Page 1 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

K ing Urd stood still and silent in the leafy shade of Yggdrasil, a divine tree so ancient and sacred, the top branches reached another realm. He closed his eyes and blew out a misty breath. He was not a young man and the cold and rugged journey to Uppsala had made his bones weary and his feet ache.

And with each step, he’d been reminded that he would be feasting with the gods before too long.

Which presented him with a problem.

Four problems, to be precise. A number that didn’t bode well. Three, six, or nine problems, he could handle. Four, that was a number tainted with misfortune and dispute. Something his wily, headstrong offspring had more than enough of already.

A goat bleated to his right, one of nine males awaiting sacrifice. A rooster joined in the animal chatter as if rejoicing in their shared fate. Tomorrow, their blood would be basted on Yggdrasil’s trunk and branches, an offering to the gods to both appease and revere them.

Urd sighed and rubbed his temples. If only Orm had volunteered all those years ago to be one of the nine young human males to be sacrificed, he would only have three children to contend with. But Orm hadn’t been ready to drink with Odin, Thor, and Freya back then. He’d said he’d had battles to win and journeys to make. He’d wanted to wait for a Valkyrie to escort him to Valhalla. It had been an angry conversation, as proffering himself to the gods would have been a great honor for the family, even though Urd’s wife, Inga—long gone now—hadn’t wanted it, either.

“Father! Finally. I’ve been searching high and low for you.”

Urd opened his eyes at the sound of his daughter’s voice. He turned, using his wooden cane to support his weak left leg. “I am sure you did not search long, Astrid.”

“I wondered if you’d gone to the temple ahead of the festival. Thor is as demanding as ever and needs to be placated.” She rolled her eyes. “He must be worshipped and adored if we are not to starve half to death next summer.”

“It is true the crops were poor. But Thor will be well honored in due course.”

Astrid flicked her scarlet hair over her shoulders. She’d worn it in long plaits for the journey and they hung like ropes down to her waist.

“The crops last year were awful, Father. If it happens again, there will be famine for your people.”

Urd nodded slowly. “The sea will provide.”

“Only if the gods are kind. Andhrímnir demands sacrifices and devotion too.”

“The divine chef will provide the way he provides for the gods each day in Valhalla.”

“I hope so.” She took his hand and squeezed.

Her skin was warm and soft, though she had a long, silvery scar that ran down her right forearm to her knuckles, the result of a close call with a sword during a battle south of Drangar.

“But I trust you, Father,” she went on, “for you’re our king, and luckily, you have a good brain in your skull.”

“You are kind to me.”

“To you, yes, because I love you. My enemies, hah, I am the opposite of kind.” She laughed, a high-pitched sound that sent a foraging bird into the air with a squawk. “Come on. Let’s find Haakon and Ravn.”

“Where are they?” Urd walked with her, his heavy, wolf-skin robe brushing against the frozen forest floor.

“Ravn is helping prepare the golden chain. Haakon, I haven’t seen for a while.”

“And Orm? Where is he?”

“He still hasn’t arrived.” Weak midwinter light pierced the canopy, slicing over her petite features and flashing on the golden brooch—the image of a wolf’s head—that pinned her cloak into place.

“He should have been here yesterday.” Urd couldn’t keep the annoyance from his voice. “Why he didn’t leave Drangar with us, I don’t know.”

“I’ve asked Joseph to let us know the moment he rides in—”

“And ride, he will. The boy has no decency. He should walk. Every nine years, it is a mark of respect to the gods to walk to Uppsala.”

“Oh, don’t think about that. He’ll be here soon and that’s what matters. Then you’ll have all your delightful children together for the great festival.”

Urd’s lips twisted and he stopped himself from muttering further frustrations about his youngest son, who seemed to purposefully go out of his way to anger him.

“Fuck me, look, there’s amanita.” Astrid pointed at a crop of tiny, red fungi growing in a warm crack in a tree trunk.

“Astrid, language.”

“Sorry, but you can’t deny they’ll be useful for the sacrifices.”

He sighed. “ Ja , they will and you have a good eye. We will gather them and take them to Hildi. She will prepare them.”

Astrid plucked the small mushrooms, putting them into a tattered, leather purse.

Urd waited patiently and studied the concentration on her pretty face. She was a good daughter. Fiery, it was true, but that just made her a better warrior. She was an accomplished shield- maiden, just like her mother had been. A fighter you wanted at your side in battle. One who didn’t shy away because someone was bigger or shouted louder. Instead, she used her nimble, lightweight body to dodge and then deliver deathly blows when they were least expected.

He would have liked to pass on his royal title to her, seeing that she was older than the twins and bright of mind, but he knew neither Haakon nor Ravn would tolerate that. In their eyes, Drangar had to have a king—a king with their chosen queen on the throne next to them.

But which twin should it be?

The twins were his biggest two problems. Two. Another number he didn’t like.

Astrid finished plucking the precious crop and stood. She straightened Urd’s cape as though worried the winter chill was nipping the wrinkled skin of his neck.

“There is rabbit broth in the pot. You should eat soon,” she said. “You must keep up your strength.”

“I could eat.” He flexed and unflexed his free hand, the one not holding the cane. “And the heat of a fire would be most welcome.”

They walked in silence, navigating a frozen stream with icy stepping stones that poked from the ground-level mist. A fallen branch blocked the path and Astrid hacked at it with a bone-handled axe she’d pulled from her belt, her breaths puffing in front of her face.

Soon, the sounds and smells of the camp filtered toward them. Urd’s belly rumbled and his mouth watered in anticipation of the rich, herby broth awaiting him.

To the left of his tjald —a material structure that mimicked his longhouse back at Drangar—he saw a group of children sitting around a fire with threads of black smoke licking up to the canopy. They were silent, enraptured, and wide eyed.

Urd saw why and stopped.

His son Haakon was speaking to them. He was leaning forward, gesturing, his features animated.

“He is regaling them with sagas,” Astrid said quietly.

“Let us listen.”

“But, Father, you are tired and hungry and—”

“Do not fuss over your king,” Urd snapped. “I once went two weeks without food and water and then killed a bear with my own hands, no weapon, as you well know.”

Astrid was quiet for a moment. “I will tell Joseph you’re here.” She stepped away, disturbing a branch heavy with snow. The tiny flakes fluttered in the breeze, sparkling in the torchlight as they danced.

Urd took a step closer to his son and the beguiled children.

“The Norns will sit beneath the leaves of Yggdrasil, which, as you know, is just yonder, and spin their terrible fates. There will be so many Norns, too many to count, and their power is fantastic, unstoppable, and laced with evil.” Haakon paused and looked around at his audience. He leaned further forward. “I wish not to scare you children, but you should know how the end of the world, the end of even the gods, will come about.”

Urd gripped the bear’s head carved into the top of his cane and waited for the story he knew well to continue.

“A great winter will come, the wind so bitter, it takes the skin from cheeks. The sun will fade in the sky, its heat gone. The winter will be endless, the summer no more. Crops will fail, people will starve, people will kill each other for what little there is left. There will be no laws, no jarls, no kings. Can you imagine that?” Again, he paused. “The wolves Skoll and Hait, who have hunted the sun and the moon in the skies since the beginning of time, will at last catch their prey. They will gobble up the stars too. Everything will be black. Our great tree Yggdrasil will shake and shiver, causing all the other trees, the cliffs, and the mountains to fall flat to the ground.” He spoke quickly. “The chain that has been holding back the evil wolf Fenrir will break, and the monstrous beast will run free. The mighty serpent Jormungand, who dwells at the very bottom of the ocean and encircles the land holding his tail in his mouth, will rise from the depths, no longer holding his charge and spilling the seas over all the earth as he makes landfall.”

Urd blew out a breath, the story so familiar, yet hearing it from his son’s mouth and with such passion had his heart rate picking up and his nerves tingling. What a terrifying day it would be.

“Naglfar will be shaken free from its moorings. A wicked ship made from the fingernails and toenails of dead men, women, and children. It will sail the flooded earth, taking its terrifying crew of giants and the captain with it. And who is the captain? I will tell you.” He held up his finger. “It is Loki, the traitor to the gods. Yes, that’s right, the traitor Loki is captain of Naglfar.”

The children gasped and looked at each other.

“The end of the world continues,” Haakon boomed. “The wolf Fenrir will run over the earth, mouth open and scooping everything up and eating it. The serpent Jormungand will spit his poisonous venom over land, into the sea, and through the air. The sky will split and the fire-giants with their flaming swords will march to the home of the gods, Asgard, and as the sentry horns blast out, the gods will know they must gather their swords and shields and go to battle.”

“My son can certainly paint a story—the gods gave him that,” Urd said as his stomach rumbled again. He glanced at his tent with smoke dancing from its roof opening and wiped away snowflakes from his eyelashes. He’d leave Haakon to his sagas and go and eat.

“Ravn, I thought you were at the temple hanging the golden chains?” Urd said, ducking into the warmth and stamping snow from his boots.

Ravn looked up from where he was hunched over his bowl of steaming stew. His blue eyes were piercing in the firelight and the metal beads and charms hanging from the end of his thick, black beard flashed. “ Ja , I was.” He shoveled in more food. “But now I’m here.”

“And Siggy? She is here?”

Ravn picked up a wooden tankard and took a slug of mead. “Aye, she’s with her mother.”

“Good. At least that means only Orm is late.” Urd clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

Ravn chewed on bread. “Siggy is with child again.”

“She is?” Urd sat next to his son and held his hands to a fire trough. “I congratulate you. You are indeed blessed by the gods. She gave you a son just last year.”

“I offer my thanks daily.” His voice was gruff.

Ravn was tired. Hungry too, judging by the way he was spooning in food. He always had been a grump when weary with an empty stomach.

“Here, Father. Eat this up.” Astrid placed a bowl of broth in his hands. A large hunk of bread sat within it, already soaking up the juice.

“Thank you, Astrid.”

She smiled at him and placed a tankard of mead on the bench at his side. “Anything for the king. It’s a big day tomorrow.”

“Indeed, it is.” The broth was rich and salty and warmed his gullet. “Did you see Orm?”

Ravn shook his head.

Urd sighed. “I will be most displeased with him if he is late.”

Ravn huffed and finished his drink. He held it up for Joseph to refill. “You’re always pissed with him about something.”

Urd said nothing.

“But what does it matter if he doesn’t turn up?” Ravn went on with a flippant wave. “He’s nothing more than an embarrassment, the runt of the litter. For I can provide you with heirs even if none of your other sons can.”

“It is true.” Urd nodded slowly. “I am sure your boy, Thormod, will grow to be a fine man.”

“He is just a bairn; the other not even born yet.” Astrid sat on the opposite side of the fire trough with her food. She raised her eyebrows at Ravn. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“ Ja , but I have my reign to live out before my sons take over. Plenty of time for fucking and for Siggy to give me many more children.” He chuckled. “And they will all grow to become fine men and strong warriors. Didn’t your rune stones tell me that, Astrid?”

“Ha, you presume you will be king. How bold, dear brother.” Haakon’s voice suddenly filled the tent. “When we are twins.”

He filled the entrance, snow peppering his black, furred cape and his narrowed eyes flashing. He pushed at his hood and scraped a hand through his long, dark hair. Around his neck, a boar’s fang hung on a length of leather and he’d shaved his facial hair in preparation for the festival, revealing the intricate tattoo that ran from his jawline down to his throat.

“Being born on the same day does not mean we are equal.” Ravn sat up straighter.

“Sure, it does.” Haakon strode over to Astrid and set his hands on her shoulders. He leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. “Sister, I am glad you have arrived. And you’re looking sensational, as always.”

“It is good to see you, brother. Are you well?”

“I need food.”

“For you.” Thrall Joseph offered Haakon a bowl of stew.

“Ah, great. And a drink. I have been telling sagas to the children. I am dry as a bone. The little ankle biters wouldn’t let me go.” He chuckled.

Urd watched his son sit and tuck into his broth. He was as tall and broad as Ravn, but he sat straighter and he seemed more alert to what was going on around him. His attention flicked from his sister to Ravn, the servants, and the doorway. He glanced at the beds that had been set up for the royal family and surveyed the food store. He was a sponge, always curious, always seeking to understand.

Both twins were fierce and skilled fighters. They’d been to battle more times than Urd could count and each time, the gods had been kind. But Urd saw in Haakon a softer, more thoughtful streak. Ravn wouldn’t take the time to tell sagas, not even to his own child, yet Haakon sought out a young audience. Ravn was short-tempered with his sister, yet Haakon understood her complex moods and knew flattery got him in her good books every time.

These thoughts swirled in Urd’s mind. Which temperament would make for the better king? He should make a decision. Choose. And that would be the end of it.

He sighed and sat back. His spine creaked and he groaned softly.

“Are you unwell, Father?” Haakon asked.

“No. Just tired.” He smiled at his son. “I will sleep soon.”

“You’ve hardly touched your food. Eat more,” Astrid said, gesturing to his bowl with her spoon. “You’ll get sick.”

“Do not mother me, girl.” He raised his eyebrows at her, though a smile tickled his lips. “For I am your king.”

“And you would not let us forget it,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, High and Mighty One. Must we bow to you constantly?”

“Do not tease your king, Astrid.” Haakon chuckled and picked up his drink. “Where is Orm?” He took a gulp. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”