“Okay, the first and third enchantments make sense from what I read of the tome you left out in the open…...instead of your inventory. What I don’t get however is how you got the second one to work. That should be well out of your scope of ability right now.” Big Lu said as he examined the crossbow.
Damian rubbed his neck in thought, “The only thing I did differently, was that I bled on the rune script.”
Big Lu turned to stare at him, “You what?”
“It was an accident!” Damian rushed to defend himself. “I wasn’t paying attention to where my hands were when carving the final runes and the chisel just nicked my finger and a drop of blood fell on it! Felt kind of weird to be honest.”
“Define kind of weird”
“Well, you remember that feeling when we took the tome from Maladus?” At Lu’s nod Damian continued, “It kind of felt like that but in addition to the weird feeling up my spine, there was a sense of…… acknowledgment? Acceptance? As well as a wild rush of energy that surged through my body. After that, the crossbow was finished and I got distracted.” Damian finished with a mutter.
Big Lu stared him down, “What did you carve into the deer antler, Damian?”
“Just a story that referenced Cernnunos, which shouldn’t have done anything as the various Celtic cultures didn’t use Elder Futhark.” Damian responded.
“New rule. No invoking the names of deities when channeling the forces of magic when it isn’t necessary.” Big Lu deadpanned at him. “I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”
Damian just sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and agreed with the big man. He did perhaps go a little overboard, but the results were worth it in his opinion. Now he had just two things to do before getting some sleep so he was well rested when the professors arrived. Damian trudged to his room grabbed the two spare magazines he had for his crossbow before it transformed and returned to the kitchen. With a bit of work, and some luck, he should be able to get them paired with the Nocturne Buck so he wouldn’t be stuck with just one hundred bolts. It took him two hours to finish the runes, before he felt a pulse from them that resonated with a similar pulse from the crossbow on the table. Leaving them on the table to finish syncing, or whatever they were doing, with each other Damian started his second task of the night.
The ritual would need gifts to be offered before he called for anyone. Meat, dairy and coins were traditional so Damian prepared some hodag steaks and put them in his inventory for tomorrow. With that done he bid Big Lu goodnight and went to bed.
Damian was startled awake by loud, incessant banging at the front door. Grumbling to himself, Damian hauled himself out of bed. He walked to the front door and wrenched it open.
“What?” he half growled, half yawned at the soldier he found standing on the other side.
The soldier preformed a short salute and said, “The professors have arrived sir, they are waiting for you at city hall! Colonel Johnson sent me to bring you to them, as you requested, sir!”
Damian blinked as his sleep addled brain started to wake up and process the situation. Damian face palmed and bid the soldier to wait a second as he hurriedly got ready. He had just enough presence of mind to grab his crossbow and two new magazines and toss them into his inventory before accompanying the soldier to city hall. The two made small talk on the way, and Damain believed he may have found a new drinking buddy by the time they reached city hall. He was led to the same meeting room he was shown to the last time he was here; the only difference was the lack of staff hurrying from one task to the other. Only a few workers sat at some desks sipping coffee or nodding off here and there.
Damian took stock of the two professors as he walked into the meeting room. One was a rather short man with a protruding belly. His hair was thinning and going gray on the sides but the sheer jolly energy the man seemed to radiate at all times distracted from it. He had that twinkle in his mind that spoke of mischief and pranks the man had no doubt enjoyed playing on many of his students. It was hard no to look at the man and not like him. The man seemed to bounce as he rushed over to Damian and began to enthusiastically shake his hand.
The man’s accent was heavy with his native Swedish in his excitement. “Tjena! My young friend, I am Professor Liam Gustafsson from Uppsala University. I am very excited to meet you and see this ritual of yours. It sounds fascinating!”
Damian smiled at Professor Gustafsson’s enthusiasm and greeted him in kind, before turning to the second professor who had just approached. In contrast to his counterpart this man was as tall as Damian himself and was rather slim in build. He had a full head of blond hair and a serious expression. He seemed the stern disciplinarian to Gustafsson’s amiability.
His handshake was, much like his voice, short, clipped, and to the point. “My name is Professor Henrik Larson from the University of Oslo. Let us get started, so we might end this threat to our planet.”
Stolen novel; please report.
Damian nodded and shared what he knew of the ritual to the two professors. “It is rather simple we lay out an appropriate offering for whoever we are trying to contact and say a simple chant to get their attention. If our offerings are good enough, we should be granted an audience to plead our case. The only thing I’m having trouble with is figuring out what to offer to reach out to one of the Einherjar.”
Professor Larsons light Norwegian accent cut across the room in a denial. “It likely wouldn’t work if you were to reach out to them directly. Einherjar are mortals who died valorous deaths on the battlefield and were brought to Valhalla to feast and fight until Ragnarok. Unless you know the name of one in particular the ritual would likely go unnoticed as they feast.”
Professor Gustafsson picked up from there, “Indeed it likely wouldn’t work, however, you are on the right track. Just shift your focus slightly to the Valkyries, who serve drinks to the brave warriors of Valhalla! With how our new universe is structured, with the divine being more tangible, it would not be out of expectation for the choosers of the slain, who walk Midgard more freely than the other gods, to act as diplomats or negotiators on behalf of the Norse Pantheon.”
“That makes sense, but I’m not sure what one should offer as a sacrifice to a Valkyrie. I was originally thinking of offering some good booze and food to try to entice the Einherjar to work with us.” Damian said.
“It’s not a bad plan to still implement on some level.” Professor Larson interjected, “The Valkyrie have historically been offered sacrifices of beer or mead and some incense. While fearsome goddesses and warriors in their own right, they are not conventionally worshipped like other gods. They are honored by a service that would support the ‘worthy’ or a small token from a battlefield left in a natural and respectful place.”
“Indeed! Just get a good drink, a nice bowl to put it in, light some incense, and we should be good to go! The Norse are a practical people at heart. No need to be overly fancy with them. It might cause unintended offence instead.” Professor Gustafsson’s jolly voice boomed out as he bounced to his feet. “Now let us go forth and secure some booze and a nice grove to conduct this ritual in.”
Professor Larson just gave a sigh that sounded almost fond of the other man, before standing up and following him out. “Come now young man, if we wait too long Liam will attempt to start without us. Or get lost and start talking some poor soul’s ear off.”
Damian chuckled and followed him out. They found Professor Gustafsson securing what Damian believed to be a rather expensive vintage of scotch from the mayor’s personal stash, much to the man’s rather apparent pain. After securing his prize the old professor turned and waved for them to follow as he bounded out the door. Rushing to keep up with the man proved to be quite amusing as the aged professor seemed to flit from one thing to another as they caught his interest.
It took an hour before they hyperactive man found a clearing he deemed ‘acceptable’. It was a large clearing somewhere off of Mill Creek past Tinker Hollow Road. The professor had Damian bring a flat boulder, that he believed would work as a perfect alter, and place it at the far side of the clearing about ten feet out from the edge. He placed a bowl and incense burner that Damian was sure the man never collected on the rock/altar and poured some of the scotch into it and placed the bottle alongside. Afterwards he lit the incense and bounded back to Damian and Professor Larson, who was breathing rather heavily.
“Alright my boy, begin the ritual!” Professor Gustafsson exclaimed with excitement.
Damian turned to Professor Larson and asked, “Can you share a few titles for the Valkyries? It will help with getting their attention.”
The professor shook his head in exasperation and sighed before sharing a few specific Valkyrie he thought might be good to call on. “You could always try Brynhildr, leader of the Valkyries or Sigrdrifa, bringer of glory. Unfortunately, I do not believe that any one Valkyrie would be more prone to help us over another so go with your gut. You fought to get this ritual so it will hold more meaning if you preform it.”
Damian nodded his head and approached the makeshift altar and began. The ritual was less a ritual and more a traditional approach before addressing the gods. First, he sanctified the space by dedicating it to one of the gods, he chose Odin as it seemed most appropriate as the Valkyrie were also known as óeins meyjar or Odin’s maids. Next, he pulled out some hodag steaks he had prepared last night for this ritual and offered them as gifts. Then he took a swig from the bottle of scotch in leu of a drinking horn and started to invoke the Valkyrie. “I call out to one of the Sway-shakers of the field. Brynhilder, chooser of the slain, white necked one, I request an audience to request aid for my people. I offer these gifts before me as tribute in hopes you might deem me worthy of an audience.”
Damian fell silent and waited. And waited. And waited. Just as he was losing hope a distortion in front of him caught his attention. Where once stood a forest there was now an enormous mead hall. Unlike the early spring of Tennessee, wherever the mead hall was, it was deep in the throes of winter. Snow fell gently in the fire light that leaked out of the windows alongside the drunken laughter and singing of those inside. The smell of alcohol was heavy in the air as was the sounds of a brawl just inside the door. As his gaze fell to the door of the hall it swung open.
Draped in the firelight, walked a woman who was as beautiful as she was deadly. She was dressed in armor that seemed fused to her skin and from her helmet flowed hair that seemed of spun gold. However, it was the way she walked that drew Damians attention. It was a smooth, predatory glide. The sheer confidence she radiated was like that of a large cat about to strike, it drew your focus and to look away meant death.
Her glacial blue eyes coldly scanned the clearing noting and dismissing the two professors, both of which had pulled out notebooks and pens and were furiously writing everything down. When they reached Damian however, they softened just slightly and he saw something that worried him slightly. He saw recognition in her eyes, not the kind that recognized who performed the ritual to summon her. No, her recognition was as if she knew him personally and that, for some reason, worried him deeply.
As his thoughts began to spiral Brynhildr spoke, her voice a Contralto that resonated with power and a stern but not unkind edge. Her accent thick and Danish, “You have called and I answer young warrior Damian. Let us share this offering of yours and discuss your request.”
