Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  Tor felt the blood rush out of his face. There went his advantage. “Alright,” he nodded. What choice did he have?

  Vidar wasn’t finished. “If either of us run, they forfeit everything they have to the other. You, your farm to me, and me, my treasure to you.”

  Runa and Ubbi and Orri looked the most disturbed by that concession.

  “As is customary, three gold coins go to the winner. In addition, if you win, I will drop the charges against your sons, and after the thaw, we will leave, and my father will never know that I found you, or this village, not by my word, or that of my men.”

  Again, Tor nodded. That’s all he needed. But he wasn’t even sure if he had three gold coins at this point.

  Vidar continued, “If I win, both of your sons will be indentured to me for seven years. That ought to be long enough for the sea to wash the stink of goats out of their hair.”

  “What about Kiara?” asked Erik.

  “This is about your freedom,” Vidar said sternly, “not hers.” Then he looked on Erik and eased his tone. “You like the Christian slave girl, ja?”

  Erik’s face turned bright red.

  “I guess the hatchet likes to split the same wood as the axe,” Vidar laughed. The man was making jokes now, as if his future and fortune weren’t on the line. “I tell you what, Erik. After you’ve won your first battle and you’ve earned some coin, I’ll sell her to you, if you still want her.” He looked at Erik with a kind of pity. “Had our fathers made a deal like that, maybe your Christian mother would still be alive, maybe you’d have already sailed on my crew, and maybe you’d have been the one who took the girl from Ireland in the first place.”

  Training Tor

  “No. Hook the shield like this. Pull across, then counter.” Tor pulled Toren’s arm. “Go ahead. Pull. I need you both to learn what this feels like. It’s time to stop pretending and start fighting. Time for you to stop breaking shields and learn how to get around them.” Tor jerked Toren’s axe from behind Erik’s shield and pushed the two of them apart. “Again.”

  “Father?” Erik asked between breaths. Both boys had their heads down, hands on their knees. “If you’re the one fighting Vidar in the Holmgang, why is it that Toren and I are the ones doing all the training?”

  “Shield up, knave.” Toren pushed his father out of the way with the face of his shield and lunged at his little brother. Erik hooked the shield with the beard of his axe and dragged him past, then drove his shield into his back and drove his brother into an oak support. Sliding his shield up he began gently punching Toren in the kidneys. Toren pushed off the post with his axe hand and spun around hard to put Erik on the dirt floor.

  “All that training with Ubbi, and big brother still knows how to put you on the ground,” Toren spat next to Erik’s face.

  “Get off me,” Erik murmured, as if the weight of his brother was crushing the air out of his lungs.

  Since the challenge, Tor had turned the barn into a training area. At least the animals could benefit from the heat of the fire they kept lit while they were training, and the slat walls provided some protection from the winter gales coming up the fjord and passing over the mountain.

  “Don’t be too proud of yourself, Toren. You’ve got him by three years and outweigh him by two stone.” His father was not much for encouragement. He wanted them to learn the reality of fighting, and he didn’t have much time to teach it. “At your age, you won’t be expected to fight many fourteen-year-olds. Besides, I wonder if you could’ve done so well when you were his age.”

  “In all my life this is the first time you’ve let me fight him,” said Toren. “And he was trained, by the tongueless and the fat—remember?—when he was conspiring to run off with the Vikings.” Toren shoved on his shield to drive the boss protecting his hand deep into his brother’s ribs as he pushed off to get back on his feet.

  “Besides, if we were really fighting, those little punches to the ribs would have been the blade of my axe instead of my fist.” Erik was slow climbing to his feet. “You’d have been more concerned with pushing your bowels back in behind your separated ribs than coming back at me with that shield. It was like being attacked by a draugr when you turned on me, a dead man come back to life to get vengeance on his little brother for beating him again.”

  “That’s enough. Toren, you will get this. But I need you to get it faster. I need you to carry a shield on your arm when you go out in the woods, and block every branch before it can cover you with snow, then counter against the pressure of it, severing it from its tree like an enemy’s arm. If your axe is quick, you’ll drop the branch. If the branch doesn’t fall, then your axe is too slow. Fight the trees every time you’re out gathering firewood. Practice your attacks and your shield work while you eat, when you feed the animals, and even while you sleep at night.

  “Why are you training us, father? We’re supposed to be training you.”

  “Toren, hand me your shield.” Tor’s eldest spun his shield in his hand and gave it to his father. Tor centered his grip behind the iron boss. “Don’t just stand there. Pick up another shield. Always be ready with another shield.” Toren picked up another. “There, Toren knows everything he needs to know to be a good shield man, and I am ready for Vidar.”

  “But we haven’t even-” Erik started.

  Tor slammed him up against the stall, shield to shield, then reached over the top and snatched the axe out of his youngest son’s hand. Then he turned and began to wail down blows on Toren. Alternating, left-to-right, Toren’s shield pivoted side-to-side with each blow until he was crouched down, axe on the ground, both arms lining the back of the shield to keep it in front of him.

  Tor caught him off guard when he slid around him, flipped the axe, and swung the hammer-end hard at the back side of the shield, ripping the handle off as the disk flipped across the dirt floor, until it caught an edge and began to roll the length of the barn. Toren slid backward. His retreat was his last line of defense other than the long wooden handle he was still holding onto with both hands.

  “Well, now you know what a real attack feels like, and you taught me a few things that I shouldn’t do as well.”

  “Like cower under your shield like a turtle?” smirked Erik.

  “I think he meant he shouldn’t let Vidar pluck his axe out of his hand.” Toren swung the handle at Erik’s feet, but Erik skipped it like a jump rope. Toren looked wary of his father after feeling the real power of a man with an axe and shield.

  Tor hoped they both remembered that feeling, too. Might get them serious about their training. “I’m going to have to talk to Magnus about these shields.” Tor shook his head. “Vidar will kill me with my father’s sword if that was to happen to me during the holmgang. Of all things, I’ll be depending on my shields the most.”

  “I’ll do better next time.” Magnus picked up the shield and started examining where the handle came off. “How do you like the size of the boss this time? Did these fit your hand better?”

  After Tor made the challenge, Magnus followed their family as they were walking home. Who knows how much pain he heard them throwing at each other, whether it was Erik’s anger at Runa for betraying Kiara or Runa blaming Erik for refusing to let her go? Maybe he noticed what resonated with Tor—how Runa didn’t blame Toren—probably for fear of upsetting the one person in the family who could better their circumstances just by marrying the right girl.

  When Magnus caught up with them, he just wanted to know how he could help. Tor wondered if Runa noticed who hadn’t come after them. Not Anja, the girl she so desperately wanted Toren to marry, nor anyone else from Pedar’s family. None of the neighbors came to check on them, let alone offer them any support. None but the son of a slave. Vidar cried injustice, but it was Tor’s sons who wouldn’t have stood a chance had there been a trial. Tor had made the right decision, after all.

  Without a thought, Tor put Magnus straight to work making shields. After spending only an hour talking to him abou
t how they were constructed and why they were made the way they were, Magnus surprised Tor two days later with the first shield he’d ever made, the first he’d even seen. He always had the most natural gift for making things, which somehow Pedar never noticed. Pedar had him fixing things around his house, but it was as if, just because he was the maid’s son, or maybe because he was only Ragi and Erik’s age, that he didn’t notice the boy’s talent. Tor always wondered who the boy’s father was, but Elsa wouldn’t talk about it.

  By his third shield Magnus had already improved the age-old design, making them lighter and stronger than any Tor remembered using before.

  “Tor,” Magnus asked. “Can you train me to fight, too?”

  Tor smiled widely. “I think I can show you a few things, Magnus, if you promise not to tell Vidar all my tricks.

  “Father?” asked Erik. “You still know how to fight, and I’m glad for it. But why are you training me and Toren? And now Magnus?”

  Tor leaned his shield against the wall, sank down beside it, and put his hand on his side. The sinew and bone still burned as if he was being branded with hot iron whenever he swung that axe. He didn’t want to admit it, but Vidar hurt him at the harvest festival.

  “I’m training you because if I lose, I need to know I haven’t completely failed you as a father,—that I’ve prepared you the best I can to survive your first few weeks living with the Vikings—in hopes that I’ll have bought you enough time to figure out how to live the rest of your lives the way you choose to live them.”

  Real Friends

  “Fill that back up for me when you get the door,” Skadi commanded. Kiara picked up the pot and made her way to the door. A woman was standing there.

  “Runa?” Kiara was so surprised she dropped the pot. The cold broke into the warm house like an icy intruder.

  “Kiara?” Runa waited for her to collect the pot spinning next to her new, tanned leather boots.

  “I like your boots, ma’am.” Kiara thought compliments might ease the tension. “Are those cowhide?” She thought it was interesting because she knew they didn’t keep any cows.

  “Never you mind my boots.” Runa pushed inside and handed Kiara her soft hat and shook her shoulders until Kiara helped remove her green cloak. It was thick and soft and smelled nice like fresh pine. Kiara smelled of smoke and mud and worse, like things found on the ground in the yard. “Do people where you come from always leave their guests outside in the cold?”

  Runa complained all the way to the dining room. “All those months you’d think I didn’t teach you anything.” Kiara hadn’t seen Runa since the party. Seeing her here, in Skadi’s house, reminded her how much smaller everything of hers had been.

  “I thought I’d surprise you both by asking Kiara to help in the house today,” Skadi purred. “Did I succeed?”

  Runa sort of half-smiled her response.

  “Please, sit.” Skadi had a way about her that made people feel below her. Usually Kiara was bothered by it, but when she did it to Runa Kiara had to hide her smile. She still had snow to gather, anyway.

  “She’s a funny sort of girl. But sometimes I’m just not sure about her.” Runa watched as Kiara left to fill the pot.

  “I had Elsa make some more of that salve for Tor.”

  “Thank you, Skadi. That’s very thoughtful, although I don’t know if he needs it.

  “Keep it,” Skadi insisted. “If not for now, then for after the holmgang. You know, he’s not as young as he used to be. I mean, when’s the last time he swung a sword?”

  When Kiara came back, she put the pot of snow on an iron handle and swung it out over the fire. Then she added a few dry pieces of wood to feed the hungry coals. The fire popped, and sap sizzled like pork bacon.

  “Come on, girl. You’re being invited to tea. Or don’t you do that where you’re from?” Skadi put out a third cup on the table. Kiara was unsure, then dipped her finger in the hot water to try and clean a stain off her skirt before awkwardly taking a seat.

  After an eternity of looking and smiling at each other, the snow in the pot finally melted, and the water began to bubble. Kiara had never been so happy to get up from a table in her life.

  When she first started working in Runa’s house, she was taught there were two things every woman in Norway needed to mind above all else: that the fire was always burning, and that there was always a pot of clean water simmering in the pot for drinking or cleaning or whatever else might come. Just keeping up with that had impressed Skadi enough to let her work directly under Elsa. So, Kiara had that—if only that—to thank Runa for. Else she might have been tending Skadi’s cows.

  “Sit, Kiara. We haven’t really talked.” Skadi pushed the bowl of dried berries toward the empty chair.

  Runa pursed her lips, but followed Skadi’s lead, pushing over the plate of crusty bread, brown goat cheese and dried fish.

  Kiara stared down at the sharp knife lying on the plate, cut off a slice of bread, and buttered it, then bowed her head as she kissed the cracked, off-white ring hanging around her neck.

  “Why do you pray to your god like that?” asked Runa. “Do you think he can hear your whispers all the way up in his heaven? Even from here?”

  “Amen,” Kiara whispered with a nod of her head. “If I’ve offended you, I can take my tea at the servants table.” She pointed her cup toward the kitchen. Runa had seen her pray many, many times before, but never once wanted to talk about it. She had never talked to her much at all, unless she was telling her what needed to be done or complaining about something she’d done, or sometimes, it seemed, when she’d just wanted to make her feel bad.

  “No. I just wonder. Did you pray before?” asked Runa. “I mean, back in your country?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did.” Kiara was sure this time. Runa just wanted to make her feel bad. She must have missed that about her, at least.

  “Even if your god could hear your whispers, what do you think he will do? Send his angels to save you?” Runa put her hand on Kiara’s—her fingers were cold.

  As if bored with Runa’s needling, Skadi changed the subject. “Toren told Anja that you like Erik. Is that right?” Runa choked on her chunk of cheese. Kiara froze, but she felt the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. It wasn’t clear which one of them Skadi meant to cut, but it worked.

  “I’d stay away from Erik, if I were you.” Anja sashayed into the room with a smile on her face and a drink in her hand. “But as long as you stay away from Toren you won’t get any grief from me.” She was as well dressed and beautiful as if she was going to a party. “You know, I think I may have another set of old clothes for you. You’re so good with a needle; I’m sure you can make something of them.”

  Those were the first words Anja had spoken to Kiara since she was given over. Same for her mother. Just that morning, Skadi told Elsa she needed Kiara to come to the dining room to help with entertaining, and Kiara had been standing right in front of her.

  Kiara nodded, unsure if the offer was real. “Thank you.”

  “Kiara is a nice girl.” Runa also often spoke as if she wasn’t in the room. “But she is a slave. And there wasn’t, nor will there ever be, anything between her and Toren,”—She glowered at Kiara—“or Erik.”

  “Now I’m curious,” said Anja. “Vidar has talked to me. He’s told me a lot about what happened in Ireland, poor thing.”

  Kiara’s face burned. She raised the soul ring to her lips again and closed her wet eyes. She thought about her home, how they were convinced that if they allowed the Vikings to lodge over winter no one would be harmed. She remembered being woken from a deep sleep, the king’s men, the screaming. Aiden! They had Aiden, too. The burning fires and the boats. The wading into the cold sea—it was no time to be on the water.

  How would Vidar tell that story?

  What did Anja think they did when they left—to the holy church, to the priests? God only knows what happened to her parents. She prayed for peace, every day. Inner peace. But
she did not pray for the soul of Vidar, or his lying father, or any of them. She knew she was supposed to forgive them, but she couldn’t. Not yet. And when she prayed for her family, she prayed for her brother, but most of all, she prayed for justice. She didn’t know if it was right, but now she prayed for Tor, that God may use him to slay the giant, like David slayed Goliath. Maybe then she could forgive them. Maybe then she could know peace again. But for now, she would do as she was taught and just pretend.

  “Is she praying again? I’m sorry, Skadi, but I just have to ask.” Of course, it was Runa. “So, Kiara, if your god could not protect you in Ireland, where he has his churches and his priests, why do you think he can protect you here?”

  “My God is everywhere, and he hears my prayers wherever I am. If I am here, it is because he wanted me here.”

  “Then he wants you to be a slave, or die.” Runa pulled the dish of berries away from Kiara and moved it in front of Anja.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want you here, exactly.” Anja reached across the table and pulled the bread and butter to her side of the table. “Kiara is still Vidar’s, and in the spring he will either have her helping raise the ship or keep his house.”

  Runa grabbed Anja’s arm. “Is he purchasing a house?”

  “No.” Anja said. “Whether he stays or not depends on your husband, I guess.

  “Runa,” asked Skadi, “has Tor taken Old Erik his sacrifice, yet? For luck?”

  “You know how he feels about the gods, and Old Erik.” Runa sipped on her tea. “Just last spring, after warming him up with a few horns of ale, I tried to talk him into making a sacrifice for the seed we’d sown, and he said to me, ‘Why don’t we keep our meat? The priest can keep his fortune-telling, and the gods can keep their blessings.”