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256 pages, Hardcover
First published October 1, 2011
Sometimes it was embarrassing being religious. Even though the Queen was head of the Fane of England, and Britain was a Wodenic country, not everyone believed in the Gods anymore. Baby-namings were still popular, and swearing on Thor's sacred aoth-ring of course, but apart from that the Fanes weren't exactly bursting at the seams. The Archpriest of York had devoted his Thought for the Day on BBC Radio 4 this morning to criticising people for their lacklustre religious observances. Freya had had to listen to him droning on while she was eating her cornflakes.
Freya peered at the pale, golden-brown figures. ... They looked weary and glum, with bulging, startled eyes, frowning mouths, and hunched shoulders. Some of them appeared positively disgruntled. Mostly they looked sad, as if something terrible had happened, something they were helpless to do anything about except brood for eternity. The sorrowful queens looked a lot like Clare did sometimes, late at night when she thought Freya wasn't looking, after she'd just been on the phone with a depressed member of her throng.
They stood inside the ruined walls, unable to speak. Bits of tarnished metal, scrapings from the vanished roof, and a few rusted spears lay scattered in the dirt.
This was Valhalla, The Hall of the Slain. The gold-bright palace of Woden's chosen warriors. The dark, echoing hall was now only home to the winds.
'This hall was so bright they used swords instead of fire for light', murmured Alfi. 'The rafters were made of spear shafts and thatched with overlapping shields of gold. There were helmets and red-gold mail coats strewn everywhere, and men shouting and drinking ... even Woden's wolves are gone; I used to give them meat scraps ... there were five hundred and forty doors. ...'
Freya's skin prickled. She was reminded of old photographs of American ghost towns, where only a few sun-bleached buildings and dirt roads showed that anyone had ever lived there.
She especially liked the ferocious-looking berserks, the ancient warriors sacred to Woden, biting their shields with their big teeth. Those fearless, terrifying soldiers, who went into battle frenzy and fought like wild animals, impervious to pain, had always fascinated her.