Standing in the dark observation room of the Curse Watchtower a figure moved.
His eyes peering out into the vastness of space. The lines on his face a history of the revolutionary struggle and yet a reflection of serenity that comes from many lifetimes of understanding why it had to be done.
His mind wandered carelessly through mental images of his physical life wondering what / where his soul would take him. His tribe had taught him that once his physical shell was given back to space his soul would enter the great halls of the Elders. If chosen, the warrior would join the others, the heroes of the seven tribes, in the greatest place of them all “Valhall”. At the head of the table will sit the Elders of the great tribes and they will sit in judgment of his actions in this world.
The scrolls described this place of many homes in the otherwold. His mind went over some of the verses he still remembered from when he was a child:
Sökkvabekk is the fourth, | where cool waves flow,
And amid their murmur it stands;
There daily do the Elders| and Warriors drink
In gladness from cups of gold.
The fifth is Glathsheim, | and gold-bright there
Stands Valhall stretching wide;
And there do the Elders | each day choose
The men who have fallen in fight.
He was joining the Elders and was going to be judged by those that had gone before him. He had to wonder. Was he worthy? Had he done enough? He had worked hard and sacrificed much for his tribe, his people, and his family. He was tired but felt he had done what he could and now it’s time for the next generation to carry the fight. He had no reason to feel ashamed of his actions and he would face the elders with his head held high.
The points of light in the sky danced in his eyes. Each a glimmering jewel offered as enticement of what treasures he may find in the otherworld.
It was time.
He walked out of the observation deck down to the hangars. One last trip in his Vagabond.
Far behind where the veteran soldier stood, unobserved in a dark alcove, a new recruit. He had barely known the man that stood there but felt the sorrow and pain that years of struggle have loaded on his shoulders.
He walked up to the observation window and whispered to himself as much as to the memory of the pilot that had just been standing there.
“Farewell brave warrior.
Your fight will continue – This I Swear.
Go now and rest a well deserved rest.
Go home and guide us in our struggle from the halls of the elders.
You have been, and are, an inspiration to us all.”
“WE COME FOR OUR PEOPLE”
Thorvik