Page 11 of Truly, Madly Viking

Before Jorund could blink, or say a silent prayer to the gods, Thora dipped down into the ocean and came back up in a truly impressive leap into the air. At the peak of her high jump, just before bending her massive body over into an arc for its return to the water, Thora shook herself, causing Jorund to lose his grasp on her top fin. With a scream of terror, Jorund flew through the air, over the net fence, and into the water beyond.

It's up to you now, Viking.

"What?" Jorund gurgled, still underwater.

Your fate.

Aaarrgh! Riddles again... whale riddles!

When he finally swam to the surface, his sword banging against his thigh, Jorund turned. Thora was nowhere to be seen.

Then, twisting toward the shore that was visible in the distance, Jornnd saw a most amazing sight. There were people—many of them—and several whales, and melodic music in the air that sounded like Oompapa, Oompapa, Oompapa... and strange objects of many vivid colors twirling about in circles and on huge metal loops in the air.

Jorund began to swim toward the shore, even as he sighed deeply. There was only one explanation: he must have died, after all. Although he felt at peace, a sadness swept over him that he had not completed his father's work. Ah, well!

What must be, must be.

This must be Asgard... Viking heaven.

With a rueful chuckle, he expressed a silent wish that his personal Valkyries would be buxom. After what he'd been through these past months, and having been wedlocked to a flat-chested woman, he deserved a well-endowed goddess. Mayhap his brother Rolf would be waiting on the shore to welcome him. Yea, if his brother had indeed passed to the other side before him, Rolf would ensure that there were big-breasted wenches aplenty to warm his bed furs.

Jorund had been swimming steadily shoreward, arm over arm, with his face in the water. He looked up now, jerked his head back, then looked again.

"Oh, holy Thor!"

The man and the three captive orcas were swimming underwater now, blurrily visible in the blue water, heading straight for the bleacher area. When they were about thirty feet away, man and beasts dipped deep into the water, then came spy hopping up into four spectacular perpendicular leaps.

It was one thing to see a two-ton animal skyrocket from the water like one of God's blessed creatures.

It was quite another thing to see a huge male, all sinewy muscles encased in a flawlessly proportioned body, perform the same remarkable feat, whipping a swath of long blond hair back off his face at the pinnacle of his surge.

It was especially remarkable because the man was naked. Naked! He wore nothing but a—Oh, good

Lord!—was that a sheathed sword attached to a belt at his narrow waist and secured with a leather thong to his thigh? No wonder sirens could be heard in the distance; soon police would be swarming in like killer bees. No wonder there were screams of "Stand back! Stand back!" from a single security officer, who was having trouble getting through the crowd of three hundred or so spectators. The amphitheater further thwarted their progress, with no place for the spectators to exit, except where police would have to come in.

Bare seconds passed before the man came down from his leap and landed on his feet, standing in shoulder-high water. Then he began to walk up the sloping bottom toward them, the water revealing his nude body inch by glorious inch.

With the lazy indifference of a man comfortable with his body, he reached up with both hands and finger-combed his long hair—surely a champagne blond when it was dry—off his face. Although his jaw was covered with several days' growth of whiskers, it didn't detract from his appeal at all. Despite his relaxed attitude, his eyes were wary.

Is this part of the act? If so, I'm impressed, Maggie thought, fanning her suddenly hot face with an Orcaland program.

"He's a trespasser!" one man in the crowd accused. "Put him in the slammer." The guy's stout body sported a T-shirt proclaiming, If Swimming Is So Good for Your Weight, How Do You Explain Whales?

"Ha!" the blond god exclaimed. He stood in water up to his waist now, at least fifteen feet away. "The first person who tries to slam me will be missing an essential body part. Besides, there is no such thing as trespassing in Valhalla." The man's voice carried over the crowd in a strange foreign accent.

"This ain't Vail, fella," a cowboy-clad, gray haired man commented in a heavy Southern drawl. "This heah's Texas. You're 'bout two thousand miles off course. Ha, ha, ha!"

"Tax-us? Many lands require scutage, but ne'er have I heard of a country that asks to be taxed."

The hunk just shook his head in confusion.

"Threatening an endangered species... the jerk!" another man called out. To Maggie's amazement, it was an outraged Harry, sitting beside her.

"I have not threatened anyone... yet," the stranger asserted. "And, in truth, I never 'jerked' anyone that I recall."

"Indecent exposure... arrest the man for public nudity," a middleaged lady demanded as she peeked through the fingers that covered her eyes. Her T-shirt said, All Men Are Idiots, and I Married the King.

Her bored husband sitting next to her wore a T-shirt that said, perhaps appropriately, Sometimes I Wake Up Grumpy; Other Times I Just Let Her Sleep. Maggie couldn't tell for sure if the "grumpy" lady was pleased or disappointed that the blond god stood in place momentarily, and was still covered to the waist by the murky water.