by V. Campbell
“Sinead says she heard the monks talk of the legend of Saint Brendan when she was a child. She’s desperate to read the Codex.”
A thin smile crossed Sven’s face. “About Sinead:. I doubt she poisoned the stew, but I still don’t trust her. I fear, as a Christian, her loyalty will always be to the monk who wrote the book – if there are Christian secrets within it, she will seek to keep them from us. And I suspect her links with Ragnar. Her departure with Mord and return to us was too convenient.”
“I’ve heard Ragnar was with you when you plundered the monastery. Is that how he knew about the book?”
Sven nodded slowly. “We were good friends once, Erik, Ragnar and I. But Ragnar double-crossed us. He ran off with the plunder. He thought he’d taken the book, but he made a mistake. It was the only thing he left your father and me.”
“Is that what started the feud?”
Sven nodded. “I took the Codex to your mother in the Sheep Islands. That was when she made the embroidery. Then I left her to find Ragnar and settle the score. But Erik found him first, with tragic consequences.”
Redknee took this in. His father had hunted Ragnar down to avenge his double-crossing. “So, my father wasn’t a coward?”
“Erik?” Sven asked.
Redknee nodded.
“Not if you look at it like that. Though it’s true he ran when he found himself losing.”
“But why did you keep the book hidden for so long?”
“The monks said it told of a voyage to a fabulous land. They were very angry when we took it. Tried to beg with their lives.” Sven laughed. “Even offered us their secret hoard of gold. But we thought a book that valuable must be worth taking. To be honest though, I didn’t really believe their stories. And what could I do with it? I couldn’t read the book words. So I hid it away. I didn’t tell anyone about it because I knew Ragnar wanted it, and I didn’t want him to get his hands on it. Not after what happened to Erik.”
Redknee nodded. He could understand that.
“But,” Sven continued, “when the harvest looked like failing this year, I thought maybe it would fetch some coin. I took it to the merchant in Kaupangen. The man I went to is no ordinary trader. He has travelled in the lands of the Gaul and the Rus. He is master of their languages and expert in their folk tales. He even speaks the words of Rome. When he saw the Codex, with its fine leather cover and bright pictures, he nearly collapsed. He said it was the lost book of Saint Brendan and he knew a man who would pay handsomely for it in gold.”
“Was that Ragnar?”
Sven nodded. “After your father died I put it about that Ragnar had double-crossed us. I acted angry, saying Ragnar had stolen everything we’d taken from the monks. If Ragnar believed we didn’t have the book there was a chance he wouldn’t come after us. It seemed to work. I know he used the coin he stole from us to employ mercenaries. He took his new men-at-arms raiding down the Volga. It was only when I went to Kaupangen last month that I realised he was back and he was looking for the Codex.”
“Why didn’t you go after him to avenge my father’s death?”
Sven sighed. “Lad, I just didn’t have the stomach for it. Your mother rejoined me and we moved north, beyond the Oster Fjord to a remote part of the northlands. Then Ingrid gave birth to you, and, well, things changed. Life moved on.” Sven smiled weakly; slapping Redknee on the back. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve had enough reminiscing for one day. It’s time for your training.” He took two Dane-axes from an armoury chest and handed one to Redknee.
Redknee turned the axe in his hand. This was how his father died. Felled by an axe in his back. “I have one last question. Before we start.”
“Go on,” Sven said, moving into position opposite. “But it better be quick, I fear the daylight will not last long.”
Redknee looked at the horizon. Crimson streaked the pale sky. He sighed. He didn’t want to ask again. But felt he had to. “Did—”
“Yes?”
“Did Ragnar really kill my father? It’s just, my mother, before she died, she seemed so sure—”
Sven lowered his axe, leant his big frame on the helve and sighed. “Alright lad. It’s time you knew the truth. I banished my brother from our village.”
“What?”
“It’s true. He didn’t die fighting Ragnar. I sent him away.”
Redknee’s mouth turned dry. “Why?” he croaked. “Why did you do that to my father?”
Sven circled Redknee, axe in hand. He no longer looked so weary. “My brother was a restless man.”
“All Vikings are restless.”
His uncle smirked. “He became obsessed with the Codex. The fool got as far as Iceland. When he returned empty-handed, the failure sent him mad. He killed a man he thought was trying to steal his precious book.”
“You lie.”
Sven shrugged. “Believe what you like. But it is time you knew. My brother, Erik Kodranson, is not your father.”
Chapter 20
The impact sent Redknee flying forward. At first, he thought he’d been struck from behind. Then he saw everyone else was sprawled on the deck too. Wavedancer creaked to a stop. Redknee looked round, confused. They were in the middle of the ocean with no rocks in sight. He scrambled to his feet and peered over the rail. Lurking beneath the hull, twice the length of Wavedancer, was a huge grey fish.
Olvir joined him. “What is it?”
They both ducked as a mighty tail fin rose from the water and smashed against the rail, showering the deck in splinters.
“It’s a sea monster,” Sinead cried. “Come to eat us!”
“It’s just a fish,” Redknee said. But his words lost their conviction as another terrible blow crashed against the side, propelling him backwards into his uncle. Silver started barking from the perceived safety of the deck tent.
“Shh,” Redknee said, holding his finger to his lips, but Silver ignored him.
“It means to sink us,” Sven said, his face white with fear. He turned to the dazed crew. “To the oars,” he shouted. “Now!”
They rowed hard. But the creature sped after them, weaving its dark shadow through the water at terrifying speed, thrashing its tail, making a fast clicking noise as if exhilarated by the chase. When it drew level with the tiller, it blew a flume of water into the air then tipped its big square head beneath the waves, diving down until they could no longer see it.
“Has it gone?” Sinead asked, looking round.
Sven motioned for everyone to stop rowing. Redknee listened to the telltale clicking as it receded into the depths. By Odin’s eye, they’d out-run it! A smile leached across his face. Then the sound changed, growing louder until it became almost deafening – click, Click, CLICK! Redknee braced himself for the inevitable: Wavedancer shuddered as the monster surfaced beneath her, then tilted towards port.
Redknee plunged, head first, across the deck. Barrels crashed into his ribs. Feet struck his chest. Buttocks crushed his face. Just as things began to settle, Wavedancer tipped the other way. Sinead flew past, her skirts about her head. He fought to grab hold of something, but the deck had become a whirling mass of debris. An armoury chest burst open, sending a lethal spray of swords skittering across the boards. He gritted his teeth as a blade carved his thigh.
Through it all, he saw Olaf’s stone-like grip circle the mast, holding Harold safe; the eye in the centre of the storm. Eventually, the rolling stopped and he landed softly against Brother Alfred’s belly. He examined his thigh. It was only a flesh wound.
The ship was in chaos.
Sven stood first. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, the bandages around his shoulder had unravelled, but he still gripped his Dane-axe in his hand. “We must attack now,” he shouted, waving his axe in the air. “Every man find a weapon and follow me.”
Redknee grabbed a spare sword and followed. He froze when he reached the rail. The monster resembled a huge gungiger, with its tiny, beady eyes and slippery skin caked in barnacles. Sven l
eant over the gunwale, hacking into it, spraying blubber and blood into Redknee’s face, exposing crater after fleshy crater. The others joined Sven in attacking the monster and its back soon became a slimy mash of gore.
“Come on, lad.” Sven said between strokes. “Get stuck in.”
Redknee nodded mutely and jabbed at a section of knobbly skin with his sword. His head still spun from the revelation about his father. He wanted to ask Sven more—
The monster reared out of the water; the sudden movement caught Redknee off-guard and he toppled overboard into the pulpy red swill. Foam rushed his nostrils. He pushed up, broke the surface. The monster’s huge head loomed over him. Coughing and spluttering, he grabbed at an oar port and dragged himself above the waves.
The monster had one of Astrid’s men in its half-open jaw, between teeth as long as a man’s leg and sharp as ice-daggers. Redknee recognised him as Ragi, her second-in-command. He must have been knocked overboard too. Ragi leant forwards and Redknee stretched to grab him, but his belt was caught on its teeth.
“Undo your belt,” Redknee called.
Ragi nodded and fumbled with the clasp, but his fingers were too slow; the monster tossed its great head and he disappeared forever.
The man-eater turned and stared at Redknee. He flattened himself against the hull. Its eyes were small and black, like sheep droppings. Its breath stank of rotten flesh. Then, without warning, it dived beneath the waves, resurfacing three boat lengths off. Redknee breathed a sigh of relief
“Get out the way!”
He looked up to see Sinead calling him from the deck, her hand pointing out to sea. He followed the direction of her gaze and froze. The monster’s bulbous form powered towards him, intent on smashing him to pieces. He tried to uncurl his fingers, to slide effortlessly beneath the waves where the worst of the impact would pass over his head. He heard someone shout “Move!” from above, but the beast was coming fast – he was trapped.
Sven threw a harpoon over Redknee’s head, it plunged deep between the monster’s eyes. A high-pitched squeal echoed across the water, but the monster charged on, preceded by a terrifying surge that distorted its face, amplifying it to grotesque proportions, exaggerating the glare of its beady eyes. A second harpoon joined the first. But to no avail; the monster had Redknee in its sight and would not be stopped. Sven leapt from the deck into the sea, pushing Redknee aside with such force he smashed into the water face first.
Redknee turned round to see his uncle slip beneath the waves just as the monster rammed its ugly great head square into Wavedancer’s hull. The monster sank from view as suddenly as it had appeared.
There was no body to bury. They’d waited for hours, Redknee plunging, again and again, beneath the waves in a vain attempt to find something, anything of his uncle. But in the end he had to accept the truth – Sven had died saving him.
The monster had knocked two large dents in Wavedancer’s hull. Water seeped in, slowly at first, then in huge, noisy slugs. Wavedancer limped along, her desperate crew bailing as fast as they could with their meagre collection of buckets, chests and bowls. Even cupped hands were used when the light started to fade and fear really took grip. Then a miracle occurred. At least, Brother Alfred proclaimed it such. Great white cliffs jutted, saw-like, from the horizon. Land.
Sinead came to Redknee as they neared the cliffs, which he now saw were made of ice. They rose straight from the water with no beach to mediate between their naked glow and the sea. The cliffs groaned as huge chunks of ice crumbled away, landing with a mighty splash.
“If this is Greenland, it doesn’t look very green,” she said, scooping the water at her feet with a bowl.
Redknee watched as lumps of ice, fluffed into fantastical peaked shapes, like whipped cream, floated past. The sea was calm; the floes moved slowly, but a brush with one of their jagged edges would surely sink them.
“It looks like the end of the world,” he said, using an oar to fend off a nasty looking edge.
They eventually found a thin, grey beach strewn with sharp rocks. Exhausted, and too low in the water to go further, they docked and hauled their injured ship as far up the beach as they could. Wavedancer’s timbers seemed to slump into the rough sand. Redknee knew how she felt. Fatigue gnawed his bones. His legs felt like lead, his arms worse. Cold and wet, he collapsed to the ground and closed his eyes.
At first, he was too tired to think. Then, slowly, his thoughts began to order themselves. His uncle had banished the man he’d known as his father from the village. This first revelation had enraged Redknee, so that, in the moments before his uncle’s death, Redknee hated him more than he’d ever hated anyone. And then, just when he thought he finally knew the truth, Sven had spoken those six simple words:
Erik Kodranson is not your father.
Redknee’s hate for his uncle had faltered, smashed on the rocks of confusion. But now … now Sven was dead, had died saving him, and all chance of answering the questions swarming in Redknee’s head had died with him. In the end, only one question remained important:
If not Erik Kodranson, then who? Who is my father? And who, then, am I?
For, in truth, they were the same dilemma.
Something warm, wet and spongy smothered his face. He opened his eyes and drew Silver close, feeling the outline of the pup’s ribs beneath his soft coat. He would need to find his friend more food. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sinead looking down. Her fiery hair seemed wrong, somehow, against the glaring backdrop of ice. Her eyes were too green, her lips too pink for this bleached land.
“They’re arguing,” she said, pointing to the group standing beside the wreck. “Olaf wants to camp here, but I fear a storm is coming.”
Redknee looked at the sky. Purple clouds tussled on the horizon. She was right. The storm would reach them by nightfall. Redknee sighed. “What can I do about it?”
“Tell them we must find shelter. There’s none on the beach.”
“They won’t listen to me.”
“You must try.”
Drawing on his last remnant of strength, he stood and walked over, squeezing past Olaf to the centre of the bedraggled group.
Olaf grinned in amusement. “Sven’s whelp here to lead us?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Redknee cleared his throat. “My uncle … my uncle is dead. We’ve no leader now, but we must make a quick decision about where to spend the night. A storm is coming. We should head inland to find shelter. We can return tomorrow to mend Wavedancer.”
“But we don’t know where we are,” Olaf said. “We’re tired. Soaked through. Some are injured. And the locals could be hostile.”
Several nodded at this, among them Magnus and a couple of Astrid’s men-at-arms. She cast them an angry look. Clearly, she wanted to go exploring.
“You’re right,” Redknee replied. “But we can’t wait out the storm here. I’m going to see if there’s a pass through the ice cliffs.”
“I won’t leave Harold,” Olaf said, folding his arms across his chest. “He’s too ill to go wandering.”
Redknee glanced to where Harold sat, apart from the group, on a slab of grey slate, his face as white as the ice-cliffs behind him. Redknee nodded to Olaf.
“We’ll send you word as soon as we’ve found shelter.”
In the end, everyone left with Redknee save Olaf and Harold. He led them west along the beach towards what looked from a distance to be a break in the wall of ice.
Sinead caught up with him, the Codex tucked under her arm. “I brought you this,” she said. “The chest it was in burst open; but it’s still dry—”
“That thing has caused enough death. I’m having nothing more to do with books.”
Sinead stared at him in disbelief. “But we must find the Promised Land. We’ve come so—”
“Look,” Redknee said, turning to face her. I was only interested in finding the Promised Land because I thought it was where my father had gone. Before my uncle died, he fin
ally confessed Ragnar didn’t kill his brother. In fact, his brother survived the fight. And what’s more, he confirmed Erik was obsessed with the Codex, and wanted to find the Promised Land for himself.
Sinead’s eyes widened. “Your father is alive – that’s wonderful!”
Redknee shook his head. “You jump ahead. Sven also confessed he banished his brother because his obsession had grown so monstrous, he murdered a man over it.”
“Oh—” She paused, then added, “But even so, you’ll still need the Codex to find him.”
“There is a group of men looking for the Promised Land, the ones Astrid’s husband set sail with two years ago, but my father isn’t among them.”
“How can you be sure? Just because he was banished—”
“Because,” Redknee said, his voice hollow, “the last thing Sven said before the sea monster attacked, was that Erik Kodranson, his brother, isn’t my father.”
“What?”
“That’s right. For me, anyway, this whole stupid search has been for nothing. Worse even, because that book was the reason our village was destroyed. It caused my mother to be killed, caused Karl, Thora and the Bjornsson twins to be murdered. Now Sven is dead too. Face it, Sinead, the bloody thing’s cursed. Do yourself a favour and throw it away.”
Sinead placed her hand lightly on Redknee’s sleeve, “If Erik Kodranson isn’t your father, Sven isn’t your uncle either.”
“And that,” Redknee said, kicking a loose sliver of flint across the beach, “is about the best thing that’s come of this. Now, keep that book away from me before I throw it into the sea, where it belongs.”
