“She definitely has the means to do it. Why did they not just refuse her membership?” Carlos sighed. His friend gave him along hard look of utter disbelief. “What?” Carlos shrugged.
“You do know that she is the purest of Aryans, right? You are aware that she was raised by Himmler’s people, aren’t you? My god, Carlos, Lita Røderic is the product of the SS elite, the pet of the Order!” Miro scoffed, alarmed at his colleague’s apparent indifference towards the very real threat that she represented. Carlos sank his face and shoulders at his colleague, evidently ashamed of his ignorant opinion.
“I just hope I can see it in my lifetime,” Miro envisaged with a crack of a smile.
“The calculations all point to the festival of St. Blod, this year. And that happens in a week from now. If the bitch leads us to Valhalla in time, you can wager well we will still see the eclipse in our lifetime. And with her denied power we will establish ourselves in the society as high masters, you and I,” Carlos chimed, rubbing his rheumatoid hands together. “We will live out our days in lavish authority, overseers of nations.” He imagined the glory that would come after the world had been subjugated by their order. It would come to pass with the aid of the superior beings that spawned the Aryan races eons before social integration and insidious religions diluted their supremacy. And the three day eclipse would announce their irrefutable entry into power, but only if they released the ancient evil slumbering inside the Hall of the Slain. Although the Nazis had no idea what the malevolent thing was, it would facilitate the coming of the Wolf Age. During this time of transition, lethal changes in the earth’s atmosphere would be the genesis of their reign. Physics beyond human understanding would be employed to bring into our dimension the old gods, the celestial fathers of the master race. It would all be powered by the inexhaustible and invisible radiation of the black sun resident inside the earth. Said to be the void of creation, from which the earth unfolded itself by the laws of sacred geometry, it would swallow all light and interfere with electro-magnetic frequencies across the planet.
With the new power source, the superior beings would exert their dominion over a world populated only by advanced humans. Efficient and intelligent, they would be liberated of the burden and ineptitude of inferior breeds and genetically deficient species. At the top of this ideology sat the self-proclaimed heiress, bred especially for the New Kingdom of humans that would live by the laws of the Supreme Beings.
“Do you know what I think is subdued inside Valhalla?” Miro asked his friend, who was again wiping his nose vigorously. Carlos just shook his head, again striking his associate as way too apathetic. “Fenrir,” Miro answered.
“The big wolf of Norse Mythology,” his friend affirmed in disbelief bordering on ridicule.
“Yes, of course.”
“Miro, there is no wolf inside the Hall of the Slain. There is no Hall of the Slain, full of fallen warriors and sassy Valkyries serving mead and all that shit. Not in the Valhalla we are looking for anyway.”
Miro’s expression hardened, but he bit his tongue. He was not a fool. It was obvious they were looking for an actual council hall from ancient history and he knew full well that Fenrir would not be an actual wolf, living on the bones of unwary travelers the locals would feed him with. His wrinkled brow sank into an awful scowl, but he remained quiet. Carlos did not even afford him the privilege of a glance and it drove him crazy. His once black eyebrows, now infested with wild and wiry greys, stirred as his beady eyes darted over his associate. Carlos, however maintained his unmoved countenance, ignoring Miro’s projection of disdain founded on the patronization he was dealt.
Before the two old men yielded to argument, the train arrived in the terminal. They were now on their way to the Walhalla Memorial near Regensburg, ready to trail the dangerous knights of the Hammer that swore to keep Valhalla’s location secret in order to avert the end of the world as we know it — to avert the rise of the Black Sun.
Chapter 32
“Sam, I don’t feel so good,” Nina complained as she ran her dainty fingers through the moist hair line of her forehead and temples. Casually her body fell against him. Her white cotton shirt clung to her back and chest, drenched in perspiration, even in the cold of the season.
Sam tried not to express the true extent of his concern, but when she closed her tired eyes, he glanced up at Gunnar and Eldard who carried equally worried looks. The four of them were aboard the ‘Teufelchen’, a private boat Nina had chartered to take them to the Walhalla via the Danube from Regensburg to the town of Donaustauf, where the majestic marble structure beamed. It sat atop a hill rising from the banks of the Danube, like a silent sentinel of heroes.
Her relationship with Dave Purdue came in handy, even Sam had to admit. The allowance her boyfriend gifted her by means of a platinum credit card in her name, had served as funding for their urgent mission, with added help from another Purdue lackey named Frida McKay who facilitated visas in an astonishingly quick, and less than legal way if the money was right. They had to find the legendary Hall of Odin before the Order of the Black Sun could invade the sacred place and claim the devastating destructive power locked inside for their own nefarious goals.
Of course the Brotherhood had its own affluent benefactors, both private and corporate in Europe, Asia, America, and even the Balkan States. There were numerous companies who did not want to see their cozy world of capitalism and power toppled. Ensuring that Valhalla and its dreadful demon captive remained concealed from both belief and known topography, The Brotherhood was thus funded generously.
This was a small excursion by their standards, just an unassuming trip for four people who had to keep an eye on the enemy. Such an undertaking would hardly constitute a formal expedition request, and so Dr. Gould thought it best to pay for it herself. While they trekked according to Sam’s visions, the rest of their fellowship endeavored to strike at the head of the serpent, hoping to thwart its evil intentions once and for all. They were adamant to destroy the den of the red haired demoness and all within, uprooting her foothold on the quest for Valhalla and for good measure, obliterate her minions. If they could kill her in the process, they would commemorate it with an extravagant celebration.
Nina suddenly jumped up and bolted toward the railing on the starboard side of the vessel, where she leaned over and vomited profusely into the calm glassy water of the river.
“Go away!” she shouted when she heard Sam rush to help her. “I don’t want you to see me puke, for fucks sake!”
Sam stopped in his tracks and looked at the two bikers. They looked serious and quite sick themselves. Their rough ponytails lashed in the considerable breeze that swept over the deck and their eyes were bloodshot and saggy behind their shades, from where they leered at him. Sam gestured questioningly and Gunnar motioned with his head for the journalist to join him on the far side of the deck, one flight up. The stunning scenery around them, the green long grass fields and the soft glimmer of the water in the weak sunlight, could not cheer them up.
In the hard gusts of wind that battered their hair and faces, tugging wildly at their shirts, the two men looked down on the frail frame of the pretty historian.
“Sam, I don’t know what they implanted in Nina’s arm, but it is not a tracker, my friend. It is something… I think… organic?” Gunnar guessed and looked to the handsome dark eyed journalist for an opinion.