Valhalla
By: Tim McPhee
“The Trial of Ordeals,” said Prince Philipe.
“Isn’t that the one where you toss me in fire?” I asked, concerned about my immortal well-being.
“Yes,” replied the prince. “If you burn to ash, you are innocent, if not then your soul is impure and you are immersed in water until you disperse into nothingness.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t seem very fair,” I said.
“You have broken vampire law twice, now,” said Philipe. “The first time when you embraced a child-”
“I was sparing her the pain of growing up,” I responded.
“You’ve damned her to an eternity in that young body,” the Prince said, raising his voice. “And now you return from your trip abroad, claiming to have killed your sire and bragging about it.”
“She had it coming,” I said, thinking of the vampire who embraced me and turned me into an undead predator of the humans. “Besides, both of those times were out of your juristiction. I embraced Chantelle in the territory north of Paris and I killed Alyssa in Constantinople. I’ve always been comlpetely honest with you, Phil. Is this the reward I get for my honesty?”
“Very well,” said the Prince. “But you still must pay for your crimes. You will serve six years, six days, and six acts of courage defending our ways.”
“Sounds fair,” I said. “And in keeping with my honesty, I think I should tell you that I made a ghoul here a while ago, but never got around to telling you about it.”
“A ghoul?” asked the Prince, his eyes widening. “How much does he know?”
“I told him that Chantelle and I were vampires and that he needs our blood to survive. And just about everything else,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”
“You broke the masquerade and created a ghoul in my land without my permission!” roared Philipe. “No forgiveness this time. Trial of Ordeals!”
“Damn it,” I said as my mind drifted back to what got me into this mess.
I thought back several decades, when I was still alive. I was born in the nordic regions of northern Europe. Most civilized folk, including the vampires I now consider my people, view me as a barbarian. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m two heads taller than the average person and weigh two or three times as much, or it might have something to do with the forceful way with which I deal with most problems. Whatever their reasons, I don’t really blame them.
It was during a night raid when it happened. My comrades and I were making a raid across the sea. The fighting was glorious. My father and brother were separated from me as I pressed hard against the enemy. They had me surrounded, but I fought valiantly, slaying all in my way. I had taken twenty men simultaneously, proving my might in battle. Then an arrow struck me in the neck as I stood over my fallen foes. I recall falling to the earth and bleeding while the sound of battle raged a short distance from me. I heard the signal to retreat and was happy. I had fought valiantly, proved my might and skill, then died in battle. My place in Valhalla was assured. I awaited the Valkerie who would take me there.
That’s when she appeared. She was no Valkerie. She was a ghostly pale maiden clad in black. She removed the arrow and began drinking from the wound on my neck. She then pricked her wrist and touched it to my lips. The blood tasted sweet. More than sweet. It was the best sensation I had ever felt. I wanted more, so I began to suck hard on her wrist.
“Enough,” she said, forcing me away.
My world changed. My vision was able to pierce the darkness of the night. I saw blood flowing from the wounds of the men who lay around me. In my craving for the blood, I tore off their heads and tilted their bodies up, as if I were drinking from a wineskin. Eventually, my thirst was sated.
“Ragnor Steinolf,” she adressed me. “I am Alyssa Pandora. I have saved your life.”
“Saved?” I asked, anger welling up within me.
“You were going to die, so I granted you eternal life. Your great strength and skill shall be preserved forever. You are vampire, now.”
“Vampire?” I knew the word. “Live forever?”
“That’s right,” her voice sounded sweetly as if she did me a favour.
“You denied me my place in Valhalla!” I roared. “Die, spawn of Loki!”
I lunged at her, but she side-stepped, grabbed my wrist and flipped me on my back.
“Beware the sun, barbarian,” said Alyssa. “Perhaps when we next meet, you shall be more appreciative.”
She disappeared after that, but I raged for a few more hours until I noticed the light creeping up over the eastern horizon. I spent the day buried in the sand on the beach.
I wandered the earth for years afterward, going from village to village, night after night feasting upon mortal blood. Eventually, I found my way to Paris. The organization of vampires there discovered me quickly as it’s hard to miss one of my size. They were a polite, if condescending, bunch. I quickly befriended a vampire by the name of Narcissist. He owned a sizeable manor house outside the city and allowed me to stay with him. The years continued to roll by and I learned much about my friend. After he was embraced, he stayed with his sire for a while, until he learned he was about to become blood-bound to him. That was the first time I had learned of the blood-bond. If one drinks the blood of a vampire three times from the same vampire, he shall become that vampire’s slave. Narcissist escaped after his second drink.
He also told me of the vampiric laws. About not killing another vampire, always respecting the Prince, never letting mortals know of our existance, embracing only the worthy. Narcissist also said such laws were for the weak and should be ignored.
It was after Narcissist disappeared for a few months that I decided I needed a bit of a change. I did not know where my friend went, but from the rumours of the atrocities being committed upon the clergy I could guess what he was doing. Unfortunately, I was not as sadistic as my friend proved himself to be. I did not intend to join him in the torture of the men of the cloth. Because of this difference, I became lonely.
I travelled north, out of the realm of Prince Philipe of Paris, and found what I was looking for. I had always wanted a daughter. Why I did, I never really knew. I assumed it was because I needed someone to protect, someone to care for despite my barbaric nature. That’s why I took the young daughter of a baker, drank deeply of her blood, then fed it back to her through my wrist.
I admit that I damned her to the life of an eternal child who shall never grow up. But I did not regret it. Valhalla was taken from me, so I took what I wanted from the world.
I fed her my blood twice more, binding her to me so that she could never betray me. She didn’t seem to mind.
Her name was Chantelle. She was but six years of age and full of curious energy. In the beginning she missed her family, but she gradually began to accept what had happened to her. She learned very quickly the ways of the undead.
Philipe was upset about her age when I returned with her, but agreed to let me off the hook because she wasn’t embraced in his territory.
Chantelle’s mind developed rapidly and it wasn’t long before she was smarter than myself. She had spent much time socializing with other vampires and learning what she could from them. Seeing that she was not aging in body reminded me of what I had taken from her. I had stolen her womanhood. But seeing what I, as a sire, had stolen from Chantelle reminded me of what my sire, Alyssa had stolen from me. The feelings of anger towards my sire grew and grew until I decided that something must be done. I vowed to destroy Alyssa.
I told Chantelle of my intentions and she hatched a plan. She told me that Alyssa was currently residing in Constantinople. The best way to get there was by ship so as to avoid Hungary (Hungary was a very superstitous place where the people had regular mob hunts for our kind). In order to insure our safety during the day, Chantelle suggested we create a ghoul. Noting my blank expression, she proceeded to explain what a ghoul was.
A ghoul was a mortal human who has a bit of vampire blood in them. In order to create them, a vampire must simply feed them some of his blood without draining any of the mortal’s. The result is a mortal who will live as long as he is kept fed. He will essentially be mortal in all other aspects except that he will possess great strength.
Chantelle suggested that I create a ghoul and blood-bind it to me. Agreeing, I decided that Guy, the head servant of the manor, would be the best choice. Over three days, I unfolded my plan. Each day, I invited him to share a goblet of wine with me because of his great service. I had put a drop of my blood in each goblet. On the first day, he became a ghoul, but only noticed that he was much stronger than he used to be. On the third day, he was blood-bound to me and I told him all of what happened. The idea of living forever appealed to him and agreed to help us, saving me the trouble of forcing him to.
Guy took care of the minor details of our trip, such as arranging the boat in Marseilles and keeping us fed with small animals during the trip. When we arrived in Constantinople, I immediately felt that I was close to Alyssa. Chantelle had been right. We found the vampires of this city rather quickly. They told us where to find Alyssa without knowing of my intentions.
Alyssa was said to reside in a cemetary on the north east side of the city. We made our way there through the darkness. The cemetary was well-kept with a building in the centre of it.
“That’s the stairway down to the crypt,” whispered Chantelle.
“You two stay here,” I ordered. “This is my fight.”
As I approached the crypt, I heard Chantelle cry out suddenly from behind me. Spinning around, I found both Guy and Chantelle had disappeared. I heard the door to the crypt slam shut behind me. I spun around again to find Alyssa standing before the crypt.
“Ragnor Steinolf,” she said. “It’s been fourty six years since we last met.”
“Fourty six years that I should have spent in Valhalla,” I snarled.
“There is no Valhalla. No Heaven, no Paradise, no Nirvana. There is only Hell and we are there,” she retorted.
“That I can agree on, but you won’t be here much longer,” I spat.
“Still think of me as that spawn of Loki, I see,” she said condescendingly.
“Loki’s too good for you,” I replied.
“I had such high hopes for you, Ragnor. More’s the pity.”
She spun around quickly and whipped out a sword she had hidden by her cloak. I dodged her swing by stepping back, then leaped at her before she could recover from her back swing. She rolled aside and I fell face first into the dirt. We regained our feet and slowly circled each other, waiting for the other to blink.
“Why can’t you see the blessing I have given you, Ragnor,” she asked. “Can’t you see the benefits of long life?”
“I was to spend my afterlife in Valhalla, waiting for the final battle of Ragnorak to fight alongside the gods against the giants,” I responded, becoming angry. “You took that from me.”
“And did you take any less from that little girl?” she asked.
I felt my rage welling within me. I tried to control it. This was what she wanted. To make me lose control and take advantage of my rage. I suddenly had an idea.
“Come, Ragnor,” she continued, “you know that you are as guilty as I am in this.”
In what I hoped appeared as blind rage, I rushed her again. She side-stepped and swung her sword high, aiming for my chest. I dropped on my back and allowed my momentum to carry me feet first as I reached out and grabbed Alyssa by the shins and pulled her off her feet. I pulled her toward me as I rolled over. She struggled to get away, but I was much stronger. She tried to grab for her sword, but it had dropped beyond her reach. I grabbed her wrists in my right hand and pushed her chin up with my left, exposing her neck.
“You should thank me for releasing you from this Hell,” I said before sinking my fangs into her neck. I drained all her blood, leaving her a lifeless corpse for a few seconds before she turned to ash and blew away.
“Ragnor!” I heard Guy and Chantelle’s muffled shouts from behind the door to the crypt.
“Stand back,” I ordered before kicking the door down.
We travelled back to Paris as soon as we could, having little reason to remain in Constantinople. That brought me to the present problem with Philipe.
“Trial of Ordeals?” I asked. “Cant’ we just make it seven years, seven days, and seven acts of-”
“No!” Philipe’s roar resonated for several seconds. “You have gone way too far this time. You openly defy the law and hold our traditions in contempt.” He turned to the vampires who entered the room at the sound of his yelling. “Prepare the fire. Ragnor Steinolf, his child vampire, and his ill-gotten ghoul shall all burn tonight.”
“You know,” I said, stepping towards Philipe, “I never really wanted to be a vampire. Now that I see how petty you, a vampire I respected, can be, I think I liked being a barbarian better.”
“Is that so?” asked Philipe, his six-hundred-year old face, unmarred by time, inches from my own. The other vampires closed in around me, preparing to protect their prince.
“Yeah,” I said. “The idea of Valhalla and Ragnorak always appealed to me; especially the entrance requirements.”
A dozen vampires leaped toward me as I threw my punch at Prince Philipe and prepared to brawl to the death.