Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  “Unghh.” A new sound from the other side. Was it Orri? He didn’t dare think about what the creatures were doing to him.

  “Tor?” said Kiara. “Are you still there?”

  “Shhh!” he grunted. Slowly he pulled his hand in his sleeve to protect it from the barbs. Sitting perfectly still, he waited for his chance. He would not go down like the girl, not without a fight. As he strained to sense motion—hear something, feel something—his body tensed. The flex before the fight reminded him of his wound as his chest burned. He felt the wetness from a trickle of blood slowly pulsing down the length of his stomach.

  “Maaaahhhm!” A sound echoed out through the dark chamber.

  He fell backward and hit his head against the wall as the piercing wail rang in his ears. He clenched his stinging skull.

  A rush of air that smelled of dirt, onions, and rotten cabbage blew in his face with a huff.

  “Maaahhhm!” Another scream, louder than before.

  “What was that? Tor, is that you? Are you alright?” Kiara sounded as if she were near tears. “What’s it doing to you?”

  Tor sat there, leaning against the wall and rubbing the back of his head, burning sharply from being slapped against a rocky wall. He wiped the other hand against the ground, scrubbing the remnants of the crumbly pebbles from between his fingers, all the while shaking his aching head.

  Another huff of stale breath filled his face. He put his hand out and felt the dull tip of a long horn. His hands ran the length of it, curving and broadening until it landed on overgrown, matted, scratchy fur. He took his other hand and cupped the pulsating muscle along the jaw of his new tormentor.

  It was familiar, and a wave of irony struck him.

  “Maaaahhhm!”

  Tor flinched as it screamed into his face again. His hand ran under the jaw to stroke the bearded chin. Then he grabbed a curvy horn, put his other hand on the coarse, wiry hair along the back, and used the beast to pull himself up to his feet.

  “Tor?” He could hear Kiara crying. “It’s biting at my pocket.”

  “Pet it,” Tor replied as he ran his stinging hands and his useless eyes up the wall. No sky. No way to climb. He scratched his chin, his fingers smelled like dung. “Hmmmf.”

  “What?” the girl replied.

  “Pet it.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a goat.”

  Thirst

  “It’s a goat?!” cried Kiara. “It’s just a goat! It’s eating some of that rotten vine—I think the goats eat the vines!” Relief poured from her still shaking voice.

  “Yes.” The one Tor was petting had a collar. It had a ring on it. “They’re mine,” he laughed. “So, this is where you wander off to, saving the world from the evil dead. How’d you get down here, eh?” He petted his little hero. Then he helped Kiara to her feet. “If your feet are tied, push its nose to your ankles and it’ll eat through the vines. Just stop it before it gets to your boots.”

  “Where are we?” Kiara sounded as lost as Tor felt.

  “Underground if we’re lucky—the underworld if we’re not. Can Christians go to Hell?” He was trying to lighten the mood, but that last word echoed hollowly.

  “Tor?” another voice cried out.

  “Runa!” He dropped to all fours and rummaged around among the goats, crawling toward her confused, tired voice.

  Kiara shuffled behind with one hand cinched to his coat. He followed the shallow breathing until his fingers grazed a prostrate body.

  “Runa!” Tor pulled her tight and felt like he could breathe again. It was as if the weight of that ring had been lifted off his chest for the second time. “Are you all right?”

  “Ja, I think so. Can you help me up?”

  He hugged and kissed her neck. Tasting blood, he ran his hand along the cut.

  “Owww! Be gentle. It hurts.” She punched Tor’s sliced chest.

  Tor ignored the pain and grabbed her up in his arms, glad to know she had some life in her.

  “Have you got any water?” Runa gasped.

  “Here.” Kiara pushed a skin into Tor’s back.

  Tor kissed Runa’s cheek as he gave her the skin.

  “Over here,” said a weak voice from the blackness.

  Tor exhaled slowly. “Be glad I can’t see you, Orri, or I’d kill you with my bare hands.”

  “You almost did,” Orri coughed, “about your dog. Well, I was after you—you know that, right?”

  “You really do want to die today, don’t you?”

  “Aaugh!” Orri cried out like he still had a knife in his back.

  “What? What is it?” Kiara whimpered.

  “Get away from me, you stinkin’ goat,” Orri coughed again, then hacked for a few seconds. “Tor, my flask is missing. You got anything to drink?”

  “You mean firewater? No, I don’t touch it anymore.” Tor’s mouth suddenly felt very dry.

  “Too bad.” Orri sounded like that was the worst thing that had happened to him all day. “If you did, I’d force some down that little girl’s throat, just to shut her up.”

  A little taste would take the edge off about now. Tor hated agreeing with the dog-murdering goblin, but the thirst was something all Vikings understood. Gods, most people who’d survived their share of long winters probably did, whether for firewater or some other soul-withering vice, which was why people covered their souls in silver or gold, if they could afford to.

  Before Tor ever tried firewater they’d warned him—once he tasted it, he’d thirst for it the rest of his life. He’d done a lot of things when he was young that he’d been warned he shouldn’t do. In fact, he had been famous for doing them all.

  “I-I have water,” Kiara said hesitantly.

  “Bring it to me,” Orri begged. “I’m not sure I can walk.”

  Kiara didn’t let go of Tor’s coat as she edged toward the voice.

  “Aiyyy!” she screamed. “Let go of me!”

  Tor heard her hit the ground and scoot away like a frightened pup.

  Orri’s weak laughter turned to chokes and coughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you as long as you may be of some use. Fat men have to be smart to make it in this world.”

  “How much use is a bleeding, crippled fat man?” Tor would’ve kicked Orri if he could’ve seen him.

  “Don’t be like that, Tor.” Orri pretended to find his humility. “I didn’t want to kill you—either of you.”

  “Me?” asked Kiara.

  “No,” Orri replied. “I’d have sent you to your heaven without blinking an eye. I’m talking to Tor now, and his lovely wife.”

  “She was lovelier before she got that scar down her throat,” Tor seethed.

  “That was Vidar; you know that.” Orri spoke like a true victim of circumstance. “You know how it is. Remember our first raids? We didn’t have to kill those people. Those monks were as weak and pathetic as this slave girl. But it had its purpose, didn’t it? The more we killed early, the less we had to kill later on.”

  “It’s not the same,” said Tor.

  “No. I guess not,” agreed Orri. “Come on, lass. Where’s that water?”

  Cold Revenge

  On all fours, like a dog, Kiara cautiously felt around to find Orri again. She’d prayed for his death so many times, and now she was giving him her water. Who knew if they would ever see water again? Her hand brushed against something, and she reflexed back. Her heart pounded in her chest as she eased her hand out and found it again. Its outline was cold and hard.

  “What was that?” asked Tor. “I heard something scraping.”

  “Nothing,” said Kiara. “A rock.” It was Ice Breaker, the sword Vidar had laid on Orri’s fat, wheezing chest. Her mind raced. What should she do?

  “Alright, you found me. Now on with the water,” Orri complained. “I’m dyin’ o’ thirst.”

  Kiara pushed the skin toward the voice until it touched his leg, then pulled back. She never wanted to be grabbed by him again. “There it is.”

  K
iara stood up, and as quietly as she could, she lifted the sword. It was lighter than she expected. “What are we going to do now?” She stalled for time. Kiara held the blade out toward Orri, her fingers tightening around its grip. One swing, even a blind one, and she could end this villain—this man who speaks so callously about all he’d done, what he’d been a part of doing to her family, and what he’d done to her. He’d have killed her on that tree had it not been for the grace of God—and Tor. She tightened her grip and raised the sword high. All she had to do was let it fall.

  The intent must have added to its weight. Kiara’s hand began to shake. Lowering the sword, she took a deep breath, then raised it again, staring blindly toward the sound of Orri’s shallow breaths. She could strike toward the sound of the drinking. There’s no way she could miss.

  God forgive me. Kiara eased the sword down. She couldn’t do it. She shrugged her shoulder to mop the cold sweat from her forehead.

  She stared up into the blackness, looking for something—a sign, a light—anything. Pathetic. She wiped new tears from her face. Lord, please forgive me, and help me do what you would have me do. She prayed silently, putting her soul to her lips. Your will be done Lord. Not mine. Amen.

  A splash. “Echh! That’s terrible.” Orri wretched and spit, then Kiara felt him grab for her leg. She jerked away and fell back, hitting her head against a wall.

  “Assassin!” The fat Viking wretched again. “She’s trying to kill me! This poison’s making me thirstier.” Orri spit again and again. “Get away from me you, stupid goat!”

  “Give it to me,” said Tor.

  “It was just water, the same I gave you. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Kiara could hear Tor’s heavy hand hit Orri.

  “Aaagh!” Tor yelped. “Something stung me. Will somebody figure out how we can get some light?” Tor kicked around until he found Kiara’s leg, barely missing the blade. Then he dropped the skin on her lap. “Drink,” he said sternly.

  “It’s the same water I gave you.”

  “Drink! And if you poisoned him, I’ll leave you here to die alone.”

  Kiara drank, the icy water refreshing. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was. For proof, she gargled and swallowed with a gulp. “It’s good—believe me.” She pushed it back at Tor.

  Tor sniffed it, sipped it, then drank. “It’s just water.” The edge was off his voice.

  “Keep it away,” said Orri. “It’s stinks to me.”

  “I wouldn’t blame her for killing you if she could,” Tor kicked again.

  “Oww.” Orri sounded weaker.

  “Lest you forget, you’re the reason we’re here.”

  “Old Erik wanted her dead.” Orri sounded like a dying man making his last confession. “He told Vidar she was a curse on this land, and the only way to fix it would be to sacrifice her to Hella.”

  There must have been a lot of goats, because with bleats sounding the charge a herd of padded hoofs faded from earshot like a rain passing in the night.

  “Something spooked the hungry grubbers.” Tor sounded worried. “How we coming with that light, Orri?”

  “Maybe we should follow the sound.” Hairs bristled up Kiara’s neck. “They might lead us out, or at least to where we can see.”

  Then an unfamiliar, gravelly voice echoed from the darkness. “Don’t worry love. They’s everywhere.”

  “Yes-s-s,” agreed another heavier voice that whistled with each ‘s’. “Goats eats the vines, and they’s everywhere.”

  Svindl and Svikar

  “Does you have to repeat everything I say?”

  “Shut up, Svik,” whistled the other. “It’s my turn to talk.”

  “Who’s there?” Kiara pulled herself behind Tor and away from the voices. She was shaking like the last leaf in autumn.

  “I’m Svindl,” graveled the first, “and this is me brother, Svikar.”

  “Are you brothers?” Tor thought of his own sons. Maybe these two would understand. “We’re lost.” He had to try something. “Can you help us find our way home? I have two sons, and they need me.”

  “You’re lost?” it cackled. “No, friend, you’re exactly where you deserve to be, I’d say.”

  “Shut up, Svin.”

  “What? I’m allowed to answer a question, same as you.”

  “If you’ll just get us a light,” Tor knew how boys could get distracted, “maybe when we can see better, we can find our own way out.” Tor thought if he could just get them talking, maybe they’d come around.

  “Just let me talk, ‘right?” Svindl asked. “Your whistlin’s hurting my ear.”

  Whistling? Tor thought, before he realized he wasn’t talking to him.

  “I smelled ‘em first. Just let me handle this.”

  “If anyfing, they smelled you first.”

  “He’s a big one, isn’t he? For a man, I mean.”

  Svikar was right. Svindl’s whistling was tough to take.

  “You can ‘ave the little ’un. She’s as skinny as Hella’s stick.”

  Tor pulled Runa behind him and backed into the women until they were up against the wall. He squinted in the dark. No improvement. “Try to find me a rock—anything,” he whispered.

  “The little ‘un stinks the worst. Never smelled one like that before,” graveled Svikar.

  The air was indeed foul, but the stench came from the direction of the disembodied voices.

  “She’d be better to stuff under a rock for a while. Let the vines flavor ‘er up first.”

  “We could stuff ‘er wif goat meat or somefin.”

  “Aw, I’ve had enough goat for a lifetime. Anyfin’ but that.” Then, with the sound of two flags flapping in a hurricane, he broke wind.

  “Oh, come on, Svindl!” graveled Svikar. “Keep it together, eh?”

  “Feels much better though, don’t it?”

  “I suppose,” laughed the other.

  Tor tasted death and rotten eggs.

  “It smells like something died over there,” Orri gagged.

  “Was that supposed to be funny?” whistled Svindl.

  Tor was wondering the same thing. Good. If anyone could bring these two around, it was Orri. Time he put that silver tongue of his to use.

  “It does smell pretty rank now, doesn’t it?” Svik laughed. “Even for us.”

  “What about ‘im? The fat one?” Svikar sucked his teeth.

  “Oh, he’s the one, all right. The vines have ‘im seasoned good right now. He’s a boiler, that one is.”

  Tor cringed as Kiara started praying softly. “Please Lord, help this heathen protect your servant and kill your enemy.”

  Tor felt something hard bump against his elbow. He reached back, and in the darkness, found a reason to smile. He let his fingers walk up the cold iron, and he was filled with hope when he took Ice Breaker by the hilt.

  “Stay down,” he whispered to Runa as he reached back. She was already crouched. “Orri,” whispered Tor, “you’d better get me some light before these two drag one of us off for dinner.”

  “Oh, I don’t like the light much,” said Svindl.

  “Don’t need it,” added Svikar. “But sometimes we do go into the light, into your world, at night and all.”

  “Ja, we go to hunt sometimes, when we’re sick of goat or what we can’t pluck out of the burrow.”

  “You mean barrow?”

  “That’s what I said, when we’s sick of plucking what we can from down ‘ere, we go up top to get somefin’ a little fresher.

  “Grave robbers,” whispered Orri weakly.

  “More than once,” Svindl whistled. “But thanks to the gods, sometimes we get delivery.”

  “Did you say thanks to the gods?” Svikar sounded unamused.

  “I know,” Svindl howled in laughter. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  Svikar cut his brother off. “We’ve taken some time to look up at your moon too—like a couple of forlorn draugar. It’s not bad, really—your world.”

  “I d
on’t like it—I just like to get what we’re after and get back. That much light gives me the creeps-s-s,” said Svindl, whistling a long time as if unable to escape the last word.

  “Lookee there, Svin.” Svikar’s voice dropped low, almost growling.

  The air stood quiet and still. Tor stepped forward, and raised the sword defensively, blind eyes squinting in the blackness. “Orri, how’s that light coming?”

  “Hey, I don’t know what you plan to do with that pig-sticker, big man, but best you put it away before somebody gets hurt.”

  “Ja,” said Svindl, “there’s no need for violence ‘ere.”

  “Besides, you’re as likely to cut your friend’s head off as ours.”

  Tor heard the grind of earth move under heavy feet and lifted the sword up high, ready to strike.

  “Easy now, fella,” whispered Svikar heavily, attempting to sound reassuring.

  With a crack, a flash of light filled the space, then everything went back to black.

  “What the—” came two heavy voices.

  Orri had finally fired a spark. In that moment the lost caught a glimpse of their surroundings for the first time.

  “Again!” Tor was shaking. “Orri, can you make fire?”

  “I can’t find anything to burn, just dirt and stone.”

  “Use your shirt if you have to. I need light.” Hope filled Tor’s heart even though what he glimpsed in the flash filled his mind with dread. What he saw was large. Very large. A hulk of a figure lurked in the darkness not three paces away. The room they were in was a stone cavern that ate the light of the spark before it could make an impression.

  “Break his arm off,” whispered Svindl. Tor shifted toward the voice, holding the blade up even higher now.

  “Shush. He can hear you, idiot,” said the deeper voice of Svikar. “I’m not losing a hand over it. You can bite his arms off if you’re so tough. See if you come back with both your eyes.”

  Another flash. “Help!” Orri cried. The spark caught something dry and formed an ember. When compared to absolute black, even that tiny light cast a shadow. “It’s got me!” The voice was Orri’s, but the figure wasn’t.