by V. Campbell
He pulled himself from the water and felt his way in the darkness. Relief filled him as he realised he’d found a big, flat platform with a passage heading off it. He listened at the entrance and heard laughter. Ragnar was still here.
Just as he’d remembered, the walls and floor were thick with seaweed. Quickly, he gathered up armfuls of the stuff, teasing the oily yarns through his fingers, separating and flattening each strand. All the while, the storm roiled overhead, lighting the cavern as he worked. Finally, he wound the seaweed about his head and body until he was unrecognisable.
He found his sword lying on the ledge, and followed the laughter till the passage became so narrow he had to hold his breath to squeeze through. It was quieter here. The howl of the sea was far away, replaced by the tinkling of water through a thousand unseen cracks.
A flash of lightening showed Ragnar and four men sitting round a campfire in a cave beyond the passage. Redknee shuffled forward and crouched behind a rock.
“Three cheers for Ragnar!” one of the men shouted, raising his drinking horn and glugging the contents.
Redknee saw Toki, the giant with black teeth, raise his horn for a moment, before stumbling backwards and collapsing in a drunken heap. The others laughed.
Ragnar stood. “Thank you, but you brave men must take your share of the credit. And so must my fine son, Mord.” The men nodded and raised their horns to this toast, while Ragnar continued. “It’s true I’ve promised you great riches. But there’s still much to do. King Hakon has charged us with unravelling the secrets of the Codex Hibernia and the treasure of which it speaks. We must go to a place the Christians call the Promised Land, which lies many days voyage to the west. There will be danger. But we are Northmen, and we do not shirk at the prospect of a little sea spray.”
The men roared at this. As they raised their horns again, lightning struck, ripping apart the darkness. Without thinking, Redknee leapt into the light and snarled, “I am the cave troll. Thor is my master.”
The men gaped in horror.
Redknee went on. “You have wronged Thor by attacking a village under his protection. He demands satisfaction.”
“We’re done for!” one of the men shouted, throwing down his horn and running away. As the others fell about in confusion, Redknee ploughed into the mêlée, swinging Flame Weaver before him. Lightning flashed off the blade, chased by the ever-gaining thunder.
“There’s no such thing as a troll,” Ragnar called. But his men ignored him, their terrified shouts filling the cave. One ran straight into the wall, knocking himself out cold. Another burned himself tripping over the fire. Redknee caught the edge of a man’s cloak with his sword, scratched another’s arm. One by one, the men fled, leaving him alone with Ragnar.
“Such brave warriors,” Redknee said. “So skilled at butchering women and children.”
A bolt of lightning lit Ragnar’s mangled face. “You’re not a troll,” he said, shielding his good eye from the glare.
Darkness fell again and Redknee skirted past him. “How can you be sure?”
“I met one once.”
“Really?”
Thunder shook the stone rafters.
“Yes … I killed him.” Ragnar lunged forward, but Redknee was behind him. “Where are you? Is this some sort of magic?”
Redknee stifled a laugh. His keener eyes gave him the edge. He swung his sword at Ragnar’s back. But the older man dipped forward at the last moment and the blade nicked his hair.
Ragnar spun round. The lightning came thick and fast as Redknee fended off a barrage of iron. He felt himself being pushed out of the cave, towards the beach. He tried to hold his ground, but it was difficult just meeting the speed and strength of Ragnar’s blows. The mouth of the cave yawned above them, and then they were outside, in the full cauldron of Thor’s fury.
Ragnar’s men circled them. He heard someone shout, “It’s just a boy!” The others laughed and he realised his seaweed mask had dried out. The men crowded in, banging their shields. At first Redknee ignored it. Then he tried to gain strength from their taunts. Energy crackled all around him. The sea air whipped his hair and lashed his skin. He felt strength rise inside him, age-old strength. He could do this. He was fighting the man who killed his mother, and he would take him down.
A foot shot out from the circle, knocking Redknee onto his back. Faces teemed above him, mocking. Ragnar pressed his sword against Redknee’s throat. “Who are you?” he demanded, kicking Flame Weaver from Redknee’s hand.
“Your nemesis.”
Ragnar laughed. “I like your pluck, troll boy. Reminds me of myself at your age.” He flicked away the last strand of seaweed covering Redknee’s face. His smile faded. “I know you. You’re the boy who rescued the slave girl in the woods. Look what that bear did to my face.” He tilted his cheek, showing Redknee the curdled flesh. “You’ll pay for this.” He signalled to two of his men. They dragged Redknee to his knees and tied his hands. “If I’d killed you in the fight,” Ragnar whispered into his ear, “you would’ve gone to Valhalla as a warrior. Instead, I’m going to execute you like the whelp you are, and you’ll go to Fólkvangr, with the cowardly and weak.”
Redknee heard the scrape of a sword being sharpened behind him. He clenched his muscles for the impact and stared at the horizon. The black ship was only a short distance from the shore. Behind her, the heavens swelled like an angry bruise. The dark silhouette of a ship off her stern caught his eye. He squinted through the dim light and his heart quickened. It was following her.
Could it be Wavedancer?
He turned to Ragnar, who had stopped sharpening his sword and was admiring the gleaming blade. “Mord won’t share the treasure with you,” Redknee said.
“What?”
“When I was in the forest, I heard Mord talking about his plans. I heard him say to Toki there,” he nodded toward the giant, “that once he had the book, he didn’t need you. He was going to keep the treasure for himself.”
“Hold your gibbering tongue and prepare to die,” Ragnar said, raising his sword above Redknee’s neck.
“Wait!” Redknee searched for something to say, anything. “If I’m about to die, can I ask one last question?”
Ragnar paused. “Alright.”
“Did you kill my father?”
“I’ve killed many people, troll boy. You’ll need to give me a better clue than that.”
“My father was Erik, son of Kodran the Wolf.”
“I didn’t know Erik had a son,” Ragnar said, lowering his sword. “This changes things.”
Chapter 5
The black ship rose onto the beach. Grinning, Mord leapt from the bow and splashed through the surf. He held the goatskin package he’d taken from the village high out of the water.
Ragnar turned from Redknee and opened his arms to greet his son. They hugged and slapped each other on the back. “Come now,” Ragnar said, his face glowing with excitement. “Let’s see the map.”
“I’ve searched through the Codex,” Mord said. “But there doesn’t appear to be one.”
Ragnar’s shoulders dropped. “Then it’s all been for nothing.”
“Maybe not. I’ve brought the girl who can speak book words.” Mord snapped his fingers and Sinead stepped out from behind him. The wind flattened her dress against her body and her green eyes shone like steel. Redknee looked away. She was a traitor.
“Please father,” Mord said. “We must go. Sven and his men are nearly upon us.”
Ragnar nodded. He dragged Redknee across the sand and aboard the black ship. “You’ll be of use to me yet, troll boy,” he said, pushing him onto the deck.
Ragnar left Redknee where he was sprawled and went to stand with Mord at the prow. He slung his arm casually over his son’s shoulder and began giving orders to the men. Father and son looked easy together. Happy. Even murderers, it seemed, showed affection to their sons. Skoggcat hovered near them, a sunstone in his hand. On seeing Redknee he scowled, and slunk toward
s the stern.
As soon as Ragnar turned his back, Redknee tried to free his wrists. But the rope was bound fast. All he could do was wait. He hunkered beneath the gunwale and watched as Ragnar’s men pushed the black ship into the water. She bobbed for a moment as they climbed aboard. Then the drum started. The men rowed in time and the black ship charged, battle ready, through the surf.
Sinead scurried over and knelt beside Redknee. She had the book under her arm. “You all right?” she asked.
He ignored her and stared out to sea. Wavedancer was about three ship-lengths off their starboard side. He could just make out his uncle’s bulky silhouette behind the dragon figurehead.
“Answer me,” she said, this time grabbing his shoulder.
He spun to face her. “Good people are dead – my mother is dead. Did you strike a deal with Ragnar when he kidnapped you in the forest? Agree to give him the book. Is that it? Traitor!”
“No! You have it all wrong,” she said, her face paling. “I gave them the book to make the killing stop.”
“Your lies make me sick,” he said, scrambling to his feet and pushing past her, but there was nowhere for him to go on a ship filled with enemies. So he turned to confront her again and froze as a lone arrow pierced the deck between them.
“By Odin’s eye!” he exclaimed, gaping across at Wavedancer as the men prepared to release a second volley. “My uncle can’t know I’m here.”
“Or he doesn’t care,” she said.
Before he could argue, a cloud of arrows darkened the sky, blotting out the sun. He ducked under the gunwale as best he could, while Sinead huddled at his side, Mord’s precious book raised above her head.
Ragnar’s men hid beneath their shields and, moments later, the sound of steel tips thrumming into upturned wood drowned out the waves. Three more volleys followed. The rhythmic whoosh – thud, whoosh – thud only punctured by the occasional cry of the stricken. Yet most of Ragnar’s men survived the onslaught unscathed. When it seemed that the last of the arrows had landed, Ragnar lowered his arrow-studded shield and called to Redknee.
“Troll boy,” he said. “Your uncle thinks pissing on us will make us cry. It’s time to show the old dog this ship has teeth.”
With a nod, Ragnar ordered his men to push their rowing to full speed. The black ship cut through the water, heading straight for Wavedancer. Timbers groaned as the black ship rammed Wavedancer’s starboard side, the iron hull of the black ship shattering her soft wooden boards. Iron hooks flew across Wavedancer’s bows, binding her to the black ship in a reluctant embrace.
Uncle Sven took the initiative, boarding the black ship before Ragnar’s men boarded Wavedancer; slashing at anything that moved with his axe. Koll and the rest of the villagers followed, met by a wall of Ragnar’s men. With his hands tied, Redknee knew he was easy meat. He tried to push onto Wavedancer, but it was impossible.
He saw Sven wield his axe against a terrified oarsman then change direction in one smooth move, swinging his axe towards Redknee. He watched, open-mouthed, as the steel blade whizzed through the air, headed for his chest. His uncle was going to kill him and all he could do was stand and watch. Only when he looked down did he realise his hands were free, the piece of rope that had bound them curled at his feet.
“Get out of here lad!” Sven said. “You’ve done your bit.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. But before he could do anything he felt a dizzying lurch as the ships came apart. Someone had cut the hooks. Men crashed beneath the waves, still locked in combat. It was his last chance. He saw Sinead cowering amidships. An arrow pinned her skirt to the deck. He ignored her tugging. She didn’t deserve his help. Instead, he seized the book from under her arm, tucked it beneath his tunic and flung himself into the air.
Wavedancer’s side slammed into his chest. Winded, he clutched at the rail above as the sea crashed over his back. But the wood was slick and it was hard to get a grip. He felt himself being tugged below, his lungs filling with water …
Chapter 6
A hand reached out, pulling him up and onto Wavedancer’s deck.
“I thought you could swim better than that, lad.” Koll smiled down at him. “But I didn’t know you could fly.”
Redknee held the book away from his dripping clothes and squinted up at Koll.
“By Odin’s eye! What’s that?” Koll asked.
“Ragnar called it the Codex Hibernia.”
Sven marched across the deck. “Give it here, lad.” His uncle took the book, satisfied himself the goatskin wrapping had protected it from water damage, and locked it inside a wooden chest.
Redknee heard the patter of small feet behind him and turned to see Silver bounding across the deck. He knelt and bundled the pup into his arms.
Koll smiled. “I knew you’d want us to bring him.”
“Thanks,” Redknee said, as Silver covered his face in slobbery licks.
Sven grunted. “We can go now,” he said, turning to the men. “Every hand to an oar. Let’s teach Ragnar a lesson in seamanship.”
They rowed until blisters split their hands and their arms felt like lead. And still the black ship followed; a menace on the darkening horizon. Redknee pulled his oar with every muscle in his body. In front of him, Koll did the same, his biceps flexing with each stroke. Sven ordered the sail raised, but kept them rowing, eking every last drop of speed from Wavedancer. She was lighter; longer than the black ship – and should have been faster – but her hull was taking in water and they daren’t put into shore or Ragnar and his men would be on them like a swarm of locusts.
As night fell, and the black ship receded, Sven allowed them to take turns rowing. When his break came, Redknee flexed his stiff fingers. He felt as if his hands had been melded to his oar.
“You did well today,” Sven said.
Redknee turned to see his uncle looking down at him. Blood stippled his cheeks and his brow glistened with sweat. The gash to his shoulder had been roughly bandaged. “I’ll take your oar now,” he said.
“I can manage,” Redknee answered, adding, “You fired at the black ship when I was onboard.”
Sven laughed. “When you scampered off on that old nag, I didn’t think you’d actually catch up with Ragnar.” He ruffled Redknee’s hair. “Don’t look so serious. If I’d known you were onboard, I’d never have given the order. I’m impressed, though. I can see I underestimated you, but you mustn’t be so foolish in future. Now move over and let me have a go. You must be dog-tired.”
“Is this it?” Redknee asked without moving. “Are these all the survivors?”
He glanced round the deck. Olaf, Koll, Harold and Karl were rowing, as was Koll’s wife, Thora. Magnus held the tiller. There were a few men from the outlying farms Redknee vaguely recognised, and the Bjornsson twins. But that was all.
“A handful of women and children live,” Sven said. “I sent them to old Knoffson’s farm. They’ll be safe there.” He paused, laying his hand on Redknee’s shoulder. He seemed stiff, formal. So different, Redknee thought, to Ragnar’s easy way with Mord.
“I’m sorry,” Sven said eventually. “I’m sorry about your mother. I’ll miss her too.” He took a deep breath. “Ingrid and I were … great friends. Did you know she and I were betrothed once? Before she met your father. When he died—”
“You don’t care about her,” Redknee said, pushing Sven’s hand away. “You don’t care about any of us. All you care about is that stupid book.”
“That’s not true.”
“My mother said my father is still alive. Do you know about that?”
“Oh lad. The poor woman was dying. She was delirious; she had no idea what she was saying.”
“So my father is dead?”
“I’m sorry if she gave you false hope. Your mother was at his funeral. Lit the burial pyre herself. There’s no reason why she should think he is still alive. By Thor’s blood, I saw my poor brother killed by Ragnar with my own eyes. There’s no question what happened.
I’m only sorry people have been so reluctant to talk to you about it over the years. We were trying to be sensitive – my brother was killed running away from a duel. I’m sorry to say that he was a coward. We wanted to spare you that – I can see now it was a mistake.”
“But—”
“There is no secret. You have to forget what your mother said and get on with your life – live in the present.”
Before Redknee could reply, Olaf came over and stuck his head between them. “Why’s Ragnar so bent on chasing us?” he asked.
“You know Ragnar. Always looking for trouble.”
“We’re risking our lives for you, Sven. We should know why.”
“They’re only hounding us because of that stupid book,” Redknee said, pointing to the wooden chest where Sven had locked it earlier.
“What’s so special about it?” Olaf asked.
“Ragnar believes it holds the key to treasure,” Redknee said. “He means to use the book to find it.”
Olaf frowned. “Does your boy speak the truth?”
Sven frowned. “When I went to Kaupangen last month, an old merchant there didn’t have the silver to pay me what he owed. Gave me the book instead. I laughed at first, for what would I want with a book? But he said it was worth more than all the gold in Christendom.”
Olaf let out a long, low whistle. “And when were you going to tell us this?”
“What was there to tell? When I returned home, I realised how foolish I’d been and hid the book away – I didn’t know until now that Ragnar wanted it. I’d come to think the stories about the treasure were just that, stories.”
“Well,” Olaf said. “I’m not dying over rumours. I say we toss it to them and scarper home. It’s already soaked in blood, no point adding ours.”
“Home to what?” Sven asked. “The village is gone, our families butchered. I say we find this treasure for ourselves. Must be truth in it if Ragnar wants it so bad. Think about it - avenging our dead by denying Ragnar what he most wants.”
