Goblins & Vikings in America: Episode 1

by Norman Crane

accept: that Framarr was dead. It pained Erlandr, as he was sure it pained everyone gathered in the longhouse, to see the Riverraider still clinging to false hope. False hope mixed with sorrow might lead even the best of men to make an unwise decision.

  Nobody made a sound.

  "As I have said, I sail tomorrow at sun up. All who meet me near Fox's Prowl are welcome passengers on my boat."

  Goll opened his mouth, about to make another comment—when the longhouse door swung open and the fat figure of Young Chieftain Halfdan strode in.

  Chain-mail covered his torso and a battle-axe weighed down his hand. "A gathering," he said, feigning surprise. "A feast? A celebration! And to think that nobody had the decency, or gall, to invite me. I am shocked. I am disappointed. No, I am hurt. Deeply and dreadfully hurt."

  The Riverraider remained standing where he was. "State your business, Halfdan."

  "My business? You want to know my business? Well, let me tell you." He walked by the meal-fire and pulled loose some meat to gnaw on. "First," he said through chewing teeth, "I am here on behalf of my father, the great and honourable Chieftain Likvidr, to convey his condolences on the event of the passing of your wife, whatever-her-name. My apologies! I have forgotten. Nonetheless, his thoughts are with you and may you meet her again at the end times, Thor willing." Halfdan cleared his throat, grabbed a cup of mead from someone's hand, and took a long drink. "Second, I have come on behalf of myself to collect the tithe you have all so unjustly denied me of."

  Erlandr felt like rising from his chair and meeting Halfdan chest to chest. He'd fantasized about it for years. Halfdan had always been an arrogant nuisance. He deserved to be humbled, at least once. If only Erlandr possessed the courage to really do it.

  "We did not deny you of anything," the Riverraider said. "Your man was free to take a tenth. That he refused is not our doing."

  Halfdan smirked. "Yes, I am aware of his conundrum. A burning body, a few mere riches. How does one divide it up?" He pretended to scratch his chin and think. "I agree it was a difficult situation. Thankfully, there are many more riches here now, and many more woman, all of them living and able." He pointed at each one in the longhouse in turn, counting loudly as he did, finishing at: "Eleven. Alas, indivisible by ten unless we are to start hacking off limbs, but because I am a generous soul I will give you all a discount. I will take less than a tenth. I will take one." He emphasized the word "take".

  "You shall take no one," the Riverraider said.

  "I shall take whichever bitch I please. After which, I shall eat my fill of your food and drink my share of your mead, and you shall call me nice names and swear your allegiance to my father."

  "You shall leave," the Riverraider said.

  "Do you propose to make me, old man of the river?"

  A murmur rippled through the longhouse, and through Erlandr, too. "You would threaten a man at the funeral feast of his wife?" he said. He'd said it softly, and the sentence was a little awkward, but at least it made sense and it was loud enough to be heard. That was more than could be said for anyone else.

  Halfdan slid his gaze from the Riverraider to Erlandr. "And you are?"

  Erlandr stood up. His heart was beating fast but his fantasy was coming true. In his fantasy—

  "You, who questions a man's decency, interrupts a chieftain whilst he is speaking to one of his subjects," Halfdan said.

  "We are not your father's subjects," the Riverraider said. "Leave the boy alone. Your discussion is with me."

  Halfdan looked at the Riverraider again. "Yes, with you." He swung his battle-axe lazily with one arm, nearly knocking over a plate of fish and hitting someone's head. "Let's speak more closely, you and I."

  The blood in Erlandr's veins boiled. If only everyone were to stand, if they would just show their collective support, perhaps Halfdan would grow afraid. He might be intimidated into retreating. As it was, he came forward unimpeded, no doubt thinking about rape, murder and everything else he could do that his father would let him get away with.

  "Suppose I desired to cut off your head, river man. Who here would stop me? And after you were headless, who would raise a hand to avenge your death?"

  The Riverraider's eyes refused to look at the men and women around him, to ask for their help. They refused to answer Halfdan's question. It made Erlandr sick to his stomach. He'd already swallowed the knot that had been in his throat and it was expanding in his belly. "I would," he said.

  The words took Halfdan by surprise. "Would you, now?" he asked. "Then you shouldn't hide behind an old man. You should step out and face me eye to eye while you threaten my father's rightful power."

  Erlandr did, even as he felt the Riverraider's hand pulling him back by the shirt sleeve. "Be calm," the Riverraider whispered.

  But Erlandr shook himself free and came forward to meet Halfdan's smirking face. "Your father is the only reason nobody stands against you. Without your father, you would be nothing. You would—"

  "And without your father, you would be nothing also," Halfdan said, humping the air. "Or hasn't anyone taught you how that works?" When nobody laughed, he added, "I, at least, thought it was a fairly clever retort."

  "Leave," the Riverraider said.

  "On an empty stomach and with my balls still full of fluid? It would have been a wasted journey. I demand a fuck, a feast and a tithe."

  "Leave before you get hurt," the Riverraider said.

  The smirk disappeared off Halfdan's face. "That, river man, is a threat."

  "No," the Riverraider said. "A threat is: I will end your life you if you do not leave."

  All at once, Halfdan roared and raised his battle-axe; the Riverraider crouched to avoid the incoming blow while readying a counter-strike of his own; and Erlandr, committed to finally acting out his most heroic fantasy, leaped savagely forward, catching Halfdan in the chest with his shoulder before the Young Chieftain could complete his axe swing, and sending both of them crashing to the longhouse floor.

  Halfdan's axe fell from his hand.

  The sound of its blade hitting the floor was still reverberating in the air as Erlandr punched Halfdan twice in the face. The Chieftain's son may have been big and strong but he was also slow and flabby, and his face was soft.

  Halfdan roared.

  Erlandr felt his knuckles crunch into his teeth.

  The teeth moved—wobbled.

  The blurred shape of the Riverraider's body smeared itself across Erlandr's eyes.

  But he had no time to think. He was punching. He was maintaining his position on top of Halfdan's vulnerable body and pounding his face. Voices shouted: "More!", "Hurt the bastard real good!", "Kill him."

  Erlandr's fantasy was becoming reality.

  Until something happened that had never happened in the fantasies.

  Halfdan freed one of his arms and punched Erlandr back.

  The blow staggered him.

  Halfdan's bloody face smiled.

  Another thick fist caught Erlandr, this time in the jaw, and when he tried to smash his own fist into Halfdan's forehead, he missed and punched the ground instead. Pain shot up his limb and pooled in his cheeks.

  Halfdan wrapped his fingers around Erlandr's throat.

  Erlandr couldn't breathe. He reached back, touching the floor, trying to touch the axe that Halfdan had dropped. If only he could find it.

  From the crowd, Goll yelled, "Here."

  Erlandr felt nothing but emptiness under his palms. He heard no help coming from anywhere. He couldn't see the Riverraider. He didn't want to see anybody else. He felt an object hit his chest and bounce off. He looked down. A knife lay on Halfdan's chest, shining like flames through a sheet of ice, between the flexed arm that was choking him and the one that had found the axe laying on the floor...

  Halfdan snorted, fixing his grip on the axe handle.

  "Do it!" someone screamed.

  Erlandr pushed one hand against Halfdan's axe-holding arm, pinning it to the floor as best as he could, and picked up
the knife with the other. It was a simple hunting knife.

  He stabbed Halfdan in the hip with it, just below the chain mail.

  Halfdan's grip on Erlandr's throat loosened. Erlandr desperately sucked air into his lungs.

  His senses sharpened.

  He stabbed Halfdan again, deeper.

  The blade tore through flesh. The choking stopped and Halfdan's arm dropped to the side of his body, where blood was beginning to stain his clothes. He tried prying his other arm—the one still clutching the axe—free, but couldn't. Erlandr was overpowering it. Again, he felt heroic. Around him were cheers and drums.

  He moved his hand up Halfdan's arm until he was at the wrist and squeezed until the axe handle came free.

  He picked up the axe and rose to his feet.

  "You're a dead man," Halfdan said from his back. "My father will personally rip your guts out with a hook for this."

  "Kill him. Kill the coward," a woman said. The crowd roared. "Make justice."

  The axe was heavy, and Erlandr used both hands to lift it to his shoulder. The crowd's drumming was his own heartbeat, emanating from every part of his body. His blood was hot. He tasted the bitterness of bloodlust on his lips and in his mouth. It was a taste he'd never known before. It was the only taste. His chest billowed. He wanted to bring the axe down and split Halfdan's skull in two.

  "Put the axe down," the Riverraider said. He wasn't a blur any more. He was solid. He was calm. "He deserves death, but killing him has consequences for those who do not."

  "Stop talking!" Erlandr wanted to yell in the Riverraider's face.

  "Likvidr will take revenge,"