The Valkyrie Totem

By Erol Seveer

A man approaching a birthday is overwhelmed by a dream and a memory that plunges him into an adventure of a lifetime, taking him to the ends of the earth and leading him to a valuable relic that ushers him into a bond of friendship beyond his comprehension.

The Valkyrie Totem is based on true events in the life of the author and many acquaintances he has had the privilege of knowing. This story is for anyone who has ever desired to experience their heart racing from life's adventures and bear witness to a plethora of impossible events.

Find yourself in different cultures. See yourself transformed by the mysteries and transported into realms hidden by the natural elements surrounding you. The Valkyrie Totem is a symbol of the old expression that just around the bend, something better just might be there awaiting you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798890432117

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The Valkyrie Totem

Erol Seveer

ISBN 979-8-89043-209-4 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89043-210-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-89043-211-7 (digital)

Copyright © 2024 by Erol Séveer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

The Dream

Chapter 2

Legends and Lies Run Deep in Small Towns

Chapter 3

Fast-Forward

Chapter 4

The Plan

Chapter 5

I Don't Believe My Eyes

Chapter 6

A New Discovery

Chapter 7

Operation Preservation

Chapter 8

Fortune and Honor

Chapter 9

Encounter and Revelations

Chapter 10

Home Away from Home?

Chapter 11

Truth Cannot Be Hidden

Chapter 12

Twenty-Two Years of Silence

Chapter 13

A Hostile Environment

Chapter 14

Divide and Conquer

Chapter 15

A Summer in Iceland

Chapter 16

Back Inside the Realm

Chapter 17

Alyth's Determination

Chapter 18

Shadows and Reflections

Chapter 19

Rescuing a Legend

Chapter 20

The End of an Era

Chapter 1

The Dream

Hogwash is a term I learned as a young child. First heard it in church, of all places. This word is used to describe uttered nonsense. Having been falsely accused of such in the past, I have now continually purposed within myself to bear a badge of veracity. So when you hear me telling stories of impossible things and wondrous events, believe it to be true. This is my story.

As incredible as it sounds and as unbelievable as it may be, there is a legend written in an ancient script describing another place, a place of timeless changing.

My imagination cannot reproduce this present reality. There are not many words I can formulate to describe every feeling I have at this very moment. Therefore, from this point on, every word must be conveyed as I experience this adventure.

On first approach, near the edge of the water, it seemed as though I was caught within a magnetic flux; it was pulling and pushing me from side to side, altering my focus and giving me a feeling like motion sickness. There was an added effect that resembled static electricity, evident by the hairs on my arms standing out straight, from the knuckles on my fingers to even the top of my shoulders, as well as the ones around the back of my neck. Sounds that I could hear moments before—crickets, frogs, dogs barking in the distance—were now silenced.

My headlamp grew dark and failed to reenergize. I found myself frantically shaking it, not wanting to be marooned in these woods without visibility. I could feel a vibration deep within my chest, as well as deep inside my bowels: more evidence of the potency of these special elements surrounding me.

The GPS and cell phone I brought would not function due to this same interference.

As I sat motionless in the water on my makeshift raft, I began to see, only with blurred vision, a stone structure affixed to the side of the embankment coming into view. Strange and ethereal, patterns of light began to develop on its surface, in shapes that had never been witnessed before by my eyes. These shapes were constantly changing, altering as if they were completing a puzzle or a sequence in some complicated formula. The shapes were beginning to come into focus; perhaps this was a warning, but nothing was clear.

I gravitated slowly toward the embankment, attempting to absorb all the detail from what I was seeing. Once the embankment was in reach, I palmed its side to begin my crawl ever so carefully off the raft and over on top of it, all the while trying to focus on the shapes and light this stone was creating. I could now see there was more coming into focus beyond this embankment. I must continue in my present direction.

Beyond this embankment, I encountered a hedge—thick and tall, as if to discourage foreign advancement or to hide the presence of something that lay beyond. This hedge was unusual, appearing unpassable. The length of this hedge seemed to extend out of sight, both right and left, so I must negotiate it somehow from where I presently stood.

It appeared as though the hedge was manicured by nature itself and intertwined with briar and honeysuckle. This mixture—of the sweet shrubs at its base, and honeysuckle in the middle—should have filled the air with a sweet, delightful fragrance. However, there was no smell.

Amazingly, I found I could negotiate through this impassable hedge without a single scratch, as if it were never there.

Behind the hedge, I saw a field coming into view.

Visually, there was nothing out of the ordinary; it appeared to be approximately a hundred yards wide and just as long until the end. Dew was beaded upon the blades of grass; the front edges of my boots were dampened as they glided through with each step, giving me a chill and slightly numbing my toes. I could see behind me as I continued forward and noticed that all the impressions of my steps were beginning to fade; the field appeared as if I had never passed this way.

Once across the field, a path led into the woods where a darkness thickened and was felt even upon my bare skin. The feeling of nausea I once had near the embankment was now gone, and I saw my headlamp beginning to illuminate once again, slowly, inside my pocket. Although the lamp was operating at its highest setting, it did not overcome this darkness but for a small distance, as if the laws of illumination ceased to exist or at least could not dominate darkness in the ways I was familiar with. I placed the headlamp again on my forehead and made an honorable attempt to continue through.

Plagued with fear, knowing not the challenges or dangers that were in store, I slowly and steadily took each step forward, feeling with each of my steps, one by one, sliding each foot, barely covering any significant distance with each movement. My hands were extended to catch any object that might interfere with me and my path. Minutes passed by, and faint light began to come into focus. I was beginning to see my new surroundings. I had somehow been led into an alleyway, adjacent to a structure where a wagon was stored, currently positioned in the center. There was no beast of burden, but the unit appeared to have been recently used. There was fresh mud on its wooden wheels, and it was coated with a foamy lather on its wooden tongue. The condition of the wagon was mint, appearing recently fabricated. Intrigued and confused as I was, I felt compelled to move on.

The alleyway opened into a passage where it appeared to bypass the south end of a bushcraft village. Killing the light from my headlamp and placing it slowly inside my jacket, I knelt on one knee, all the while observant of my surroundings, looking for any movement.

Slowly pulling my pistol from its holster, I ensured the first round was chambered with the safety set. Covering my mouth with a dark bandanna, to hide the vapors from my breath in the cool weather, I continued to move forward, taking only ten steps before pausing to gain my bearings.

I pulled my GPS to confirm my position. Unfortunately it was still nonfunctional; it would have powered up, but there was no connection. The same went for my cell phone.

The ground everywhere appeared worn, as if this area had been used for some time now. I heard laughter and music reminiscent of old mountain bluegrass being played on acoustic instruments; the sounds were loud in my ears. I negotiated carefully through the shadows of the structures, trying not to arouse suspicion. The lighting was produced by torches of rolling fire; its flickering movements caused shadows to dance within its luminous reach, and everywhere I looked, the presence of the smoke filled the air. I began to rationalize my reaction for possible engagement, careful not to overreact, committed to the preservation of life, but at the same time preparing to defend myself.

Suddenly—I heard someone shouting toward my location.

I was momentarily paralyzed with fear. I didn't wish to answer without first seeing my addresser, so I turned slowly toward the voice, only to find it was intended for another who was nearby. With shared laughter, they wandered off into the opposite direction and outside my view. Nervously, I began looking back and forth, ensuring no other persons were within my line of sight. Once I could see the coast was clear, my eyes rolled back, and my eyelids momentarily closed. I breathed out a choppy sigh of relief. Now I could continue slowly toward my destination.

How did I get here?

What has led me to this moment?

To answer this, I must begin my story from two different periods of my life. The first was from when I was a young boy, fifteen years old, and the next, five days previously from today, on the eve of my forty-fifth birthday.

Early in my life, I had a nightmare. I was so greatly impacted from the experience that I still remember it like it was yesterday. I remember waking up from the dream in terror. I believe this was the first nightmare I had ever had. It was a horrible moment in my life as a child, but it was offset by the memory of my mother, who, after I had awakened, comfortingly assured me that everything was going to be fine. There have been plenty of nightmares since then, but there have been good dreams as well, the kind that made me wish I had slept in just a few moments longer. With all my might, I would attempt to force myself to return to that former state, to pick up where I had left off.

As a teenager, however, I dreamed a remarkable dream, one that drew me to this place, one that would never leave my memory but has pressed me into this action.

Looking back, the first time I had this dream, the night felt very strange, as if a thousand years of memories were pressing down upon my mind. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of a hunting trail along the creek where my friends and I always bowfished. The dream was normal at first. We negotiated fallen trees that wedged over the trail, waded through the reeds in the shallow water where we always crossed near the edge of the first bend, listened for the humming sounds of the bees inside the great oak at the halfway point of our hunting routine.

That was when I saw a place I had never seen before, a bend where the water widened and rolled against a rocklike embankment on the opposite side of the trail.

The movement of the water and its dark appearance indicated there was depth to the stream that before was shallow and narrow. I turned to see the expressions on the faces of my hunting partners, James and Wayne, but noticed that I was now alone. Walking toward the creek, I observed all the leaves were gone, and the grass around me was dead. My feet and hands were cold, and my lips quivered.

The air is cold, I thought.

This was unusual, since we always hunted for these fish when they spawned in early spring and throughout the summer months. The time of day appeared late in evening. I could see the colorful sunset canvas smearing across the blue Western sky, displaying a beautiful array of orange, gray, and yellow. I then began to see strange lights coming from the opposite side of the creek.

That was when I awoke and sat up in my bed. I tried to return to sleep to find out more about what I had envisioned, but there was nothing more.

I've seen everything that I was allowed to see, I thought.

Hours later, I saw James and Wayne approaching through my front yard, from the driveway, and toward my screened storm window.

They were there to wake me up for an early morning hunt.

Usually, I slept in late, giving them opportunity to spray on me through the screen from beneath their tongues, alerting me to their presence. I hated every time they woke me up that way. This morning, however, I was alert and hidden over to the side, prepared to cover them with my own stream of watery saliva. I waited until the right moment and then drenched them.

Laughing, I said, I'll be out in just a minute, as they cursed from the cool mist that hit their faces while their mouths were open.

Serves them right! Besides, this was their own fault, being the ones who taught me how to do this.

I quickly got ready by putting on my favorite hunting attire: T-shirt and combat boots, along with a hunting knife purchased from the local army surplus store. I grabbed my compound bow and two arrows affixed with target tips that had been dulled by all the practice shots I missed and deflected into the rocky ground behind James's house. I ensured my tobacco was hidden in my pants behind my belt buckle before walking through the living room and then into the kitchen, where Mom would always be standing.

I mentioned where I was going and, as usual, walked through the utility room to leave through our back door. This was where we always began the mile-and-a-half march eastwardly, down the old country road adjacent to my house. We would soon pass James's home where we would see his sisters playing out by the pine tree, next to the driveway and close to the road. We always spoke a little and then continued pressing forward, all the while looking for loose change along the sides of the road, money that had fallen from the pockets of the local drunkards who often walked carelessly up and down the roads after dark.

Before crossing the only intersection in town, we would stop for provisions at our local convenience store. With all the money we had available, we would purchase Gatorade or a soft drink called Apple Beer to keep us hydrated; also a small candy bar or beef jerky to keep us energized. After provisions were purchased, we would continue eastward in an attempt to beat the midday heat.

With a twenty-minute march behind us, we would arrive at the creek bridge, careful to notice any new graffiti left by the local scorned girlfriend on the sides of the concrete walls. We would then stand center bridge, facing the direction of the hunting trail; we focused on the creek and the stillness of the water, seeing almost to the end where the grassy patch covered the gravel island, where we would eventually cross over to the eastern side. While on the bridge, we would discuss the order of shots. Usually, a decision would be settled by the flip of a quarter. If there was no coin available, we would later decide the order of shots through a quick game of root the peg.

Root the peg was a game of sticking our knives into the soil through a series of launched flips that were balanced from our fingers, wrists, elbows, ears, and finally the tops of our head. Whoever completed the sequence before the others would get the first shot. After a winner was declared, this trio of ring-tailed tooters would descend into the snake- and mosquito-infested wood that traversed the creek bed.

We would always stop momentarily at the small clearing about a hundred yards down the trail, taking time to look at the carvings that had been added to the large hickory tree standing along the edge of the creek bank. Some names carved into its bark were familiar to us, others were from a generation before, young members of the past who etched their initials and other messages to the living time capsule. Unfortunately, most had been hidden by the growth of the tree over the years.

There was where we took a shaded break before continuing with our hunt; also where we played to determine the order of shots.

It was at this time that I took the opportunity to describe my dream and how realistic it was, detailing it with exact memory. I immediately got a response of laughter, chuckling, and normal disrespect one would expect from friends. I should have known better; they never had any imagination nor respect for my feelings or ambitions. I decided to drop the whole matter to allow the hazing and taunting to gradually dissolve. This is what friends do, correct?

Friends keep you honest and prepare you against social suicide in the future, when it really counts. I wanted to wait anyway, to see for myself what we found once we arrived at the bend in the creek.

Negotiations through this terrain was not easy, even for young abled men like ourselves. We had followed the serpentine shape of the creek for several years, staying on our normal path. Speaking of serpents, there was never a day we hunted the creek bank where a snake, or some other form of wildlife, did not present itself.

Nothing ever deterred us, though.

We stopped several times, in turn, where the water rippled in the shallows and a muddy trail signaled what would soon be identified as the presence of a sunbathing fish.

After several hours, slowly making our way up the trail, we came to the place where I had seen the wide bend in the creek, but there was nothing strange there. The dream was so vivid and real, yet there was no change to this place as I had seen in my dream. James then cut his eyes at Wayne, giving him a smirk, then both glanced back at me. Soon they