Viking Gold

by V. Campbell

  “Hey, little one,” Redknee said, stroking the pup behind its ears. The pup tried to wriggle free. Redknee fished a scrap of bread from his belt-pouch and held it out. After a moment’s pause, the pup gobbled it down greedily.

  “You’re all alone in the world now. I know what that feels like. But don’t worry, I’ll look after you. We can be a team.”

  The pup eyed Redknee for a moment then began licking his face. “Ergh,” Redknee said, holding the pup at arm’s length. “I’ll have to teach you to stop that if you’re ever going to make a fierce hunting dog.”

  He tucked the pup into his tunic and trudged through the wet mud until he came to a wide clearing. A torch flickered a short distance off. He ducked down. The fiery image danced across the ground. He’d reached the banks of a mountain lake – one he didn’t recognise. More lights joined the first – their reflections shimmering on the water.

  He crept through the reeds until he was within hearing distance. Fifteen or so men lounged by a campfire, drinking and cutting strips off a deer carcass they’d suspended over the fire on a stout branch. Redknee’s mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The men were loud and drunk. Two were arguing over a game of dice. A few took turns goading a brown bear they had tethered to a tree stump. The poor beast was so tired it hardly responded to their bullying.

  Redknee crouched in the shadows and looked for Sinead. A group of horses stood to one side. Redknee recognised the grey stallion. Beside the horses was a wooden cage. Their leader, the big warrior with the bad eye, stalked over to the cage, pulled out a girl and dragged her towards the campfire. Redknee wasn’t sure it was Sinead until he heard her squawking on in her usual way. Like a seagull arguing with an ox. Pointless and annoying.

  “Let me go, you big oaf,” she said.

  “Wish granted,” he said, pushing her in front of the fire.

  The men looked up from their meal. A raven-haired youth in a fine chainmail coat addressed the big warrior. “Ragnar,” he asked, “when do we attack Sven’s village?”

  Ragnar smirked. “First light, son. If we can get this girl to talk. She knows where it is. I know it. But she says nothing.”

  The youth jumped up, grabbed Sinead’s hand and thrust it towards the flames. “Tell us the way to Sven Kodranson’s village,” he demanded.

  Sinead jerked her head back and spat in his eye.

  “You little—” The youth brought his palm across her face, knocking her to the ground.

  At the sound of the slap, every muscle in Redknee’s body tensed.

  Ragnar sighed. “Calm down, Mord. You must never let a woman rile you. Besides, the point is to make her talk, not shut her up forever. Now put her back in the cage until she comes round.”

  Sulking, Mord lifted Sinead’s limp body, dropped her inside the cage, bound the door shut and rejoined his father by the fire. The rest of the men were happily engrossed in their food and in taunting the poor bear. None, it seemed, were brave enough to tease Mord over Sinead’s outburst. There was no sign of Skoggcat. Staying low in the undergrowth, Redknee edged closer.

  “Can’t wait to see Sven again,” Ragnar said as Mord sat beside him on an upturned log. “Bet he’ll squeal like a pig when I run him through. Just like his brother did.” Laughing, he drew his knife and jabbed the bear in the gut. The animal moaned. Ragnar’s eyes lit up.

  “My spies have confirmed Sven still has his brother’s book,” said Mord, ignoring his father’s jest with the bear.

  “What would I do without you, Mord? You know everyone’s secrets.”

  A smile flashed across the young man’s face, then vanished. “They also tell me Sven has finished his longship,” he said.

  “Then this is the perfect time to strike. Nothing like taking advantage of someone else’s hard work, eh?” Ragnar said. “And it is high time I studied the book for myself – Sven has denied me it long enough. Now, have you seen your useless freak of a brother?”

  Mord shook his head. “What about the boy? The one who was with the girl.”

  “What about him?” Ragnar frowned. “He’s nothing. We lost him ages ago.” Ragnar studied his son for a moment, then said, “You worry too much. Relax. We’ll find Sven’s village soon enough.” Ragnar slapped Mord on the back and turned to talk with his men, who were rowdily debating whether Thor, the god of thunder, or Odin, the god of war, would win in a fight.

  Mord moved to the edge of the camp, away from the men. He took a piece of ivory from his pocket and began working it with his knife.

  The pup squirmed inside Redknee’s tunic, Redknee pushed him down, out of sight, his mind spinning as he closed the distance to the cage. He forgot the pain in his arm, the pounding in his head. He’d heard of Ragnar. Uncle Sven had spoken of him. But always in hushed tones. For it was Ragnar who had killed Redknee’s father. Murdered him.

  The cage was near where Mord worked on his carving. But the night was dark and he didn’t see Redknee crawl up behind Sinead, reach through the bars and tap her on the shoulder.

  No movement. Nothing. He tried again, this time tugging the ends of her long hair. She opened her eyes slowly, saw him, and winked.

  Redknee held his fingers to his lips. “Lie still. Don’t draw attention.” He used his knife to start sawing the rope holding the cage door closed. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of Ragnar’s men approach carrying a bucket.

  “Hurry!” Sinead whispered.

  “I’m going as fast as I can.” Ragnar had used heavy flax and Redknee felt his knife buckle.

  Ragnar’s man reached the far side of the cage. Redknee hid in the shadows as the man tossed a bucketful of lake water over Sinead and turned to go. Sinead let out a tiny gasp as the cold water hit her skin.

  Ragnar’s man stopped. He turned just as Redknee looked up and their eyes met through the bars of the cage. Sinead stood in an attempt to hide Redknee. But she was too late. Then, just as the warrior drew his sword and bellowed for help, the rope came away in Redknee’s hand. Before Redknee could stand back, Sinead was out of the cage, fleeing for the trees. But Ragnar’s man was quick to block her escape.

  Redknee grabbed Sinead’s hand and pulled her the other way. There was a clear route past the campfire and round the far side of the lake. But as they neared the campfire, Ragnar caught up with them, anger burning in his eyes.

  “You again!” he said, drawing his sword and lunging forwards.

  Redknee sprang back, just dodging the flames. His knife was no match for Ragnar’s sword. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a branch from the fire and thrust it in Ragnar’s face. The big man flinched, slipped on the ashes, and, twisting to miss the fire, landed at the bear’s feet.

  Sinead yanked the tether and a moment later the bear was free.

  Redknee and Sinead made for the forest. As they wove through the trees, the pup still tucked safely into Redknee’s tunic, they tried to close their ears to Ragnar’s terrible screams.

  They zigzagged through the forest, branches snatching at their faces and legs, the pounding of hooves only a few paces behind. Eventually the sound receded and Redknee felt certain they’d lost Ragnar’s men. But like fleeing deer, the two of them tore blindly on. It was only after a long while that he felt Sinead ease her pace.

  “Have we lost them?” she asked, gasping.

  Redknee motioned for her to stop, as his own heart hammered in his chest. He listened to the darkness. To the sounds of his mountain. The shadows heightened every whisper. Sinead stood rigid beside him. He reached out and took her hand in his. Her skin felt hot despite her soaking.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “I can’t hear the horses.” The fear in her muscles eased. “But we have to get back to the village. Ragnar and his men plan to attack at first light. And he’ll want revenge after your trick.”

  Sinead snatched her hand away. “You mean untying the bear? What else was I to do? We were trapped.”

  “All I’m saying is, if Ragnar survived being mauled, he’ll be look
ing for us.”

  “Oh,” Sinead gulped. “We should hide, then. No point heading to the village when we know that’s where Ragnar’s going.”

  “What? And leave my mother and uncle to die? Ragnar said he wanted to kill Uncle Sven. Just like he killed my father.”

  “Well they’re not my family. I’m just a slave. I don’t owe my captors loyalty.”

  He grabbed her by the elbow. “You owe them your keep and protection—”

  “Look, I held my tongue, didn’t I? I didn’t tell them the way to the village. That ought to buy your precious family some time.”

  “They’ll find the place soon enough – they’ve got this far,” Redknee said, letting her go. “But that was loyal of you.”

  “I was afraid,” she said, rubbing her elbow. “I thought Ragnar would kill me if I told him. Once he had no need of me.”

  “Typical,” Redknee said. “A slave thinking of herself first. Especially a Christian one.” He sighed. “Look, we’re wasting time. You do what you like.” He stomped off but paused after a few strides. He had no idea where he was, or even if he was going the right way.

  “You’ve no clue where you’re going. Do you?” Sinead called. “Ooh, the great Redknee – jarl of the mountain – totally lost.”

  “Be quiet!” Redknee spun round. “You might not care about raising the alarm, but I do.” The night had already faded to a smoky grey and he could see the outline of individual trees. He ran his hand over the trunk of a tall pine. A fleece of moss shrouded its north side. He turned to Sinead.

  “Oster-Fjord lies west; if we go …,” he calculated west from the position of the moss, “… that way,” he said, pointing towards a bracken-covered escarpment, “we should reach its shores. We can follow the water to the village. Are you coming?”

  The pup slid from Redknee’s tunic and stretched on the ground.

  “What’s that?” Sinead asked.

  “What does it look like?”

  Sinead glowered. “A skinny little wolf cub.”

  The pup yawned, baring every one of its sharp teeth and its long stretch of pink tongue. Then it sauntered over to Sinead and nuzzled the hem of her dress.

  “Hey,” Redknee said. “Don’t be a traitor!”

  “Aw, he likes me.” She scooped him up and the pup obliged by licking her chin. “Don’t be jealous. He just has good taste.” She set the pup on the ground. “Where did you get him?”

  “Rescued him.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened. “Quite the hero tonight.”

  “Yeah, well,” Redknee muttered. “No point wasting more time.”

  “Does he have a name?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “What about Silver?”

  “What about it?”

  “Because of the mark on his forehead, and he might bring you luck.”

  Redknee shrugged. Hunting dogs didn’t have names. “Come on,” he said, following the command with a low whistle. The pup trotted over. “Good boy,” he said, bundling it into his arms and starting to walk. He called over his shoulder to Sinead. “If we make good time, we can still reach the village before sunrise.”

  “Wait, what am I to do?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to return to the village.”

  “Why not? Isn’t my mother kind to you? You’re her favourite slave.”

  “Yes … she is kind … for a pagan. But I … I don’t want to be a slave anymore. I thought we were running away. I want to go home.”

  Had he been running away? He wasn’t even sure himself. He sighed. “Look, I have to go back. Besides, isn’t this your home now?”

  “Wait!” Her voice sounded strangled.

  He shook his head and kept walking. “I don’t have time to waste. It’s nearly light.”

  She scuttled after him, falling into step at his side.

  He grinned. “So, you decided to come with me after all?”

  She glowered at him. “Not much choice.”

  He stopped and looked her in the eye. She was still breathless from their run and her skin was flushed the pale pink of the river salmon. “You’re wrong, Sinead,” he said. “There’s always a choice.”

  Redknee stood on the cliff and stared at the huddle of longhouses below. They’d reached the village at last. Purple light stretched across Oster Fjord, turning the beach a pale lilac. Dawn came early this time of year. Wavedancer stood, tall and proud against the gleaming water. A fine oak ship. A fine prize. Finished, save for the dragon figurehead Uncle Sven would attach at the launch ceremony, her curved silhouette contrasted with the squat bulkiness of the longhouses.

  Already, plumes of smoke twisted into the early morning sky. Redknee felt his stomach grumble. His mother would have her porridge pot over the fire. He could dry his wet feet. He started to run.

  “Come on,” he called to Sinead.

  She had taken the pup from him, and held it tight as she tried to keep up with his new, faster pace. He tore down the path, skidding on loose stones and half-tripping on exposed roots. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to get home. Trees sped past in a blur. Green, brown, orange.

  Orange?

  He was being followed, and one name flashed through his mind.Before he could do anything, Skoggcat ripped through the trees and knocked him flat. But he had misjudged the distance and kept going, past Redknee, until he dropped over the edge.

  Redknee scrambled to his feet and ran to where Skoggcat had disappeared. Sinead was already peering over. About half a man’s length below where they stood, Skoggcat gripped a naked root with one hand, his feet dangling in the air. They were still far above the village. A fall from this height would kill a man instantly.

  “He must have been following us all along,” Sinead said.

  Redknee nodded. How could he have missed the signs? Ragnar’s threat – fear for his family – had distracted him. That was the only explanation. Even so, Skoggcat must have been quiet as the dead.

  “What should we do?” Sinead asked.

  Skoggcat stared up at them, terror pinching his tattooed face. He reached for the root with his free hand, but the movement loosened the earth and he slid lower. A tiny noise, barely a whisper, came from the back of his throat.

  “He’s trying to speak,” Sinead said.

  Redknee pulled her from the edge. “We should go. He’s seen the village. If we help him, he’ll only tell Ragnar the way.”

  Sinead’s face turned white. “But—”

  “Oh, so this is different to running off without telling my family about Ragnar’s attack?”

  “No… I mean—”

  “He was trying to kill me, Sinead. It’s not my fault he fell.”

  “But it’s so cruel.”

  “Life’s cruel,” he said, walking away.

  Sinead caught up with him and placed her hand on his elbow. “Life might be cruel,” she said. “But you’re not.”

  “Please help me …,” came the disembodied plea.

  “I’m going back,” she said, gathering her skirts and turning round.

  He sighed. She might see rescuing Skoggcat as an act of mercy, but her charity would only bring death to those Redknee cared about. And yet …

  To slay a man in battle was honourable. To leave him to die slowly—

  That wasn’t the Viking way.

  He turned on his heels and went to where Sinead lay on the ground with her arms stretched over edge of the cliff. The pup sat beside her, watching her every move.

  “I can’t reach,” she gasped.

  He leaned over. Skoggcat’s hand strained to meet Sinead’s smaller one. “He’ll attack us as soon as he’s up,” Redknee said.

  Skoggcat shook his head. “I promise I won’t.”

  “How do we know you won’t lead Ragnar to our village?” he asked.

  “My father thinks I’m useless. He’ll believe I didn’t find anything.”

  The root Skoggcat clung to began to
give way. Sinead screamed.

  Reluctantly, Redknee lay on the ground and lowered himself, face first, until he was hanging down the rock face from his waist. He felt the blood rush to his head and closed his eyes while he regained his balance. When he opened them again, he immediately wished he hadn’t. The village looked nothing more than a tiny speck, hundreds of feet below. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus instead on Skoggcat.

  The youth stretched for Redknee’s arm, but he was still too far away.

  This was a bad idea. He couldn’t help Skoggcat, and now he was going to die trying. He glanced over his shoulder at Sinead’s expectant face and sighed.

  “Grab my feet,” he said. He felt her sit on his ankles. He wriggled further out, over the edge, until he felt his feet lifting off the ground. “Hold on!” he called over his shoulder.

  “I am,” she replied. “There’s nothing else I can do. You’re going to have to grab him quickly.”

  Redknee felt a tug at the hem of his trousers and realised the pup was holding on too. He grinned to himself.

  Skoggcat was closer now. Redknee could just brush his fingertips. If he could only reach a bit—

  The cliff splintered beneath Redknee’s chest, spraying shingle over Skoggcat’s head; plunging Redknee lower. Once Redknee steadied himself, he realised it was the boost they needed. He reached for Skoggcat; grasping his hand just as the root came apart and tumbled to the valley floor.

  His arm creaked as Skoggcat’s full weight swung from his wrist. The youth was heavier than he’d expected. He felt sharp rocks scour his chest. His heart raced; Skoggcat’s weight was pulling him over the edge. Redknee tensed his stomach and arms.

  “I can’t pull you back up,” he said to Skoggcat. “You’re going to have to climb over me.”

  Skoggcat nodded and Redknee braced himself as he felt the youth’s hands, knees, then feet, grind into his spine.

  For a terrible moment, he thought Skoggcat would kill Sinead as soon as he was up then push him to his death. The moment he felt Skoggcat’s weight go, he scrambled backwards and sat on the path, panting. He felt like he’d been torn apart on the rack.