Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  Skadi stood and stared at the girl.

  Kiara was back to stirring.

  “Is that true?” asked Skadi. “Have you been listening in on us?”

  Kiara looked down at her mistress.

  Runa smiled and nodded.

  Kiara hesitated, then looked into Skadi’s piercing green eyes, and nodded to the lady. “No.”

  “Get me my things,” hissed Skadi.

  “I mean, ja, I understand, but no, I haven’t been listening!” Kiara was flustered and ran into the back room.

  Skadi had to get the last word. “I don’t approve of this girl living in the same house as the boy who may become my son-in-law.”

  “May become your son in-law?” Runa was just glad she was leaving. There was only one witch in her house, and she had black hair, not red.

  “Who knows what she’s learning from your family. She won’t likely have any loyalty to our little village once she’s gone, will she?”

  “Gone? What do you mean?” That caught Runa off guard.

  “Well, she isn’t yours.” Skadi looked at Runa as if she felt sorry to be the one to remind her. “Once our Viking gets well, he’ll be wanting his slave girl back. Or had you forgotten?” Skadi smiled, put on her furs, and let the door slam shut as she left.

  Runa watched as a tear formed in Kiara’s eye. Well, she had to find out sometime. Anyway, the girl had done something right for once. The witch was gone.

  Fat Orri

  “I’ve only seen one man cut wood like that,” a voice said.

  Erik’s heart leapt in his chest. When he caught a glimpse of the fat Viking from the hall, he tripped over a piece of wood and landed painfully in the pile. The snow-white kid he displaced climbed back up to its perch and butted him on the shoulder, apparently willing to fight to take back its spot at the top.

  “And that’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  You should talk. Erik looked out into the forest, thick with a low hanging fog. He was alone.

  “I didn’t see you.” He flailed like a turtle trying to get back on his feet. It was no use.

  The Viking shooed the little goat away before offering Erik a hand.

  Erik wasn’t sure.

  “Come on boy. When a man offers you a hand, don’t keep him waiting, because if he wanted to keep you down, you’d get the boot. I’m Orri.”

  Erik slowed down, pushed a particularly sharp piece of ash away from his side, planted one of his hatchets in it, and accepted the strangers help. As soon as he took Orri’s hand he came straight to his feet.

  “There you go.” Orri made a grunting noise when he leaned back. But it was fake. “I din’ mean to startle you. Just trying to be friendly.” There was an unpleasant tang in his voice. Also, fake. Maybe he was trying to sound friendly, too. “And what’s your name, boy?”

  “Erik, Tor’s son.” He and his friends had played kill the Vikings a hundred times. He had imagined cutting them down as easily as he would a spindly pine. Cutting this one down wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Your father’s name is Tor?” asked Orri.

  “Ja.” This was not going the way Erik had envisioned it. At least the Viking wasn’t armed. He was sure he could kill this man if he tried anything. If he had to.

  “Gangly one, aren’t you?”

  “I can hold my own.” Erik felt the blood rise in his face, not sure if for the embarrassment of being caught off guard or the anger at being called gangly by a fat man. Orri was covered in tattoos, but the one that most drew Erik’s attention was a pair of snakes running up his neck and onto his bald head. Getting that one had to have hurt.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, boy. I was out for a walk and I heard the chopping. Thought I’d find two men with axes, instead I find one boy with two hatchets.”

  “I’m older than I look.” Erik was beginning to wonder why he’d wanted to meet these Vikings so badly.

  “’Ave you seen your soul, yet?” Orri asked.

  Erik shook his head. “This year.” He did not like the way this Viking was staring at him.

  “I meant no disrespect, boy.”

  Boy? Erik was liking this man less and less. He wrenched the second axe back out from the ash.

  “Well, Erik,” said Orri. “What’er you gonna do with that goat?”

  “What?” Erik couldn’t tell if he’d hit his head, or if the Viking had lost his mind at sea.

  “Well, there’s wood, and a goat, and I’m sick of eating Elsa’s broth.” Orri made a funny face. “And Bor’s wife’s cooking idn’t much better.”

  Erik smiled. He couldn’t help it. Elsa was famous for brewing up terrible remedies. One time he feigned he was cured just to stop being force fed the briny, lumpy stuff.

  Orri smiled back. “’at’s it. You can smile. That troll must have poisoned you a time or two.” Then Orri dug in his pocket and pulled out two pieces of silver. “If I had more, I’d buy that girl from you right here—but I think I’ll need to hold on to this. It’s all I’ve got. Everything else is on the ship.”

  Erik lowered his axes and swallowed hard. Silver. “This little goat is one of ours. We’ve got ‘em scattered all over the mountain.”

  Orri smiled. “I’m not surprised. Your father’s no farmer.”

  “How do you know my father?” This Viking didn’t seem so bad.

  “Oh, Tor and I go way back. But I can’t talk about that now. Too hungry. After nearly starving on that ship I just can’t stand the feeling of it no more.” Orri looked around. “If we can’t eat her, have you got anything else?”

  Erik couldn’t imagine this man had ever starved. He bet it took four men just to carry him off the ship.

  “Just this.” Erik lifted a sack up from beside the tree. One piece of dried fish, no bigger than two of his fingers put together, and a cold potato, boiled yesterday.

  “’At’s all you got left?” Orri asked.

  “That’s all I ever get. Runa’s squirreling food away for winter.”

  “Runa? Who’s that?”

  “My father’s wife.”

  “I must not have seen who I thought I saw. The man I knew would never let his sons go hungry. Not Tor. He was a Viking among Vikings. The proud son of Ove Strongbow.” Orri started walking away. “I must be out of my mind. Should’ve known it couldn’t be him. That Elsa’s filling me full of poison, she is. She’s made my eyes as worthless as Ubbi’s tongue.”

  “Wait,” Erik said. “I always thought I’d make a good Viking.”

  Orri turned and eyed him up and down. “Maybe if you were bigger.”

  “Like you?” Erik knew he shouldn’t have said it. But he didn’t like being called small any more than he liked being called boy. He was only fifteen, after all.

  The fat Viking shot him a hard look, then as if his face muscles couldn’t keep it up, he let his jowls fall.

  “I doubt your mother would like that idea. Besides, you’re as worthless as your father.”

  Erik’s blood boiled. He scraped the blades of his axes together.

  “Whoa,” Orri held up his hands. “They won’t give me a weapon, here.” Then he lifted his coat and spun around as if to show he was unarmed. His fat rolled over his belt the entire way. “All I meant was, a Viking wouldn’t starve while protecting a tasty goat as if it was his favorite pet.”

  “My family needs it.” Erik didn’t know if he was trying to convince Orri or himself. His older brother got plenty to eat. So did Runa. He was the second son, so none of it would be his, not one acre of land. Not one goat. Why did he care anyway?

  “I tell you what.” Orri walked back. “Do you want to eat regular? You want to see a real treasure?” Orri threw the silver coins in the air and held them out toward Erik. “Not this silver-coated tin they spend across the sea.” He shoved the coins back in his pocket. “Then give me an axe.”

  Erik stalled. “What?”

  “I’m not going to ask you again. Are you hungry or not?”

  Erik held
out one of the axes.

  Orri reached out and took it, slowly. Then smiled.

  Erik’s heart raced, half excited at the idea of treasure, and half worried he had just armed a Viking. Although he looked slow, he also looked more menacing with an axe in his hand. And that twisted smile.

  Orri took the axe by the steel and tested it on the back of his hand as he walked over to the log pile. It shaved. Then he reached out slowly to the kid.

  “There now little one.” He whispered, and rubbed its fur, as if it was a puppy. “I think I’m going to call you, let’s see,” he winked at Erik, “Runa. There, there, you wouldn’t buck me would you, Runa.” And as he lulled the little goat with his soft voice and his gentle hand, he ran the blade across one side of its throat as unthinking as Erik might run it along a piece of leather to keep it sharp. It was sharp. The little goat just stood there, its snow-white coat turning crimson in pulses, until, without a bleat, it eased to its knees, then lay down on top of the wood pile, the same place where Erik lay helpless only minutes before.

  “All right.” Orri kept talking in that soft soothing voice. “Get a fire going, then clean her up so we can eat.” He didn’t stop petting it until it took its final breath. “I’m starving.”

  Erik stood somewhere between impressed and in shock.

  “Now, I’m going to tell you about a Viking treasure, and how you can earn a little bit of it for yourself. And maybe you can tell me a little more about your father. You’re tough, kid. Maybe he is the Tor I knew after all.”

  It wasn’t long before Erik and Orri were filling their empty stomachs and laughing over the fat man’s stories. They were full of adventure and survival, wealth and women, and memories of friends he’d lost along the way. Erik could tell he was leaving out a lot of the details, details that could be the difference between humor and horror. But as Orri said more than once, a lot depends on which side of the door you’re on, and who’s doing the knocking.

  Erik learned a few survival tricks, too. Orri told him how to clean the goat’s bladder, and how by adding a few sprigs of pine for flavor it could be used to melt snow for drinking.

  Orri seemed to find Erik’s near retching amusing. “The problem with that trick, which will keep you alive of course, is no matter how much pine you add, it still tastes like minty goat piss.” He handed Erik a skin he’d been hiding in his coat. “This ought to freshen your breath.” It was half-full of wine he’d borrowed from Bor.

  Orri was very curious about things in the village. Erik told him how to get to Ubbi, who was staying at Arn’s. When he found out the boys in the village weren’t being trained to fight, he volunteered Ubbi for the job.

  Since they were being generous, Erik volunteered that Kiara was staying at his house.

  “Who?” Orri couldn’t place her.

  “The girl?” Erik reminded him. “Very pretty. Red hair. Only speaks a little Norse.”

  “Oh, the slave. She made it, eh? Is she the only one?”

  “There were just the four of you.” Erik reminded him.

  “Ja, ja.” Orri’s eyes got distant. He threw another log on the fire and rubbed his fat hands together as if he’d just caught a chill. “I knew that.” It took a swing of the axe to free the back leg of the goat from its socket. As he bit into it, grease coated his lips out to his plump sagging cheeks. “Any news about my captain, Vidar? He’s staying with that Ruiner of Appetites, Elsa. I think she works for a merchant.”

  “The giant? He’s not doing that well.” Erik didn’t want to upset him. “My friend Ragi, the merchant’s son, said they’re worried he may not wake up.”

  “That’s what Bor said, too.” Orri stared at Erik as if watching to see how he felt about the news. After only one bite, Orri threw the leg in the fire. “Listen. You want to make your father proud, and maybe get out of this hole with more than a few pieces of silver in your pocket? I need you to get something for me.”

  Race to the Hidden Fjord

  The boys waited for the warmest part of the day, but the cold breath of winter was already breathing down autumn’s neck. The sky was gray with the falling snow, and the cold was chasing the sun away from the afternoon sky faster than the last leaves could fall off the trees.

  Erik and Magnus bounced on the heels of their sleds, trying to eek out a little extra speed. This was the best hill in the Hidden Fjord, where the sleds could almost outrun the dogs—the stretch that took them all the way to the water’s edge.

  It was going to be close.

  “Hyahhh!” Erik bent low. The wind was cold, but it felt good. “Dig Kratr, dig. Come on boy, you can catch ‘em!” Why did I let him have Sterkr? Erik always second guessed himself when he was losing.

  It was always the same, no matter which dog he had. Erik won the uphills, and Magnus won the down. Can’t lose again to that short, fat goblin. Erik knew Magnus wasn’t fat; he was solid as a pine knot, but he would never let Magnus know that.

  “Jakl! Here boy!” Erik reached out, grabbed Jakl by the collar, and leaned back, letting him feel his weight. Dogs pulled harder when they felt the weight. “Get ‘im, boy! Come on!”

  “Skinny, cheating, dog!” Magnus yelled as he leaned into the hill, as if that would help. It didn’t. Erik broke out of the woods first.

  Both sleds stopped, and all three dogs went frantic, yelping and yipping and rolling in the snow. Smoke effervesced from their pink noses all the way down to their heavy coats, already thick to fend off Winter’s bite.

  “Hey, we were saving Jakl for the trip back,” Magnus wheezed.

  Toren was on skis, following in the sleds’ deep tracks. Near the bottom, he leaned back to pick up speed, turned hard, and poof, his brother disappeared in a sparkling white cloud. “Erik cheated, two dogs to one.” He looked past the boys at the fog swirling above the water. “Magnus wins.”

  “Yeah, cheater.” Magnus was out of breath, but Erik didn’t know why—Sterkr had done all the work.

  “You’re fat and slow, Magnus. Blame your mother, not me.” Erik and Magnus repeated different versions of the same japes as they disappeared back into the trees with axes in hand. Toren stayed with the dogs so they could all catch their breath.

  Kratr, Jakl, and Sterk were Vigi’s sons. Toren and Erik had the dogs since they were pups. Tor trained them all to be like their father, and their mother, Etja. To hunt, pull, and protect the boys and the farm. Protecting the farm meant they wouldn’t dig up onions or eat chickens or goats—unless the boys slipped it to them from the table.

  Magnus’s wolf, Garmr, was somewhere around too. He was half brother to the Elkhounds. A year younger and twice as large, he didn’t share their masked faces, their medium build, or the thick tail that curled high over their backs. They were all strong, thick dogs, but Garmr was as tall and lanky as Magnus was short and stout. Garmr looked wild and dangerous. Apparently, their mother Etja had a romp with a black wolf—and Garmr took mostly after his father.

  The same could be said for Magnus, because he definitely didn’t take after his mother, Elsa. Where she was tall, he was short, where she was mushy, he was solid. Neither were thin.

  Despite his conversation with Orri, the boys had no idea what was waiting in the Viking’s ship, so they brought two sleds, just in case they were lucky enough to need them. Erik dreamed of having to help the dogs pull the sleds home, weighed down with gold and silver and precious gems.

  Erik heard a horse approaching, and his heart sank. He and Magnus came out of the woods carrying armfuls of kindling and firewood. But it was just Ragi, sitting high on his old mare, talking to Toren.

  “What are you doing here?” Erik asked.

  “I saw you all mushing along the wood line, out past the old barn.”

  “Well, you found us,” Erik said. “Go on, then. We’ve got things to do, and the days are short.”

  “I want to see,” said Ragi.

  Erik felt his left eye begin to twitch. All he could think to do was to keep staring, trying to
look uninviting. He didn’t hate Ragi. They were all friends, really, but the big Viking was at his house, and Ragi had a big mouth. The last thing they wanted was for the giant to hear they had been snooping around his ship.

  In a span of silence no longer than the time it took Sterkr to scratch his belly, Ragi confessed. “Anja told me.”

  Toren just shook his head.

  “I knew it.” Erik tried to burn a hole through Toren with his stare. “Is there anything you don’t tell her?”

  “It’s Viking treasure.” Toren sounded oddly defensive. “Like the games we all played when we were little.”

  “Ja,” Erik remembered. “Until you got a girlfriend.”

  “Now Ragi’s your best friend, eh?” asked Magnus.

  “He’s going to be my brother-in-law.” Toren sighed.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Ragi promised.

  “You’d better not.” Erik held up a finger as if to scold him, then he stopped. “You don’t get credit for this.” He looked at Toren. “Neither of you.” He put the wood on the sled and took hold of Kratr’s lead. “Come on, Magnus.” Then he mushed off along the shoreline toward the dragon-headed ship.

  “I’m not going to tell anyone,” said Ragi, as his mare cantered up beside Magnus. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. You’re acting like greedy trolls.”

  Robbing the Dragon

  The idea of going into the slush was almost unthinkable. With no inheritance and no prospects, and with the fjord quickly turning to ice, neither Erik nor Magnus felt like they had a choice.

  “What if we get caught?” Ragi asked from high atop his old mare.

  “We?” Erik asked. He guessed it was universal. Boys just like watching each other do stupid things.

  “Ja, have you got a nisse in your pocket?” Even though Orri the Fat, which is what the boys called him behind his back, was wintering over at Bor’s, Erik was the only one he told about the treasure. It was Erik that convinced him that Magnus could be trusted to help.