Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  “Well? Do you think I’m a sinner, Tor?” Icy blue veins began to bulge along Runa’s long, pale throat.

  “No,” Kiara interrupted. Immediately she’d wished she hadn’t. Tor didn’t need her. He could defend himself.

  “We’re all sinners.” Kiara thought for a second. “I’m not saying it right. I mean, nobody’s good enough. And we could sell everything and give it to the priest. We could sacrifice a thousand goats, and it wouldn’t change that. That’s why God sent his son. He died in our place.” She looked to Tor for help. “All those years you were Viking, did anyone take a sword for you? Or a spear?” Tor stared into the fire—his mind was somewhere else. “We all sin, but the price has been paid, so now we can live with God in Heaven when we die.”

  “I knew you were trouble, but how dare you try to turn us against our gods.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve said something wrong.” Kiara didn’t know why Runa hated her so much. She thought back to her mother, and began to cry.

  “Then—what are you saying?” Runa’s voice cut like a knife. “Who do you think you are, a priestess? It’s bad enough they’re calling my husband a Christian—would you make us all outcasts among our neighbors?” Runa grabbed the little carving of Odin off the mantle and shook it in front of Kiara’s face. “The Allfather’s name is Odin. His son is Thor.” She raised it up. Her eyes were fire. Kiara raised her hands to protect herself, but not in time.

  Kiara’s world narrowed after Runa brought the idol down across her cheek. All thoughts of what was happening disappeared into the fog, and pain flared in her hip as she ploughed into the floor. She managed to cover her head before it hit. Her fingers smashed between the back of her head and the table leg. Pain increased as liquid poured onto her face from two wooden cups as they fell off the tabletop.

  Kiara’s first thought was that she needed to pick up the mess. Confused, she made it to her knees in time to see Runa standing over her, ready to strike down again. Erik jumped in between, grabbed Runa’s arm and pried the idol out of her hand. In her rage, she smacked his ear with an open hand.

  There was so much noise, even the walls seemed to be shouting. Kiara felt something patter over her calves and turned to see Jeger drop his little stick to add his ear-piercing yelps to the argument. Toren tackled Erik into the table before he could retaliate against their stepmother. Debris from the table rained down around her. The rattles of wooden plates and carved spoons added to the racket. As Kiara ducked to hide from the falling boys and utensils, she watched the graven image fracture against the stone fireplace.

  Runa noticed. She cursed and started toward Erik like she meant to kick him while he was down, but Tor snatched her up off her feet with one arm and told her to calm down. Like a spoiled child she kicked and screamed for him to let her go, but instead of putting her down, he carried her outside into the cold. Without her goading, the room got eerily quiet except for Jeger, who was still growling toward the door, where Runa’s screams trailed off toward the barn.

  “You can let me go, now.” Erik threw Toren’s arm from across his chest.

  Toren pushed himself to his feet, and offered Kiara one hand, and Erik the other.

  Kiara’s hands were shaking wildly as she picked up cups and dishes from the floor. Erik gripped her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop. She fell into his chest and soaked his shirt with tears. “Ow.” She pulled back and raised her fingers to try to very gently sooth her burning cheek.

  “Erik, get me a cloth,” Toren said. Erik looked at his older brother with the contempt of a younger brother who was sick of being bossed around.

  Kiara pushed herself out of his arms and came back with a clean hand towel.

  Toren opened the door and grabbed a handful of snow. The frigid night was quiet and still, and a chill crawled up Kiara’s arms.

  Toren put the snow in the cloth and gently guided it to an ache that throbbed with every heartbeat.

  For the first time since she was taken, the cold felt good. Kiara pulled it away to see. There was blood on the towel.

  “It’s not that bad,” Erik said. It must have been worse than she thought by the way he said it. She slumped down onto a chair. “Where do you think he took her?”

  “Hopefully he buried her in the yard,” Erik smiled. “She’ll be in a better mood after she thaws in the spring.”

  “Why does she hate me so?”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Toren smiled. “She hates Erik.”

  Kiara laughed, and that made her cry. It burned so bad she thought it might melt her snow.

  “Ja,” Erik replied. “But not as much as Kiara’s stupid stories.” He picked up the little idol off the floor. Odin’s head was broken off, along with half his spear.

  Kiara felt the chill again, and Runa let the door slam in Tor’s face as she shivered her way to the fire.

  The three watched as she wrapped herself in a blanket. Her face was so pale and cold it looked almost blue, like a winter moon.

  The red came back to her cheeks when she saw what Erik was holding in his hand.

  “Look what you’ve d-d-done!” her teeth chattered. Her walk in the freezing night air may have taken the fight out of her fists, but not her spirit.

  Tor took the idol out of Erik’s hand and threw the pieces into the fire.

  Runa was heating up again. She glowered at Kiara. “You are a curse on this house. Everything has gotten worse since you arrived!” She pulled her blanket tight around her shoulders, wiped thawing tears from her angry eyes, and took deep breaths. Then she flattened her tousled hair and brushed off some of the snow still frozen to the bottom of her dress. With an eerily calm voice she whispered. “Your god may be dead, but I assure you mine are not.”

  “He’s not.” Kiara’s cheek burned from the salt from her tears.

  Runa cleared her throat. “When I die, I will go to Freyja’s hall, where I will be reunited with my baby girl.” Runa looked at Erik with disdain. She wiped her own tears from her eyes and calmly spoke to her husband. She didn’t look mad at him, anymore, just disappointed. “Maybe you are a Christian. Maybe you and your sons will join their mother in Heaven when you die.”

  “I am not a Christian!” Erik looked like he wanted to hit her again.

  Runa stepped back toward Tor for his protection.

  “Remember, we are in Norway now, not Ireland or England.” She looked up over her shoulder to catch the eye of her protector. “Your god has no power here. So, you’d better hope he can barter your soul out of Hel, because if you die a Christian here, that’s where you’ll end up.”

  Grow Up, the Truth Hurts

  Dark days passed.

  No stories were being told.

  Mostly everyone just whispered politely to each other.

  “Pass the butter,” they would say. “I’m going to check on the animals.” There was a lot of that—preferring the cold and dark outside to the coolness within.

  Runa, however, pretended everything was normal.

  “The water’s getting low,” she would tell Kiara. “Your mother never taught you how to bake, did she?” she’d say if the bread wasn’t to her liking. It rarely was.

  Kiara thought speaking of her mother was an especially cruel thing to do, but she did not hate her for it. There was only pity.

  The woman ran a dismal house, and everyone in it was miserable, and to have lost her little girl—that was the most tragic of all. It couldn’t have always been this way. Runa must’ve been happy, once.

  Toren said normally his father would have just gone hunting to avoid all the tension, but he was as snowbound as everybody else. So, Tor spent that month fixing things with the boys—from replacing slats of flooring in the barn loft to building new furniture for Toren’s house.

  The closer that house got to being finished, the more irreverent Erik became toward his stepmother and the state of her farm. More than once he’d confided in Kiara that Toren’s house was like one big reminder—there was no place for h
im there.

  “I made you another god for the mantle.” Tor handed Runa a wooden figure he’d been carving by the fire.

  “Hmph,” scoffed Runa. “Looks like a stick carrying a stick.”

  Tor examined it, and just before he fed it to the fire, called the little house dog.

  “Jeger. Here boy.” Tor slid the spear out of Odin’s hand and threw the idol to the floor.

  The little Lundehund was the only thing with the power to relieve the tension in the house. He hopped out of Runa’s lap, spun around three times at Tor’s feet, and plopped down to gnaw on Odin’s face.

  “It’s Fenrir, the great wolf,” laughed Erik. “Kiara, help!” He sat on the stone hearth and started playing tug of war with the pup. “If he swallows Odin it’ll ring in the end of the world.”

  Erik had already told her the story of the final battle of Ragnarok. Had they been alone, Kiara might’ve asked what happened to the souls of Odin’s followers after he was eaten by the wolf—but not in front of Runa. Her face had just healed, and though the boys assured her it hadn’t left a scar, they were wrong. She’d fought her religious battle and lost.

  Tor had a talent for carving. Still, it took a few tries to get Runa a peace offering she’d accept. She said his second attempt looked like a troll. Everyone else thought that one was the best, but there was something about the nose she didn’t like. Erik kept that one. Every now and again, Kiara saw him looking at it by the firelight.

  After many more culls, the one Runa approved of was a robed figure as tall as Tor’s index finger. It was light in details, more a shadow of the wandering god, complete with broad-brimmed hat and the spear disguised as a walking stick that Tor repurposed from his first attempt. She said it was the raven on his shoulder that made that one her favorite.

  She knew exactly what she was wanted in her little gods.

  “Do you love me, Tor?” Runa had the most beautiful smile when it was genuine. She had made herself look nice that day. It had been a while.

  Tor smiled. “I would do anything to make you happy.” It seemed like he meant it, too.

  “Do you want your son to be happy?”

  “Of course, I do,” Tor replied. “I want the best for them both.”

  “Then it's time we mended things with our neighbors. Will you let me make things right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Because I have an idea that will let us get back to the business of Toren and Anja’s marriage.” Runa looked so happy—it was as if she was planning her own wedding. “But I need your permission to do what needs to be done.”

  He frowned. “We’re already fixing the old house...”

  Runa put her arms around his waist. “I’m not asking for money.” She kissed his cheek.

  Tor hesitated but smiled broadly back. "All right, let’s get all of this settled already.” He kissed the top of her head and hugged her tight. “But try to make it early summer. I don’t think I can take any more of this."

  Runa’s smile burned away the rest of the icy fog that had been hanging in the air. When she was happy the house felt warm again.

  “Why don’t we go visit Pedar and Skadi,” offered Tor.

  “Now you're acting like the man I agreed to marry.” Runa hugged him and his arms slid around her waist. It was easy to imagine how they might have been happy once. Runa laughed when Tor started rounding up the boys.

  Within a week, the house was clean, the preparations were made, and Runa agreed she was finally ready to visit Skadi. She wore her nicest dress. It was black with red trim, layered with a cream apron. The brooches that pinned the apron straps over her shoulders were flowers made of fine silver, connected by a petite silver chain draped across her chest. She said the silver was her mother's. It brought everything together, and she looked beautiful.

  Kiara wore one of the dresses that Anja gave her from her own closet. It was a brown work dress, but it was the best Kiara had. Runa was so pleased to be making a social call that she helped Kiara take it in to get a proper fit. She even let her borrow one of her nice rose-colored aprons to dress it up a bit.

  Kiara was sure it had been red, once, but it was pretty, and she liked how soft it was from the wear. She couldn’t believe how pleasant Runa could be when she was happy. She thought to herself how she would try hard to never upset her again.

  Toren looked handsome, as always. His trousers were common but unstained, and Runa had made him new stockings and a tunic, both dyed a handsome blue. The gray wool jacket he got last year for his soul ring ceremony still looked new, and he made for a handsome suitor to call on Anja.

  His gold-covered soul hung over his shirt, standing out nicely against the blue. Although he said he wasn’t comfortable wearing it out like that, Runa insisted.

  Erik and Tor were both clean and pressed.

  “Can Kiara and I get the horse hooked up to the sleigh?” Erik had been ready to go for hours. “I’m burning up.”

  “Let’s not take the sleigh.” Tor rubbed Runa’s back. “I thought we might cut through the woods, like we used to do when we were young.”

  Runa looked down at her dress, as if to say, What are you thinking? Kiara agreed with her, but watched as Runa took a deep breath and kissed Tor on the cheek.

  “Sounds nice. But you’ll have to carry. There are two bags in the bedroom and another in the kitchen.”

  Erik and Toren shook their heads as they put the bags near the door. “Are we visiting or moving in?”

  “We’re not going to call on our neighbors unannounced and empty handed.” Runa’s eyes gleamed. Getting Toren’s marriage arranged was one of the things she seemed to want more than anything else.

  “Erik,” said Tor, “get a harness on Jakl and Sterkr and load the bags on the sledge. We’re not carrying all of that.”

  The passage was narrow, and the snow was deep. Erik drove the dogs through first to flatten a path, then Toren used snowshoes to pack the snow more to make it passable, even in dresses, and Tor brought up the rear.

  Kiara was excited. Even though it was freezing outside, there was something special about walking through the quiet stretch of woods with lanterns lit to make a surprise call on the neighbors. Toren reminisced about how he and Erik used to take this trail all the time to visit Anja and Ragi when they were children. Runa reminded them of all the wonderful parties Skadi and Pedar would throw at their house in seasons past.

  “What is this?” Runa said as the trail opened up. There were many sledges parked along the road.

  “They have so many houses.” Kiara nervously clutched at her plain dress. “And such a grand hall.”

  Pedar’s hall was smaller than the great hall in the village, but no less grand. It was crafted of layered yellow oak, and had the layered roofs been replaced by masts she’d have thought it was made to sail.

  “Skadi made him build it,” Erik grunted as he handed Toren one of the heavier bags. “She likes everyone to know they’re rich.”

  “They only entertain in it once or twice a year. Most of the time it’s dry storage for his trading business,” said Toren. “Everyone’s worked for him moving things in or out at one time or another.”

  “Did you know they were entertaining, tonight?” Tor eyed Runa.

  She just shook her head.

  Erik picked up one of the sacks and headed for the hall.

  “Erik, wait!” Tor hissed.

  Anja and Vidar were outside talking. She turned her head, then pushed him inside, doing a poor job pretending she hadn’t seen them.

  The first door led to a cloak room nearly half as large as Tor’s entire house. Across the room the doors were much bigger, easily twice as large as the first.

  “My father carved those designs,” Erik told Kiara, proudly.

  “They’re beautiful.” Kiara ran her hands along the relief. They reminded her of the cathedral in the city near her village back home. She wondered if the Vikings left it standing.

  “I don’t want to intrud
e. Just step to the side until I can talk to Pedar.” Tor cracked the door, and the cloak room filled with the light from hundreds of whale oil lamps and wax candles—and the eyes of as many neighbors. There was no way to slip in without drawing attention.

  Pedar’s hall was made for grand entrances.

  The Great Pretenders

  The air was warm and smelled of spiced gløgg and sweet mead, smoked fish and roasted lamb. Neighbors Tor'd known since he came to the tiny village stared at his family, confused, as if they didn’t know whether to greet them or call for the host. Laughter dissolved like melting snow into low whispers. Finally, Pedar and Skadi pushed through to ease the tension.

  “Tor! Runa!” Pedar said a bit too loud. “So glad you could make it.”

  "Is that right?" said Tor. “Because I don't remember getting an invitation.”

  Runa cut Tor off. “We just thought it was time to get the kids together. We didn't know you were having a party.”

  Kiara noticed Anja dragging Vidar into the kitchen. In the back of the room Ubbi and Orri stood with their backs to the wall, cups in hand. They didn't look any happier to see them than Vidar.

  “We should go.” Tor had an edge to his voice.

  “Don't be ridiculous,” said Skadi, taking Runa by the arm as if they were best of friends.

  Kiara couldn’t believe the insincerity.

  Skadi gave Runa a pleading look and led the family to the banquet.

  Toren and Erik explained to Kiara that the harvest festival was the last time many families would know the feeling of a full stomach until the ring ceremony. But that wasn’t true for the people gathered there.

  There was whole venison, lamb on a spit, smoked salmon, lutefisk, sugar cakes, and bowls and bowls of dried berries. At Erik’s house, Runa reminded Kiara daily that berries wouldn't be coming in again until summer, and what she had was not for servants. But Skadi led them all straight to the table, and it was as if they got a second chance at the food they missed at the autumn festival.