"What are we doing here?" he asked, as Bjorn and Bresi made the same leap.
"Destroying their rudder," Yngvar said. "Bjorn and you cut the ties between our ships. Bresi, help me dump the rudder into the sea."
Yngvar moved with a coolness and assurance he did not actually feel. He had to appear strong or his friends would not listen. In fact, he wanted to lie down on the deck and die. This was nothing like he expected. His first battle and he would end it enslaved or executed.
The enemy was too consumed with their push for victory to mind Yngvar and his companions. He and Bresi began hacking at the binding at the top of the rudder. Yngvar tore away the tiller and flung it into the sea.
"Work fast," Bresi shouted. "We'll not remain unchallenged for long."
The top broke free, but the rudder was primarily secured through a hole in the hull where a wooden rod held it. It now swung free, but did not fall.
Glancing over his shoulder, Bjorn and Yngvar were hacking at the ropes, throwing them aside as they broke. One man challenged Bjorn, but fortunately one of Gunnar's crew picked him off.
"We've got to shove this through," Bresi said. "We can't chop it, not without an ax and not in time."
Yngvar gave the rod a test chop, but it was strong wood meant to withstand the stress of the ocean. Only a giant could hack it off in a single blow. What had he been thinking?
"We're not trying to preserve the fucking thing," Yngvar shouted. "What are we doing? Kick it!"
He jumped on the rail, then nearly pitched overboard. Bresi grabbed him by the hem of his pants. He drove his heel at the rudder. It twisted and bent, but did not snap. It was firmly anchored to the hull. If he could pull up the deck boards and get below, he could shove the rudder out. But he had no time. With Bresi holding him, he kicked again.
"The ships are freed!" Bjorn shouted. Both he and Thorfast stood framed against the enemy. Yngvar closed his eyes in disgust. Where the enemy had not noticed before, those in the rear turned around and began to point at Yngvar and Bresi.
"He could've at least yelled that in Frankish," Bresi said.
"He doesn't think before he speaks," Yngvar said. "Lower me down onto this rudder. It's our last chance."
Bresi did not argue, but held him by the shoulders as he slid the short distance down the hull to stand where the rudder attached. He was only as low as his waist, but the water lapped below him as if hungry to take him into its dark, frigid depths. Bresi's hands were like cold iron on him. Yngvar still held sword and shield, which now unbalanced him.
"I've got you," Bresi said. "Do what you can, but this is it."
Yngvar braced against the hull, placed both feet on the rudder, then kicked.
The satisfying snap thrilled him. The rudder broke over the rod, rendering it useless. The fat blade beneath the water did not break, still being attached to the hull. But no one would be able to use this to steer now.
He hopped back aboard the ship, face wide with a smile. But Bresi and he did not have time to celebrate. A half-dozen enemies from the rear were converging on them. Their barred teeth were red and their swords dripped blood.
"Run for the ship," Bresi shouted, and pushed Yngvar. "I'll block them."
"You can't--"
Bresi shoved Yngvar forward and it gave him a running start. The ships were already drifting apart.
Screaming, Bresi flung his shield at the man closest to Yngvar. The rim caught him full in the face, knocking him aside into the man next to him. Yngvar dashed past them, and leapt the rails to land on his uncle's ship.
Bjorn and Thorfast along with a handful of other men were using oars to push away from the enemy ship. To Yngvar's shock, the enemy streamed back to their own deck.
"Bresi," Yngvar yelled. "Take my shield."
He made to throw it across to him, but Bresi was already surrounded. His typically calm face was flushed and full of rage. He struck like a badger at the men converging on him. The two he had taken out with his shield were still dazed.
Yngvar watched with his eyes stinging as the ships drifted apart. Bresi cut one man in the throat, killing him. But it was a pointless victory. The three others brought him down like an old tree, then encircled him as they hacked Bresi to death.
"Row!" Brandr's hoarse voice boomed out across the deck. He stood with Uncle Gunnar cradled in his arms. "Row, you bastards!"
Yngvar jumped on an oar and threw himself into it. The few enemy that remained aboard tried to surrender, but Gunnar's crew had been told to let none live. Enemies knelt before their surrendered weapons, but they died with split skulls.
The crew of the enemy ship roared in anger, powerless to follow as Brandr took the tiller and cut hard away from the enemy. The fog was welcoming now, like a gentle hand that would ease the pain and terror of battle.
Gunnar lay at the center of his ship, hand over the wound in his side. He was laughing.
CHAPTER TEN
Men grunted and cursed as they rowed. The deck creaked and rocked over the fog-shrouded waves. They sailed into the wind, so that the enemy could not pursue using their sails alone. For even without a rudder a ship could still be given a general heading. Brandr had steered his ship while every man had rowed, heedless of the wounded moaning and bleeding out on the deck.
Yngvar's mind held nothing. The world around him appeared flat and meaningless. His uncle's bloody coughing was punctuated with bouts of laughter. As Yngvar rowed he stared at his uncle's blood-soaked white hair. Sweeping his gaze around the ship, he found gaps where once rowers had sat shoulder-to-shoulder. Bjorn was alone on his oar. Bresi was dead.
That thought repeated over and over. Bresi had died to save Yngvar's life. He died keeping his oath to Hakon. Without a doubt he died in high honor and in great glory. He had challenged six men to battle. Not even the heroes of songs could lay claim to such bravery. With every stroke of the oar, Yngvar remembered the ferocity in Bresi's face and how he died taking a foe with him. He promised to retell Bresi's story to anyone who would listen. When he returned home, he would tell his father of Bresi's deeds and his family would enjoy the glory he had earned.
Brandr strode past Yngvar, waking him from his thoughts. He stared at his cousin, who had passed the tiller off to another, as he crouched by his father. Perhaps Brandr had proclaimed them safe from being overtaken, for others were either getting off their oars or slowing their pace. Most turned inward to stare at Uncle Gunnar. Yngvar had been so lost in thought he had not heard anything.
"I'm going to see my uncle," he said to Thorfast. His friend, face flecked red, nodded. He seemed as if he had lost all of his blood, turning his already pale face to snow white.
Yngvar stumbled as the waves rocked the ship. The fog was thinner now but still clung to the sea. Everything smelled like blood and salt, and seagulls had begun to trail their ship. They were close to land, though Yngvar had lost all his bearing in their flight from the enemy. He wondered if instead of fleeing they had sailed directly onto the enemy's shore. Brandr would know. But now he knelt beside his cousin, who was holding his father's stump. He leaned over Uncle Gunnar's face, head turned so that Gunnar could speak directly to his ear. Yngvar leaned forward to get a better look at Uncle Gunnar's wound.
His old hand remained clamped to the puncture in his side. Dark blood seeped steadily into a thick pool beneath him. Gunnar's face had aged thirty years. His eyes were rheumy and sunken and his cheeks were hollow. His lips were blue and his teeth were yellow with bloodstains. He gave Yngvar a weak smile.
"Yngvar, come closer. Where's Bjorn? Bring him to me."
Calling Bjorn over, he saw other men converging on them. Brandr whirled on them. "Get back to your oars. We're not stopping."
"He's our oath-holder. We've a right to see him." The man who challenged Brandr cast his shadow over all of them. Yngvar looked up into the face of Bregthor Vandradsson. Seeing him up close, Bregthor had a drifting left eye that made his gaze challenging to meet.
"Get back," Bran
dr shouted. "Give a dying man his time."
Bregthor leaned back and muttered as he turned aside. "No comfort for the others dying on this ship."
The words struck Yngvar like a slap. He glanced again at Uncle Gunnar's wound. It was deep and just beneath his ribs. The spear had been thrust up, and so doubtlessly had slipped behind the rib cage to cut his vitals. Across the deck, four other bodies of their crew were sprawled out. The enemy dead were mingled with them.
In the time it took for Yngvar to take all of this in, Bjorn had come to Uncle Gunnar's side.
"I'm sorry your first adventure did not have a happier ending." Gunnar began to cough, blood spraying his reddened beard. "But you are men now, yes? You've sailed with Gunnar the Black on his final journey. You saved his crew with quick wit and bravery. You are heroes."
"It doesn't feel like I did anything," Yngvar said. "I never drew blood. I let another man die to save myself."
Gunnar's laughter gurgled in his throat. "If one day you will lead men, learn to accept you will kill many of them. Sometimes lives must be sacrificed for the benefit of others."
"It was to save myself alone," Yngvar said. He did not want to feel better about Bresi's death. "I should've died with him."
Gunnar closed his eyes and swallowed. He remained breathing heavily as if asleep until Yngvar wondered if his uncle had passed out. Then Gunnar's eyes opened once more.
"I have been dying for a long time now," Gunnar said.
"Father, don't ..."
"They should know, Brandr." Gunnar's words were followed again by more violent coughing. After it subsided he looked at Yngvar with sad eyes. "I have hidden it as long as I could, but others began to suspect my weakness. When you arrived I had already been long considering how I should spend the last days of my life. A hero does not die in his bed, but yet it seemed so it would be. Your plea to find adventure and your gift of the sax put the whole plan together in my mind. I thought to sail in search of a worthy enemy. Not a dirty Frank or a half-breed Dane. I wanted to come north again, to the land of my ancestors, and find real warriors worthy of claiming my life. I thought it would give you the adventure you sought and along the way we might find treasure worth taking."
Yngvar glanced at Bjorn, who looked to him as if expecting an interpretation. Instead he turned to Brandr, who continued to hold the stump of his father's hand and stare expressionless at him. Yngvar licked his lips.
"So Grandfather left no buried treasure?"
Gunnar closed his eyes. "None that I know. It was foolish of me to lie, of course, but I was not going to live long. Nothing motivates men to action like the promise of gold."
"What did he say?" Bregthor's voice roared out behind them, and Brandr sprung up with a snarl.
"I told you to get back to your oar," he shoved his chest into Bregthor's. Yngvar did not watch them, but crawled closer to his uncle.
"It's all right," he said. "We will find other treasures."
Gunnar's smile barely held on his lips, falling away as he gasped. "I am so cold. You two, my nephews, tell your fathers I am sorry we were all not closer in the end. It seems foolish now. Yngvar, your father extended the hazel branch to me and I pushed it aside. Tell him I was the fool. Tell him I love him as my brother and I will be waiting in the feasting hall with our father. I will embrace him there and we shall never quarrel again. You'll do that for me?"
"Of course I will," Yngvar took Gunnar's cold, blood-slicked hand from holding his wound closed and put it on his chest. Then he drew his uncle's sax, the same one he had gifted him days ago. "Hold this sword as you go to Valhalla."
Gunnar nodded, putting his trembling hand on the hilt. "Where is my son?"
Behind them, Brandr had finished screaming the crew into submission. Bregthor was seated now, but stared hatefully at everyone.
"Your father wants you," Yngvar called. "Hurry."
Brandr rushed to kneel beside Gunnar, but his father's eyes were already staring into another world. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth, and his labored breathing had stopped. Brandr put his ear to his father's chest, closed his eyes, then sat upright. He brushed his father's lids closed.
Gunnar the Black, son of Ulfrik and Runa the Bloody, had gone on to the great feasting hall of Valhalla where he would celebrate with all the great heroes until the end of days.
"I'm sorry," Yngvar said. His words sounded like thunder in the silence. Only creaking boards and complaining gulls gave any sound.
Brandr shook his head. "He died as he wished. Not every man can make such a choice."
Bjorn had retrieved a brown cloak from the deck, one with the least blood upon it. He extended it to Brandr, who then laid it over his father's body. The deck creaked and the waves thumped the hull, but nothing else made a sound, not even the gulls that had followed them. The birds had vanished.
After a thoughtful silence, Brandr went to the prow of the ship. He stared into the fog before turning on the crew. "My father has passed on to Valhalla. Your oaths to him are fulfilled. For now, I lead this crew and I claim my father's lands and property. You all know he has left them to me. Does anyone dispute this?"
Yngvar shook his head, as if his opinion mattered in the least. He was mesmerized with Brandr's commanding presence. His cousin's hard gaze withered anyone who challenged it. Even Bregthor, who Yngvar guessed would oppose him, turned aside. Brandr folded his arms to finalize his claim.
"When we return home, I will hear oaths of loyalty from anyone who wishes to remain with me. You are free to choose who you will serve. But for now, as crew of my ship, you answer to my commands. I'm not confident we have shaken our enemy. Those were not raiders but hirdmen of some Norse jarl. I did not note their standard, but they flew one from their mast. They will bring more men seeking vengeance. So we will not stop rowing. We sail through the night in shifts. I'll organize the groups, but for now take care of our wounded and break out the beer. We've earned a rest."
The men shifted on their benches, secured their oars, and started to stand. Brandr called out to Yngvar before everyone dispersed.
"We've got your wits to thank for our lives today. Crippling their ship was both wise and an act of great bravery." From his burly arm, Brandr worked free a silver armband. He held it up for all to see. "You earned this today. Let no one deny it."
The crew mumbled agreement and several clapped his back. Yngvar accepted the band from Brandr with both hands, amazed at the warm, blood-flecked silver band resting in his palm.
"You did well, cousin," Brandr said with a smile. "Wear it with pride. Also, put your young strength to work on the oars. You'll get us through to the night."
Yngvar rowed with Thorfast and Bjorn in his group. Bjorn remained thoughtfully quiet while Thorfast chattered endless about Yngvar's achievement. He wanted to silence Thorfast, to tell him that his achievement succeeded only because Bresi had sacrificed himself. Also, had Thorfast not noticed Uncle Gunnar had died? His corpse remained shrouded beside three others at the center of the deck. Could he not be silent long enough to respect the dead? But Yngvar did not voice his thoughts and continued to row.
By nightfall every muscle of his back and shoulders burned. Even Bjorn, as strong as a bear, or so he claimed, stretched out on the deck when his shift ended. They had their sealskin sleep sacks in a single chest and pulled them out to bed down for the night.
"It was an amazing day," Thorfast said. "What do you suppose tomorrow will bring? Are we close to home?"
"Can't be close to home," Bjorn said. "Took us how many days to get here? Can't row back in one go. Where are we, anyway?"
Yngvar ignored both of them as they continued to chatter. As he pulled the sleep sack up to his neck, he peered at Brandr. He remained on the tiller, working it effortlessly even as the seas roughened. The deck swayed and rocked, and the creaks and pops were loud against his ears as he drifted to sleep, exhausted.
He awakened again after what must have been hours.
The deck was
all blue light from the moon above. Dark lumps that gently rose and fell were strewn across the deck. The hum of snoring competed with the sound of the wind filling the sails. Yngvar blinked away his sleep, eyes throbbing in protest as he awakened. No one rowed now that the sails propelled them. Yngvar guessed Brandr had let everyone sleep once the wind turned favorable.
Twisting his head toward the tiller, he saw Brandr's silhouette leaning over it and staring out to sea. The fog and clouds has vanished to reveal stars floating through the dark. Yngvar thought to join his cousin, but then let his head settle back to the deck. He had just lost his father. He deserved some peace and time to reflect. With this surly crew, he would need to be rested. As the day had progressed, Yngvar overheard grumbles about being cheated of treasure. Some felt Brandr would make good, others thought the cost in lives had been a foolish waste that could never be repaid. Yngvar was in between. The men had died gloriously and guaranteed a seat in Valhalla, but ultimately they were pursuing nothing on this journey to Norway.
As he watched, something stirred in the deep shadows of the gunwales. At first Yngvar considered it a trick of the night. Rigging swayed and cast strange patterns over the deck. Perhaps that was all he had noted. Then a human shape emerged, followed by another.
Swift as lightning, the two men each seized Brandr by a leg and threw him overboard.
His cry was brief and faded with the dim splash that receded as fast as the ship sped over the waves.
The two figures circled about, and in the sharp blue light Bregthor Vandradsson revealed himself.
Yngvar started to scramble to his feet, but a hand restrained him.
Thorfast stared at him, eyes wide and gleaming with fear. His hair was white in the stark light of the moon as he shook his head.
He fought to rise, but Thorfast tugged him down again, his arm extending from the sleep sack. His whisper was harsh but low.
"Do you want to join Brandr? They'll kill us both."
Descendants of the Wolf (Descendants Saga Book 1) Page 7