Valhalla Virus, Nick Harrow [simple ebook reader txt] 📗

“Who?” Mimi asked.

“Odin,” Gunnar said. “That motherfucker owes me, and I mean to collect.”

The jarl grabbed Bridget and Ray’s hands, and Mimi did the same.

As soon as the four of them were linked, Gunnar threw his head back and shouted to the sky, “Odin, get your ass down here, now!”

The thick banks of clouds overhead rumbled in response, and a cold wind swirled over the battlefield. The fire shifted and writhed. Its smoke gusted toward Gunnar in a thick blanket, stinging his eyes and blinding him. When it cleared, a figure had appeared inside the circle he’d formed with the völva.

And it was not Odin.

She was nearly as tall as Bridget, with long, willowy limbs and a mane of golden hair that spilled down past her ass. Her short dress was so sheer it left nothing to the imagination. Gunnar’s eyes were drawn helplessly to the heavy globes of her breasts and cherry-colored nipples that jutted through folds in the fabric.

“I’m sorry, warrior,” the woman said. “But Odin holds no sway here. I am Freya, and mine is the right of first choosing. This dear child of war has earned her place in Folkvang, where she will wait with me until the final battle comes.”

Gunnar bowed up until his chest touched Freya’s. His blue eyes were cold as glaciers, and his heart hammered like a war drum. “You can’t have her.”

Freya’s fingers drifted to the jarl’s cheek. He wanted to flinch away from her touch, but it was as relentless as the tides and couldn’t be resisted. “You are powerful, Gunnar Odinspawn, but you have not earned the right to question the gods. I want this woman, and she will be mine. Odin himself handed down this treaty to make peace between his people and mine. The pact of ages cannot be broken.”

The goddess reached down and took Erin’s hand. Her eyes glowed with the sun’s warmth and banished the cold that surrounded them. A faint nimbus of milky, opalescent light flowed around the injured woman, and she stood as if in a dream. “I’m so tired,” she said to Freya.

“I know, child,” the goddess responded. “I shall take you to a place of rest.”

The pair rose into the air, drifting like balloons on the wind. They’d climbed above Gunnar’s head when an old man’s voice called out, “Hold, Freya.”

Odin stepped out of the shadows and threw back the hood on his cloak. His dead eye socket gleamed with pure white light, and he pointed his staff at the goddess. “That one is not yours to claim. Her heart still beats.”

Freya’s frown was like a thunderhead passing before the sun’s face. “Not for long. Would you have her suffer the pain of the grave when it can be so easily avoided?”

Gunnar felt like screaming for them all to shut up. Deke and Mark had rushed over to the disturbance, and now their eyes were wide with fear that they’d lost Erin.

The Jarl’s heart ached at the thought of Erin’s death, at the pain her family would know because they’d tried to help him, while the two deities acted like it was nothing more than an exchange of game pieces on a chessboard. He tried to pull his hand free from Bridget, but the völva held tight to his fingers and shook her head. There was sorrow in her eyes, and her mouth was set into a firm line. Her warning was clear: there was nothing Gunnar could do here. Anything he tried would only make things worse.

“She will not die,” Odin said. “There is a place for her, if she wants it.”

Freya’s frown faded as a look of awe spilled across her features. The warm light of her eyes bathed Erin for a long moment before she turned her attention to Odin. “You would claim her as one of yours? It has been a long time since you’ve done such a thing, Spearman. Do you have the strength?”

Odin’s chuckle was as cold and brittle as frost on a window. He nodded his head, slowly, his empty socket glinting with pale fire. “It is her choice. Tell me, Erin,” the old man said, “would you go with Freya to your well-deserved rest, or would you tarry a bit longer and watch over the jarl as my shield maiden?”

Erin’s shoulders slumped as if a great weight had just been placed upon them. She slipped from Freya’s grasp and drifted back into the truck. “I will.” She smiled at Gunnar. “He saved my people. And I saved him. He clearly needs someone to keep an eye on him.”

“Very well.” Freya bowed low, first to Odin, then to Erin, and finally to Gunnar. “Heed my words, Jarl. I will not stand in the way of this bargain, but as you are the one who benefits from it most, the weregild is your debt. A life for a life, yes? No, not yours, you are too valuable to Midgard as the Fimbulwinter approaches. But a time will come, and soon, when I will demand you take a life for me. This you must do. Agreed?”

“If it saves Erin’s life? Fuck, yes, I’ll do it,” Gunnar said without hesitation.

“Great,” Erin croaked. “Can we get this show on the road before I bleed out?”

Odin shouldered Gunnar and the völva out of his way and hopped into the truck. Freya drifted higher into the air, giving him room to do his work. The old man put his hand on the young woman’s side. Honey-colored light flowed from his touch into the wound. Erin shuddered as the light poured through her. Her skin took on its golden hue, her hair shone like the sun, intricate braids covering her head like a living crown. Her fur vest transformed into a scaled shirt, and gleaming silver greaves appeared on her legs, with bracers on her forearms. Her eyes drifted closed for a moment, and when they opened again,