Page 39 of Valhalla is Full of Hunks
This time she did laugh—heartily—and gestured to the tree root cave surrounding us before pointing at a worn wooden table across the room. “I like your spirit,Völva.Sit. My stew is ready, so you should dine with me while we exchange stories.”
Hoping I wasn’t about to be fed my own kind—or drugged again—I awkwardly hauled myself onto an enormous chair and waited to be served. Once the giantess sat and took a bite from her own bowl without croaking, I did my best to do the same with my comically large spoon. Based on what made it into my mouth, it was delicious, and blessedly a vegetarian option.
Never mind that I’ve never eaten during a spirit journey before…
We ate in silence for a few minutes before I could no longer pretend I wasn’t a nosey bish. “Tell me about Surt. He doesn’t share much about himself.”
The giantess hummed before setting down her spoon. “That’s unsurprising. Like all fire giants, Surtr is from the realm of Muspelheim. It was his duty to guard the realm until Ragnarok arrived. When the time came, he wielded Laevateinn and led an army of his fellow giants into battle.”
That… doesn’t sound right…
“Really?” I asked, mostly stuck onwhyI would think events happened differently.
Did I see something in another vision?
She chuckled, apparently mistaking my reaction for a more general confusion that required her to burst into spontaneous prose:
“In the midst of this clash and din the heavens are rent in twain,
and the sons of Muspell come riding through the opening.
Surtr rides first, and before him and after him flames burning fire.
He has a very good sword, which shines brighter than the sun.
As they ride over Bifrost it breaks to pieces, as has before been stated.
The sons of Muspell direct their course to the plain which is called Vigrid…
The sons of Muspell have there effulgent bands alone by themselves—”
“Speaking ofvery good swords,”I interrupted, redirecting us away from a poetry reading. “Surt has tasked me with locating Laevateinn.Do you know where I can find it?”
The giantess nodded toward a large chest in the corner, half-covered by a blanket. “Of course. I am Sinmara. As the keeper of Laevateinn, it was returned to me after Ragnarok.” When I started to gracelessly wiggle off the chair, she abruptly added. “Why does he want it?”
I sighed and turned to face her, realizing I needed to match her energy and come clean. “I honestly don’t know. The guys are mostly upset that theydidn’tdie at Ragnarok and get into Valhalla—”
“WHO ELSE?” Sinmara boomed, standing so suddenly her chair fell over with a bang that echoed around the cavern. “Who else survived?”
Eek.
“Um… well,” I stammered, hoping she wasn’t about to grind my bones to make her bread. “Fen… rir and Jörmun…”
“JORMUNGANDR?!”While I was thankful that my host spit out the rest of his ridiculous name for me, her extreme reaction was making my Spidey-sense go haywire.
Maybe it was because I was around supposedly terrifying creatures from Greek mythology regularly, but I’d honestly forgotten my guys were legendary monsters capable of planetary destruction. Especially after being trapped in a house with them for days on end—sharing meals and seeing how messy they were—I’d stopped thinking of them as anything other than human.
But they’re not.
And ifshe’sthis worried… should I be?
As abruptly as she'd freaked out, Sinmara settled again. “It matters not. One needs a tail feather from Vídópnir to open the chest, which you clearly do not—”
Just as I started to panic over how I’d forgotten theone thingI needed back on my semen-soaked bed, a single golden feather drifted down to fall into my bowl.
Heihei in the house.
Sinmara took a step back, eyeing me with a healthy dose of respect—and fear. “The gods must favor you, child. And theNorns.”
