FROMDEATHTO
VALHALLA
The Last Einherjar Book One
Randall P. Fitzgerald
From Death to Valhalla
Copyright © 2017 by Randall P. Fitzgerald.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information contact;
www.randallfitzgerald.net
Cover design by Randall P. Fitzgerald
Cover art by Lars Degenhardt
ISBN-10: 1543284604
ISBN-13: 978-1543284607
First Edition: February 2017
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To My Inability To Take Dedications Seriously
chapter|1
“Rise.” Erik groaned in his bed, rolling over and doing his best to ignore what was an unnecessarily loud and strangely accented voice. A deep thud sounded on the floor and the voice boomed again, louder than before.
“Haki Erik Styrsson! Rise! You are chosen!”
He rolled his head around without opening his eyes. No way he was getting back to sleep now.
“Look, I don’t know if—”
He opened his eyes and saw a tall, muscular blonde woman standing at the end of his bed dressed in gold-trimmed leather from head to toe and holding what looked like a spear. She looked to be in her mid-twenties at the most and stared at him wordlessly with ice-blue eyes.
Unable to contain an annoyed sigh, he rolled to the edge of the bed and put his feet on the ground. He eyed the clock and saw it was nearly two in the afternoon. Ignoring the massive girl at the end of his bed, he called out through the apartment.
“Guys, this is hilarious, okay? Very elaborate.” There was no answer. He put his head in his hands. “Great, so they just left her…” He turned to the girl. “Look, this is really funny, honestly. I’ve got Icelandic parents, you’re in valkyrie dress-up. I get it. So, I mean, I don’t know if they paid you or what but you can go home.” He stood up from the bed, suddenly aware that he was wearing only underwear in front of a strange girl. “Right. Right. Sorry, just, uh, don’t look below my waist for a few minutes.”
She looked immediately.
“I said… I’m sorry. Jesus. This doesn’t count as… I mean you aren’t why it…” He gave up trying to muster a defense. “Probably shouldn’t have drawn attention to it. I’m going to take a shower. Don’t worry about locking the door on the way out.”
The bathroom was an awkward, careful walk across the room but he was happy to have the privacy. The door was locked and he turned on the shower. It heated up quickly enough but he hadn’t heard the front door open and shut when he got in. He normally could. Maybe she was waiting in the living room for Derek or Chris to get home and pay her. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this sort of thing. It was a subtle one, by comparison. Not that he was free of guilt. He’d hired a clown to run into Derek’s room at three in the morning once with a chainsaw. Fair enough response for giving up the embarrassing knowledge that a 24-year-old is scared of clowns. The clown had taken a kick to the gut and that had been when they’d put a moratorium on that specific brand of friendly torture. This one was new by Erik’s estimation though. It wasn’t frightening or particularly strange. No zombies at the table for breakfast, no fake burglary.
He turned the shower off after a halfhearted once-over with soap and pulled the curtain aside.
“Fuck!”
He nearly lost his footing, barely slapping a hand against the plastic wall of the shower. The girl was standing right in front of the curtain, eyes fixed on him. He reached out and whipped his towel off the rack.
“Jesus fucking Christ, how much are they paying you? This hasn’t turned into some weird… you know, thing? Right?” He stared at her waiting but she said nothing. “How did you even get in here? I locked the door. Did you…”
He looked past her and saw that the door knob had been broken. It was dented, even. How had he not heard her hammering on it? Looking at her, she was definitely capable of the feat.
“You can’t just… you know, I have to pay for that out of my security deposit. Do you rent? It’s not just my door. I don’t own the door.” Nothing. He sighed, trying to keep his anger in check. “Can you move at least? I’d love to get dressed and go ask whichever one of my asshole roommates set this up what the magic word to get rid of you is.”
She backed away, indicating that she at least understood more English than whatever she’d said when he was still barely awake.
He pushed past her into the bedroom and walked to his dresser. The girl followed him, keeping only a few feet between them at any given time. He sighed again, the edges of his patience really starting to fray.
“You’re going to see my dick, okay? Is that part of the job? Look at my dick?” Her silence annoyed him all the more, so he dropped his towel. “There you go!” This was definitely a crime. “Happy?”
She didn’t bother looking down, which somehow dinged his pride. The wounded ego was enough to trigger a sane thought about exactly what it was he was doing. Time to get dressed. Quickly. He kept shooting looks her way and at no point did she stop staring at him. It was, frankly, starting to get a bit weird and the thought entered his mind that this was just some crazy arts and crafts woman who’d escaped a house full of cats. When he was dressed, he decided that her lack of response wasn’t something he could live with.
He turned to her, looking as stern as he could manage. “Who are you, and why are you here? What’s your name?”
“I am Göll. You are one of Odin’s chosen and I will guide you to Valhalla.”
Erik rubbed his temples and shook
