by Steve Curry
I was wrong. While I was busy pivoting, one industrious soul was snapping an odd weapon made from a padlock and a bandana at me. You don’t live through the middle ages and the old west without seeing a few whips and flails. I got my free hand up far enough behind the arcing lock to wrap the bandana around my wrist a couple of times. The lock still hit my forearm painfully but most of the force was lost in that instant.
The other makeshift flail didn’t lose any force before it collided with my thick skull just behind the ear. I didn’t go completely out. I was not, however, aware of much more than the immediate press of bodies. I still dished out my own shots but I was taking as many lumps as I got.
Maybe the sheer number of attackers was the only thing that saved me at least momentarily. I saw some of them hitting and stomping each other in their attempts to get to me. I was hitting and stomping them as well. There were probably multiple fractures in addition to my own. I know I broke three collarbones. In fact, I’m pretty sure two of those clavicles belonged to the same guy. It would be a while before he held onto any handlebars to ride a bike. Who’s the bitch now buddy?
One of the last guys to come for me had a chunk of his tongue snipped off when my uppercut slammed his teeth together. Another one went down to a fairly vicious shot to the ribs. From the feel under my fist and the panicked breathless look on his face some rib fragments probably got a lung.
After that everything faded into a swirled blur of color, sound, and pain.
4
It is quite true that once we are Chosen by a valkyrie and transformed into one of the Einherjar, we gain a great deal of innate ability to shrug off near mortal wounds and continue fighting. We can absorb damage like one of the world war II panzer tanks. We can go for days without sleep, food or even water. We can not, however, endure enough blood loss to qualify for exsanguination. Likewise, we can suffer enough trauma to overcome even our divinely enhanced toughness and recuperative powers. If we suffer enough damage or endure enough drainage of our resources, we die. Death just isn’t quite as mysterious for us. We know where we’re going to wake up...eventually.
I’d pretty much figured this was the end for me when I caught sight of all the enraged two-wheel warriors out for my blood. I wasn’t very far off. There was definitely more trauma and blood loss than any pure mortal could have endured. To add insult to injury they stripped me naked and tossed me in the van. I guess someone searched the room and found the keys.
A couple of them stayed in the back of the van with me to keep the night entertaining as they drove me for what seemed like days. It was probably only hours later though when they pulled over and tossed what was left of my body out of the side door. It was too dark to see. From the amount of rolling and falling and impacting with trees and cactus and rocks, I’d guess they left me in the mountains.
When I rolled off a ledge and fell for an undetermined time I was sure it was mountainy. I couldn’t tell if it was twenty feet or two hundred feet. All I know was it felt like a terrifying long fall. It didn’t help that there wasn’t even any air to scream. The impact with whatever surface was at the bottom of that fall drove even that last bit of air out of me. It also drove any kind of awareness away.
I have no idea how long I was out. I know the sun rose at least once and set again because I would wake up just long enough to start to recall where I was. Then the pain and toll taken on my body would suck it back down into oblivion. Time kind of stopped having any meaning while my Hugr, my inner self, tried to decide which side of the veil it would land on.
Finally, my mind and body seemed to quit trying to choose. They stopped debating and decided to let matters fall as they would. I woke up in agony and well aware that matters were very far out of my hands. I just had to hope the Norns were in a kindly mood.
This time I didn’t automatically fade back into unconsciousness. Instead, the pain settled in to sap my strength and send me on my way. That was not something I was willing to just lie there and take though. I tried to catalog the injuries, but an overall agony kind of muted one injury into another.
I know I had cracked ribs, a flailed chest, and probably bone fragments in several fairly important organs. There were open wounds that had stopped gushing and switched to seeping as fluids drained to nothing. I couldn’t tell if the difficulty in my vision was from damage to the eyes or just a side effect of all the blood loss and stresses to my system. I was pretty sure I had a foot and most of the attached leg already across the line separating life from death.
In fact, I pretty much expected to wake up to a nightmare of pain and retribution for the years spent hiding away from the proverbial fold. Odin is not particularly forgiving or benevolent. His time spent nailed to a tree wasn’t to save mankind from any kind of sins. He did it to gain a tool. He sacrificed himself on Yggdrasil to gain the runes as tools to see and shape the future. Just like he gave up an eye to stay abreast of events all over the cosmos. Hel he even sacrificed himself to...Himself.
No Odin isn’t forgiving or fair-minded. He’s pragmatic and cunning, manipulative and focused. Above all, he’s eager to secure and keep any power he can grasp. The einherjar were just more tools and fairly powerful ones in certain situations. I didn’t anticipate a fond welcome home when I finally died and returned to Valhalla.
Beside Odin’s lack of forgiveness, my valkyrie Kara was a turbulent angry dark mass of passions. She was not going to be happy at all when she finally found me. I can’t guarantee it, but I’m willing to bet she’d caught her share of grief over losing one of us. I suppose if I was a good loyal little automaton I’d have ensured an early return to the fold by whatever means necessary. It wasn’t like I didn’t have ample opportunity in Vietnam or afterward.
I just didn’t want to go back to those fuzzy days of tedium again. Don’t get me wrong. The fighting can be entertaining. But without the bite of the final grim specter to worry about, it was just a little like masturbation. Fun but without a lot of purpose. Between fights, we might get some interesting training or practice some new stuff. They gave us all sorts of training as weapons and fighting systems evolved. But if you weren’t training or on a mission you might as well have been at an immature and boring frat party.
There was mead. There were lovely girls and boisterous “bros” along with a few super cool older frat brothers like Uller or Thor. But we weren’t given access to anything to stimulate our thoughts. Thought stimulation was exactly the opposite of what they wanted in their nice docile sheep with the highly evolved martial skills.
So, yea, I wasn’t looking forward to waking up back in Valhalla with a span of torture and humiliation likely to precede my reinduction into the boys’ club. I was wrong about waking up to that though. The first thing I remember after the frozen night ravaged my blood-drained body, was Eachan. The old professor woke me up with a nudge of one of his old world cavalry boots. He was dressed in breeches tucked into the polished boots as well as a loose sleeved poet shirt encased in a paisley vest of autumn colors.
“Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten into Ollie.” At least he didn’t try an impersonation on top of the misquote. I lay there and ached too much to even muster a glare for the wise old educator.
“I dare say you might have forestalled this if you kept your wits about you, my boy. Surely you should have expected some retaliation against the occupants of that van for the incarceration of someone with your biker “friend’s” background. Obviously, your tour guide anticipated such an event and made sure it fell on someone other than himself. Of course, if you were even faintly perceptive you would have expected that as well. I would think that even a thick-skulled neanderthal like you, Magnus, should be able to identify a trickster spirit in close proximity for hours at a time.” He shook his head in a weary negative as he sat and sipped at a glass full of tawny amber liquid.
“Well, if you don’t die maybe you can start keeping your eyes open for a little while eh? I know it might strain your brain but you m
ight strive to be functional and observant at one and the same time. However, it seems to strain your physical limits to take the abuse that comes along with failing to remain vigilant.” He leaned over to look at me more intently. Except he didn’t just lean over. He came rushing forward and would have slammed his forehead into my face if he hadn’t dissipated back into the dreamworld first.
The fear of that impact on my already tortured face jarred me awake. The night was still icy cold when I came up from the dream. It was probably better being asleep. If I stayed asleep though, I would probably continue to dream my way right into the vengeful arms of Kara the stormy. That was not an encouraging thought.
I needed to focus and decide what I could and could not accomplish. With a few goals, I might have a chance to avoid that homecoming for a while longer. To that end, I put every effort into figuring out what all worked or was out of order.
It was still hard to isolate every broken bone and open wound. Trying to stand told me I wasn’t likely to accomplish that. Both legs were beyond weak. One ankle was a leaden lump that didn’t obey any commands at all. The other leg was one constant muscle cramp of pain from mid-thigh down. I was pretty sure that femur was broken. Walking was apparently not an option at all.
The legs weren’t my only problem though. Air only seemed to be moving in one side of my chest and only one of my eyes would focus where I pointed it. Someone had even taken the time to return the favor and break one of my collarbones. Broken bones might take a normal person several weeks or even months to heal. A healthy Chosen warrior can usually start using the injured bone within a few days. With the help of my own runic knowledge and some basic materials, I could usually fix the same damage within a few hours or maybe a day or so at the most.
I was neither fully healthy nor possessed of any materials for rune work. Already the cold was sapping my strength even further. When all of that energy was gone, I’d go to sleep and wake up elsewhere.
That didn’t seem like a good plan at all. With one good arm and most of a leg that functioned I started crawling inch by awkward inch towards a fallen tree just a few yards away. Beneath the tree was a hollow just about big enough to get my body into. There was a mat of dead grass and leaves in the bottom of the hollow that might provide some insulation. With a little effort, I might even be able to use some of that as fodder for a fire. Provided I had the energy to make even a spark or two.
With my luck, I’d catch the damned forest on fire and burn to death crawling around in the flames. That didn’t seem like much of a gamble when I was laying there hurting in every part of me still reporting any sensation at all. If it wasn’t pain or numbness it was a life-sapping cold that clamored for my attention. I ignored all the clamoring long enough to reach the crude haven of the dead tree with a dirty scooped out hole.
Before I scooted into the hole I scooped out a few handfuls of the dried weeds and grasses. Some sticks broken off of larger trees were near enough to sweep into a rough pile half atop the kindling. That still left enough vegetable matter to cushion and insulate my torn flesh. I took immediate advantage of the filthy natural mattress. Just rolling out of the wind cut the cold down to mere wintery rather than subarctic. My body ached to go back into the pleasant dark fog of sleep. That still seemed likely to be a final sleep though. It was a bitterly cold wind sweeping down the mountain I was starting to see outlined in the faint light of dawn.
I fought off sleep. The cold was a more insidious foe. It didn’t just threaten to knock me out. It threatened to rob me of strength and dexterity long before I lost consciousness. The efforts of building a pile of kindling and another stack of small dry sticks had taken a heavy toll. I couldn’t even lever myself up on an elbow for the next task. Instead, I lay on my side in the dry stabbing grass. Good thing everything else hurt so much or I’d have been really annoyed with the scratchy jabby vegetation.
I got my hand within a few inches of the kindling and put every bit of focus and willpower I could into the effort. My hands were grey and shaking before I finally saw the dull glow appear and shoot a spark about halfway to the kindling from my fingertip. The spark glowed in my faltering eyesight before fading away and taking my awareness with it.
This time it was Kara jabbing me awake. She didn’t use a cavalry boot polished to a high shine either. Kara jabbed me with a spear. She always favored the spear. I’m pretty sure she was one of the models for a fairly famous picture of Valkyrie riding amongst clouds and lighting with their spears and winged horses.
Her horse probably hadn’t been winged. You know how artists are. Kara truly loved that spear though. Sometime, centuries past, her spear had been enchanted so that it either reflected light in an enigmatic eye-catching manner or else lightning raced up and down it. Hard to tell without touching it and I’d never met anyone stupid enough to try and lay a hand on Kara’s spear.
The jolt of pain in my shoulder was enough to make me flinch away. It was also enough to make my broken clavicle scream its counter-protest. Maybe I was just that sore, or the spear was just that mean, but I felt like she had indeed shot a little bit of lightning into my whole arm and most of my chest. “Have you finally tired of your pathetic hiding? Has the cowardly running finally turned even your weak resolve into something more honorable my Chosen?:
Her voice was dripping with honey and concern. That didn’t exactly go with the way she twisted the spear point in my shoulder and sent another bolt of agony that arched my back and drew a rasping moan from between clenched jaws. I wanted to answer her. I tried to spit some defiance and indignation at the malicious wench that held my leash for centuries. I just didn’t have enough energy to even speak much less put up a fight.
“Oh, my poor chosen.” She crooned her pleasure at my plight without ever saying she was pleased. She also crooned my name. It was not Magnus but an older name and one I had not heard in decades. “You’ve led a great chase, my love. And you’ve put up a great fight against returning. But here we are with the journey home just a few breaths away. You can let go. Or you can let me help you. Which do you prefer kjaereste?”
Kjaereste? That was a real pill. Nobody was “dearest” to Kara except Kara herself. Oh, she could be loving and passionate and all-consuming. She had...appetites, that would reduce even an einherjar to a weakened and overworked mess of raw nerves and exhaustion. But truly tender feelings were not something she’d ever shown. The closest would be her moments of passion, or maybe during the throes of one of her “discipline” sessions with a satisfying victim.
I wanted to spit in her face. Cast my defiance against her in an explosion of wills. If I was lucky maybe she would destroy me completely. She was fully capable of that since I was one of her own Chosen. Alternately she could end my pain or prolong it. She could even put me straight into a form of stasis where I was barely aware of any kind of existence or even the passage of time. She’d done that to others.
I’d seen her torture one of our brothers for a whole week before she let him die. Then she’d left him “down” rather than wake him for the feast or training or even the pointless fighting most of the others seemed to enjoy. We hadn’t seen Sven for years and then one day he showed up and apologized to her as if the whole thing had just happened. Maybe if I was lucky she’d lose her temper and either end me permanently or put me down in a rage. Maybe she’d even decide to leave me on ice so to speak.
I couldn’t do it though. I was too weak and too out of breath to make even a sound. I tried though. I struggled to even whisper my rage and hate. Nothing came out. She lifted the spear and aimed it at my heart. She aimed right for the scar that showed where a spear had earned me her first attention over a thousand years ago.
I tried to brace myself for the pain. Which left me open for a whole new source of pain. My broken femur twisted and tore it’s way out of my leg when something grabbed my raw bloody ankle and jerked at it. The pain in my shoulder was nothing compared to the surprise and agony of this new assault.
&
nbsp; My own scream woke me from the nightmare. I aimed a clumsy kick with the other leg and felt my numb foot and ankle connect with something that snarled and let go of my more ravaged appendage. When I twisted weakly around, I found myself face to face with a wolf or large dog. It snarled and seemed to cower back from a second feeble kick. It didn’t run away though. Instead, it circled just out of reach of any further kicks. Even weak resistance seemed to bother the canine.
With a surge of adrenalin, I shoved my hand those extra few inches and with my fingers buried in the dry grasses coughed “Kenaz!” in a spatter of blood and spit. The spark was no stronger than my first attempt. It was right in the heart of the kindling though. Within seconds flames were licking up and pushing away the darkness.
A look around made me think I must have slept through the whole day. Snuggled down in my improvised tree shack, I’d managed to survive despite the severity of my injuries. There was fresh blood though from my newest wound. With the latest attack added to my previous toll, it didn’t look good for the home team at all.
I turned my head on a wobbling neck and looked back at the wolf. Except it wasn’t a wolf. The legs were wrong, and the ears were very wrong. The posture was much too cowering and uncertain as well. No this wasn’t a wolf. This was a cowardly carrion-eating coyote. As long as I kept awake and able to show any resistance at all he shouldn’t attack.
A wolf might have come for me as weak as I obviously was. Most animals are at least cautious around Man. Wolves are no exception but they’re also no cowards. If a wolf discovered me in my weakened state then I was just another meal or two for him and his pack. Coyotes and jackals were more discrete. They tended to want every shred of resistance gone before they started eating. A wolf would help me finish struggling if he had to.