“No.”
Ragnar blinked. No? “What do you mean?” He’d come back. He’d apologized. He’d done the right thing. What more did Absolon want?
“I mean, no. Fuck off and leave me in peace.” Absolon retreated into the house and prepared to slam the door.
It couldn’t end like this.
Ragnar surged to his feet and blocked the door from closing. “Sol, please. I came back for you.”
“I’ve heard enough of your lies to last me until my final days and soon I’ll be free of them forever. You could at least have the decency to give me freedom until then.”
“Final days? Sol, what do you mean?”
Absolon gave the door one final push but it wasn’t enough to expel Ragnar from the house. He let go and turned away in disgust. “I’m ending it. I have eight days left then I’m going to my death.”
Absolon’s words winded him. He couldn’t mean it, could he? “No, Sol, please, you can’t do this.” He staggered towards him. “Not because of me.”
Absolon sneered. “You think I do this because of you? I do this for me. My whole life people have taken advantage of me for their own gain. My mother did it, my brothers and sisters, the generals, Lysander, and of course you.” He jabbed at the air with his finger. “You took more from me than anyone has ever taken. You took my love, you destroyed my spirit, and you stole my soul.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Fire flashed in Absolon’s eyes. “You didn’t care. That was the problem. You didn’t care what you took; you just took it, because you thought it was your right. And then you manipulated me into turning you into what I am. You made me believe that you wanted it so you could be with me and we would finally be equals.”
Absolon dragged his fingers through his hair and his fists tightened in his locks. “And in my stupidity and my weakness, I relented. You know, I actually thought you would run away if I turned you. I spent two days arguing with myself about it, but like a fool I believed you were capable of love. That you wouldn’t do that to me. So I gave you what I promised I’d never curse another human being with, and what did you do? You left.” He waved his hand through the air as capriciously as Ragnar had been in his flight. “You barely stayed a day. Well, I’m sick of being used, and sick of contemplating an eternity with you haunting me. You can have it all. Have the glory that you so crave. Hell, you can even have the farm once I’m gone. And you can have a life free of anyone loving you ever again.” Absolon towered over him and the hate carved his face into a death mask. “Now fuck off and let me have my wish. You can at least give me that.”
He brushed past him, but Ragnar grabbed his arm and spun him round.
“Absolon, please, I’m sorry I did all that to you. I know how much hurt I have caused you, how I have wronged you, but please, you cannot do this. You cannot give yourself over to death when you have been given this gift.”
“It’s not a gift, it’s a curse!"
“You’re wrong, Sol.” He sank to his knees. He would beg plead on broken glass if it showed the depth of his penance. But all he could use was his words. “It’s a gift, because I have an eternity with you. I have been back through my old life and I have seen how wrong I was. Revenge left me hollow and I understand now it wasn’t what I’d been craving. I was blind to the love you gave me because it frightened me. I was afraid I wouldn’t be worthy of anyone’s love, least of all yours.”
Absolon’s hand hung limp in his grasp. Acid dripped through Ragnar’s veins. If he didn’t fight for Absolon, he would be bound for a barren eternity.
“I didn’t want to admit that love was already there for me if I wanted it. I thought it could be taken from me so easily, that it made me weak, that someone would hurt you and I would be broken utterly. I never understood that it was I who hurt you and in so doing hurt myself.” He took up both hands. “Please, Absolon, I know I have done you much wrong. I stole your life from you, and I broke your heart more times that I should be forgiven for, but please, I have changed. I have seen that the life I could have with you is worth more than all the gold and praise and sagas put together.”
The hard glint in Absolon’s eyes did not soften. “You are a liar and you will always be one. Now get out of my house.” He pulled himself free of Ragnar’s grip and held the door open. He refused to meet Ragnar’s gaze.
Was this it? Was there truly nothing he could say to make Absolon understand the depth of his love? He could feel it, running all the way through him, but how could he show it to Absolon? If he died, there would be no life left for him.
He stumbled to his feet and shuffled towards the door. He stopped in front of Absolon. “Please, Sol. There must be something I can do to keep you alive.”
He lowered his face towards Ragnar like a snarling hound. “I would have my freedom from the pain of love. Now go ruin someone else’s life.” He shoved Ragnar out of the house and slammed the door.
He turned to knock. He would plead with Absolon again, if not to take him back then at least to reconsider his suicide. He pressed his hand against the wooden door. But what words could he say that he hadn’t already? Absolon didn’t trust any of them. And whose fault was that? He took a step back and traipsed across the field in a daze.
Eight days.
He had eight days before Absolon perished in which to find a reason for him to stay alive. Why couldn’t it be him?
He knew why.
And he wished it wasn’t so.
He slipped into the forest and walked with his head down. Words no longer meant anything to Absolon, and perhaps they never had. They hadn’t spoken much when they’d been holed up in the forest that first winter, yet he’d felt Absolon’s love then as they eked out their living. He had to do something to show—
Pawprints tracked through the mud.
The dog…
He crouched and felt around them. They were fresh and led off to his left. He stared in their direction. He could get the dog back. If Absolon wouldn’t live for him, then maybe he’d live for the dog. Despite what Absolon said, he was made to love, and it didn’t have to be human.
He followed the tracks as far as he could, wending deeper into the forest, crossing and recrossing the stream. They disappeared at times and he had to expand his search to find where they picked up again, but towards the end of daylight he spied the dog in the distance.
He breathed out in relief. Now all he had to do was catch it. Trogen hadn’t yet spotted him so he crept closer, keeping as quiet as possible, until he was within a stenkast of the reclining animal. He lowered himself into a sprinter’s stance, digging his heel into the dirt to get plenty of power, then launched. He charged through the forest towards the dog and swept it into his arms before it knew what had happened.
He’d done it! He’d caught the dog!
But his elation was short-lived as the dog fought and snarled and sank its teeth into his arm. He dropped it out of fear, and the dog fled. Ragnar cursed its retreating backside, but when his frustration subsided and he was left alone in twilight, he knew the blame was all his. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, and now he’d wasted one of Absolon’s few remaining precious days. There was no point in chasing the dog now. The more he stormed through the forest, the more likely it was that the dog would keep running.
He sank to the ground and rested against a tree trunk. He’d have to bide his time until the morning came and try again. Trogen had given his trust easily when they’d first met in his cell, which is how he’d been able to use him against Absolon, but regaining it would require time Absolon may not have.
The next day Ragnar stayed in the area, the many tracks in the ground a sign that Trogen preferred it. He hunted, caught a hare and a pheasant, and built a fire over which to roast them in the hope the smell would draw the dog near.
But he stayed away.
Ragnar scattered the cooked meat in a broad radius around his camp and waited, anxiety over the passing hours urging him to do mor
e, or at least to go see Absolon. But he refrained. He sat and dug his hands into the soil as if they were roots taking hold. He didn’t see Trogen the entire day, but he remained through that day and the next with no reward.
The following day he hunted again and set the kills to cooking, while checking what had been taken and what left. In place of meat, he found pawprints and breathed out a heavy sigh. It was a start. There were only five days left, but he knew he was on the right path. He laid out more meat and waited, and in the late afternoon was rewarded with the sight of Trogen standing on a rocky ledge looking down on him. He remained for a second then turned tail and ran. But it didn’t dishearten him. He would try again.
With four days remaining, he didn’t scatter the meat as far and laid trails leading to Ragnar’s position. Absolon’s nearing demise constricted Ragnar’s throat, but he continued on. He couldn’t hurry the dog, and Absolon would not listen to his words. He had to be patient, even knowing how close to the end he was getting.
Ragnar waited by the campfire, the smell of charred meat wafting through the air. He held onto a pheasant’s leg while another rabbit cooked over the fire. Trogen had to come. Absolon couldn’t die.
The sound of crunching bones and contented growls came from behind Ragnar’s back. He turned slowly to see the russet hound munching on its meal, happy in its gluttony. When Ragnar rotated in his place, the dog looked up and cocked its head, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its ears were up. Ragnar allowed himself a smile.
He held out the pheasant leg and called softly to the dog. A tense minute passed before Trogen stood, sniffed the air, and approached. Ragnar stayed where he was, careful not to spook the animal, but he worried his heart was thundering loud enough to scare him away. Trogen reached forward with his snout, wary of getting too close yet still eager for a feed. Ragnar held it out further, and Trogen took it in his jaw and sank to the spot to eat.
He breathed again, fully aware of how much stock he was putting into this endeavor. He wanted to go to it and scratch behind its ears or coax it into his arms, but he wasn’t yet certain of the animal’s trust.
When Trogen finished, he stood and ambled closer, snuffling under Ragnar’s hand to lick the meat juices from his skin. The rough and eager tongue made him laugh but he kept his voice quiet, changing from a chuckle into a hum, to sing to the dog as it lay in the dirt and rested its head in Ragnar’s lap. He sang as he stroked the thick wiry hair on the dog’s back. Trogen climbed into Ragnar’s lap, curled up in the warmth that Ragnar provided, and fell asleep. Ragnar sang all afternoon, his hand on Trogen’s back, and his heart quiet and at peace.
Tomorrow, he would save Absolon.
When morning came and Ragnar woke, Trogen was not in his lap. He called softly, hoping the dog at least knew the sound of his voice, if not his name. Had Trogen abandoned him? He searched, trying to keep the frantic tone out of his voice. As he neared the rock ledge, Trogen appeared at the top, letting out a cheerful bark.
Ragnar relaxed. “How about we go for a walk?” He set off towards the farm, slapping his thigh to bring Trogen to his side. The dog bounded over, allowed a scratch behind his ears, and gamboled ahead, chasing birds from their hollows and scent-marking as he went.
Absolon had three days left. What if this didn’t work? What if Trogen was not enough to keep Absolon alive? He paused at the edge of the field with the dog by his side, his tail wagging as he looked up at him. “I guess this is it, Trogen.”
No matter what happened, he needed to try.
He marched across the field. It seemed to take an age to reach the house and yet the journey was over too soon. Sweat slicked his palms, and he wiped them on his coat, his fist hesitating as it hovered in front of Absolon’s door. Trogen sat beside him, looking expectantly. Perhaps he thought he was going to be fed. At least he expected something; Ragnar didn’t know what he wanted to happen.
He understood though, as long as it had taken to gain, that whatever Absolon decided was his choice. He hoped it was the one that would keep him in the world. He flexed his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked.
Absolon opened the door. Ragnar opened his mouth to speak. Until that moment he had hoped Absolon would be so grateful he’d brought the dog back that he’d take him back too. But seeing the sorrow and despair in Absolon’s eyes and knowing he was the cause of so much of it, what he wanted didn’t matter as long as Absolon lived.
Ragnar looked down at Trogen and pointed into the house. “Go!"
Trogen stood and hurried inside, a quick sniff and friendly yip for Absolon as he passed.
“What is this?”
“If you won’t stay alive for me, at least stay alive for Trogen.” He wanted to say more but his words never meant much. He wanted to touch Absolon’s cheek, or rest a hand over his heart, but his touch was more poisoned than ever. He turned and ran before he changed his mind.
Chapter 10
Snow lay thick upon the forest floor, the stark and bare trees speared the sky, and all around was still, silent, dead. Ragnar stood at the door to the little stone building that was now his home and stared across the desolation. This was his lot.
It was where he had lived with Absolon after his dismissal, and then, to his shame, used as a stronghold for his loot. Since returning three months earlier, he’d raided its coffers to pay for comforts they couldn’t afford in the beginning and ones he later didn’t need—a bed, a padded chair, candles and books. He repaired the roof so it wouldn’t leak and installed a hearth and a chimney so he could warm his home.
His home…
In three months, that’s what he’d made. A home. Far from Absolon. Far from anyone but for the unlucky who wandered too close to his dwelling. He understood the Skogsrå then.
When it came time to harvest and no soul showed up at his door, he entered a village beyond the forest’s boundaries and delivered a merciful death to sustain himself. After a harvest, he returned to the forest, tipped out the stones from one jar into another, and began his count again. It was a life.
And so Ragnar the Red’s days passed.
He was too scared to venture much farther, afraid that he’d find himself at Absolon’s farm and find him gone. He wanted no confirmation that Absolon had died and so could continue to believe that he lived. He allowed himself that one delusion now that he’d cast away all others.
He was not a hero.
He did not deserve love simply because he demanded it.
He mattered no more than any other man.
So, he lived alone where he could do little harm. He chopped wood. He walked the forest. As an indulgence, he bought books and read them over and over to pass the time.
Not that it appeared to be passing much at that moment. He turned back into his house, closed the door, and settled into his chair. He picked up a book, eager to lose himself in some distraction, when a dog’s muffled bark broke the quiet.
He stopped. A dog would mean a hunter. He sighed and bowed his head. He could let him go; he had not yet stumbled up to his door and may yet pass by without notice, but the smoke twisting out of the chimney would give him away and draw the stranger near.
The dog’s excited barks grew louder. Whatever hunter this was, his hound was undisciplined. He’d have scared off any prey by now, but there was joy in the dog’s heralding, and it made him think of Trogen.
Which made him think of Absolon.
He grimaced. Whoever the hunter was, he would leave the forest safely. Ragnar had no desire to break them apart, not even to protect his tiny castle.
The barks came closer, taking on a more immediate sound. Perhaps he could welcome them after all. He had no food or drink, but he had a warm hearth and a bed to sleep in. He could be as generous as possible, and if the hunter was poor, he could load him with treasure.
He was getting carried away, but his self-imposed isolation had made him sentimental and more eager for the company of others than he would have expected. He put the book back on th
e table. He would find the hunter. He went to the door, turned the handle, and opened it.
He only had a second to take in Absolon standing there—a second for his heart to rise on a draught of warm air flecked with snow, a second for his blood to sparkle—before Absolon barged in, scooped Ragnar into his arms, and pressed him against the door frame. Their lips met, and Absolon’s mouth moved against his as strongly as his body pressed against Ragnar’s.
This was real. It had to be. None of his dreams had held such strength. Those lips felt like Absolon’s lips. Those arms felt like Absolon’s arms. That love felt like Absolon’s love. Or it would if Ragnar hadn’t burned it out of him. He pushed Absolon away, ripping out his heart by the roots.
“Wait, Sol, what is this? Why are you here?”
It truly was Absolon, dressed in a thick fur-lined coat and a woolen hat, and with Trogen—yes, Trogen!—sniffing at his boots. This was not some magic that the forest had conjured, merely a miracle. And one he didn’t deserve.
He went inside the house and sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t want to invite Absolon in only for him to leave again, but he followed anyway, taking up the chair opposite. Trogen sat at Ragnar’s feet and put a paw on his leg. He didn’t have any food for the dog, but he gave him a scratch which pleased him.
“I had to find you.”
“But why? You’re better off without me, even I know that.”
Absolon laughed air through his nose. “For a while there, I agreed with you. I was even going to end it all, even after you brought the dog back, just to spite you.”
Ragnar’s heart wept quicksilver.
“But with one day left, I decided I didn’t want to die and leave Trogen behind. He was a good companion, and so I harvested and lived. I would have stayed there, but every time I looked at the dog, I thought of you and what you had done for me.”
Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology Page 26