“I don’t care if he has to cry into a box of Kleenexes. He has to do this. His fucking life depends on it,” Gunnar replied, standing with his huge arms folded. He looked at Nina, impressed by both her bravery and her honor in what she was doing for them all. Nina really had no idea what they were doing at the Serpent Stone, but her elation to be alive and back amongst friends was so rich, that she did not care. In fact, she was quite enjoying her surroundings at the moment.
Another good thing was Gunnar paying the tab of her tattoo. Never had she thought she would ever find just one thing that would be good enough for her to cut into her flesh for good. It just felt right. With all the bad, with all the sickness in the pit of her stomach over all this Lita business, Nina felt like she was finally doing something important. It felt like destiny. Deep in the recesses of her mind, she knew at some point she would have to deal with what had happened to her — she would have to try and remember the barbaric treatment and above all it was of dire importance that she remembered the sordid operation they had forced on her. Lita would never let her go, knowing that she was affiliated with the enemy, not without some nefarious precaution. But that, and the mysterious wound in her left arm, would have to wait until she had acquired the marking she so zealously desired to carry with her forever.
“So what exactly is the reason for all this, then, Gunnar?” she finally dared asked. Her eyes flashed to Eldard. She was not sure if she could ask in front of him, but Gunnar’s candid response revealed the ink master’s involvement in the deeper things of The Brotherhood and their so-called foot soldiers.
“After this symbol there is one more you must get. Him too,” he said, pointing at Sam, who was speaking to DCI Patrick Smith with some urgency. “This is very important for you both to help us, Nina. You and Sam, you will be our oracles, so to speak, on this trek to find Valhalla before that Nazi bitch reaches it and opens it,” he explained.
“How do you mean that? Do you not know where it is? I thought you were its guardians,” she frowned.
“Not since the 1940’s has The Brotherhood known where it was. The only person who knew, who was in charge of stopping anyone from finding it was a Polish woman named Marie Brozek. But she was shot dead during the Second World War and since we have lost the trail to Valhalla.”
“Shit,” she whispered, ignoring the sting of the needle penetrating her skin with a constant circular motion. “What are we supposed to do to find it?”
“Not you, so much. Only your knowledge at German history might help us. But him, the lad who looks like he is about to soil himself… he has the liquid in his veins and we have only a few days at most for him to tell us where to find Valhalla. Not only will Lita find out that the vial is filled with fake elixir, but we have a limited time to learn from Sam’s visions before they disappear,” Gunnar sighed, looking utterly concerned at the nervous journalist.
“Has he had any visions?” the tattoo artist asked seriously, his eyes fixed in deep concentration on his work forming in Nina’s skin.
“One or two. He walked in Hel, but there has been nothing concrete. I hope getting him inked will help bring it on,” Gunnar said, opening a can of Cola.
Nina looked at him questioningly.
“Pain induces visions on the elixir, Nina. The needle should do the thing for us. Once Sam gets the first vision to lead us to Valhalla, we can start. We’ll follow the clues until we discover the location that died with Marie Brozek in World War II,” he explained. Sam heard it all and joined them.
“Wait, that is what the tattoo is for?” he asked, feeling a tad better that the pain would serve a purpose.
“Well,” the artist groaned from the thick focus of his eye on Nina’s developing mark, “in part, Sam. It is also very important that we get this mark on you.” He stood up to stretch his back and looked at Sam. With a sigh he added, “It will keep you from getting killed, hopefully.”
Sam gasped and Nina’s hair lashed from side to side as she looked at Sam, then Gunnar, then Eldard.
“Killed?” she asked.
“You are dealing with ancient evil, my dear. You are dealing with the most power-hungry tyrant since Adolf Hitler, since Julius Caesar, since any delusional maniac who ventured to destroy the freedom of mankind for his own gain. Lita Røderic will stop at nothing to end the world as we know it and to usher into it the terrible powers of the occult to help her rule it,” Eldard explained to Sam and Nina before continuing the needle work. “The problem is, as with most servants of evil, that she does not realize that evil never shares power. Evil never keeps its word. Certainly, whatever evil Odin contained inside Valhalla would never allow some mortal to command it. Odin knew this, as did his consorts. But I suppose even genius cannot deduct through the haze of greed and lust for power. She has to be stopped. The Black Sun organization has to be stopped.”
“Exactly what is your role in this whole play, Eldard?” Sam asked, his old journalistic scrutiny returning to his tone. Nina smiled.
“Eldard is an aid to The Brotherhood, Sam,” Gunnar revealed. “He is, as they would have called him in earlier ages, the Scribe.”
“Cool,” Sam nodded to himself.
“Before we undertake this journey…” Gunnar started, but Sam interrupted.
“Sleipnir and the Brotherhood?”
“No, you, Nina and I,” Gunnar answered. “Before we undertake this journey to find the Hall of the Slain, we have to ink this into your skins for protection.” He lifted his shirt and turned to show them the marking on his lower back. It was a succession of symbols, plainly drawn in lines along a common horizontal line. It was not at all remarkable or esthetically pleasing. It was obviously a mark for purpose, not prettiness.
“It is called the Lukkustafir,” he clarified, “an ancient Icelandic symbol to ward off any bad luck. The luck stave.”
“Whoever carries these signs with them… no bad luck or harm will befall them, neither on sea or land…” Eldard recited with a smile and a wink to Nina. She smiled. “There, this one is done. Now you, Sam.”
Sam felt remarkably ready for his turn, all of a sudden. Maybe he was influenced by the lore, or the importance of his role, but he lay down on the padded table to receive his mark. The buzz of the machine did not scare him now. Nina sat admiring the Tiwaz rune tattooed on her forearm, exactly like the one Val had.
When Eldard sank the sharp throbbing needle into Sam’s flesh, his eyes shut, his body jolted, and before him, a portal opened. In front of his eyes a red flag unfolded. Upon it, he saw two keys crossing.
“Two crossed keys on a red background…” Eldard said, in thought.
Nina used Sam’s phone. She jumped up.
“Regensburg, Germany!”
Chapter 28
Lita was fascinated by the impotence of the flame against her skin. So many times, she had tried to feel pain, but it eluded her. It was one side-effect of being genetically assembled by scientists in Nazi laboratories — she looked human, but she was not allowed the fallibility. Lita longed to be just slightly flawed.
She was the product of much research and trial by the brilliant maniacs of the Third Reich. Many nights she lay awake thinking of the medical structure where she was raised, tempered, and trained. Deep under the surface of the North Sea, she spent the first few years of her life. The redhead stood up, with the candle in her hand, its flame licking at the flesh of her arm.