“The Serpent Stone?” Sam asked. The leader of the Sleipnir boys did not reply. Deafening, his motorcycle roared as he revved it and nodded, urging Sam and Nina to get on their bike and follow. Nina said nothing, but she was coherent and responsive, which brought Sam some relief. He felt his chest well with warmth as her petite arms wrapped around his body and met on his chest. He could feel her body press against his back in a tight embrace and it made him feel strangely safe, even in all this madness of life threatening chaos they were now plunged into.
The two motorcycles wove through the streets of the city, across the lanes, not speeding, but moving swiftly through traffic. Eventually, they turned onto the open road south and made their way towards the countryside. Flanking the road was dense forest, broken only by the occasional narrow dirt path escaping into the main road. Sam could feel Nina’s head resting on his back and he silently wondered what exactly had befallen her while she was at the mercy of the Black Sun’s main bitch.
It infuriated him, not only that they got their claws on his best friend, the woman he had successfully hidden his feelings for over a long period of time, but also that he was in part responsible for her taking. It killed him to know that he elected to get drunk instead of running her errand in due time as she had requested. Had he just done as he was supposed to, he would have been with her when she received that ill-fated phone call. He would have gone with her to the cemetery. He would have… he would have saved her from the trauma that followed, whatever it was.
Now and then, Gunnar would grow small ahead of them as he sped forward and Sam would remember to give the accelerator a bit of a challenge to catch up. He had no idea what the Serpent Stone was.
‘Knowing these lads it’s probably a temple. Serpent Stone. What the hell is it? I know, it sounds like a shrine. Oh god, not another shrine. I’ve had my fill of those last time in Tibet,’ he thought, his ponderings taking up most of his concentration. It made the trip feel shorter and before he knew it, Gunnar’s turn signal flashed right.
They meandered along a canopied trail, slowly navigating the hobbling road. The area seemed deserted, however the road appeared well traversed. Various track lines lay embedded in the shallow moist soil, proving that the path had had been travelled quite recently. Ahead of them, around a slight bend in the road, a small building came into view. Brick and tile met a roughly tarred area in front of it where two vehicles stood parked.
It was a small makeshift parking lot and when they pulled into it, Sam saw a gritty, rusty sign crown the roof. It was intended that way, not at all damaged, but ground away on the edges for ornate value to look old and worn. From the grated edges and the deliberately faded paint, there emerged Celtic motifs, beautifully intertwined, twisting like vines into circular coils. In the center of the sign, written in calligraphic perfection, the words Serpent Stone Tattoos.
‘Ah!’ he thought. ‘I did not see that one coming!’ Sam smiled in amusement at the constantly surprising things Gunnar and his clan introduced them to. When they stopped next to Gunnar he could see that same determination in the man’s face. It made Sam wonder if Gunnar ever smiled.
“Bit early for a dare, wouldn’t you say? You have time for a stamp while we have business to attend to?” Sam asked, gesturing with his head toward the quiet Nina who was wrestling with her helmet strap.
“Oh, it’s not for me, pal. It’s for you two,” Gunnar said in his dead serious grunt. Sam blinked a few times before asking, “Would you repeat that? Gunnar. Gunnar!” He chased after the big biker who led a surprisingly eager Nina into the establishment, ignoring the confused mutterings of the journalist in their trail. Nina’s eyes looked more alive as she entered the cozy tattoo parlor, fascinated by the brilliant artistry displayed all over the walls. Designs of all kinds adorned the brick walls, from logos to the typical intricacy of dragon scales and Nordic bands. Two leather couches and a coffee table filled the small waiting area and Sam saw four thick albums on the table, sporting photographs of the artist’s previous works. In all his reluctance at playing Gunnar’s game, he was at least cheered to see the lift in Nina’s disposition. The small woman glared at the art works wile Gunnar roared out some coded greeting to the giant long haired brute in the back of the shop, wiping off the leather chair where he inked his paying masochists daily.
His name was Eldard. He was a bear of a man, light brown hair falling straight over his shoulders. He towered at 6’5” with ice blue eyes and he weighed the heavier part of a small bull. Aptly, his voice resonated through the Creedence Clearwater Revival on the speakers like low rumbling thunder and he immediately took a liking to the pretty little beauty scrutinizing his art.
“You available for the next hour?” Gunnar asked as the two men locked forearms in a brotherly grasp.
“Aye! I gots until 2pm, brother,” Eldard chuckled. “Who wants a bit of needlepoint, then?”
“These two,” the leader of Sleipnir rasped with authority, pointing to both Sam and Nina.
Sam looked bewildered, his face ashen in denial. Nina’s big black eyes looked innocently upon the two big men by the leather chair and she cocked her head.
“I’ll do the lassie first. The boy looks like he needs a Xanax,” the tattoo artist laughed.
Without hesitation, Nina walked toward the chair, passing a friendly glance at her best friend.
“Don’t worry, Sam. I can handle needles,” she said, almost sounding like her old snappy self again. She whispered something in Gunnar’s ear that wiped his smile from his face. What she said hit him like a Mac truck and he nodded reverently, suddenly looking saddened.
Nina had always wanted a tattoo. Never did she desire those petty little doodles most women preferred for the ‘feminine touch’. Butterflies or roses on delicate places didn’t appeal to the historian. No, she was always partial to the more meaningful artworks, especially with some of the more fascinating and beautiful symbols she had come across in her line of work. Some historical finds delivered the most striking sigils and seals, but she never knew exactly what she would have wanted to permanently imprint upon her body, until now.
“What happened here, love?” the massive tattoo artist asked caringly, his glorious eyes piercing hers as he wiped her other forearm with disinfectant to prepare her skin. He was referring to her bandaged arm.
“I don’t… really… know,” she whispered. Her soft brown eyes fell to the bandage as flashes from her corrupt memory afforded her the brief glimpses she would rather have forgotten. The pain was mild, she remembered. Her German was reasonable, yet there were words spoken too rapidly, voices too hushed in tone and of course the drug too powerful to overcome, while they placed her on that table. The last thing Nina recalled was being laid on her back, looking up at the dome above her, the awful symbol of the Order of the Black Sun lurching over her like a black hole of negative energy sucking her life from her. Then, only the darkness.
Sam paced up and down in front of the gallery of Eldard’s work, pretending to look at the myriad of designs when actually he was fighting the urge to jump on the bike and race back to the safety of home where he could be comforted by Bruich’s tail in his face. That reminded him to call Patrick. He had almost forgotten to call his best friend at the police department to do him a solid and check in on his beloved cat while he would be god knows where, risking his life once more.
“That lad looks like he is going to faint, Gunnar. Are you sure this is a good idea?” Eldard asked as he stepped on the switch of the machine, bringing to life the buzz of the tattoo gun in his hand. He latched gazes with the pretty woman in his chair. She liked Eldard. He looked like a vicious ogre but his entire aura beamed with noble protection and valor. Nina mustered a smile, knowing what he was about to draw, and she nodded for him to go ahead.