Chapter 33

Emily felt the impact of the day on her mind and body. She lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling. Soon she drifted from consciousness into another vivid dream. Her spirit floated effortlessly over Saldanha until she reached the hill from her previous visit. Fear took hold of her stomach and heart. She uncontrollably drifted closer towards the fire she had been to before. She felt a little relieved when her spirit stopped under a grove of trees. She was safe for a moment, unnoticeable from anyone.

Emily watched the Vikings from a distance. Unlike the previous visit where they were performing a ritual of some sort. This time was different. They were working heavily on something Emily could not make out or understand. There was a group of strong men chopping a large tree into smaller chunks. All the branches had been stripped off. The men had strong arms and muscular bodies. They almost worked feverously without any breaks. She wondered what was chasing them and why they were in such a hurry.

Emily witnessed how the branches and trees were processed with various primitive tools. She could not believe the precision and abilities these men possessed. They produced wooden slabs of staggering quality, thick and close to perfect rectangular shapes. At first, Emily thought the men were busy preparing to build a large ship since their last one was destroyed when the ocean had pushed it onto the sharp rocks by the foot of the hill. She then noticed something totally unexpected. The wooden slabs were used to build a large square box of about a meter to each side. They made sure it was strong and durable by lining the interior with hot sticky tar which she wondered where they got it from. Tough ropes were also treated with black tar. The treated ropes were neatly wrapped around the outside of the box meticulously. The top of the box was still open and in need of a lid. The bottom was locked in with laced ropes and more black tar.

Another group of men were digging a large hole to the far end of what seemed to be their living quarters. It was deep and hidden away from prying eyes, almost like the Vikings did not want anyone to ever find what would be buried in it.

They all gathered and focused their efforts towards finishing the box. A lid was constructed. Emily imagined the box was meant for something either very precious or sacred to them. Probably the reason why the hole was so deep and out of sight.

As the sun was setting over the vast ocean, they gathered around the fire. It was bound to be a clear night as some stars already pierced through the night sky. The full moon was large and the air crisp.

Emily felt her spirit moving closer to the clan to witness their every move where she was lurking in the dark. There was a fire in the same spot it had been during her previous dream. The flames started burning higher almost like they had a will of their own. Emily wondered why this night was so special with all the elements so perfect and mysterious. For a moment she thought the warriors might open a portal or call upon their God for enlightenment. The vibrations of the natural environment were perfectly conducive to such rituals. Emily felt alive, more than ever.

The fire burned higher, reaching for the skies and glowing on the warriors' faces. There was something different in their eyes this evening, something sad yet fierce. Their faces were solemn while they circled the fire in all glory with battle axes and war hammers. The vibrant fire glistered on their weapons in bright yellow. Just like before, a man appeared in the fire. He was the same man from Emily's previous dream. The man they had called Odin. He floated from the middle of the fire until he reached the ground where the Vikings kneeled with their heads low and their swords anchored deep into the ground. Odin was a large man. His ropy brown dreadlocks and heavy beard seem to have grown over many years. His upper body was exposed and muscular. Large cuts across his chest reminded Emily of a movie she had seen where battle scars never healed. Odin had a rough pink crystal in his left hand. His right hand clutched a large knife. He looked up to the sky and lifted both his hands into the air. He lowered his right hand slowly and rested the sharp edge of the knife on the left side of his chest. He spoke an ancient language and applied pressure on the knife. It sank deep into his flesh, leaving a deep trail behind. Blood was flowing over his chest and stomach like a river. He looked down from the sky and regarded the blood glistening on his body. With his left hand, he forced the pink crystal into the newly inflicted wound. A bright light radiated from it, shining through his fingers. Soon the light circled his chest, growing even brighter.

There was an encore from the Vikings, Odin, Odin, Odin, our Warrior god, Odin, Odin, farewell, O brave one, Odin, Odin, soon we will meet again and reunite as steel. We will forever be by your side our brave warrior king.

The light around Odin's body intensified. Soon his chest was radiating a brilliant luminous pink. A grin slowly formed on Odin's face and his eyes turned red like blood.

'Be brave my brothers. Our destiny is waiting. We lost our way and were cursed here by our Mother. Tonight I give myself to reform our course. Be brave my warrior ones. We shall be one again,' Odin's voice vibrated through the trees. He looked up at the stars one last time before he exploded in a blinding burst of light, and just like that, he was gone. The bust of light was sucked in by the crystal and fell to the ground in a vibrant glow. It was followed by Odin's bones which dropped randomly around the crystal. There was something different about the crystal. Something alive deep within, a crystal with a heartbeat. The large fire from before was nothing more than a few small flames fighting off the ever-increasing darkness. The faces of the warriors almost disappeared from the lack of light cast by the diminishing fire.

One of the Vikings picked up the crystal with both hands admiring it, and respecting its power. The crystal had grown in size. He wrapped it with a large piece of leather and carried it to the wooden box. The rest of the warriors gathered each of Odin's remains and wrapped them in more leather. All remains including the skull had been placed in the box. With skilled craftsmanship, the lid of the box had been nailed shut. More ropes were dipped in black tar and wrapped around it, making the box waterproof and protected from any form of decay. It was carried to the hole from earlier and carefully lowered down. They all gathered around it and said one last prayer before covering the hole with sand. Once the ground was levelled and compacted, they brought large rocks and placed them on what seemed to be the grave of their king who sacrificed himself. They made sure that his grave was never found by anyone. Once they were done, the rocks used blended in with the natural environment. No one would ever expect it to be a grave.

They went back to the fire and sat in silence. Each one was left with their own thoughts staring into the few remaining flames. In the distance, the phantom of an old Viking ship could be seen sailing the ocean.

Something cracked behind Emily. She turned and saw a large group of men dressed in black, gathering, getting ready for an attack. They were far larger in number than the Vikings, perhaps even triple. They had blades and weapons. One of them seemed to be the leader. He wore a ram-like skull with horns sticking out, more like the skull of Satan himself. His eyes were like smothering fires in their deep sockets. He wore the mark of the beast on his large chest. In his muscular arms, he held a ball and chain. It had long spikes sticking out like crooked fingers. He watched the Vikings silently from a distance. The Viking clan was unaware that perpetrators were lurking in the darkness ready to stampede and destroy them at any moment. He waited for his followers. He wanted them all to be ready for the most important attack in history. They started to move.

Emily noticed them closing in on the unaware Viking clan. They moved like shadows, swift and silent. When the Viking clan realised what was happening, it was almost too late. Three of their brothers had already been slain with metal weapons reflected in the moonlight. The Viking warriors' eyes not fully adjusted to the dark made it harder to defend themselves. They were less than a dozen Vikings left, but enough for a good fight, if not their last.

The intruders fell one by one while the Viking warriors swung their weapons with strong arms and bodies. Heads were decapitated. Some were even bashed in and others split apart. It was a massacre, a battle between strong and evil. Body parts lay scattered around as the perpetrators were sent to their graves. Already some Viking warriors had fallen, but many more of the intruders were slaughtered. The Vikings were still heavily outnumbered and overwhelmed. Another Viking warrior went to the ground. They were less than a handful when the leader of the intruders appeared from the shadows. He weighed the probability of the battle between the Vikings and his own forces. He realised the scale of victory might tip in the favour of the Vikings. He stepped forward from the dark, where he witnessed the carnage from the dark, waiting. With yellow glowing eyes, he started swinging his ball and chain. More Vikings went down, but his followers were growing weaker in strength, energy and numbers. He underestimated the Viking clan, but that did not bother him too much. He possessed something far more powerful. A power of something ancient. The power of the great evil itself. The power of the keeper of souls and fires that burned for eternity. He knew he would end the war with little effort even if he had to do the dirty work himself.

All his followers had been slain by the strong Vikings, the masters of war. He noticed one of the Vikings was injured badly. He had a stab wound through the stomach and blood was squirting out from the left of his neck. Despite the bleeding, the Viking still clutched his war hammer with his right hand while blocking the bleeding in his neck with his left.

The leader of the perpetrators took off his skull mask, revealing a face that seemed hardly human. It varied between human and something demonic in fractions of seconds.

'I've come for your souls,' he said, with a bone-chilling voice that belonged to another world. He walked towards the one remaining Viking that was not injured. He swung his ball and chain. The Viking ducked the first and second blow and moved closer to his attacker. The Viking swung his war axe, but it got caught in the ball and chain. He pulled the intruder closer just to find that he had met more than his own strength. The Viking was pulled towards his enemy with a might he had not come across before. He felt a strong hand around his throat. Nails were penetrating his skin. His body was lifted up in the air and brought closer to his enemy's face. The Viking felt like his head was going to explode with the blood supply cut off from his brain.

'I'll see you in my chambers,' he said. He brought his head forward, connecting the Viking square in the face. Blood splattered from the Viking's nose and mouth.

The perpetrator dropped the ball and chain and grabbed the Viking by the hair. He gave the Viking one last stare as if digging for his soul hidden deep inside his head. He pulled the Viking's head backwards, snapping his neck with a clack. The perpetrator extended his arm that was holding the Viking warrior's body suspended inches above the ground. He looked at the last remaining Viking warrior sitting on the ground. Although alive, he did not have long before life would flee his body. The perpetrator released his grip, and the body of the lifeless Viking fell to the ground in an awkward position.

The last remaining survivor had almost lost all hope with his fleeting life and slain brothers scattered around him. He could not understand what was happening. He looked at his last fallen brother who lay on the ground with wide-open eyes and a crooked mouth. The white of his eyeballs exposed to the final terror he experienced before his life was taken. The last warrior looked at the large man, or creature standing in front of him, the monster that drew his strength and power from something not human. The Viking felt weak and his sight was fading. He had already lost too much blood. The pain in his stomach was bearing down heavily and his war hammer felt too heavy to hold on to. Yet he was going to fight until there was no breath left in his body, no pulse from his heart and no words from his mouth. He would fight for his king, Odin and brothers that were no more. Thereafter he knew he would reunite with his family and brotherhood once again. He drew strength from the centre of his existence. He felt his fingers curling around the cold war hammer. With both hands, he swung the hammer with all the strength he had left, but it was met by something stronger than steel, almost magical. The perpetrator simply blocked the war axe with both his forearms, stopping it dead in the air. The Viking warrior noticed the perpetrator's eyes. He never knew the meaning of fear, but what lived in those eyes was far beyond fear itself.

'Did you really think you can kill what cannot be destroyed,' the perpetrator said. He pushed the warrior in the chest and sent him flying through the air.

The warrior landed several meters away. The Viking's hammer had fallen too far from him. He felt weaker by the minute and blood was leaving his body at an alarming rate.

'Now it's time to join your brothers,' the intruder said. He stepped closer, casually walking towards the warrior.

Inches away from ending the Viking's life, the perpetrator was stalled by the Viking's last words.

'My death will be the beginning of your demise. Know one thing. Tonight I die in honour of my god Odin,' the Viking coughed blood, holding onto his stomach. He lay on the ground regarding the creature in front of him. He knew there was nothing human about it at all. It was never a fair fight to start with. They were outnumbered and caught off guard, but still, they had a good fight. Blood rushed through his artery and his vision faded a little more. He knew it was his last few moments, but he could feel a smile forming on his face. A smile of pride and a deep sense of peace. He might be killed today, but the battle was not over yet. Soon he would be reunited with his brothers.

The perpetrator lifted his foot and brought it down on the Viking's head at lightning speed and power. The Viking's head was flattened in an instant. His brain splatted on the ground through his fractured skull. He regarded the Viking one last time, looking at the carnage he had caused. He backed away from the bloody mess, his face a grim mask. He looked up at the Viking's stronghold and started walking towards it. He touched the wooden structure that had been placed on the solid walls. The wood spontaneously caught fire wherever he touched it. Soon the whole structure was burning with bright flames. The perpetrator stood back admiring the stronghold being devoured by the fierce fires of hell. It did not take long for the roof to cave in under the crackling flames.

He turned around and walked towards where he came from. Soon he disappeared into the shadows. Moments after he left, something else happened. A white light surrounded each Viking body lying on the ground, almost like a charge of energy. Soon the energy reformed into a vibrant glowing ball hovering above each body. One by one the balls of energy started moving. They were hovering above the ground towards the grave of the cube. The grave of Odin's remains as well as the crystal. The energy balls soon disappeared underground until there was nothing left but scattered bodies and flames dancing on the old Viking stronghold.

Emily woke up. Although she was not the centre of the dream like the previous time, she was upset and somehow deeply saddened. The vivid images of her dream are still fresh in her memory. She felt tense throughout her body with an ache in her neck. An ache that was bound to creep up to her head and brain if the tension did not subside. All this time she thought the Vikings were the evil ones, but that was only half of the story. She was wrong, and so was everyone else. Even history had it wrong. History did not mention anything about something more sinister than the Vikings could ever be. History had to be written by someone. That someone could not have been any of the Vikings because only a survivor could have written the history of that day. Could she have had a glimpse of the past? The real past? Was that even possible? Emily knew it was only a dream, but something about it felt authentic. Why would she return to the same place every time she dreamt? That never happened to her before.