Einherjar

31

Cautiously, Blader stepped out of the tunnel onto a black stone floor, the stones irregularly cut and pieced together. In between the cracks in the stones were white human bones. At the other end of the chamber was a black skeleton throne, but unlike in Blader's dream, the throne was empty.

Blader moved forward, sword at the ready, slowly walking towards the center of the chamber. So this is Helheim.

"Blader Thrym." The deep voice snaked around the chamber, echoing off the walls. He pivoted, searching for the voice's origin but unable to spot anyone. To all appearances, he was alone in Helheim, but he sensed that wasn't the truth.

The smell of death and decay was the strongest it had been and Blader wrinkled his nose. It was cold, like the way Principal Sigrif's office had always been. Blader almost wished he had his jacket, but he had a feeling this wasn't the kind of cold that could be chased away with an extra layer.

"Blader Thrym."

This time, the voice had an origin point and Blader turned to see a shadow shifting into the form of a man. Dressed in thick tunics with a sword and shield in his hand, he sneered at Blader, his eyes malicious.

"Blader Thrym." The second voice came from behind him, identical to the first, and he partially turned to see another figure, with the same exact appearance to the first, step out of the shadows across from the first man.

His name continued to echo around the chamber as four more shadows formed into men, all identical, all with the same voice, all armed the same way. Rekkr, Blader thought. They had to be. There was no other explanation.

Six against one. If this was a fight, which Blader highly suspected, the odds were not in his favor.

"What do you want with me?" Blader asked. "And how do I save Skalfi?"

"Blader Thrym." The voice was the deep one from before, the one he kept hearing. Blader turned his head, looking at the throne just as the man appeared upon it.

Dark hair with bits of grey in it, hardened brown eyes, and tough skin with wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, the older man stared hostilely down at Blader. There was something oddly familiar about him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was almost like he had met this man before, outside of the Reenactment. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pin down where he'd seen him before.

The man laughed dryly. "Don't recognize your own driver, do you, Thrym?"

Driver.

This man was the Transriot driver on Blader and Loqé's trip to the Bifrost. The one who had told Blader about Dyr Gunar's death, who had been resentful of the gods and who had spoken about chaos.

This was the man who was behind all this?

"Don't act so surprised, Thrym," the driver admonished. "Driving Transriots are a great way to get around Midgard, especially if you like transporting questionable items. Besides, who takes a second look at a Transriot driver? Just because we spend our days ferrying others around doesn't mean we don't spend our nights dabbling in other...professions." He gave a malicious grin. "Like blood magic."

Transriot drivers had various weapons with which to defend themselves and their passengers....National travel isn't too popular and is mostly used by Valkyries, einherjar, and those few professionals whose jobs required travel....

And then there was him knowing how my grandfather died when no one else seems to know....

Wolfsted's voice came to mind, speaking about the rune on his chest and blood magic. A path so old we know nothing of it....Ancient, arcane wisdom....