Frostborn

by Lou Anders

  Thianna broke into a quick victory dance.

  Thrudgelmir’s bat whacked her hard in her calves. Her feet shot out from under her, and she went down in the snow. On instinct, she rolled quickly aside. The bat pounded the snow where she had been. She scrambled to her feet.

  “What was that for?” she demanded. Thrudgelmir shook his bat at her as he rose up onto his knees.

  “For your cheating!” he roared.

  “Cheating?” Thianna was dumbfounded. Knattleikr wasn’t a sport with a lot of rules to break. It was pretty much an “anything goes” sort of game. “How was that cheating?”

  “No frost giant could have tumbled like that. And this is a frost giant game. So it must be cheating.”

  Thianna was incensed.

  “Just because you’re too clumsy to do something doesn’t make it illegal!”

  “Clumsy?” roared Thrudgelmir, getting to his feet. “I’ll show you clumsy.” He swung his bat at her again, but Thianna leapt right over it. Then, as Thrudgelmir’s swing was carrying him around, she kicked him hard in the back of the leg and he went down again.

  “You’re right, Thrudgey,” she laughed. “You did show me clumsy.”

  “Squash you flat,” Thrudgelmir spat through a mouthful of snow. Before he could make good on his threat, Gunnlod again yelled, “Go!” The village chieftain tossed the ball onto the field, and Thrudgelmir and Thianna joined the crowd chasing after it.

  The Knattleikr match went on in this manner for much of the day. In the end, Thianna’s team won with a score of forty-five to thirty-three. She had been involved in at least twenty of the goals. Furthermore, when the injuries were tallied, it was found that there were four broken arms, three busted noses (one of them Thrudgey’s), a dozen black eyes, and several missing teeth. This was judged by all to have been a good game.

  Karn was nervous. The enormous man staring sternly at him from across the market-stall table wasn’t helping. The man stank of the sea. Even though they stood amid a bustling fish market, with dozens of tables piled with the carcasses of sea creatures of every kind, and the salt air from the harbor at their backs, most of the smell seemed to be coming off of him. Not that the smell was the most intimidating thing about him. The man had dirty, wild hair escaping from an imposing helmet of hide and steel. With his bushy black beard, his enormous spear strapped to his back, the ax strapped to his belt, he looked like one of the Norrønir raiders that used to sail across the seas to burn villages in Araland and Ungland. In reality, however, Bandulfr was a longship captain. This meant he was a fisherman, working the waters of Serpent’s Gulf. But the notches in the head of his spear, the dents in his helmet, and the chips in the blade of his ax were suspicious.

  “Well?” said the big man in a gruff voice.

  “I don’t know, three?” said Karn.

  “Three?” repeated Bandulfr. Karn wondered how he could talk so loudly through clenched teeth. Maybe the words escaped through the black gaps where teeth had been knocked out. “Are you sure?”

  Karn looked around at the other stalls on the busy docks of the seaside town of Bense, hoping to find inspiration. He found none. He absolutely was not sure. “Uh, yes,” said Karn hesitantly.

  Bandulfr smiled.

  “Three oxen it is,” he said, pounding down a meaty fist on his table.

  Beside him, Karn heard the sound of his father slapping a palm to his forehead. His heart sank. He realized he’d gotten it wrong. Korlundr sighed and shook his head, his long blond ponytail swinging like a skittish horse’s mane.

  Bandulfr chuckled.

  “You are right, my friend,” he said. “Letting your son conduct the bartering was a great idea. A single barrel of fish for three oxen is the best price I’ve ever had.” Bandulfr slapped Korlundr on the shoulder. Korlundr nodded grimly, then gave his son a crestfallen look.

  “Three, son?” Korlundr said softly. “Really?”

  Three oxen was obviously a very bad trade. It had been hard enough keeping straight just how many fox pelts equaled what amount of silver. It wasn’t fair that he was expected to remember oxen, and fish, and cheese, and barrels of milk. He’d no idea haggling in the markets of Bense could be so complicated.

  “Oh well,” said Bandulfr, trying to stifle a chuckle. “You can’t learn to climb a mountain without falling down a few hills, right?” He reached out to punch Karn playfully in the sternum. Karn winced at the force of the blow, but he gritted his teeth and tried to smile.

  “I suppose so,” Karn’s father said. “We’ll get the better of you next season, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps,” said Bandulfr, who had lifted a barrel of assorted fish—mostly haddock, salmon, and coalfish—up onto the table and was now hammering the lid shut to seal it for shipping. “I do hope your brilliant boy will do the negotiating then too.”

  Karn winced at this. So did Korlundr. Karn realized how much his failure must sting his father’s pride.

  “If only Karn thought as much about bartering as he does about his board games,” Korlundr said.

  Bandulfr stopped hammering on the barrel and looked up.

  “Board games, you say?”

  “Yes,” said Korlundr. “Karn is obsessed with them. He’s always playing.”

  Bandulfr peered at Karn again.

  “What’s your game, son?”

  “Thrones and Bones,” Karn replied.

  “Any good?”

  Karn looked up into the big man’s eyes. He thought he recognized a familiar glint in them that hadn’t been there before. He stifled the urge to grin. The ground suddenly felt a little surer under his feet.

  “I think so,” he said.

  “Sure you do,” Bandulfr said dismissively. “What do you know? You play with other children.”

  “I play with anyone,” said Karn, who recognized Bandulfr’s bluster. The big man might look like a fierce raider, but he was just another gamer. Karn knew how to handle those. “Anyone man enough.”

  Bandulfr looked skeptical. Karn dipped a hand in his satchel and withdrew two of his “bones.”

  Bandulfr whistled. He extended a tentative hand for the playing pieces.

  “May I?” This was the first time Bandulfr had bothered to sound polite.

  Karn nodded and passed the game pieces to the man. Bandulfr brought them up to his bloodshot eyes to inspect them.

  “These are whalebone,” he said appreciatively. Karn nodded. The rounded game pieces were carved to resemble little skulls. They were pieces from the attackers’ side. The skulls were meant to represent draug, the nasty undead warriors that dwelt in cursed grave mounds and preyed upon the living. Karn was exceptionally proud of his set. Playing pieces would normally be carved from stone or wood or cow bone. Whalebone pieces were much rarer, and therefore highly prized.

  Karn dipped another hand in and brought out one of the defenders’ game pieces, a gleaming shield maiden. This one was polished marble, but with actual silver inlay. Bandulfr whistled. He studied it a moment, then handed both the pieces back carefully.

  Bandulfr lowered the big barrel of fish onto the ground in front of them; then he slapped two stools down on either side. He came out from behind his market stall, producing a checkered game board from somewhere as he did so. He placed the board atop the barrel as he sat and gestured for Karn to take the stool opposite.

  “Do you play attackers or defenders?” asked Bandulfr.

  “I’ll beat you at either,” Karn said. “But I prefer the Jarl’s side.”

  Bandulfr grinned, impressed that Karn preferred the defenders. Playing the Jarl’s side was generally considered to be the harder position.

  “You must really think Kvir’s fortune smiles on you, huh, boy?” he said, invoking the god of luck and games of chance.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Korlundr, waving his hands. “Karn and I still have quite a few markets to visit today, if I stand any chance of making back my loss.”

  Bandulfr grunted. He pointed a thick finger a
t the board.

  “This is serious business, Korlundr. No boy can grow to be a true son of Norrøngard unless he can swing a sword, hurl an insult, or play a good board game.”

  Karn’s father crossed his arms, unconvinced.

  “It’s okay,” Karn said. “Trust me on this. This is my territory.” Before his father could object, he looked across the game at Bandulfr. “My father and I will bet you two oxen versus my playing pieces. If I lose, you get my Thrones and Bones set. My expensive whalebone and marble set. If I win, then you agree to give us the barrel of fish for the price of only one of our oxen. And if I win in less than ten turns, then you’ll make it two barrels of fish for one ox.”

  Bandulfr’s eyes went wide; then he grinned. He spat a gob of saliva into his hand and held it out for Karn to shake. Karn spat into his own palm and took the big man’s hand, sealing the wager with a squishy handshake.

  “Well, Korlundr,” laughed the fisherman, “I do think there’s hope for your boy after all.”

  Thianna was heading home when she was suddenly lifted high off her feet. Thrudgelmir had found her.

  “Let go of me!” she yelled, her feet dangling in the air.

  “Shut it, half-breed,” he growled back at her. “You think you are so clever, jumping around like a little fox in the snow? Just shows what a freak you are. Giants don’t move like that.”

  “I am a giant.”

  Thrudgelmir guffawed. He shook her so that her feet swung back and forth.

  “Your feet don’t exactly touch the ground now, do they?”

  Thianna grimaced, glaring into his beady eyes.

  “Do they?” Thrudgelmir shook her.

  “No,” she admitted, teeth rattling.

  “So what does that tell you?”

  “That you are dumber than you look, Thrudgey,” she said, grinning wickedly. Thrudgelmir frowned. He knew that he had the advantage, and therefore he should be the one grinning. If Thianna was grinning, that meant something. But before he could work out what, she kicked him hard. As she was up in the air, her toes were level with a very uncomfortable place.

  Thrudgelmir howled. He dropped Thianna, cupping himself and falling to his knees. Thianna didn’t wait for him to recover. She turned and bolted.

  Thrudgelmir struggled up, hobbling after her.

  She risked a glance back. He was having trouble walking, but his face was so red he looked like he could melt snow with it.

  “You want to know what real frost giants do for fun, little half-breed?” he roared. “We throw things.” He scooped up a boulder the size of her head and hurled it her way. It struck a rock outcropping and shattered. Thianna flinched away from the shards. Realizing she’d seriously angered him this time, she ran faster.

  “I’d like to see you lift that rock,” he called after her. “Maybe when I catch you, I’ll lift you. And toss you right off the plateau.”

  Thianna’s feet slipped on the icy ground. Behind her, Thrudgelmir lobbed another boulder. She was heading for a boulder too, but not to throw it. She’d stashed something there.

  Thrudgelmir was gaining. After all, he had the longer legs.

  Thianna slid to a halt in the snow. Leaning behind the boulder was her prized possession. Two long, slender shafts of rare wood. Her snow skis. She snapped them on, tightening the laces right up until the moment that Thrudgelmir’s shadow loomed over her. As his long arms reached down for her, she kicked off. Thianna shot away. Her furious poling and a slight decline were carrying her off faster than the lumbering giant could run.

  “Don’t think you’re clever!” he hollered at her rapidly retreating back. “Just because you can ski and I can’t. It just proves you don’t belong here. You’ll never belong here. Do you hear me? If you were smart, you’d head downhill and just keep going.”

  Thianna bit back a response, choking down her emotions. She could beat them at Knattleikr every time, and she could always get the better of Thrudgelmir, but the giants would never accept her as one of their own. It wasn’t her fault, her mixed blood. She didn’t ask to be a half-breed. She’d cut her human half out in an instant if she could find a way to do it. As she hurtled down the icy slope, she told herself it was just the wind in her eyes making her blink.

  “I won, didn’t I?” said Karn. He was feeling rather good about himself, his Jarl having broken the siege of draug and escaped the board in less than ten turns. Bandulfr was now obliged to pay them two barrels for just one ox. It had truly been a great game. Across from him Uncle Ori grinned, but his father shook his head.

  “He did win, brother,” Ori said. “Isn’t that the important thing?”

  The three of them were squeezed onto benches at a long table that ran down the center of Stolki’s Hall. Korlundr’s broad shoulders rubbed people on either side. Everyone was talking and singing and trading clever insults. A few Norrønir were engaged in the time-honored tradition of flinging leftover bones and other table scraps at each other with the intent to wound. Karn and his father and uncle all had to raise their voices to be heard over the din, and the smoke from a large fire pit stung Karn’s eyes. For those coming in from isolated farms or smaller towns, he could see how the nonstop nature of Bense’s noisy, violent nightlife might prove overwhelming. Not so for Karn, who yearned for a life beyond the family farm. He was loving every minute of it.

  Korlundr, however, glared at his younger brother.

  “That’s not the point,” Karn’s father said. “There’s a good deal more to life than playing games.”

  “That’s right,” said Karn, grinning at his uncle. “There’s swinging swords and hurling insults.”

  Ori snickered.

  “He’s got at least one of those down,” his uncle said. “Tell us again what it was that you called Bandulfr right before you beat him.”

  “A bugger-nosed bulge bottom,” said Karn proudly.

  “Good one, that,” said Ori. He turned to Korlundr. “See? Find your boy a sword and call him a man already.”

  “For Neth’s sake, don’t encourage him, Ori,” snapped Korlundr. “Karn will be hauld of the farm one day. He needs to grow up.”

  Ori glared for a moment, then nodded.

  “So be it,” he said, staring down into his drinking horn. “I will leave you two haulds to it.” He got up from the table and walked away. Korlundr watched him go. Karn wondered how his father and uncle could be twins and yet stumble around each other so. Korlundr took a long swig of his mead and then cast the horn aside.

  “Walk with me, son.”

  Karn followed his father. He had to step quickly to catch up with Korlundr, who was shouldering his way out of the crowded room. Generally, Norrønir rose with the sun and went to bed with its setting. They might be the descendants of sea raiders, but they lived a farmer’s existence. Trading season saw a break in this routine, but the streets were still unlit at night.

  Karn glanced up at the stars in the sky. He dipped his head respectfully to the goddess Manna when he spotted her moon, though its own smaller sister was hidden behind the shining sphere.

  Karn trailed his father through the night, their footsteps loud on the planks of wood that lined the larger streets. He felt a knot in his stomach, more complicated than just what the spicy mutton Stolki served could account for. Karn really did love his father. But he wasn’t like him. Korlundr was a larger-than-life figure. For him, commanding a hundred people to work a farm came naturally. But it didn’t come naturally to Karn. Whatever his father said, a time when Karn was the hauld felt as remote now as Manna and her distant moon.

  “Don’t listen to Bandulfr,” his father suddenly said. “Or Ori. Or any of these fools.” Korlundr jerked his chin to take in the boisterous mead halls lining the street. “Few of them have farms as large as ours or the discipline to run them if they had. Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud that you beat old Bandulfr at his own game, but not every fisherman and farmer will be a gambler. Life isn’t a game of Thrones and Bones. It’s responsibility.
Commitment. You need to know more than just how to call someone a bugger-nosed bulge bottom if you’re to be hauld one day.”

  “That’s just it, Father,” said Karn, who found that his mouth was running ahead of his brain. Before he could stop it, he heard himself say, “What if I don’t want to be hauld?”

  And there it was. The words hung in the air between them under the silent stars.

  Korlundr stared at his son then, hard. Then he turned his face away.

  “Then pray to the High Father I live long. Because you will be hauld one day whether you like it or not.”

  The Summons

  It was late when Karn found his way back to the lodgings where they had rented bunks. He sat down on his bench and bent to unlace his boots.

  “Karn?” said his father.

  “Hello, Father,” he whispered back. He heard his father sit up on his own bench. Even in the near pitch-dark, Korlundr was such a solid, imposing presence.

  “I’m sorry we had words,” his father began. “Karn, Korlundr’s Farm isn’t just any farm. I’m not even the Korlundr it’s named for. Being a hauld means that we possess a farm that’s been in the family for six or more generations.”

  “I know,” said Karn.

  “I don’t think that you do. Oh, you understand the words. But you don’t really think about what they mean.”

  Karn thought he knew what they meant well enough. Korlundr’s Farm had been founded by his great-great-great-great-grandfather, who was also named Korlundr.

  “When we die, son, we go into the earth, down to the great cavern to be with our foster mother, Neth. We give up our earthly attachments then. It isn’t right to do otherwise.”

  Karn knew exactly what his father left unsaid. Those dead who clung too tightly to their worldly treasures often refused to go down to Neth’s caves. Instead, they became draug—“After Walkers”—horribly rotting corpses that dwelt in barrows jealously guarding their wealth. Karn nearly jumped when Korlundr placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “But that doesn’t mean that we give up our love for our families, Karn.” His father’s warm hand was reassuring. “My father waits down there, son, as does his father, and his father’s father. They’re all watching me now, seeing what sort of man I’ve become. One day, I’ll join them, and I’ll have to account for how I’ve managed Korlundr’s Farm, and all who depend on it for their livelihood, to say nothing of the animals. Being a hauld is a great responsibility. Sometimes I think you want the opposite, a way out of responsibility, not a way into it.”