Ragnarok Rising: Desolation: Book Five of the Ragnarok Rising Saga

by D. A. Roberts

  For just a moment, I could see the shape of a hammer in the lightning. Illuminated from that were the faces of my fallen friends in the clouds. They were waiting for me to join them. I could only smile at the thought of this battle finally being over and knowing that my family now had a fighting chance to live through all of this. Ragnarok was over. The cycle was broken, perhaps forever.

  The faces of the twins and Spec-4 appeared in my vision, leaning in over me. Although I still couldn’t hear their voices, I could read the emotion in their eyes and the words on their lips. Spec-4 was trying to tell me that I was going to be alright and the twins were telling me that I had won. Strange, but I had still half expected Loki to get back up. I was relieved to know that he wasn’t going to.

  Then, standing behind them, I could see the All-Father. Huginn and Muninn were perched on his shoulders and his wolves were standing behind him on either side. It appeared that no one else could see him as he held out his hand for me to take. I took it and felt myself rising up from my body. I could see the twins and Spec-4 still leaning over my motionless form. My one good eye was still wide open and staring blankly into the sky.

  “I am here to take you home,” said the All-Father.

  “I thought that was for the Valkyries,” I said.

  “The one you call Spec-4 is your Valkyrie,” he explained. “She will see to it that your body is taken from the field of battle and shown the proper respect.”

  As he turned to lead me away from where my body lay, a bright white light emerged from the sky. Then all was gone. I guess I still got my blaze of glory.

  Epilogue

  "So forever in the future, shall I battle as of yore,

  Dying to be born a fighter, but to die again, once more."

  - From the Poem "Through A Glass, Darkly

  - By General George S. Patton, Jr.

  25 Years Later

  On a cold fall evening, they gathered around a large bonfire. They were the assembled people of the small settlement that had become known as Traveler's Rest. Although it had been years since they first settled here, they were gathered together to celebrate the lives of all those that had been lost making it a safe place to live.

  They gathered as free people, each and every one valued for the contribution they made to the place that they all called home. Although it had been twenty-five years since the beginning of Ragnarok, it was still a daily struggle to survive in a changed world. Technology had failed them when the dead returned. It wasn't high-tech gear or weapons that had brought them to their new home. It had been, as it has always been, the bravery of the men and women who fought and bled to give them that chance.

  On one side of the fire was the settlement's duly elected Town Magistrate. Magistrates were elected by their fellow citizens and served for one year. They also performed all of their own duties, in addition to the job of Magistrate. This system kept them from becoming politicians instead of citizens. Magistrates answered directly to the citizens, which is as it should be. There were never any closed door meetings. All citizens were welcome and everyone had a voice.

  "Thank you all for coming," said the bearded man in the middle of the group of Magistrates. "Tonight, on this beautiful Winterfinding Eve, we come together to celebrate the lives of all of the men and women who sacrificed so that we might be here. Men like my father, Wylie Grant."

  A murmur of agreement rumbled through the crowd. Many raised glasses and drinking horns at the mention of the name of the man that many here considered to be the founding father of this community. A man who's sacrifice helped to establish a safe place for all of them to go when the dead returned. The tales of the exploits of the early days of the Apocalypse were told and retold among the people, often growing with each telling. In the aftermath of the Apocalypse, those names were revered as legends. Almost like tales of the Old Gods, themselves.

  "Tonight, we welcome our first elected Sheriff," said Erik Grant, smiling at the memory of his father. "Although it has been a title that each leader has taken on since we began, tonight we celebrate our first elected Sheriff."

  A cheer rose among the crowd and took several moments to settle back down.

  "Tonight, it brings me great pleasure to introduce you to our new sheriff," he said, pausing dramatically.

  The cheer grew to a roar as one figure separated herself from the crowd and headed towards the center of the group. There was a calm assurance to her walk that spoke well of her heritage. Behind her, her parents stood proudly watching their daughter take her place by the fire. Luis Ramirez looked as young as ever standing next to his wife. April Patton-Ramirez not only had married Luis, but became the head of the medical team for the settlement after the passing of Maddie.

  “It is with great pleasure that I introduce to you, Sheriff Juliet Ramirez,” announced Eric Grant. “A title I am only too happy to relinquish to her, I might add. It’s time to be with my own family now.”

  Eric had served as Sheriff for almost ten years, following the retirement of the last Sheriff to hold the badge. Eric was the first to use the new badge that had been created for him. It simply read, “Traveler’s Rest” on the top and “Sheriff” along the bottom. Although he wore it with pride, he held onto the Deputy badge that read Nathanael County Sheriff’s Department that had been given to him by his father. He never felt comfortable taking the badge that his father had carried for so long.

  “Thank you,” said Juliet, accepting the badge from Erik with a solemn nod. “I will do my best to uphold the honor that the previous sheriffs have shown.”

  The crowd cheered again and Luis Ramirez wiped a tear out of his eye. April smiled, trying to hide her own. It was a proud moment for them and a big honor for their family for her to be the first elected sheriff for the settlement. It had been men like Ramirez who had helped to defend and build this community, now well-established with over a thousand citizens.

  From the back of the crowd, a figure began to move slowly into the firelight. Walking with a pronounced limp, she still carried herself with pride and held her head high. Although the hair had gone grey, the ice blue eyes showed clear and bright in the flickering light of the fire. Former Sheriff, Chrissy “Spec-4” Wilder, moved stiffly up to the front carrying an old wooden box, weathered but still beautifully carved despite the dust.

  As she approached the new sheriff, a hush fell over the crowd. No one was certain what was about to transpire, but they all knew that it would be significant. Former Sheriff Wilder seldom spoke since retiring. She served as sheriff through some of the worst days following the Fimbul Winter that had nearly wiped out the settlement before it had even begun.

  Slowly and reverently, she opened the box and glanced inside. There were tears in her eyes as she looked up to address the crowd. It was all she could do to control the sobs she felt welling up within her, just looking at the contents of the box. Everyone could see the strain it was putting on her, but they held in silence. They were hushed by the moment, solemn and poignant. No one was prepared for what she did next.

  Removing a battered badge and antique revolver from the box, she presented them to the new sheriff. A gasp of surprise passed through the crowd. There wasn’t one among them who didn’t know those two items. They were practically holy relics of the first days of the fall. With a shaking hand, Spec-4 passed the gun and badge to Juliette. For her part, Juliette couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She felt like Arthur when the Lady of the Lake handed him Excalibur.

  “I promised an old friend that I wouldn’t let these fall,” whispered Spec-4, her voice thick with emotion.

  A hushed silence fell over the crowd as they stood in awe of what she had just said. Even the whisper had reached their ears, filling them with astonishment. Every person here had heard the story of how Wylie Grant had gotten them from Sheriff Hawkins in the first days of the fall. They had all heard how Wylie said almost the same words to Spec-4 when he passed them to her. To hear them echoed here tonight was beyond profound. It
was a sign that the legacy of Wylie Grant was still living on within them.

  "I would like to tell you all a story, if I may," said Spec-4, her voice unsteady from lack of use.

  No one objected and no one made a sound. She had their attention held tightly, hinging on every word she said. Even the new Sheriff was held transfixed at the sound of the voice of their own living legend. Her name was said with as much honor and respect as they used when speaking of Wylie Grant or of any of the others who gave their lives during Ragnarok.

  “I have told you all the story of how Wylie fell,” she began, emotion making her voice crack.

  A murmur of assent passed through the crowd before they fell silent once more.

  “What I haven’t told you,” she began tremulously, “is what happened after that. Up until now, I’ve never told any of you anything beyond making my way back here.”

  She now had the undivided attention of every person present. Karen Grant sat in a rocking chair cradling her newest grandchild, but even she looked up to hear what Spec-4 was about to say.

  “After Wylie fell,” she said, “we made a litter out of two long pieces of wood and tied it to the back of Wylie’s horse. Although we knew that it was going to take us in the opposite direction of home, Vigdis, Valdis and I took Wylie’s body to the lake. I knew that to honor his memory, there was only one place fitting for him to see his final end. We took him to his boat on the lake. We took him to the Caitríona.”

  Each person there grew lost in the words that she spoke and afterwards could almost swear that they had seen it happen with their own eyes.

  “Although the ice was still thick on the lake, we found Caitríona right where she had been the last time I had been there. It was stuck fast in the ice, but we weren’t going to sail it anywhere. The kings of old were burned on their ships with all that they needed to carry them into the next world. I felt it fitting that Wylie ride to Valhalla on his own ship.

  We placed him in the main cabin and cleaned the blood off of his face. I made sure that his badge was clipped to the front of his uniform, but I kept the badge of the Sheriff. I knew he wanted me to carry it on to keep the legacy alive. I wasn’t going to let him down.

  After we folded his hands across his body, I placed his swords on him and put the handles in his hands. His daggers were still on his belt and I left the big XVR pistol in his holster. The rifles stayed with me, since I knew that they should go to his sons.

  I took out his flask and was shocked to find it still had some whiskey in it. I took a drink and each of the twins took one, then I put it back in his pocket. The last thing I did before we left was to place his Thor’s Hammer next to his badge.

  We scavenged fuel from every vehicle in the area and put all of the containers in the lower part of the ship. Then we set it alight and headed back to the shore as we watched the fires engulf the Caitríona. It was the best tribute I knew how to make to the finest man I ever knew. I loved Wylie Grant, more deeply than I have ever loved anyone in my life.

  Wylie loved his wife and sons with an intensity seldom matched in this world. He never betrayed his honor or his family. Although I always wanted it to be more, we never were more than friends. But that never stopped me from loving him, all the more for it. His honor and integrity were everything to him and he never wavered in that. It was what made him who he was.

  Once we were on the shore, Vigdis turned to me and asked if they could honor him in their own way. The Hrimthurssar people have a custom. They learn the music of enemies that they have come to respect and play it to honor them. Imagine my surprise when they took out these strange flutes and began to play.

  They were double flutes that played their own counterpoint to the melody. This gave the music an oddly ethereal quality and it sounded like nothing else I had ever heard before. I was shocked and amazed when I realized that they were playing a song I knew. They were playing that song Wylie used to play on the harmonica.”

  For just a moment, they could all swear that they heard the haunting notes of the song whispering to them from across distance and time.

  “Afterwards,” she continued, “they saw me safely back here. They escorted me back to the hill overlooking the walls before they turned away.”

  “Farewell,” said Vigdis, over her shoulder. “Our peoples are free to be either friends or enemies. Grant’s sacrifice showed us that we do not have to fight you. There is room in this world for us all.”

  “I agree,” said Spec-4. “But not all humans will feel that way.”

  “Beware,” said Valdis. “The Bifrost is open, now. Other creatures will soon find their way to this world. They will not be seeking friends, either. If you have need of us, you still have Bergelmir’s horn. Sound it and we will come.”

  “Thank you,” said Spec-4.

  “You are welcome,” said Vigdis. “Should we meet again, let it be as friends. Perhaps we shall meet you again, one day. Somewhere, out in the Wastelands of Ragnarok.”

  There were more than a few nods and even more moist eyes. They were all enthralled by Spec-4’s tale. When she had finished speaking, Spec-4 nodded at the new sheriff and began to walk away slowly, but with the dignity and poise of a warrior. She had earned that title, and more.

  Above them, beyond the walls of the settlement, a lone figure knelt and watched them from atop a hill. Whoever it was, they were clad in a long grey cloak and hood that covered them completely, revealing only scarred and knobby hands that were folded across one raised knee. Although still a good distance away, the large bonfire gave enough illumination for them to see the assembled crowd. The strange acoustics of the Ozark Highlands allowed them to just barely make out the voices as they spoke.

  As Spec-4 made her way away from the crowd, the figure stood slowly and was careful to keep their back to the trees. The large moon in the sky would give away their position if they didn’t remain in the shadow of the trees.

  Reaching beneath their cloak, they produced a battered old harmonica and slowly brought it into the darkness of the hood. Reflecting the moonlight was only one eye. Softly, they began to play the haunting sounds of a song. Few could hear the chilling notes as they played. Even then, they could only hear strange music coming from afar. No one could identify the song.

  No one knew that the song they were playing was Ashokan Farewell.

  Author’s Bio: D.A. Roberts

  D.A. Roberts was born in the small town of Lebanon, Missouri. Growing up on the farm gave him plenty of opportunities to cultivate a fertile imagination. Encouraged by his mother, he dreamed of one day becoming a famous writer. An avid reader, D.A. enjoys reading more than watching television.

  A diverse career path has given him a unique view of the world. From soldier to factory worker, from bouncer to lab technician, and from Security Officer to Corrections Officer. Having worn many different hats evolves a very different perspective. He draws on all of these experiences to bring his writing to life on a very human level.

  He married Annette in the summer of 1993 and has been happily married, ever since. Three teenage sons keep them both busy. Nathan, Nic and Noah are his pride and joy. They have an English Mastiff named Xander, who is a big part of their lives.

  D.A. loves to camp, hunt, fish, hike and Geocache. He also enjoys old-school pen and paper role-playing games. When not writing or on duty as a Corrections Officer, he enjoys spending time with his family. A good cup of coffee, a warm fire and a good book are his guilty pleasures.

  Find D.A. on Facebook at:

  https://www.facebook.com/DARobertsAuthor

  Or on Twitter at:

  https://twitter.com/DARobertsAuthor

  Also By D.A. Roberts

  Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening

  Book One of the Ragnarok Rising Saga

  Everyone you know is dead.

  Reports of mob violence begin to appear in the news as more and more major cities go silent. Rumors fly about the nature of the “rioters”, claiming that the dead hav
e risen to prey on the living. In the Midwest City of Springfield Missouri, all Law Enforcement Officers are called out for field duty. Nothing in their training could possibly prepare them for what they faced.

  Corrections Officer Wylie Grant is sent into the field to help set-up a checkpoint in a remote section of the county. When they confront the rioters, they discover for themselves that they are facing the living dead. Wylie and National Guard Corporal Chrissy Wilder are the only ones to survive the encounter. Alone and cut off, they must fight their way back to the Nathanael County Jail where the few remaining officers are attempting to regroup.

  Finding himself leading the rescue efforts, Wylie must choose between his sworn duty as an officer and his own duty to his family. While coping with the loss of friends and family members, they learn that a government “containment protocol” will soon be in effect. Once established, no one will be allowed in or out of the city.

  Facing the realization that no one is coming for them, they must face the harsh truth that the government they thought was their ally has become yet another enemy in a world gone mad.

  Can Wylie reach his family in time?

  Also By D.A. Roberts

  Ragnarok Rising: The Reckoning

  Book Two of the Ragnarok Rising Saga

  Sometimes the living are worse than the dead.

  Wylie didn’t expect to survive the final events of The Awakening. Finding himself alive and alone in zombie infested territory, he starts making his way back to the Nathanael County Jail. Through miles of dangerous ground, he returns to find that nothing is as it was. Betrayal rocks the survivors as they are forced to fight against some of their own in order to pick up the pieces.