Once Upon the Rainbow, Volume Two

by Jennifer Cosgrove

  “Because.” Tyv dropped to the ground and hoisted himself onto the horse so that he sat reverse saddle and faced Eirik. He held the half-eaten apple up to Eirik’s lips. “It’s not stealing if we share.”

  Eirik tried to maintain an air of dignified annoyance, but his silvery-green eyes gave away his amusement and the corners of his mouth perked upward a moment before he opened his mouth and took a bite.

  “Sweet, but not as sweet as summer blackberries.”

  “You’re getting too big to ride on my back.” Tyv grinned at the memory from their boyhood days.

  “Then sit properly and I’ll give you a ride to the edge of the orchard,” Eirik said.

  “That’s quite chivalrous of you.” Tyv winked before jumping to the ground and remounting behind Eirik.

  “Why do you haunt my orchards and milk barns and hunting grounds?”

  “Because you always give me a ride home after you find me.” Tyv leaned forward, smelling the frankincense bathing oil that Eirik used.

  “We’re not boys anymore. We shouldn’t play these games, or you really will get yourself shot by a guard one day.”

  “Worth the risk.” Tyv slipped his arms around Eirik’s waist and leaned close enough that Eirik’s long, unplaited hair tickled his face.

  “You’re such a bother.” Eirik sighed.

  “And you’re spoiled.” Tyv wished he could drown in the scent of frankincense but knew their brief moment together was over.

  “We’re here. It’s time for you to go home, my little apple thief.”

  Eirik turned his head to glance behind him, almost brushing their lips together because Tyv sat too close. Their noses bumped, and they both pulled back at the same time, laughing.

  “Maybe next time, I’ll steal a squire instead of an apple.” Tyv slipped off the horse and stared up at Eirik.

  “You’ll have to become a master of thievery if you want to steal me. I catch you every time you filch something.”

  They exchanged another set of smiles, but the squire sighed, turned his horse around, and headed back to his estate. Tyv watched him ride away before trekking through the woods where he shared a single-roomed cottage with his father and two brothers.

  Crickets sang to the stars appearing in the darkening sky by the time Tyv saw the hearth-glow through the slits in the window shutter. Tyv winced as a stick poked through the hole in his worn-out boots. He kicked the stick away with a curse and picked his way more carefully to the front door.

  “You’re late.” His oldest brother ladled pottage into a wooden bowl.

  “Thanks.” Tyv took the bowl, sat on the straw mattress in his corner of the cottage, and used scraps of bread to scoop the stew into his mouth.

  “Father wants to talk to us,” his brother said.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The door opened again, and Tyv’s father and second-eldest brother stepped inside with firewood in their arms.

  “Good, we’re all here now.” Their father set the wood down by the fire and turned to face his three sons. “You know I have nothing I can give you. No land nor cattle, not even a few coins, but you’re all growing into men now, and you should make lives for yourselves. Tomorrow, I’ll walk you to the crossroads that lead to the cities, and I want you each to pick a path and never look back.”

  No one argued or even spoke. All three brothers knew the day would come when they’d have to go out on their own, and none of them would particularly miss the crowded cottage that always smelled of old woodsmoke and onions. Tyv finished his meal, covered himself with a moth-eaten blanket, and wondered which road he’d take and what sort of life he’d find in the city. Perhaps he’d find apprenticeship with a shoemaker so he could make himself a better pair of boots. Tyv chuckled to himself as he fell asleep.

  However, that night, it wasn’t the city that filled Tyv’s dreams—it was Eirik. He dreamed that the cold straw he slept on was actually hay from Eirik’s great stable, and Eirik himself moved like a stallion as he thrust between Tyv’s brown legs. Even in the dream, Eirik smelled of frankincense, and his scent made Tyv moan.

  IT WAS ONLY fall, but a storm that felt like the dead of winter settled over the lands that night, and the next morning was cold and dark. Tyv tugged his thin cloak closer to his body, but the cape was more patches and thread than wool, and it did little to combat the frost clinging to the pinecones and twigs on the ground. Tyv’s breath curled out of his mouth, and his teeth chattered.

  “Think it will snow?” his middle brother asked.

  “No,” his eldest brother answered. “Surely sleet instead of snow.”

  “All the cold and damp but none of the beauty. What a lovely way to start our new lives.”

  “No use complaining,” their father said. “Let’s go.”

  They followed him down the path of their cottage and toward the dirt road still miles away. Tyv clenched his teeth as more sticks poked through his boot. A stone tumbled around his toes inside of his shoe, but he couldn’t stop long enough to fix it.

  The sleet began as they reached the road—soft, icy, and cold. Tyv stuffed his hands underneath his armpits to keep them warm. He didn’t own gloves, so by the time they reached the three-tined fork in the road, Tyv’s teeth chattered and his fingers were an angry, frozen red.

  “Here we are,” their father said. “I wish you all the best. Maybe life will treat you more kindly than it did me.”

  “Goodbye, Father.” The eldest brother nodded, looking west. “I think I’ll take this path to the monastery. I’ll dedicate my life to God and one day become a priest.”

  The middle brother snorted. “I have no taste for a pious life. I’ll take the east road, and when I reach the city, I’ll enlist as a soldier.”

  They all nodded goodbyes, and his two brothers went down their separate paths. Tyv stood and shivered beneath the pathetic rag he called a cloak.

  “And you, my youngest?” his father asked. “Will you also go east? You always had more of your second brother’s temperament. I think you’d also make a good soldier.”

  “Soldiers have a bad habit of dying, and I’d rather live until my hair is gray like the sky above us.” Tyv darted his gaze toward the west road. “But the towns to the west are all quiet and dull, and I might die of boredom if I go that way. What lies straight ahead?”

  “Don’t take that path,” his father warned. “That road leads into a deep forest. There’re more cities past it, but the woods itself is the home of marauders and thieves and you wouldn’t survive long at all.”

  “Hmmm…and still, if I can’t go back home, I think straight ahead is the way I’d like to travel.”

  “Foolish words for the son who wants gray hair and a long life.”

  “What would a thief want with me? I have nothing worth stealing, and it’s too much bother to cut the throat of a poor man.”

  His mind decided, Tyv walked forward. His father called for him to come back and pick the eastern road, but the air was so cold that Tyv’s brown skin was red-tinted, so he ignored his father's calls. The last thing Tyv wanted to do was stand at the crossroad and shiver to death while he reconsidered his options. If all went well, the thick forest canopy would shelter him enough from the storm to keep him alive. He could find a cave, build a fire, and at least be warm and dry for the night, even if he might be hungry.

  And if a rogue found him? Well then, Tyv planned to throw himself on the bandit’s mercy—especially if it was a handsome bandit. Tyv would drop to his knees, lick his lips, and swear to do anything if the thief let him live. He daydreamed as he walked to distract himself from his numb feet and stinging hands. The leader of the bandits looked like Eirik in Tyv’s fantasies, and he imagined all the ways in which he’d like to be ravished by his squire-gone-highwayman.

  He didn’t even notice the sleet changing to heavy, soaking clumps of snow. The clumps pushed their way through the treetops and gathered in thick, wind-snaked drifts along t
he tree roots. Tyv stopped a moment and blinked, staring at the white covering the trail. He’d seen no cave or even a nook of trees shaped in a way that they might block the wind enough for a fire. Worse yet, he realized he didn’t really feel the cold. He’d stopped shivering, and his chestnut-brown skin had gone from a wintry blush to a dangerous shade of red. He needed a fire, or he wouldn’t live to see dawn.

  But it was hard to think when the snow looked fluffy and comfortable—a good place to lie down and sleep. He could die dreaming of Eirik’s warm bed and hearth fire. Tyv stumbled forward, half searching for a shelter and half searching for a good place to lie down and submit. A tiny light winked at Tyv through thick, night-blackened tree trunks. Tyv walked toward it, wondering if it was the eye of a river nøkk trying to seduce Tyv to his death.

  At this point, Tyv was pressed so snugly into death’s arms that he didn’t think he’d mind either way. Perhaps the nøkk would transform into his handsome human form and play his fiddle for Tyv before he drowned. That would be something quite interesting to experience before he died. He marched deeper between the trees, kicking up snow with each step.

  However, the light was only the glow from a window. Tyv swallowed his disappointment at not seeing a nøkk, but he realized that a window meant a place to sleep and stay alive. He stumbled the last bit of distance through the snow and pounded on the door with all the strength his frozen body could muster.

  The door cracked open, and a single eye belonging to a wrinkled, old face peered out into the night. The old hag scowled and pushed the door to shut it, but Tyv smacked his hand against the wood and pressed it open enough to let himself inside.

  The cottage had a wide hearth and a table with real silverware and pewter goblets and plates. Tyv closed his eyes and sucked in the smell of reindeer roasting on a spit over the fire.

  “The masters aren’t home. You have to leave.” The old woman tugged at Tyv’s wet cloak.

  He slipped out of it and took it from her before draping it over a chair near the hearth to dry. He did the same with the rest of the rags he called clothes and stood naked and shameless before the fire. Tyv sighed as a stinging pain awoke in his fingers and toes. It hurt, but pain meant all his limbs were still alive, and that was cause for celebration.

  “You spoke of masters? Who are they?” Tyv asked as he shivered. “Surely they won’t want a man to die of cold on their doorstep.”

  “They’d pay your corpse no mind,” she insisted. “I’m sorry, but you’ve found yourself in a den of robbers. They stole me long ago because they had need of a housekeeper and cook.”

  “Well, if this is a bandit hideout, then surely it’s no crime if I steal from them some of the things they’ve already stolen from others. Let’s start with a plate of food and some hot water for a bath.”

  “You don’t understand; I cannot help you. You’re a pretty—though swarthy—lad, and it’s a shame that you might die of cold, but if the masters come home and find I’ve let you in, then they will whip me bloody.”

  “Yes, that is an awful thing.” Tyv took a dagger and cut a generous chunk of reindeer from the haunch roasting above the fire.

  The meat hissed as juice dripped into the fire, and Tyv’s mouth watered. The crackling brown skin and hot grease burned his lips and tongue, but Tyv couldn’t stop from tearing into the flesh and swallowing chunks while hardly chewing. He burnt his throat from doing so, so Tyv grabbed a bottle of wine and filled one of the pewter goblets. He washed the meat down and sighed in contentment.

  “If I can talk them out of punishing you, I will,” Tyv said. “But forgive me if I choose my own life over the flesh of your back.”

  “I’m an old woman with a crooked spine.” The crone crossed her arms over her chest while giving Tyv a sour look. “I can’t physically force you to leave, but I won’t help you, either. If you want hot water, boil it yourself. I’m not your servant.”

  “Fair enough.” Tyv laughed as he grabbed a cauldron.

  He was loath to step back outside, but the easiest way to fill a bath was to melt and boil the snow. He didn’t want to go naked, so Tyv found new leather boots and a fur-lined scarlet cloak to dress in while he crept outside. As the snow melted over the fire, Tyv continued to feed himself. There were wheels of hard cheese and bread and butter and jars of pickled fish, and it all made a feast.

  The water bubbled in the pot, and Tyv filled a wooden tub. He dumped a pitcher of cold water into the mix until he could stand to keep his finger in the water. Tyv noticed a shelf with oils, and he drizzled several into the water before jumping in himself. He bit his bottom lip when fire shot through his nerves as the hot water finished thawing his body. With a sigh, Tyv leaned back and relaxed.

  “I could get used to this. Plenty of food, fine clothing, fancy bathing oils. Thieves know how to live.”

  “You already seem more than comfortable taking what isn’t yours.” The old woman sniffed as she sat on a stool near the hearth doing needlework. “But when the masters come home, they’re going to slit you ear to ear.”

  “We’ll see.” When the water turned tepid, Tyv stood up and dried himself off before going through the chests upstairs for a full outfit.

  Besides the boots and cloak, Tyv stole a pair of doeskin breeches and a long-sleeved shirt with a black vest of felted wool. He hummed as he dressed in the warmer clothes. He couldn’t remember ever being as full, warm, and comfortable as he was at that moment. The last thing he stole was the first bed he saw. Tyv swaddled himself in quilts and furs and fell into a hard sleep.

  It wasn’t until the door slammed and the cottage filled with demands for food and beer that Tyv awoke. He yawned and stretched and slipped his feet into his new boots. The aspiring thief wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and, at a last moment’s whim, added a broad-brimmed black hat to his outfit. He looked at himself in a mirror of polished silver and smoothed the red peacock feather sticking out of the hat before descending the stairs to introduce himself.

  Half a dozen men turned and glared at him. One man stepped forward, the clear leader of the pack of wolves. Tyv grinned and tipped his hat.

  “Who are you?”

  “Nobody,” Tyv answered. “Yet. But I’m hoping you’d take me on as an apprentice so one day I’ll be known as the greatest thief in the kingdom.”

  The others laughed. One choked midswallow from his beer stein. The leader pulled a long knife from his belt and slid the blade just under Tyv’s jawbone.

  “Are those my clothes?” he asked.

  “Probably,” Tyv answered. “We’re about the same size. The others are taller or broader or fatter, so it’s most likely they were yours—before I stole them.”

  “But if I slit your throat and take them back, then they’ll be mine again, yeah?”

  “For all the good that’ll do. You’ll never get the bloodstains out.”

  They locked stares. The leader’s face split open in a sinister grin, and he cackled and sheathed his knife.

  “You have balls the size of a moose, kid. I’ll give you that much. So, you barged into our house. Stole my clothes—” He glanced at the meat turning over the fire. “—and my food.”

  “And some bathing oils,” Tyv added.

  “Oh, ay, those too. You stole all these things, and I’m sure Old Lene told you to get your arse out before her thief-masters came home, so you stole all these things knowing who you were taking from?”

  “You wouldn’t want a polite apprentice, would you? You’d want a good one. Just like I want good teachers.” Tyv gestured around the cottage full of stolen finery. “And I can tell you’re all skilled in your craft.”

  “Your flattery won’t save you, but you have guts, and I’m in a good fucking mood so I’ll tell you what. Wait out this blizzard and continue to steal our food, and when the weather clears, we’ll give you a test to see if you’re really worth being called a thief or not.”

  “Passing any test you give me will be my pleasure.” Tyv gave a
bow.

  REGRETTABLY, TYV COULD tell that his band of robbers preferred wenches over apprentice boys, so all his daydreams of being ravished went unfulfilled. A terrible shame considering that their leader was weathered and a little rugged, but not too hard on the eyes. Nonetheless, they were foul-mouthed, humorous bastards with an unending lust for stories, and Tyv was good at stories.

  He told them stories about clever thieves tricking dragons out of entire hoards or stealing a pirate ship from her captain or—their favorite—stealing the bodice strings from a busty dame’s corset. For seven days and nights, the blizzard howled outside, and every night, Tyv mesmerized them with a new tale. In return, they taught him knife skills, sleight-of-hand tricks, common phrases they picked up from other countries, and Lene taught him the basics of sewing. The others teased him for the needlework, but Tyv figured it would come in handy. After a week, the storm abated, and Sigurd, the leader, called Tyv down from the loft. Tyv appeared fully dressed, knowing he was about to be sent out on his test.

  “There’s an old fool with the meanest shrew of a wife this side of the mountains, and he’s constantly running his mouth about owning not only one but three oxen.”

  “You want me to go steal the oxen?” Tyv asked.

  “It’s your first run, so I’ll go easy on you. Rumor has it that the fool’s gambled too much of his wealth and is taking one of the oxen to market today in order to sell it. All you have to do is steal the ox as he travels.”

  “Easy enough.” Tyv tossed his dagger from hand to hand. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Well, I don’t want it to be too easy.” Sigurd grinned.

  “But you just said—”

  “Yeah, this is an easy run, but you need some sort of challenge, so how about this—you can’t kill or maim him, nor can you let him see your face. In fact, it won’t do to have him realize he’s been robbed at all.”

  “This is great.” Tyv laughed. He should have known the old thief had lied when he said he’d make the trial easy. “Much more fun this way. All right then.” Tyv wandered around the cottage looking for useful things to filch. He took a hank of rope, some cheese, a sausage, and a flask of wine for a meal, and a lovely shoe of blue satin with a handsome silver buckle. “I should be back by tomorrow morning. Lene, do have bacon and coffee ready for me when I return.”