Chapter 4.1:

Suddenly, I was rising. Looking up, I saw Mary staring down at me. My Valkyrie was so pretty. Somehow, my sight recovered, and my swimming vision eventually focused on her beautiful black eyes. They looked so gentle as she smiled down at me. "Well done, Miles. Seven kills, very impressive. Soon, I'll be able to take you beyond the Lesser Hall and into Valhalla proper. That will be so nice."

Gratitude filled where my heart would have been in my physical form. Her words had been the only warmth I had known for a very long time. Even as she was bringing me to the Courtyard or out in the Snowbank, Mary was never anything but kind to me. Even if she refused to answer most of my questions.

For some reason, I felt she might answer this time if I asked rather than make small talk as was our tradition. I just had to think of the right one to ask before the moment slipped away. Suddenly, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind before I had a chance to stop myself.

"What hall have you reached?" I asked. If I knew that maybe I could use it as a goal to meet her, that would be good motivation to climb higher. She gave me another heart-wrenching smile and a gentle laugh.

"I am a Valkyrie, a servant of Odin. I'm beyond the halls. Things will become more clear the higher up you get. There are many paths through Valhalla for those willing to find them. The gods realize that honor comes in many forms. Once I can talk to you in person, I'm sure we will have a great time, my warrior."

I didn't have anything in me to ask another question. No energy or willpower was able to force my mouth to move in this form. So I just simply relaxed, and things faded before I found myself stepping into a Lesser Hall once more. It was the same as it was last time. A long hall with hearths and food and many folks making merry. But it felt different as if I was in a different part of the hall.

Those around me were not just big brutes or someone who had just snuck in. They were a little more formidable. One person, though, however, was the same. Bjorn roared at me, and before I knew it, I was enveloped in a rib-crushing hug, "My friend! You've made it! I knew you had it in you. And I didn't even have to go looking for you!"

Looking for me? I thought in disbelief. Really? He had searched me out. That would explain why he was in last night's section of the hall, but still, I was flattered. What did he see in me? Bjorn pulled me to a table where a bunch of large, heavily muscled men were sitting and introduced me.

"Miles, that's Mark, Jonas, Hugo, and Rolo," he said, pointing to each in turn.

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Mark was a distinctly Asian man with laugh lines around his eyes and a relatively narrow mouth. Rolo looked to be Puerto Rican?

Before our conversation went any further, Bjorn thrust a horn of ale in my hand and raised his. "How many this time?"

They all looked at me expectantly, and I grinned. "Seven."

As one, they looked at Bjorn more than me and then broke out into roars of approval.

"Seven!" They chorused, and we all tipped back our horns and downed the ale. For once, I was thoroughly on board with this.

Seven. That was more than halfway to Valhalla proper. Of course, the last half would be a lot harder than the first, and I doubted I could cheat my way through as I had. But progress was progress.

Jonas pulled me onto the bench next to him and passed a platter with several thick cuts of boar. "Damn, Bjorn, how'd you find someone with seven on their second night? I've been here two months, and I'm only at eight!"

They pulled me effortlessly into the conversation, telling me stories of their own conquests. Eventually, as we talked, the conversation turned to our previous lives. They started to tell me about how they ended up in Valhalla, their heroic final fights. Mark had been a sort of gangster and said he had died in a knife fight over territory. "Imagine my surprise when a fucking Viking welcomes me to the halls of Valhalla when I die. Not something a Triad member would expect. But I like it here."

Bjorn said he'd only been here for two years, but he was raiding an eighth-century English castle when he died. He was cut off from his boat and took on an entire squad of Pik warriors. Or so he told it. He distracted them enough for the rest of his raiding party to shove off with all the treasure they had looted. I wasn't sure how he was here at the same time as me, but when I questioned it, they kind of just shrugged and said time worked weirdly in Valhalla.

When it came to my turn, I kept it simple. Just that I was much older and had died in a bar fight with a broken bottle in my hand. That wasn't how I lived my life at all, but they seemed to like it. Bjorn said something about the old seeking Valhalla with one last fight. I just smiled and nodded, unwilling to shatter their image of me.

Around the fourth or fifth toast, we switched from ale to mead. I still didn't like the stuff, but it did go down smoothly and was more bearable once I was a little tipsy. As we finished the first toast of mead, something happened. The whole hall went still, and the only movement came the flickering of the hearths. Shadows dancing punctuated the silence.

"Bjorn." A familiar voice called out from down towards the end of the hall. "Never thought I'd see you allow a weasel into your company!"

The man in silk threw a turkey drumstick at Bjorn. He batted it out of the air and glared at the man.

"Saladin, you coward! You call my friend a weasel?" A table was flipped over, and a bench was hurled through the air, and for a second night in a row, I found myself waking on a cold hearth with a throbbing headache.