It was by the side of a cliff overlooking the town of Oshibana. It was a good walk away from the station road, there one will find a warrior close to a century old. He believed in Valhalla. He was close to death, but no warrior no matter how ferocious would be welcomed into Valhalla had he not died in glorious combat.
As the sunset dipped its lips into the mountains, the old man and Tim were at-stance with each other. The old man was armed with a large shield and a sword. Tim had been armed the same. While the old man wanted to die honorably, Tim had not killed before.
But it was a favor.
One day while cleaning the outside of the guild, Tim saw a warrior-lady on horseback and Hemera, Tim’s Goddess half-ancestor. It turned out the lady was a one of the judges of the afterlife for Icebergian warriors and was sent on behalf of an Icebergian God. He and Hemera had a deal. If Tim were to help the old man, who turned out to be one of the God’s favored warriors, he would give Hemera something she needed to help Tim.
The Icebergian God specifically chose Tim because, his own words: “I want to see him take a life in exchange, I want to see his will.”
The information was not any simple information, as well. It was one even other Gods were not privy on telling Hemera. Not when they knew what she planned on doing with Tim. He had taken grueling armed combat with the horseback lady to prepare him for the old man. Him had fought in fight clubs. But not with weapons.
“You’re ready, boy.” He said, excitement in his voice. “The Valkyrja had trained you as well as she could, I could tell from a glance.”
Their weapons weren’t just for show either. The old man hand forged the weapons themselves. The swords were not adorned with any jewels and patterns save an Iser engraving of the old man’s and Tim’s names on their respective blades. Their shields were wooden. It was sturdy, round and had a single handle on its center. The shield had a thick leather layered on its outside and had a riveted metal boss at the center.
Tim took a stance, placing the shield he held with his left hand at an angle slightly diagonal. His sword was low, but its blade pointed angling at the old man in front of him. The old man had the shield on his back and was gripping his sword with two hands, letting it lean on his shoulder.
It was a duel, a Hólmganga.
They did not utter another word and made their move. The old man walked forward at a confident pace. Tim dashed forward, stopping only a sword-length away from the old man, and stabbed his sword! The old man took a measured lean on Tim’s right, opposite from his shield. As he leaned, the old man let Tim’s sword touch air and swung the sword downward as a reply, angling down Tim’s extended left arm!
Tim rolled the back of his shield around his extended arm and set it down the opposite side in time for it to block the old man’s blade. Without stopping a beat, Tim drove his body through and shoved the old man. All he heard as he braced was the old man shouting a battle cry.
The old man then grabbed the edge of the shield pushing it down, enough for his sword to go through, and slammed his blade’s pommel at Tim! Before the old man could bludgeon him any further, Tim angled the blade slightly up opening his sword for a quick horizontal swipe at the old man’s chest. The old man had taken a step back, only cutting his loose clothes. The blade was proving its edges.
The old warrior moved. Tim had already taken a step back after the swipe and again made his stance. The warrior made the same thrust Tim did. The young man let the sword slide on the shield. But Tim didn’t expect the old man to slam his body exactly like he did! With a roar, the warrior rammed his body which Tim braced. They didn’t budge, the old man’s blade was now under Tim’s shield as it slipped in as the old man rammed him. It was a quick thrust, with how close they were he could not crack his arm back long enough. Had the old man done so, Tim would not have slid his blade to let its guard punch the old man’s thrusted blade aside to Tim’s left. In the confusion, Tim managed to slam his shield’s edge down the old man’s face and they both kicked each other forward. Their blades were leaning on each other flesh and, as they kicked each other, took a swipe.
Tim stumbled backward on the dirt but quickly leaned on one leg, keeping his shield angled but closer and readied his blade angled up. The old warrior was laughing, rolling backwards before using his momentum to stand back up. Tim was bleeding on the upper left of his torso, left eyebrow was slightly swollen and his head felt slightly light. The old man stuck hard. But he wasn’t without injuries. After pushing the blade aside, Tim managed to angle his to the old man’s fore arm. It was bleeding as badly as Tim’s injury. His face was also bruised.
The old man tried to make the two-handed same stance earlier, but his wounded arm failed him. Tim didn’t waste time. He stood up and ran towards the old man hiding on the back of his shield. Both of Tim’s arms were gripping the shield and his sword as he roared, slamming it flat into the his opponent! The warrior replied with another thrust. With only one arm supporting his blade, he was using his whole body to let the blade stab through the shield. The blade found Tim’s right shoulder. There was a fraction of a second of the two pushing each other, the old man’s blade tasting his challenger’s blood.
“Who did you think drew first blood?” The old warrior huffed as he asked, showing fatigue.
Only the Gods who bore witness knew.
Tim ignored the old man’s question. His mind was too addled, that smack on his head must have been worse than he thought.
The younger man twisted the shield making the old man loose grip of the sword. But the old man grabbed the sword with his free hand and forced both of them to fall on the ground! The old man was on top of Tim, raising the sword with the shield still lodged and slammed it on Tim. The force broke the shield in two! But Tim had moved his head aside, it only wounded his already swollen eyebrows. The old man let out a roar, letting go of the blade. Tim could feel him weakening. The younger man picked up his sword, keeping eye on the old man, grabbing it by the blade. He slammed the guard of the sword across the old warrior’s jaw knocking him off Tim.
It was devolving into an ugly fight, hardly the proper looking duel Tim had expected to perform. But he wasn’t finished yet!
Tim picked up the old man’s sword and held his own properly, moving towards the warrior. He was scrambling to get up as Tim slammed his back with both swords breaking the old man’s shield. The old warrior howled in pain as he forced himself to stand. They were looking at each other; there were no words to say. But the old warrior was smiling.
Tim dropped the old man’s sword, reached over his shoulder and dug his sword through the eighty-year-old warrior.
It was over.
“You have done well, Jómsvíking.” A firm female voice was heard. Tim couldn’t move, he was holding the old man’s body as he was slowly losing the light in his eyes. “You as well, young Víkingr.”
“My…sword…” The old warrior pleaded.
Tim let go of the old man and let him fall on his knees. Tim turned to look for the sword but the woman, whom the old warrior called a Valkyrja, was already holding it. She presented the bloodied blade to Tim and he went back to the old man.
“You have promise, Víkingr.” His voice was barely audible as Tim gave him the sword. “I wish we fought when I was younger.”
The warrior was too weak, he couldn’t hold his own sword. Tim tightened the old man’s hand for him. Tim knelt, gripping the hand, till the old man’s body ran cold.
“He has entered Valhalla.” Tim heard the woman speak, but he was closing his eyes. He felt the old man’s body robbed of its warmth. Then he felt nothing. The young man was now left by himself with the bloodied sword bearing his name as the sunset finally turned to dusk. It was as if daylight itself had abandoned Tim.
He couldn't blame it too, after all, he had just killed a man.
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