“Tell Völundr what happened. I’m—”
The door to the house opened with Völundr standing in the frame. “No sense going after her.”
“But—”
“Come eat. I’ll tell you something good if you do. Time someone did, anyway.”
Erik looked back toward the direction Göll had flown off.
Völundr clapped his hands to pull Erik’s attention back to the house. “She won’t go anywhere too far off. Trust me on that, at least. Now,” Völundr turned, “come eat.”
Tove came over to him as Erik was unbuckling the wraps to remove them from his hands. She looked at the work Völundr had made.
“Are you sure you don’t wish to follow her?”
Erik answered her without looking, focused on removing the wraps. “I want to.” He sighed. “But Völundr knows things, and I’d better know them too, if I’m planning to go talk to Göll.”
Tove followed him back to the house and Erik entered, taking a seat facing the door, leaving it open. If she came back to the yard he wanted to see. He laid the grips across his legs, keeping a nervous hand on them. Völundr looked briefly at the open door, shrugged, and then sat plates in front of the two already at his table before preparing a plate for himself. He sat down, casually, immediately taking a large bite of the mess he’d cooked.
He chewed noisily, Erik staring at him intently the whole time. As much as screaming questions at Völundr might have been what felt important, waiting was the only real option.
Völundr swallowed hard, coughing. “I really ought to find a new wife.” He chuckled. “Even a comely boy who can cook. Wouldn’t be so much different from her.” A nod at Tove brought on immediate complaints.
“I am not—! I am a full-grown woman.”
He ignored the complaint and looked over at Erik. “She can cook, can she?”
Erik smiled, in spite of himself. “She’s not a housewife.”
“I’m not! At least one of you knows proper respect.”
Völundr laughed. “Good. I was worried Göll’s tantrum would sour the mood. I’ve had enough of sullen faces in my time.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hand me the grips.”
Erik pulled them up and tossed them across the table. Völundr caught them, turning them over in his hands.
“Held up well enough.” He leaned in to inspect them more closely. “What do you know of valkyries, Erik?”
“Not much. They pick who goes to Valhalla. And apparently, the others try to kill whoever gets picked.”
Völundr nodded, moving his attention to the second grip. “That’s the barest part of it. Do you know the reason why they attack?”
“No. Göll wasn’t very forthcoming.”
Völundr huffed in amusement. “She wouldn’t be. Not her fault, that sort of thing.” He tossed the grips onto the middle of the table. “You’ve put a lot of strain on those already. Should hold well enough, but you’ll want a smith who understands what I’ve done.” He ate another forkful of food. “The trial, the path from death to Valhalla, you might be thinking of it as a sort of test for the chosen.”
Erik nodded. “I had been.”
“Most do. But you aren’t the only one being tested. A valkyrie’s place in Odin’s eyes is built from how useful she can be to him and little else. The weakest, they bring ale to the slain or other menial tasks. Servants, mocked by the others, you understand.”
“They called her that on Earth… Midgard, I mean. Ale-bearer.”
“And so she is,” Völundr said through a mouth full with food. “Most of the rest have made themselves happy in their low status and take no chosen. Göll… she’s never given up.”
Erik took the grips, putting them back in his lap. “Great, but why would she run away from me?”
“I was getting there, impatient prick.” Völundr laughed. “I like you. Still, understand that to understand this. The ale-bearers are mocked, toyed with. And you are a berserker. And you shouldn’t be here. And she knows it.”
Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t be here? A berserker just… they lose their minds in battle. Punch really hard?”
“Maybe the Saxons said as much, but as most things, they misunderstood.” Völundr rose from his seat. “But I’ve lost interest. Ask your valkyrie, she should be able to say that much. I’ll sleep now.”
Erik shot up but Völundr held up a finger before he could say a word.
“So long as my good will is in your hand and in your belly, I’d tell you not to ask too much.” Völundr smiled. “It’s only polite.”
The smith wandered off to his bedroom, shutting the door. Erik turned to Tove.
“Why shouldn’t I be here?”
Tove looked as confused as he had. “I have never met a berserker. Only one warrior came through Kvernes, and my town in life was small and not given to fighting.”
Erik clicked his tongue, annoyed, though not sure at who, exactly. He picked up the grips and began wrapping them around his fists.
“I’m going to find her.”
“I’ll go as well.”
Erik nodded. “Of course, we’re a warband.”
She pushed the plate of food away and ran outside ahead of him. When Erik went out, he found her looking through the barrel for any swords that would be sharp enough to do anything with. She found one, though it was nearly too large for her.
“You sure you’ll be alright with that?”
She looked at the sword as she came closer. “Better than nothing.”
“Can’t argue with that. Hopefully we’re not going far. She came to me earlier.”
Erik started jogging toward the north, exiting the clearing with Tove just behind him. The woods were thick and there were only a few hours of sun left. Erik genuinely started to worry when Göll did not immediately come to him like she had before. Were there reasons behind it? Had she decided to abandon him? What would that mean for him? Maybe she would come and attack him. It was a bitter thought but not
