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Varrik’s life had changed a lot recently. The man was approaching thirty. He had long blonde hair and a thick beard, encapsulating the epitome of the Viking look. But it was only recently that he felt as though he was becoming his own man. All his life, he had been looking to others for guidance. When he was younger, he had turned to his father until the man had died while hunting. Then Varrik had wandered until he had joined Rune Dolph’s clan. Rune Dolph was a harsh man, but he had a way of convincing everyone that what he was doing was in the best interests of the gods. It was only until that view was challenged that Varrik had seen through Rune Dolph’s lies and realized that he had done terrible things. When he thought back to his actions, he shuddered inside and almost wept, for it was horrible to think that he had been like a monster. He had taunted people, beat them, threatened them for no other reason than because Rune Dolph had told him to. Varrik had never questioned his authority because he trusted in the gods, but now he realized how wrong he had been.

It had been difficult for him to swallow his pride and ask Emmel for forgiveness and a second chance. In truth, he knew he wasn’t deserving of it because of what he had done to Emmel. The man had only been trying to rescue a kidnapped woman, and it brought Varrik great shame to think of how he had treated Emmel. But Emmel had granted Varrik a second chance, along with some of the other men who had survived the fight. Now they were living on an island, having to prove their good intentions every day. It was a hard life, and Varrik didn’t much like being eyed with suspicion wherever he went, but it seemed like fair penance considering his crimes. It was a miracle that he was free to walk the land and breathe the air. Emmel would have been well within his rights to send him to a dungeon and prevent him from ever seeing the sun again.

But now that Varrik was free, he had to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He had never been used to looking to himself for answers, and now he wondered if he should perhaps return to Norway and build a life for himself there, or even join another raiding party and sail the seas, living as Vikings had always lived.

For the time being, though, he wanted to prove that he was a good man. He might have done terrible things and acted shamefully, but he didn’t want his actions to define him. He wanted Emmel and everyone else on these small islands to know that he could be trusted. It might take a long time, but Varrik was a determined man.

When Varrik had first met Emmel Hoffstad, Emmel had been disguised as a beleaguered merchant. He had worn rags and walked with a limp. There had been nothing noble about him, but now Emmel was back in his home with his wife, happily married. He had everything a man could want, and Varrik knew that he was more like the beggar now. He had nothing to his name, not even a good reputation. But in some ways, this was good. It meant he had a blank slate to build a new life, and he just had to determine where it was going to lead.

On this occasion, he was walking along the perimeter of the island, taking his time to think. It was a calm day. The crystal water stretched out endlessly toward Norway, while on the other side of the island, he could see the rising mass of the Highlands, covered in a gentle mist. It was where he had made his home, yet he didn’t feel as though he truly belonged to the Highlands. He was more of a guest, an intruder, and he wondered if this feeling was ever going to change.

The trees around him were lush and green. The sun beat down its golden light, although it was soothing rather than scorching. He walked through the tall grass, swatting away some flies that buzzed around him, and made his way to the beach. There he stood on the shore, the sand soft under his feet. Water lapped against the shore and left a dark shadow as it receded back. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the lulling rhythm of the waves. A smile played on his lips, and peace came to his heart.

There were people taking fishing boats out into the water, but when Varrik went to help, they turned their backs on him, telling him that they didn’t need any aid. Varrik thought about insisting but then decided against it and slunk away. For all that he wanted to help, it seemed as though the people were reluctant to do so. He didn’t want to pester Emmel too much either, for there was still a lot of tension between the two men after what had happened between them. Varrik was simply waiting for something to happen, a chance to help others and prove to people that he was more than a Viking brute.

He ended up sitting on a grassy mound underneath a tree. The branches reached over him, and the leaves drooped down, offering shade from the sun. He leaned against the tree and placed his hands upon his chest, falling asleep in the hazy afternoon. He murmured in his sleep, his mouth twitched, and his brow furrowed.

Varrik was standing at the gates of Valhalla. The gleaming, huge doors loomed before him. Lightning crackled in the sky, and thunder rolled. Dark clouds gathered, and in the distance, the sounds of battle raged. Varrik turned toward this song and listened to the cries of those who fought during the day. They returned, beating a war drum in triumph and singing a song, celebrating their great deeds. Varrik looked at their faces, but there were none he recognized. He tried to speak with them, to get their attention, but it was as though he was no more than a phantom.

The warriors walked past him and through the gates of Valhalla into the chamber where the great feast was held. Varrik peered in and saw the wide tables filled with all kinds of meat. There were barrels of ale, and the weapons were discarded for the evening. The scent of the food greeted his nose and made his stomach rumble. The parade of warriors ended, and Varrik joined the end of the snaking line, eager to taste the glory of this feast. But when it came time for him to pass through the great doors, they slammed shut. He beat his fists upon them and tried to heave them open, but they were impenetrable.

He turned, anger making his blood burn. Through the doors, he could hear the sounds of the feast, and he didn’t understand why he wasn’t permitted to enter.

Stepping back, he heard a small chuckle. He turned and saw a crippled man sitting on a stone, forming shapes in the dirt with a gnarled cane. He was a withered old thing with a long wispy beard and cloudy eyes. Two ravens circled above, cawing loudly.

“What are you laughing at?” Varrik asked in a harsh tone.

“I’m laughing at a man who does not know himself,” the old man said.

“What do you mean? I know who I am. I have just as much right to be here as any of them,” Varrik said, gesturing to the doors with an idle sweep of his hand.

The old man tapped his cane on the ground and shook his head. “No, you do not. If you knew yourself, then you would know this too. It is not your time yet, but when it is your time, you must ensure that you deserve to walk through these gates. Otherwise, you will be nothing but a shadow. Valhalla is the destination of every warrior, every noble warrior.”

“I am noble! I am!” Varrik cried out loudly. “But how am I supposed to prove myself if I am never given the chance?”

The old man tapped his cane again. He clasped both hands around it and pulled himself up. His knees shook, as though they were going to give way at any moment. His thin lips parted, and he was about to speak again, but then Varrik heard a sharp cry, as though he was being summoned elsewhere.

Varrik awoke with a start, blinking and taking a moment to gather himself. He placed his hands upon the soft grass and drew himself up into a sitting position, sweeping errant strands of hair away from his face. It had all seemed so real. For a moment, he had really been there, in front of Valhalla, but he had been denied entry. To be refused entry to Valhalla was the most ignoble thing for a Viking. It was the place where they were to be reunited with their loved ones and the heroes of old, where they would battle during the day and feast during the night. He had always assumed that his destiny would lead him there, but perhaps he had been too arrogant to think that. If he should die before proving himself, then he would be lost to the shadows, never able to claim glory for himself. He curled his fists in anger and snarled, annoyed at himself for living an unworthy life.

But while he thought all this, there was someone crying out in pain in the distance. Varrik pushed himself to his feet to investigate. He walked a short way along the beach and came to a group of women accompanying a man. One of them had tripped, fallen, and gotten herself caught in some vines.

“What’s happened here? Do you need aid?” Varrik asked.

His sudden appearance took them by surprise. The women turned to face him, and they bared their teeth, hissing at him like serpents. They formed a guard, as though they had been trained to be warriors. Varrik had never heard of anything like this in the Highlands.

“Ye, Viking, we dinnae need yer help,” one of the women said. She was a striking woman, taller than most in the Highlands, with long brown hair that was woven into a ponytail. Her body was slender yet strong. Varrik could see the strength in her arms beneath the fabric of her clothes. She wore leather guards on her forearms and legs as well, and a sword hung from her hip. Her hand went directly to this, and Varrik was almost tempted to provoke her to test her prowess in battle.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said.

The man stepped forward, and Varrik recognized him immediately. His face paled.

“I know ye,” the man said. “Ye were Rune Dolph’s man… ”

It was Laird Callan.

Varrik’s throat grew tight, and he shifted his weight between his feet. He wanted to tell the laird that Emmel had shown pity on him and that he was trying to make amends for what had happened before. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he never got the chance. The woman drew her sword, the narrow blade gleaming as it caught the sun. She clasped the hilt with two hands and glared at him.

“I hae no patience for anyone who was associated with that villain. I dinnae know what ye are daeing here, but leave us be,” she said in a low tone that was more like a growl than anything else.

“I only want to help,” Varrik said.

“Fiona, we should let the man help. If he’s on this island, then Emmel must trust him. It’s nae like he’s Rune Dolph himself,” Laird Callan said.

“I dinnae care,” Fiona replied without lifting her gaze from Varrik, as though she expected him to strike at her. “Ye were with that man, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes ye as much a villain as he was. Gae back from where ye came and leave us be. We dinnae need help from the likes of ye.”

Hatred dripped from her voice. The women around her mirrored her stance, and it was clear that Varrik wasn’t going to be able to convince them of his good intentions. He tilted his head to the side and sighed before retreating, but before he left, he took a lingering glance at this woman who was so impressive and who had so captured his attention. He had heard stories that sometimes the gods descended from Asgard to live among the mortals, and he would not have been surprised had this woman turned out to be a goddess. Yet she was a Highlander…a Highlander who carried herself like a Viking, a warrior. It was a strange combination, and as Varrik walked away, he found himself wondering about her. It was just a shame she was so hostile toward him. He had to give up on any semblance of hope before it was allowed to blossom. He had to get used to Highlanders treating him like this. For all the good that Vikings had done, there had always been some animosity between the Highlanders and the Vikings. It was likely that this would always be the way, especially when there were people like Rune Dolph and himself.

He sulked back to a place that was quiet and lonely, thinking more seriously about returning to Norway. While he would have liked to repair his tattered reputation in the Highlands, he was beginning to think it was going to be too much of a challenge.

But then, wouldn’t that also be something that would gain him glory in the eyes of the gods? Performing the impossible would certainly allow him access to Valhalla, but he wasn’t sure if he could achieve the impossible by himself.