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When three hundred longships sailed across the North Sea from Oslo, Sebastian sat on the deck, watching the shores of England approach. The September sea of 1066 AD had been churny and unpredictable, but Njord himself had been gracious to his people. Sebastian marveled at the might of the fleet. The Viking army of ten thousand men, armed with steel swords, axes, bows, and arrows, was heading to York to conquer England from King Harold Godwinson.
Sebastian wondered how he had ended up there, among those men. The chilly drizzle wetted his face and stung his eyes. He closed them, imagining the warmth of the hearth in his home. The memory of his mother warmed him more than the thought of a lively fire.
“Sebbi, my little boy. Do you know where your name originates from?” his mother had asked while combing his soft, brown hair in the dim light of their longhouse.
Little Sebbi closed his eyes, cherishing the moment of tenderness. “Yes, mother,” he said, eager to hear her tell the story once more. He had known the tale as long as he could remember. She had recounted it many times, yet he never tired of it, for it was his very own story.
“Your name comes from Sǽbiǫrn, meaning ‘bear’. You are my little bear, aren’t you, darling?”
“Yes, Mom, but one day I will become a big bear! I will have the powers of a bear!” Sebbi continued to narrate his own story, tracing a wide arc in the air with his small, soft hands. This was their routine – a dialogue of familial love frequently retold.
“Yes, you will become a strong man one day. Hence the name, Sǽbiǫrn. And you’re clever, too. One day, after your father, you’ll become the owner of this house and the land around it. I’m sure you’ll become an excellent farmer and householder.” Her pride nourished him, making him grow taller in an instant.
But the Norns had decreed that fate would chart a different course.
Soon after, he and his twin sister Astrid were orphaned. Their uncle Salamon, a former soldier in the King Harald Sigurdsson’s army, assumed guardianship and the responsibilities of their home and the land. Sebastian was young, but nevertheless eager to prove to his uncle his abilities to manage the household and livestock. As a bright kid, he had already learned a lot. However, Salamon never liked him nor trusted him. Contrary to tradition, he declared that Astrid would inherit their parents’ legacy, upon reaching adulthood.
Poor Sǽbiǫrn was excluded, even though his dear sister promised they would take care of the property together. But the boy grew to hate his uncle and couldn’t bear living under the same turf roof. He left his childhood lands in Vestfold, changed his name to Sebastian, and swore loyalty to the king Harald.
Sebastian’s mother had been right. He had indeed become a strong man, akin to a bear. Instead of becoming a farmer, he excelled as a skilled fighter – fierce and fearless. While he might have felt nervous before battle at times, once engaged, he fell into a trance-like state, raging and slaying his foes with unmatched prowess. He earned renown as one of King Harald’s victorious berserkers, nearly invincible.
He didn’t seek death itself; he was somewhat satisfied with life as it was. His income from raiding, plundering, and trading was moderately sufficient. Most of the year, his life consisted of fighting, stealing, drinking, and eating. It also offered him many opportunities for a good shag, with both women and men – if consensual, better still. He convinced himself that the moment of bliss was all he wanted from these encounters. Sometimes, in the darkest hours of night, he felt a deeper emptiness and longing, but he quickly pushed aside such thoughts.
In addition to his strengths and charm, he was a quick learner and ambitious in studying the art of war. His motivations were not rooted in honor nor pride but in loss and hatred. He sought to prove himself to someone, to anyone. He hoped his merits would be noted and rewarded eventually. Despite the harsh life, he remained hopeful about his future.
It had been a long journey from young Sǽbiǫrn of Vestfold to Sebastian, a Viking warrior invading England. Perhaps the goddess Frigg must have foreseen his struggles as a youngster, but she never shared her knowledge with anyone, Sebastian thought to himself. Sometimes, he entertained the idea of returning home. He should at least pay a visit to see how Astrid was faring as the matron of the house. Maybe he would go back after this war. Only Frigg knew.
The ships sailed up the River Ouse. Sebastian was certain he could smell the nearest village they would soon raid. They needed more supplies and a place to rest before continuing their campaign. Soon, the boats were ordered to halt and men began to beach themselves.
“Well, here we are, ready to conquer the world,” said a beardless youth next to him, smiling excitedly as they disembarked.
“Well, maybe not the entire world,” Sebastian chuckled. “But an important part of it. The Nordic empire will expand with our help, Odin willing.” He and the others waded ashore to claim the land that would soon be theirs.
The next few days became part of English history. On September 20th, the Vikings achieved victory in the Battle of Fulford, just outside of York. The city surrendered with little resistance, and the Norse army occupied it, taking hostages and supplies. Sebastian was among them, wandering the streets, celebrating the victory, eating, and drinking with his fellow soldiers. He enjoyed a very passionate encounter with a redhead called Garreth, a local brewer. The ginger surrendered without a fight when the intruders marched into his brewery to quench their thirst. He surrendered even more willingly when Sebastian pinned the young man under him in his private rooms.
Judging by his pleas, the redhead appeared very religious. Soft whimpers and moans of “Oh, gods!” and “The heavens!” escaped his lips, competing with nocturnal songbirds until morning, when they both were too exhausted to continue.
As the sun rose, they lay together, utterly spent and content. Garreth rested his curly head on Sebastian’s sweaty chest, lazily playing with the hair there. “I wish you could stay”, he whispered, burying his face in Sebastian’s neck and inhaling deeply. They shared no common language, but the language of desire conveyed the meaning of his words to Sebastian. Garreth would welcome him back, if he ever returned. Sebastian felt an unspoken longing for a peaceful, simple life, where he could love and be loved in return.
Those moments were verdant oases amid of arduous marches and strenuous battles. They always withered when the army was ordered to move again. Soon, the love-thirsty brewer was left behind, and Sebastian and his fellows were heading back to their temporary base in the village of Riccal.
On September 25th, the day was sweltering hot. Sebastian, among others, set out on a raiding expedition near Stamford. It was meant to be an easy operation, gathering (stealing) livestock and other supplies. Consequently, most of the men stayed behind in the village. Due to the heat, the raiders left their armor and shields at the camp to march lightly along the barren Roman road. Sebastian carried only his sword, the Serpent’s Kiss. It was a long march but relatively easy, as there were no enemies nearby. The men sang and laughed openly.
The jovial mood shifted when a dust cloud rose in the west side of the Derwent River. Sebastian heard commotion from the front: baffled shouts and a growing uproar. Soon the news reached him: King Harold Godwinson and his men were approaching. The Viking troops were caught by surprise. Sebastian’s comrades across the river fled back to the east side in panic. Many were too late to retreat. The Vikings watched as the English slaughtered many of their fellow warriors in the meadow next to the river.
On the east side, the rest of the Vikings quickly formed a defensive circle on a small hill. They waited, observing as one of their fellows stood guard at a wooden bridge, defending it fiercely. The berserker held his ground for a long time, slaying many of the English soldiers before meeting his own. After his fall, there was no respite for the Norsemen. The enemy army surged over the bridge to confront them. Some Vikings were filled with horror, but Sebastian felt no fear. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he tightened his grip on his sword and prepared himself.
It was a bloody battle. Sword clashed against sword, axe against axe as they fought. The Vikings were at a disadvantage: outnumbered and fighting with inadequate equipment. Without their shields, they were barely a match for the English. The Viking shield wall began to falter. Yet, many Norsemen remained ferocious, proud, and stubborn. Even when their king fell to an arrow through his windpipe, they refused to surrender. They were determined to make their last stand.
As the battle raged on, Sebastian struck, dodged and struck again, completely focused on any enemy in front of him. Despite fighting for hours, he felt no fatigue. Rage coursed through his veins, rendering him immune to fear or exhaustion. He had entered the trance-like state, thirsting only for the blood of his foes. Sebastian witnessed many of his comrades fall on both sides, one after another. Determined, he vowed to repay every lost soul twofold. His last intention now was to take as many Angles as possible with him to the afterlife.
One of Sebastian’s strengths as a warrior was not physical, but his mental ability to intensely focus during combat. In crucial moments, his perspective narrowed to solely focus on his opponent, with the periphery of his vision fading away. He could discern every movement his opponent made. He was a seer of seconds and milliseconds, foretelling his opponents’ intents. Yet, his strength also proved to be his greatest weakness.
Sebastian found himself dueling yet another Englishman. The challenger held his ground better than those Sebastian had dispatched earlier, but he struggled increasingly to defend himself against Sebastian’s relentless strikes. The enemy was getting tired, sweat pearling on his forehead.
Sebastian made a sudden feint attack, successfully throwing off his opponent's balance. As the man struggled to regain his footing, he extended his shielding arm to find a new center of gravity. This left his torso exposed and vulnerable, as Sebastian had anticipated. He raised his sword for the last strike. The Englishman realized his end was near. For a flash of a second, he looked terrified.
Sebastian’s sword arm was already in motion when he noticed a peculiar expression on his opponent’s face – the man was grinning broadly. For a fleeting moment, Sebastian felt bewildered. In an instant, he heard a crushing sound, followed by excruciating pain at the back of his skull.
“Oh,” he managed to say, surprised. The Serpent’s kiss slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground. Sebastian staggered for a heartbeat before following his weapon. “Oh,” he repeated, before everything faded to pitch black.
He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. The first thing he noticed upon waking was his mouth dry and the nasty ache in his head. His body felt heavy and worn-down, every muscle aching. At least it was a sign of being alive, he thought. His chest rose and fell steadily, he noted. For a moment, he considered staying there and sleeping some more.
When he finally opened his eyes, he noted it was an early evening. The last waves of heat shimmered in the air. There were crows gathering, flying in large, lazy circles above him, their eerie calls echoing through the quiet. Sebastian detected a faint but distinctive scent hanging in the air: the unmistakable odor of death.
He turned his head, seeing dead bodies lying nearby. The sight made him gasp for air. They were his friends and fellows, good men who had lived, trained, and fought alongside him for years. All gone and wasted now. Sorrow gripped the darkened heart in his chest.
But the sight of people moving across the field distracted him from his sorrow. Young women – beautiful young women – and some good-looking lads, dressed in fine, colorful fabrics, caught his attention. Some wore peculiar headdresses that Sebastian had never seen before. He wondered if they were part of King Harold’s army, perhaps picking up weapons from the fallen Norsemen. But why would they involve young ladies in such a despicable task?
Not far from Sebastian, a noblewoman stretched her delicate arm to reach a warrior laying on the ground. Suddenly, the warrior grasped her hand, and she pulled him to stand up. He looked a complete mess, a terrifying wound in his stomach making it a wonder he was still alive. Sebastian speculated that these people were here to assist them, to find those left alive, to gather the wounded and to tend them. Surely the English wouldn’t help them, would they? On the other hand, he couldn’t recall seeing any healers traveling with their troops from Norway either.
Sebastian considered whether he should shout for help or feign death. His thoughts were interrupted by quiet thumps of the ground, growing steadily louder. A horse, and likely its rider, approached him at a lazy pace. Instinct for self-preservation urged him to play dead. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe as lightly as possible.
The footsteps halted near where he lay. Sebastian heard a sound of someone dismounting from a horse with a light thud behind his head. A long shadow loomed over him in silence for a while. Cold shivers ran down his spine as he faced the fear of the unknown. Defenseless and vulnerable, he knew the newcomer could easily end him.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” The voice belonged to a young man. Something in the soft, elegant tone of the speaker intrigued Sebastian as much as his words puzzled him. The newcomer spoke as if he knew Sebastian was alive. Had he been such a poor actor? Sebastian inferred it was pointless to continue feigning death.
As he opened his eyes and lifted his head to gaze at the sky, he saw a solemn face of a beautiful young man. His eyes were bright azure, reflecting the evening light in the most captivating manner. Blond hair, braided and wrapped around his head as a crown, adorned him. This was the most stunning man Sebastian had ever seen, and he couldn’t suppress a small gasp of amazement. The young man tilted his head, a subtle smile dancing on his lips.
“Good, that’s wise of you. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss you. Besides, I could hear your breathing.”
Sebastian felt dazed and speechless. He continued to stare at the stranger, his eyes wide open, bewildered. The man wore a white kilt and silvery chainmail that covered his chest but left his soft, pale arms bare. Golden rings in his wrists tinkled lightly. Sebastian couldn’t fathom any practical reason for such attire.
A black raven descended onto the man’s shoulder from the sky above. Its small, piercing eyes seemed to bore into Sebastian’s skull as it scrutinized him. The bird opened its beak and let out a loud croak. The stranger gently petted the bird, and the smile widened on his face.
“Gudleifr, you are right. It is him. And yes, I am going to take him,” the mysterious man spoke to his ominous companion, stroking its back and wings gently. His voice was soft and bright, reminiscent of a mountain stream. Sebastian suddenly felt terribly thirsty.
The stranger kneeled beside him, reaching out to touch him. Sebastian flinched.
“Hush. It’s alright. I am not going to harm you. I’m here to help you. Here, let me check you over.”
The man began examining Sebastian’s body with his hands, noting that Sebastian’s midriff was unharmed. Only then did Sebastian realize the stranger had no pupils in his mesmerizing eyes at all; he must be blind. Sebastian startled at the peculiar sight and tried to withdraw. The delicate hands paused for a moment, and the man raised his eyebrows amusedly.
“No need to be afraid of me, great warrior. Besides, you should take it easy for a while.”
Indeed, Sebastian’s body felt too heavy to escape the inspection. He could only watch as the beautiful man continued his exploration. Sebastian took advantage of the situation, admiring the stranger’s features. Soon, the man mapped his face carefully. Dancing fingers on his chin, cheeks and the bridge of his nose elicited a tingling sensation of delight throughout Sebastian’s body. The stranger’s words only amplified the sensation.
“Hmm, handsome,” the beautiful said contently as his fingers continued to explore the face of his patient. “No injuries here. That’s good, such a lovely face. But I wonder what hurt him,” he spoke quietly, as if talking more to himself than to Sebastian.
He then touched Sebastian’s crown and temples, running his fingers through his hair, and brushing his scalp. A blissful sigh of relief and longing escaped the warrior’s lips. Nobody had touched him that way for years, not since his mother. He had forgotten how good it felt to be touched with such gentleness and compassion. His body began to surrender to relaxation.
The hands traveled to the back of Sebastian’s skull. Beautiful eyebrows furrowed deeply. From the expression on the healer’s face, Sebastian knew something was wrong. He lifted his own hand to feel it out, but his wrist was seized.
“No, you shouldn’t….”
“Please,” Sebastian croaked with his dry throat.
His hand was slowly released, and he was able to feel what had caused the frown: clotted blood at the back of his head. But where his skull should have been, he felt a strange depression, as if his skull had been fractured and pushed inwards.
A shock grew within him as he probed the damage with his shaking hands. He was marred. Mutilated. Maimed. Barely alive. Oh Allfader and his ravens, how was he still alive? Would he succumb to these wounds? A brand-new, terrifying emotion rose within him: fear of death. His panicked gaze darted erratically, searching for an explanation, a solution, an escape. Anything.
Soon, the healer removed Sebastian’s hands from the back of his skull, maintaining his gentle but firm grip. His voice matched his touch. “I know it’s not pretty. But it can be fixed. Don’t worry, you’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you from now on,” the man reassured him, helping him to sit up. Despite his slender frame, his grip was surprisingly strong and steady.
A bota bag was brought to Sebastian’s chapped lips, and he felt cool ale running onto his dry tongue and down his arid throat. The sensations distracted him from his agony. He drank as a parched man, which indeed he was. As he focused on the malty, fruity nectar, he slowly began to calm down. Taking the bota bag into his own trembling hands, he poured another drink before letting out a long, shaky exhale. The man cheered him on like a mother encouraging her well-behaved toddler: "There you go, that's a good boy. Feeling much better now, huh?"
After being distracted and quenching the intense thirst, Sebastian did feel slightly better. He nodded and cleared his throat, testing his vocal cords. “Yeah, better. Thank you.” He closed his eyes briefly, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed. He let his head drop back against the stranger’s upper arm, momentarily forgetting its bloody condition. Strangely, his head wasn’t hurting anymore.
Sebastian stayed quiet for a moment, listening to his own raspy breath. “What happened? And who… who are you?” he asked finally.
The man released Sebastian gently, ensuring his patient could sit down on his own. He settled next to him in a squatting position, smiling.
“My name is Ominis. I’m here to help you,” the man said. “And you are…”
“Sebastian,” he introduced himself. “I’m one of King Harald’s soldiers”.
“I know that, Sebastian,” the newcomer hummed. “You are a great warrior, and we need you. But first, you need to be healed.”
“But… who needs me? The king? Didn’t he die?”
Ominis’ voice deepened and became stern. “Listen: a new war is coming. You are needed in the upcoming battle. But not just yet.”
Sebastian’s face turned into a grimace. “Honestly, I don’t feel like fighting right now. I’m barely alive,” he groaned. Even his head felt fine now, every muscle in his body was aching, and he felt dizzy.
Ominis sneered. “Don’t worry about that. As I said, we will heal you before anything. You can rest in our halls and chambers, enjoying our refreshing mead, roasted meat, and all the fruits the earth carries. You’ll be all fine sooner or later. And when you’re healed, we will raise you in rank and arm you with better gear for the future battle.”
Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. “This doesn’t make sense. Why?”
“You have assets we value. You are strong and fierce, worth ten men. You fought well today and proved your worth. The least we can do is reward you for your efforts and sacrifices, don’t you think?” Ominis’ honeyed words stroked Sebastian’s ego, making him feel even better than the heavenly sweet ale he had tasted.
“So, are you coming with me? I’ll take you home.”
“I’m not sure...” he hesitated.
What if Ominis was one of the English? Would Sebastian be captured, enslaved, maybe even tortured? He couldn’t help but entertain these doubts, even though he had a hunch that Ominis wouldn’t hurt or deceive him. Sebastian was usually good at judging people; life with his uncle had taught him whom to trust. But there was something else that made him hesitant. Something felt amiss, something Sebastian couldn’t quite decipher. The sky, the scene around him, the people walking about, and Ominis – all seemed peculiar. Evenhe didn’t feel quite like himself.
A soft touch on his forearm pulled him from his thoughts. “Sebastian, I can’t heal you unless I get you out of here. Do you have any other options?” Ominis’ tone was almost pleading.
Did he have other options? He was injured, had no supplies, no energy, and even his willpower was too depleted to get up and march back to the Viking camp – if it even existed anymore. Even if he did find the strength to search for his people, he would probably run into the English again on his way. There was little he could do to defend himself alone and in his current state – even a small peasant girl could knock him down, Sebastian admitted.
“Well, I could stay here and rest until I feel better…”
Ominis raised his eyebrows, almost amused. “And slowly die from your wounds or thirst? I doubt that’s your intention.”
Sebastian sighed deeply. The odds were heavily against his surviving without the help Ominis’ offered. No matter if he trusted him or not, the man was his only hope. He shook his head, defeated.
Ominis gently brushed Sebastian's bronzed, freckled arm with his long fingers. His touch was cool against Sebastian's burning skin, soothing. His blue eyes, without pupils, smiled warmly.
“Listen. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything you need or want. Every bit of it,” he reassured. Ominis’ shy smile and his hand lingering on Sebastian’s bicep were enough to convey his suggestion.
Sebastian’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shape for a moment. He was a smart yet straightforward man who cherished life's simple pleasures. Once, he had compiled a list of his indulgences: a good rest, food, drink, and sex. With Ominis, he found himself reconsidering their order – who needed sleep anyway? Suddenly, Sebastian’s mind raced with new and exciting possibilities.
That unspoken promise sealed the deal. If there was even a slightest chance he could be in the arms of this divine-looking man – or under, or preferably on top – he would go anywhere with him.
“Okay, I’ll come.”
Ominis chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that. We can ride together. Stormrider is a strong stallion; he can easily carry both of us.” Rising to his feet, Ominis offered his hand to help Sebastian stand. Sebastian took it, grunted and stumbled up onto his feet. They were still shaky, reluctant to support his weight.
The sight before him made him forget his unsteady legs. The battlefield was strewn with corpses and drenched in blood. It was a feast of crows, who had already begun their macabre festival. The vision filled Sebastian’s brown eyes with sorrow. Many of the men he knew had perished, and countless others, strangers to him, had been lost.
He stood there quietly for a while, until he could no longer bear the sight and grief it evoked. Slowly tearing his blurry eyes away from the terrible view, he turned to look at the midnight-black steed beside them. It was a majestic creature, noble and confident. Unlike most horses Sebastian knew, it stood patiently in the middle of the field, unperturbed by the smell of blood and viscera. It appeared almost indifferent. Sebastian raised his hand to touch Stormrider’s velvety mane and marveled at the colors it reflected. How could something so black shine with the colors of a rainbow? “He’s magnificent,” he whispered in awe.
“Isn’t he?” Ominis smiled proudly and helped Sebastian to mount the black horse. His grip was surprisingly strong for a man so feminine and lithe. The blonde mounted the horse as well, seating tightly behind Sebastian. Suddenly, a heavenly scent enveloped Sebastian. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, but he couldn't identify the strange, breezy scent that made the blood in his ears hum strangely.
Their legs pressed together as Ominis leaned against Sebastian’s back and wrapped his arms around him. Sebastian was dumbfounded until he realized Ominis was trying to reach the reins the berserker was holding. “It’s better I take care of reins here. Stormrider can be wild sometimes.”
For a moment, his slender fingers rested on top of Sebastian’s hands until Sebastian relented.
“Very well. You’ll take care of the wild stud here,” Sebastian smirked, unable to hide his playful side.
Ominis couldn't suppress a sweet little giggle. His innocent, almost nervous giggle told Sebastian more than any words: Ominis somehow liked him and his antics. The unintentional reaction of the beautiful man encouraged Sebastian to lay his hand on Ominis’ thigh. He rubbed it slowly in circles, moving carefully a little higher. Sebastian relished the contact of the firm muscle beneath the fine garment, digging his fingertips into it.
Ominis chuckled softly. “There’s another stud who should take it easy for a while, as he’s severely injured,” Ominis purred. His tone then turned more serious. “And I’m afraid this is not the most suitable setting for any unchaste acts.” Ominis gestured towards the bloody battlefield strewn with fallen Vikings.
Sebastian felt embarrassed. Mother Freyja, he had never been so drawn to a man (let alone a woman) before, completely losing sight of their surroundings. He was unsure if he could endure the ride with Ominis without succumbing to inappropriate urges. He was bewildered by the effect Ominis had on him.
The beautiful man clicked his tongue, and Stormrider started to walk steadily. Sebastian kept his eyes on the field, only to distract himself from Ominis’ captivating presence. Ominis’ people were already departing, escorting wounded Vikings. Yet, many men lay still on the battle ground. But their corpses were not forgotten or abandoned. Crows kept company with them, squabbling and carousing. Sebastian mourned the loss of his fellow Norsemen but remembered to send grateful prayers to Odin for his own deliverance in the battle. He felt incredibly fortunate to be alive and grateful that Ominis had found him.
The horse stepped carefully over bodies until it found a clear path to follow. It seemed to choose its own way, with Ominis providing only the main direction and pace. Their collaboration was seamless. After some time, the battlefield was left behind as they headed eastward, seemingly towards the Vikings' base camp. Step by step Sebastian’s tense shoulders relaxed, and he sighed with relief. Their direction was correct, confirming that Ominis wasn’t leading him towards the Angles. He felt even more confident now: trusting this man had been the only right decision.
The tranquil gait of Stormrider further calmed his nerves. It was the first opportunity that day to rest, albeit on horseback. He took the liberty to lean against Ominis’ chest, letting his head tilt and rest on his shoulder. Ominis kept his hands on the reins, but his breath brushed Sebastian’s temple and ear occasionally, sending delicate tingles through Sebastian’s spine.
Ominis guided the stallion into a smooth amble. The gentle rocking motion began to lull Sebastian into a sweet slumber. He felt languid, enjoying the coolness of Ominis’ body against his heated skin. Step by step, almost without noticing, he started to drift off to sleep. When he finally awoke again, everything has changed.
It should have been night by then, but the first thing he noticed was the early morning sun warming his cheeks, despite the chilly mist. He lifted his head and observed the altered landscape. The river Ouse and the open green fields of England were gone. Sebastian realized they were nowhere near the Viking army's base camp. Instead, there were pines and spruces, uncommon for English woods. Soft outlines of distant mountains adorned the horizon.
Sebastian startled, sitting up straight. He turned to look at Ominis, whose expression remained unreadable. Gudfleigr, the peculiar pet raven, had returned and perched on Ominis’ shoulder. Sebastian could swear the bird was peering into his soul, sensing confusion and growing doubt within the warrior.
“Excuse me… Where are you taking me?”
“Home,” Ominis said plainly.
“And where exactly is this ‘home’?” he inquired, growing frustrated.
Ominis sounded amused. “Are you saying this doesn’t look familiar to you at all?”
Sebastian had to take another look. The flora, the terrain, even the brisk autumn smell in the air – it all felt eerily familiar. It looked like… Vestfold. He was dumbfounded.
“Is this… Vestfold?”’
“Not exactly. But you could say we are parallel to it.”
“No, that’s impossible. We couldn’t reach Norway by horse, and certainly not in a few hours.”
“Don’t underestimate Odin’s steeds, Sebbi.”
Sebastian stiffened and the hair on the nape of his neck rose. No one had had called him that since his mother. No one knew his real name. Suddenly, he grabbed the reigns from Ominis’ hands and pulled hard, trying to stop the stallion. Stormrider reared up, neighing in protest. Sebastian nearly fell, but Ominis grabbed his waist as if the steep inclination hadn’t affected him at all.
“Easy now, you don’t want to fall off the horse.”
“Let me down. Now,” Sebastian commanded.
Ominis sighed and spoke quietly to the stallion, calming it down. He then let go of Sebastian, who slid down to the ground. He took cautious steps backward, eyeing the enigmatic rider suspiciously. Ominis smiled in his direction, his unseeing eyes seeming to search for Sebastian. He appeared unruffled by Sebastian’s reaction.
“How do you know that name?”
Ominis’ laughter was delighted. “Oh, Sǽbiǫrn of Vestfold, I know much more about you. I’ve been watching over you for quite some time.”
A sense of foreboding washed over him. He took one more step backwards, feeling uneasy.
“This isn’t right. Nothing is. I want to go back.”
“It’s too late to turn back. For you, it was too late when your skull was smashed. Besides, we’ve already arrived. Look.”
Sebastian turned around and found himself standing near a ledge of a mountain. He saw a wide, wild stream running under the cliff. On the opposite side, high pillars of white stone rose above it, supporting an enormous castle. The golden roof shone in the morning sun. Next to it, a massive ash tree stood tall, its branches extending into the heavens and offering resting places for eagles flying above. The view was majestic and peaceful.
He finally understood. Perhaps he had been aware of the truth for some time already, unwilling to acknowledge it until now. Instead of horror or sorrow – emotions he expected – he felt untroubled. All confusion and fear wore away, giving way to relief. His struggles, both in life and on mortal battlefields, had finally come to an end.
Sebastian didn’t notice Ominis dismounting or approaching him, but suddenly the man was standing beside him. He gently took Sebastian’s hand and kissed his palm lovingly. “Welcome to Valhalla, my beloved Einheri. I have been waiting for you for a long time.”
Sebastian turned to face Ominis, embracing the newfound revelation with joy. A profound sense of happiness surged through him, sweeping away the lingering loneliness that had been haunted him for years, despite the countless partners he had sought solace with unconsciously. Gently, Sebastian touched Ominis’ peachy cheek, caressing the beauty marks on it with his thumb. They stood there in harmonious tranquility until Sebastian spoke.
“I think I have been waiting for you too, my Valkyrie.”, Sebastian whispered tenderly. He rested his head on Ominis’ shoulder, tears of fulfilled longing streaming down his face.