The Viking’s Sacrifice

by Julia Knight

  Toki didn’t dare go back to Agnar’s, not until he had something to offer in payment for Wilda. Bebba had been quite clear, and she wasn’t one for lying. You come again, Agnar will have to take his knife to you. He won’t want to, but he’ll have to. Maybe to her too. Who do you think will care if he does?

  No one would. He’d have braved Agnar and his knife in a heartbeat if it weren’t for what might happen to Wilda because of it, but he couldn’t understand why. Why would Agnar care so much about him seeing a thrall, or even bedding one, if that was what Bebba thought he was about? Agnar had bedded his share of slaves in his day.

  It didn’t matter, though, because he was going to buy Wilda and keep her safe in his hut until spring, when he could get her away from Bausi. Her, in his hut. Till spring. His face flushed red hot at that. She’d been kind to him because he’d once stopped Bausi killing her, and it was gratitude, that was all. She was being kind. But the gratitude that he felt to her had grown, become something else, a burning bright spot in his silent, icy life. She was all he could think of. Even Bausi and his curse paled beside her.

  There wasn’t much time left. Bausi would be back soon, triumphant and gloating or having failed in his wedding negotiations and taking it out on everyone. Toki had to get Wilda up to his hut, out of sight and safe, before Bausi came back. He needed one more fur, which could be curing while he made the rest of the cloak.

  Einar stamped and blew at the biting air that seemed to freeze the inside of Toki’s nose. The sky was high, as blue as robin’s eggs, and the mountains stood out clear and hard against it. A good day to be in the forest. With the help of an old stump, Toki slid onto patient Einar’s back and nudged him up the slope to where he’d left his traps.

  He’d had to set the snares farther and farther away in hope of catching a fox, and it was several miles through snow that was hock deep on Einar to reach them. The first two were empty, and the next had neatly garrotted a hare, which Toki tied to Einar. It would do for dinner. Deer tracks criss-crossed their path to the next trap, but Toki didn’t take out his bow. Food wasn’t what he was here for, not today, though the hare was welcome.

  More tracks got Toki’s attention—fresh fox tracks weaving up the mountain, along the path he’d seen before, when he’d set the trap. He’d put the snare, baited with a hare leg, in the tangle of old and new tracks that meant a fox’s den close by. A nudge to Einar and they were through the last of the trees and at the trap. A big dog fox was thrashing in the snare, all sharp teeth and sharper fear. Toki slid from Einar and approached warily. A trapped animal was dangerous, especially when you weren’t too nimble on your feet, but one swift stroke from his scramasax and the fox was dead. He skinned it, his hands quick and practised, and scattered the remains for scavengers. Einar snorted at the scent of blood when Toki put the bundle on his back, but soon settled.

  The sun was lowering behind an arm of the mountain by the time Toki pointed Einar downward, the air chilling still further as night loomed, and it was dusk by the time they came out of the forest and across a clear expanse of snow that was one of Agnar’s pastures in summer. A few dark figures hurried toward him from the direction of his hut and Toki pulled Einar to a halt. Sigdir led, and the bundled-up figure looked to be Gudrun, but it was the third that twisted Toki’s gut. Bausi was back already. Toki didn’t have the time he’d thought.

  He considered turning Einar, heading back up the mountain until they’d passed, but night was falling around him like a cloak. The iciness of the wind seeped further into his bones, and the forest was no place in the snow and dark. Instead he put his head down, held his nerve and nudged Einar on.

  Sigdir called to him, but he ignored it and made to steer Einar around the three. Bausi grabbed at a rein and pulled Einar to a stop with a snort of breath that puffed out in an icy cloud.

  Toki couldn’t see Bausi’s face—Sigdir held a torch that guttered in the night wind from across the fjord but he stood on the other side of Einar, holding the horse from there. Neatly trapping Toki, like the dog fox in his snare. Gudrun huddled by Sigdir, her face creased in a frown, as though she thought she should understand what was happening here, but didn’t.

  “I hear you’ve been busy while I’ve been gone.” Bausi’s voice was a growl in the dark on that side. “I also hear you’ve been making trouble at Agnar’s. That you spoke, little brother.”

  The sly tone was just for Toki, reminding him, as if he needed it.

  Say nothing. Toki stared down at his gloved hands on the reins and concentrated on silence. It came with the ease of long practice, but it seemed silence wasn’t enough today. Bausi’s hand reached up and, with a casual yank on Toki’s cloak, had him on his back in the snow. Horse-Einar shied before he settled, ears twitching, a few yards away.

  Bausi leaned over him and pointed with his scramasax, the twist of a smile evident now as Sigdir came to stand next to him and held up the torch. Be still. Use your courage and bear this, as you have borne all the rest. Yet his heart pounded, told him to get up, to refuse the insult from Bausi, to show what was in him. Be still, be silent.

  “See, Gudrun, this is what weakness is. You’re growing fast and though I’ve tried to shelter you from what your brother is, you’ve begun to see. A craven weakling with less than half a mind left from fear. He’s not worth the shit off my boot, or even a kind word. We reserve that for those who earn it through strength and courage, not those who throw away the right for cowardice. Sympathy for the weak will make you weak too. It’s enough that we let him live.”

  Toki glanced at Gudrun. Her eyes were wide, not with fright but what seemed sudden understanding. When she looked at Toki again, the last of the affection had gone from her face. It had slowly seeped away over the years, as she’d grown and seen how others treated him, had begun to copy them, had earned approval for it and forgotten who he’d been. Now the last went, all at once, as she saw him helpless under Bausi’s knife. Helpless because he dared say nothing, dared do nothing, for her.

  He recalled how it had been much the same with Sigdir, the look of sudden realisation that his brother was to be sneered at, that it was right to do it. The day Bausi’s poisonous words had finally taken over his heart.

  Bausi turned to Horse-Einar and hit his rump with the flat of his knife, sending the horse plunging through the snow. “You keep yourself to yourself, Toki. I don’t want young minds like Gudrun’s thinking weakness is anything I’ll accept, or my new bride to look at you and think I’m weak because of you. If you come close enough for me to see you, I’ll be rid of you once and for all.” He held out a hand and Gudrun took it, casting a complicated, hard look on Toki as they walked away.

  It wasn’t just the snow and ice that made Toki’s heart a cold thud in his chest. Not just the snow.

  Chapter Eight

  It is better to live than to lie a corpse.

  Havamal: 70

  Toki shivered by the fire in his hut, grateful for the extra warmth of Einar in his stall. He stirred the thin gruel that was today’s ration. More than ever, he had to do something, only he didn’t know what. The only solid thought was to carry on with his plan, to buy Wilda and keep her from Bausi. After that—after that he didn’t know.

  First he must get Wilda. He shoved aside every other thought, concentrated on what he could do rather than what he couldn’t, and surveyed what he’d managed to find. Five fox furs, barely enough for a good cloak for him, but it would fit Idunn, who was small and looking frail as a bird this winter. That would please Agnar, a cloak this fine for her. Maybe enough to sell Wilda. Then, when that threat was safe, he could plan.

  He set the latest fur in a barrel to soak, to loosen the fat and skin before he scraped it. Two of the other furs were ready, while the last two needed a day or so more to cure. He gathered the two that were ready and set to, letting the repetition take over his mind and free it to think.

  He’d lived asleep for too long, he saw that now. Let it all wash over him, letting t
he poison that was Bausi seep into everything, into everyone. He’d let it, because he loved Sigdir and Gudrun and wanted to see them live, even if twisted. Twisted was better than dead. He’d been asleep and blind with it, thinking his silence courage. It was time now to let his dreams become real, to live outside his head and show the iron in him they all thought long rusted.

  Wilda had come, woken him up, opened his eyes. He’d been drifting on the tide, but now he had to row for shore. Only he didn’t know where the shore was. His only guide was Wilda, and he clung to the thought of her, like a guiding star to take him home.

  It took two days before he was satisfied. By then his eyes were strained, his back hunched, but it was done. The finest thing he’d ever made, a cloak of white fur, trimmed with the tails, the little bone carving from his trunk altered to serve as a pin. It might be enough, if Agnar was feeling generous.

  He led Einar out into the grey daylight and heaved himself onto the horse’s back. His hut was far from the others—no one wanted him close by, so he’d built far up the valley, close by the forest. A tiny patch of land that had been begrudged him, but it was home now.

  Down the valley toward the fjord, smoke rose from longhouses and farmsteads in tidy little plumes, rising and mingling with the lowering clouds. Near the centre, near Bausi’s feasting hall and the blacksmith’s, Agnar’s farmstead puffed out smoke and little black figures darted around the buildings. Slaughtering for Bloodmonth. Toki looked back at his hut. The pig. If he added the meat that was smoking slowly in the rafters, that would be more than enough. If he added that, he might not make it through the winter. If he didn’t buy Wilda, she might not make it through the winter. He thought of her younger face, drenched in sweat, blood and fear as she threw his knife, averted the blow that would have killed him. Bought him precious time, enough for Agnar to come and stop Bausi from another outright murder.

  He brought the meat. He owed her that.

  It was slow going at first. Horse-Einar had to break the crust of snow and make a path for himself, at least till they got to the first farmstead. After that it got easier, though it became full of half-frozen slush that made the way slippery. By the time Toki reached Agnar’s farmstead, the sun was a grey disk through the clouds halfway up the sky. Toki slid carefully from Einar’s back, mindful always of his leg, and took down the cloak, folded and wrapped in an old scrap of homespun wool.

  When he turned, Bebba stood in the doorway, hands on hips, with a disapproving purse of her lips accusing him. Of what he wasn’t sure, but she stood aside when he approached. He ducked through the doorway into smoke-soaked dimness. Agnar stood on one of the benches, hanging hams from the rafters above the fire so the smoke would preserve them. His face drew into a scowl when he saw Toki, but he got down and wiped his hands on his trousers.

  “I hope you aren’t here to cause more fuss.”

  As always, Toki said nothing. From the corner of his eye he saw Bebba dart through into the room she used for brewing and glimpsed Wilda, the bronze collar around her neck not quite covered by the sweep of her dark hair. He held out the parcel. Agnar took it with a suspicious look that widened into surprise when he unwrapped it. “This is a fine cloak, and it’ll be just right for Idunn. But why are you giving it to me?”

  Toki slid his eyes toward the brewing room, where Bebba stood with her arms crossed in the doorway, Wilda behind her, pale but stoic. She managed a wan smile for Toki, and he knew why her collar pained him. Because she’d been a wild thing once, all scrambled hair and bare feet and daring, and now the collar tamed her.

  That smile gave him enough courage for this. His voice crackled and broke, rusty from disuse, but he spoke. “For Wilda.”

  Agnar snorted and shoved the cloak back at him. “And there was me, thinking maybe you weren’t such a simpleton after all.”

  “Please,” Toki said. “For Wilda. My pig too, what meat I got from it. Take both.”

  “What you want with her, eh?” Bebba’s voice was sharp with disapproval. “Going to be like your brothers, take yourself a bed-slave? I thought better of you than that, for all they say you’re simple.”

  “Bebba, enough.” Agnar shot her a warning look. Bebba sometimes forgot her place, and though Agnar was a patient man, he’d had cause to teach her more than once before. A man nagged by his own thrall was not a man, not in the eyes of the village. “Toki, what do you want with a thrall? You can barely feed yourself, and she won’t help much. It’s not like you can all of a sudden afford a flock of sheep so she can spend her time spinning.”

  Toki’s breath was tight, his throat burning, but he couldn’t say it. It had been hard enough to say the few words he had. He thrust out the cloak again and kept his eyes on Agnar’s. Even as he did, he knew it was no good. Agnar’s face, hard as rock, sad as moonlight, made it clear even before he spoke.

  “She isn’t mine to sell, Toki. She belongs to Sigdir. I’m just keeping her till Winter Nights. And I don’t need to say he won’t sell her to you. Especially this one.”

  Toki’s throat dried up and his heart squeezed painfully. She belonged to Sigdir, and the whole village knew what he was like with his thralls. He’d learned from Bausi. And Sigdir wouldn’t sell him a thrall. Sigdir would give him nothing he didn’t need to. Wilda’s pale face watched, her brows creased as she tried to follow the words. He couldn’t bear it, the thought of her with Sigdir, of any poor woman thrall with Sigdir, with what he’d become without Arni to guide him, with Bausi to twist him.

  Agnar’s old face wrinkled even more, in pity maybe. “Why’s this one got you all so fired up? It’s not like you, not at all, and it worries me, though I’m glad you found your tongue at last. Why this one? She’s pleasing enough to look at, but that’s not it, because all Sigdir’s thralls are that.”

  Toki stared down at the cloak, watched his hands sink into the soft fur, crumple and twist it, seemingly on their own. He couldn’t say. Even if he’d not been cursed to silence on it, he couldn’t say because it wasn’t just what she’d seen, the danger she put them all in. Not just because keeping her alive was his one good thing, stored up to tell Odin that he was worthy when the time came. It was her.

  Agnar sat down heavily, shaking his head. “Wish I knew for sure what happened the night Arni died. All we got is Bausi’s word, because you don’t talk, and you act like you’re simple, or ashamed of yourself, right enough. I don’t know what’s got into you, but here’s the small comfort I got for you. Sigdir took this one particular. He’s got a reason, though I don’t know what it is. But he’s been playing very secretive of late, even with Bausi, and that comforts me. It comforts me that he’s grown enough now to not take everything Bausi says as truth, that he doesn’t always follow Bausi’s order true. Makes his own little twist on it. He don’t want Bausi knowing of this Wilda, and that should comfort you too. He’s planning something, I don’t know what, but whatever it is, he don’t want Bausi to know. So you just leave her be, Toki, you hear me? I’ll be taking care of her, till Winter Nights at least, and you know I’ll take good care.”

  Toki nodded miserably. Agnar would take good care of her, he knew that, but that wasn’t the problem. Sigdir was the problem, and Bausi. And himself, he was the biggest problem, because he lacked the means to do anything about it.

  If he couldn’t buy her, and he couldn’t help her run, what could he do? He looked down at the cloak. He could help her buy herself—she could buy her own freedom, and no one could stop that. The cloak wasn’t enough, nor cloak and pig, but it would be a start. Six ounces of silver was the price of freedom. He pushed past Bebba and looked down at Wilda. She trembled, making his Mjollnir amulet jingle on its chain where it hung from the brooch that pinned her apron-dress, yet the look she gave him was steady enough, and again she managed a smile. Too hemmed in, pinned down, caught where she had once been free.

  Maybe he was doing this, not because he should, not because saving her was the one good thing he’d ever done and he would keep it,
but for that smile. A smile for a man, not a half-wit mute, a coward and a disgrace. He held out the cloak.

  Chapter Nine

  The mind knows alone what is nearest the heart

  and sees where the soul is turned.

  Havamal: 93

  Wilda spent the afternoon grinding, a hard and thankless task and a mindless one she could lose herself in. Her back, neck and arm throbbed with the strain, but she dared not stop. Agnar had Bebba repeat to her often that she was a thrall, she would do as she was bidden.

  A shadow fell over her, black and looming from the doorway. Almost before she registered it, a hand took her across the face, knuckles and two rings opening a cut. Wilda fell to the floor, her fingers to her cheek. Before she could try to get up, someone caught at the back of her dress and dragged her to her feet, and face to face with Sigdir.

  Red hair streamed back from a broad face that would have been handsome but for the twisted sneer. Blue eyes peeked out of deep sockets, eyes that were never still, always searching, suspicious of everything and everyone. Sigdir, her master.

  His words sounded like a wolf growling and, against her will, Wilda shrank back. When Bebba translated, her voice shook.

  “He says you ain’t doing as you’re told. You’re a thrall, his thrall, and you do whatever you’re told to do, as soon as you’re told to do it. You don’t stop till you’re given leave. And you’re to stop all this making up to Toki. He says…he says you ain’t to get above yourself, like I do.”

  Wilda’s spine stiffened at that. She’d done as she was told for a long time now. Be good. Be virtuous. Stop running off wild when it suits you. Buckle down. Work hard. Where had it got her? Here, where things were worse than ever, where the chains were only more obvious, the collar visible round her neck now.