Thor glanced quickly up and down the street. There was no sign of Saga’s friend, Bonnie—nor of an approaching gang of Berserkers. He worried this meeting would be nothing more than a waste of precious time.
“Let’s just get on with this,” he grumbled at Freyr as they reached the front door of the Raven Dojo.
Freyr had shut the studio doors just after the Berserker attack the day before, and a large sign—“CLOSED DUE TO FAMILY EMERGENCY”—was displayed prominently in the storefront window.
“It’s not actually locked,” Freyr said over his shoulder to Freya and Saga as he pushed the door open. “The Berserker took my keys. I just hope the place hasn’t been vandalized.”
“The vandals would have to get through my protective wards first.” Freya winked at Thor beside her. “I might not have my old powers, but Managarm’s Moon Witch isn’t the only one with a few magickal tricks up her sleeve.”
As soon as they were inside the door, Freyr and Freya slipped off their shoes and hung their jackets on the coat hooks along the wall of the narrow hallway entrance, then Freya disappeared into the studio’s small kitchen. Thor shuffled past the others and was about to step into the large practice room when he felt a biting grip on his elbow.
“Shoes!” Saga hissed and pulled him back.
Thor spun around impatiently and was about to unload on his little sister about how—with their own lives and the very existence of the world hanging in the balance—this was no time to stand on niceties like removing one’s shoes before entering a martial arts studio. But before he could utter a single syllable, Saga pointed down at his heavy work boots.
“You want to go tramping over any evidence that might remain of the Berserker’s attack?”
Thor sighed heavily and conceded her point. He stooped to untie the thick laces and huffed impatiently as he slid out of his boots. Saga stood over him.
“I can do this myself, you know.”
Saga waved him off and checked the display on her cell phone. “It’s just after noon.”
“Your friend’s late.” Thor kicked his shoes against the wall and stepped into the studio’s main room.
“No, she’s not.” Saga nodded toward the door. A dark-haired woman’s face was framed in the glass as she held her hands over her eyes and squinted to see inside. Saga waved her in.
Thor joined Freyr on the practice mats, and Freyr gestured toward the center of the floor. “This is where it happened.”
Thor eyed the spot his cousin had indicated. It was no ordinary battlefield where disturbed earth, drops of blood, or pieces of hair might be left behind to tell the story. He took a deep breath, hoping for a lingering scent of the struggle, but all he got was a nose-full of whatever Freya was brewing in the kitchen. Thor glanced out the big window at the city sidewalk. Cars streamed steadily by, but there were few pedestrians.
Saga rounded the corner into the practice room, followed a step behind by a tall, olive-skinned woman. “This is Bonnie. She’s come to help us.”
Thor looked the young woman up and down and grunted, unimpressed, then went back to examining the floor. There was no telling how many pairs of feet had moved across these mats, learning throws and defensive maneuvers or practicing staged combat sequences. He knelt down and placed a hand on the floor, but there was nothing to find.
“No luck?” Freyr stood over him with crossed arms.
Thor stood up and shook his head. “Just like Odin’s high school. Besides us as witnesses, there’s no evidence of the awakening. But we’ve never had to track a Berserker before.” He paused to study Freyr’s slight build, from the delicate facial features and slender shoulders down to his narrow feet.
Freyr shifted uncomfortably under Thor’s scrutiny. “What?”
“What was it like, fighting a Berserker?” Thor asked, trying to keep even a hint of envy out of his voice.
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. It happened pretty fast. One second the kid was fine, and the next . . .” Freyr lifted his hands in a futile gesture. “I was just trying to protect the other students.”
In all his years commanding the Berserkers—and occasionally disciplining and even executing when necessary—Thor had never fought one of them. Grumbling an ancient curse, he stared at the floor and tried to imagine the combat. Of all the gods, why should the lord of rain and sunshine get to do battle with one of legend’s fiercest warriors?
“Did he use recognizable maneuvers?” Thor pantomimed several blows and wrestling holds. “Did he fight like one of the old warriors, or was it the martial arts you’ve been teaching? Or maybe like a street fight?”
“I don’t know!” Freyr ran his hand over the raw scratches on his face. “I tried some Tae Kwon Do, Krav Maga, and even some Tai Chi to stop him, and still that kid knocked me to the ground and made off with my cell phone.”
“And your keys.” Thor choked back a chuckle and rested his hands on his hips. “But no weapons, right? You were fighting with your bare hands?”
Freyr rolled his eyes and turned his back on Thor.
“So there’s nothing to be learned here about the Berserkers,” Thor grumbled, then turned to Bonnie. “What about you? So you’re Einherjar, eh?”
“Oh, my god.” Bonnie’s mouth dropped open as she looked up at Thor. “Thor? That’s Thor!” Bonnie swayed slightly on her feet, and Saga grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her.
Thor beamed. He looked around to the others to make sure they’d seen her swoon. He saw Freyr roll his eyes again and knew instantly what the nature god was thinking—that now Thor would be even more impossible to live with.
Freya appeared from the kitchen and offered a warm mug to Bonnie. “Drink this. It will soothe you, and will ease our work together.”
Bonnie nodded graciously. “Thank you,” her voice quavered, but her hands were steady as she raised the mug to her lips and downed nearly half the contents in a single gulp. As Bonnie lowered the mug, her eyes shone with a serene strength Thor had never seen in a Berserker. She took a more confident step toward him. “Umm, I’m really not sure how I should address you . . . ?”
Saga touched Bonnie’s shoulder. “You already know me. Now you just know more about my family.”
Freya gestured toward the mug in Bonnie’s hands. “Drink, all of it.”
Bonnie closed her eyes and swallowed the last of the tea, and all remaining tension left her body. Thor studied the new Einherjar, trying to place her among the legions of Viking warriors he had commanded. Though women were rare in the ranks, there had been a few, here and there.
“This woman is Einherjar?” Thor pointed at Bonnie and frowned. “Do any of you recognize this warrior from past battles?”
Bonnie handed her mug back to Freya. “All I can tell you is that I woke up this morning feeling like a Viking.” She paused. “I know that sounds stupid.”
“I’ve been wondering about that.” Freya stepped in front of Bonnie and looked into her eyes. “What memories do you have of the Viking age?”
“Nothing specific. It’s just like . . . Well, I know who you are.” Bonnie gestured to the gods standing around her. “And I know that if you put a broadsword, axe, or longbow into my hands, I’d know how to use it. Do some real damage with it, actually, even though I’ve never touched one before. I could probably handle the rigging on a longship, too.”
“Not bad.” The hint of a smile curled at the corners of Thor’s mouth. Then he spotted the edges of a dark tattoo, almost hidden by the tall collar of Bonnie’s sweater. “What’s that on your neck?”
Bonnie pulled down her turtleneck collar and turned her head. “It’s a tattoo of an old Celtic knot. I got it years ago.”
Thor stepped forward and studied the ink pattern, then waved Freya over. “Does this look familiar to you?”
Freya glanced at the knot and quickly nodded. “Yes.”
“This is a Celtic design?” Thor traced the pattern of the three-armed knot on Bonnie’s skin.
“The tripl
e points represent the maiden, mother, and crone, and the surrounding circle symbolizes the oneness of all—”
“It’s a valknut!” Thor laughed loudly, taking a step back and pointing at Bonnie’s neck. “The Einherjar has a valknut!”
“I don’t understand. What’s a valk—, a valknut?”
Tears in her eyes, Freya rested her hands on Bonnie’s shoulders. “It’s the mark of the slain. The fallen heroes of Valhalla. It’s the mark of those who follow Odin.”
Bonnie nodded in bemused confusion. “Okay. I guess that makes sense . . . So, umm, how may I be of service to you?”
Thor’s muscles tensed as a strange, buzzing sensation started in his midsection and radiated out through his body. He looked around at Freyr, Freya, and Saga and knew from their faces that they were feeling it, too. He was about to ask Freya what in the Nine Realms was happening now, when he noticed the others starting to glow—a faint but unmistakable aura of glittering gold and silver surrounded each of them from head to foot.
Thor stretched out his hands and saw that he was shimmering, too. Freya caught his eye and nodded.
“Belief,” she whispered. “It makes us stronger.”
Thor made fists with his big hands. “Strong enough to pound the Moon Dog into the ground with a single blow?”
“Probably not.” Saga offered a sympathetic smile. “But it’s still something.”
The door to the street opened and closed, and a small, dark-skinned man emerged from the entrance hallway. He slipped off his shoes without being asked, then stepped into the practice room.
Thor assessed the newcomer with an expression of disappointment. The man was short and slightly built, and as he pulled a knit cap from his head—revealing a smattering of pewter gray hair atop a quickly balding scalp—Thor hoped he had simply wandered in accidentally. If all the Einherjar were going to show up the form of young ladies and tiny, bald men, Thor wasn’t sure what chance they’d stand against Managarm and his Berserker army.
The man looked up at Thor with wide-eyed, excited awe. “It’s you!” He looked around the room, beaming and nodding his head to each of the others in turn. “I don’t know how I knew I’d find you here.” He gazed back up at Thor with a renewed sparkle in his eyes. “But here you are!”
Freya smiled at Thor over the man’s shoulder, then slipped into the kitchen.
“Who are you, exactly?” Thor still hoped the little man was lost.
“I am Tariq Rizavi,” he replied in clipped English. “And you are Thor. I have been called into your service.”
Freya reappeared beside Tariq and offered him a cup of warm tea. Tariq politely bowed his head and accepted the mug. “My thanks to you, my lady.” He took a sip and turned back to face Thor. “I offer my aid and loyalty.”
“Looks like a Muslim to me,” Thor grumbled under his breath. “How in all of Niflheim is a man of Allah supposed to fight on the side of the Vikings?”
“Dude.” Freyr nudged Thor’s elbow. “Not very politically correct.”
“I am no Muslim!” Tariq protested loudly. “I am Hindu! Ksatriya, generations upon generations of Ksatriya! The finest warriors the world has ever seen!” He puffed out his chest and faced Thor squarely. “You think just because I am from Pakistan, I am a Muslim? You may be the god of thunder, with your big hammer and thunderbolts, but you are a big doofus.”
Dumbfounded, Thor stood silently as Tariq moved through a series of impressive yoga postures, regardless of the man’s age. Thor also pretended not to notice that Freyr was trying hard not to crack a smile.
Thor ran a meaty hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Enough with the stretching.”
Coming to the end of his demonstration, Tariq wagged a finger in Thor’s face. “You are lucky to have a Ksatriya on your side. You respect me, I respect you, okay?”
Thor stared at Tariq for a long moment, then lifted his big hands in resignation. “Sorry I asked.”
“A man of Allah is nothing to sneeze at, either,” Tariq continued. “You should be so blessed to have Ksatriya and Muslim stand together with you!”
As Tariq drank the rest of his tea, Freya caught Thor’s eye and gestured for him to settle down. Thor turned away with a dismissive wave and a short growl. Freyr was right. He was being intolerant, by modern standards, but what kind of soldier could worship an invisible, transcendent supreme being while serving gods of flesh and blood? This was exactly why so many of the old gods and goddesses had simply faded away, after humans turned their backs on them.
Thor held up his hands. They still bore a faint, golden glow, somewhat brighter since Tariq’s arrival. He wondered if they were indeed getting stronger, or if this was just what it felt like to finally fade into nothingness.
Thor pressed his fists against his temples and squeezed. Trying to sort through so many conflicting thoughts on monotheistic warriors serving polytheistic gods in a battle for the survival of the Cosmos made his head start pounding again.
“Can’t we all just get along?” he whined, then felt like an infantile moron when Freya touched him lightly on the elbow.
“You okay there?” she coaxed his hands away from his face. “I can fix you some tea, too, you know.”
“No, that’s okay,” Thor groaned. “I’m just having an existential crisis.”
A sharp finger poked him in the ribs. Thor wheeled around, and Tariq ducked out of the way of his swinging arms just in time not to get smacked in the face.
“What?” Thor asked curtly.
“I have seen the wolf,” he said solemnly. “The one called Fenrir. He is your nemesis, yes? He is supposed to kill your father?”
Thor brushed his hands over his face and tried to control his temper. “Something like that.”
“He is at the sanctuary.” Tariq raised a finger purposely in the air. “I will take you to him.”
Saga shook her head. “He’s already been let loose.”
“Ragnarok!” Bonnie gasped aloud.
Tariq paused a moment, then pursed his lips and looked back up at Thor. “I think maybe his destiny is different than you think.”
Thor cocked his head slightly to one side. “What makes you say that?”
“I dreamt of your wolf this morning, a terrible dream.” Tariq’s voice caught in his throat. “I woke feeling that certainly all was lost. But I couldn’t sit still. I left the house. As though, if I could only find the right thing to do, the dark wolf would not win.” He gestured between himself and Thor. “Has this meeting here been foretold by your seers?”
“That’s difficult to say.” Thor thought back to his last encounter with the Norns—when they’d called him at 3 in the morning to tell him he’d become the king of an Alaskan salmon colony and would receive large tithes of cheddar cheese and ball bearings. “Assume it hasn’t.”
Tariq nodded up at Thor with a smile. “I think maybe what was once set in stone is now not so certain.”
Thor glanced at Saga. She was, after all, the goddess of history and mythology. He raised his eyebrows to ask the silent question: Was it possible they’d come so far through time and across land and sea from their origins that the old legends no longer held? That a short Hindu gentleman and a lady bookstore manager would be called up as Einherjar seemed unlikely enough to Thor that just about anything was conceivable.
“I have no idea.” Saga lifted her hands in exasperation. “Is it possible? Sure, I guess, but . . .”
“But enticing possibilities about whether or not we’re facing Ragnarok doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got the Moon Dog setting up to inflict some serious hurt.” Thor crossed his arms tightly over his chest and turned to Tariq. “I apologize if I offended you.”
“Mmm.” Tariq nodded with humility.
“So, can we expect any more Einherjar to suddenly appear, or is this it?”
Saga was about to speak, but then turned at the sound of the front door opening again.
Freyr stepped out of the way as a gang of twelve
gruff looking men in black leather jackets and denim jeans strode in. They all wore the same patch—a rainbow-striped triangle beneath a winged “V”—on their jackets, and they didn’t stop to remove their heavy boots. They strode confidently to the edge of the dojo mats, then fanned out. Standing in the middle of the gang, a solidly-built older man with a thick beard removed his leather cap and looked directly at Thor.
“We are the Valkyries.”
Valhalla Page 43