by Peter Fox
Alrik grinned. ‘Let’s hope they never take on here.’
Sigvald raised his hand to clout the cheeky boy, but Alrik sprang out of the way, laughing.
‘Sigvald! Leave him alone,’ Helga said as she walked purposefully towards them. Sigvald glared at Alrik, who beamed back at him triumphantly. ‘You’re dancing on thin ice boy,’ the chieftain warned ominously.
‘Hello Alrik. Rathulf, you look gorgeous.’ Helga threw a sideways glance at her husband then smothered Rathulf in a hug. She released him to cast an approving eye over the young man. ‘I’ve brought your cloak by the way.’
‘His cloak?’ Sigvald asked, incredulous. ‘It’s roasting hot! He’s not even wearing a shirt. What does he need his cloak for?’
‘One must look one’s best, my dear. How handsome he will be with his blue cloak streaming behind him in mid-flight. What do you think, Alrik?’
Alrik was smiling at Rathulf, nodding in agreement. ‘Essential, I would say.’
Rathulf shook his head. ‘With all this weight I’ll be lucky to get two yards. I’m better off naked.’
‘Well, I’m sure the girls would approve,’ Helga smiled, ‘but I’m afraid this is something you must do fully clothed, young man.’
Ingrith, who had just appeared, protested in disappointment. She took Rathulf’s hand and stroked his arm, running her fingers up to his shoulder and around onto his bare chest. ‘I rather think he would look better without his clothes. Just like on his birthday.’
Rathulf blushed furiously, then Ingrith kissed him long on the lips. Their passion was cut short by Sigvald, who dragged his daughter from his charge and batted her away. ‘Don’t distract him, silly girl,’ he said. ‘It’s time you two youngsters joined the others. Put on a shirt, Rathulf. You too, Alrik.’
Rathulf tugged his tunic from his belt, but Ingrith snatched it from his hands before he could pull it on. She shook her head, smiling coyly, then reached down into her basket and drew out a new shirt for her beau. Rathulf took it from her and was immediately struck by its weight. He unfolded it and gasped, astonished. It was fashioned in fine, burgundy-dyed cloth, with intricately patterned hems and neckline. On its breast circled the two wolves, woven in golden thread; an adult’s version of the little wrap in which he’d been swaddled as a bairn. He turned to Ingrith, astonished. His girlfriend smiled back, blushing.
‘This is amazing!’ Rathulf said, unable to find adequate words to express his gratitude. First had come Alrik’s saddle, and now this!
‘I sewed the wolves myself,’ Ingrith said quietly, still blushing furiously. ‘They’re not perfect, but I hope you like them.’
Rathulf laughed and took her in his arms, kissing her lovely mouth. ‘It’s completely perfect,’ he said. He released her and pulled it on. It fit perfectly of course, and although the golden thread scratched a little against his chest, he didn’t care a jot.
‘Now you look the part,’ Helga said with approval.
Rathulf looked down at the wolves on his breast, pride filling his heart.
‘Humph,’ Alrik said grumpily. ‘That wolf is crooked.’
Ingrith stuck out her tongue at her cousin, then scooped up her basket, threw a carefree wave to Rathulf, and was gone.
Alrik hesitated for a moment, then he said, ‘it’ll be over before you know it. Just don’t mess it up, okay?’ He held Rathulf’s gaze, and Rathulf felt an uncomfortable twinge as he looked into his friend’s green eyes. Alrik turned quickly and walked off.
‘Shirt, Alrik!’ Helga reminded him.
‘Too hot,’ Alrik responded, waving his hand at her.
‘Alrik,’ Rathulf called after him. ‘Take the leap with me. We can both ride Tariq. We’ll be the talk of Norvegr. No one’s ever done it before!’
‘Absolutely not!’ Sigvald interjected, throwing a glance at Helga. ‘Alrik, keep walking.’
‘Don’t worry uncle,’ Alrik responded as he walked away from them. ‘I’m not planning on dying today.’
Sigvald turned to Rathulf and said sternly, ‘time to go.’
‘Why can’t he go over with me? Tariq’s more than capable of carrying us both. It’s not fair.’
‘I don’t care,’ Sigvald said, shoving Rathulf in the back to get him moving.
‘Well he should at least take the Leap,’ Rathulf said, annoyed. ‘I don’t see why being rich gets you out of it.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Helga said. ‘Alrik just doesn’t feel he needs to do this, Ra.’
‘Whereas…?’ Rathulf asked.
‘Your fate is different,’ Helga said, ‘and you are demonstrating your bravery by choosing this path.’
‘Enough of the chit chat,’ Sigvald interjected. ‘A lot of people have come to see the boy die today. Best not disappoint them.’
They walked the short distance along the cliff edge to the place where Rathulf’s father and Tariq waited for them. Only now did it come home to Rathulf what he was about to do. He had managed to keep it firmly locked in the back of his mind all this time, but at this moment, as he stood before the assembled gathering, all his fears and doubts rushed in to swamp him.
Norway’s chief lawmaker, Thorleif the Fair, stepped forward, and he read Rathulf’s anxiety as though the young man had shouted it aloud. ‘Take another look, Rathulf. Is your heart free of doubt? If it bears even the slightest uncertainty, you will perish.’ He spoke clearly and carefully, reciting the same words he had spoken to his own son more than twenty years ago. ‘Remember Arnar.’
Rathulf gazed at the view in front of him. The clifftop curved away on both sides in a neat semi-circle, with the river thundering over the lip at its centre. To his right, the cliff fell in a sheer, black face all the way to the valley floor. To his left, the valley wall was just as steep, but it was marred by a bright green slash that swept steeply from the valley rim down around its face, running to the fields far below. The grassy ledge would have been a perfect ramp leading from top to bottom, but for one flaw. About two-thirds of the way down, a jagged rent tore into the slope, severing it in two — Odin’s Breach: that which would make Rathulf a man or kill him.
He stared at the little stream that ran into the ravine, tracing the thin band of water as it plunged into the gap. The waterfall didn’t reach the bottom; the wind dashed it to oblivion against the grey cliff long before it could reach the jumble of boulders at its foot. A vision of a shattered body lying on those jagged rocks came back to haunt him, and Rathulf shivered.
Last Spring, Arnar, a boy of Rathulf’s age, had tried to make the passage to manhood. He had been unprepared for the transition and had perished in the attempt. Arnar had lost his nerve and tried to pull out of the leap at the last moment. His horse had lost its footing and tumbled over the edge, carrying its young rider with him. They had slammed into the rocks below in a spray of blood and shattered bone, but Arnar’s terrified screams had echoed around the valley walls for a long time afterwards. That horrible sound rang in Rathulf’s ears now as he looked into the law maker’s eyes.
‘I’ve made up my mind,’ Rathulf said. ‘This is my sixteenth summer, and from this day, I wish to be called a man.’
‘I do not believe you, Rathulf, nor does your horse.’
Rathulf looked over to Tariq. Myran held him by the bridle, but the stallion was fidgeting nervously.
‘He will be sound, Lord Thorleif.’
‘It’s not Tariq I’m concerned about. Part of this trial is about pride, Rathulf. Pride can kill. What if he shies when he sees the ravine? What if you do? It is better to learn humility than perish for want of a damaged ego. You have a lot on your mind at the moment; more than most men have to deal with over a lifetime. Tariq is a very sensitive horse. Perhaps you should consider riding your mountain pony.’
‘No! I will ride Tariq. He will not let me down. Besides, my pony is back at home.’
Thorvald grimaced, and Rathulf followed his gaze to see Sigvald standing near the top of the ramp with his pony.
; ‘Before you get angry at Sigvald,’ Thorleif said, ‘it was at my insistence. I just want you to be sure, that’s all. Remember, now is the time to pull out, not when you are on the ramp.’
Rathulf took a deep breath. All his friends were waiting for him down on the other side of the gap. They seemed a long way off; a riot of colour peppered with pale, upturned faces. A hundred more spectators lined the valley rim, and a few more gathered near the ramp, waiting to offer their best wishes. Rathulf could not see the gap from here, but he knew it yawned wide and deep, waiting to swallow him up. He had already been told that it takes much longer than you’d expect to get to the Breach and that this is the most unnerving part. Then, just when you’re about to give in to the voice inside your head screaming at you to pull out, the gap is there, and before you know it, you’re over. Thus the Leap was mainly a test of will, not strength or riding prowess.
‘I’m sure.’
Thorleif looked at him long and hard, and his expression told Rathulf that he thought otherwise. ‘Very well, Rathulf. You have studied the laws of men and understand the laws of the assembly. Do you acknowledge that by landing on the other side of Odin’s Breach, you will be a man, and will, therefore, be subject to all the laws of men? That you and you alone shall be responsible for your actions, and shall no longer be able to claim the innocence of a child, or the protection of your father?’
Rathulf nodded. ‘I understand these things.’
‘And do you understand that in taking the Leap you will be deemed a man in the eyes of the upcoming Assembly and that your actions concerning Ivar and Horik will be considered thus?’
Rathulf had considered this – quite a lot as it happens – although he wouldn’t admit that to Thorleif. In the end, he’d decided it wouldn’t make any difference either way. He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Then let those gathered here be witness to this fact. May the Gods look well upon you Rathulf, and may they guide you wisely on your path to manhood.’
Thorvald held the stallion while Rathulf climbed up into the saddle. Rathulf bent down to adjust the stirrup; then he was ready. His father stood back to make one last check and smiled reassuringly to his son. Then he reached into his belt pouch and drew something out. He held it up to Rathulf.
‘You carry the sword of Dumnonia, wear the wolven standard, so all you need now is your ring.’
Rathulf’s heart froze when he saw the little golden band in his father’s hand, remembering what had happened last night when he’d put it on.
‘Rathulf? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Rathulf said quickly, realising that everyone was looking at him. He leaned down, took the ring and slipped it onto his finger. He closed his eyes briefly, but nothing untoward happened, so he took a deep breath and drew himself up straight in the saddle.
‘Let Tariq carry you over,’ Myran said quietly, handing Rathulf the reins. ‘All you need to do is maintain your balance as we have practised.’
Rathulf nodded, then he gave Tariq a little kick, and they moved off to the edge of the cliff, where a short path led down to the start of the ramp. Tariq strutted nervously from side to side as Rathulf held him at the threshold. The waterfall thundered over the cliff to Rathulf’s right. He looked down at his friends again. How will I know when to give Tariq the command that will send him leaping into the air? What if he is too late, or too early? Rathulf closed his eyes, and he saw the wolf of his dreams again, waiting for him on the jagged rocks, three hundred feet below.
Rathulf shook off the image and made a final adjustment to his seat. He took a long, deep breath, uttered a brief prayer to Thor, then he kicked his heels into Tariq’s flanks, and they were off. They moved down the slope at increasing speed, throwing up clods of earth in their wake. Rathulf peered at the blur of green ahead of them, waiting to catch the break in the grass that would signal the edge of the precipice. He focused on Tariq’s steady rhythm, watching the line of spectators on the other side of the rift draw closer as he thundered down the curving ramp. It was then that he sensed someone or something beside him and he turned his head, startled. No one was there, yet he felt a sudden and inexplicable terror, and he heard someone screaming at him to stop.
Rathulf gasped and instinctively sat up. Tariq faltered in his stride, feeling the unexpected change in his rider’s balance. Rathulf opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he was too late. One moment there had been a strip of green running unbroken beneath them, then in a horrifying instant, the black chasm yawned open right in front of him. They had run out of ground, and Tariq’s momentum carried them straight into the abyss.
✽ ✽ ✽
‘I’m not sure about this,’ Thorvald said.
Sigvald turned to Thorvald, noting the worry in his friend’s voice. He stood on the edge of the cliff with Thorvald and Helga, watching Rathulf prepare himself for the test. ‘Tariq is a fine, intelligent horse,’ Sigvald offered, as much to convince himself as the others. ‘He won’t let Rathulf down.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the horse,’ Thorvald said.
Rathulf had reached the start of the ramp, and Sigvald saw the boy take a deep breath. ‘He’ll be fine, Thorvald.’ Sigvald said. ‘A few nerves is all.’
‘He had another dream last night.’
‘What about?’
‘He wouldn’t tell me, but I do know he was rummaging through his chest in the middle of the night, and something caused him to go out to Magni’s Stone.’
Sigvald’s breath caught. ‘What? Isn’t that where you buried the damned thing?’
Thorvald nodded.
Helga drew in a sharp breath and looked to her husband. What if the rune had not been foretelling about Alrik, but his friend? ‘For the love of Odin, Thorvald, why didn’t you say something before? This can’t be a good omen!’
Sigvald pushed his friend out of the way and leapt down the slope after his foster son, closely followed by his wife. They were too late. Rathulf had already thumped his heels into his stallion’s flanks, and he and Tariq were off. Sigvald opened his mouth to shout after him, but he stopped himself. The boy’s cloak flew brightly in his wake as he thundered down the slope, and Sigvald watched, breathless, as they raced towards the ravine. Something was wrong. Sigvald knew it immediately. Just as they reached the Breach, Rathulf suddenly sat up in the saddle. The chieftain saw the horse stumble and he let out a croak of horror, hearing Arnar’s screams all over again.
Helga gripped his arm. ‘Sigvald, look!’
Her tone was one of amazement, not horror. Despite Rathulf throwing Tariq off balance, the stallion still managed to launch himself into the air. Sigvald watched stunned as they flew straight over the chasm and sailed way down the other side of the ramp. They landed amid Rathulf’s waiting friends, but with such poor preparation, Tariq had little hope of controlling his flight. He ploughed a destructive path through the onlookers as he landed heavily on his front legs and tumbled head over hoof. Alrik managed to avoid injury by diving out of the way, but others were not so lucky. One of Tariq’s flailing hooves caught Arni in the stomach, throwing him against the wall, then Tariq slammed headlong into one of the younger boys, crushing him under his weight as he tumbled down the slope.
Rathulf flew from the saddle and bounced down the hill after his horse, eventually coming to rest face-down in the grass, shrouded by his cloak. Alrik and the others ran down to him, but his dazed stallion arrived first. Tariq nudged his master with his muzzle, searching desperately for a response. He managed to flop Rathulf over onto his back, but the boy lay deathly still. Tariq nudged him again and again, but his master did not move.
‘He’s killed him,’ Thorvald whispered. ‘The wretched animal has broken his neck.’ He turned to Sigvald, but the chieftain had already gone.
Sigvald ran as hard as he could along the clifftop to the narrow path that led down to the far side of the ramp. He was closely followed by other shocked onlookers, who saw their sons or daughters standing and lying dazed
or injured in the horse’s wake. Sigvald half ran, half stumbled down to the grassy ledge, arriving to find Alrik on his knees, shaking his friend.
‘Don’t move him!’ Sigvald ordered as he pushed his way through the huddle. He knelt opposite Alrik. His nephew’s eyes shone with tears, and Sigvald feared the worst. He leant down to Rathulf’s face, his heart tight in his chest. Dear Odin, don’t let him be dead! The barest hint of a breath warmed Sigvald’s cheek, and the chieftain uttered a silent prayer of thanks. The little crowd had fallen quiet, while the chieftain moved his head down to Rathulf’s chest and rested his ear against the fine weave of the golden standard. Rathulf’s heart beat to a steady rhythm. Sigvald sat back on his knees and breathed a long sigh of relief. He was aware of the circle of expectant faces but still said he nothing. He carefully felt Rathulf’s neck, but nothing seemed out of place. Then he nudged his hand under Rathulf’s back, gently testing the boy’s spine. As far as he could tell, it was intact.
Sigvald glanced up to see Rathulf’s horse leaning over the huddle, trying to see how his master fared. His distress was so evident that Sigvald instructed the others to clear a space. Tariq did not move. He stood watching Sigvald warily, clearly unsure of himself. The chieftain nodded his head and indicated for him to come. Alrik moved around beside Sigvald, and Rathulf’s friends watched amazed as the horse picked his way over hesitantly, his head bent low. Sigvald stayed on his knees, and Tariq came face to face with the chieftain. Rathulf lay unconscious between them, and Sigvald looked from the Nisean to Rathulf and waited. After a moment’s hesitation, Tariq bent down and cautiously sniffed Rathulf’s face. Rathulf’s eyebrows knitted and he grunted. Tariq snapped his head up and looked at Sigvald, startled.
‘That’s right. You haven’t killed him,’ he said.
Tariq gave him a questioning look, and the chieftain smiled at him, now understanding why his Persian master had demanded such a fortune for this extraordinary beast. You’re worth every ounce of gold you cost me, he thought admiringly. ‘You did the right thing,’ he assured Tariq. ‘It’s what he wanted you to do.’ Tariq bent back down and nuzzled Rathulf gently. The boy frowned and turned his face away, but the horse persisted. Rathulf mumbled something and put up his hand to push the annoying thing aside. He opened his eyes, frowned, and then blinked up at his stallion.
