Magnus

by Joanna Bell

  There were no weapons on him, and he was thin and ragged. His fear was real. And at the very moment I was about to let the cloth drop, and to let the boy live, Asger strode up behind me and drew his sword.

  "Step aside, brother," he warned. "Why do you hesitate so, over a worthless boy – and an Angle at that? Let me finish what you will not."

  But I did not step aside. I had stepped aside before, as was my duty, and I reckoned I would step aside again. But something in the wholly unwarranted arrogance on my brother's face, after I had been forced to march almost a whole afternoon due to his stupidity, kept my feet planted where they were.

  "Step aside!" Asger repeated, raising his voice.

  "I won't," I replied quietly.

  "I'll ask you once more, and not again," my brother spoke, but I could see in his eyes that my defiance troubled him. "Don't make me –"

  "He's a boy," I said, gesturing to the trembling figure under the table, who watched us with tears of fear streaming down his cheeks. How many terrified men had I killed before? So many I could not even guess a number. And what was it about that boy that made me almost ashamed to draw my sword? I didn't know. I only knew I would not kill him – nor would I allow Asger to do so. "Look at him, brother. Look at his dressings, look at the way his bones stand out against his flesh. This boy is no monk, he is no warrior. He is no danger to us. Let us take the silver and go now, before Father –"

  I don't know why I expected anything resembling thought from Asger. I had barely finished speaking before he was turning to face me, brandishing his sword. And then my blood ran cold – not because I feared him (I did not) but because I had never stood up to him before, and I knew if I was caught doing so it could mean my death.

  "How dare you," he sneered, laughing as he looked down at the boy and then back up at me. "You've done it now, Magnus. Do you think I haven't seen you, all my life, watching from the shadows with that look on your face like you could do better if only someone would give you the chance? Do you think I don't know that you believe yourself my better? Well come on then – time to prove it! Lift your sword now if you're so brave!"

  I watched, almost frozen with horror, as Asger lifted his sword over his head. And then, when he brought it down, I blocked it with my own blade and had a feeling, as I saw the shock in his eyes, that even if I died it might be worth it to have seen that look.

  He screamed with rage at being thwarted in his attempt to kill me, but I was past the point of caring by then. The blow had been blocked, I had officially taken up arms against my own brother – best to see the fight to the end than throw down my weapon and die anyway, for my crimes against familial hierarchy.

  Trained by my father's best swordsman since he was half-ten, Asger was not bad with a blade. If you could surprise him, you could beat him – but if you couldn't? You had a fight on your hands. And so I did. Even so, there was an exhilaration lurking underneath the heavy weight of what I was doing, an explosion of what almost felt like joy to finally, finally put actions to the feelings that had been festering so long.

  At first, he was getting the best of me. But when I refused to bend my neck to his sword I think the simple fact that he hadn't yet won put a doubt in my brother's heart – and he has never been good with doubt. I was beginning to come back, beginning to play with him a little, when a wail stopped us both cold. The Jarl. He stood at the other end of the room, an expression like one I had never seen before on his face.

  And after a brief pause, he began to stride towards us, stopping in front of me first to punch me so hard in the chest I stumbled and fell back onto the cold stone floor.

  My father, despite the gray streaks in his beard, was still as strong as an ox. I writhed on the ground, gasping and desperately trying to suck some air back into my lungs as he went for Asger and, at the very last moment before it looked like my brother was about to suffer the same feet as me, he suddenly backed off.

  A few of the warriors stood at the other end of the room, and for a few moments there was no sound as everyone, Asger and myself included, waited to see what the Jarl was going to do. He would have been within his rights to kill me right there, and everyone knew it. I scrambled to my feet as soon as I could breathe again, almost paralyzed with fear but, at the same time, determined to face the decider of my fate, whichever outcome he chose.

  "Voss," he growled under his breath, and when I looked down at his hands I saw that they were clenched into fists and that he was literally shaking with fury. I had never seen my father so angry in my life.

  And it wasn't me his enraged gaze was focused on. No. It was Asger, my brother, who instantly made the mistake of trying to explain himself.

  "Father, it was –"

  The thin strand of self-control holding the Jarl back snapped at the sound of his son's plaintive voice. He drew one arm back and then delivered an open-handed blow to Asger's left cheek. And then another, and another, until my brother was whimpering with pain.

  My father was out of control, everyone could see it. I wanted to stop him, to remind him that some of our men were watching, but I still didn't know if I was going to live or not – and I very much wanted to.

  Soon, my brother tired of being battered – for there are few man alive who can submit meekly to such humiliation without at least attempting to fight back. And as soon as he drew himself up to his full height, dodging our father's hand, I saw what was going to happen. Panicked, I turned to the warriors at the door, watching with expressions of disbelief on their faces.

  "Out!" I shouted at them, gesturing at the to leave. "OUT! Now! The Jarl has matters to –"

  "LET THEM STAY!" My father roared suddenly, not taking his eyes off Asger. "Let them see what a Jarl they have to look forward to when I take my place in the Great Hall! Let them see what a 'man' will lead them into –"

  It was the way my father spoke the word 'man' – as if Asger was no man at all – that spurred my brother to brandish his sword and wield it against his Jarl. And, as I stepped back slowly, for the first time in many winters I felt something like pity for my brother. Nothing my father said was wrong – but how long had he known it? How long had everyone known it – my mother, my father, myself and near enough everyone in the village – everyone except Asger himself? And what had anyone done to teach humility and patience to the boy, and then the young man, who seemed not to know such things? What had my parents done but pretended that there were no flaws in their firstborn? Whose fault was it, really, that Asger thought himself faultless when all his life he had been treated as if that is exactly what he was?

  But as ever, it was not my place to say anything. Perhaps I should have been grateful that the Jarl's great anger was not directed at me?

  So I stood back, as did the warriors near the door and the boy under the table – who had smartly declined to utter so much as a peep – and watched. The Jarl was stronger than his son, more broad with age and experience, but Asger was quicker – and they were not trying to kill each other. Maybe at first, for a short while, they were. But it soon became clear that neither was truly trying to strike any death-blows.

  They kept fighting, though, past many points where it seemed to be coming to a natural end and one or the other of them would suddenly call to mind some fresh anger or insult and lift up his sword again.

  "Voss," the Jarl panted. "What curse hangs over me that the Gods saw fit to send me you for a son? Why did they –"

  "Aye," Asger replied, and for a moment I thought I saw the shadow of a grim smile on his lips. "And why did they see fit to send me you for a father? You who never once saw me for who I truly was? Who never –"

  It would have flared up again at that point but both fighters were too exhausted to continue. The Jarl dropped to one knee, his hand clutching the pommel of his sword to hold himself up, and Asger leaned back on the table underneath which the boy still cowered.

  "Take the men and find some rabbits, or a deer," my father said to me, seemingly too tired to lif
t his head to look into my eyes. "We'll make camp here tonight, before returning to the ships and continuing up the coast in the morning."

  Heart thudding, I glanced at the ealdorman's boy under the table and nodded my head at him, gesturing that it was safe for him to come out – even though I did not know if it was. It seemed the best chance for him to live at that moment, when my father and brother were both too winded and sick in their hearts with each other to care about a skinny Angle.

  When neither chose to relieve the boy of his head, I led him to the door and instructed the men not to kill or take him captive. Before he fled, and with a bravery that surprised me coming from one so young and so clearly not a fighter, he turned and asked me my name. And when I told him, he responded that he was Grinden, and then he thanked me for his life and fled into the woods.

  "Why would you let him –" one of the men began but I just turned and looked at him.

  "What would we have done with him?" I asked. "Did you see his size? He'll never fight, he wouldn't be any good for working – it cannot be that you wish more blood to be shed?"

  The warrior looked away, but not before I could see that even he was not entirely proud of what we had done on that day.

  Chapter Five

  Heather

  I made it almost three more months at my aunt and uncle's house. As punishment for going to the concert, Brenda started taking an even bigger portion of my paychecks, so I barely had enough money to buy myself sandwiches at work, let alone do anything other than window shopping when Judy and I spent a Saturday afternoon at the new mall.

  I saved what I could, letting Brenda think I was spending it all on clothes and earrings at the mall, but by the end of July it was only sixty-one dollars and fifty-three cents.

  In early August, Judy introduced me to a boy named Mike one afternoon when we were hanging out in her car outside the 7-11, listening to the new Metallica album on her cassette deck. She spotted him getting out of his car and called him over, leaning in before he could hear us and telling me he was newly single – and cute.

  And he was – newly single and cute. I can't say that there was some kind of instant, heated attraction there or anything like that, but I'd missed having a crush on someone and, as the memories of what had happened to me back in L.A. were finally beginning to fade, I thought it might be good for me to start spending time with boys again.

  Not that I had much time to spend with Mike – or Judy or anyone else. My schedule was as busy as ever, I was doing some babysitting work for a few other couples in River Falls on some evenings after Brad was in bed and my free time was still mostly limited to weekends or the rare times when my aunt or uncle would give me a few hours off. Which on August 24th was exactly what they did in the late afternoon when Bill announced I could have the rest of the day off.

  I immediately phoned Judy and made plans to meet at the bowling alley with a few of the other people I was beginning to consider friends – one of whom was Mike. He was there when I arrived and almost at once it was like he had 'claimed' me. Even when Judy and the others got there Mike seemed to be acting like we were there 'together.' When it came time to divide up into teams it was just assumed we were a couple, and then throughout the night Mike himself was solicitous in the way that boys often are when they're dating you – or trying to date you. When he placed a casual hand on my upper thigh when Christie and her boyfriend Doug took their turn, I immediately sprang up and announced I needed to use the ladies room.

  "I'll join you," Judy said at once.

  As we stood in front of the bathroom mirror she caught my eye in our reflections as I applied a fresh layer of mascara with trembling hands.

  "What's up, Heather? Are you OK?"

  I shrugged and forced a weak smile onto my face. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just, uh – I'm just thinking about, uh –"

  "About that boy in L.A.? Josh?"

  My stomach turned just to hear his name spoken aloud. "Yeah. I mean, yeah. And Mike is acting a little weird, like we're a couple or something."

  Judy pressed her lips together. "Yeah, I noticed that. So you're, like, not into it? You don't like him back?"

  I shrugged again. "I don't know. He seems nice – it's not like I don't like him, you know? The way he's acting is just wigging me out a little."

  "Right," my friend smiled, snapping the cap back on her lipstick and putting in back in her purse. "I'll take care of Mike. Just – gimme a couple of minutes before you join us, alright?"

  "Alright," I nodded, relieved and more grateful than I could express for Judy's concern.

  Later that night, as we all hung out in the parking lot after the bowling alley closed, smoking and listening to the radio in Judy's car, I found myself alone, briefly, after needing to answer the call of nature in the bushes. As I was walking back to the car, still not visible around the corner of the building, Mike suddenly appeared and I almost walked right into him.

  "Oh!" I said, smiling and flustered and somehow already alert to some subtle change in his body language. "I'm sorry, I didn't –"

  "So you told Judy that I like you, huh?"

  I giggled again, nervously, and tried to walk around him. He blocked my way, also smiling.

  "No. I mean – I just told Judy I thought you were, uh – well I thought you were acting like we were a couple tonight. And we're not a couple. I just didn't want –"

  I didn't even have time to finish my sentence before Mike's tongue was in my mouth and his hands were on my ass, pulling me in against him.

  "Mmmph –" I said, trying to turn my head away only to find his hands clamped onto either side of my face, preventing me from doing so. And all at once I was in Josh Muller's dorm room again, my body singing with adrenaline and fear, my mind screaming that he felt a lot stronger than me, that I needed to get the hell away from –

  Bright lights suddenly flooded the little area beside the bowling alley. Headlights. Mike and I both looked up, dazzled by their brightness, and I lifted one hand to shield my eyes as a figure opened the driver's side door. Was it the cops? I hoped it was, even if they were just going to yell at us. But it wasn't the cops.

  "Heather?"

  Uncle Bill. Mike stepped away from me as soon as he realized that the person in the car was male, and that they seemed to know me. And I, more afraid of Mike than of getting into trouble, found myself suddenly very relieved.

  My relief didn't last long. My uncle strode towards me, and it was too late to run or protest by the time I saw the angry look on his face.

  "Hey!" I said, when he grabbed my upper arm and began to pull me towards the car. "Hey! Stop! Wait a second, I –"

  Judy appeared from around the corner and immediately confronted my uncle, demanding that he let go of me. He ignored her, shouting that he and Brenda had been up all night worrying about me.

  "It's not even midnight!" Judy responded. "We were just about to drive her –"

  "She has a curfew," Bill responded, opening the car door and pushing me into the passenger seat. "She knows she has a curfew. She knows she needs to be home by a certain time, and that if she isn't there will be consequences"

  "She's a grown woman! Why are you acting like –"

  The car door slamming shut cut off the rest of my friend's protests and I shifted in the uncomfortable plastic seat, my heart pounding. And as angry as I should have been at being dragged away like a wayward teenager, I was actually just grateful that my uncle had shown up when he did – even if there was going to be hell to pay.

  The next night, after Brad had been tucked into bed, my aunt joined me in the kitchen where I was wiping the counter down and informed me matter-of-factly that she had purchased a return ticket to Los Angeles for me, three days from then.

  I looked up as my stomach tightened sourly.

  "What?" I asked, blinking. "You –"

  "We've purchased a ticket for you to fly back to L.A. on Thursday. This arrangement doesn't seem to be working out."

  I looked around
the spotless kitchen, and then glanced up the stairs to where Brenda's son was sleeping soundly, bathed and snug in his bed. The kitchen was clean – because I had cleaned it. Brad had been put down with no meltdowns because of me.

  "But –" I started, swallowing hard. Back to L.A.? Back to my mother? Back to my life, which had started to seem so dark and hopeless after the incident with Josh Muller? "I – I can't, aunt Brenda. I – why –"

  I hated myself for stuttering. I hated myself for being surprised. What right did I have to be surprised? What right did I have, at that point in my life, after being let down by almost every adult I knew, to believe that people were good?

  "I'm sorry Heather, but I've discussed it with Bill and we both feel that it is no help to Brad to be around such an unstable young woman."

  She might as well have punched me in the stomach. I actually, in the moment, would have preferred that she had. Unstable? What did that mean? I had a pretty good idea what it meant, but aunt Brenda obliged me by spelling it out.

  "Bill told me how he found you last night, young lady. He told me he found in the back of the bowling alley, with some man's tongue down your throat and his hands in your shorts –"

  "His hands weren't in my shorts!" I cut Brenda off, angry at the bare-faced lie.

  "Do you think your parents didn't tell me what you did, Heather?" She continued, ignoring me. "Why do you think they were so eager to get you away from Los Angeles if it wasn't to make sure you didn't fall further into a lifestyle of sex and drugs and God knows what..."

  She kept talking, but there was a roaring sound in my ears then, and it grew so loud it drowned out the rest of her words. A lifestyle. That's what it was to my mom. That's what Josh Muller forcing himself on me in his dorm room was. It wasn't something that arrogant frat boy did to me. No. It was a lifestyle.

  I looked out the kitchen window into the dark backyard, my mind spinning and turning over and over on itself. I wasn't going home.