Chapter 9

The Thursday afternoon light on the coast was soft and white, a relief after the unfiltered brilliance of the red sun that hovered over the wine country and tortured unaccustomed eyes that foolishly ventured under its seductive rays into premature crow's feet. Linden also noticed that there was a freshening breeze fluttering in from the west that would tease the heat-prostrated inlanders; It was the first harbinger of the evening fog that would roll over the shore, smooth and thick as cream after darkness fell. She welcomed it whole-heartily.

The tan and conifer green coastal mountains they were riding through were pretty and undramatic by western standards, achieving only a fraction of the elevation of the Sierra Nevadas or the Rockies, but they offered a nice change from the heat and flatness of the valley floor, and the rolling roads that passed through the scattered patches of light and shade had a soporific effect on both driver and passenger as they rocked along the mountain route at a slow forty miles per hour.

Tranum inhaled deeply. From the corner of her eye Linden could see his chest expand, stretching the letters on his Club Valhalla T-shirt. Her Viking preferred the open windows to the van's air conditioning, even in the heat of the central valley which consistently reached low hundreds by afternoon. Since he seemed inclined to tour the world with his nose as much any other sense, Linden had another reason to be grateful for a return to a bearable climate where they could breathe something other than the invisible fire that passed for air in the gold country. One more day in central California and she would have needed a new set of sinuses.

They had followed the first part of Tranum's plan and gone to see the gold mines as soon as they made their early morning escape from Trina and Patrick's. In honor of their coming, Wednesday's forecast predicted new heat records for that date, and Nature obligingly co-operated with the statisticians. The arid gold country was a red as hell and every bit as hot as Linden expected it to be.

And every bit as dusty. The iron rich soil, dried to powder by the end of summer, left permanent markings on their white shoes and socks; the preferred footwear of sandals being rejected by Linden as inappropriate in an area with high tick, thistle, and rattle snake danger.

Hot and dusty... Naturally, Tranum adored it.

He behaved, Linden thought, as they strolled hand in hand through the manzanita, like he had never seen the sun before and counted the sear, dry lands as the world's greatest miracle.

Which was reasonable, she had assured herself as she purchased some cheap but UV safe sun-glasses for him along with another map and an ice tea for herself. Summer's were a lot cooler in Denmark and the time of the heaviest rain. Lots and lots of tourists came to California and ended up as immigrant sun-worshippers.

She repeated the assurance several more times before the day was through because logical words were soothing, and she was suffering from a strange feeling of anxiety unconnected to Rolf's potential reaction to her disappearance on a spontaneous vacation, or consequences of indulging in a torrid love affair with a near stranger. There was no obvious emotional goad, but the feeling of being watched persisted the entire day and had her looking over her shoulder at odd moments. Of course, there was no one following them, except a pair of large ravens that were probably hoping for a handout for lunch.

But by the next morning, she actually believed the self- assurances enough to relax and enjoy the day. Everything was perfectly normal in her world for the first time in two years. Her inner voices had ceased their carping about needing a love life; her troubling dreams were held at bay by Tranum's sturdy presence.

Linden went down to breakfast feeling remarkably cheerful and alert after her long slumber, unlike the day before when she had found herself fighting off sleepy fatigue while they trudged through the familiar tourist attractions, dutifully reading and then translating the signs that explained-- in highly simplified terms-- about life in the mining camps of the eighteen hundreds.

Tranum had loved that, too, and paused eagerly at each marker asking questions about the letters and words, and demonstrating an excellent memory for pattern recognition. Sight reading would probably be the best method for teaching him, she decided.

His verbal skills were certainly coming along well. He could yes-no-okay-hello-frenchfry-milkshake-pizza-motherlode- gold-maps with the best of them. Especially maps. They had a sack full of them now and he studied them every night.

He also seemed to have an unquenchable hunger for the history of the region. It struck her as interesting that he was not the least bit disturbed by the living conditions faced by the pioneer families and determined prospectors. Personally, she thought their lives sounded only slightly better than ones spent in indentured servitude, but Tranum merely shrugged at their hardship and asked more questions.

Linden was happy to oblige his appetite, but she couldn't entirely shake the feeling that Tranum wasn't gleaning the historical facts quite the way he should, that he was synthesizing information into some slightly off-kilter arrangements of truths. He certainly made some unusual queries about modern mining technics. And dates. Always he asked about the dates when things happened. When did they find gold? When did they stop mining? When did the town die? Was there silver? When did they find it?

Maybe it was a genetic fascination with precious metals that so many of his ancestors had possessed, that prompted a sudden need to go hunting for treasure by land instead of by sea. Gold fever. It happened and that would explain about half of his queries.

The other half? Well, lots of men were interested in weapons. Naturally, he'd be curious about how they were made and what they could do.

And perhaps yesterday she had just been tired and nerve- wracked, and had made too much of a few questions about when the miner's had started smelting metals. Heaven knew that she hadn't been making the most rational of decisions in recent days-- hadn't been sticking strictly to the plan. Her judgement was most likely impaired. Besides, today she felt fine. A guardian angel was on her shoulder.

Linden slowed the van still more as they swept around a blind turning in the road and then pulled over on a wide shoulder to let an impatient motorist pass. They were heading for home and her responsibilities, but at no great pace. There were still a few things that Linden wanted resolved before they arrived back at Club Valhalla and the doubtless fascinated audience waiting there.

Unfortunately, their discussion about babies and condoms had not been as conclusive as their agreement about travel arrangements. That was one of their problems that hadn't found resolution yet. In fact, they hadn't yet reached anything approaching a conclusion to this dilemma and she was not enjoying the Mexican stand-off they had had over bed the last two nights.

It was such a waste of her rare vacation! And of their time and affection and...

Linden looked over at her companion and allowed herself a grim smile at the twin reflections that stared back from his aviator shades. He was proving to be quite stubborn-- in an unflappable, frustrating way-- about his ridiculous demands.

Of course, she had to admit that the royal blue condom had been a bit much for a first timer.

Tranum's position as outlined on that first night after their frigid shower seemed to be: Condoms are un-natural. Let's have a child if it is Fate's will. If he decided to leave California, Linden and the baby would go with him. No problem.

Linden's response had been: I'll decline the honor of camp-follower, thank-you. Children are for after two people have decided that they will spend their life together-- in California. Until then, she would continue to defend against marauding semen.

Tranum had frowned, either about the condom, her lapse into English, or her refusal to consider leaving the U.S.. But Linden had had enough of that particular discussion. She had risen quickly and headed for another shower in the sage colored bathroom before he could complain on any subject. Then, equanimity partially restored, she returned to her still inhabited bed, curled up beside her Viking on their double mattress and pretended to sleep until dawn.

Tranum had held her close that night and she had been aware of his continued arousal. Oddly, he didn't argue with her, but he did not give in to her suggestive snuggling and they did not make love again.

He probably thought that he could wait her out, she had thought grumpily, as the morning sun penciled in the first lines of pale light beneath the drawn shades of Chancery House's third story window. But Linden was an expert as being patient and she had other things, like avoiding Rolf, on her mind.

By eight the following morning, fortified with a solid jolt of hot caffeine, Linden had decided that though she was patient, she had had enough of the battle of the condom. It was a stupid thing to be fighting about anyway. There was, as Grandma Kirstensen used to say, more than one way to skin that particular cat. He didn't like condoms-- Fine! She would go on the pill just as soon as she could see her gynecologist ... And she probably not mention the fact to Tranum, just in case he thought up any more preposterous arguments about why the pill was unnatural and that they should still have a love child.

That decision made, Linden didn't allow herself to think to deeply about what would happen if-- when-- Tranum left. Or about what would happen if he stayed. Or about a child, which was her heart's deepest desire in the years since her parents had died. She really had not been in any mood to do any thinking at all... She still wasn't; and for once in her life, Linden was pulling a Rolf and just not worry about every little detail before it came along. Her guardian angel would look after her.

It was a relief to break their long ride at Moaning Cavern. They reached the outskirts of Murphys by early afternoon on Wednesday, and the coolness of the underground caverns of Valencito, first mapped by the brave-- and admittedly greedy-- miners in 1851 was welcome.

Linden had wondered if she would feel the usual mild but unpleasant claustrophobia that crowded in on her in airplanes or down in the hold of a ship, but nothing of the sort happened as she descended the long spiral stair-- favored by her over the one hundred and eighty foot rappel by rope that Tranum was eyeing thoughtfully-- that plunged straight down one hundred feet into the mountain's three hundred million year old stony heart.

She had one bad moment when they turned off all the lights to demonstrate the total darkness of the deep caves explored by the native peoples some thirteen thousand years ago. Words like earthquake and cave-in had fluttered briefly at the edge of the consciousness, but mercifully the lights came on before she disgraced herself by pleading to be let out.

Tranum was fascinated by the problem of trying to judge distances in the cave. The guide made a game of it, asking every one to guess at the height of the stalagmite or the width of a hole in the ceiling. It seemed that no matter how grossly the exaggerated, they always fell short of the actual distance between objects in the cavern, though Tranum came closer than most with his estimates like two ship lengths or as wide as the longhouse.

It was a baffling illusion for both senses of sight and hearing. Linden didn't especially care for it, but she didn't complain. It was cool and it was quiet, and she was tired enough to appreciate these things.

They left Valencito and spent that night in the near-by town of Murphys. After a lengthy discussion over a light meal of deli sandwiches-- turkey on sourdough for her, pastrami on rye for Tranum-- Linden convinced her sun-loving Dane to return home by way of the Santa Cruz mountains and save the mobbed aquarium for another day.

Her Viking had studied her slightly drawn face and shadowed eyes, and then agreed easily to her request. He was learning to choose his fights, and making love to her-- on his terms, of course-- was priority one just now. Linden supposed she should be flattered, but his obstinance about wearing a condom belied the idea that he was complete enamoured of her. If he had been totally devoted to her, he would have worn the stupid thing without complaining. But Tranum had actually had the nerve to ask her on the evening before, as he stripped back the covers and climbed into bed-- minus Rolf's pajama bottoms and lolling like a pasha-- if she wished to be reasonable yet and return to her lover.

Incensed by his tone and weary, she had reached for her purse and pulled out one of Trina's foil keepsakes, this one green, and then waving it under his nose, she asked if he wished to be reasonable yet.

"If evil thou knowest," he quoted, stretching comfortably, "then proclaim it as evil, and make no friendship with foes."

"Odin?" she asked politely, dropping the packet back in her purse and turning her eyes away from the tempting display of tanned flesh. He was easier to resist from the neck up. Though not by much when his eyes were shining like broken glass and his silvery hair looked so soft to the touch.

"Havamal." The mustache didn't move, but she saw the crinkling at the corners of his eyes. So, it was determination, not anger, that answered her.

She had to give him credit; he was stubborn but not temperamental. Many men she knew, maybe all of them, would be thoroughly ticked at her refusal to continue an affair on their terms. But not Tranum. He just settled those cat eyes on her and prepared to wait until she tired of her rigid stance. Run, little mouse, run.

But she was stubborn, too, and she was in the right. The strength of righteousness helped her remain firm. A little.

They did not made love that night in Murphys either, but it was a near thing. Linden slept deeply wrapped in her Viking's arms, in spite of the record heat that joined them in their small, un-air-conditioned hotel room and the unfamiliar press of a man's body at her back. For some reason, perhaps the continuing evidence of his self-control, she had grown quite trusting and comfortable about sharing a bed with her obdurate Viking. And once in that bed, sharing other things seemed natural as well, especially when she was half asleep and operating on physical rather than mental impulses.

Thursday morning they had broken their fast with pancakes and then headed west and home by route of the 580. The late summer hills were dried a caramel brown that rolled on endlessly under an iridescent blue sky-- Or at least it was blue until they reached the Bay area. After that, the heavens were more or less the same color as the dried hills and had Tranum wrinkling his nose in distaste.

There was nothing to suggest human habitation along the golden highway, but Linden thought that one could be forgiven for thinking that aliens of a non-human variety had landed there. In every shape and configuration that engineers could invent were windmills. There were gyro-blades, pinwheels and things that defied description. The shiny white invaders were all there as part of California's quest for alternative energy sources. They stood in the sun, lazily turning away.

Don Quixote would never have recognized them, but Tranum did, and asked any number of questions that she didn't have answers to. It was yet another thing that had to be referred to Rolf-- and she really preferred to not think about her brother just yet.

Of course, she would have to-- and soon. They were back on the coastal highway now and the inn was only another half of an hour away. Linden just wished that she knew what in the world she wanted to do about Tranum.

The welcoming committee was waiting as they pulled into the drive at the front of the house. That or they were waiting for the firing squad. Linden hid a sudden smile. Tabby and Petr were standing close together and were clearly nervous about what might happen now that the prodigal had returned.

Rolf was there, too, and Rolf-- Well, Linden wasn't certain what her brother was thinking. He was wearing his rarely seen poker face.

Climbing from the van, she took the offensive and looked over her irritating sibling with the eyes of a dog show judge who was grading an obedience event. The appraising look was returned very briefly. They had done this kind of showdown before-- though only rarely, because they were evenly matched and neither cared to jockey for power-- and neither gave an inch.

Linden stifled a sigh. Rolf seemed to have assumed that she and Tranum were having an affair-- though she could not guess why. She had never, never, done anything like this before, and it seemed rather presumptuous of him to jump to a conclusion of guilt, she thought indignantly as Rolf turned to Tranum, especially when he knew about her aversion to casual entanglement with the inn's briefly housed visitors.

Her brother got points for his rigid nose point and complete attention, but Linden would have preferred that he continue to look her way instead of at Tranum. She was in no mood for male histrionics. They were running an inn here-- a longhouse. If anything, they were suppose to be Vikings, not some wolf pack or modern day gunslingers looking for a showdown at high noon.

Not that her Viking minded the intense scrutiny. His stance was ready but relaxed. His gaze curious and willing to be friendly-- or not, as Rolf chose. Leg-Biter stayed in the van. Linden tried to look on the bright side. There would de no vivisection; her Viking would probably stop at pounding Rolf into a bloody pulp. Which he deserved.

"Hello," she offered into the conspicuous silence, trying to decide if she should open hostilities by lambasting Rolf for being gone an extra week.

"Hi," Rolf answered, flicking another glance her way. "Glad you made it back. So, this is Tranum Svensen... my new boat builder. I wasn't expecting anyone for a few weeks yet. And how was the wine country?"

Linden frowned at her brother's neutral words as Rolf turned back to Tranum and greeted him in Danish. It relieved Linden of the need, or chance, for getting explanations from her sibling.

Or making any explanations, she realized with a sense of relief. She would have a little longer before she had to begin articulating to anyone about her relationship with Tranum. She would never have guessed that Rolf could be so tactful. Now, if the tension would just drop a notch or two...

There was no overt hostility as the two men set up territorial boundaries, but neither of them made any effort to step closer and shake hands while they talked. They simply looked her way from time to time with equally possessive glances until she began to feel like a bone placed between to hungry dogs.

Linden hoped that Rolf wouldn't do anything dumb. Her brother was fit and had a boulder where his head should be, but he lacked Tranum's rock hard fists and natural inclination to attack anything that looked hostile.

"So, I hear you're going to help me build a ship," Rolf said, changing the subject abruptly.

"This is so." The tone was completely neutral and had Linden sighing. Tranum wasn't wasting any of his charm on her brother-- Not that Rolf deserved any after luring Tranum there under the falsest of pretenses. Still, it would be nice in they could behave with moderate civility.

"Then I'm glad to have your company." Rolf answered unexpectedly, and smiled with sudden and sincere warmth that stunned Linden. "This is going to be a great project! And I found the oak for the keel."

"This is good," Tranum answered, also smiling. It was like the sun coming up on Jutland's ragged coast, beautiful in a fierce and potentially dangerous sort of way. "I have no faith in this red wood that Linden spoke of."

Linden listened for a moment with a fascination, that stopped a long way short of rapture, as the two men in her life began to talk with great animation about oak strakes and beech ribs, just like she wasn't even there any more.

Seeing that they weren't going to come to blows over her, and knowing that once Rolf started talking ships, he would never notice that she was gone, Linden reached into the van and retrieved the two duffles, the map sack and Leg-Biter, and headed for the inn where Petr and Tabby had discreetly disappeared after a quick wave in Tranum's direction.

They probably assumed that they were still in the doghouse with her. And rightly so. Sending her off had been a dirty trick. The fact that she had enjoyed herself in no way mitigated the fact that they had used blackmail to get their way. And they had blabbed about that idiot Gordon. She'd let them sweat a while longer before ending their torment. She figured that they deserved it for gossiping about her to Tranum.

Leaving them to stew also relieved her of making explanations in that quarter, though she knew she'd have to make them eventually. Tabby, the weasel, was skilled at worming confidences from her and everyone would know if she and Tranum shared a bedroom.

With that thought in mind, Linden marched down the hall and tossed Leg-Biter, the maps and a duffle onto Tranum's bed, and then went on to her own room to take a quick shower and wash off the afternoon's smog and sweat.

She figured that the two men would come to some sort of an agreement about Tranum's place in their home. They could wander around and mark some boundaries while she cleaned up and started on dinner... and washed a load of linens, and saw to the other numerous tasks that had to be done in preparation for the last Mead Feed of the year.

Tranum was fully prepared to like Rolf, she repeated to herself, and Rolf wouldn't do anything stupid or rude that would antagonize Tranum. Her brother had a considerable intellect and charm-- when he chose to use it, which was about twice a year and always on some grandiose project that needed a high level of voluntary sacrifice on the part of his victims-- Rolf would be happy to make good use of Tranum, since he had gone to all the trouble to get him there, and it was obvious that she had survived the mini-vacation without being murdered or scarred for life.

And heaven knew that a knowlegdable ship-builder was needed urgently enough that good hands would win over brotherly morality and concern for his elder sister's sleeping habits. Especially since his sister hadn't quite finished stitching his sail together yet and wasn't above resorting to blackmail to get her way.

It would be completely off-putting to be so immediately dismissed from her brother's thoughts, Linden mused, hovering somewhere between love and exasperation for her talented sibling, had it not been for the fact that Linden knew that Rolf loved her in a sincere-- if usually somewhat distracted-- way and would do anything he had to keep her from emotional hurt or physical harm... Probably even if it meant giving up both his boat-builder and his sail, though that would be a hard blow.

And Tranum-- Linden stuffed an armful of towels into the washing machine with unnecessary vigor. It was probable that she had temporarily slipped his thoughts, too, but that was only because he thought of the issue of their relationship as being settled and he wouldn't be worrying himself into a fever about where he was spending the night.

Such a lack of confidence in her will-power to resist him was very nearly insulting. But just in case she did cave-in, Linden decided that she would call Dr. Byrd right away and see about getting in for a quick appointment.

The afternoon was peaceful for Linden. A sort of calm before the storm. Petr and Tabby piled onto Rolf's motorcycle and went to the show, and Rolf, in a previously unseen gesture of goodwill and acceptance of his fellow man, dragged Tranum off to his room to show him the plans for the longboat he had stored in the computer.

When six o'clock rolled around and Linden finally wandered down the long hall to fetch the two for dinner, the enticing smell of enchiladas having failed-- for once-- to have lured either of the men from Rolf's electronic toy. She found them with the door three-fourths closed against intruders, huddled over a wooden model of a Yankee clipper with Tranum reading measurements off a pair of 1/1000th tolerance modeling callipers and Rolf entering the co-ordinance into his graphics program as quickly as his nimble fingers and the light pen would allow.

Based on Tranum's enrapt expression. Linden gathered that the computer had just supplanted maps as the neatest thing in California-- with the exception of herself! Or so she hoped.

"Hail, O' great ones," she said cheerfully. "Is anyone interested in some enchiladas? This is a new food group for you, Tranum. Mexican. Very tasty"

"Hey, Linden," Rolf said easily, all previous worry forgotten. Then he switched back to fluent, colloquial Danish. "You won't believe this guy! He's a natural!"

Tranum accepted Rolf's praise and the friendly cuff on the arm, but his green gaze had turned to Linden's face, where it riveted with all the attention of a starving hound on a dish of dog chow. His nose was also twitching as he inhaled the scents that had followed her down the hall.

Linden suspected that there was probably a measurable increase in saliva production to go with his flaring nostrils and increased pulse. The man did love his meals. The only thing that aroused him more was--

"New food?" he asked hopefully, saving Linden from a guilty blush. "You have made dinner for me, Linden?"

"With my own little white hands. And anyone who doesn't come along now won't get any," she warned. "I'll eat like a pig and then give the rest to the dog."

Tranum frowned.

"We don't have a dog," Rolf assured him. "Linden's just teasing."

"Linden likes to play," Tranum agreed, rising to his feet, his goodwill restored by the assurance that he wouldn't lose out on dinner. A few days of rich eating had put some flesh back on his too lean frame, but there was no way of knowing when he might suffer from another deprivation. He ate every chance that offered.

"She does?" Rolf stared at his sister. "I hadn't noticed that. Usually she's real serious and responsible. And maybe a little sarcastic."

"What Linden likes," Linden said with a sigh before Tranum could answer, "is to eat dinner at a reasonable hour. Also, Linden would feel a lot better if she felt that everything was in order for our distinguished guests arriving tomorrow. Linden has taken care of the guest rooms for the profs and Edred, and made a quantity of salsa with tomatos and peppers from the garden. But there is only so much that Linden can do alone... So is everything else in order?"

"It's all under control," Rolf answered blithely, ignoring her sarcasm as he followed her from the room. "Tranum's going to do a wanderer's saga on Friday and something simple on Saturday. I'll handle translations after the fact for the locals-- if they care. Petr'll play his bone whistle and we'll fill them up with mead and roast meat."

"Hm!"

Rolf grinned slyly. "Tranum's offered to catch a seal if we want to have an authentic offering of--"

"I hope that you explained that that was a really bad-- and illegal-- idea." Linden looked up at Tranum who had fallen into step beside her. She warned the looming presence: "No seal hunting. No otters. No whales. No dolphins."

"What about beaver?" Rolf asked, his face straight.

"There aren't any beavers--" she began in exasperation.

"This is like foot-ball, Linden?" Tranum asked with a grin that suggested to Linden that he wasn't taking her warning nearly seriously enough.

Linden looked over her shoulder at her brother and affixed the blame for Tranum's misplaced humor squarely on the one that experience said it belonged to.

"Rolf, you've escaped strangling. Don't press your luck. This could cause a lot of trouble. I expect you to look after Tranum. Explain that these animals are sacred. Rolf, are you listening? He doesn't have a passport and if he gets in trouble with," Linden paused in her lecture as Tranum looked back over his shoulder and exchanged a significant look with her brother. That stopped her sermon cold.

"Okay, guys, what gives?"

"Danish, Linden."

"Don't worry, sis. It's all taken care of. Tranum'll get his passport." Rolf hurried past them into the kitchen.

"Don't worry. It's all taken care of," she repeated. Then she groaned. "Okay. Let's hear it. Get his passport how? What have you done? What can you have done in a single afternoon?"

"Well, nothing really," Rolf answered as he pulled out a stool at the kitchen counter and reached for a ceramic plate. He pulled a quick conversational switch. "Do you remember Cousin Leif? Grandpa's brother's youngest son?"

"Vaguely." Linden watched Tranum also take a seat and reach enthusiastically for the pan of enchiladas. He pulled back quickly when he felt the heat radiating from the dish and wisely reached for the serving tongs. He had mastered the rudiments of kitchen utensils while at Trina and Patrick's. "He was a heathen fly-by-night."

"Well, remember when he disappeared a few years back down in Colombia? When everyone assumed he was dead."

"Yes. He was dead... wasn't he?"

"Lord yes! As a door nail. The cartel finally got him or something." Linden noticed that Tranum didn't scold Rolf about using Danish. "But no one reported it officially. There was just Grandma and Grandpa, and they were real sick with flu that winter. Remember? It was your sophomore year in college... Well, there wasn't any insurance or anything. No reason to raise a lot of fuss. I mean, no one wanted to know much about what Leif had been doing down there any way."

Linden pulled out a third stool, the one next to Tranum. Rolf was either being very considerate by taking the stool on the end, or else he wanted to stay out of striking distance while he told his tale, and he was cowardly enough to hide behind Tranum while he did it.

"Yeah? Go on."

Tranum took his first bite of enchilada, maneuvering the fork under his mustache with great care. He winced from the heat of the molten cheese, which was hot enough to qualify as napalm, and then smiled ecstatically.

"This is good, Linden. The spice is strong," he praised between quickly exhaled breaths that expelled some of the heat and steam from his open mouth. The mustache made a convenient screen against the contents therein.

"Thanks," she answered, reaching for the tongs and serving herself a single enchilada. She decided to leave it cooling on the plate for a while. Ceramic was an efficient heat sucker; two minutes and it would be safe to eat. "Keep going, Rolf. You haven't gotten to the good part."

"Well, you remember that I had just bought my first computer? The old 286?" Rolf took a large bite from his plate and began a quick whistle and pant as he also scorched his mouth. Linden doubted that enchilada alone would be enough to slow his glib tongue. "Well, I found this modem and just for fun, I decided to um... co-opt Leif's identity. His passport was gone, of course, but I had his ID card. No credit cards." Rolf hissed regretfully as he forked another molten forkful of enchilada into his mouth and did some more heavy breathing.

"Just for fun-- You mean just for his ID! So you could buy liquor," Linden accused. She didn't touch on the subject of the modem he had found. Rolf found lots of things, especially after he had done something unscrupulous for a friend who was short on cash. "Rolf, that was... At the very least it was illegal. You were still a minor-- But what's the point in lecturing? You never listen! So what happened when they found out he was dead and you had been using his ID? Did grandma have a fit? She never said a word to me."

"They never did find out." Rolf was smug. "Any way, Leif moved west when we did and I got him a California driver's licence a few years back and another passport."

"What?" Linden knew that her jaw was hanging open. Both Tranum and Rolf were staring at her with amused eyes. "You what? How?-- No! Don't tell me! I don't want to know."

"Well, Linden," Rolf complained. He still managed to both eat and complain in fluent Danish, a dangerous feat with hot cheese and gutturals.

Of course, it went without saying that he didn't think that there was anything was wrong with what he had done, and therefore had no reason to be disturbed. Linden threw up her hands and let him finish his story without interruption. There would be no mea culpas from Rolf but his explanations were always fascinating, in a horrible sort of way.

"I needed something else as an income tax shelter. We didn't have any good write-offs, no kids, no mortgage, and as long as I kept his income below the poverty line--"

"Oh Rolf! Income tax evasion! The IRS!" she cried, all intention of remaining silent forgotten. "Why don't you just take up bank robbery or sending letter bombs to the FBI?"

"Now, Linden! Leif wasn't evading taxes! He's filed a fair declaration of income every year since he died in Colombia-- which is more than he did while he was alive, let me tell you!"

"Oh, Rolf!" The lament wasn't original but it was all that came to mind. She had used up all the good ones years ago.

"Well, it's coming in handy now," her brother defended. "Linden, meet your new second cousin, Leif Kirstensen. He's already on the payroll. He even has his own bank account. And there won't be all those problems about entry visas and stuff because he's an American."

"Rolf, we can't," she moaned, looking between the two blond behemoths who were still sucking down their dinners like nothing was wrong. The looked like matching book ends, one done in polished silver, the other in fool's gold.

Tranum swallowed his mouthful hastily and reached for his tumbler of orange juice.

"Danish, Linden," he said for-- what seemed to Linden to be-- the hundredth time. "And you are not to speak of strangling your brother. This seems a sensible plan since Rolf says that I must have ID to stay with you."

"No, indeed," she answered in Danish. "Why strangle Rolf? I think I would rather strangle you. Are you really going to do this? You understand that it is illegal?"

Tranum grinned.

"Linden likes to play," he repeated to Rolf. Her idiot brother started to grin, too.

Linden glared at both of them, but it did no good.

Tranum was tired but he was reluctant to leave Rolf's magic drawing machine. Of all the marvelous things in this new and marvelous world, four-eighty-six with a math co- processor was the best.

Also, many of the questions he had were being answered by Linden's brother. Rolf was in no way disturbed by inquiries the way Linden was. In fact, very little seemed to disturb Rolf, not even the idea that Tranum had died so very many years ago and it had taken him six hundred and seventy nine of them to reach Club Valhalla. It was only this very day that he had discovered the actual date in Club Valhalla, and he was disturbed enough to introduce the subject to his host.

Rolf had just blinked at Tranum's cautious mention of this discrepancy in time and then explained two concepts that some people believed in, reincarnation and time-travel. Rolf mentioned each briefly, looked at Tranum's incredulous face, and then said no more on the subject until Tranum was ready to ask about it.

These ideas seemed very strange to Tranum. Almost insane. He would not believe such stories from a stranger, but Rolf wasn't disturbed or disbelieving at all. Perhaps things were truly different here. Had he not seen San Francisco, a giant city of crazy people? The thought of California's acceptance of these insane ones made him feel brave enough to explain his own belief about getting waylaid on the way to Valhalla.

Rolf said that he could go along with that idea if Tranum was comfortable with it, which was something of a relief to Tranum even if it did not provide him with any useful answers.

But that still left Linden to be convince. He knew that it would alarm his Valkyrie if he told her that he was re- incarnated or lost on the way to Odin's hall. Besides, he did not feel or look re-incarnated. He still had his same body, and it seemed that when you incarnated into a new life you were suppose to get a new form to go with it.

The whole problem required a great deal of thought.

Rolf, when questioned again over a light meal of cookies, said that he was of the opinion that Tranum had not gone on to Valhalla because the time was wrong for his passage. That Tranum had some task he needed to perform in this place and this time-- a karma debt, Rolf called it, or a do over-- and that when this life's lessons were through, then Tranum would journey on to the next life. Or not. All would be revealed in time. Gods' will, eh? But perhaps it would be better not trouble Linden about this just yet, Rolf said. There would be time enough later...

Then Linden's brother had showed Tranum some other fascinating things on his drawing device that distracted him from arguing the about the unknown, possible task he might have to do in California.

But fascinating as Rolf's machine was, it was getting late and he wanted to join Linden in her bed. Or she could come to his room, if she desired. It did not matter to him as long as they shared the same pallet.

Of course, the undecided subject of having children was still between them. He had not changed his mind about the unpleasant device she wished him to wear, but having met Linden's brother and seeing the sort of frustration she faced in dealing with him, and knowing of her earlier abandonment by a man, Tranum had sympathy for Linden's position that she did not want to left alone to raise a family with only Rolf's dubious help.

It just remained to convince her that he wouldn't leave her alone.

Tranum had thought it over carefully and he had decided against continuing his journey to Valhalla. Who knew how long that journey would take? He might be traveling so long that the world would end before he got there. And he liked the sunny warmth of California and the food... And Linden.

He didn't know if Rolf was correct about his being sent by Fate to Club Valhalla to learn some valuable lesson, but he thought it might be true. Thor often sent trials to test a man. Why not time travel to a crazy world where they had so many powerful weapons to learn about?

And here he would have the chance to exercise totally free-will for the first time in his life. It was a heady idea that made his mind reel like he'd drunk a barrel a mead. And this test was a great responsibility as well. Freedom of choice did not mean freedom from responsibility, but this was a task he would take on willingly. Preparing ships fitted with weapons to send other souls to Valhalla was a worthy profession as was being a father. Now he could do both.

But how to tell Linden of this when he did not want to speak about Rolf's other insane ideas, like a debt from another life that had to be paid? Or being reborn in the ocean-- Who had ever heard of a birth taking almost seven hundred years!-- But would it be enough to just say to his Valkyrie that he would not be returning to Denmark? Would she believe without some other explanation and re-assurance? And how long before she discovered the truth on her own-- and maybe was frightened or repelled by it?

"Rolf?"

"Hm?" Linden's brother turned from the picture on four- eighty-six. He was enthused about Tranum modifications to his original design.

"I shall retire now."

"Okay. Did Linden get you set up somewhere?"

"I was given a room." Tranum considered the younger man for a moment then added: "But I will be with Linden. She has chosen me."

Rolf nodded in understanding and smiled a little.

"I guess she has at that. I really didn't think it would happen... Of course, you'll be real nice to her or I'll have to kill you."

Tranum smiled back at Rolf. The young man was only half jesting.

"We had best both be nice to Linden or she will strangle us." Tranum could be diplomatic. There was no need to tell Rolf that Tranum would flatten him if they came to blows. And Linden wouldn't like that at all, so he would try and avoid a fight with her brother.

"Yeah. Well, good-night." Rolf smiled a little more and added casually: "Tranum? Did I mention that I'm a Godi?"

"You are a priest?"

"Yes," Rolf cleared his throat. "If Linden decided that you should get married... she would want a legal ceremony in the eyes of the state-- It's good for taxes, too, this ceremony--" he added, ever practical. "But something else could be arranged also, if a Norse ceremony made you feel better about staying here. We have religious freedom here, you know. You can worship Odin, if you want."

Tranum stared intently at Rolf.

"Would this legal ceremony put Linden's mind at ease?" he asked.

"Maybe. It would give a name to her children and I think she would want that." Rolf shrugged. "But I'm not always certain about just what Linden does want. I think it's because she's a girl."

"Woman," Tranum corrected as he turned to go. "She is twenty-six. And I am not certain what she wants either. I will ask her."

Tranum by-passed his own dark room and continued down the hall. He could tell from the stillness of the air in his chamber that Linden was not within.

A child would certainly bind Linden to him, melding their destinies into one, and he liked that idea. Also, he wanted to give the child his name, and if there was a legal ceremony as well... He had not considered offering marriage because she was a Christian and he was a Norseman, and neither would marry into the other's faith; but if Rolf was correct that there was a legal ceremony that was not Christian, and Rolf was Godi... Well, who was he to subvert the gods will when they had put the two of them together?

Tranum stopped short, his brows drawing together. Her door was closed and no light showed, but Tranum was certain that she lay sleeping on the other side of the thin barrier. He knew enough now to not be annoyed by the barrier. Everyone closed their doors when they slept. It was sensible when so many strangers slept at the inn. She had not shut it against him. At least he hoped not. It would not be a good sign if he needed to break the door in order to get into her room. Linden might not understand yet about how they were meant to be to together, and take offense at the action.

He touched the latch with firm fingers. It was not bolted and he let himself inside quickly and quietly.

His clothes were shed in a matter of moments and he was easing himself beneath the light cover on her bed. His Valkyrie was as pale as the moonlight and so pretty.

Linden wriggled briefly as he settled against her cool and mostly naked flesh. Her night shirt had ridden up above her waist leaving her legs and bottom bare. Unable to resist, Tranum allowed his hands a moment to stroke and caress his sleepy Valkyrie.

A moment turned into a minute and then several more as Linden wiggled against him, causing him to grow hard in the loins and soft in the will.

He had decided that there would be no more joining until she had agreed to a natural union, admitting that he could be trusted to care for her and their children. Trust had seemed to be absolutely necessary until five minutes ago.

But she was rubbing up against him, rocking like a persistent tide rolling up and down the beach. He needed to possess her again... But he needed-- well, wanted-- her consent to this act as well. His instincts told him that she was fertile now and this time she would conceive from the mating. He needed her words of trust before he could go on.

"Linden?" His voice was harsh but quiet as he coaxed her awake. "Are you mine, Valkyrie? Will you ride with me?"

"Tranum?" The voice was sleepy, soft with dreams.

"Say yes, beautiful Linden," he commanded urgently as he eased her onto her stomach, his palm spread out under her holding her up slightly off of the bed. "Say that you wish for this union. Say that you want me within you."

"I want you-- ah..." The soft, surprised sound was wrenched from her lips as he pulled her against his hardness.

He was between her legs, diving deep, hammering with the pulse that throbbed in his brain and loins until the thunder of new life rolled from his body and into hers.

Linden woke up. The lovely climax was more startling than a bucket of cold water... and about as welcome.

"Oh no," she moaned into her pillow. Tranum was lowering her onto the mattress, his rough, hot hands caressing the backs of her legs.

"Tell me this was just a dream!" she pleaded.

"I am not a dream, Beautiful Linden. I am a man." The voice was kind but as uncompromising as the hard body she was being settled against. "Sleep now, little Valkyrie. In the morning we will talk of ways to reassure you."

"Oh no... I couldn't have been this stupid..."

"Danish, Linden. I promise, all will be well in the morning."

"It will?"

"Yes," the voice said definitely. "I have found a way."

Linden was very tired. Her body decided to believe him and it went right back to sleep. Linden's brain was a lot less sanguine; she had a number of highly erotic but disturbing dreams about making love to Tranum and having babies that looked like her larcenous cousin, Leif. Both babies and Tranum climbed into a Viking ship and sailed away at the end of the dream, leaving her standing alone on a barren shore while a cold rain poured down on her upturned face.

It felt like a divine prophecy or a spirit dream, and had her moaning in her sleep as she tried to stop the fleeing longboat by waving a long parchment paper entitled: The Plan. Linden also knew that her guardian angel had flown. She was now on her own.

Club Valhalla

Copyrighted (c) 2002 Melanie Jackson

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