyes staring ahead of him into the crisp morning light. “We have been deceived too many times. This time we only follow them to Valhalla — the real location, not the mound in Iceland they use as decoy.”

“Yes,” Miro concurred. “Especially now that we know Lita Røderic is expendable.”

“She is?” Carlos asked, surprised.

“Yes, the order wants her to lead the way, but she can never be in power. You know that she is in no state to usher in the new world order. Her greed for power makes her dangerous, disloyal and corrupt,” Miro assured Carlos. “She would eradicate us all with the rest of the impure races for her own consolidation.”

“She definitely has the means to do it. Why did they not just refuse her membership?” Carlos sighed. His friend gave him along hard look of utter disbelief. “What?” Carlos shrugged.

“You do know that she is the purest of Aryans, right? You are aware that she was raised by Himmler’s people, aren’t you? My god, Carlos, Lita Røderic is the product of the SS elite, the pet of the Order!” Miro scoffed, alarmed at his colleague’s apparent indifference towards the very real threat that she represented. Carlos sank his face and shoulders at his colleague, evidently ashamed of his ignorant opinion.

“I just hope I can see it in my lifetime,” Miro envisaged with a crack of a smile.

“The calculations all point to the festival of St. Blod, this year. And that happens in a week from now. If the bitch leads us to Valhalla in time, you can wager well we will still see the eclipse in our lifetime. And with her denied power we will establish ourselves in the society as high masters, you and I,” Carlos chimed, rubbing his rheumatoid hands together. “We will live out our days in lavish authority, overseers of nations.” He imagined the glory that would come after the world had been subjugated by their order. It would come to pass with the aid of the superior beings that spawned the Aryan races eons before social integration and insidious religions diluted their supremacy. And the three day eclipse would announce their irrefutable entry into power, but only if they released the ancient evil slumbering inside the Hall of the Slain. Although the Nazis had no idea what the malevolent thing was, it would facilitate the coming of the Wolf Age. During this time of transition, lethal changes in the earth’s atmosphere would be the genesis of their reign. Physics beyond human understanding would be employed to bring into our dimension the old gods, the celestial fathers of the master race. It would all be powered by the inexhaustible and invisible radiation of the black sun resident inside the earth. Said to be the void of creation, from which the earth unfolded itself by the laws of sacred geometry, it would swallow all light and interfere with electro-magnetic frequencies across the planet.

With the new power source, the superior beings would exert their dominion over a world populated only by advanced humans. Efficient and intelligent, they would be liberated of the burden and ineptitude of inferior breeds and genetically deficient species. At the top of this ideology sat the self-proclaimed heiress, bred especially for the New Kingdom of humans that would live by the laws of the Supreme Beings.

“Do you know what I think is subdued inside Valhalla?” Miro asked his friend, who was again wiping his nose vigorously. Carlos just shook his head, again striking his associate as way too apathetic. “Fenrir,” Miro answered.

“The big wolf of Norse Mythology,” his friend affirmed in disbelief bordering on ridicule.

“Yes, of course.”

“Miro, there is no wolf inside the Hall of the Slain. There is no Hall of the Slain, full of fallen warriors and sassy Valkyries serving mead and all that shit. Not in the Valhalla we are looking for anyway.”

Miro’s expression hardened, but he bit his tongue. He was not a fool. It was obvious they were looking for an actual council hall from ancient history and he knew full well that Fenrir would not be an actual wolf, living on the bones of unwary travelers the locals would feed him with. His wrinkled brow sank into an awful scowl, but he remained quiet. Carlos did not even afford him the privilege of a glance and it drove him crazy. His once black eyebrows, now infested with wild and wiry greys, stirred as his beady eyes darted over his associate. Carlos, however maintained his unmoved countenance, ignoring Miro’s projection of disdain founded on the patronization he was dealt.

Before the two old men yielded to argument, the train arrived in the terminal. They were now on their way to the Walhalla Memorial near Regensburg, ready to trail the dangerous knights of the Hammer that swore to keep Valhalla’s location secret in order to avert the end of the world as we know it — to avert the rise of the Black Sun.