By many names I am known,
Valfreyja, Sigrdrifa, Hildr,Gunnr and Reginleif are but a few.
Long golden hair flowing in the wind,
eyes of ice-fire blue and fair-skinned.
Adorned in a scarlet mantle and crosslet,
shielded by an ancient chain mail breastplate.
In one hand a barbed shield,
in the other, a long deadly spike.
Effortlessly riding a powerful black steed,
its magnificent mane flowing in the breeze.
Far above feathery, white clouds
in the cerulean morning sky,
my only companion is a jet-black raven.
Wings outstretched gracefully it soars,
with beak open wide.
Accomplishing the will of Odin
Determining the victors of the mêlée
and the outcome of warfare.
Splendid spirit of the afterlife,
the source of a warrior’s imaginings.
A glimpse of me is to die.
Gathering courageous souls of slain vanquishers,
my desire is only the most valiant heroes to journey to Valhalla.
Dublin 1941. A brutal murder. Mistaken identity. And barman Eamon Foley is running for his life.
Nine months later Foley is in a crowded pub, and his brother-in-law is shot dead.
Shanghai Escapist grabs the faint-of-heart right from the get-go and serves up an ultimatum: What would you do if caught in the same circumstances? From the opening scene, the reader is tossed into the maze of daily intrigue as it existed in 1960s-70
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Fayaz