Zephyr
I stood there, watching as the two women pulled out onto the main road. They both waved at Myron and me. We returned the wave. As they disappeared into the distance, my director broke the silence.
His nervousness was evident in the slight quiver in his tone. I slapped his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.
“Myron, relax. You’re doing a great job. You always have,” I reassured him.
He remained silent for a few moments before continuing.
“If that’s the case, then why the sudden assessment? You’ve never done that before.”
“It wasn’t you I was there for.” I let my words hang there. A second later, his eyes widened.
“Wait. You were here because those two ladies came back.”
“I was.”
“And the one you’re interested in is…”
“Everlyn. Although if you breathe a word to anyone, I’ll have to consider whether to bury you in an unmarked grave in the old cemetery.”
I was partially kidding about burying him. I didn’t want my club brothers getting wind of the fact that I was acting out of character over a woman. I had no clue why I was, so I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to give them a reason. Myron chuckled.
“Well, when you put it that way, then absolutely I’ll keep my mouth shut, boss.”
He walked me to my bike. We shook hands, and then I fired up my bike as Myron returned to the funeral home. People would be rolling in within the next half hour for a service slated for eleven-thirty, and then they had another at four o’clock.
Instead of returning to the house or the clubhouse, I decided I needed a ride. I wanted to be alone for it. I took off without a particular destination in mind. As I rode, letting the warm air buffer my face and whip my hair, I thought about what I’d learned about Everlyn Forrest.
Instead of a second meeting decreasing or eliminating my fascination with her, it had grown.
It wasn’t merely the physical attraction that caused it.
She’d shown how deeply she cared about someone who wasn’t her actual family.
Her friendship with Allegra was a testament to long-lasting friendships.
Both screamed trust and reliability. Those were two things I looked for not only as a biker, but as a person.
I’d met tens of thousands of people over my lifetime, and those two traits were hard to find. As the years passed, I learned how important they were, along with a few others. I believed all my club brothers and sisters would agree.
My thoughts made me wonder what it would be like to have someone in my life, a special someone, that I could rely on.
Someone who offered everything I found important.
It would be incredible. I’d never found someone like that.
Sure, there had been women I’d spent blocks of time with, but they were never going to be anyone long-term for me.
Or that I’d make my wife or claim her as my old lady after I joined the club.
If I let myself fall for a woman, eventually my heart would be broken. I was an immortal and would never die, but she would. Sure, if I were with Spoiler or Slayer, then it wouldn’t make a difference. But I saw them as sisters, and they thought of me as a brother.
Over the years, I’d seen some of my afflicted brethren take on a wife only to be crushed when she died.
They went back to their solitary existence.
Or the women had left as they aged, and the guys didn’t.
Plus, the lack of children was hard. Our punishment for what we had done included the inability to have kids.
As moroseness washed over me, I shoved those thoughts aside and forced myself to stay in the moment of the ride.
After a couple of hours of riding, I returned home.
I stayed alone at the house until early evening, then I headed over to the longhouse.
I wanted to be near my brothers and sisters.
Some alcohol or games would do the trick and elevate my mood.
The board and strategy games we played weren’t what other clubs or even modern groups played. There was a Viking chess game called hnefatalf. Then there was Nitavl, which translated to Nine Men’s Morris. It was a simple game played on a grid. Dice were always a good one. We Vikings loved gambling.
Sports and physical games were big, as well.
Our style of wrestling, where we grapple while holding onto each other’s clothes or a belt, was called Glima.
A favorite of mine was knattleikr, an aggressive, usually violent ball-and-stick game played on the ground or ice.
We also had running, swimming, and tug-of-war contests to show our strength and endurance.
Our version of combat sports included archery, spear throwing, axe throwing, and sword fighting.
We didn’t have horses these days, but when we did, we had horse fights that tested their ferocity and showed how ready they were for battle.
In the winter, we did what many children today love—snowball fights and ice skating.
Those were in addition to more typical MC activities, such as pool and darts.
I knew I’d find something to occupy my mind at the longhouse.
?
The lights were strung up outside, shining down on the people gathered at tables, in chairs, and around firepits in the barbecue area. Next to it was the section where we played our various sports. I was in the middle of a game of axe throwing with Berserker.
Those not involved in games were talking.
We were different from most MCs, even those of other Grave Prowlers, in that we didn’t allow the Hóror to party with us inside the clubhouse.
They were permitted to come when invited to hang outside, or, if you wanted them in your house, to be there.
Otherwise, they stayed in their separate lodgings, about a mile beyond our compound.
We provided it to the select few who were club-exclusive.
We didn’t let outsiders know what we truly were.
It was easier to slip up when they were around all the time and in our family-centered area.
We also didn’t trust them with the location of our secret longhouse, even though one had to have their biometrics saved in the system to unlock the door to the secret passageway.
Tonight, they were here, so we stayed outside. With the outdoor kitchen, there was plenty of access to alcohol, other drinks, and food. Unless it was for a meal, the kitchen usually held snack foods.
I tossed my final axe. I heard the loud groan from those betting on Berserker alongside the cheers of those betting on me. After shaking hands with him and razzing the losers for several minutes, I checked the time. It was midnight. I hollered out that I was headed home.
Several booed me, but others waved. The Hóror didn’t offer to accompany me. They’d tried to engage my interest hours ago, and I’d turned them all down. None of them tempted me. The walk was so short for me. I was home within a couple of minutes.
Letting myself inside, I removed and hung up my cut, then I took off my boots.
I navigated by the light shining through my open windows to my bedroom.
Flipping on the overhead light, I kept going until I reached my bathroom.
There, I turned on the shower and let the water heat up as I stripped off my clothes, tossing them into the clothes hamper.
Noting how full it was, I knew I’d have to do laundry this weekend.
I could’ve hired someone to do it for me, but I’d rather do it myself. The prospects had too much to do without adding this to their list. Although I knew a few of my brothers did it, it was only when they wanted to punish one for a fuckup.
Stepping under the water, I let it pound over my head, soaking my hair.
I was tired, but mentally, not physically.
As I washed myself head to toe, my mind went back to thinking of Everlyn.
My earlier ride had done nothing to stop me from thinking about her constantly.
I wondered what she was doing. Where was she?
Who was she with? Then my thoughts drifted to other questions.
Did she have a boyfriend? I didn’t see a ring, so I didn’t believe she was engaged or married.
Something told me if she were, Everlyn would wear a ring.
I’d never been someone who knowingly had sex with a married woman.
If one had a boyfriend or was engaged, I steered clear, too, if I knew about it.
The difference with Everlyn was how deeply she affected me. I wanted to get to know her even more, and it wasn’t just sexually, although the gods knew I wanted that. But should I forget about her and not try to pursue anything?
There was this knot in my stomach that cautioned me not to go there with her.
I was scared that if I opened myself to her, I’d end up craving more and wanting more.
It would lead to a long-term complication.
I couldn’t tell her about me. Or if I did, she’d leave anyway when there was no future for us.
It would be horrible if I were to fall in love with her only to watch her die.
It was all those thoughts circling my brain when I finished my shower and fell into bed. It took me a long time to drift off, though my body was restless.
?
I watched the young woman run off into the woods to escape.
Aksel’s man I killed lay on his back, eyes open but never seeing again.
I rushed into the smokier area, where more shouts and screams were coming from.
It had to be where the bulk of our group was.
No doubt, Aksel was front and center, directing the pillaging, slaughter, and rape.
My stomach churned. Everywhere I turned, I saw heinous acts. I was a Viking, but I’d never seen or taken part in anything like this. I slunk around, choosing opportunities to rescue whom I could. I sent them fleeing into the darkness, then moved on to see if I could help anyone else.
I was at the end of one of those rescues when another member of our party caught sight of me.
I froze. The rescued boy ran off into the darkness.
I waited for the man to scream that I was a traitor.
For others to come running out of the smoke to attack and kill me.
To my utter shock, he nodded and came over to me.
I remained ready for an attack, but he didn’t touch me.
“It’ll be safer if we band together. I’ve helped three so far. What about you?”
“You mean to get away?” I asked cautiously.
“Yes.”
“Five,” I replied.
“Being a Viking shouldn’t be this bloody. They took us in as friends. We betrayed them. It’s sick.” After a pause, he continued. “I guess if we’re working together, I should give you my name. I’m Rune Gunnarsen.” He held out his hand.
I shook it. “I’m Leif Halvorsen.”
“Well, what do you say, Leif? Do we band together?”
Something deep in my soul told me to trust him against all sanity, so I did.
I nodded. Rune and I worked together. Eventually, we reached the center of the village.
It was horrific. Dead bodies were stacked in the middle of the communal area.
Faces of those with whom we’d shared meals and laughter stared sightlessly at us.
Standing, surrounding them, were Aksel and his main followers. They were laughing at the carnage. I wanted to run up and split his skull open with my seax. Rune’s hand on my arm stopped me.
Suddenly, the natives’ Seidman, seer, the one who had visions and led the people using their interpretations of what their gods wanted, with his wisdom, was dragged into the circle and thrown to the ground.
He’d been severely beaten, and as he looked around at his village in ruins and most of his people dead, dying, or enslaved, he rose shakily to his feet.
He glared at all of us. He began speaking as he pointed his finger at us. The fury on his face was frightening.
His voice rose as he shouted more and more.
Aksel and his bunch laughed and mocked him.
The Seidman shook his fists at his mockers.
Then he tipped back his head, looked to the sky, and raised his arms. He shouted, and whatever he said was harsh.
I’d seen enough to know he was speaking to his gods the way we had seen our seers and priests speak to our gods. A shiver slid down my spine.
Voices gradually died away as the tension in the air grew.
The wind blew harder, and some stepped away from him.
Eventually, Aksel grew tired of his display.
Or more like he grew afraid it was influencing his followers.
He had removed his sword and taken two steps toward the elder when, suddenly, there was a tremendous howl of wolves in the woods.
Lightning flashed across the sky, and the Seidman stopped speaking.
He pointed at everyone surrounding him, said even more words we didn’t understand, and then he dropped to the ground, where he remained, unmoving.
But that wasn’t the end. Several moments after the man died, all of us fell to the ground, and everything went black. I had no idea how long we were out, but when we woke up, Aksel scrambled to his feet and screamed for us to continue the decimation. He gave no explanation for what happened.
When asked, we were told to shut up and get back to it.
The more blood and carnage that happened, the sicker I got.
I felt as if my soul had been taken from me.
It didn’t matter that I’d helped people to escape, or that I hadn’t killed anyone innocent.
I would be seen just as evil as Aksel and his followers. I would never be clean.
Gasping, I sat up in bed, bringing myself out of the nightmare. I turned on the light. As I thought about what I’d dreamed, I recalled how stupid we’d been. It wasn’t until weeks later, when we got into a fight with another group of Vikings, that we discovered we’d been left immortal.
While people may think that would be awesome, it wasn’t. After over nine hundred years since that fateful night, I believe most of us would tell you that it was hell. The Seidman had somehow cursed us, and he would get revenge for what was done to his people.
I’d wished several times that I knew exactly what he said. None of us did. And after about a hundred years of despair, some had attempted to kill themselves, thinking maybe no one else could kill them, but they could end things themselves. The answer was no; it wasn’t possible.
We were cursed to walk this world forever, ultimately unable to have lasting love or children. We had taken that away from that village, and therefore, their shaman, as we later learned he was, had done the same to us.
This fate was at the root of my dilemma with Everlyn Forrest. If I let myself go deeper, I’d end up alone. And something kept telling me she would be the one to break me because I’d fall in love with her. The smart thing to do was to stay away from her.
Lying back down, I rolled over and resolved to do it. No more seeking her out. No more talks. No more wanting what I couldn’t have. It was best for both of us.