30

 

Three of their number had died, and they were not over the mountains yet. Not halfway through with their journey. They still needed to get the genetic material and then retrace their steps back to the North. Val shivered at the thought of facing the Blue Men and the mutated octopus a second time.

Although they had lost Stig and Erlend, they had gained Ull—Heinrich, she reminded herself. The man had helped them cremate Stig and Erlend, and had revealed that he had been wandering alone in Germany when he had spotted them. He had been tailing them since shortly after their encounter with the Blue Men in Denmark.

“How were you able to find food, when we were not?” Anders had asked the German man.

“I was riding a bicycle,” he admitted. “The noise of your engines was scaring the game away.”

Val had further questioned the man to her satisfaction, and his eagerness to assist in the aftermath of the battle, as well as his timely aid during the clash, counted for much. The Vikings kept a close eye on him for the first few days, but the German was congenial and always helpful and upbeat.

Because they had not crossed many miles each day, due to the difficult terrain, Heinrich had been able to keep up with them, performing long days of pedaling on a two-wheeled bicycle with no motor. Anders, Morten and Oskar all admitted they had seen bicycles in the North, although they had never ridden on one. Val had seen one as well, but she had not joined the conversation.

When their fallen friends had been dealt with, their ashes spread on the breeze, and their spirits taken to Valhalla, Heinrich had taken Erlend’s ATV, and with a few short lessons, he was competent at maneuvering the vehicle.

They had continued south, explaining to Heinrich that they had a mission on the other side of the mountains, and that they were honor-bound to finish it. With nowhere else to go, and no one else in the world, Heinrich had offered to accompany them the full way, and Val had accepted.

Now they rolled into a town with crumpled concrete walls, toppled orange tile roofs, the charred, singed remains of countless buildings and one unique architectural oddity. In fact, they would have passed the town by, for fear of yet another ambush, had it not been for that one strange feature.

While all the surrounding buildings were little more than rubble reclaimed by vegetation, one structure stood. “Ulm Church,” Heinrich told them, Nils translating from German, since the man’s ability with the northern tongue was limited. “It was the tallest church tower in the world once. I don’t know if it still is.” It climbed five hundred and thirty feet into the sky, like a charred, petrified fire giant from Muspelheim—the Land of Fire.

The darkened stone spire had been visible from the outskirts of town, and with everything else abandoned, it looked like a good place to spend the night—if it was likewise empty.

Unlike in Copenhagen, the roads were barely cleared, and in two cases they had to carefully crawl the ATVs up and over hills of uneven concrete and dirt.

Ulrik brought up the rear of their convoy, keeping his eyes on the surrounding scenery and on Heinrich. He had not said anything, but Val had understood the man did not trust the German.

The gothic towers loomed above the plaza where they parked the ATVs. It was mostly clear of the rubble, and it was obvious that since the city had fallen, the church, the only standing structure, had housed the dregs of humanity on occasion. The soaring arched doorways had been barricaded with stone and wire, but vines had long since grown over them. The coils of wire had rusted down to just a few bits still sticking up at random angles. The doors to the sides of the main entrance had been barricaded from top to bottom with rounded river stones. The tall stained glass windows were bricked up from the inside. Everything below a height of thirty feet was stained darker than the rest, a thin veneer of carbon from fires having scorched the outside of the structure.

A few of the spires on the sides of the massive structure had snapped off, and Val suspected they, like the charring, were the results of successive battles. But the main tower looked undamaged. The tower would have made a fantastic defensive position against hordes of Long Knives or Blue Men. Anything short of the double-headed octopus could have been repelled by just a few people barricaded inside. She wondered if they would find anyone alive inside. Or if not, how many dead would they find?

 

 

Val and the men checked the perimeter on foot, scrabbling over the detritus of city and war, until they had once again returned to Morten, who had waited with the ATVs in front. When they were sure the church was deserted, Val pointed at the door.

“Let us see if we can get it open—without destroying it.” She didn’t say that they might need to have a working door to defend themselves, once inside the church. It was understood. Even Heinrich nodded.

After clearing away the stones and crumbling wire, and hacking at the overgrown vines with their blades, Ulrik approached the solid slabs of scarred and dented wood that served as the doors to the old building. As he reached the door, he saw it was already open a crack. He touched his hand to it and the thing swung inward, the hinges creaking loudly.

There goes the element of surprise, he thought, but then he remembered the ATVs. He had grown used to the incessant buzzing of the seven engines, but for anyone that was hiding within, the noise would have announced the Vikings’ arrival long before they had parked out front.

The interior was surprisingly bright. Light streamed in from clerestory windows set one hundred feet above the nave, near the roof. Everything lower had been boarded, bricked or covered with welded metal and concrete. Sunlight was unable to sneak through the blockades covering the windows that were once filled with stained glass, and which soared up the sides of the building.

There wasn’t a single wooden church pew inside the nave. Instead, the interior had been filled with branches. The wooden limbs looked like the nest of a gigantic bird, or the fuel for an oversized bonfire that was never set to flame. The wood filled the space’s center and was stacked twenty feet high.

“Interesting,” Ulrik said. “We could make a campfire tonight.”

Val pushed past him into the entrance hall’s interior. “I think not. We could see the building for miles. A fire will be visible just as far.”

“I will climb to the top,” Morten said. “If there are still stairs.”

After exploring the abandoned church with its strange cargo, they moved the ATVs into the building itself and barricaded the doors from the inside. They had been locked before by a thick slab of wood set into huge metal hooks. They used the wooden board, but reinforced the barrier by parking two ATVs sideways in front of the doorway. Then they wandered until they found the tower stairs. Anders and Morten went up first, and they were gone for a long time.

Val started to worry. Ulrik could see it in her face, but when the men came down, talking about how far they could see, how exciting it had been to release Skjold from the tower and that the mountains were visible in the distance, they were all excited to make the long climb.

Anders informed them that the ascent was 768 steps. At first Nils stalled at the idea, but Oskar convinced him to go. When the two men came back, Val and Ulrik began the long ascent. Heinrich would go on his own when they returned. He was trusted, but Morten and Anders reported that the final stage of the climb was tight, barely big enough for one man at a time. He said that Stig would never have fit, and the mention of the man’s name dampened their spirits somewhat. Ulrik still set off to climb the steps, telling Val, “Come on. I want to see these mountains.”

The top of the tower, as advertised, was a narrow concrete enclosed spiral stair with buttresses that stretched from it to the outer, lace-like, gothic structure of the tower.

The view was sensational.

The stairs opened to a small platform from which they could see the land south of the church. The snow covered Alps loomed in the distance, tall behind the nearby rolling green hills. The mountains were a barrier between their world and Niflheim, the darkest and coldest of the Norse nine realms.

“We will not make it through the mountains before the winter,” Val said. Her frown revealed her dark thoughts, despite the beauty of the view.

“No. We will not,” Ulrik said. Then he decided to broach the subject he had not had time to speak with her about since the river, when he had seen her swim. “Can I ask you about your eyes?”

She turned her face away from the view, and looked up at him. The platform was tight, and they stood close, so she needed to tilt her head to see his face. Her broken nose—like all of her injuries thus far—had healed completely. She reached up and pulled the tight, red-lensed goggles from her face. The rims of the black goggles had left pink indentations in her clear skin, and the lines circled her brilliant, emerald green eyes, calling all the more attention to them.

In all his life, Ulrik had only ever seen people with blue eyes. No one had ever seen another eye color. Even the Blue Men and the swastika-faced Long Knives had had blue irises.

It was one of the only things most Northmen knew of the greater history of the world. During the Uttslettelse—the Great Annihilation—only those of hardy Nordic stock, with bold features, blond hair and blue eyes, had survived the cataclysms. No one had seen different colored eyes since decades before Ulrik’s birth.

“What is there to ask?” Val said, her face neutral. “I would appreciate it if you did not mention it to the others. It is difficult enough to maintain their trust in my leadership. Superstition would only make it harder.”

“Of course,” he said, giving her a curt nod. “But how is it that you are different from the rest of us?”

“I do not know. My parents were killed when I was quite young. My eyes are green for some reason. I find it is best to keep them hidden from view.”

Ulrik suddenly realized the hardship green eyes would have caused a person. Any person. He felt a deep sadness in his heart for her.

“You have worn the goggles to keep your eyes hidden your whole life?” he asked.

“Not these,” Val said, smiling. “I have gone through many pairs of goggles and eye covers over the years. But these have been the best.”

“I am sorry. That must have been quite difficult.”

“I am used to it now,” she said, gently running her hand on his bare arm.

He felt a tingle race through his skin at her touch. But his attraction to her presented him with a problem. He had pledged himself to protect her and support her through their mission. If he allowed himself to have feelings for her, to want her, then she would become a weakness for him in battle. He would continually check on her in a fight—and it could cost him his life. Before he could change the subject, she did it for him.

“I thank you for your support on this trip, Ulrik. I could not have made it this far without you.”

He paused a moment, considering his reply. She waited, content to let him have all the time he needed. Such was the Northern way. Silence often spoke volumes. Her sparkling green eyes filled him with confusion, but he found it hard to look away.

Eventually he broke the silence with the thing they both shared, which was more important than the both of them: the mission.

“We should go down, and rejoin the others.”

She started for the stairs, and they descended in silence, to spend the night in the church, with the ghosts of the past haunting their thoughts.