by Peter Fox
‘What about Ra?’ Alrik asked, a little indignant. ‘Did you just leave him calling out to you? Shouldn’t you have helped him first? I would’ve.’
A flare of anger rose in Leif, but he managed to suppress it, refusing to be baited. It was typical Alrik. ‘I needed light so that I could see him,’ Leif explained, ‘and it was only after I lit the fire that I found Thorvald. I figured if Ra was talking he must be alright. You didn’t see Thorvald, but I did. He was really badly hurt.’
‘You don’t need to justify yourself,’ Helga said kindly, throwing her nephew a glare.
‘He doesn’t,’ Rathulf agreed. ‘You weren’t there, Alrik. My father lives because of Leif, and so do I.’
Alrik let out a humph and crossed his arms, but Leif could see he was embarrassed by Rathulf’s rebuke.
‘Tell us what happened next,’ Helga said.
Leif paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, then he went on. ‘I tried to help Rathulf free himself from the broken trusses, but he was stuck fast. I didn’t know what to do. I used a fire-iron in the end. All I know is that I messed it up, and that’s why he’s got all those broken ribs.’
Rathulf opened his eyes again and looked up at Leif, a wry smile on his face. ‘Yeah, you did,’ he said. He coughed, having spoken too much and he cried out and scrunched his eyes shut.
Helga shooed Ingrith out of the way and scolded Rathulf. ‘You are meant to be resting, young man. Stop moving and stop talking.’
Leif winced in sympathy with his friend, knowing the pain that Rathulf must be suffering. Perhaps Alrik’s right, Leif thought. Perhaps I could have done something differently, and Ra wouldn’t have gotten so terribly hurt.
Rathulf’s face broke into a grin, despite himself. ‘Idiot,’ he croaked. ‘I’m kidding.’ He turned to the others, wincing again as he moved. ‘What he’s not telling you is that I was crying like a baby and pleading with him to let me die. It was so painful. But bloody Leif here wouldn’t listen, and kept working away at that timber until it snapped and the whole jævela house fell on top of me.’
Leif flushed and let out a little laugh, nodding at the memory of it. ‘Yeah, it wasn’t my best idea,’ he said.
‘But that’s just it,’ Rathulf countered. ‘It was, because that’s how you were able to get us out.’
Sigvald held up his hand. ‘Whoa there. You said the whole lot fell on you. How did that help?’
‘You saw the house,’ Rathulf said. ‘Was there a big hole in the middle?’
‘There was!’ Ingrith cried. ‘Alrik and I fell into it.’
‘There’s your answer,’ Rathulf said.
‘Sounds more like good luck than good planning,’ Alrik said, somewhat churlishly.
‘Who cares,’ Rathulf said, ‘it worked, didn’t it? And anyway, things were getting desperate, mostly because Leif’s other good idea was choking us to death.’ He dropped his head back onto his pillow then, exhausted, and received another round of scolding from Helga for his efforts.
Leif smiled inwardly at the memory of the suffocating smoke that had by that time filled the ruins of the house. How incredible then, that when the cascade of snow and turf had finally finished pounding his head and shoulders, he had lifted away his hands to find himself kneeling amid a pile of rubble, completely unscathed, as fresh, cold air had poured through the breach. Rathulf had lain somewhere beneath the rubble, but it had been relatively easy to find him. His chest had been badly crushed, but the collapse of the roof had freed him, easing the pressure on his ribs and thereby saving him.
As soon as he had released Rathulf from the debris, Leif had scrambled up to the surface to find the star-bristled heavens arching high overhead. He had fallen to his knees and sobbed when he had realised he had inadvertently delivered them all from death, but he had cried with despair, not joy, for how could they possibly survive the night in their state?
At first, he had tried to keep the fire burning in the house, but the resultant melting ice had transformed the floor into a slushy, muddy mess. The chilly air had continued to flow in through the hole, adding to his discomfort. Leif had scrambled outside again, wondering what he should do. He knew that Thorvald would not live much longer, and for all he knew Rathulf might suffer a similar fate if help did not arrive soon. But why would help come? No one knew of their plight.
He had decided upon the boatshed because it was the only thing that had been left standing and offered dry shelter, and he had been comforted by the thought that its solid walls would hide the ugly hand of destruction that surrounded him in the house. So he began the arduous task of moving Rathulf and Thorvald, constructing a simple litter on which to carry his friends to their new quarters. He took Rathulf first, dragging him with some difficulty onto the makeshift sledge. Leif had been surprised at how heavy his friend had been; the sheer effort of hauling his companion’s dead weight up out of the house was a test of his conviction, and after he had slid back to the floor innumerable times, he was ready to give up. Rathulf had mercifully remained unconscious throughout the whole affair, although he did cry out and mutter a word or two as Leif dragged his friend through the snow.
Thorvald had presented a different problem. Leif found that no matter how careful he was, any movement at all disturbed the broken leg, compounding Thorvald’s injury. In the end, Leif had no choice but to drag Thorvald up out of the house and across the snow as fast as he could, dealing with the grisly wound once he had settled the farmer down at the other end. Thorvald had woken briefly, insistent that Leif listen to him, and Leif had done so, but the terribly injured farmer’s words made little sense to him.
Thereafter Leif returned to the house a number of times to recover clothes, blankets, whatever household items he thought might prove useful, and finally to move the fire to their new refuge. Only when the hearth had been re-established on the boatshed’s sandy floor, and he had securely wrapped his two companions against the cold, did Leif allow himself a moment to rest. The effort had left him exhausted, but he knew he must stay awake to tend the fire. Fuel was not an issue; the ruined house provided a healthy supply of conveniently sized pieces, but fire alone could not sustain them. Leif had found little to eat in the house, but upon reflection, what good would food be to Thorvald, and for that matter Rathulf? They needed warmth and Helga’s healing touch, but what chance had they of that relief? He had turned his thoughts to Sigvald, wishing that he had some means of sending a message to him, but he knew that given the current conditions, they had as much chance of being delivered by a cohort of Rathulf’s Byzantine cavalry than to find rescue from nearer to hand.
Leif had kept the fire burning for as long as he could, but in the end, the physical and emotional exhaustion of his ordeal had overwhelmed him, and he had begun to drift unwillingly into sleep. He had woken with a start a few times and had even managed to stoke the fire on one occasion, but that was the last time he tended the hearth. He slipped into unconsciousness, hearing nothing of the commotion on the fjord when Sigvald and Bardi had arrived. He had slept through Rathulf’s stirrings and eventual cries for help, and he knew nothing of the trip back to Bardi’s farmstead in the ship. Indeed, he had been aware of none of the goings on around him until he had woken in the guesthouse to Alrik’s news that they had all been saved.
‘And that’s how it happened,’ he said at last, a little timidly, his throat parched both from talking and struggling to keep his emotions under control.
They all stared at him, each one astonished by the tale. Leif knew what they were thinking: how could pathetic, downtrodden Leif have managed all this? Surely there had been divine intervention; a benevolent God must have lent his hand to the boy, for he had neither the courage nor fortitude to manage such a feat on his own.
It was Bardi who broke the silence. ‘I do believe you’ve earned yourself a new nickname, Leif Avalanche-beater,’ he said, raising his mug to salute the young man. He shook his head in genuine admiration. ‘What you have done is truly remarkab
le, Leif, and let no man ever again call you timid or, dare I say it, a coward. For you are no such thing.’
Leif flushed, embarrassed by the praise being heaped upon him by no less than Bardi; one of the most respected and powerful men of the fjordlands. Everyone smiled and raised their cups to him, repeating Leif’s new nickname and affirming his place among them as an equal. It was a totally unfamiliar experience, as was the warm, inner glow he felt growing within his heart. Suddenly he wanted to cry. Sigvald caught his eye, and Leif found a welcome distraction from all the attention. He asked the one question that remained to be answered in all of this. ‘How was it you came to Thorvaldsby? How did you know we were in trouble in the first place?’ He paused, a realisation coming to him. ‘You’re the one to thank, not me.’
Sigvald smiled back at Leif. ‘You can’t get out of it that easily, Leif,’ he said kindly. ‘Bardi’s right you know. I admit I am surprised, and I am as guilty as any here of doubting you, but you deserve the accolades. As for me,’ he paused, spread his hands and looked a little self-conscious himself. ‘I had a vision. It took me a while to understand what it meant,’ and he threw a knowing glance at Helga, ‘and in fact I nearly didn’t set off at all, but, well I did, and you know the rest.’ Then he too lifted his mug to Leif. ‘Still, it would all have been to nought had you not got Ra and Thorvald safely out of there, tended their wounds, wrapped them up and got a fire going. Instead, we would have arrived to find three frozen, dead bodies, if indeed the Jötunn hadn’t got to you first. Who’d have thought it, eh? Rathulf and Thorvald owe you a great debt, Leif.’
‘We do,’ Rathulf agreed, obviously unable to comply with Helga’s instructions. ‘Which is why my father will be adopting Leif as soon as he’s well enough to host the ceremony.’
‘What?’ Alrik blurted. He looked from Rathulf to Leif, surprised.
Leif saw hostility in the other boy’s eyes, and his heart sank. Why are you so jealous of me? he wondered, saddened that it always came down to this. How can I be a threat to you? I’ll never be as strong or smart or wealthy as you, and you’re Rathulf’s best friend; he’s said as much plenty of times. So why do you hate me so much?
‘He can’t live with you,’ Alrik said to Rathulf. ‘Your home has been destroyed, remember? Anyhow, I’ve already told father that you’re staying here with me.’
‘I don’t want to live with you,’ Rathulf replied.
Although Rathulf’s words held no malice, Leif saw them strike Alrik like a well-aimed punch. It stopped Alrik in his tracks, and the young man’s expression darkened further.
‘They’re coming to my place,’ Sigvald interrupted, trying to calm the situation. ‘It’s all arranged, and aren’t you forgetting something, Ra?’ Sigvald said. ‘Leif already has a father.’
Rathulf smiled back at the jarl, but his face held no humour in it whatsoever. ‘For now,’ he said ominously.
Leif stared at Rathulf, delighted and fearful at the same time. Did I just hear him right?
‘Yes, well, I think that’s enough excitement for today,’ Bardi said, rising from his seat and indicating for the others to do the same. ‘Helga, I think both lads deserve a little more of your tonic, yes?’
At that very moment, the door banged open and Arni stumbled in, panting, his eyes wide. ‘Father, uncle! There’s a ship coming. Imogen says there are lots of people on board.’
Leif saw Bardi and Sigvald exchange glances as they hurried out, closely followed by the others. His heart leapt to his throat. Surely not? he thought, wondering if it could be possible. Don’t be stupid, he scolded himself. The Gods wouldn’t be that wicked. It will be one of Bardi’s friends paying a visit.
Rathulf was trying to get to his feet, but Leif shook his head. ‘You have to stay in bed,’ he said. ‘You heard Helga.’
Rathulf raised his eyebrows at his friend. ‘I’m going out there whether you help me or not,’ he said.
‘You’ll get us in trouble again,’ he said, but he helped Rathulf up nevertheless. They earned a terse word from Helga for their efforts, but she didn’t order them back inside. Leif took hold of Rathulf by the waist and let his friend lean against him, enjoying feeling the weight of him against his shoulder, pleased that Rathulf had chosen him to help, not Alrik. As though he’d heard Leif’s thoughts, Alrik threw him an annoyed glance then turned to look out across the fjord, shielding his eyes as he peered into the distance. He let out a surprised grunt, then turned to look behind him. ‘Speak of the fjándinn…’ he said, appearing more pleased than he ought.
Leif looked past Alrik to the water beyond. There, in the far distance and making its way towards them, was a small, dark longship, powered by sixteen oarsmen. At its prow stood a man whose stance was unmistakable, even from this distance.
‘Father!’ Leif whispered, barely able to speak; such was his shock. He felt his chest constricting and his hands began to shake. How is that possible? he wondered. They are laughing at me, he thought. The Gods are laughing so hard they’re falling off their benches up there in Valhalla.
‘That’s all we need,’ Sigvald said.
‘How in Thor’s name?’ Bardi asked, echoing Leif’s thoughts. ‘Horik doesn’t own a longship, and how would he know that Leif is here?’
‘Sorcery, just as like,’ Helga said.
‘He must have borrowed one of his brother’s ships,’ Sigvald said. ‘Quick, let’s hide Leif somewhere and pretend we’ve never seen him.’
‘That’s stupid,’ Alrik countered. ‘Horik obviously knows Leif’s here, and the best thing we can do is let him take Leif back home with him.’
‘Alrik!’ Helga scolded.
‘Well, it’s that or fight Horik, and none of us wants to die for Leif, do we?’
Alrik’s indignant frown vanished an instant before Rathulf – his hazel eyes flashing with rage – slammed his fist into Alrik’s face.
✽ ✽ ✽
The searing explosion of pain that came with wielding the blow sent Rathulf staggering sideways as a wave of dizziness overcame him. He had directed all his anger into that punch. Alrik flew backwards in the opposite direction, tripping over his own feet and landing heavily on the ground.
‘What by the thunder of Thor?’ Sigvald blurted, rounding on Rathulf and demanding to know why the boy had just knocked his best friend senseless.
‘Friend?’ Rathulf countered, clutching his chest and gasping in pain. ‘He got what he deserved.’
‘I’ll give you what you deserve,’ Alrik shouted, as blood streamed from his nose. He scrambled to his feet and burst past Sigvald, intent on wreaking vengeance on Rathulf. The jarl managed to grab Alrik just before he launched himself at his friend.
‘What was that for, drittsekk?’ Alrik demanded, holding his clenched fists in front of him, struggling to wrest himself from Sigvald’s iron grip.
Rathulf just shook his head at him, too stricken with pain to answer.
‘Hurts, does it?’ Alrik said. ‘Good.’
‘That’s enough!’ Helga said firmly. ‘Husband, take Alrik up to the hall and make sure he stays there. You can check his nose while you’re at it; hopefully it isn’t broken. Rathulf, get back into the guesthouse. Ingrith and Leif; help him. Brother, gather the men together.’
Rathulf remained silent as they made their way back to the guest house, struggling to contain his anger at Alrik. What is the matter with him, and why is he being so horrible all of a sudden? Rathulf collapsed onto his bed with a groan. Leif stood over him, clearly concerned but unsure what to do. Ingrith, however, had no such hesitation in scolding her beau.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she demanded, hands on her hips and her green eyes glinting dangerously. ‘You’ve undone all of mother’s hard work, daufi.’
Rathulf frowned up at his foster-sister, not sure he wanted an argument right now. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘What’s his problem, anyway?’
Ingrith shook her head at him, and despite the circumstances, Rathulf couldn’t help
but see Helga in that stance. Like mother like daughter, he thought. Maybe Sigvald is right: marrying Ingrith would be a really bad idea.
‘He’s jealous of you, dummy,’ Ingrith said matter-of-factly. ‘Or Leif and you, to be more accurate. He’s always seen himself as your best friend – more important than Leif at any rate – but now that Leif has saved your life, that changes things, doesn’t it?’
‘It does?’ Rathulf asked, genuinely bemused. ‘I don’t see why.’ He glanced over at his friend, who was still hovering in the background, clasping his hands together and appearing quite worried.
‘I’m sorry,’ Leif said.
‘What for?’ Rathulf asked.
‘For starting a feud between you and Alrik. He’ll not forgive you for hitting him. Or me.’
‘Well, he shouldn’t have been such a bacraut,’ Rathulf said, although he knew that Leif was right. Alrik would not let this pass easily. He spotted the mead pot by the fire and changed the subject. ‘Drink,’ he ordered, nodding at his empty mug.
Leif moved to pour Rathulf a cupful but his hand started shaking, and he had to put the cup down. He stood staring at the half-filled cup on the table, immobile, his whole body trembling.
‘Leif?’ Rathulf tried to rise, wondering what was wrong, but the pain sent him down onto his back again.
‘There now,’ Ingrith said gently, rising from her place beside Rathulf. ‘It’ll be alright.’
Leif remained where he was, mead jug still in his left hand. He continued to stare at the empty cup, his mind in another, darker place. He shook his head. ‘No,’ he whispered, ‘it won’t.’
Ingrith carefully took the jug from the gaunt, frightened boy and placed it on the table. Then she took his hand and wrapped it in her own. Following Ingrith’s example, Rathulf reached up and in turn wrapped his fingers around Ingrith’s.
‘No one is going to make you go with him, no matter what anyone says,’ Rathulf said, but he saw the fear in Leif’s eyes, and he knew what Leif was thinking: you’re in no position to promise anything. All Leif’s newfound confidence had vanished, swept away by a powerful, deep-seated fear born of years of abuse at his father’s hands. In the heavy silence that followed, they all heard the distant knock and splash of oars from the approaching longship.
