by Derek Nelsen
As he rummaged through Magnus’s pack, he gave him a look. “Yours is a little heavy for my taste,” Tor held on to it before letting Magnus take it back. “But I think they’re all as light as can be expected. You’ve got to be smart. Replenish your stores as you go. That’s the way men travel or they’d never leave the villages around the fjord.” Tor looked at Ragi, who was still ignoring him. He picked up each pack with one hand to test their weight.
“Show me your weapons.” Tor stood tall over Ragi. “You too, Ragi. And I will not ask you again.”
Magnus and Erik laid out short- and long-handled axes while Toren retrieved his grandfather’s sword, the one Vidar used in the holmgang. Next came hunting slings and finally the seaxes from the scabbards hung across their waists. Quickly, a downed tree was covered in weapons of wood, bone, antler, leather, and iron.
Tor picked up his father’s sword, and with a mix of power, grace, and speed he dismembered several wrist-sized limbs off a medium pine. Then he ran his thumbnail up the blade to test for rolls and clear away the sap. Swinging that sword was like reacquainting himself with an old friend. He put the sheath around his own waist and holstered the sword. Then he handed Toren one of the axes he’d used in the holmgang. He gave the other to Erik, who broke out in a proud smile. It was probably more than he’d expected to get of his father’s.
Toren looked confused. “A sword for an axe? But father, I-”
“It is the mark of a warrior to carry a sword,” Tor explained. “It can get you into trouble faster than it can get you out of it.”
“But father,” Toren tried to explain, “what if we-”
Tor raised his hand, and his eldest son fell silent. “I hope you don’t need any of this, ‘cept bows for hunting and axes for firewood. If you need a sword, you’ll have to earn it with your axe. You’re all good with axes. Takes time to master the sword.” Toren, Erik, and Magnus had spent countless hours of their lives cutting wood with their axes. The fires that heated their homes were the forges that turned their growing bodies to iron.
“But what about Ragi?”
Ragi scrunched his face up at Magnus as if he had committed the greatest betrayal.
“Look at him like he’s your servant and I’ll show you how your horse runs on three legs.” Erik raised his new axe.
“Erik,” Tor grabbed the axe out of his youngest son’s hand, “I’m glad to see you defend the honor of a friend, but you’ve got to leave your attitude here now. If you pick fights where you’re going, you’ll be risking everyone’s lives. I hesitated to allow you to go at all, the way you’ve been acting. But you can’t stay here.” Tor slowly handed his son the axe but didn’t let it go. “Can I trust you?”
“Ja, father.” Erik pulled on the handle, but Tor didn’t let it go.
“Can they trust you?”
Erik loosed his grip and made eye contact with each of the others. “Ja, father,” he said solemnly. Tor let go of the axe, and Erik eased it back.
“Don’t blame Magnus, Ragi. I noticed the sword when I met your horse.”
After removing several small scrips of food, Ragi found and awkwardly removed the sword given him by his father.
“Have you ever swung it?”
Ragi shrugged. “Enough.”
Tor inspected the blade. “If you insist on taking the horse, I will say this”—he turned to Toren—“none of you will fight to save this animal, whether from thief or bear or Viking or troll, you will not fight to save this horse.”
“Ja,” they nodded. Ragi’s jaw hung loose.
Tor focused back on Ragi. “You heard what I said to Toren. A sword is a warrior’s weapon and will only bring you trouble if you carry it.” Tor looked back to the others. “None of you will fight to save that sword, whether by thief or warrior, let it go if it draws a challenge. You know how to wield axes, and you know how to shoot bows. You will only wield swords if you take it off an enemy’s corpse.”
“Ja.” They all looked at Ragi. Ragi looked betrayed.
“It’ll probably break, like that seax your father gave Vidar.” Tor held up a third axe to see if Ragi would trade, not as pretty as the bearded ones he gave his sons, but functional for its purpose.
Ragi put the sword back in its sheath on the side of the horse.
Even though the other boys winced in anticipation, Tor did not scold him. “Keep it hidden but always at the ready. Never wear it unless you plan to use it. And you’re going to want to put an edge on it, too, before you run into anyone who cares.” Tor looked to his oldest. “Toren, you can help him with that if he needs it—or anything else for that matter. You have each other and that’s all you have, so be smart.” He looked at Erik. “Be careful.” He looked at Ragi. “Take care of one another.” He looked at Toren. “And above all else, come home.” He looked at Magnus.
“I think you’ve got everything,” said Tor. “Not enough. It’s never enough. But you’ll find the rest along the way.”
Tor pulled Erik’s scarf aside and looked at the soul ring hanging from a double leather thong around his neck. The once pearl-colored ring was already beginning to mar with gray and yellow stain.
“Such a simple little trinket. Maybe this trip will help you find out what it’s all about.”
Tor picked up his axe. The boys stood staring as if there was more to say.
“Go,” said Tor. “Take care of one another, and help each other stay on the path. There are a lot of benefits to traveling while the ground is still frozen. Speed. If you leave now you may still have time to make it down to the balds before dark.”
Tor made a couple of short calls. “Sssst, sssst.”
All of the dogs—except Garmr, who was off by himself watching from a distance, as usual—began sniffing and circling each other as a small chorus of high-pitched whimpers, low barks, and a kind of talking dogs do arose from the lot of them as they said their goodbyes. Tor then broke it up with a quick call.
“Vigi, Vigi, Vigi! Come! Come on, old man.” Vigi ran over and sat down next to him. The dogs were used to being split up this way, but it was as if they sensed this time was different. Erik, Toren, and Magnus sensed this, too and ran over for a quick wrestle with Vigi one last time before leaving. When they were done, Tor picked up his axe and an arm full of wood and began his walk home.
Then Tor stopped and turned back toward the boys.
“Throughout your lives you’ve heard legends and stories told as we’d sit around the fires of the great hall, or at home, or while on hunting trips, stories about the evils that live beyond our borders and in dark places, of giants and trolls, of sea serpents and dragons, of the fierce battles waged between the light and the darkness.” For a moment there was only the sound of falling snow as the boys stared at him.
“The myths, they were not all just scary tales meant to entertain old men or keep little boys from getting a good night’s sleep. There is truth in them.”
Relieved of a burden he’d been carrying for some time, Tor turned and started his walk back to the farm. He knew he should be worried, but now that they were off, he felt excited for his sons. Erik’s distant whistle and the barking of the dogs let him know they were safely on their way, all quickly absorbed by the calm of falling snow.
As Tor made his way through the quiet wood, he heard his name.
“Tor!” It was Anja, running and short of breath. “They’ve got Runa!”
Duplicity
Tor’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He knew how bad this could be. He wanted to go faster, but that was a fool’s strategy. He would be outnumbered. He had to be smart.
Tor’s vision was clouded by the fog of his own breath. Although he held Anja and Vigi to a steady pace, his mind was racing. Twisted memories from his own past fed his imagination, painting pictures of Runa’s horror. He knew what could be happening. The woods were quiet, but from the shadows of his mind he thought he could hear her crying out to him.
Anja was leading him toward the old bu
rial mounds where, in a more religious time, his neighbors put locked doors atop the stone barrows to keep the dead from coming back to right past wrongs. How bitter the draugr must be to carry their grudges beyond the grave. For the first time, Tor thought he could understand why. Although he could only guess what he was about to run into, he was sure he would die trying to make it right.
His mind was on Runa, but it was more than that. It was the same terror he felt the day they’d lost Gefn. How helpless he felt that day—stumbling around the forest screaming his daughter’s name. He would not pretend he could go on living if something happened to another that was in his care. If they hurt his wife, they’d better put a lock on the door above his pile of stones, for he would do everything in his power to come back for them. As Tor pushed on, he felt as if he was living the nightmare that tormented him for years. But in his dreams, he always woke when she screamed. How she must have cried out for him. Why hadn’t he been there for her?
The smell of smoke mingled with the air—then Tor caught a glimpse of a fire. He began to trot ahead of Anja, moving from tree to tree. Only Vigi could outpace him now, and Tor snapped his finger to remind his old friend to stay close. Tor held them up behind the girth of a large, leafless oak. He needed to know what he was up against—and catch his breath.
It was only a small fire. Old Erik was there, and he had Skadi. They were talking.
“Your mother.” Tor pointed around the tree. Anja just shook her head. Vigi growled. “Easy boy.” Tor ran his fingers through the thick fur around his neck. Vigi whimpered and stamped his front feet, begging to be turned loose. Then Tor noticed the source of his agitation.
It was Kiara, laid out on her back along the mass of a dead log. A man with a hood pulled over his head sat next to her outstretched body, his face blurred by smoke and fire.
“What are they doing?” Tor whispered.
Like an idiot, Anja waved to her mother before Tor could pin her back behind the tree. Tor slowly peered out, only to see Old Erik pointing a long bony finger in their direction. Tor threw his back against the tree and scowled at the girl. She had wasted the only advantage he had.
“Did you see Runa?” he asked.
She shook her head, so he carefully took another peek. The sitting man pushed off the prone slave’s chest to help find his feet. He turned, removed his hood, and revealed a clean-shaven, heavily tattooed bald head.
Orri? None of this made sense. Where was Runa?
Tor looked over to Anja, confused. Vigi was growling like he was facing a pack of wolves.
Orri carefully knocked an arrow into his bow, leaned it into the fire until it lit, and took aim in their direction.
Hearing Orri slothfully exhaust before taking the shot was like hearing bellows empty onto a smith’s forge. Then followed the twang of the fat man releasing the string. Tor shoved Anja back and ducked behind the oak again.
The impact sounded like someone had slapped the opposite side of the tree with their hand. When the barb pierced the bark, fire splashed like water, showering the surrounding snow with flaming embers and pieces of oil-soaked cloth. It looked like snowflakes were catching fire as they fell all around where Tor and Anja hid.
“Viking trick. He’s marking our location. Stay here.” Tor withdrew the seax from across his belt and handed it to Anja. Like a flipped coin, Anja’s confused look was replaced with stoic determination.
Tor scanned their surroundings. Nothing moved among the trees except an icy fog rising slowly from the snow-mantled forest floor. He had his father’s sword but decided to leave it sheathed. He would start with the axe. If Orri drew his bow on him again he might need something to throw.
Anja was eyeing the knife, its finely etched handle worn flat in places from years of constant use.
“If something goes wrong, make sure my sword goes to Toren and that seax goes to Erik.”
Why was she smiling? But before he could ask, she rolled out from the shelter of the tree and started running toward her mother.
“Anja, stop!” called Tor. Vigi scampered after her. Tor leaned out to stop her, only to see an arrow pass through his best friend. “Vigi!” he cried.
Anja stopped and stared at the dog. Vigi lay helpless, whimpering, trying to work his way back to his feet. Tor plucked the arrow out of the ground. No greasy fat, no foam—just blood. “Stay down, boy. Stay down.”
Anja ran her fingers along the old dog’s wilting ears. “I’m so sorry.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked back, horrified. She started running again.
While the fat Viking knocked another arrow, Tor dragged his old friend back behind the tree. Vigi bared his teeth as Tor examined the wound. It looked clean—away from the heart, and not a lot of blood.
“You’ll be alright, boy.” Tor buried his face in Vigi’s fur. “I think you’re going to be okay.” His heart filled with pain as he ran his thumb gently down Vigi’s cheek. Tears fell from eyes Tor thought had run dry long ago. “I’ll come back. Just stay here.” His heart began to burn.
As he broke cover, another flaming arrow clipped the tree near his shoulder. Fire splashed, igniting his left side. The pain of a thousand embers burned through layers of clothing like molten fire. Tor dove into the deep snow off the side of the path and rolled into the thicker trees, dousing flames from burning clothes and cooling sizzling flesh. The pain fed his anger and brought him clarity.
Old Erik had betrayed them all. Tor had told Runa a hundred times he was evil. Now the old snake had Kiara and Skadi, and if he didn’t do something now, he was going to have Anja, too. Runa would never forgive him if he let something happen to that girl.
The trees provided cover from flaming arrows while Tor drew fire away from Anja. She was running at her assailants like a true warrior, but Tor was faster.
The distance closed quickly, and he emerged from the woods to tackle Orri before Anja could finish closing the gap.
Arrows snapped under Orri’s weight after Tor put a shoulder into his abdomen, dropping the fat Viking like a falling tree. Somewhere in the impact he’d also managed to end Orri’s struggle when the hilt of his axe found the bald man’s temple.
The unconscious man got his revenge when he puked in his mouth and burped unceremoniously into Tor’s face, proving he was not yet dead. Tor got another face full as he pushed off Orri’s round belly to find his feet. The fat Viking had eaten fish for breakfast.
Tor squared up to Old Erik. His knuckles cracked as he choked the handle of his axe. Kiara wasn’t moving. Orri gurgled as he breathed like a man with a mouth full of sausages. Tor kicked him in the face.
“That’s for Vigi, you fat goblin.”
“Skadi, are you alright?”
Tor followed Skadi’s gaze as it turned fearfully to the ground, her heavy breathing filling the air with clouds of warm smoke as if she were half dragon.
Tor put his boot on the side of Orri’s gurgling head and turned his gaze back to Old Erik. “Which one of you should I kill first, serpent?”
Then Vidar stepped out from behind one of the naked masts. “I think your wife should be first.” The giant yanked Runa onto her toes by the hair, a knife parted her new scarf and lay tight against her throat.
She was choking on a scream.
Tor felt the weight of his missing soul. He and Runa hadn’t known love for a long time, but these were ghosts of his past, not hers. He needed to shame Vidar into coming after him.
“I never got a chance to ask your father, Vidar, when we were as close as brothers. Were you born of a woman, or do they pluck giants from the dirt like cabbages?”
Vidar growled as he let Runa drop to her feet.
Tor continued picking the scab. “You know, in all our years, your father never left me behind. Ever. He wouldn’t even let me go when I tried to leave.” Tor began resurrecting the berserker he’d tried so hard to bury with his past. He panted hard like a wolf to light the inner fire he’d extinguished long ago. “Why hasn’t he sent his Vikings sear
ching for you?” Tor needed to kill this man. It was the only way he could save his wife. Then he bit his tongue, restrained by the trickle of blood rolling down Runa’s long pale throat.
Tor raised his gaze to his wife’s begging eyes. Maybe Vidar needed him to spell it out for him. “I tell you what, let her go and have a go at me, ja? I promise you won’t win any favors with your father if you hurt my wife.”
Vidar dropped Runa a little more, until her feet settled flatly on the ground.
Tor unsheathed Ice Breaker and threw it at Vidar’s feet.
Vidar leaned down and picked up the sword. An icy fog poured out from between the gaps in his teeth. Then he jerked Runa back up again.
“Erik!” Tor pleaded. “If you have any sway here then call him off.” Tor noticed Skadi wouldn’t look him in the eye. Her hands weren’t even bound. Anja looked guilty, too, like a child who’d just let a weasel into her neighbor’s hen house.
They’re in on it. Tor exhaled slowly and tried to gather his thoughts. He’d been lured into the trap like a winter fox. How could he have been so blind?
His mind switched to his sons. They’d be hunted and killed. Or worse, they’d be lied to, and Toren would still marry this treacherous girl. Tor stared a hole in Anja’s pretty face. If given the chance he would cut her down like a spindly tree. Vikings were Vikings, but a pretty, ambitious girl could bring down an empire. Knowing that parasite had been removed from affecting his family would help Tor rest while the ravens carried his soul to whichever god would still have him.
Tor’s mind focused on who to kill first if Vidar killed Runa.
Start with the biggest threats and go as far as these blades will take me.
“Vidar, this is between us. Let the women go.” First it will be Anja. He could end the idea of that marriage without losing a step. No, first Vidar. He had to be smart about this. Tor’s eyes scanned the perpetrators. Next, the old snake, then Skadi, and if he’s not already dead, I’ll crush fat Orri’s round skull. Anja would be last. She would know fear before tasting death.