By Michael T. Schaper
He never thought he’d make it here. Not after all the things he’s done to annoy both men and gods.
As the mist around him disperses, Brok the Berserker stares at the building in front of him. It is huge, far bigger than ever he expected. The wooden entrance doors soar upwards, whilst the building stretches back out of sight.
There’s noise and warmth inside, beckoning. He can hear them singing and chanting, vast hordes of fallen warriors and shield maidens enjoying themselves.
He can’t believe his good fortune. And this, despite so many times he’s angered all the different gods. Challenged them, forsaken them, fought them, even killed one or two.
So much for their swearing lasting revenge on him, the ultimate outsider in this society.
Somehow, he’s made it here. Brok swaggers in, the realisation growing that he has a place here until the end of time. He might always have been different to the other Norsemen, but now he’s part of the chosen. Forever.
Brok makes his way to the dining tables. “Food!” he demands of a passing serving thrall, greedily. Being reborn into the eternal afterlife certainly makes a warrior hungry.
“Can you not give me a meal?” He pushes aside the rack of bloody cooked ribs and offal in front of him, gestures for a fresh plate to be set down. “Something better than that?”
The thrall eyes him dispassionately. “But it’s what we always serve, sire. As the gods laid down when they created this Valhalla. The same every day. Fine meat for fine warriors.”
And he a vegetarian.
About the Author
Dr. Michael Schaper
Where you see strange dreams, cockatoos and other nonsensical nostrums congregate, there’s a good chance you’ll also come across our author.
By day he’s all manner of mundane things: a board member, business association manager, policy adviser, researcher and scholar - in Canberra.
At night he lets those wild ideas of his run, well, wild.