The Valhalla Prophecy (9 page)

Eddie leaned over to peer out of the porthole. A snowy, tree-covered landscape slid past below. “So, this is Sweden, eh? Never actually been here before.”

“I’m kind of surprised,” said Nina. “I thought you’d been everywhere.”

“Norway, Finland, and Denmark, yeah, but I somehow missed this one. Still, I think I know everything I need to about it. IKEA, Volvo, high-quality porn, ABBA, girls with dragon tattoos.” Another, more lecherous grin. “All I have to do is drink loads of coffee, eat lots of open-faced sandwiches, and be blandly heroic, and I’ll get to have no-strings-attached sex with every woman I meet.”

“You will
not
,” Nina told him firmly, then they both laughed. “I’m pretty sure there’s more to the country than that, though.”

“Well, obviously. There’s also meatballs, the Swedish Chef …”

“Okay,” she said with a smile as the pilot announced that the plane was making its final approach to Stockholm Arlanda Airport, “if any Swede asks what you think of their country, it’d probably be a good idea if you just said, ‘It’s very nice.’ Otherwise they might rethink their neutrality policy.”

Ninety minutes later, their United Nations diplomatic visas having whisked them through customs, Nina and Eddie arrived at the Swedish National Museum of Antiquities in Stockholm, after a brief detour to a hotel to drop off their luggage. Despite the snow blanketing the countryside, the capital’s streets were impressively clear, traffic moving at a brisk pace. “We should hire these guys to plow the streets of Manhattan,” said Nina.

“We should get ’em to do the whole of bloody England,” Eddie countered as he climbed out of the taxi. “One flake of snow and the entire country falls apart.”

Nina paid the driver and joined him. The museum was a large, pale beige block abutting a triangular plaza on a broad tree-lined boulevard, banners advertising its current exhibits adorning its façade. Vikings featured prominently upon them. She regarded the bearded warriors. “I guess they know what sells …”

They trotted across the chilly plaza to the main entrance, finding a member of the staff and asking for Dr. Skilfinger. They were expected; the rapid clacking of high heels barely a minute later heralded the arrival of their hostess. “Dr. Wilde, hello!” said the tall, slender blonde, her flustered air suggesting that she had hurried from the far side of the museum to meet them. “I’m Tova, Tova Skilfinger. It’s a great honor and pleasure to meet you.” Though she had a strong accent, her English was perfect.

“It’s good to meet you too, Dr. Skilfinger,” Nina replied as they shook hands.

“Please, Dr. Wilde, call me Tova.”

“Then call me Nina.”

“Agreed.” Tova beamed at her. Nina guessed she was in her late forties or early fifties, but age had not diminished the Swedish historian’s striking looks. Her hair was held up in a loose bun, all her snugly fitting clothing black. “I have been following your work for several years—you could say I am something of a fan.” She blushed faintly.

Nina did the same. “Thank you. This is my husband, Eddie Chase.”

“Good to meet you,” said Eddie.

Tova shook his hand. “And you. Have you come straight from the airport?”

“More or less,” Nina told her. “I wanted to talk to you about the runestone as soon as we arrived.”

“We can do that in my office—I have all my notes ready for you. Please, this way.” They started down the hall. “The reason I said I am a fan of yours is that your work allowed me to rethink my own, and look at it from a new perspective.”

“How so?” asked Nina.

“Well, although I am primarily a historian, I also have a great interest in Old Norse mythology—though there are few people in Sweden who have not!” She smiled. “Your discovery of Atlantis in particular, but also other finds such as King Arthur’s tomb and El Dorado, caused a resurgence of euhemeristic theory.”

“Yoo-hoo who?” said Eddie.

“Euhemerus was an ancient Greek scholar,” Nina told him. “He had the idea that myths and legends were derived from actual historical events, which were exaggerated and distorted over time. Early Christians used it as a way to explain away and discredit what they saw as pagan gods.”

“It is an important part of the
Prose Edda
,” added Tova. Seeing the Englishman’s questioning look, she continued: “One of the most important texts about Norse mythology. It was written in the thirteenth century by an Icelandic poet and historian called Snorri Sturluson. He was a Christian, so he used the
Edda
to promote his belief that the ancient Norse deities—like Odin and Thor—were once kings, who aroused such devotion in life that cults formed to honor them after death. Over time, their stories turned them into gods.”

“Clever,” said Nina. “It meant that he got to preserve the pre-Christian mythology of his people, while debunking it at the same time.”

“But people like that were actually right, weren’t they?” Eddie said. “After all, we discovered Atlantis, and a lot of what the myths said turned out to be true. And we know Hercules was a real bloke and not a god, ’cause we found his tomb.”

“Which led me to change my approach to my work,” said Tova as they entered a new section of the museum: the Viking exhibition. Cabinets of Norse artifacts and re-creations of scenes of Viking life lined the long, softly lit hall. “By applying euhemeristic principles to my earlier research, on the theory that they might contain some amount of truth rather than being purely myth, I was able to work out the location of the Valhalla Runestone.” She paused by one of the exhibits. “It was a runestone much like this that gave me the clues, actually.”

Nina examined the display. This stone was considerably smaller than the one she had seen in the photograph, only about two feet tall. An elaborate carving of what appeared to be a snake encircled the outer edge of the roughly triangular stone, runes etched along its length like patterns of scales. The serpent’s elongated
head snapped at an ax-wielding man at the center of the image. “That’s a representation of Thor at Ragnarök, I’m guessing.”

Tova nodded, then set off again. “The stone I was working from described a location where the Norse gods met to settle conflicts between tribes. It had of course long been considered a myth, but I thought: What if it was true? The runes named people and places, some of which were historical rather than mythological, so I researched all of them too. When I put everything together, they pointed to a place near Gamla Uppsala, called Iarlsta—a site that had been excavated in the past, but was not considered very important. I was able to arrange a new dig, and deeper down we found the remains of a much more ancient settlement. And in
that
 … we discovered the Valhalla Runestone.”

“A big find,” said Nina.

Tova nodded appreciatively. “Thank you—though not as big as Atlantis! But it did prove that applying euhemeristic principles to Old Norse finds had the potential for even greater discoveries. And when I translated the runes on the stone, I realized where this could lead.”

“From the name of the runestone, I’m guessing Valhalla?” suggested Eddie.

“Yes,” Tova replied. “The great hall where the warriors chosen by Odin awaited the call to the final battle.”

She led them through a side exit and down a corridor, unlocking a door at its end. Her expression became more solemn. “This is the lab from where the runestone was stolen,” she said. “The security guard, Arvid … he was shot in there.” She pointed out a doorway marked with yellow-and-black police tape.

A much larger set of double doors occupied the rear wall, daylight visible through small windows set into them. “That’s where they took the stone out of the building?” said Eddie.

“Yes. The runestone was so large and heavy, it could only come in through a service entrance.”

Nina surveyed the scene. The bench on which the
stone had been laid was at the room’s center, the white cloth crumpled on the floor beside it. “The police have examined everything?”

“Yes, but they did not find anything useful.” Tova’s face fell further. “There were no fingerprints or DNA evidence. The robbers were very professional.”

“We might have a lead, though,” Nina told her. The Swede was surprised; clearly she had not been told about Berkeley’s appearance on camera. “But we still don’t know
why
they wanted to steal the runestone, so hopefully you can tell us something that’ll explain it.”

“I will help however I can, of course. My office is over here.” She gestured toward a cubicle in one corner.

The space was cramped, but also oddly barren. It took Nina a moment to realize what was missing: Tova’s work. The desk was devoid of papers, and there was a faint discoloration on its surface that suggested a laptop had been in long-term residence. “Did they take your research as well?”

The older woman nodded miserably. “I had backups of everything at home, fortunately, but yes—it was a horrible shock. First the runestone and Arvid’s murder, and then I found all my work had gone … I thought I had lost everything.”

“That means they don’t know exactly what they’re looking for, though,” Eddie said thoughtfully. “If they need your work as well, then whatever they’re after, they’re not as close to it as they’d like.”

“But what
could
they be after?” Nina wondered. “What’s so special about this runestone?”

Tova opened a large satchel, taking a thick folder from it. “I printed out my research from the backups. I have photographs, translations of all the runes, any connections I found to mythology or historical fact, everything I could think of. Hopefully the answer is in here.” She gestured for her guests to sit.

Nina did so, Eddie pulling up a second chair beside her. “I suppose the best starting point would be the runes themselves. What do they say?”

Tova opened the folder and leafed through the pages
within, handing several to Nina. “I have an English translation here. It may not be as accurate as the Swedish, but it will give you a good idea.”

The American quickly scanned through the text. “An account of the preparations for Ragnarök?” she said before long, looking up at Tova.

“That is why it would be better if you could read the Swedish version,” Tova replied. “There is more nuance. It is not exactly an account, more …” She frowned; despite her excellent command of English, the correct words eluded her. “It is not the right tense, you could say. Calling it an account implies that it is in the past tense, a description of something that has already happened. The text on the Valhalla stone is more like …” Another frown, before it came to her. “Like a
prophecy
.”

“A prophecy?” said Eddie. “About what?”

“Ragnarök,” Nina told him. “The end of the world.”

He moaned. “Not again!”

Tova gave him a confused look, then turned back to Nina. “That is right. In my belief, it tells the warriors what to do at Ragnarök.”

Nina was still reading, but wanted to hear Tova’s own interpretation. “Which is what?”

“To travel to Valhalla and gather the weapons they will need to kill Jörmungandr and Fenrir—the serpent and the wolf,” she elaborated. “Jörmungandr is the Midgard Serpent, a giant snake that encircles the earth beneath its surface, and Fenrir is a huge and monstrous wolf. When they return, it heralds Ragnarök. Although it is not quite right to say it is the end of the world,” she corrected Nina. “The translation is closer to ‘the twilight of the gods.’ It is more like the end of a cycle, as the world will renew in time, but there will be much destruction and death before that happens.”

Nina nodded and kept reading. The large runestone had been crammed with text; the translation took up several pages. Eddie, meanwhile, had questions of his own. “So the stone actually tells you how to find Valhalla? I guess that’s another place we can add to the thought-they-were-legends, turns-out-they’re-real list.”

“It’s not quite like getting directions from Google Maps,” said Nina, still perusing the text. “It seems more like riddles.”

“In a way,” Tova replied. “This runestone tells you to reach Valhalla by traveling up a river until you reach Bifröst—the rainbow bridge that in myth joined the earth with Asgard, the realm of the gods. Once you cross it, you are not far from Valhalla. The runes tell you the path to take. But they do not say which river to follow.”

By now, Nina had reached a relevant part of the translation. “There’s a second runestone?”

“Yes. The first gives a clue on how to find it, saying that a true warrior will understand it.” She leaned across the desk, pointing out a particular passage. “ ‘At the fellowship hall, the other part waits.’ I believe it refers to a site in Norway. I would imagine that the other runestone is much like the first, but tells you which river to follow—without telling you how to reach Valhalla.”

“It’s a security code,” Eddie realized. “You need both runestones to find the place—but even if you have one stone, unless you’re a proper Viking warrior you won’t know where the other one is.”

“So what happens once you get there?” Nina asked. “The text mentions a guide-stone …”

“A sun compass,” Tova told her. She took a photograph from the folder; it was a close-up of the circle of black stone set into the face of the granite monolith.