by Travis Bughi
And maybe they were right, but Emily had no interest in reaching the afterlife so soon. There was too much to do here and now, so she carried a bow and wielded a colossus, and only resorted to her knife when no other options were left. They could call her treantwood bow cowardly all day long for all she cared. Little did they know that just that morning she’d abandoned all concepts of playing by the rules of others. She would make her own rules, write her own story, and command as she deemed fit.
As for the colossus, it fell behind. While the ship glided across the water, propelled along by powerful oars controlled by vikings with arms as thick as Emily’s legs, the colossus sank to the ocean floor where it fought against the weight of so much water bearing down upon it. To add to that, the ship picked up pace once it left the windless cove and found favorable weather to fill its sail. Meanwhile, the colossus found an ocean floor complete with valleys and mountains that had to be traversed and climbed. Emily would have preferred the colossus to keep pace, certainly, but the inevitability of the different speeds didn’t take long to come into effect. Within half a day, Emily noticed her grip on the colossus’ soul begin to fade and her ability to control it diminished. By the end of the first day, it took her several moments of concentration to reach out and touch the colossus and see the dark waters of the ocean through its stone eyes.
“We’ll meet again soon,” she whispered to it. “Follow me.”
They slept in the cavern beneath the ship, covered in skins and rocked gently to sleep by the ocean waves. Emily took note of the vikings who paired up to sleep together that night and was rather surprised by their lack of modesty. True to the jarl’s word, the crew was equal parts male and female, and most of those were couples who showed little concern for hiding their desires for each other. They stripped naked and slipped beneath thick blankets in pairs, and Emily and Takeo shared wide-eyed stares while they suffered a mutual feeling of discomfort. Takeo, who was from Juatwa where everyone hid their emotions as a sign of discipline and respect, was especially unnerved, and Emily couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Just sleep,” she said, patting and pulling his head into her chest.
They sailed along the mountain coast, never passing beyond sight of land. At each breach in the Khaz Mal mountains, Valgrith would take a long stare into the opening with unblinking eyes until they’d completely passed it. Sometimes, Emily would look, too, and occasionally she would see other coves like the jarl’s. Other times, she’d just see more mountains, but the jarl would watch those places, as well.
“Just because you can’t see a village,” he explained when she asked him about it, “doesn’t mean one isn’t there. These openings sometimes lead down long channels toward snowy beaches where other jarls rule over their own meager existence. Some of these openings here provide great cover for ambushes. Viking ships coming home from a great journey, stuffed full of loot, treasure, and wounded, make slow and easy targets for other viking ships.”
“Vikings steal from each other?” Emily asked, surprised.
“Of course!” Valgrith laughed. “Why wouldn’t they? It’s a hated thing and breeds some really bloody feuds, but it’s almost expected. If you can’t protect what you steal, well then, you weren’t really worthy of it anyway as far as a viking is concerned. Still though, if you plan on stealing from your neighbors, then you had better be capable of handling the retribution. That’s why I don’t partake in it. I got enough problems without picking a fight with people I rely on for trade.”
Emily noted the jarl never said he wouldn’t steal because it was wrong, nor did he indicate any other viking felt that way. Emily then realized she only considered it stealing because it was how she’d been raised. Her father would have been a very vocal opponent to theft of any kind, as would Emily’s older brother. She smiled, realizing that one year spent amongst vikings would probably teach her quite a bit about being ruthless.
I shouldn’t need any more lessons, she thought.
She’d already spent half a year amongst pirates, some time as a slave in Savara, and far too long in an army in Juatwa. There should be no more concepts of chivalry left in her mind, and yet they were there, and she wondered if Quartus would be glad of that.
Maybe he knew me better than I know myself.
They did run into other viking ships on their journey, but those few paid them no mind. Some were heading into coves, a few others were heading out to sea, and a couple were traveling from one cove to the next.
“Trade amongst vikings is more of a tradition than theft,” Valgrith explained. “People find a common enemy in the winters here and work together when cooler heads prevail. As for why no one is bothering us? They can see our waterline. It’s only a few days’ travel to where we’re taking you, so we packed light, and it shows. Our ship moves faster and glides higher on the waves, which are subtle changes, but clear to a trained eye, and any viking who dares command a ship had better have a trained eye. They leave us alone because they see we aren’t carrying enough to justify the risk of fighting us. With fair weather like this, we’ll arrive unmolested in no time at all.”
True to his word, the ship arrived at its destination on the fourth day at sea. They pulled into a small bay, closing the sails and dipping oars into the waters to better steer, and Emily got her first view of a true viking town.
The cottages weren’t much different in size or composition than the ones in Valgrith’s village, but there were many more of them, perhaps a good fifty or more in all. The homes were bunched together with no concern for unity—neither facing a common direction nor creating any straight roads—and they surrounded a large lagoon in the center of the town that was connected to the ocean by a single channel. In the center of that lagoon was a large, two-story mansion that floated on the calm waters without any bridges to connect it to the surrounding land.
“Ambitious, ain’t it?” Valgrith said to Emily, noticing her captivation. “Ragnar always proclaimed the sea his first love, and so he made it possible for him to exit his home and step right onto his ship without ever touching land. He lost a lot of slaves digging that thing out, and from what I’ve heard, most of them are resting at the bottom of the lagoon.”
“How does he get it to float?” Emily asked.
“Same way a ship does,” he answered tonelessly. “There’s a hold beneath, like a ship’s belly, that holds the structure aloft. Nothing special about it except all the digging, honestly. I’m glad Ragnar is dead, though. My wife had that same look on her face when she saw these lands, too. I wonder if she’s still with him—hey! I’ve been meaning to ask you a question: what’s your business here? I thought I’d find out the moment you got here, but my patience is breaking. What’s a girl like you want in Ragnar’s old lands?”
I’m not sure yet, Emily thought, but said, “Stick around and you’ll soon find out.”
“How soon?”
Emily scanned the town and the lagoon, glancing at the ships until she saw one that seemed faintly familiar docked alongside the floating house. She pointed to it.
“Is that Ragnar’s ship?” she asked.
“That’s his flag on it,” Valgrith answered. “Wait? Why in Valhalla is his flag still on it? I wonder if this traitor of his took up that flag, too. Anyway, I’d be inclined to say yes. That’s Ragnar’s old ship.”
“Then you’ll find out why I’m here by the end of the day. Will you stick around?”
The jarl said he would and then put his ship to shore, where Emily and Takeo disembarked along with the jarl and some of his crew. They were met swiftly by other vikings.
A group of ten, having seen Jarl Valgrith’s approach, came to meet his landing. They wore armor and carried weapons, but that was no cause for concern by itself. Vikings were always armed, and their armor was insulated from the cold. However, their stature and faces lacked any warm greetings, and that was enough to give Valgrith pause and encourage his crew to gather behind him.
“Stop there!” one of
the vikings called out, a woman with thick hips and long, blonde hair. “Who are you?”
“Jarl Valgrith! Just come for some trading—maybe a warm bed and some ale while I’m at it. I heard rumors that old Jarl Ragnar Ragnarson ain’t the jarl no more. I thought I’d come see the truth of it.”
“You heard right,” the woman answered. “If you’re looking for a bed and ale, the tavern is just up that way. Just don’t start any trouble, and there won’t be any.”
She gave a flick of her chin to indicate direction, and then the woman and her companions turned to leave. Valgrith seemed to think nothing of it. He outright ignored the glare Emily was giving him.
“Excuse me!” she called after them.
The woman turned and squinted in annoyance.
“Who’s the new jarl?” Emily asked.
The woman smiled proudly. “An immortal, name’s Carlito Hacke.”
Emily’s stomach dropped, and her throat clenched tight enough to strain her breathing. The words hit her so hard that even her hearing seemed to fade out, and the world bore down on her. She remembered that filthy, ugly pirate who had tried to make her his bride on pain of death. She remembered him almost choking the life out of her, and a twinge of fear pricked her heart. It must have shown on her face because the woman’s smile turned menacing.
“You know him?” she raised an eyebrow.
“No,” Emily said too hastily, then thought quickly and added, “It’s just that you said immortal.”
“You heard right.” The woman and her companions chuckled. “So long as there is water beneath him, no weapon or disease can kill him. He proved that much when he took Ragnar’s head off.”
They laughed then and turned to leave, but Emily’s mouth wouldn’t let them go.
“I thought he was a slave!” she called out, stepping forward to break away from Valgrith and the others.
“Emily,” Takeo whispered. “Perhaps we can find out more at the tavern?”
It was too late, though. The woman heard and turned slowly back to face Emily, squinting in curiosity.
“He was,” she said with a long breath, “but any slave who kills their owner is worthy of freedom, and their owner’s wealth if they can take it. Just so happened that near everyone thought it better to stand with an immortal than fight one. But how would some skinny little girl with a Lucifan accent know that?”
Emily heard the warning in the woman’s voice, but was too interested in getting answers to take heed of it. She swallowed and stepped closer.
“Who rose against him?” she asked. “What about Ragnar’s son, Nicholas?”
“He’s the jarl’s personal slave.”
The woman muttered that last sentence fleetingly while her eyes searched over Emily. Her confusion began to dissipate, and Emily’s hand began to itch for her unstrung bow.
“What did you say your name was?” the woman asked.
“I didn’t,” Emily answered definitely.
“What is it?
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking now!” the woman shouted, and her hand reached down to the handle of an axe strapped at her waist.
Takeo’s katana was clear of its sheath long before anyone else made a move. By the time the other vikings who served Carlito drew weapons, he’d already stepped in front of Emily. Her hand was around her bow, but she didn’t pull and string it because the other vikings hadn’t charged yet. There were only ten of them, after all, surrounding their leader and snarling with readiness for a fight. Emily smiled, knowing that with Valgrith’s help, Carlito’s meager welcome party would be easily overcome.
“Her name is Emily Stout!” Valgrith shouted out. “And I ain’t with her!”
Emily glanced over her shoulder to see Valgrith and his crew hadn’t drawn weapons. They’d stepped back, giving Emily and Takeo a clear and separate space to call their own. Valgrith’s hands were raised, though casually, to denote his calm demeanor.
“I don’t want no fight with an immortal,” Valgrith added. “I didn’t know this one came to start a war. She just happened to be along for the ride. If you don’t mind, my crew and I will just be leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Valgrith,” the woman snarled. “That’s for the jarl to decide. You leave now, and he’ll come find you. All of you are coming.”
And just like that, all of Valgrith’s casualness vanished. His face turned wrathful, and his war axe jumped into his hand. His crew was only a moment behind him, and a chorus of metal clearing leather rang heavy in the air. Emily suppressed a grin, and the angry woman before her suddenly didn’t appear so confident.
“I don’t think you heard me,” the jarl said. “We’re leaving.”
“And I said you were all coming!” The woman’s face was turning red. “Jarl Carlito will want to speak with you, and if you leave, then he’ll come looking for you.”
“Let him come,” Valgrith said. “And just for that, I’m taking these two with me, too.”
“I thought you said they weren’t with you.”
“I changed my mind! Now back down or this Jarl Carlito is going find himself short ten worthless peons!”
“I’ll go,” Emily said.
The tension between Valgrith and the woman broke as Emily stepped forward ahead of Takeo. She dropped her bow, arrows, knife, and pack to the ground at the samurai’s feet and then stepped forward again. Takeo reached a hand toward her, but it never touched. She took another step to place herself in the clear middle between both groups. All eyes were on her.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked.
“I think you’re Nicholas’ sister,” the woman answered.
“I also helped Carlito get enslaved,” Emily said, stretching the truth. “He’ll want to see me. Let the rest go, and you can take me to him.”
The woman’s eyes flicked from Emily to Valgrith, who gave no sign of disagreement. On the other side, Emily could practically feel Takeo’s agitation. When she looked back at him, his eyes were alight with defiance, and his jaw was set so tight that it didn’t move as he swallowed. Emily gave him a hard stare, willing him to do as she asked, knowing he’d hate himself for doing it.
You said I would face trouble you could not help me with, she tried to say. You were right, and it has arrived.
“It’s a deal,” the woman said.
Emily went forward, but stopped when Takeo grabbed her by the wrist. She turned angrily and was about to yank her hand free, until he let her go.
“We’ll be waiting,” he whispered.
“Thank you,” she whispered back, “and please keep ahold of my pack. The letters are in there.”
He gave a nod that could have been a shallow bow and picked up her weapons and gear. Emily sighed and nodded back. Takeo stepped back with Jarl Valgrith and his crew, and they watched Emily enter the care of Carlito’s vikings. They grabbed her roughly, and the woman gave her a snarl, but Emily kept her head lowered as if defeated.
This may be the last time I’ll ever be underestimated, she thought. I had best use it wisely.
Meanwhile, she reached out with her mind to see ocean water sweeping past stone hands. The colossus was climbing out of a ravine, following the edge of a mountain, and it would not stop.
Come, she told it. It’s time you made your first kill.
Chapter 13
“That was noble of you,” the woman muttered casually, running a hand through her long, blonde hair. “Giving yourself up so the others could leave. I doubt it will help much, though. The jarl will want to find them and make sure they can’t come back to save you. Not that you look like much worth saving.”
The woman looked towards the front of the rowboat, peering across the gently disturbed waters toward the jarl’s hall. Beside her sat three other vikings; two were rowing, and the other was looking Emily over with a hungry stare. When she caught his eye, he blew her a kiss, and she rolled her eyes.
“You don’t seem worried,” the woman noted, he
r tone suggesting she was only vaguely interested. “Have you been a slave before?”
“I have,” Emily answered.
“How did you get free?”
“I killed my master,” she said shortly before realizing it was a lie.
The woman huffed and twisted in her seat until the bones in her spine cracked. The noise was audible through all her heavy clothing thanks to the silence between oar strokes.
“Where are your villagers?” Emily asked.
During their short journey from the ocean shore to the lagoon’s waters, they had not passed a single soul. Ragnar’s old town, for all its size, had appeared nearly empty except for those first ten vikings. It had unnerved Emily more than she cared to admit.
“Jarl’s orders,” she sighed. “He wants people inside when strange ships approach. Now that Valgrith is leaving, they should be coming out.”
None of that made any sense to Emily, but she must have been less interested than she thought because she didn’t follow up with her usual overbearing curiosity. Also, true to the woman’s words, people did start to emerge, looking like nothing more than dark outlines across the lagoon.
“You won’t be able to kill your master this time,” the woman said, giving Emily’s gut an unnecessary kick to get her attention. “You know that, right?”
“Because he’s immortal?” Emily replied, trying not to grimace.
“Because you’re a worthless piece of warg waste.” The woman laughed.
Her followers laughed, too, but Emily kept stoic. She wanted to laugh with them, but that would have drawn unwanted attention.
Meanwhile, the two-story home was increasing in size as they drew near. The oars dipped and pulled, and the floating mansion loomed before them. Like the other cottages, it was made of horizontally stacked logs, sealed with a mud mixture. The roof was thatched with thick pines, long dead and turned brown, but frozen solid in The North’s frigid weather. Ice lingered on the wooden planks surrounding the home, showing where water had splashed and frozen, but failed to be swallowed back into the lagoon. As they pulled up alongside, two more vikings came to meet them, giving the newcomers questioning glances.
