You Die When You Die

by Angus Watson

  She blinked, shook her head and looked again, but the bear was still the size of a saga monster. It was an odd-looking creature, too, with a much shorter muzzle than even the shorter muzzled black bear. Could it be a cross between a buffalo and a bear? Or even, with its short face, a human and a bear? Was this the first of the terrifying creatures that they’d find to the west?

  As if it heard her, the bear opened its mouth and made a noise like a hundred people yawning. It wasn’t an aggressive noise, or particularly loud, but it displayed an effective looking array of knife-like teeth and the reverberations made the hair on her forearms and neck stand up.

  She realised who the Hardworker was. There was only one person it could be. She was too young to remember him herself but she knew the story.

  Gunnhild said: “Erik the Angry, for the love of Krist.”

  “Erik the Exiled,” said Garth. “We’re sworn to kill him if we see him. And I can see him.”

  “Hold your axes for a moment.” Wulf put a hand on Garth’s arm. “As a rule, I think it’s best to avoid attacking a big, well-armed man accompanied by a monster. Maybe even more so when you have a hundred Scrayling war bows trained on you and his appearance has stopped them from shooting you.”

  “It’s more like seventy bows.”

  “The point remains.”

  “I told you to go across the Water Mother and stay there, Erik,” growled Kobosh. “What the fuck are you doing back here, cunt?”

  “You let me go because you’re a good man and the Lakchan are a good tribe.” Erik the Angry spoke Scrayling like a Hardworker, but with a hint of the Lakchan lilt that Rimilla had had in her voice. “You were confident I’d go across the Water Mother and disappear into the west. You can apply the same logic to this lot.” He swung a hand to indicate the rest of the Hardworkers. “I really was on my way—I had to come back to get them, that’s all. I’ll lead them across the Water Mother and far away. You’ll never hear from us again, and neither will the Calnians.”

  “We are planning to go west, as I told you.” Wulf walked over to stand next to Erik the Angry, nodding hello to him and the bear. “We’ll keep going west and never look back. We’ve got a prophecy of our own. We have to find—”

  “The Meadows?” interrupted Erik.

  “The Meadows indeed,” said Wulf. “But how would you …?”

  “In dair!” shouted Ottar.

  Erik looked at Ottar and nodded simply and solemnly as if he was agreeing the best herbs to use in a venison strew. “That’s right, little fellow,” he said, and Ottar beamed. “So, Kobosh, what do you say? You don’t want to kill these people. Rabbit Girl doesn’t want you to kill them and even Spider Mother would be iffy about slaughtering children and old women.” Erik nodded at the kids and Gunnhild.

  “I am no older than you, Erik the Angry,” said Gunnhild.

  Erik’s bushy eyebrows jumped like chipmunks spotting a hawk as he recognised Gunnhild, but he recovered quickly.

  “Actually I think you’re four years older than me, Gunnhild Kristlover, and that probably hasn’t changed. But we can discuss that later. Would you mind if I carry on …?” He waved his hand at the Lakchan war party.

  “No, please do.”

  “You’re very kind. So, Kobosh, we are going to walk away, to the west.”

  “And if I don’t let you?”

  “Well …” Erik looked at the giant bear, who was sitting on its arse like a human, watching the proceedings.

  “You can see a big bear, can’t you?” Bjarni whispered to Sassa.

  “Yes …”

  “Phew.”

  “Oh, Erik.” Kobosh shook his head. “You had a chance on the other side of the Mother River when it was just you and the bear. Not much of one, but you did have a chance. Take these fuckers with you and, if you get as far as the other side of the Water Mother, which you probably won’t, the Badlanders will definitely hear about you and find you. And then you’ll wish the Calnians had caught you.”

  “Goodbye, Kobosh. I can keep this lot hidden. You needn’t worry. Follow me, Hardworkers.”

  Everyone looked to Wulf, who shrugged. “Let’s go.”

  Erik walked back to his bear and turned.

  “And you,” he shouted, “hiding back by the trees! You come too.”

  Sassa followed his gaze. Two hundred paces back the way they had come, almost at the treeline, Chnob the White stood.

  What had he been doing back there, she wondered?

  Erik the Angry walked up the hill, wondering whether to turn round. He was pretty sure the Hardworkers were following him, and it would look much more heroic if he didn’t check. However, he was going to look like an arse if he got halfway up the hill to the treeline and turned and found that they weren’t following.

  He’d joined a group of his own kind for the first time in twenty years. A few seconds in, and it was already confusing. He’d been glad when he’d first seen them and realised that they must have survived the Calnian massacre. He’d been relieved that Brodir the Slimy hadn’t been with them, and both relieved and disappointed that his former lover and betrayer Astrid wasn’t there. He guessed that meant she was dead, which was weird.

  Astrid and Brodir aside, the future was suddenly just a bit terrifying. Who by Spider Mother were all these people? What was he meant to say to them? What would they say to him? It was the odd little boy, he was pretty sure, who’d called him back. But his was a different voice from the one that called him to The Meadows. Had the magic boy simply wanted to be rescued from the Lakchans, or was there more to it?

  He’d been looking forward to a solitary life with only Astrid the bear for company. He glanced back. They were all coming, Gunnhild Kristlover out ahead of the rest of them. He was tempted to run. He’d saved them from the Lakchans, which was good enough. Now he could bugger off.

  “Erik, Erik, wait!” she called.

  Erik had a flashback of over twenty years, hearing Gunnhild say exactly those words as he’d walked home from a beach party. That time he’d kept going. This time he waited.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Gunnhild beamed at him and he remembered that expression. Suddenly it was like the last twenty years hadn’t happened. He could have been standing in Olaf’s Square during a Thing and he would have gone about his business without breaking stride.

  “Let’s keep going before Kobosh changes his mind.”

  He walked on, Gunnhild half jogging to keep up.

  “You must be full of questions?” she asked.

  “Hmmm.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit. Still too tough to admit you’re itching to know all about what’s happened in Hardwork. Fire burns from brand to brand; man becomes known to man by his speech, but a fool by his bashful silence.”

  “I’m not so tough nor bashful. I just don’t know what to ask first.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. The Calnians attacked four days ago. We’re the only survivors.”

  “Astrid …?”

  “By Krist, you don’t know?”

  “Uh. No?”

  “She died, Erik, twenty years ago. Not long after you left.”

  “No. How?”

  “In childbirth.”

  “Childbirth. So … Oh, Rabbit Girl’s bollocks …”

  “Yes, your child.”

  “And the child?”

  “Look behind you. See the curly-haired one?”

  “The tall one?”

  “No, behind him, shorter hair, with a scowl like a constipated owl.”

  “He’s my son?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, I’ll be a chipmunk. What’s his name?”

  “Finnbogi the Boggy.”

  Erik was stunned. What was that phrase that Kobosh always used? Oh yes, that was it—What the cunting fuck?

  Chapter 14

  Erik’s Tale

  Finnbogi could not believe that the rest of the world remained the same. The lakes didn’t boil, the trees didn’t fly up in
to the sky, the astonishing number and variety of animals still ran around and twitched their noses at him. But all he could see, again and again and again, was Thyri kissing Garth.

  He tramped along, following the odd new man Erik the Angry and his enormous bear. Everyone else was excited to have been rescued, abuzz with chat about the newcomer, but Finnbogi couldn’t have given the tiniest of craps about Erik. He was seriously considering heading back to those dumb rabbit and spider Scraylings, baring his chest and telling them to do the job the Calnians had told them to do.

  Wulf and Erik took the lead. Erik knew the best, firmest routes and they made much better time than ever before but Finnbogi didn’t give a shit. When the day’s speedy but miserable tramp was finally over after about a thousand years and they stopped to make camp, Keef said:

  “We’ve gone as far today as we did in the first three days put together!” as if it meant something.

  Finnbogi couldn’t stand being near the rest of them, so he went off to train. He looked at Thyri as he left. She caught his eye and looked away. So she knew. She knew she’d torn his heart out and trampled on it.

  He worked hard, doubling the routines she’d taught him, pushing himself until he felt sick and hated Thyri for teaching him the stupid exercises in the first place.

  Afterwards, he washed in the river, exhausted but happier, congratulating himself that his natural resilience was already helping him to get over Thyri. There would be new women when they got to The Meadows, wouldn’t there? They’d probably be more lovely than Thyri. And there was always Bodil, who wasn’t that bad … Bodil. He’d been about to kiss her. Was that why Thyri had kissed Garth? Was it the goddess Fraya, punishing him for his infidelity? If so that was totally unfair—he couldn’t be unfaithful to Thyri if nothing had happened, surely? And he hadn’t even kissed Bodil! But he’d wanted to.

  Halfway back to the camp he found Bjarni Chickenhead, sitting on a log and whittling a stick with an iron knife. “Hey, Finn, good bit of training?” asked the older man.

  “Yup.”

  “Must be getting pretty skilled with that sword now?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Ready to take on the Calnian army?”

  “I’m ready to fight anybody right now.”

  “Good, good. Now look, with Erik joining us and everything, we’ve rearranged the sleeping sacks.”

  Finnbogi knew what was coming. He told himself not to cry.

  “So you’re with me now! We’re sack mates!” Bjarni beamed.

  Finnbogi nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  Bjarni put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Finn, I know what it’s like to love someone and see them with someone else.” Did he? How could he? Nobody had ever suffered like Finnbogi was suffering. “Life will go on, you’ll become used to it and eventually you’ll be happy again. In the meantime, if you want to talk about it, or just get away from everyone else for a while, let me know. How about we spar tomorrow night?”

  “I’m meant to be exercising, not sparring, getting fit before learning to fight. Thyri said …” Tears burst from his eyes and a sob exploded from his chest. Fuck!

  Finnbogi cried and Bjarni said things like “Come on, man, let it all out” and “There you go.”

  When Finnbogi had recovered, Bjarni pulled a pipe and a leather pouch from his jacket. He stuffed the pipe with brown weed and sparked it up with a flint and his iron knife.

  “Where did you get that from? I thought you said you’d left it all …”

  “I only brought enough for me. But under the circumstances … deal is you can share it with me every night, but you’ve got to be on the lookout for more. We meet any friendly Scraylings, try to get hold of some.”

  “Sure, man, thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, Finn. You’re a good guy. Sometimes shitty things happen to good guys. Times like those are what tobacco’s for. Smoke it up!”

  Finnbogi returned to camp with Bjarni, feeling a little nauseous from the tobacco smoke but already on his way to being happy again. The sky was beginning to pink in preparation for sunset and this new world of trees, lakes and grassland was undeniably beautiful. Seeing Garth and Thyri sitting together was a jolt, but he could deal with it.

  “Ah, Finnbogi and Bjarni, you’re back,” said Gunnhild. “Take a seat. Erik’s gone off scouting with his bear, so I’m going to use the opportunity to tell you his story.”

  “The story is that he’s an exile and we should kill him,” said Gurd Girlchaser.

  “He saved us,” said Sassa Lipchewer.

  “So what? The law is the law. Any Hird who sees an exile must try to kill him or be executed himself. We’re already in breach. Isn’t that right, Wulf?”

  Wulf sighed. “You’re right, Gurd, about the laws governing the Hird. But things have changed. There’s no more Hardwork, no more Jarl, no more Things—and no more Hird.”

  “Nothing’s changed. We still have to have structure. You’re Jarl now. Your role is to enforce the laws, not change them.”

  “I’m not Jarl. The days of Jarls are over. Let’s hear Gunnhild’s story, then we can decide what we do with Erik.”

  “What if he comes back when we’re in the middle of it?” asked Chnob.

  “He won’t. He knows what we’re doing and he’s going to be away all night. Everyone gather round. Gunnhild, start when you’re ready.”

  Oh great, thought Finnbogi, it’s story time. Just what I’m in the mood for. But he sat anyway.

  “Twenty years ago,” began Gunnhild, “Tarben Lousebeard was Jarl of Hardwork. I’d like to say that people’s spirits were stronger and that they worked harder, but the town’s name was just as much of a misnomer. We were as lazy as your generation. There was one wheeled cart left, but it was about to collapse and nobody would be able to repair it. The meanings of the runes were still known to a couple of the very elderly, but they were about to die and nobody cared enough to learn from them. By providing all our food and fuel, you see, the Scraylings took away our need to work, and people need to work in order to—”

  “Can you get on with it?” asked Garth Anvilchin. “I’d like to hear the end before I’m older than Erik.”

  Gurd Girlchaser, who certainly looked older than Erik even if he wasn’t, laughed.

  “All right. As in the Hardwork we left behind, the one thing that thrived, the one thing anybody put any effort into, was the Hird. Just like you lot, they trained all day, every day. Brodir was leader of the Hird. Back then he was called Brodir the Slimy.”

  “No he wasn’t,” blurted Gurd. Finnbogi thought “the Slimy” was an excellent name for Brodir, but Gurd was a man who simply loved authority and would always defend people in power.

  “He was,” said Bjarni.

  “He crushed all mention of it pretty effectively when he became Jarl,” said Gunnhild, “but it was his name and it was apt. Brodir was Hird captain, but the best fighter, winner of all the bouts and the best-looking man in Hardwork, was young Erik the Angry. His name was apt, too, but he was angry for a reason. He hated Hardwork’s apathy. As he told you all, I’m four years older than him. As soon as he could speak, he spoke out against the Jarl and the older people. He wanted to explore. He convinced a few others that they should leave, and, just like you lot did, they began making preparations to go.”

  “How do you know we were making preparations to go?” asked Chnob.

  “Because you’re not nearly as clever as you think you are about covering your tracks, because every generation does it—stashes a few supplies and tells themselves that they’ll definitely go at some point—and because one of you, Chnob, was telling Jarl Brodir everything.”

  Chnob reddened. Finnbogi stared at him. Chnob, a traitor! He looked at Treelegs. She was staring at her brother. If looks could pick someone up by the neck and shake them until their head came off …

  “It’s a cycle. The young plan to leave and the old don’t take them seriously, then the young become old and it hap
pens again. It would have all blown over and maybe Erik would even have become Jarl. But everything went wrong when he got mixed up with Jarl Tarben’s daughter, Astrid the Fair of Face and Hard of Heart. All the women were attracted to Erik—”

  “Even you?” interrupted Gurd.

  Gunnhild nodded sadly. “Even me. But Astrid was always going to get him. She was a year younger than him, and, so everyone said, the most beautiful Hardworker there had ever been. However, Tarben and his wife brought her up to believe that she was better than everyone else, and, by Krist’s cross, did she become a serious fucking bitch.”

  “Aunt Gunnhild Kristlover!” cried Freydis.

  “Sorry, child, I forgot you were listening. Let’s say she was nasty instead. However, she won Erik over one night when he was drunk and they made love. The next day, Erik wanted nothing to do with her. To everyone’s surprise, Astrid took it very well. It was as if her character had changed. We should have been suspicious. A woman might change her smock daily, but character changes over decades, not overnight. So Astrid charmed Erik, and, after a couple of weeks, he came round to her. She persuaded him that they should leave Hardwork together and they did.

  “That first night, they camped just outside Hardwork territory. Astrid waited until Erik was asleep, then ran home, claiming he’d taken her against her will. The next day, he followed her back to town and was seized.”

  “But everyone knew she was lying?” said Sassa.

  “Most people did, but Jarl Tarben was blind to his daughter’s evil and sided with her, as did Brodir, who wanted Erik out of the way. With those two against him, Erik the Angry probably wouldn’t have had a chance even if he had put up a fight, but he went without a fuss. Astrid had her revenge. But that wasn’t the end of it.”

  “What happened to Astrid?” asked Bodil. Finnbogi was surprised and impressed that she’d followed the story.

  “Krist is not a forgiving god. He likes to avenge wrong-doers. And so he did. It was soon clear that Astrid was pregnant with Erik’s baby. She walked around for the next eight or so months, slowly expanding, looking about as happy as a poisoned squirrel. Then, as she gave birth to her and Erik’s son, something went wrong. She bled out.”