“Don’t be so eager to die, you lot.” He smiled at Erik, blue eyes running over the patched wound and back up. “Come, berserker. Sit and eat.”
Erik watched them for a second, not moving. The men had pulled their hands from their swords but it wasn’t entirely convincing. The women still tended to Tove and one even stood as if she were waiting to tend to him as well.
“Who are you?”
The man pulled a hand across his beard, smoothing it. “I am Flosi. And those here are my warband. Some of it, at least. I will explain, but we must dine. And Asfrid should see to your wound.”
There wasn’t much reason left to be concerned about them, though his brain wouldn’t allow him to calm down. Being stabbed left him antsy, but they had kept him alive and Flosi showed no signs of ill-will. Erik walked to the fire and sat on the ground beside Flosi who had already taken his seat. The other men sat down after Erik had and Flosi went back to cooking meat over the fire. Asfrid came over, lifting Erik’s shirt to tend to the ball of mashed herbs that was laid over the wound on his side. Erik noticed a heavy stone hammer carved with runes beside Flosi.
“You are a warband as well, are you not?” Flosi shook his head in disbelief. “Why else would an einherjar travel with a girl.”
Erik looked over at Tove. “We are.”
“And you are the chief? Surely the valkyrie has not joined your band as well.”
“I guess I’m the chief. And I don’t know what constitutes joining, so much. She hasn’t sworn anything to me or whatever.”
Flosi poked at the meat in the fire. “Still, a berserker and chosen, walking as a warband.” He huffed a laugh. “You are an impressive and very curious creature.” He waved a hand over the others at the camp. “These are a third of my band. The rest are guarding and tending the risen in the woods where we slept. They will be there days, yet.”
“Days?” It sounded as though Flosi had meant to see to the wounded, but the pain had never lasted more than a few hours for Erik. He remembered that the guard had said something similarly curious about Haki.
“Truly you have not been here long,” Flosi said, turning an eye toward Erik. “Could be you are blessed. Certainly, you heal faster than most from even a grave wound. But the pain worsens and fades more slowly each time you feel it. Death is no blessing in this place.” He nodded toward Tove as he spun the meat on the fire. “The girl knows well enough. She must have known death dozens of times now the way she screamed.”
Erik looked at Tove. “She… she lived in Spring. In a town with no fighting or anything.” Asfrid finished removing the herbs from him, running her fingers across the wound and stood up to go. “Thanks, sorry. I appreciate it.” Erik turned his head back to Flosi.
“There are horrors, even in such peaceful towns full of smiling people.” Flosi waved one of his men over to remove the meat from the fire. “A place where every man only smiles makes it impossible to see what lies behind it.” The warchief turned his full attention to Erik. “But I am uninterested in that girl or her life in some town full of soft, unmanly things. I am interested in you, berserker.”
“Why?”
The men all laughed and Flosi gave a wry smile. “I think you have an answer for that without asking it.” His lips curled in consideration as he looked Erik over. “I have seen many berserkers in Midgard. Fought them. They were devout men, touched by the rage of the gods as blessing for their life lived in glorious battle. In Helheim, I have never seen their like. Not in my thousands upon thousands of battles. So…” Flosi’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to fight you.”
“No thanks.”
Flosi broke out into laughter and the others followed him, a few pointing at Erik. “I’d thought you might say that.”
Plates of meat were brought. There were no vegetables, just slabs of elk or deer.
“I have a proposition…” Flosi stopped a moment. “I’ve not asked your name.”
“Erik.”
“Is that all?”
He wanted to sigh, but held it in. “Haki Erik Styrsson.”
“Hm.” Flosi seemed to consider his name, taking a large bite of meat and chewing it thoroughly before speaking again. “Then Erik, as I said, I have a proposition.”
“Sure.”
“I assume you make for Gjallarbrú.”
Erik’s expression went blank. It wasn’t a place he’d heard of. He turned to Göll who stepped toward the fire for the first time. “We do.”
“Of course,” Flosi said, tearing off another bite of meat with his teeth, chewing it loudly. “We will guide you to Gjallarbrú as payment for a chance to test ourselves against the valkyries. They fled, but it was a glorious battle for what time it lasted.”
“We can’t really sit here for a few days.” Erik looked toward the woods to the south.
Flosi followed his gaze. “Oh, they will stay. We will travel with those who are here, so soon as the girl is well enough for the trip.”
“How will the others find you?”
“Does the girl not see to the runes? Is she not your wife?”
“Tove? No, she’s… we’re just a warband.”
Flosi chuckled. “You are a strange man. Then I will put your mind at ease. The runes will guide my wife to me. That is her work to do and she does it well.”
“Then, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
Ale was brought and they drank a toast to the agreement, sealing it according to Flosi. Erik felt out of place among the warband. They were familiar with one another and only Flosi seemed to react to him with anything approaching civility. The meal had passed and the men sat talking when Jari approached, limping. He was welcomed without a second thought,
