by Derek Nelsen
They just kind of went their own ways. Pedar only wanted to talk about business. Toren and Erik liked to hunt and fish, but Pedar and Skadi coddled Ragi so much, the boy probably thought a great adventure was organizing inventory for his father’s trading business.
Ah, there it is. Tor wasn’t sure what he was going to do if they were home. He just had to see for himself.
“Tor?”
Tor’s head jumped up like a mouse that heard meow. So much for spy work. He only made it thirteen feet out of the woods before getting caught by the maid.
“Hello Elsa,” he nodded. “You startled me. I figured you’d be making preparations at the hall.”
“The festival idn’t till tomorrow.” She looked even more perplexed than she had to see him popping his head out of the woods. “Anyway, I always do most of the cooking ‘ere.” She smiled an ugly, gap-toothed grin. “I have all I need between mine and Master Pedar’s kitchens, you understand. The kitchen in the hall’s good for keeping things warm, at’s about it.”
“Of course. That makes perfect sense.” Tor couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that. He just wanted to see if Orri’d done the smart thing. If Vidar was gone. “So?”
Elsa stared at the axe in his hand, then she watched as he let it fall slowly to his side.
“Are you looking for Master Pedar?”
“Ja,” Tor smiled back. That was as good as anything he could’ve come up with. And the obvious thing to say, too. He was always no good at making up stories, and his mind had drawn a complete blank the second he saw her.
“I’m afraid he’s not here right now,” she said. “I think he went looking for our guest.”
Tor exhaled. “Mphh,” his eyes closed in pain. It’s amazing how bad cracked ribs can hurt over the littlest things. He inhaled slowly and tried to remember to keep his breaths shallow.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Fine,” he smiled. The last thing he needed was her to force feed him one of her tonics. “Did you say Vidar’s gone?”
“Vidar? Were you looking for him?” She looked back down at the axe. “He probably just took one of the horses to get some air. When he woke the other day, he seemed interested to see his ship. Are you sure you’re alright, Tor? There’s something odd about you, today.
“I’m fine, Elsa.” He wasn’t. He could feel the sweat on his brow as clear as the agony in his ribs. “You know if I don’t find out details, Runa’s going to be upset. Many were saying he wasn’t likely to survive, and I know she’d been praying to the gods to heal him.”
Elsa looked at Tor like he was the worst liar in the world. “I’ve got ‘im back on his feet. You tell her that. He’s as healthy as you and me. Not much of a talker, that one, but can he eat! And no wonder. Biggest man in the village, by far. A good head, maybe two heads taller ‘an you.”
This was a stupid idea. Tor just wanted to go home. “Two heads?”
“You know,” she held her hands up high. “One.” then she reached even higher. “Two.”
“Elsa,” Tor just had to ask. “Were the other two with him?”
Now she looked at Tor like he did have two heads. “The Vikings? No—why?”
Tor waved with his right hand and turned back into the woods.
Tor had no idea what he was thinking. If Elsa told anyone... He looked down at the axe in his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. Maybe he should’ve asked her for some tonic to help with the pain. Obviously, it was affecting his judgement.
He stopped to slow his breathing before he hurt himself. He watched as snow piled off the limbs hanging across the overgrown trail and suddenly felt a sense of peace. Orri and Ubbi took the money and ran. And Vidar went with them. He was sure of it. Why would they stay?
Sticks and Stones
Ubbi stepped out on the ice. He was less than four feet from shore, and the land fell straight down away from his feet.
“Come on.” Orri was holding the other end of the stick. “It’s too thick to crack that easy. Not without a little help, at least.”
The ice was so clear it was as if there was nothing underfoot at all, but there were five heavy stones laying atop the frozen fjord to prove it was there, and thick. Thick enough to hold up those stones, at least. Still, it took a little mocking for Orri to get Ubbi to take the first steps, which are always the worst of them. And now that he was hovering over what looked like the edge of a cliff, the tongueless Viking looked like he was considering pulling himself back.
“It’ll be fine,” said Orri. And the fat man pushed his end of the stick, sending Ubbi sliding backward onto the fjord like an angry statue. He was either too afraid to move or too off balance. “See? I told you it was thick enough.” Orri tried to be encouraging.
Ubbi’s first movement was to motion something ashore with his hands, to express his appreciation for the boost. He probably felt the same gratitude a baby chick had after its big brother nudged it out of the nest. He snarled as he carefully shuffled his feet until he made it over the outline of the ship, where at least he wouldn’t have to see how deep the water was anymore. The top rail wasn’t too far below the surface, but the ship had slipped entirely under the ice except for the dragon’s head, making it look as if it was taking a nice swim.
“Do you think it’s safe?” asked a deep voice from over Orri’s shoulder.
Orri spun faster than anyone would expect was possible for a man his size. A large hand caught the stick he was holding and jerked it out of his hand.
“Vidar!” Orri might as well have been staring death in the face. What did he know? What was he thinking? Orri had no idea, so he tried to sound cheery. “Thank the gods you’re alright!” He might have hugged his captain to sell his love for him, but with Vidar that would’ve definitely gotten something broken.
Vidar’s face looked like it was burning, even though it was getting colder every day. “What are you doing with my ship?” His voice took on a gravelly tone.
“Uh, we’re here to see if we can get our swords,” Orri realized he was still hanging on to the stick. He let Vidar have it. “Yours too. We’ve got no iron.”
Ubbi started edging his way back to shore.
“Where do you think you’re going, eh? You just stay out there for now.” For someone who hadn’t seen his crew since he thought he was slipping off to die at sea, Vidar wasn’t acting very happy to see them. What had he heard?
“Swords?” Vidar flipped the stick in the air. His huge hand barely fit in the cut out the boys had made for a normal man’s grip. “From the look of these sticks, somebody’s been training. What happened to your head, Ubbi?”
Ubbi shrugged and gently put his hand to touch at his head. Then he pulled his long hair forward to cover the wound.
“Why didn’t you get the swords when you sent those boys to take my treasure?” Vidar put the end of the staff into Orri’s chest, pushing him backward onto the ice.
Orri froze and listened for cracking. Slowly he caught his breath. “We weren’t taking anything from you, Vidar. Believe me.”
Vidar stepped out onto the ice. There was a crack. Orri was positive he heard a crack. Vidar put the staff back into his belly and pushed him farther back. Orri’s hands went up, but his eyes went down. Thanks to the crystal ice underfoot, he could clearly see into the abyss. Orri’s teeth chattered.
Vidar kept pushing.
“Come on, Orri. You’ve always got people doing your dirty work for you. First, that sweet talking tongue of yours got a couple of boys to nearly die trying to steal my gold and silver.” He motioned to the mute. “I can’t exactly blame Ubbi for convincing them to do it, can I?” Vidar slammed the stick down, pulverizing the ice where it landed.
Orri scanned the ice below his feet, and almost felt like he was going to start crying. “Please, Vidar. You were still asleep, and the fjord was starting to freeze, and we were afraid the ship might sink. Then where would we be?”
Vidar slammed the stick down again, and
Orri may have whimpered.
“Why do you keep saying ‘we’? Ubbi doesn’t have a tongue. And even when he did, men like us convince with force, not forked tongues!” In his anger, his voice echoed off the steep mountain cliffs.
Vidar started walking back to shore, and without turning around, he held the stick back toward Orri and told him to keep walking until he got to that ship. “How exactly did you think you were going to get the weapons?”
Ubbi shrugged and pointed down as if he could see them right there.
“Well, if the ice was thin enough, I was going to see if we could break through it with his stick.”
“What do you think about that plan, Ubbi?” Vidar seemed calmer now that there was some distance between him and Orri.
Ubbi shrugged, then cast an angry eye toward Orri.
“I think you’re on the right track though, Orri. If we could break through the ice and get to those swords, I think that would be a good thing. Especially if some of the fathers start to realize that you were willing to let their sons die, just so you could get some gold for yourself. I mean, if they stopped to think how terrible the Vikings must be to ask their boys to take that chance. If I was them, I’d kill the ones responsible. Especially if there were only three of them—weak, rich and without weapons.”
Orri started taking steps toward Vidar with his hands out. “That wasn’t going to happen, because-”
“Shut your mouth before I have Ubbi cut your tongue out. You’re not like us, Orri. I don’t think you’d last a year without that mouth to get you out of trouble, and I’m not going to let it get you out of this.”
“Vidar, let me explain.” Orri sounded worried.
Vidar got a big smile on his face, as if a great idea just jumped into his head. “I tell you what, we’ll let the gods decide if you should live or die. Since only the ravens know your heart, let Odin decide your fate just like you did with those boys. With my life, too really. Ubbi, you can come back here with me.”
The more at peace Vidar seemed, the more concerned Orri got.
“I see those rocks you, eh, Ubbi threw out to test the ice. If you throw all of them down right on the spot you’re standing at now, and the ice breaks, I’ll let you swim down and get our swords. And just like those boys, I’ll give you two gold pieces for your reward.”
Orri started shaking.
“If it doesn’t break, then I guess it was too thick after all and this was just another one of your bad ideas.”
“Vidar please-”
“Come on, Orri, smile.” Vidar’s smile was actually genuine this time. “You never spar with us or play games with us. You always just get things started. Smile, have some fun.”
Orri chose the smallest of the stones first. He hoisted it up off the ice. It was so heavy, he just got it up over his belly—his heartbeat inside his chest like a hammer. He was sure this was going to drop right through the ice and bring him to the bottom along with it. He said a prayer to Thor, the god he prayed to whenever they had set out to sea or gone into battle. But he felt alone. Like no one was listening.
When he couldn’t hold the stone any longer, he pushed it out, trying to get some distance between where he stood and where it would land. It pretty much fell straight down. Orri jumped a little when it hit, trying anything to keep from falling in. The stone crunched and slid, shattering the top layer of ice—but it didn’t break through.
“That wasn’t a good try. You’ll never break through the ice that way. Next time I’d better see you get that rock on your shoulder at least. And I want to see you throw it down, not just drop it.” Vidar seemed like he was having a good time watching. Orri was doing everything he could to keep from sobbing.
Orri, like most Vikings, was a man who followed rituals. You don’t tempt fate. With each rock he pushed back to the ship, he said his little empty prayer to Thor, felt even more positive that no one was listening, and threw down the stone. If he didn’t make the effort, Vidar and Ubbi would beat him to death with the training sticks.
Orri wasn’t sure if he was afraid of drowning or afraid of heights. It only occurred to him when he had to get down on his knees and push that third stone back to the ship. He could see the steep slope of the mountain plummeting down into the eerie darkness hundreds of feet below. If the ice were to break now, Orri was sure the currents would drag him down like a rock. It would be like falling.
“Did you know that Tor Ovesen lives in this village?”
Orri tried to hide his smile. He stood, cracked his back, and started in toward shore.
“Get back where you were.” Vidar pointed with the stick. “I know you don’t believe me, but a man can talk and break ice at the same time.”
Orri wiped a tear from his cheek as he fell back to his knees in front of the third stone. The last ones were too heavy to carry to the spot, so Orri pushed his tormentors to the spot where he was going to die.
“Well?” asked Vidar. Ubbi had learned long ago not to even try. Trying to communicate without a tongue wasn’t worth the effort, and usually lead to somebody getting killed. So he just stood next to Vidar, waiting to hear the answer.
“Ja, we saw him the other day.”
“Did he recognize you?”
Orri got the stone to his shoulder first try. He realized that even if he could manage to swim, he’d never find the hole again. He said his prayer and threw down the stone. It bounced off the spot. Orri exhaled slowly and trudged back to stone four.
“Ja, he recognized us. We were younger then, maybe a little thinner, but we knew him.”
“Thinner?” Vidar elbowed Ubbi.
Orri was getting angry just thinking about dying this way, after all the times he kissed up to Vidar—all the times his tongue had saved them a lot of bloodshed. He was just showing Orri what a terrible waste his life had been building up this man. Why? Because he was the big, stupid son of a jarl. He even got his size from his father. He didn’t deserve that, either. He was the one who wouldn’t last a year if he was just a regular man. If he wasn’t the size of a bear—and twice as hairy.
Orri pushed the fourth stone back to the spot. He always knew he’d die some day, maybe in battle, or by the knife of some father whose daughter he’d defiled, but he didn’t want to die in darkness, in the shadow of some mountain, undersea.
He grunted as he rolled the heavy stone up his belly, where it rested until he managed to catch his breath enough to...heft it up...the rest...of the way.
“Hit that same spot this time. I think this one has a chance.”
Orri thought the same thing. After he said his prayer, he started to shake. He knew no one was hearing him now. It was just him and the stone. His knees felt weak from the stone, or fear, or cold; it made no difference. The stone crashed down, slamming hard into the spot, and stuck. With an unmistakable pop the ice cracked. It didn’t run, it just appeared all at once, right between Orri’s feet. And there was a little puddle of water filling the hole that the rocks had pounded into the ice.
Orri stared for a few seconds, petrified the ground would give way beneath his feet. Then he felt compelled to continue his story, maybe for the distraction—he couldn’t say—but he felt it was important for some reason. “You see, Ubbi had taken a sword from the hands of Tor’s son.”
“What?” Now Vidar was interested in hearing Orri talk.
On his hands and knees Orri pushed the last stone back to the spot, talking between pushes. “We had been training boys to fight.” He pushed it another two feet. “We were planning to raise a crew for our trip home.” Another push, another deep breath, another sentence. “One of them was Tor’s youngest.”
Vidar looked at the thick training staff in his hand.
The more Vidar seemed to want to hear, the more determined Orri was to stop the telling in order to move that stone. The fifth and final one was by far the biggest, and heaviest. And it was all Orri could do not to fall on his belly while he shoved it along, foot by foot.
“
When Tor showed up, he took the sword from Ubbi with a couple of woodsman’s hatchets.”
Vidar looked at the wound on Ubbi’s head. The day after he got it the area around the cut had already turned an ugly shade of yellow, and no amount of hair could hide that.
Orri knew that look on Ubbi’s face. The one that said he would kill to be able to explain. That’s what kept Orri and Ubbi so close. Somehow Orri always knew what Ubbi wanted to say, better than anyone else, at least. Usually, Orri would’ve put words to Ubbi’s thoughts for him at that very moment, but he needed to play this to his advantage. He was the one still standing on cracked ice, after all. It wasn’t easy being Ubbi’s interpreter all these years. It took work. It meant he had been there to start fights and to stop them.
Maybe even Ubbi understood the manipulation, but it generally worked out well for both of them, because both, maybe especially these two men—the one with the golden tongue and the one with no tongue at all—knew that above all, everyone wanted to be understood. And the men that took Ubbi’s tongue robbed him of expressing what he thought and what he felt ever again. Misunderstood men are the most dangerous men of all. And because of that, Orri could depend on Ubbi above all. Ubbi was as much Orri’s man as he was Vidar’s.
Orri was a gifted storyteller, that much Vidar had gotten right. He knew that slowing a story down made the hearer want to listen to it even more. He was depending on this little tale to save him from having to throw that last rock. Vidar kept listening and watching. Maybe he was too stupid to realize if the storyteller was to die, the story would go down with him. So, Orri leaked out a little more.
