by Nick Harrow
“What a loser,” Mimi teased. “You didn’t even try!”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you two,” he chuckled, and swept her into his arms. He dangled her over his shoulder by one ankle, then hooked his free arm around Ray’s curvy waist and lifted her onto his hip. “You’re both so puny and weak compared to me.”
“Um,” Mimi said, “how do we get through this gate?”
That question had just occurred to Gunnar. The heavy barrier was sealed from the inside. There were no handles on the outside. Gunnar supposed he could climb over using the bands of iron as hand- and footholds. That would mean leaving the völva alone, though, which he did not want to do.
An idea occurred to him, and he lowered the women back to the ground. He scouted the rutted trail for the right tool for the job and found what he was looking for a few seconds later. He hefted the egg-shaped rock, bounced it on his palm twice, then reared back like a pitcher winding up for a fastball. His arm rocketed forward, and the stone soared over the gate and through the hide-covered window on the top floor.
Even at this distance, Gunnar heard the rock clatter against the inside of the house. If Deke was home, there was no way he could have missed that sound. Gunnar and the völva waited for a response. Seconds later they heard the creak of hinges as the house’s door opened, then footsteps approaching the gate.
“Who goes there?” a strange man’s voice called out.
The man on the other side of the gate wasn’t Deke or his son, Mark. A thread of worry wormed its way down Gunnar’s spine. If someone had ambushed Deke while he was opening the Lodge, there could be a small army of other refugees waiting inside.
Or jötnar.
“Who are you?” Gunnar called back. “My name is Gunnar. This is my lodge, and you’ve got five seconds to open the damn gate before I come over the top.”
A moment later he glimpsed a man’s eyes pressed to the gap between the gate’s heavy logs. Whoever he was stared up at Gunnar and took an audible gulp.
“Oh, shit, you must be the big guy” the guard said. “We didn’t know you were coming back so soon. Give me a second.”
The guard yelled for Deke and the front door of the house banged open a few seconds later. Another eye peered through the gate, and Gunnar heard a familiar laugh.
“It really is you,” Deke said. “Welcome back.”
Gunnar heard the men struggling with the bar that held the gate closed. After a few huffs and puffs, the rasping sound of wood sliding over metal came from behind the barrier and something thudded against the ground. The gate creaked open, and Deke peered through the gap.
“You made it,” Gunnar said as he opened the gate wider to admit the völva. “Who’s the new guy?”
“We, uh, might have found some stragglers,” the old man said. “Erin wouldn’t hear of leaving ’em out there on their own. I hope that’s okay.”
“That was smart,” Ray said. “This place is for everyone who wants to help keep each other safe. The more, the merrier.”
“She’s right,” Mimi added. “Don’t let ol’ Jarly Green Giant here say otherwise.”
“No complaints here,” Gunnar said with a chuckle. “I’m just glad you made it. Is everyone underground?”
Gunnar pulled the gate closed behind him, lifted the stout wooden beam that Deke had dropped, and slid the bar through the iron brackets to seal the barrier once again. The courtyard inside the gate held an old, battered wagon that had once been the Accord. A pickup with quadzilla mounted on its hood sat off to one side. The jarl wondered how much longer that piece of equipment would hold out against the changes remaking Vegas.
Deke led them past the pair of wide barn doors that had replaced the rolling garage door and around to the longhouse’s front entrance. He called out a greeting that he was with friends, then waited for a moment until Erin’s voice told him to come in.
The front room had completely transformed. A board covered in a carved image of a wolf with an axe handle between its teeth stood where the TV had once been. The sunken section of the floor held a firepit filled with blackened coals, and bent wood chairs around the pit served as the only furniture. There were no ground-floor windows, but candles shed a warm light that held the gloom at bay and made what could have been a dark and dreary room cozy.
“You scared us half to death,” Erin said to Gunnar with a frown. “Next time you don’t have to throw a rock through the window. Hey, where’s Bridget?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Gunnar said. “We’re headed to the bunker.”
“Oh,” Erin said, her cheeks blushing brightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
Gunnar and the völva followed Erin through candlelit hallways, past doorways covered by tanned hides, until they finally reached a staircase that corkscrewed into the ground. They descended deep into the earth through the shaft that had once held the elevator. The air grew cooler the deeper they went, and the finished stone walls gave way to rough-hewn stone. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Gunnar was shocked by how much things had changed.
The main building and guesthouse were both gone. The bunker had become a wide-open cavern with a natural spring at one end. A handful of firepits were scattered around the floor, smoke leaking up through the holes in the stone ceiling. Stalactites dangled overhead, their wet points gleaming in the uncertain light of the fires. The shadowed mouths of other caverns opened around the perimeter. Even stranger, thick tree roots plunged through the ceiling and burrowed into the floor. But what most surprised Gunnar weren’t the changes in the bunker.
It was the people.
Men, women, and even a few children sat on logs around the firepits. Some of them tended to meat roasting on spits above the flames, while others talked in hushed tones. The children were subdued and nearly silent. They sat next to their parents, eyes fixed on dancing flames. There had to be close to fifty people down there, none of whom Gunnar recognized.
“I hope you aren’t mad,” Erin said softly.
“Where did they all come from?” he asked. “You couldn’t have brought this many in your truck.”
Erin cleared her throat, then raised her voice. “Everyone, this is Gunnar. He’s the one that was kind enough to let us all stay at his place.”
“His place,” Mimi snorted. “More like my place that he took over.”
One by one, the lodge’s new inhabitants stood and clapped. Soon, the sound of their applause filled the cavern, and Gunnar saw smiles creep onto their lips. One man, a big, boisterous guy with a bushy black beard and a bald head, thrust his fist toward the sky and cheered. Others joined in, filling the air with raucous cries. Even the kids got in on the act, jumping and hooting, dancing around the fires while their mothers warned them not to fall in.
“A few of them came with us,” Erin said. “The others started showing up not long after we got inside.”
The voice of his father rose up in Gunnar’s memories. The old man warned Gunnar that he couldn’t take care of every stray dog he passed on the street. “You’ll go broke or crazy if you try,” his father said. “Take care of yourself and expect everyone else to do the same.”
So many new mouths to feed was a big responsibility. Keeping all these people safe from the jötnar would be a tremendous strain on Gunnar’s resources. Chasing them out of the lodge would be the wisest move. That would let him concentrate on finding Bridget, which was the most important thing right now.
But he couldn’t do that. These people needed someone to protect them from the monsters trying to destroy the world. Gunnar had been given powerful gifts to do just that. Turning his back on those who needed him most wasn’t the jarl’s style. “It’s fine,” he said to Erin as the cheers died down. “It’s more than fine. Thanks for making everyone feel at home.”
He passed through the crowd, the völva and Erin trailing behind him. Gunnar shook hands and clapped shoulders in greeting
. He was surprised how much taller he was than anyone else in the cavern. Few of the men were within two feet of his height, and they all watched him with awe as he engulfed their hands in his. He worried his size would frighten the children, but they laughed and scampered around him, playing hide-and-seek around his legs as he made his way to the model of the lodge.
When he reached the door to his sacred place, he held up a hand to those who had followed behind the group. “I need some time alone with my team,” he said. “There’ll be time for us to talk later. In the meantime, Erin’s in charge.”
“Me?” the young woman asked, blushing to the roots of her dark hair. “Why me?”
“You’ll be fine,” Mimi said. Then, in a lower voice, “Better you than me.”
The crowd dispersed and went back to what they’d been doing before the jarl and his völva had arrived. Gunnar hoped they’d save him some of the meat smoking over the fires, whatever it was. He was starving.
The four of them entered the room that contained the model of the lodge. It still hovered above the wooden table, though it had changed to match their shelter’s new appearance. A notable addition was the tree that now grew up from the subterranean lodge through the longhouse on the surface. Gunnar was curious about what the hell was up with that, but he had more pressing matters to contend with before he added any new mysteries to his plate.
Gunnar hoped he’d find new options available now that he’d gathered another rune, but he was disappointed to see the same three symbols above the floating structure. The only difference he could find was a small line of glowing text beneath the Hall of Heroes upgrade. “Fifty-four people have answered the call. Twelve children, twenty women, and twenty-two men. The Hall of Heroes has space for an additional six people.”
Well, that was interesting. Gunnar hadn’t expected the Hall of Heroes to attract survivors, but he wasn’t unhappy that it had.
Now, though, he needed to pick the next upgrade.
“We still got two options here,” he said to the völva. “The Hall of Battle and the Hall of Feasting. The first one will provide arms and armor for the lodge’s residents. The second one will provide food.”
“Weapons,” Mimi said without hesitation. “The guns that Deke brought look like they still work, but I bet they won’t for long. Everything’s turning all stabby instead of shooty.”
Gunnar wondered how long it would be before guns were just a distant memory. The world was changing, and it would keep right on changing. Before long, they’d be back to the Iron Age or earlier. Fighting the jötnar with an automatic shotgun and high-tech shells had been hard. Fighting them with swords and axes seemed suicidal.
Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of hope that had entered him at the sight of those people settling into the lodge. He’d grown stronger since accepting the Valknut. Maybe those who followed him would gain new strength like the völva had.
“I agree with Mimi,” Ray piped up. “It’ll be good to have more soldiers to help defend this place against Hyrrokkin’s army of assholes.”
Gunnar reached out and tapped the rune for the Hall of Battle. The blood rune on his arm flared and fed hamingja into the symbol next to the floating lodge. The air around the model shimmered, and Gunnar saw a new cavern open off the south end of the subterranean level. A pair of crossed axes appeared above that new room, along with a small line of text. “Chain shirts and axes for twenty soldiers. Specialized armor for the jarl and his retinue.”
“That’ll help,” Ray said. “Nothing there to help us find Bridget?”
Gunnar shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Looks like that’ll be up to you and Mimi.”
Chapter 24
MIMI TOOK GUNNAR’S hand and looked deep into his eyes. The golden dot at the center of her forehead spilled honey-colored light across the model of the lodge. “This is gonna take a lot out of me,” she whispered, “and I need you to keep my batteries charged. I don’t know how long I’ll have to search for her, either. My connection to her is...”
“Very faint,” Ray finished. “There’s interference. That’s the best way to describe it. She’s more of a shadow than a bright light...I’m sorry. Explaining this to you is hard. I barely understand it myself. This is all so new.”
Gunnar gently stroked the völva’s cheek with the backs of his calloused fingers. “It’s okay. You’re both doing great. We’ll figure this out.”
Mimi sat on the wooden bench on the far side of the table and cupped her chin in both hands. She stared at nothing, the dot in the center of her forehead pulsing with golden light as she considered what she had to do. “I have to strengthen the connection to Bridget,” she said. “That will make it easier for me to locate her.”
“How can I help?” Gunnar asked. He didn’t understand any of the völva business, but he would do anything to bring Bridget home.
“Your most vivid memories of Bridget are probably from, you know.” Mimi formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, then poked her opposite index finger through the hole. “When you were giving her the business, as they say, Jarly Jarly Binks.”
“We, uh, didn’t do that,” Gunnar said. “Exactly.”
Mimi raised an eyebrow. “Not even when she got in the shower with you? Because I definitely heard some noises in there. You were grunting like a warthog.”
“You’re one to talk,” Gunnar said. “We did other stuff, though. So, if that’s what you need...”
Ray asked, “You want me to stay, or should I give you some privacy?”
Mimi shrugged her shoulders and leaned back against the wall. “Stay. Your connection to Bridget can only help.”
Gunnar knelt down in front of Mimi. He was still a foot taller than she was and looked down at her upturned face with a hungry smile.
The völva opened her legs and hooked her heels behind Gunnar’s back to pull him toward her. She pulled at the fur clothes to reveal herself to him: the smooth stretch of her belly, the lower curves of her tits, the shadowed lines of her hip. A sultry smile twisted the corners of the völva’s lips and exposed the sharp white edges of her front teeth. Light from her forehead painted her face with golden warmth. Her eyes burned into Gunnar’s with a silent challenge, and she lightly raked his chest with her nails.
Her every touch stoked the growing fire within Gunnar. He braced himself, one hand on either side of Mimi’s seat on the bench and leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, each of her cheeks, and her soft, plump lips. A spark leapt between them when their mouths touched, the sharp pain a thrilling contrast to Mimi’s soft warmth.
The völva gasped and her nails dug into Gunnar’s chest. Her pulse quickened along with her breaths, and a pink blush bloomed across her upper cheeks and throat. The tips of her nipples pushed against the fur-lined vest, and she tore her clothes aside to reveal their stiff lengths to Gunnar’s touch. Mimi whimpered as the jarl brushed the sensitive points with the pads of his thumbs. The circular motions he made inflamed her, and her legs tightened around him, pulling him against the swollen warmth between them. She rocked her hips, slowly, teasing herself as she ground against the ridges of his abdominal muscles. “What do you want?” she whispered, her voice rough and low.
“This,” he replied, squeezing her left breast, “and this.”
He drew a line from her chest down her belly, circled her navel, then went lower still. Gunnar’s hand slid under her skirt, and his thick middle finger slid down the seam between her lips. He cupped her in his hand, savoring her warmth, before parting her. He found her wet and eager, and slipped the tip of a finger inside, pressing his palm against the tender, eager nub above it.
Mimi moaned and pulled Gunnar’s head down to her. She kissed him, hard, then nipped his lower lip. “Then stop messing around and fuck me.”
Gunnar pulled his breeches down and breathed a sigh of relief as the stiff length of his sex burst free. He rubbed her juices from his fingers on the head of his cock. He slid himself up and down her cleft, grinding a
gainst her, until they were both shuddering with pleasure.
“Stop teasing,” Mimi growled.
“This is what Bridget wants,” Gunnar growled right back. With every slippery stroke, with every denied moment of consummation, his memories of Bridget burned brighter. He could almost feel the stinging needles of water pouring from the shower head and the firm curves of Bridget’s muscles under his hands.
The log bench creaked and groaned as their passion rocked the furniture on its sturdy legs. Mimi grabbed hold of the furniture with both hands to steady herself, her body quaking with every thrust. “Ray,” she moaned, “get over here.”
The other völva glided across the room and stood behind the bench. She leaned over her witch sister to kiss Gunnar, her arms hooked over his shoulders. Mimi took Ray’s hand, clutching her fingers to connect the three of them.
The jarl lifted Mimi off the bench, supporting her ass in one hand. He pulled Ray in close behind her with his other arm, his hand holding tight to the curve of her hip, squeezing Mimi between them.
Ray’s eyes held Gunnar’s gaze, binding them together with her smoldering stare. Her hand slid under Mimi’s arms to grasp the jarl’s hips. She took control of the rhythm, pulling him against Mimi again and again until both women were panting and moaning together.
Mimi leaned her head back on Ray’s shoulder, her eyes half lidded, lips parted as she struggled to catch her breath. She seized Gunnar’s left hand and dragged it to her throat. “Here,” she pleaded. “I’m so close.”
She pressed against his thumb and forefinger with her much smaller hands, showing the jarl what she wanted. He followed her lead, slowly applying pressure as he slipped over her, crushing her against Ray with every thrust, goaded to go faster, harder, by her lustful groans of pleasure and the other völva’s hands on his hips. The golden radiance burst from Mimi’s forehead, coating the small room with a honey-colored light that revealed the Web of Wyrd’s illuminated strands all around them.