Chapter 9: VIKING RITES
A week of midnight practice had taught Logan three things.
First: Nudge was getting more reliable. He could move small objects with reasonable accuracy now — not perfect, but consistent enough that he wasn't putting holes in walls anymore. The penny had become his training partner, sliding across the nightstand in smooth arcs that would have seemed magical to anyone watching.
Second: Rattle was harder than expected. The 3 GE cost wasn't the problem — the problem was sustaining the vibration without losing focus. His first attempt had made the nightstand shake for about two seconds before stopping abruptly. His second attempt had shaken the entire bed frame and nearly woken Sam and Jay down the hall.
Third: the ghosts were getting restless.
"A ceremony," Thor said, cornering Sam in the kitchen on a Tuesday morning. "A proper ceremony. For a warrior who died on these shores."
Sam looked up from her coffee, exhaustion written in every line of her face. The B&B planning was consuming most of her waking hours — permits, contractors, endless phone calls with people who didn't believe she could turn this crumbling estate into a functioning business.
"What kind of ceremony?" she asked carefully.
"A Viking funeral." Thor's voice carried the weight of centuries. "Fire and song and the proper honoring of the dead. My people did not leave their fallen to rot unmarked in foreign soil."
"Thor, you weren't exactly buried. You were struck by lightning."
"Exactly! No burial. No boat burning. No songs sung for my spirit." His massive hands clenched into fists. "One thousand years, and no one has honored my death. Not my brothers who abandoned me. Not the people who built their homes on this land. No one."
Sam's expression softened. "That sounds really lonely."
"Lonely?" Thor's voice cracked, just slightly. "I have watched generations live and die on this property. I have seen families grow and wither. I have been forgotten by everyone who ever knew me." He looked away. "It is not lonely. It is... empty."
Logan stepped into the kitchen, drawn by the conversation.
"This is the Viking funeral episode. Season 1. Thor's first real emotional arc."
In the show, Sam had fumbled through it — well-meaning but unprepared, not quite understanding what Thor needed. The ceremony had been sweet but slightly off, more modern funeral than Viking rite.
"But I know what he actually wants. I know what would satisfy a warrior's pride."
"What if we did it right?" Logan said.
Both Thor and Sam turned to look at him.
"What do you mean, 'right'?" Sam asked.
"A real Viking funeral. Or as close as we can get." Logan leaned against the doorframe, keeping his voice casual. "We build a model longship — doesn't have to be big, just symbolic. We take it down to the fire pit by the lake. We light it at dusk, when the fire will show against the water. And we say the words."
Thor's expression shifted. "You know the words?"
"I watched a documentary about Viking funerals once. Or Marcus did. Same thing now."
"Some of them. The important parts." Logan met the ghost's eyes. "You've been waiting a thousand years, Thor. You deserve to be honored properly."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Thor nodded, slow and heavy with emotion.
"You are... not entirely worthless, soft modern man."
"High praise from a Viking."
Jay built the longship without fully understanding why.
"Sam wants a bonfire thing," he said when Logan found him in the garage, surrounded by wood scraps and tools. "Something about honoring the history of the property. I don't ask questions anymore."
The boat was small — maybe three feet long, rough-hewn from scrap lumber and old fence posts. It wouldn't have survived actual water, but it didn't need to. It just needed to float long enough to burn.
"That looks good," Logan said.
"It looks like a boat had a baby with a shoebox." Jay stepped back, surveying his work. "But Sam seemed excited about it, so..."
"She's been working hard on the B&B planning. This will be good for her. Good for everyone."
Jay nodded, but his expression was complicated — the look of a man who loved his wife, supported her decisions, but couldn't quite see what she saw. Couldn't see the ghosts gathered at the windows, watching him work. Couldn't hear Alberta humming approval from the doorway.
"He's excluded," Logan thought. "The one living person in this house who can't share what we share. That's got to be lonely too."
[OBSERVATION: HOST IS EXPERIENCING EMPATHY FOR JAY ARONDEKAR.]
[CLARIFICATION: THIS IS NORMAL. JAY IS LIKEABLE. ALSO EXCLUDED. THOSE THINGS CORRELATE.]
Dusk came slowly, the sky shifting from grey to gold to deep purple as the sun settled behind the trees. The fire pit sat at the edge of the property, near where the lawn met the lake, a circle of stones that had probably been used for bonfires since before the house existed.
Sam carried the model longship down from the garage. Jay followed with kindling and matches. And behind them, invisible to the living husband but visible to everyone else, the ghosts of Woodstone Manor formed a procession.
Thor walked at the front, spine straight, face carved from stone. Sass moved beside him, silent and supportive. Pete bounced along behind them, arrow wobbling. Alberta, Hetty, Isaac, Flower, Trevor — all of them following, because some moments demanded witnesses even when the witnesses were dead.
The fire pit was already prepared. Logan had spent the afternoon arranging kindling, building a small platform of dry wood that would catch quickly and burn hot.
"Set it in the center," he said to Sam. "Facing the lake."
She placed the boat carefully, its rough prow pointing toward the water. In the fading light, it almost looked real — a vessel waiting to carry a warrior to Valhalla.
Thor stood at the edge of the pit, staring at the boat with an expression Logan couldn't read.
"This is..." The Viking's voice was thick. "This is more than I expected."
"It's what you deserve."
Logan pulled a folded paper from his pocket — notes he'd made that morning, phrases he half-remembered from documentaries and Wikipedia articles and the scattered knowledge of a past life spent consuming media.
"Marcus would have known all of this. He was the kind of person who fell down research rabbit holes at 2 AM. I'm just... borrowing his memories."
"Do you want me to say the words?" Logan asked. "Or would you prefer—"
"You say them." Thor's voice was almost gentle. "You are the one who understood."
Logan nodded. Took a breath. And spoke the words he'd carried from another world.
"Lo, there do I see my father. Lo, there do I see my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers. Lo, there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning."
The words echoed across the water. The ghosts had gone completely still.
"Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place among them, in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live forever."
Sam lit the kindling. The flames caught slowly at first, then faster — orange and gold and red, climbing the dry wood, reaching for the boat.
"Thorfinn, son of warriors, you died alone on foreign shores. But you are not forgotten. Your courage is remembered. Your strength is honored. And when the flames take this vessel, your spirit will fly to the halls of your ancestors."
The boat caught fire.
For a long moment, no one moved. The flames danced across the water's reflection, doubled in the lake, and Thor watched with an expression of profound stillness. No bluster. No bellowing. Just a warrior seeing himself honored for the first time in a thousand years.
Sass stood beside him, close enough to touch if ghosts could touch living things. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
[AMBIENT GE REGENERATION DETECTED: +8]
[SOURCE: GENUINE EMOTIONAL RESONANCE. WITNESSES: 9.]
The fire burned hot and fast, consuming the little boat in minutes. When it was done, only embers remained — orange and red against the darkening sky, reflected in the still water of the lake.
"Acceptable," Thor said finally. His voice was rough. "For a soft modern man, you are... acceptable."
He clapped a ghostly hand on Logan's shoulder. It passed through, of course — the cold-water sensation, the wrongness of touching someone who wasn't quite there. But the gesture landed.
"Thank you," Thor said, quieter. "I did not think anyone would remember."
"Someone always remembers," Logan replied. "That's what stories are for."
The aftermath was chaos.
"We should do ceremonies for everyone!" Pete announced, bouncing on his heels as the group walked back toward the house. "Thor got a Viking funeral, so I should get a— what do scouts have? A badge ceremony? A campfire singalong?"
"I refuse to be honored with a campfire singalong," Hetty said icily.
"What about me?" Alberta cut in. "I was MURDERED. I deserve something more than just a fire by the lake."
"Perhaps a formal military review," Isaac suggested. "Appropriate honors for those who served."
"You died of diarrhea, Isaac."
"I died of DYSENTERY, which is an entirely different—"
"You literally pooped yourself to death."
"THAT IS A GROSS OVERSIMPLIFICATION—"
The bickering escalated rapidly, voices overlapping, centuries of unresolved grievances bubbling to the surface. Logan stepped back from the chaos, letting Sam take the lead on mediation.
But he was smiling. Genuinely smiling, for the first time since he'd arrived in this world.
"They're ridiculous. All of them. Petty and dramatic and trapped by their own neuroses."
"But they're also family. In a weird, dead, impossible way."
[COMEDY REGENERATION DETECTED: +12 GE]
[SOURCE: GENUINE GROUP LAUGHTER. WITNESSES: 10.]
[GE: 118/100 → CAPPED AT 100 (POOL MAXIMUM).]
The numbers scrolled across Logan's vision, and for once he didn't mind them. The system was confirming what he already felt — something had shifted. The ghosts weren't just characters anymore. They weren't plot points to navigate or obstacles to manage.
They were people. Dead people, sure. But people.
Jay fell into step beside Logan as they approached the house.
"So that was... something," Jay said carefully. "The fire thing. The words. Sam seemed really moved."
"It felt important."
"Yeah." Jay was quiet for a moment. "I don't know what you and Sam are doing out here, talking to the air, but... she's happier than I've seen her in years. Whatever weird ghost stuff is happening, it's working for her."
"He can't see them. He can't hear them. But he supports her anyway."
"You're a good husband, Jay."
"I'm a confused husband." Jay smiled, tired but genuine. "But I figure if she's happy and nobody's getting hurt, I can live with confused."
They reached the porch. Jay headed inside to start dinner, and Logan lingered for a moment, looking out at the property — the fire pit still glowing in the distance, the lake reflecting the first stars of evening.
"This is what the show couldn't capture," he thought. "The quiet moments. The in-between spaces. The way a thousand-year-old Viking can look peaceful for the first time in centuries."
Thor's voice drifted from inside the house: "The soft modern man has earned a name! I shall call him Logan Fire-Bringer!"
"Please don't call me that."
"LOGAN FIRE-BRINGER! IT IS DECIDED!"
The ghosts erupted in laughter — Alberta's bright and musical, Pete's slightly manic, even Sass's quiet chuckle carrying through the evening air.
Logan shook his head and went inside.
Later that night, Sam pinned a flyer to the kitchen corkboard.
WOODSTONE BED & BREAKFASTGRAND OPENING: NOVEMBERA HISTORIC ESTATE. A NEW BEGINNING.
"It's happening," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "We're really doing this."
Behind her, invisible but watching, eight ghosts crowded around the corkboard with expressions ranging from excitement to terror.
"November?" Alberta's voice rose. "That's three weeks! The wallpaper in the guest rooms is peeling! The kitchen hasn't been updated since 1987! There's a CHOLERA PIT IN THE BASEMENT!"
"I quite like the wallpaper," Isaac said stiffly.
"Of course you do, you have no taste."
"I have IMPECCABLE taste, developed through decades of—"
"The basement ghosts are very nice," Flower added dreamily. "They mostly just cough."
Pete was already bouncing. "A grand opening! With guests! Living people! Maybe some of them will be able to see us too! Maybe there'll be a scout troop! Maybe—"
"There will NOT be a scout troop," Hetty cut in. "This is a respectable establishment, not a campground."
"Scouts are very respectable! We have badges and everything!"
The chaos swirled around Sam, who couldn't hear any of it, smiling at her flyer with the quiet pride of someone who'd finally found her purpose.
Logan watched from the doorway, system console glowing softly at the edge of his vision.
[NEW QUEST DETECTED: WOODSTONE B&B — GRAND OPENING]
[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THREE WEEKS OF PREPARATION WITH 8 OPINIONATED GHOSTS.]
[REWARD: UNKNOWN. PROBABLY HEADACHES.]
Three weeks. Eight ghosts. One increasingly complicated performance.
"No pressure."
Thor's voice boomed through the house: "LOGAN FIRE-BRINGER! Come tell these fools that a bed and breakfast requires PROPER VIKING HOSPITALITY!"
Logan sighed, smiled, and walked into the chaos.