Becoming a Hero

The last thing I remembered was the shooter pointing a gun at my face as I clutched at my abdomen, his other gun in my hand. I had staggered away from him, after he had shot me the first time. I hadn't seen the second gun until it was too late. I wondered what my mom would say about that. She'd probably be very upset. Mostly because there was a very high chance that I was dead or dying. There  was no way that I was going to survive. Then, there was a girl on a horse. She wore chain-mail armour and the horse was flying. I was definitely hallucinating. I drifted back into unconsciousness.

That was why it came as a shock to me when I woke up with the sun shining down on me. No one was around. I was alone. How was I even still alive? It seemed impossible. I grabbed the place where the bullets had pierced my skin, expecting my hand to come back covered in blood, but there was nothing. What the fuck? I looked down at my shirt. It was cleaner than when it had been when I had put it on this morning. I knew that I had been shot at least twice, but there weren't any bullet holes in the fabric. Had I dreamt the whole thing?

Slowly, I got to my feet. There wasn't a scratch on me. I bounced on my heels. I felt like I could run a mile. I breathed in the smell of chimney fires. I almost laughed with relief. Somehow I'd survived! Except... that wasn't possible. Where was I? Gradually, my senses expanded. I was standing in the entry courtyard of a town house - eight stories of imposing white limestone and grey marble jutting into the sky. The double front doors were dark heavy wood bound with iron. In the centre of each was a life-size wolf's-head door knocker.

I turned to look for a street exit. There wasn't one, just a fifteen-foot-tall white limestone wall surrounding the courtyard. How could you not have a front gate? I couldn't see much over the wall, but I wasn't anywhere that I recognised. How had I got here?

In one corner of the courtyard stood a tall birch tree with pure white bark. I thought about climbing it to get over the wall, but the lowest branches were out of reach. Its leaves glittered gold as if someone had painted them with twenty-four-carat gilt. Next to the tree, a bronze plaque was affixed to the wall. I looked closer. The inscriptions were in two languages. One I recognised to be the Norse alphabet. The other was English:

WELCOME TO THE GROVE OF GLASIR.

NO SOLICITING. NO LOITERING.

HOTEL DELIVERIES: PLEASE USE THE NIFLHEIM ENTRANCE

I had to get out of here. I had to get over that wall, find out what had happened to my friends. The the double doors swung inward with a grown. Blinding golden light spilled out. A burly man appeared on the stoop. He wore a doorman's uniform: top hat, white gloves and a dark green jacket with tails and the interlocking letters HV embroidered on the lapel, but there was no way this man was an actual doorman. His warty face was smeared with ashes. His beard hadn't been trimmed in decades. His eyes were bloodshot and murderous, and a double-bladed axe hung at his side. His name tag read: HUNDING, SAXONY, VALUED TEAM MEMBER SINCE 749 C.E."S-s-sorry," I stammered. "I must... um, wrong house."

The man scowled. He shuffled closer and sniffed me. He smelled like turpentine and burning meat. "Wrong house? I don't think so. You're checking in."

"Uh... what?"

"You're dead, aren't you?" the man said. "Follow me. I'll show you to registration."

The foyer alone could've been the world's largest hunting lodge - a space twice as big as the mansion appeared on the outside. An acre of hardwood floor was covered with exotic animal skins: zebra, lion and a forty-foot-long reptile that I wouldn't want to have met when it was alive. Against the right wall, a fire crackled in a bedroom-size hearth. In front of it, a few high-school-age guys in fluffy green bathrobes lounged on overstuffed leather couches, laughing and drinking from silver goblets. Over the mantel hung the stuffed head of a wolf. Columns made from rough-hewn tree trunks held up the ceiling, which was lined with spears for rafters. Polished shields gleamed on the walls. Light seemed to radiate from everywhere - a warm glow that hurt my eyes like a summer afternoon after a dark theatre. In the middle of the foyer, a freestanding display board announced:

TODAY'S ACTIVITIES

SINGLE COMBAT TO THE DEATH! - OSLO ROOM, 10 A.M.

GROUP COMBAT TO THE DEATH! - STOCKHOLM ROOM, 11 A.M.

BUFFET LUNCH TO THE DEATH! - DINING HALL, 12 P.M.

FULL ARMY COMBAT TO THE DEATH! - MAIN COURTYARD, 1 P.M.

BIKRAM YOGA TO THE DEATH! - COPENHAGAN ROOM, BRING YOUR OWN MAT, 4 P.M.

The doorman Hunding said something, but my head was ringing so badly I missed it. "Sorry," I said, "what?"

"Luggage," he repeated. "Do you have any?"

"Um..." I realised that I didn't have my bag with me. "No."

Hunding grunted. "No one brings luggage any more. Don't they put anything on your funeral pyre?"

"My what?"

"Never mind." He scowled towards the far corner of the room, where an overturned boat's keel served as the reception desk. "Guess there's no putting it off. Come on."

The man behind the keel apparently used the same barber as Hunding. His beard was very long. His hair looked like a buzzard that had exploded on a windshield. He was dressed in a forest-green pinstriped suit. His name tag read: HELGI, MANAGER, EAST GOTHLAND, VALUED TEAM MEMBER SINCE 749 C.E. "Welcome!" Helgi glanced up from his computer screen. "Checking in?"

"Uh -"

"Ah, here we are." He grinned, revealing exactly three teeth. "We've upgraded you to a suite."

Next to me, Hunding muttered under his breath," Everyone is upgraded to a suite. All we have are suites."

"Hunding..." warned the manager.

"Sorry, sir."

"You don't want me to use the stick."

Hunding winced. "No, sir."

"You said I'm dead? I don't feel dead. I feel fine," I said, trying to stop whatever was happening between the two of them.

"Miss," Helgi said, "all this will be explained tonight at dinner. That's when new guests are formally welcomed."

"Valhalla." The word surfaced from the depths of my brain - a half remembered story my mom had read to me when I was little. "The HV on your lapel. The V stands for Valhalla?"

Helgi's eyes made it clear I was straining his patience. "Yes, miss. The Hotel Valhalla. Congratulations. You've been chosen to join the hosts of Odin. I look forward to hearing about your brave exploits at dinner. Here is your room key." Helgi handed me a stone engraved with a single Viking rune. "Would you like the minibar key?"

"Uh -"

"She wants the minibar key," Hunding answered for me. "Kid, you want the minibar key. It's going to be a long stay."

My mouth tasted like copper. "How long?"

"Forever," Helgi said, "or at least until Ragnarök. Hunding will now show you to your room. Enjoy your afterlife. Next!"