Viking Boy

by Tony Bradman

Gunnar’s heart pounded. What if Ari had guessed what they’d done? But Ari walked away at last, his heavy footsteps echoing in the space beneath the quayside, and Gunnar breathed out. Rurik squeezed his shoulder again, and they made for the steps. Rurik hauled Gunnar up beside him, and they lay there gasping like a pair of dying salmon in the bottom of a fisherman’s boat.

  After a while Gunnar sensed a light above them and raised his eyes. A dark figure was standing at the top of the steps, a man holding a torch, his face in shadow. Gunnar groaned again, sure Ari had found them.

  FOURTEEN

  A FINE-LOOKING CRAFT

  GUNNAR WAITED FOR Ari to yell, for the alarm to be raised. But it wasn’t Ari – it was Thorkel.

  “Quickly now, come with me,” Thorkel said, and reached out a hand.

  Gunnar didn’t stop to ask questions. He scrambled up the steps, Rurik behind him. Soon Thorkel was hurrying them across the empty quayside and through the dark alleys to his own hut, dousing the torch in a barrel of water outside and pushing them through the door. He lit an oil lamp and hung it on a rafter, its pale glow chasing shadows into the corners.

  “How did you know we weren’t dead?” said Gunnar.

  “I didn’t,” said Thorkel. “I came just in case, and you appeared at my feet. You nearly frightened me to death.” He opened a chest, pulled out a couple of tunics and tossed them to Gunnar and Rurik. “You’d better get out of those wet clothes. If the Gods are willing, you could be in the mountains before the sun rises and people wonder why you’re not still tied to those posts.”

  “No,” said Gunnar. “I’m not going to the mountains.”

  “But you have to get out of Kaupang!” said Thorkel. “You can’t hide from Orm for long, and he’ll think of an even worse way to kill you next time.”

  “I know all that,” said Gunnar. “But the only way I’m leaving Kaupang is by sea. I have an oath to fulfil, and I want you to find someone who will give me passage to the Land of Ice and Fire. Rurik is coming, and so should you.”

  “What in Odin’s name is the boy talking about, Rurik?”

  “It’s a long story,” sighed Rurik. “You should just do what he says.”

  Thorkel scowled. “I’m too old to go voyaging,” he said, shaking his head. “But I’ll do what I can. Although finding anybody who’s mad enough to take the pair of you out of Kaupang on a ship won’t be easy.”

  Gunnar smiled. “You know who to ask though, don’t you?”

  “You’re right, I do…” Thorkel said, rubbing his beard. “Mind you, I have a feeling the ship I’m thinking of will be leaving very soon.”

  “We’d best get on with it then, hadn’t we?” said Rurik.

  Thorkel nodded, opened the hut door and re-lit his torch. “I’ll make the introduction. After that you’re on your own.”

  Soon they were hurrying through the alleys again. They saw no one at first, but then they turned a corner and bumped into a couple of Orm’s Hounds.

  “Is that you, Thorkel?” said one of the men. His gaze moved to Gunnar and Rurik, and his eyes widened. “Hey, you two are supposed to be dead…” They both grabbed their sword hilts, but Thorkel beat them to it, drawing his blade in one deft movement. He swiftly chopped down the man who had spoken, but the other dodged his blade and ran off like a frightened hare.

  “That’s done it,” said Thorkel, sheathing his sword, his face grim. “Now Orm will send every man in his hall to track you down.”

  “What if they can’t get out of the hall?” said Gunnar. “We could block the doors somehow. We could set fire to the roof as well.”

  Rurik looked at Gunnar and raised his eyebrows. “It’s worth a try,” he said. “That would certainly keep them busy for a while.”

  “Well, let’s get on with it,” Thorkel muttered. “Since we’ve been spotted together I’m going to have to come with you after all.”

  Orm’s hall was in darkness, but the doors were partially open and they could hear raised voices. Rurik ducked into the porch and emerged with half a dozen spears from the rack. He closed the doors and rammed the spears through the handles, bracing the shafts against the doorposts.

  Then he took Thorkel’s torch and handed it to Gunnar. “It works best if you set the fire in several places,” he said. “Although you probably know that.”

  Thorkel gave them both a puzzled look, but Gunnar ignored him. The smell of smoke and the fierce heat sent his mind back to the night his home had been destroyed. He loved the idea of setting fire to Orm’s hall, of making him and the others in there suffer, if only for a little while. He wished he could unlock Orm’s pens and let all his slaves out as well, but he knew that was impossible. So he walked the length of the hall, thrusting the torch into the thatch.

  “Time to go,” said Thorkel. Gunnar threw the torch as far as he could onto the roof and looked over his shoulder as they hurried away. The thatch was already burning strongly, and someone was banging at the doors from inside.

  Thorkel took Gunnar and Rurik to a ship at the far end of the harbour. There were enough torches on this part of the quayside for Gunnar to see it was a fine-looking craft, a lean warship with a tall carved prow. He had also witnessed enough sailings from Kaupang to know it was on the point of leaving. The crew – perhaps thirty men in all – were sitting at the benches holding their oars.

  “Hey, Viglaf, glad we caught you,” said Thorkel, looking down into the ship from the quayside, his voice light and easy. “I’ve come to collect that favour you owe me. I want passage out of here for me and my companions.”

  A short, stocky man looked up at them from the stern of the ship. He had on a red cap, and the sides of his head were as smooth and white as a duck’s egg.

  “Is that so?” Viglaf said. “I can’t deny I owe you a favour, Thorkel, but isn’t this a bit sudden? You didn’t mention anything about it when we spoke last.”

  “Well, you know how it is,” said Thorkel. “You can have enough of being in one place, and we’ve had our fill of Kaupang. So can we come aboard?”

  “But you don’t even know where we’re going,” said Viglaf, a look of deep suspicion stealing onto his face. “I’m sure I didn’t tell you. And who are the other two? I’ve seen the big man before. Isn’t he one of Orm’s Hounds?”

  There was movement further down the ship. A crewman was standing on his rowing bench, gesturing at the town and saying something. Gunnar turned to look in the direction he was pointing. A fiery glow lit the sky over the roofs of the huts. Bright flames were leaping, and there was shouting as well.

  “I’m a friend of Thorkel’s, and the boy is my slave,” said Rurik. “We don’t care where you’re going, so long as you take us out of this stinking hole.”

  “It might not stink so much once it burns down,” muttered Viglaf. “Is that anything to do with you?” he said, nodding in the direction of the flames. The shouting was growing louder, and there were screams of panic as well.

  “No, of course not!” said Thorkel, shrugging. “Why would it be?”

  “What kind of a fool do you think I am, Thorkel?” said Viglaf. “I can add two and two. You turn up suddenly wanting to get out of Kaupang at the same moment that Orm’s hall goes up in flames. Something else was going on earlier, dark deeds for all I know. I kept my men out of it because I don’t want any trouble, not in Kaupang. I don’t want to make Orm into an enemy.”

  “All right, Viglaf,” said Thorkel. “I’ll admit we’re not exactly Orm’s favourite people, but it’s not as bad as it looks. I can explain everything, I promise.”

  “Sorry, Thorkel,” said Viglaf. “Now, I have a ship to get under way…”

  “You might want to think again,” said Thorkel, his voice suddenly cold and hard. “Just talking to us like this is probably enough to make you an enemy of Orm’s. And if he catches us I’ll tell him it was your idea to burn his hall.”

  Gunnar looked at Thorkel, impressed. It was a bold gamble, and Gunnar half expected Viglaf to laugh and order
his crew to seize them as a gift for Orm. But Thorkel clearly knew his man. Viglaf scowled and was silent for a moment. “Very well, you can come aboard,” he muttered at last, looking nervously up and down the empty quayside. “But don’t think I’m happy about it, Thorkel.”

  “You’re never happy about anything,” said Thorkel, jumping down into the ship with Rurik and Gunnar. “Least of all missing an ebb tide, if I recall.”

  Viglaf gave him a sour glare, then pointedly turned away. “Crew of the Sea Eagle, cast off fore and aft! Out with your oars… Erlend, call the beat…”

  The Sea Eagle… thought Gunnar. The ship moved out of the harbour, thirty oars striking the dark waters, taking him away from Kaupang. But all he could think of was the prophecy the old man had made at the God House:

  You will fly with the eagle to the Land of Ice and Fire…

  FIFTEEN

  THE EAGLE FEATHER

  THE RED GLOW over Kaupang remained visible behind them till the rising sun swallowed it. There was a strong breeze, and Viglaf gave the order to ship oars and run out the sail. Like a hound let off the leash to hunt, the Sea Eagle leaped forward and cast up glittering arcs of water as it cut through the waves.

  Gunnar stood by the gunwale in the bows of the ship, relishing the fresh air, the cool spray on his face, the tang of salt. He looked at the prow beside him, the upwardly curving post carved into the likeness of a great eagle.

  “I’m sorry, Gunnar,” Thorkel was saying. “I just don’t believe it. Perhaps seeing your father killed did something to your mind. That can happen.”

  “You’re right,” said Rurik. “But I’ve been thinking about this old man he says he met. Doesn’t the boy’s description of him sound oddly familiar to you?”

  Thorkel nodded and shrugged. “Maybe. Odin is sometimes described like that in the old stories. But it still doesn’t prove what the boy says. Somebody might have put the idea in his head. He might even have dreamed the whole thing.”

  Odin? thought Gunnar. Could it be true? Was it Odin who had helped set him on the road to Valhalla? Who had slipped him a knife so he could save his own life and Rurik’s? Gunnar had prayed to Odin for help, and he had known there was something strange about the old man from the moment he had met him.

  Thorkel and Rurik were still talking, but Gunnar had stopped listening. He reached into the pocket of his leggings and pulled out the feather the old man – Odin – had left for him. He had nearly lost it several times, and it was bent and bedraggled, its spine broken. Odin had told him he would fly with the eagle to the Land of Ice and Fire, and here he was on a ship called the Sea Eagle. Was the feather just a symbol of that, or did it mean something more?

  He caught a movement in the air from the corner of his eye. A pair of gulls hovered above the waves just beside the Sea Eagle, almost near enough for him to reach out and touch. They squawked at him, and he remembered the noisy crows at the God House and the magpies on the roof of Hogni’s smithy.

  “Thorkel, in the old stories, does Odin have a pair of birds?” he said.

  “Yes, Hugin and Munin – the names mean thought and memory. They’re ravens, although sometimes they take other forms. Why do you ask?”

  Gunnar nodded at the gulls. “I’m sure Odin is keeping an eye on me,” he said. Thorkel gave the birds a surprised look, but then Viglaf appeared.

  “We need to talk, Thorkel,” he said.

  “What about?” sighed Thorkel.

  “I owed you a favour, and you wanted me to sneak you and your friends out of Kaupang,” said Viglaf with a shrug. “Well, I’ve done that, but I swear the sooner I’m rid of you the happier I’ll be. I’ll put you ashore in Gokstad.”

  “That’s not far enough,” said Thorkel. “It’s only a day from Kaupang.”

  “Tough luck,” said Viglaf. “This time my mind is made up.”

  “Well, maybe we could make you change it,” Rurik said softly. He towered over Viglaf and stared down at him, his face stony. Viglaf didn’t flinch.

  “You could try,” he said. “You’re a big man and you look like you can fight. I know Thorkel can be handy in a scrap too. But you don’t have any weapons, and there’s only the two of you, not counting the slave boy, obviously.”

  Three of Viglaf’s men were close behind him, swords unsheathed. Beyond them Gunnar saw the rest of the crew standing by their benches, swords on their hips or spears in easy reach, their eyes fixed on the group in the bows.

  “Now let’s just try to keep things calm,” said Thorkel, his hand on Rurik’s forearm. “We’re all friends here, so I’m sure we can work this out.”

  Gunnar could see Viglaf wasn’t convinced, even when Thorkel reached into his tunic and pulled out a purse that chinked with gold and silver. Suddenly Gunnar felt a surge of anger flooding through him – here he was yet again with strangers deciding his future. He would tell them where he wanted to go.

  “You will take me to the Land of Ice and Fire, Viglaf,” he said, stepping forward and looking him in the eye. “I will go nowhere else, do you hear?”

  “Shut your mouth,” said Viglaf. “I don’t take orders from a slave.”

  “I apologize for him, Viglaf,” Thorkel was saying. “He doesn’t—”

  Then he stopped talking, his eyes wide – for the feather in Gunnar’s hand had begun to glow with a strange light. Gunnar wasn’t surprised. Deep down he had known all along there was more magic to come. He even knew what to do – he pressed the feather against the prow and watched it merge into the wood. There was a brief moment of stillness, then real feathers appeared as the carving came to life. Soon the eagle was rolling its great head and stretching its wings, almost as if it were trying to get the wooden stiffness out of its body.

  Finally it turned, whipping round to screech at Viglaf and his crew.

  Viglaf recoiled, crashing into the men behind him. The rest of the crew were equally startled. Some ran for the stern, others dived behind the benches, a few retreated with swords raised or spears held out.

  Thorkel had backed off too. Only Rurik didn’t move. He shook his head in wonderment. “I’m impressed, Gunnar,” he said. “That’s quite a trick.”

  Viglaf slowly stood up. The eagle studied him, its great head cocked to one side as if it were trying to work out whether he might be good to eat.

  “I’ve voyaged on every sea and seen strange things in many lands,” muttered Viglaf. “But I’ve never seen anything like this. Are you a sorcerer, boy?”

  “Perhaps I am,” said Gunnar. “Or perhaps I’m just a boy who needs to fulfil an oath he swore. Now will you take me to the Land of Ice and Fire?”

  “If it’s Iceland you mean,” Viglaf said cautiously, “we’d need to go west, and we’re supposed to be heading east, back into the Baltic…” The eagle screeched more loudly this time. Viglaf ducked behind a bench. “All right!” he yelled. “I’ll take you wherever you like! What else do you want?”

  “Since you ask,” said Rurik, “you can take his thrall ring off.” Gunnar turned to stare at his master, and the big man returned his gaze. Neither of them spoke.

  “Fine,” said Viglaf. “But first he can turn that thing back into a prow.”

  Gunnar looked at the eagle, unsure what to do. He thought for a moment, then put his hand on the spot where he had placed the feather. Immediately the eagle turned to face the sea once more. Gunnar felt the magical life flowing out of it until at last the same bedraggled feather lay in his palm. He laughed, and the gulls hovering over the waves seemed to squawk with pleasure too.

  Gunnar sat on a chest in the middle of the ship. One of Viglaf’s men, a young, red-haired Viking called Erlend, worked nervously on the thrall ring with a file. Thorkel and Rurik stood looking on, arms folded. Viglaf and the rest of the crew had retreated to the stern for the time being and watched from there.

  “The join is broken,” said Erlend at last. He gripped the ring, getting his hands between it and Gunnar’s neck, but he couldn’t pull it open.
>
  “Here, let me,” Rurik said. He took the ring in his hands and stretched it wide, as if nothing could be easier. Then he handed it to Gunnar. “You are no longer a slave, Gunnar,” he said. “I give you your freedom.”

  Gunnar stared down at the twisted piece of metal. After a moment he raised his eyes to Rurik. “I owe you a silver arm ring for this, don’t I?”

  “Not any more. You paid your debt when you saved my life.”

  Gunnar rubbed his neck, then rose to his feet and went over to the gunwale. He remembered his months as a slave, all the curses and kicks, all the insults he had endured. Then he threw the thrall ring as far as he could, watching it spin through the spray-filled air and plunge into the sea with a small splash.

  The ship skimmed across the waves towards Iceland – and Valhalla.

  SIXTEEN

  DARK BLOOD FLOWING

  THEY HUGGED THE coastline for the first few days, then Viglaf turned the Sea Eagle westwards, out into the open sea. He and his crew were wary of Gunnar at first, but their fear soon wore off when he didn’t perform any more sorcery.

  One night Gunnar was sitting with Rurik. Viglaf had left Erlend at the steerboard and was playing a game of knuckle-bones with Thorkel amidships, and most of the others were asleep. A light breeze filled the sail, the sea gently hissing by beneath the hull. It was summer now, and the sky was never fully dark, the horizon lined with a faint glow even in the middle of the night.

  “I’ve been thinking, Rurik,” said Gunnar. “I know Odin has helped me, but he hasn’t exactly made things easy, has he? Why did he let Gauk sell me as a slave? Why did I have to spend more than half a year in Kaupang?”

  “The Gods cannot live your life for you, Gunnar,” said Rurik. “A man must deal with whatever his fate throws at him. Be thankful Odin has helped you so far, and that he might help you again. In the meantime you must do what you can to help yourself, as you already have done, and bravely, too.”