Page 2 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

H aakon studied his father as they walked past the sacred grove and toward the majestic temple of Uppsala. Huge, shiny, golden chains had been looped over and around branches and could be seen for miles, guiding worshipers to the hills, where the nine days of festivities would be held.

Haakon worried about the stoop in the king’s back and the way his left leg dragged a little. Part of the worry was that he knew how much it must have frustrated his father for his body to be fading. He’d been such a strong, vibrant, brave warrior, a tireless and intelligent leader of people, and a seafarer with such skill and knowledge, his name would be on the tongue of many for years to come.

But fading he was and soon, either Haakon or Ravn would be chosen as his successor. Unless, of course, the king opted for Astrid, which wouldn’t be a ridiculous idea. She was a renowned shield-maiden, smart and brave, and she would take the responsibility seriously.

But did she have the respect of the people of Drangar and surrounding providences? That, Haakon wasn’t sure about. There were times she hadn’t endeared herself to them with her fiery nature and sharp tongue.

“If Orm has not arrived and is not already waiting for us…” Urd said a little breathlessly. “I will disown him. He will be no son of mine.”

“He’ll be here,” Haakon said, beating down a wave of anger at his younger brother. This was not what his father needed today.

“He disrespects me,” Urd went on. “With his foolish ways and his fanciful ideas. It is as if has no notion he is the son of a king. He makes me ashamed and shows others I have little control over my own family.”

“He knows he is your son, Father, and what that means. I am sure of it. And I am sure he will not bring shame on this, our most hallowed of days.”

Urd huffed.

They passed the sacred grove containing Yggdrasil, its branches empty now, though soon today’s sacrificed bodies, three in total, one man and two animals, would be hoisted up there.

The ice had melted a little around the stepping stones, and Haakon steadied his father as they crossed.

“Not far now.”

Urd paused. He pulled in a breath.

At the end of a winding, shadowed path, through the haunting, winter mist, the temple came into view. Tall, wooden pillars supported the staved, sloping roofs and freshly swept steps led to a huge polished doorway. The forest had encroached over the last nine years and had now been hacked back by the gothi —silent holy men—leaving splintered saplings and torn ivy tendrils.

The door was closed, awaiting the king to open it and in doing so start the festivities.

The gathered crowd spotted the king and the hum of conversation quieted.

“Your people await,” Haakon said, adjusting the steel arm ring that coiled around his left bicep. It had been a gift from his father to celebrate him reaching manhood at his fifteen summers.

Ravn was at the top of the steps, near the temple door. Haakon frowned. The king had to enter the temple first on this special day. It should be no one else.

Yet Ravn, wearing a white, furred cape complete with heavy amber and silver pendants, stood feet apart, arms crossed, and chin tilted, as though he already thought himself king.

The blood heated in Haakon’s veins, searing around his body and making his skin itch. He could have rushed ahead that morning and harnessed the crowd’s attention, made himself comfortable in the position of the next king of Drangar’s lands. But he hadn’t. He’d chosen to walk with his father, ensure he arrived safely, that each step was sure and steady and his fractious mood was placated.

As they passed through the crowd and neared the temple, Haakon caught Ravn’s gaze.

Triumph seemed to flash in his brother’s eyes and he tilted his chin a little more. He noticeably glanced at their father’s silver crown, as though sizing it up. Of all the nerve.

Haakon tensed his jaw and spotted Astrid. She’d released her hair and it flowed around her shoulders like a river of molten rock, the weak sunlight glinting off it. She wore a thick, green, woolen gown with buckled leather details at the waist, shoulders, and wrists. Despite her small stature, she looked every bit the formidable fighter and combined with being a beautiful princess, she was indeed a force that many men found too much to handle.

Haakon was grateful she was his sister so she could never be his wife. Her husband would need to be a braver man than he and he’d yet to meet such a person.

“Ah, there is Ravn,” Urd said, nodding forward. “Awaiting, as he should be.”

Haakon bit back a retort and instead said, “And Astrid is here.”

“So still one missing.” Urd grunted and his eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, there was a shuffling in the crowd. People parted, unleashing a flurry of movement and exclamations.

“Father! Do not fear, I am here!” Orm landed in front of them, as though he’d sprung frog-like from the gathering crowd. He stood with arms outstretched, a broad grin on his face and black kohl swiped thickly beneath his eyes—the damp weather having made it bleed down his cheeks like tears.

“Orm!” Urd stopped suddenly. “Where in Odin’s name have you just come from?”

“From Drangar, Father. You know that.” In his other hand, Orm held up a long string of animal bones that he shook noisily at Haakon. “Brother, I see you have taken on the role of nursemaid to the king.” He laughed, a brittle, deep cackle. “Keep up the good work.” Orm winked at his father, a cheeky gesture that only a youngest son would dare produce. “Where is my favorite sister?”

He spun around and upon seeing Astrid, he scooped her up and swung her in a full circle, the string of bones gliding outward the way her legs did.

“Orm!” She clipped him around the head. “Be somber, for we are here to start a ceremony honoring the gods. We do not wish them to think we are flippant.”

“ Ja , ja , of course.” Orm set her down. He then straightened his tunic, attached the bones to his belt, and pulled his mouth into a flat line. “The gods, they await their sacrifices. We must be very somber, indeed.” He nodded slowly.

Despite Orm’s words, Haakon knew his brother wasn’t being as respectful as he should have been. He treated so many things as a jest. Important, serious things that made both Haakon and Astrid worried for Orm’s success in reaching Valhalla. If he displeased the gods, he’d be denied entry, or given thrall’s work, nothing more than a slave, for all eternity.

Urd carried on walking, nodding at the crowd as he went. Their outstretched hands stroked the fur of his cape for good fortune. Many had traveled from outlying villages and rarely saw their king. His presence was as important to them as the worshipping of the gods, for they saw him as their protector as well as ruler.

He passed the gothi , who stood with their long, dark capes brushing the ground. Each man held steel bowls they’d later use for blood collecting. Their lips were basted in dark kohl, reminding worshippers they never spoke. Their ears were also blackened, as were their eyelids.

Haakon helped his father up the steps to the temple door. Astrid and Orm stayed close behind, their footsteps heavy on the wood. The scent of sage burning in four large torches filled Haakon’s nose. Beneath his feet were scattered, crushed acorns.

Urd turned to the crowd, then, after passing his cane to Astrid, held up his arms. “People of our lands, I, King Urd of Rhalson, welcome you to this sacred festival in Uppsala. Over the next nine days, we will honor Odin, Thor, and Freya. We will appease their rage and promise our loyalty. We will give blood to save blood. We offer food as we ourselves feast because our fare is too lowly for the gods. We will dance and celebrate our good fortune at having such wise, powerful, strong gods.” He paused and looked at the sea of faces. “Now let us begin with the opening of the temple door and allow the pale Yule light to penetrate the home of the gods here on land and soil.”

Astrid passed him his cane, and again, he turned.

But before he could reach the heavy, brass latch and open the temple door, Ravn stepped before it, and with a quick twist of his wrist, he threw the door open. “Most revered gods, your servants arrive with gifts and worship,” Ravn bellowed, stealing the words that should have come from Urd’s mouth.

Rage flooded Haakon. He pushed forward and grabbed his brother’s shoulder before he could take the first step into the temple. He shoved him—hard. “How dare you?”

Ravn staggered to the right, clearly taken by surprise. Then he turned to Haakon, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. “What the—?”

In a fit of temper, Haakon delivered a punch to Ravn’s jaw, snapping his head back and causing him to bump into a flaming torch. Sparks flew into the air as Astrid lunged to steady it. Acorns scattered.

“You dare to open the temple door on this day?!” Haakon shouted, getting his face right in and close to his brother’s. “You dare to presume that is your right?”

“It is my fucking right.” A drip of blood swelled on Ravn’s lower lip. “I am the king’s son.” His eyes flashed with pride and stubbornness.

“As am I, and I do not consider it my right to open this door until our father is feasting with the gods. Until then, I wait. I respect.” Haakon snarled and gritted his teeth. “I do not presume.”

“Then you will lose, brother.”

“Lose what?”

“The crown.” Ravn shoved him—hard—with his palms flat on Haakon’s chest, as though dismissing him, pushing him away from sight and thought—pushing him to somewhere Haakon couldn’t be seen or heard.

This just made Haakon more furious and he pulled out his freshly sharpened dagger. “We might have grown in our mother’s belly at the same time, Ravn, but that will not stop me from killing you.”

“You couldn’t if you tried for one hundred years!” Anger had deepened his voice.

“ Ja . Kill him, Haakon,” Astrid snapped. “His plan is to usurp us all.” She withdrew an iron spear and a feral wildness flashed in her eyes. “If you do not, Haakon, I bloody well will.”

“Such drama!” Orm said, passing between them and clapping as though thoroughly entertained. “And I thought spectacle-making was my domain.”

“Get out of here, Orm,” Ravn snapped.

“Leave? Just when things are getting interesting?” He poked Ravn’s shoulder. “What are you going to do, huh? Kill our brother and sister? And then me and our father? Just so you can place the crown upon your head?”

Ravn growled and slid his sword from its sheath. He held it up, the dangerously sharp point only a few feet from Haakon’s face.

Orm laughed.

Astrid spat on the floor and widened her stance. “Go on, Ravn, try it.”

“Enough!” Urd slammed his cane on the wooden boards. “Do not anger the gods this way!”

Haakon was suddenly aware of the still silence that had fallen over the crowd. All eyes were on them. And they were wide, scared eyes. To be drawing weapons against kin on the holy temple steps was indeed a sight to behold. And it would not be one that was forgotten if the crops failed, if storms shattered boats in the harbor, if wolves and bears took bairns from their cribs. The siblings would be blamed for angering the gods by disrespecting them in their home.

“Father.” Astrid blew out a breath. She closed her eyes for a second and when she opened them, the flash of crazy Haakon had seen before had gone. “Forgive us.”

“Step aside,” Urd said roughly as he elbowed forward, ignoring the weapons held aloft around him. “I will not be party to your immature squabbles and you should stop humiliating yourselves.”

“‘Immature squabbles’?” Astrid snapped. “Ravn is trying to claim a throne that is not his to claim.”

“Who says it is not mine?” Ravn said, swiping at the drip of blood rolling from his lip and onto his beard.

“Me!” Haakon growled. “The throne is as much mine as it is yours. No one knows which one of us was born first, remember.”

“It was me. I was born first.” Ravn stabbed his thumb against his chest.

“Says who?”

“I know it in my heart.”

“Your heart deceives you.”

“Stop!” Urd said, his back to them. “Or I will order the gothi to sacrifice you all to the gods on this very day just so I can have some peace.”

Haakon clamped his lips shut. He had no intention of being sacrificed, no matter how much of an honor it was. He still had battles to win, a crown to claim, heirs to produce.

“Good,” Urd said, taking the silence as compliance with his command. “Now let us pay our respects.”

He stepped into the temple and the gothi quickly followed him, sweeping past Haakon, Ravn, Astrid, and Orm as though they were floating.

A chanter woman, her face streaked with red, began her soulful song, the dulcet tune winding around the bare branches of the forest like trickling honey.

Re-sheathing his sword, Ravn stepped close to Haakon and in a low voice said, “Make no mistake, brother, I will wear that crown and I am prepared to fight you to the death for it.”

“I do not doubt it, for I see the wolf-like hunger for power in your eyes,” Haakon said. “But remember, my blood is your blood, my bone is your bone. If ever there was a fair match, it is between you and I. You cannot predict the outcome when we have been raised as one.”

Astrid suddenly pushed between them. She spoke in a harsh whisper and wagged her finger. “When we return to Drangar, we will call an assembly. We will decide once and for all upon this matter.”

“An assembly,” Haakon said, not taking his attention from Ravn. “No, my brother has declared he will fight to the death for our father’s crown and that is what we will do. When we have completed our nine days of honoring the gods and feasting in Uppsala, we will fight it out…to the death. That, dear sister, is the only way we will solve the matter of who is to be the next king.”