the edge of our table, looming over us with fingers tucked into their wide belts. Both wear hammers of Thor, one strung around the neck, the other as a dangling earring. By the way they walk, I know that one of them, the man with the earring, has training in a war band. His hard eyes scour over Astrid, then dart back to me.
“Can we help you?” I ask, not allowing them the first word.
The smaller one shrugs. “We were just thinking, ya know, what is a guy like you doing in our nice little town?”
The muscles in my abdomen tighten and I must force my hands to remain flat on the tabletop. When I twisted to watch the TV, I displayed the tattoo for all to see. “Passing through,” I say.
Now Astrid is going to witness exactly why I’ve been so wary.
“Well, isn’t that nice to hear,” the man with the earring says. As they hang over us, I see that neither of them is older than twenty-five. Neither stands lightly, and both have looser muscles than me, despite the hardness in the soldier’s eyes. If it becomes necessary, I can get us out of the diner even without my weapons. Both sword and spear are back at the Spark; as one of Odin’s, I can carry steel into any public place except for some temples, but that would have drawn immediate attention. My tattoo and my darker skin are enough to make me stand out.
The question is, are these two going to back down now that they’ve spoken to us, made clear they don’t want us here? Or will they do something rash?
Esmeralda appears at the soldier’s elbow, her smile strained. “Hey now, all, your sandwiches’ll be right up. Oz, David, you getting to know our guests a bit? They’re on their way up to the Black Hills.”
The soldier catches my eye. I see the change on his face as the idea occurs to him. Thor’s soldiers are as notoriously hotheaded as berserkers are mad. This one is going to challenge me, I know it. Fighting holmgang against a berserker, even a young one like me, will go miles for his reputation.
“Oh,” Astrid interrupts merrily, “we were just asking this pig-faced troll-sucker to leave us alone.”
My body flares hot with panic, and all the sound in the restaurant fades.
“What did you call me?” the soldier hisses.
“Not you, darling.” Raising her voice further, she tapsthe younger one on the stomach. “This giant’s ass-wart was ogling me.”
I shake my head, trying again to catch her eye.
But her grin only widens. “For the insult, I challenge you. You are not a man’s equal, and not a man at heart.” The ritual words sound like a blithe poem on her tongue, not a call to battle.
“I am as much a man as you,” bites back the young man, accepting the challenge with equal ritual. His fists clench until his knuckles turn white.
“Oz,” Esmeralda says. She seems as worried as me.
The soldier claps a hand on Oz’s shoulder. He glances at me when he says, “We will meet in the holmring.”
“A mark and a half from now,” says Astrid. She asks Esmeralda, “Can we still eat?”
The waitress nods and backs away.
“This will be fun, little witch,” Oz sneers. He and David stomp out of the diner. We’re being watched by the handful of other patrons. One older man at the bar follows David and Oz. I sit, pressing my boots into the tiles below the table, trying to be calm. The quiet roars in my ears. I look at Astrid and she’s sipping at her tea, her face unconcerned. Her chin is lowered, so she glances up at me coyly.
I slap my hands on the table, stand, and leave.
Outside, the noontime sun barely heats the air. The previously charming little town appears closed, narrow, and hostile to me now. A row of toy houses glaring at me all down the street. I reach the car and lean against it, bowing my head.
“Soren.”
A growl bursts out of me. “What were you thinking?”
“He was going to challenge you.”
I turn. Her eyes are shining as ever; her face is calm. “I could have handled them, Astrid. You know
“Can we help you?” I ask, not allowing them the first word.
The smaller one shrugs. “We were just thinking, ya know, what is a guy like you doing in our nice little town?”
The muscles in my abdomen tighten and I must force my hands to remain flat on the tabletop. When I twisted to watch the TV, I displayed the tattoo for all to see. “Passing through,” I say.
Now Astrid is going to witness exactly why I’ve been so wary.
“Well, isn’t that nice to hear,” the man with the earring says. As they hang over us, I see that neither of them is older than twenty-five. Neither stands lightly, and both have looser muscles than me, despite the hardness in the soldier’s eyes. If it becomes necessary, I can get us out of the diner even without my weapons. Both sword and spear are back at the Spark; as one of Odin’s, I can carry steel into any public place except for some temples, but that would have drawn immediate attention. My tattoo and my darker skin are enough to make me stand out.
The question is, are these two going to back down now that they’ve spoken to us, made clear they don’t want us here? Or will they do something rash?
Esmeralda appears at the soldier’s elbow, her smile strained. “Hey now, all, your sandwiches’ll be right up. Oz, David, you getting to know our guests a bit? They’re on their way up to the Black Hills.”
The soldier catches my eye. I see the change on his face as the idea occurs to him. Thor’s soldiers are as notoriously hotheaded as berserkers are mad. This one is going to challenge me, I know it. Fighting holmgang against a berserker, even a young one like me, will go miles for his reputation.
“Oh,” Astrid interrupts merrily, “we were just asking this pig-faced troll-sucker to leave us alone.”
My body flares hot with panic, and all the sound in the restaurant fades.
“What did you call me?” the soldier hisses.
“Not you, darling.” Raising her voice further, she tapsthe younger one on the stomach. “This giant’s ass-wart was ogling me.”
I shake my head, trying again to catch her eye.
But her grin only widens. “For the insult, I challenge you. You are not a man’s equal, and not a man at heart.” The ritual words sound like a blithe poem on her tongue, not a call to battle.
“I am as much a man as you,” bites back the young man, accepting the challenge with equal ritual. His fists clench until his knuckles turn white.
“Oz,” Esmeralda says. She seems as worried as me.
The soldier claps a hand on Oz’s shoulder. He glances at me when he says, “We will meet in the holmring.”
“A mark and a half from now,” says Astrid. She asks Esmeralda, “Can we still eat?”
The waitress nods and backs away.
“This will be fun, little witch,” Oz sneers. He and David stomp out of the diner. We’re being watched by the handful of other patrons. One older man at the bar follows David and Oz. I sit, pressing my boots into the tiles below the table, trying to be calm. The quiet roars in my ears. I look at Astrid and she’s sipping at her tea, her face unconcerned. Her chin is lowered, so she glances up at me coyly.
I slap my hands on the table, stand, and leave.
Outside, the noontime sun barely heats the air. The previously charming little town appears closed, narrow, and hostile to me now. A row of toy houses glaring at me all down the street. I reach the car and lean against it, bowing my head.
“Soren.”
A growl bursts out of me. “What were you thinking?”
“He was going to challenge you.”
I turn. Her eyes are shining as ever; her face is calm. “I could have handled them, Astrid. You know
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