A Sacred Storm

by Theodore Brun

  The benches around him erupted with laughter, Thrand’s bellow the loudest of all. Kai wasn’t enjoying this any more. He scraped himself off the floor, along with the biggest shards of the pitcher, and limped off towards the passageway and the kitchens beyond.

  ‘Hey, you!’

  He turned and was surprised to see the youngest of the three brothers, Rorik, had followed him into the passageway. ‘Are you all right?’ The man actually looked concerned. Well, he was a boy really, not much older than Kai.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘My brother’s an ogre. Always has been.’

  ‘And I’m a cheeky bastard. Always have been. I should know better than to cross one of Harald Wartooth’s sons.’

  ‘We’re not all the same.’

  ‘Father’s seed, father’s fruit. That’s what they say.’

  ‘We have a mother, too.’ Rorik’s voice was soft, not like the others at all. He reached out and laid a hand on Kai’s chest. ‘You’re all wet.’

  ‘Yep. A puddle of beer’ll do that to a man.’ Kai chuckled awkwardly. Rorik didn’t take his hand away. Instead he slid his fingers inside the neck of his tunic and stroked Kai’s chest.

  ‘You should get out of these wet things.’ Rorik’s eyes suddenly seemed round as moons. ‘I know somewhere we could go.’

  ‘Woah-woah,’ said Kai, checking his hand. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong end of the spear, my friend.’ Hmm. Poor choice of words, that. ‘Listen, if you figured any man willing to play hall-wench would play soft cat too, I’m afraid—’

  ‘Actually it’s me likes to play soft.’ All of a sudden, Rorik’s other hand was between his legs.

  ‘Gods! You could do a man an injury like that!’ He shoved Rorik so hard the prince stumbled backwards. ‘What is it with you Danes? You all want to get your hands on my bollocks.’

  Rorik was suddenly embarrassed. ‘Never mind. I just thought—’

  ‘Hey, look! No harm done, friend. Just ain’t my game. There must be plenty of other lads round here who like to play kitty.’ Hel, they seemed willing to do almost anything else, so why not that?

  But Rorik didn’t linger for consolations. He mumbled an apology and disappeared back into the hall, leaving Kai to flee to the kitchens. His escape was short-lived, thanks to the ever-watchful eye of Sletti, who collared him for more unpleasant tasks in the kitchens.

  The hour was late by the time Kai was finally released. Most of the household, including the three princes, had retired to their beds. Exhausted, Kai wove his way through the empty benches and tables towards the hall-door. The last of the drinkers sat in huddles, talking in whispers. As he was passing one group, someone broke off and crossed towards him.

  He recognized the long-limbed shield-maiden, Visma, her short-cropped blond hair sloping across her eyes. She sauntered over, swinging a mead-skin in one hand, a couple of drinking horns in the other.

  ‘I thought I told you to come and find me.’

  ‘It’s been a busy day.’ Judging from her drink-glazed eyes, this woman had already sunk a skin-full, and then some.

  ‘The day is over now. Drink with me.’ It was less a request than a command. He hesitated, knowing he should get clear of the hall and steal off to his bed, safe with Ringast’s words in his head.

  ‘Come, drink! What harm could it do, little man?’

  Then again, this ale-soaked giantess seemed friendly enough. Maybe she had some gem of information for the Sveär king. And his throat was parched.

  ‘What are we drinking?’

  ‘Excellent!’ She pulled him down onto an empty bench. ‘The horns shall never be empty – yes?’ She filled them up with a golden brew. Mead – the drink of skalds.

  ‘If you say so.’ Kai steeled himself for an onslaught.

  ‘What do we drink to?’

  ‘You’re the one pouring.’

  ‘Very well. To victory – or death!’

  Kai scoffed. ‘Drink to your own death if you like – that ain’t for me.’

  She sniggered. ‘Are you afraid to die, little swordsmith?’

  ‘Don’t care for it above half, no. I intend to do a good deal more living.’

  ‘So then – to victory and to life!’

  ‘That’ll do.’

  Their horns clattered and Kai drained his to the last drop. Mead was always too sweet to his mind, but somehow he doubted this brawny bitch would accept any excuses.

  ‘Again!’

  ‘Give a lad a chance.’

  ‘Come on – this will loosen your tongue.’ She refilled his cup.

  ‘My tongue’s loose enough.’

  ‘So it will loosen your belt then!’ She brayed like a pony. ‘Oh, don’t look so alarmed, little man. I saw you flirting with me today.’

  ‘Flirting?’

  ‘Shhshh,’ she hushed, drowning him in spittle. ‘It’s all right. Besides, I’m too old for you. What are you, sixteen?’

  ‘Seventeen,’ Kai corrected.

  ‘Still a boy! And so low born. Such a worm!’

  ‘Steady on.’

  ‘No. It could never be,’ she insisted, grinning like a halfwit.

  ‘Bad luck that.’

  ‘Still – there is something about you that makes me so very curious.’ He could see the hunger in the great lust-bag’s eyes. And he had to admit that she didn’t have a bad-looking face. It was just twice as big as any other woman’s he’d ever seen.

  ‘Curiosity only leads to mischief and mischief to a bad end, as my ma used to say. Let’s have another drink instead.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled, her lower lip shining in the firelight. ‘Another drink. Before my desires run away with me.’ She downed hers straight and made him do the same.

  He was definitely feeling the drink, but figured that her tongue must be good and loose by now too.

  ‘This blood feud then, between this pair of kings. Ain’t got much to do with you Wendish folk, has it?’

  ‘It has now.’

  ‘But why fight for a Dane?’

  ‘The Wartooth has a favour over my husband. A favour or two, if truth be told.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I follow him. He fights, I fight.’

  ‘Must be a Hel of a man.’

  ‘Bah! My husband is a noble ass, but an ass nevertheless. He’s probably off in some corner with one of Ringast’s bed-thralls now.’

  ‘You don’t care?’

  ‘Why should I? If it means I can enjoy the company of younger men like you.’

  ‘Cosy arrangement.’ Visma poured another drink, tipping his elbow till he’d seen it away. He felt dizzy. Information. He was supposed to be squeezing her for information, but he was struggling to see beyond the ogrish leer on her lips.

  ‘So this Wartooth – have you been to his hall?’

  ‘Leithra? Of course! We’ve been honoured guests there many times. We were there not one month ago.’

  ‘That a fact? And how many spears does he have down there?... Roughly.’

  She suddenly snatched the scruff of his tunic. ‘How many questions you ask, little man! But there are far more interesting things to talk about.’

  ‘Such as?’

  She beckoned him closer. ‘Secret things,’ she whispered and before he knew it her enormous mouth was locked over his. He stared wide-eyed, struggling for breath.

  ‘Hel’s tits, woman! Do you want to suffocate me?’ he gasped when she finally came up for air.

  ‘That’s exactly what I want to do,’ she slurred. ‘But if you have more questions, let’s find somewhere more comfortable and I’ll give you some answers.’ She pointed to the sleeping bower over their heads, then hauled herself up and offered an empty hand.

  Kai’s mind was a fog of drink and doubt and terror. And – he had to admit – excitement. Seemed he was about to become a late-night treat for this bloodthirsty boozer. If Bara ever found out, he could kiss goodbye to any hope of her favours.

  Then again, wasn’t he her
e for a moment just like this? On noble service to his king? So then, this was a sacrifice he had to make. He had to think of his friends back in Uppsala.

  They were counting on him.

  Visma led him up the stairs. He followed, feeling like a man who has cut too big a hunk off a roasted hog and knows it. The bower was swathed in shadow. Ahead of him, Visma picked her way unsteadily over bodies either asleep or ale-sodden, though somehow she only roused a grunt or two.

  Suddenly she dropped to the floor, pulling him down with her, apparently satisfied she’d found her place. And before he’d had time to think, her hand was clamped round his head and her tongue was thrashing in his mouth like a demented eel.

  Fighting for breath, he managed to pull away for half a second. ‘What about these questions, eh?’

  ‘Hel take your questions, little man!’ she moaned and began chewing on his ear. He was trying to remember what it was he wanted to know, but it was hard to concentrate with a tongue burrowed halfway into his skull. Her hands were all over him, pawing at his clothes. The gods knew he was no prude, but this was too much. He was the first to admit his experience was limited, but usually he played a more active role when it came to this sort of thing. In Visma’s case, he hardly knew where to begin. Somehow she had hold of his feet, was pulling off his shoes and flinging them into the shadows. Someone cursed, but nothing daunted, she rolled her hips and suddenly was astride him, tugging at his belt.

  A grin flashed madly on her face as she finally worked it loose and shoved down his breeches. Once she’d got him free, she stopped, gazing down on him with that monstrous smile. ‘My little man,’ she mumbled dreamily, then whipped off her tunic, showing herself in all her naked glory.

  It was a Hel of a sight. If a Valkyrie ever comes for me, thought Kai, she can’t be more terrifying than this. Towering above him, mouth agape, eyes slavering with lust, breasts swinging like sacks of flour...

  She fell on him.

  He lay, pinned like a weasel in a trap, under her slather of kisses. He had a fleeting memory of an old tale about a she-wolf licking honey out of a hero’s mouth. Now I know how the poor bastard felt. Her thighs were thrashing about, trying to work his breeches lower, when suddenly, before he could even recall the name of the honey-slicked hero, a stray knee drove into his groin.

  He groaned in agony, his loins dissolving into a lake of fire.

  ‘Oh, my sweet loveling – what have I done?’ Kai only groaned some more, the pain now spread to his belly. Meanwhile, the clumsy giantess bent over, kissing his cheek, murmuring tender apologies. He tried not to move. Everything below his navel was hollowed out with pain. All he could do was listen to her slobbering as she nuzzled his neck and hope for the pain to ebb.

  Soon, though, he noticed her body was growing heavier – so heavy he was struggling to breathe – and her muffled endearments had blurred into a succession of long sighs.

  She had fallen asleep.

  If she hadn’t been so damn heavy, Kai might have been relieved, except just then a voice erupted up the stairway.

  ‘Visma! Are you up there?’

  Heavy footsteps on wood.

  Kai peered out of his fleshy prison. Through the gloom, he saw the shape of a bull of a man peering along the row of sleepers. ‘Visma?’ There were some disgruntled moans.

  ‘Wake up! Wake up!’ Kai whispered, desperately shaking her.

  She only sighed in reply.

  ‘Someone’s coming.’

  ‘Visma?’ the man thundered. Others were waking now, telling him to shut up.

  She lifted her head a fraction and giggled. ‘Oh him? Forget about him! It’s just my silly husband.’ With another long sigh, she sank even heavier onto Kai’s chest.

  ‘Your husband?’ In panic, he writhed and heaved but she wouldn’t budge. He glanced over. Her husband was picking his way over sleeping bodies a sight less carefully than they had.

  ‘Just move, you silly bitch, can’t you?’ he pleaded, nearly weeping with frustration. ‘You’re going to get me skewered like a hog.’ He gave one final heroic heave and at last she slipped a few inches.

  It wasn’t much but it was enough. He wiggled and wriggled until he could slide out from under her. Her head hit the floor with a bump. He dragged himself clear and felt the surge of his luck returning when his hand fell on his belt in the darkness. Then he rose like a draugr from the grave.

  Visma’s husband froze in surprise. ‘Who the Hel are you?’

  Kai wondered whether he could pretend he was a hall-guest on his way to take a piss, but the breeches round his ankles weren’t helping.

  ‘Is that you, my noble husband?’ drooled Visma. ‘Come to join our fun?’

  That helped even less.

  Kai flashed a rueful grin, hauled up his breeches and then was away, hopping over bodies like a rabbit through clover. There was a roar behind him and suddenly all bloody Hel broke loose. He could hear Visma’s bull blundering after him, shapes were rising ahead, threats filling his ears, but he wasn’t about to loiter. He fancied he was roaring himself now. (Seemed like the opportune moment for it.) The end of the bower was approaching fast. Without a second thought, he vaulted the last of the waking sleepers and flung himself over the edge, slamming against the massive door.

  There was a terrific thump. His bones jarred. Then he half-fell, half-bounced down the crossbeams, hitting the floor in a heap. He looked back up and saw a tangle of shadows and limbs and curses, but happily no sign of the big Wendish brute coming after him.

  With a chuckle, he tugged open the door and slipped outside. The night was cool. His head was fuzzy to say the least, but with a bit of luck he could sneak back to his bed and no one would be any the wiser. He doubted that girning she-cat Visma would remember much of the evening’s events.

  He began to breathe a little easier. There was still a Hel of a racket in the hall, but he was well clear now and no one seemed to be coming after him. At least, that was his last thought before fingers closed round his neck. He jerked away, but this fellow wasn’t for letting go.

  ‘Quit your wriggling,’ said the shadow. Kai twisted his head and saw moonlight glint off a smooth face.

  ‘Master Sletti! Fancy meeting you here!’

  ‘Shut it!’ The blade suddenly at Kai’s throat made the steward’s point admirably. Inside, the noise was abating. The thumping pulse in Kai’s ears, not so much. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

  ‘To bed, naturally.’

  ‘Liar. I’ve seen you one too many times today, lad. Just who are you?’

  ‘I told you. I’m a landed man on my way—’

  ‘You’re no landed man. If I had to bet, I’d say you were a thief – you and that fat man you say cannot speak.’

  ‘That’s a bit unkind. I mean, he’s on the porky side, to be sure—’

  ‘Silence!’ The knife moved a fraction. Kai yelped as he felt it bite. ‘Whatever you are, you’re lying. But I’m going to find out the truth. Lord Ringast has a particularly severe sense of justice, as you might have noticed. I think it’s time you and he became properly acquainted.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, master.’ At a loss how to get out of this one, Kai thought a bit of abject pleading was always worth a shot. ‘I’m no thief. Please!’

  ‘It’s no use whining— oh gods, you’ve soiled yourself! You filthy little coward!’

  It was true. There was a definite foulness on the air, but – as far as Kai could tell – it had nothing to do with the contents of his breeches. The smell grew even stronger and suddenly there was a thud, the knife fell away and something crumpled to the floor.

  Tentatively, Kai looked round. Einar was standing there, a short cudgel in his hand, shaking his head and reeking of shit. ‘Why did I ever listen to you, runt?’

  ‘Cause I’m a bloody genius, fat man, and you know it,’ Kai grinned.

  ‘What’s all the fuss in there?’

  ‘Oh, that. Well, just so you know, I think we ma
y have overstayed our welcome.’

  ‘About bloody time.’

  At Dannerborg next day, two fine mares were found missing from the stables. And Snorri the smith was late to his forge. For years afterwards, he would bore anyone who’d listen about how one dark night in the springtime, draugar-spirits came and stole his boots.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kai should have known better.

  After all, the king himself had been waiting for their return. He wasn’t known for his patience. Kai had hoped for some hot vittles before they had to report but he soon discovered there was slim chance of that.

  ‘The king’s orders,’ insisted Erlan, after he had overcome his delight at seeing Kai safely home. ‘Straight to his chamber the second anyone lays eyes on you.’

  ‘All I want is a bowl of something hot.’

  ‘The sooner you get moving the sooner you can have it.’

  By the time he got something into his belly, he’d put the noblest heads in the land in a spin. Sviggar had hung off every word, firing question after question until Kai was so squeezed of information he felt like a bag of curd.

  How many warriors at Dannerborg? How many at Leithra? Which named champions had they seen? How many men were high-trained karls, how many mere levied bondsmen? How many horses did they have? When neither Kai nor Einar could answer every question, Sviggar railed at them for wasting their chance – which, given all they’d been through, Kai reckoned a bit off, to say the least. Still, they recounted everything they had seen and heard best they could, Kai leaving out only the odd detail, for discretion’s sake.

  Eventually Sviggar released them. Servants were sent to summon those of the king’s counsellors in residence. Erlan told Kai to wait for him at home.

  Kai slouched his way home, kicking at the dirt, feeling damned unappreciated. But he had hardly sat down when there was a knock at the door.

  He opened it. There was Bara.

  Perhaps the evening wasn’t going to be a dead loss after all. She looked delightful, all fiery hair and fulsome curves. Less delightfully, she set about interrogating him almost as harshly as the king, demanding to know exactly what he had been up to in that land of ‘pox-addled sluts’, as she called it.