Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  “Thank you, Skadi. We’ll get together soon.” Runa started pushing the slowing Tor toward the door.

  “Wait! Let me go.” It was Kiara. She had fallen behind.

  “Skadi, it’s alright,” said Runa. “Let me talk to her. Tor, get the boys out of here before you start any more trouble.”

  Skadi let Kiara pass.

  Runa spoke quietly, so Kiara knew it was special for her. “I want to be clear. You are not my daughter. You could never replace her.” Runa wiped a tear from her eye. Then she wiped the tears from Kiara’s eyes, too.

  “I didn’t mean to—” Kiara cried.

  “Our house is too small, and the winter is too long for me, as it is.” Runa pushed the hair out of Kiara’s frightened face and tucked it gently behind her ear. “You are Vidar’s property, and I’m giving you back.” Runa’s voice was calm and reassuring. Then she exhaled heavily. “You’ve turned our gods against us. Understand?”

  “No.” Kiara tried to pull away. “Tor!” she begged.

  “Shhh, foolish girl. Because of you, our own village is against us.” Runa looked coldly into his eyes. “My husband was too blind to see it, so it was up to me. It’s always up to me.”

  Tor wanted to strangle her. He should’ve known Runa’s peace came with a price. All eyes and ears were on them.

  Runa kissed Kiara gently on the forehead. “You could be such a pretty girl, if it wasn’t for that red hair.” Runa turned Kiara back toward Skadi. “Smile now. You want to look nice for your new mistress.”

  The only smile in the room was Vidar, who looked as if Runa had just given him an unexpected present.

  Property Dispute

  "Come child,” Skadi said. “Get your bags and find Elsa.”

  “But I didn’t know-” she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I didn’t pack.”

  “Remember the sacks we brought over?” Runa’s smile looked to be wearing thin. “I put your things in the brown ones, the ones that match your dress.”

  “See? Runa knew what she was doing.” Skadi stroked the girls back the way she might have petted a dog with the mange. “Take your things to Elsa, and tell her she’s to find you a place to sleep, but away from Magnus. Pregnant girls make terrible servants.”

  “I’d keep her away from Ragi, too, if I were you” Runa smiled.

  Erik had made his way back to Kiara. “What’s happening?”

  Kiara stared at him, helpless and horrified.

  “Father, she can’t.” Erik turned to see Tor just standing there, unsure.

  “I did what needed to be done,” Runa said defiantly. “The wedding is back on, and it didn’t cost us a thing.”

  “No cost? Conjure up lies, woman, but don’t expect me to play along.” Tor ground his teeth to keep from breaking something he couldn’t afford to replace. “Pedar, tell your wife to unhand the girl. You and I will talk about this tomorrow.”

  “But she’s my property, isn’t she?” Vidar’s gapped teeth glowed yellow in the firelight.

  Kiara crumpled down to the floor in a sobbing mess.

  Pedar looked like he’d been asked to choose between cleaning the stalls or the kitchen, neither of which he’d likely ever done. Then he smiled, as if struck with a brilliant idea. His head jerked like chicken. “Where is Old Afi? We need a judgment.”

  “Just give her back and we’ll talk about this later,” Tor said more firmly.

  “I’ve been trying to get through since I first heard the girl cry out.” Old Afi tapped Bor’s wife on the shoulder and nudged past, hobbling his way through the crowd one person at a time before making it over to Pedar. His brother, Old Erik, slithered through easily, ending up closer to Vidar.

  “This doesn't concern you, old man,” Vidar said.

  “What I think my captain means is–” Orri stopped talking and cowered before Vidar could clap his huge mitt across his fat face, again.

  “Father, don’t let them,” Erik pleaded.

  Tor’s heart wrenched. Erik looked so dependent on him. He hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since he was a boy, since he’d lost their-

  How could Runa be so cruel?

  “I don't believe you should–” Old Afi started.

  “Nobody cares what you believe. What I’d like to see, is justice.” Vidar ignored Old Afi and spoke directly to the room. “Has there ever been any of that in this village?”

  “This is why the girl has to go,” Runa said calmly to Tor. “She has been nothing but a curse on our family since we took her in.”

  “Our family? Is that what we have?” Erik was quaking. “Who do you hate more, her, or me?”

  “I am done caring about Tor’s family’s problems,” interrupted Vidar. “Too much has been allowed to go on to protect them, already. It’s time for justice. That girl is my property, and I’m taking her back.”

  “You said you’d found peace with my father,” Erik reminded Vidar. “Well, this is not the way to keep it.” Erik pulled Kiara to her feet, but before he could start toward the door, Ubbi grabbed his arm, nearly pulling him off his feet.

  “Let go of my son,” Tor’s voice rang with authority. “Erik, let go of Kiara, and Ubbi will let go of you.” His knee urged forward, but he resisted taking that step. The only way to win this was to not come across as the aggressor. “This is not the way to settle this,” he said to Vidar. “Pedar, bring her to the hall tomorrow. We’ll settle this then.”

  “Anja,” Vidar commanded as if he was her husband, “get the girl out of here before my honor is offended, again.”

  Something must have snapped inside of Toren. Maybe it was the way Ubbi had grabbed his little brother, maybe it was the way his father was allowing it to happen, or maybe it was the way Anja came right to Vidar’s side when he called her in such a familiar way. “Let go of him, Viking scum!” Toren slammed a wooden cup across Ubbi’s forearm, breaking his grip, and hauled Erik and Kiara toward the door.

  “Stop them!” yelled Vidar.

  But the crowd looked confused and allowed the three clear passage toward the door.

  “In the name of the gods, do not let them pass!” This time, it was Old Erik. The path narrowed but did not close, as if hearing an order from the village priest just added to the confusion.

  In the center of the hall was Vidar, tall and commanding. At the end of the hall was Tor, standing near an open door, waiting on his sons to push their way to safety. Then Tor did the unexpected. He pulled the door to, and shut his family inside.

  Tor loosed Erik’s grip from the girl. His sons looked so bewildered, as if he’d sacrificed their bravery at the alter of his own fear. “I have taught you to live with honor,” Tor said. “We are not thieves, and we will not run as if we are.” His sons watched as he escorted the girl back to where Pedar and Old Afi stood. It must have seemed like the worst kind of betrayal.

  The Many Cuts of a Sharp Tongue

  “We will talk about this tomorrow,” Tor said to Pedar. He nodded to Kiara as if to let her know everything was going to be alright.

  But everything wasn’t alright, thought Vidar. He could not allow Tor to dishonor him like this if he was to ever to become this village’s chieftain. Did Tor really think this had anything to do with that slave girl? Had he just taken the girl outside this would be so easy, Vidar thought to himself. But did he really need to? His mind was weighing the possibilities. He nodded to Old Erik for giving him the potion that unlocked his mind, and for teaching him that a smart man with a sharp tongue can cut his enemy deeper than any sword.

  And now, it was time to cut Tor.

  “So, what are you going to do with them?” Vidar asked Old Afi.

  “Who?” replied the gothi.

  “Tor’s sons. They tried to steal my treasure while I was yet asleep, and you did nothing. Now, in front of everyone, they try to steal my slave. Are your eyes too old to see?”

  “They were not stealing from you.” Old Afi laughed. He genuinely did not seem to understand what was happening. �
��They’re just boys,” he continued, a little less comfortably. “They meant no harm.” Old Afi seemed to want to make Vidar look like a fool. He’s the one who sat closest to the throne. Time to take him out of the way, as well.

  “Who has done this? Who helps a stranger only to steal from him?” Vidar asked the hall. He needed to see if they were willing to see things his way.

  “Tor’s wife has taken excellent care of the girl,” Pedar said.

  Vidar knew he’d have to make an example of Pedar to quell any other unrequested comments from the herd. “Are you justifying theft?” Vidar cocked his eyes toward Pedar, the interrupter, who visibly shrank under the rebuke.

  Tor looked uneasy, like a man who could tell he had lost the advantage. Vidar picked up a cup of ale and pretended to drink to hide a smirk he could feel climbing across his face. He could not afford to look insincere, nor could he let drink cloud his mind—not until he’d won the day.

  What a pleasant surprise Tor’s uninvited arrival turned out to be.

  “I have no idea why they would steal from me, but I expect there will be justice, for me and those who died to get me that girl, and my treasure.”

  “My sons helped your man rescue that treasure for promise of a reward. Do you think they dove into a frozen fjord for something they hadn’t been told was there?” Vidar’s eyes shifted quietly to Orri as Tor persisted. “As for your dead men, their need for wealth has passed. They will have to seek justice from Odin for their meaningless deaths, for my sons haven’t wronged them, or you.”

  “Where I come from, we do not tolerate stealing—even from the children of the powerful.” Vidar spoke directly to Tor. “But you already know how we would settle this under Jarl Olaf, don’t you, Tor?”

  Normally, Vidar would’ve turned over tables long before, but the drink Old Erik had given him opened his mind to more devious plans. The veins pulsing up Tor’s left temple and the way the sinews along his jaw were rippling told Vidar he should keep pushing. “Old Afi, as gothi, I demand justice in this matter.”

  “My—my children have done nothing,” Tor stammered.

  “Afi, I want them brought in front of a council at a proper thing to let the law decide their guilt or innocence, not their father, who has proved he would drop an axe across a sleeping man’s throat.”

  Tor leaned toward Vidar. “There will be no trial of my sons or anyone else in this village for the theft of a slave or a treasure. Do I need to remind everyone that this man still has all of these things in his possession?” Tor seemed so frustrated, Vidar thought he might throw a knife. Actually, he’d be easier to get rid of if he did.

  How to Retire a Gothi

  “You don’t want a trial, Vidar,” Old Afi tried to reason. “You are a stranger, with no family, and only two men to support you, here.”

  “Has anyone here still got faith in this old man?” asked Vidar.

  Tor was grinding his teeth. It would take an axe to shut this man up right now. Until tonight, Vidar came across like an angry oaf, but now he was turning every argument back on itself like some troll lawyer.

  “I demand justice, but I will not be part of a trial overseen by Old Afi. The man is incompetent.”

  Tor couldn’t believe this man. Who would he come for next? And why was Old Erik smiling? It was his brother Vidar was verbally abusing.

  “Well, we can’t have a trial without a gothi,” said Pedar. He looked relieved, as if it was all going to end over a technicality.

  “Are you offering, Pedar?” asked Vidar. “I would accept your judgment."

  "No.” Pedar looked to Tor as if he needed forgiveness. “I am close to both of you.”

  “How about Old Erik?” offered Bor.

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Thorfinn looked at Bor as if he’d stolen his idea. “Not to replace his brother indefinitely.”

  “And he honors the gods.” Bor looked proud of his contribution, too stupid to realize his role in legitimizing Vidar’s claim.

  All eyes moved to Old Erik.

  “Ja, the priest is the right man,” agreed Halfdan, the butcher. “Surely he knows the law as good as his brother.” A quarter of Halfdan’s business came from people giving meat to Old Erik for sacrifices.

  The affirmations trickled in, slowly at first, but as Old Afi started to walk away, the votes came in quicker.

  "Is this acceptable to everyone? That old Erik act as the law speaker for your trial?" Pedar asked.

  As Vidar rallied for support, Tor’s eyes were on his sons. As they voiced their approval, their faces said something different. They looked confused, and a little scared. Then they cast glances of disgust at their father. Tor harkened back to Vidar’s warning.

  You think you are protecting your sons? You are putting them on the losing side.

  “Would you accept my ruling if I heard your claim?” Old Erik asked Vidar.

  “Would you accept the ruling of a local jury?” Pedar added.

  “By rights the thingmen and the gothi should be my father's men.” Vidar looked around the room, ignoring Tor, and then did something peculiar. He smiled. Then he said to Old Erik, “Gothi, I would require some of my own men to serve as my thingmen.”

  “That is acceptable under the circumstances. Tor will be cut, which leaves one slot available for you.”

  “Let him have the mute!” blurted Thorfinn, the farmhand, and the hall exploded with laughter.

  The giant stared at the joker, looking him up and down as if memorizing every feature. “First, I’ll have my shipman, Orri. Unlike Ubbi, his tongue still works fine.”

  Why didn’t Vidar push for more thingmen? Surely, he could’ve used Ubbi. You don’t need a tongue to vote. Nothing he was doing made sense. Instead of going after Tor, he went after his sons. Then he ousted the gothi in favor of the priest. And what did it matter? Old Erik would have to apply the law as it was written, same as Old Afi. But the girl was Vidar’s slave. Tor wasn't sure if the law was on Toren and Erik’s side.

  He started running the numbers. Which of the men could he count on—and which could be bought. Even though his sons were to be tried, this was still about Vidar and Tor and who could sway the jury. Which men could he trust? The Viking’s hoard could certainly buy favor among some of them.

  Tor's mind began working this out. Bor would do anything for some coin. And even though Runa was good friends with Sigi, Karl had never gotten over their dog Jeger killing his chickens when he was a pup.

  Pedar had his own money, so that was one. Bjorn was a good man, but he had a lot to gain by making friends with the Vikings. Many did. Jan, who knew? Arn would sell his own wife if the price was right. Thorir's wife liked to spend money, and he would do anything to make her happy. As Tor scanned the room of his neighbors, he realized he had never really fit in, there. Sure, they might favor him over Vidar, but over his coin? Had he been a good enough neighbor to these people? Had his wife? He wasn’t sure he could depend on any of them.

  It was a humbling thought.

  The Challenge

  Tor had options. He could counter sue the giant. But on what basis, sleeping through harvest? Besides, he had no money, which meant he couldn’t afford a lawyer. Maybe Old Afi could represent his boys, he thought. No, terrible idea. The old man couldn’t even defend himself. Tor might as well outlaw Toren and Erik himself if that was the plan. And he knew what slaves were worth. If his sons lost a trial, he didn’t have enough to pay compensation. Without money, he couldn’t buy allegiance, and considering who made up the jury, he was pretty sure he would need to. No, he couldn't chance a trial. He had to act before the new gothi called the thing.

  Well—Tor couldn’t believe what he was thinking—time to pick a fight.

  “Son of Olaf,”—Tor hated speeches, but he thought he might as well remind his neighbors as to who they were dealing with—“raider of innocents across the sea, enslaver of young girls, ouster of old men, and wielder of blood-stained axes that never touched a tree.” It was the m
ost hypocritical speech he’d ever made, but he needed Vidar to feel the insult like a knife twisting in his back.

  “This old farmer is insane,” the Viking laughed but his cheeks reddened, a mask to expose his fury. “First, he raises thieves for sons, and now he casts insults on me as if I have no recourse. Is your wife going to dishonor me, next? Your whole family will be outlawed, at this rate.”

  Tor had to go further. “We all see what kind of man you are.” He needed to grease Vidar’s silver tongue with the bitter taste of pride. “First, you arrive on our shores with a little girl you stole from her mother’s teat. Now you try to rob me of my sons in my old age.” Tor had to make this personal. “Have things changed so much under your father’s rule since I left? When Olaf and I were Viking, we challenged our enemies—not their children. Your father and I would’ve settled a dispute like this with shields—in the old way.” The room simmered with excitement.

  “You're trying to rob me, again,” the giant said as if trying to win back the mob he’d roused in the first place. “This man knows his sons are guilty, and now he challenges me to a duel to escape their sentencing.”

  “After the ring ceremony. Three shields, your choice of weapon.” Tor knew he had to be quick if he was going to set the rules. “Fight ends at first blood or three broken shields. Your choice of shield man. But he doesn’t fight. He doesn’t block. He just keeps it honest.”

  Vidar slowly exhaled, eyeing Tor, as if deciding if now was the time to pluck the noisy rooster’s feathers for dinner. The blush left his cheeks, and a smirk slowly crept across his lips. Tor felt the weight of what he’d accomplished.

  "Here are my terms. Agree to this and I will allow you to fight on behalf of your sons. Since I have no blade, I will use one of yours. Every weapon in the village will be brought to the hall, tomorrow. I will have first choice, and you can choose from whatever’s left. And if I don’t see the sword your son Erik showed my men, then the holmgang is off. It’s probably the only blade that’ll hold an edge, other than whatever you use to turn your fields.”