by Nick Harrow
“You go down there like that, you’re never coming back,” the withered man called. “That valley is no place for a civilized man.”
Gunnar stopped and turned back despite himself. What did he care about any of this?
“This is a dream,” Gunnar complained. “Some fever bullshit brought on by that virus.”
An enormous raven plummeted from the sky to land on the old man’s shoulder. Its claws dug through the fur cape and released trickles of blood that slithered through the wiry gray hair that covered the man’s chest. “The virus is to blame, but this is no dream,” the raven croaked. “This is the realest thing you’ve ever seen.”
The flat top of a hotel tower replaced the mountain, and a flood of neon light scorched away the valley and left behind the shining ribbon of the Vegas Strip. The fires remained, though, as did the aroma of cooking meat. Humanoid, but definitely not human, figures cavorted around those flames, dancing, hooting, and shouting as they pumped misshapen fists toward the skies. Some creatures down there were much larger even than Gunnar, their bodies twisted into strange and monstrous forms. Elaborate and impressive horns jutted from their brows, curling along the sides of their heads like living helmets. Most of them wielded weapons of one sort or another, makeshift spears fashioned from street signs, knives stolen from kitchens, even a homemade axe with a haft as thick as a telephone pole.
“Looks like Peter Jackson and Guillermo Del Toro got together to make the Lord of the Rings meets Apocalypse Now,” Gunnar said. “This is the most messed-up hallucination I’ve ever had.”
The old man joined Gunnar at the edge of the roof. He leaned on a spear that he’d produced from thin air, further proof that none of this was real. “Look at me if this isn’t real,” the old man said.
Gunnar did as the old man asked and earned a sharp poke in the eye from a bony finger for his trouble. “What’s wrong with you? That hurt.”
“You’re the one who thinks it’s just a dream,” the old man said. “Stop being such a weakling.”
Gunnar rubbed one palm against his aching eye. It certainly didn’t feel like any dream he’d ever had. There was something more grounded, more visceral to this experience. His eye smarted like hell. The raised lip of the roof was gritty under his fingers, the smells from the Strip below far too complex to be just a figment of his imagination. And, he had to admit, this didn’t seem all that much harder to believe than that the entire city of Las Vegas would lose its mind, and that had happened while he was fully awake.
“Okay,” Gunnar said. “Let’s say I swallow the idea that you somehow dragged me out of my bed to a mountaintop, then did some woo-woo magic to bring me down to the Strip. Why go to all this trouble?”
The raven took flight, its talons dripping blood from the old man’s wounded shoulder. It unleashed a raucous caw is it wheeled into the sky and soared out over the concrete and neon canyon. Seconds later, the enormous bird caught a thermal rising from the largest bonfire, spiraled around a plume of smoke, and vanished into the dark clouds overhead. The old man chuckled as the bird left, rubbed a hand over the wounds it had opened, then took a sniff of his bloodied palm.
“The end of the old world,” he said and pointed his bloodstained hand at the strange creatures dancing in the street below, “and the beginning of a new one. Some very bad beasties are making choices about how this might play out. It’s your turn to make a decision about what kind of world you wake up to, kid.”
“Not much of a choice,” Gunnar mused. “So, what? I just snap my fingers and all this goes away, the virus vanishes, and we’re back to the good old days where the biggest worry I had in Vegas was whether the dice were hot or cold?”
“Not exactly. One way or another, your world is changing. The gates of chaos are thrown wide, and the world you knew is dying. You can either help to rebuild a new one, or let the wild things run riot until there’s nothing left. Make sure you know what you’re deciding, though,” the old man said. “Take a good look at what’s down there. Really soak it in for a minute. I don’t want you to come back whining you didn’t know what you were choosing when you trip over the first rough spot in the road.”
Gunnar watched the scene unfolding below him with narrowed eyes. The creatures down there looked like monsters plucked out of some twisted fairy-tale picture book. But not all the shouts and cries rising up from that street were of pain or anger. They were celebrating, feasting and fucking without a care in the world. For these creatures, whatever they were, the only rule was to do whatever they wanted.
After all Gunnar had been through—both his parents taken early by ugly cancers, his job ripped away by Arthur’s conniving, the love of a good woman denied to him by rules that held her prisoner, a life of crime forced on him by circumstance—what had taken over the Strip didn’t seem half bad. The idea of scrambling down the side of the tower to join in the festivities had a certain allure to it. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if his biggest worry was what to kill for his next meal or which woman to fuck.
“I can go down there, right now, and join the fun?” Gunnar asked.
The old man flashed him a toothy grin, and Gunnar swore he saw the white-hot glow of lightning leaking around the ancient prick’s ratty eyepatch. “Sure. Leave your worries behind. Join the jötnar and indulge every primal dream you’ve ever had. Be a jötunn, part of the chaos, and shrug off the rules of the world men built here on Midgard. You can make that choice, right now. But you only get to decide which path to walk once.”
“What’s the other option?” Gunnar asked. “Stay on this roof with you and get my ear gummed off?”
“I won’t be bothering you much longer, one way or another,” Gunnar’s companion said. “If you don’t want to hang out with the wild ones, go back to that cave with the women you rescued. Build a fortress for yourself, something to protect you and yours from the storm of evil headed your way. Be the protector of Midgard, rebuild a new world of order from the madness. Be a hero in a time when most men have forgotten what that means.”
Gunnar couldn’t take his eyes off the crazy caveman carnival playing out beneath him. Though it was at least a hundred feet from his perch to the street, he saw everything with perfect clarity. A horned beast of a creature with cloven hooves ripped steaming meat from a blackened rib bone with ivory teeth. A sleek female with a whipping tail and skin that gleamed like a blue mirror clambered on top of a short, hairy man with a cock the size of a bowling pin. Another pair of monsters in scorched police uniforms clubbed at each other with their batons over a handful of gold chains scattered on the ground. The others who watched it all seemed happy as pigs in shit. Their lawless world was ripe for the taking, and might made right. No one could tell them what to do with their lives.
“Those used to be people?” Gunnar asked.
The old man shrugged and adjusted his eyepatch. “Not exactly. They were humans. Then they died. The jötnar used their deaths to crawl into the world. Don’t worry, though. You’re special. You’ll change without going into the grave first. Or, sack up and be a man.”
“Heroing sounds like a lot of work,” Gunnar said to the old man. “And a good way to get myself killed.”
“Maybe.” The old fart looked off to the distance and frowned. “I used to think that, too. Before I realized there was more to life than pissing on fires and hunting elk with the boys. Humans aren’t animals. Pretending we are makes us monsters. Is that what you want? Is that what Rayleigh wants?”
The man’s words were a cheap shot, but that didn’t make them any less worrying. Gunnar could survive the world he saw on the Strip. He’d be the toughest—what had the old man called them? A jötunn? Gunnar was big and strong, and he had a vicious streak a mile wide. If anyone was built for the life playing out on the street beneath him, it was him.
But Ray, Bridget, shit, even Mimi wouldn’t last long in the craziness. The thought of those women being hurt, by anyone, made Gunnar’s hands clench on the ledge
in front of him. His knuckles cracked with fury, and a burning pain surrounded his heart. No, he couldn’t do the easy thing for him. Not at that cost.
“How do I stop it?” Gunnar asked, his stomach turning at the madness burning its way down the Strip.
The raven plummeted from the sky and landed on the ledge. Its two-inch talons dug into concrete as easily as a child’s fingers into playdough. The creature eyeballed him for a long second, its breath stinking of ozone. Then it spoke.
“Three things you must find, three blood runes you must carve.” The creature cawed again, its voice blending with a peal of thunder that rattled the sky, lightning caught in its eye. “The Valknut, Odin’s vision. Gungnir, Odin’s spear. Draupnir, Odin’s ring. These three will form the foundation of your innanguard, the lodge that will shelter your forces when Fimbulwinter rages.”
Gunnar’s jaw dropped as the croaking bird rattled off a shopping list of magic treasures he’d only ever heard of in the legends his father had once told him at bedtime. On top of every other crazy thing that happened that day, this was the craziest.
“This has to be a joke,” Gunnar said. “I’m not some Viking Indiana Jones. Where am I supposed to find all this?”
The old man towered over Gunnar. His eyepatch was gone, and three interlocked triangles gleamed in the otherwise empty socket. “That’s not my problem, hero. I can’t see very far into Midgard these days. Hyrrokkin’s little scheme has everything screwed up. The quest is your responsibility if you choose to go after it. It won’t be easy. Like you said, being a hero is an awful lot of work. But I promise you, the reward is worth every tear you’ll shed and every drop of blood you spill.”
A cold wind swept across the roof, and the old man spread his arms and rose into the air. “Will you do it, boy? Will you become a hero in my name?”
Gunnar felt as if he were truly seeing the one-eyed messenger for the first time. He realized he didn’t have to ask in whose name he was swearing. Odin needed a warrior, and he’d chosen the bodyguard.
“Yes!” Gunnar shouted, his mind reeling. He still couldn’t believe any of this was real, that any of it would matter once he opened his eyes. But he also couldn’t turn his back on a chance to do the right thing, even if it was utterly insane. It was just who he was. “What do you want me to do?”
“I can’t tell you where to find the relics,” Odin admitted. “But I will tell you this. When you’ve claimed one, draw its blood rune on your body. That will activate the relic and bind it to you. It’ll also make a Hel of a big bang that will put a powerful hurt on any jötnar who happen to be nearby.”
“How will I know which rune goes with which relic?” Gunnar’s old man had shown him the Viking runes once or twice, but he’d never bothered to memorize them.
Odin laughed and slapped his knee. “You’ll know, boy. Have no fear of that. Once you’ve activated a relic, it unlocks the lodge’s potential. You’ll know what I mean when you see it.”
Gunnar couldn’t help but think the old man wasn’t giving him the full story. There had to be more to saving the world from monsters than just finding some old treasures and drawing runes. “Anything else I need to know?”
“This is the start,” Odin said. “Don’t try to learn everything at once, my friend. The price is far too high for that kind of knowledge. I will give you a final piece of wisdom out of the goodness of my cold, black heart.
“When you kill a jötunn, you will absorb some of its soul, its hamingja. If you’re hurt, that essence will heal your wounds. If you’re in fine fettle, it’ll strengthen you. And, if you’re wielding one of the relics, some part of it will go to power it. Those have some surprises for you, and I’ll leave you to figure them out.”
Of course. Because what kind of heroic quest ever laid out all the information you needed to finish it? Gods and monsters both had a way of taunting men with hints and partial truths. Gunnar wanted to grab the old man by his scrawny neck and shake him until the rest of the truth fell out. But he could already feel the dream fading around him and knew time was short.
“Last chance,” he told the old man. “Anything else I need to do?”
“Just one: Wake up!” Odin shouted at him and dug his fingers into Gunnar’s eye. He raised his bloodstained hand to the sky, and the eyeball he’d plucked out of the bodyguard’s head transformed into a blazing spear. The old man hurled the gory weapon down the Vegas Strip. “Óðinn á yðr alla!”
The echoes of the words rebounded from the faces of the Strip’s casinos, and Gunnar heard the translation ringing in his thoughts.
Odin owns you all!
Chapter 5
A ROARING CRASH OF thunder and an icy blast of wind jolted Gunnar awake. He sat straight up in bed and flung the covers off his legs before he heard a surprised squawk and realized he wasn’t alone in the bedroom. He ripped open the nightstand drawer, looking for the pistol he knew should be there. It wasn’t, and his pulse raced as he tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle. It was hard to think past the ache in his right eye. It felt like someone had poured a cup of hot coffee right into the socket.
“Easy, tiger,” Ray said from beneath the blanket he’d tossed over her head. She clawed her way out of the bedclothes and sat up next to him. “Good afternoon, sunshine. Sleep well?”
Gunnar blinked to brush the sleep away and pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. He’d expected to feel like hammered shit when he woke up, but the aches and pains had abandoned his arms and legs, and he didn’t have any trouble breathing. His eye still hurt, but even that pain had faded from blinding agony to annoying ache. “Shit,” he said, “it’s already afternoon?”
“Afraid so.” Ray drew a line down the center of his naked chest with one manicured nail. “Mimi freaked out when you wouldn’t wake up, even after she buzzed an alarm that shook Bridget and me out of bed. We both felt okay, and Mimi didn’t see us freaking out on the cameras, so she unlocked our doors.”
“She was supposed to wake me up first,” Gunnar said.
“Why?” Ray asked. “Because you’re the only one who gets to make decisions about what we do?”
Gunnar propped himself up on his elbows. “If something happened during the night—”
“Like if Bridget or I got sick?” Ray crossed her arms and scowled at Gunnar. “I know more about this virus than you do. I could—”
“Okay, okay,” the bodyguard groaned. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
The anger in Ray’s eyes didn’t completely die, but Gunnar was relieved to see it had at least dimmed. They’d need a serious talk about their shared past before she’d bury the hatchet for good.
Maybe they’d have that chat after they returned to civilization.
“You better be sorry,” Ray said with a faint smile. “And she did try to drag your sorry butt out of bed, but you wouldn’t budge. Not even when she sounded the alarm. That’s why she sent me in.”
“Great,” Gunnar groaned. “What time is it?”
Ray pointed at the old-school alarm clock on the nightstand next to Gunnar. “That thing says it’s two o’clock. We missed lunch, and I’m so hungry I could eat you. And there have been a few changes.”
Gunnar didn’t like the sound of that. He propped himself up on one elbow and took a long look into Ray’s eyes.
There was a black dot in the middle of her forehead.
No, not a dot.
A hole.
Ray brushed her fingertips across the new addition to her features and shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt. Didn’t even know it was there until Bridget pointed it out.”
“What is that?” Gunnar asked.
“Magic,” Ray said. “I had a really messed-up dream last night.”
She grinned and slipped the tip of her index finger into her forehead. It vanished up to the first knuckle before she pulled it back out.
“Gross,” the bodyguard groaned. “Please don’t do that again.”
“What’s wro
ng?” Ray asked, feigning innocence. “You don’t like it when I put things in my hole?”
“Do it if it feels good, I guess. Maybe I’ll take a stab at it later.” Gunnar grinned and rested his hand on her hip. His smile faltered a bit as the implications sank in. “I had a dream, too. Which I guess wasn’t really a dream at all.”
“You’ve got that right,” she said, her voice soft. “Bridget and Mimi and I were all visited by the same hot blond chick. She made us pick whether we wanted to bat for the home team or the invaders. We all made the same decision. Now we’ve got völva superpowers.”
“I always thought your vulva was pretty super,” Gunnar said, his hand sliding toward the inside of her hip.
“No, völva.” Ray sat up straight and threw her shoulders back. “It means I’m a special Viking witch.”
“Did the hole in your head tell you that?” Gunnar asked.
“Google it,” she said. “Maybe you’ll learn something.”
“Hard pass,” Gunnar said. “I’d never hear the end of it if Mimi caught me using her swanky underground wi-fi to google ‘völva.’
“Funny guy,” Ray said, her voice smoky. “Better watch it, or I’ll turn you into a toad. The good news is that I think the worst of the Valhalla Virus should be over.”
Gunnar scooped Ray up in one arm and rolled her over onto his chest. He went in for a kiss, then froze with their lips an inch apart. “Are we still contagious?”
“I don’t think so,” Ray said. The last angry sparks in her eyes were replaced by the smoldering fires of lust. “Whatever was gonna happen already happened. According to the research I stole, if you’re still alive when the fever breaks, then you’re out of the woods. Let me check your temperature.”
Her hand slid down Gunnar’s stomach, then lower. She cradled his balls, her fingers lightly squeezing. She kissed him, her mouth hot and hungry. Her tongue darted over Gunnar’s, and she nipped his bottom lip as her hand closed around his stiffening shaft. Her fingers squeezed and relaxed in a rhythmic, undulating pattern that soon had Gunnar at full attention.