Some were stout, some were skinny, but all of them appeared to be smart, athletic women in their 20s and 30s. They treated him to a tall glass of milk and homemade ginger cookies for a while, while his mother was in the next room behind closed doors with two rather big ladies in white coats. With them was an older gentleman, a doctor of sorts.
Herman Lockhart reached up to his hair, fondling the area right in the middle of the top of his skull. He did it inconspicuously, as not to alert suspicion to the area.
He could still feel the scar tissue under the cover of his hair. Pain had many levels and Herman had experienced most of those levels, but that fateful day he learned of a different kind of pain. One of exhilaration and purpose. He had no idea that his mother’s friends merely kept him occupied while the sedative numbed his skin and dampened his pain receptors. When he felt drowsy, he saw his mother emerge from the room with the other two women and they carried his incapacitated little body into the white tiled room — a makeshift operating area. Of course the child was terrified, and felt that his mother had betrayed him, but she stood right next to him, holding his hand.
The old man in the helicopter sighed as his memories burned in him.
He recalled the feeling of the scalpel in his scalp. Although the skin was numbed, the penetration of the point still stung. It was the most surreal feeling he had ever, and since, experienced. Feeling how his scalp was peeled back, he looked up at his weeping mother. Then she squeezed his hand, telling him that what he was enduring was very important, that he was a champion of the world, a savior of all mankind. In simple words she explained to him that the procedure had to remain the biggest secret ever. He had to keep it to himself forever, otherwise the evil people of the world would win. Hermann didn’t really understand, but he was happy that his mother was so proud of him. She explained that he was going to feel pain, but that he had to remember that it was for the good of all mankind. It made him feel a bit like Jesus at the time. It sounded like the time Jesus was terrified at being crucified, but God told him that it was necessary for him to suffer in order to save mankind.
Then he felt it.
One by one, a steely punch from some surgical tool engraved something into his skull bone. The little boy wailed in pain and discomfort, even though he was mostly sedated.
After he had recuperated enough to stand up and walk, the ladies of the book club cheered and hugged him. They treated him like a hero and it was wonderful.
Only decades later did he discover the truth of his ordeal in a library kept by The Brotherhood — the very ladies in that book club were Knights of the Hammer, also called The Brotherhood, sworn to keep secret the location of a chieftain’s council hall where an unmatched force of destruction had been hidden. And that the cypher created as lock of the great Hall of Valhalla, Odin’s Hall of the Slain, had been carved into the skull of a boy child. But no-one ever knew that the boy was in fact still alive. What a barbaric thing to do to a living child!
Now he knew he had to lead Lita on a goose chase long enough for The Brotherhood to find Valhalla before her. Nina. Was she dead already? Herman Lockhart had trouble coming to terms with his betrayal of his friend. It saddened him, but he assumed her dead by now, hoping for the contrary.
Now, more than half a century later, Lockhart was in the same position as his mother had been that day with Krieger at the mound where she drew her last breath. He was taking Lita to Iceland, to the very same place, under the very same false pretenses. The Brotherhood’s Hero hoped that this time the sound of the Horn in the forest would not be the last sound he ever heard.
Chapter 34
While Sam and Gunnar settled the unconscious Nina on the captain’s bed below deck, Eldard was on the internet. He had to get to the bottom of Nina’s ailment without having to consult a doctor. The risk of finding an illegal substance in her system was just too high. Besides, he figured that was exactly what Lita and her monsters banked on. Personally, he would have taken the chance, had they not been pushing a time limit. The Festival of St. Blod was almost here, and if Valhalla’s malevolent captive was to be released, it would be on the day of St. Blod. The Black Sun would certainly pursue the opportunity and therefore the champions of The Brotherhood, he and his three allies, would have to abandon all other agendas to make it there on time — wherever it was.
That was cause for more concern. They still did not know where the place was.
Nina was murmuring as Sam removed her shoes and the boat groaned onward over the water of the Danube back towards Regensburg. Her wet hair clung to her skin as she panted from the escalating fever.
“She is in terrible pain, Gunnar. What are we going to do?” Sam whispered.
“Eldard is checking on what could be causing this. Once he knows, we will get her something for the pain. I adore that woman. Really, I do, but we cannot neglect this mission, Sam. By the way, you don’t exactly look ready to fuck a harem of belly dancers, either. When last did you have something to eat? You have to look after your own health, too. We need her and we need you. I can’t do this on my own and you know that,” Gunnar explained in a low grunt that made his whisper just a bit more audible over the roar of the boat’s engine.
They looked at the moaning, frail woman on the bed. She was clutching her stomach, salivating profusely, and muttering a mixture of things about a rock with red paint on.
“You stay with her,” Gunnar said. “I am going to see if we can get her something for the pain.” With that he ascended up the stairs.
Sam sat down on the bed, holding Nina’s hand in his, her bandaged forearm over his thigh. He refused to give in to what felt suspiciously like a crying spell, but it did not help his despair subside. If only he could manipulate these visions he could rush them along, but even when he now hurt himself to initiate the waking dreams, nothing came of it. It was growing late in the day and he felt the hand of fatigue sweep his brow.
They were still 40 minutes from Regensburg and he was exhausted.
“Just a quick nap. Just quickly,” Sam mumbled, and gently lay down next to Nina. His weary eyes closed for but a minute when she suddenly sat up with a start, it gave him a potent shock of fright.
“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I saw it! I know this shit now!” She noticed the lanky male body next to her. “Sam? Are you so desperate to tell people we sleep together?”
Sam was not amused, ripped from the much needed embrace of Morpheus. Nina was loud. She grabbed him and turned him on his back, sliding her wet hair back over her ears.
“I dreamed it before! Now I dreamed it again, sort of. But this time, it helped me recall the first dream I had a while back before all this started, Sam!” she babbled. “Give me your phone, quick. I have to look up that number Eldard wrote at the bottom!”
In the fresh cool air up on deck, the two bikers were navigating websites on their cell phones to research Nina’s symptoms. There were many possibilities, all of which spelled a bad outcome. Astonished at the small woman’s resilience, they watched an excited Nina come at them with a befuddled Sam in tail.
“We got it, guys!” she shouted with a small measure of pain in her voice. Now and then, as Nina spoke, she would catch a quick gasp. “I dreamed this a long time ago. I don’t know why, but I did. This whole… whole…” she gestured wildly, only too grateful that she could contribute to the mysterious side of the entire search, “…like an epic saga played out in my dream and this voice telling the story.”