Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  Tor took a step forward, and so did the giant. Vidar moved differently without the protection or weight of his shield. Tor focused on his chest, no longer looking for a death blow, just an opening.

  All I need is first blood, he reminded himself. He could deal with the rest of the Viking once Toren and Erik were safely gone.

  The giant’s eyes narrowed and filled with murder. Vidar raised the sword in his weak hand. Tor faked right, then stepped toward Vidar's weak side, circling. The giant looked exhausted and tripped on his feet.

  Tor pounced at the opening. Using his axe, he slapped the giant’s sword tip down and charged his off-balance opponent with his shield while rolling the long-handled axe around to get ready for a downward swing.

  Vidar stabbed with the seax, but Tor turned the lighter shield, glancing the blade off to the side. The point stuck deep into the handle of Tor’s axe. Vidar pulled and Tor twisted, and the tug of war ended with a ping as the tip of the borrowed seax snapped off.

  The giant planted his foot to slide to his strong side and mount another attack, but his ankle turned, and he stumbled when he stepped in a Tor-shaped hole in the snow.

  Tor saw the stumble and drove hard into Vidar with his shield once more. Tor rode the giant down, sword and axe tangled, and Vidar cursed Tor as they fell.

  They broke through the top layer of snow with a crunch, planting down hard where they landed.

  Tor yanked hard on his axe, liberating it from its trap between Vidar and the shield.

  Vidar screamed in anguish, his eyes wide and white as he tried and failed to throw Tor off. Tor choked up on the handle, and raised the axe high above his head, ready to slam it down onto his pinned opponent.

  The white snow turned red.

  “First blood!” the crowd yelled. “Stop the fight!”

  Flustered, Old Erik hooked Tor’s axe by the beard with his staff and called the fight. “Hold your weapons!” The blood crawled into the snow like wine spilled on a white shirt. “Get these men up from there. Shield men, get them separated.”

  Strong arms and fresh hands pulled the two to their feet. Both men were getting the snow slapped off their backs, and everyone was trying to see who cut who, and where.

  Erik pushed his father back outside the ring to clear him away from the giant's grasp as Toren put himself between his father and the Vikings.

  Blood was on both men, but where was it from? As they stripped the clothing back, Tor could hear Vidar cursing. Old Erik pulled a bloody piece of sharpened steel out of the giant’s hip.

  “Aaaugh!” he yelled as the old man pushed a handful of snow into his hand.

  Old Erik shook his head like a disappointed father. “Hold this where it’s bleeding.” Blood melted the cold compress and pulsed from between Vidar’s fingers with each beat of his bitter heart.

  “That doesn’t count,” argued the giant. “The blood was drawn from a piece of my own blade!” Ubbi thrust his head under Vidar’s arm to help him balance on his turned ankle.

  Ice and freezing mud crunched underfoot as Tor pushed his way through the crowd to the center of the circle, axe in one hand, cracked shield in the other.

  Old Erik used the tip that broke off Vidar’s seax to trace up Tor’s axe handle to a fissure in the wood surrounded by a splatter of drying blood.

  “Tor’s weapon drew first blood,” announced Old Erik, “Pedar, have your sledge brought around to help Vidar back to his bed. That’s as much blood as I want to see in this field for a while.”

  Vidar looked at the broken blade, then glared at Pedar before throwing the borrowed seax down at his feet.

  Old Erik pulled Vidar’s hand from his hip and shook his head in disgust. The wound was still pulsing blood.

  “Choke on some humility—you earned it.” Old Erik glared at Vidar as he slapped another handful of snow on his bloody wound. “Save your revenge for tomorrow.”

  Racing the Wolf

  Sterkr was the first to notice. His thick curled tail wagged high over his lower back. Erik rubbed his neck to calm him down. “Easy boy. Stay,” he whispered.

  From atop the hill, Magnus broke out of the wood on skis towing a packed sled. Putting a cupped hand to the side of his mouth, he let out three short, high pitched calls, as if announcing his arrival.

  “Whoop, Whoop, Whoop!”

  It was a big day. For the first time, the boys were leaving the village on their own.

  Sterkr whimpered at Erik’s feet, waiting for the signal that would turn him loose.

  As Magnus descended, he repeated the call even louder, his deepening voice cracking either from the cold air or what it was doing to his manhood. “Whoo-wup, Whoo-wip, Whoo-wip!” Magnus covered Erik and Toren in snow as he slid past.

  “Are you trying to wake the dead?!” Toren’s face was stern like the captain waiting for his crew.

  Erik didn’t know about Magnus or Ragi, but he wasn’t about to take orders from his brother. As he knocked the snow from his pants, he noticed Kiara for the first time. His heart pounded a little harder. She was making her way down the hill on foot, knee deep in Magnus’s path. It was as if the cold had frozen the smile on his face.

  Sterkr’s eyes never left the wood line, his small ears erect, tweaking left and right as if cataloguing distant noises. Erik followed his eyes beyond Kiara, into the dark forest. The dog’s vision was clouded by excitement and clouds of his own warm breath. There was something there, movement from the west.

  Snow blasted from the trees as a wolf the color of smoke bore down toward the clueless girl. Its body was long, like the shadows cast by the low hanging sun.

  “Kiara!” Erik yelled.

  She waved back, ignorant of what was bearing down on her from above.

  With a tug on Sterkr’s collar, Erik sent the Elkhoud running. He blew through a wall of snow to find the trail, tearing up the hill in a blur of white powder. Square and compact, strong and sleek, Sterkr looked like a younger version of his father, Vigi.

  With long, loping strides the wolf maneuvered noiselessly through the deep snow. It noticed Sterkr and picked up speed.

  Kiara stopped and put out her arms to welcome the dog, but Sterkr raced past her, disappearing into a wall of white.

  The wolf leapt onto the spot, and with a yip, Sterkr’s curly tail disappeared under its shadow. Growls and barks echoed skyward on a white cloud. The wolf stabbed its head downward, then reared up on its hind legs. Sterkr buried his head up into its fur, jawing at the nape of the larger animal’s neck. The wolf reared up and dropped down again, pinning Sterkr down and out of sight again.

  A second later, Sterk’s tail raised up above the path, giving away his position. As he retreated back to the boys, the wolf nipped his heels. Sterkr slid around behind Erik, but the wolf barreled past, knocking him to the ground. Its growl was menacing, but only half as much as the long, white fangs exposed and gnawing at the thick black fur along the back of Sterkr’s neck. Sterkr bared his teeth and growled a response but could not turn enough to find purchase. He was pinned.

  “Sterkr, I hope you don’t try bringing me a bear if that’s the way you bring me a wolf.” Erik grabbed Sterkr’s front paws and pulled.

  “Garmr’s no wolf.” Magnus grabbed the big animal by the scruff of the neck and pulled the other direction.

  “He’s at least half,” Erik jerked. “Look at him.”

  “Garmr.” Magnus spoke like a mother talking to a child not playing nice with his friends. “Let the little dog go. I know you haven’t seen him for a while.”

  After the boys pulled them apart, the dogs acted calm. But as soon as they were released, they started playing again. Sterkr jumped high in the air, and Garmr raised up on his back feet.

  “Do you think they know we’re leaving today?” As Erik watched them play and yip and bark and spin around in tight circles, he couldn’t help but smile. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, he felt the same way.

  Speaking of Marriage

  “Hel
lo, Kiara,” Toren practiced his Irish. “Are your feet...warm? Do you need...” he scratched his chin, then scrunched up his face as he tried to find the words, “dry mittens?”

  “Very good,” Kiara laughed. “Somebody’s been practicing.” It was the first time she’d been back on their farm since the party.

  Magnus looked at Erik, confused. “What did he say?”

  Erik shrugged. “He’s speaking Kiara.” Then Erik bowed to her. “Good marnin’, wee lass.” He spoke slowly, with a mocking Irish accent. “Mae fa-der has been tae-ching us how ta kill giants. Now mae bru-der thinks we are going to Ireland. I think ya should run away while ya can.”

  Erik was right, Kiara’s eyes sparkled when she laughed. But they weren’t nearly as beautiful as Anja’s, which were a kind of solemn brown.

  “You boys look as sharp as your father’s axe.” Kiara laughed, though her cheeks were wet with tears.

  “You look nice today.” Erik looked as if he hadn’t realized he was talking out loud.

  “Thank you.” Kiara did a little spin. “Anja gave me one of her old dresses. And the scarf is new, a gift from Skadi.”

  “Are you friends now?” asked Toren, a little too interested.

  “No,” she replied. “It was all kind of abrupt, now that I think about it.” She looked confused as she played with a green circle embroidered into one end of the scarf. “Hey,” she perked up, “if you do ever go to Ireland, take me with you, and I promise I’ll wear the dress for you.”

  “I promise,” replied Erik, “as soon as I get back.”

  “Don’t be cruel, Erik. I think Vidar may have something to say about that.” Toren perked up as a horse-drawn sledge approached, but it was only Skadi. She looked cold and drove past the gathering and on to the house.

  “Are you sure you and Anja even want to marry each other? Even Kiara came to see us off.” Erik was just upset with Toren for questioning him. They both knew he’d never come back here. But Erik wouldn’t let it go. “You forget, brother, Runa’s not telling me where I’m going to live. Maybe I will take Kiara home someday. She’s got me wanting to see this island of green pastures and rainbows and faeries she’s bragged so much about.”

  “Get serious.” Toren hit him with a snowball. Always playing. Toren’s path may have been set, but recently he had never felt so lost. Ever since his father said he was to leave, that’s all he could think about. Somehow the village had gotten smaller. His inheritance, the birthright Runa had prepared him to bear his entire life, had started to feel heavy, like a cloak in the summer.

  Toren fought hard to fill his mind with the house and the farm and the problem of the Vikings—anything but the question Erik so flippantly asked. Of course he wanted to marry Anja. Who wouldn’t? Why would he even say that?

  Toren looked at his father, who kept his head down, sharpening his axe. Surely he wanted Toren to live the life he chose for himself, right? It occurred to Toren that they’d never talked about it. His father was always so busy with the farm and providing for them. He spent all his time hunting just to make sure they had meat on the table and something worth trading.

  That was the life he chose and had to be the life he wished for his oldest son. He would’ve told him if he thought he shouldn’t marry Anja, right? A chill ran up Toren’s spine and raised the hairs on his head. He still had to talk to his father about what he said about selling the farm. That must’ve been the stress of the holmgang talking, but he would like to get that settled before he left. Anja was here to see him off. Probably wouldn’t be able to talk about it with her family around. Might make them think he wasn’t committed. Maybe it’d be best to wait until he got back, and let his father figure things out a bit now that the holmgang was over—now that they were making alliances with Jarl Adar. He must know that Anja would never leave the village. She’d never leave her family.

  What did Erik know of responsibility? He had nothing. Ragi understood. He was the only one who could. Toren hated the way the question whirled around in his head like a black fly. No, they all just wished they had his luck. Anja was the most beautiful girl in the village. She was the right girl for him. Always had been.

  Things were easier before he’d gotten his ring and the women started negotiating—it’s Runa and Skadi, and all these wedding plans. Everything would be better after the wedding, and they could put all of that behind them.

  “Take some wood to the shed.” Tor had a way of keeping his sons from focusing too much on their feelings. “Kiara, you can go too. I told Runa you’d be coming. And I told her to be nice.” He cut off another branch. “Boys, after you say your goodbyes, come see me with your things. I want to talk to you before you go.”

  Tor always said chopping wood helped him think. That never made sense to Toren, as chopping wood was about as far from thinking as you could get. From the looks of things, he’d been doing a lot of thinking that morning.

  Sincere Insincerity

  Nearing the house, they walked past the small barn and animal pens and the fenced yard that was under siege by the trees and weeds and forest vines. Tor’s farm had chickens, pigs, and horses, but what he had more than anything was goats, not necessarily because he wanted goats or loved goats, but because it was goats that seemed to thrive under his general lack of interest, care, or attention.

  The boys piled the firewood they’d been carrying on top of one of the large drying stacks against the storehouse. Stooping to fit through the low entry, they led Kiara into the house that they’d grown up in, and out of.

  Although there was still room for the family, somehow the walls had grown in on Erik as he grew older. But now that he was about to leave, the familiarity of it felt like safe harbor for a ship made to sail, longing to take its maiden voyage into the open sea.

  The air was filled with the smells of baking bread and boiling berry and pine tea and all those things that make a person feel warm and welcome in their own home. At the detriment of caring for an aching Tor, Runa had been preparing for Skadi’s visit since she found out Ragi would be leaving with the boys. Erik didn’t think Skadi felt much more love for Ragi than Runa did for him, but he also figured out that neither of them would be outdone in their pretense of love for their stepchildren.

  Erik was going to enjoy this.

  Before they could remove their layers, Runa came over and smothered Toren and Erik with hugs and kisses in a very motherly way, as if she loved them.

  Erik wanted to hate her petty act, but he liked it. He often wished she could love him. He thought she might have once, before he lost his sister.

  He didn’t blame her. It may have been the one thing they had in common. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself, either.

  But if she was going to be insincere for the sake of the neighbors, he was going to take full advantage of it.

  “Skadi, I couldn’t help but remember, the last time Kiara got a new dress Runa gave her away,” Erik smiled. “Are you here to give her back?”

  Runa looked at him as if she was about to hit him with her spoon.

  “No, I just thought she ought to look decent on a day like today. Runa, is there anything she can do for you while she’s here?”

  Erik and Runa both turned to Kiara, Erik apologetic, Runa stern.

  “Go feed the chickens, girl. You remember how to do that, don’t you?”

  Kiara quickly hugged each of the boys around the neck and blessed their journey. “I’ll be praying for you.” She pulled out the chain around her neck and kissed her soul.

  “Go on, girl,” Runa said sternly. “And don’t let the dogs into the barn.”

  Erik furrowed his brow as he watched Kiara leave. She hadn’t even had time to warm her hands.

  “I brought something for all of you, too. And I want all of you to wear it on your journey.”

  “Skadi?” Runa opened the bag and pulled out three wool scarves, each died red as blood. She passed one to Erik and the other to Toren. They were well made and would be warm.
Erik liked that they matched the one Kiara was wearing. As Runa started passing the third to Magnus, Skadi stopped her.

  “That one’s for you.” Skadi draped it over Runa’s shoulders.

  Magnus looked back as if there might be another, but the bag was empty.

  Runa looked annoyed, like she didn’t trust Skadi’s sudden act of kindness any more than Erik did. The only generosity she’d ever shown in the past was to draw unequal favors. Even when she went to Old Erik’s for sacrifices, she would offer the gods a goat in exchange for the health of a barn full of newborn piglets.

  Warm House, Cold Goodbye

  Erik was feeling like being a little difficult, now that Kiara had been sent away, and even a little more after seeing Magnus’s face when he realized he hadn’t warranted a lousy scarf from his mother’s master. “Is Ragi coming sometime today?”

  “Or Anja?” Toren stared out the cracked door, looking like he might slam it shut.

  “Ragi is on his way.” Skadi was as cold as the air Toren let inside. “But Anja was too upset to come. She knew you wouldn’t want to make her cry. And Elsa stayed back to console her.”

  Magnus just shook his head.

  “He’d better get here soon.” Toren’s mood mirrored Erik’s. “We’ve got to go.”

  Runa seemed to be particularly cheery this morning, and not just pretending for the neighbor, even to the point of doing what good mothers do when their boys are going away. She put food on the table, and Erik was going to get as much of it as he could manage.

  There was røkt laks and tørrfisk, gjetost and fresh bread. And of course, there was butter. There was always butter.

  Still wiping the kiss from his cheek, Toren, the favored son, grabbed some bread off the table and handed it to Erik. Runa scowled at the youngest as he nabbed a slice of cheese, too.