Chapter 13: Safety (1)

He sighed and rubbed the scarred spot behind his ear. It throbbed worse than usual, a sign of injury rather than age. This morning he found the lump on his neck had grown larger. The pain was constant now, unlike last winter when the bump remained numb. When he pressed the tip of his finger against it, he felt blood oozing between his fingertips.

The crewmen called out from aloft. Two voices agreed. One voice disagreed. Then the disagreement grew louder. More shouts rang out, but none seemed certain.

Captain Thorolf strode forward, shouting at the top of his lungs. His words carried clearly over the wind and wave noise. Yngvar strained to hear what was being said.

"We need to turn this vessel!" Thorolf yelled. "Sail north! We must get ashore before daybreak. There is an island out there."

Two voices again raised objections. Captain Thorolf cut short both arguments by grabbing the nearest sailor and shoving him aside. The man fell hard enough to send seawater splashing everywhere. Yngvar looked away. He hoped the fool landed safely and suffered little damage.

"You think I am blind? Do you want me to lose my ship because of your cowardice?"

His hand shot out and slapped the face of the first objecting sailor. The blow echoed throughout the deck. Eyes widened, hands dropped instinctively to cover their faces. They backed away. The second argued back, but without conviction. Soon he joined his companions in silence.

"I'll have no cowards aboard my ship!" Thorolf bellowed. He grabbed another man and threw him overboard. The splash sent spray skyward. The man screamed until swallowed by the dark waters.

Thorolf turned to the rest of the crew who stood shocked at the violence. He pointed to two sailors then swept his arm toward the stern.

"Get those sails filled and make us sail for land. If we don't reach shore tonight, I will throw myself over the side."

With grunts and curses, the crew rushed to obey. Sailors hauled on ropes and pulled sheets taut. Others heaved blocks of wood into position to raise masts higher. Within minutes they were underway, though Yngvar could barely see anything past the mast tops.

Once the sails caught the breeze, Thorolf ordered the helmsman to set course due west. With oars shipped, they sailed the seas faster than any other ship Yngvar had seen. Their speed gave him hope. Once they reached land, he would find a place to hide while Thorolf organized pursuit. After all, Erik Bloodaxe would know exactly where to look.

He slumped back onto the bench beside Brandr, whose head leaned upon his shoulder. A blanket covered most of his body. His breath smelled sour. Yet he slept peacefully despite the rocking motion of the waves beneath them. Yngvar stared at him in wonderment. How long had he lain here in such misery? Had anyone cared for him during these weeks of travel? Or had he languished alone in his own suffering? Perhaps he deserved nothing better. But if he died of disease or starvation, how many people would care for his family and friends? That was something worth preserving, no matter the cost.

Yngvar smiled at the thought. So much had happened to bring them together on this journey. Fate had brought them all close. He wondered about Gyna and her mysterious lover. Did she remain loyal to him? Was he faithful to her? In truth, he did not know either one well enough to answer that question. She had been kind to him, which surprised him more than anything else. Now that he considered it, perhaps he should take advantage of her kindness. For what good would it do to be stranded on some foreign coast with only strangers around him? At least Gyna's presence helped fill the emptiness left by losing Bjorn and Alasdair. Her company was welcome and familiar. Why not ask her to join his plans after all?

He lay down on the deck as well. Sleep came easily, since sleep never failed to come to him wherever he went. The dreams followed like shadows across a field of grass: flashes of his father's death, his mother screaming, Alasdair weeping and begging forgiveness, Sigfrid laughing at him. These memories always ended with him curled up and crying into his cloak. And each time he awoke feeling less himself.

***

A cool mist floated through the woods beyond the edge of camp. It wrapped around Yngvar's legs and flowed between trees. The sun had yet to rise, and the forest floor remained black. Only the rising moon illuminated the darkness. No sounds disturbed the night except birdsong and insects buzzing among leaves.

Yet someone approached.

He sat straight up, heart pounding against his ribs. He had grown accustomed to sleeping lightly ever since leaving home. Nothing stirred at his feet save the soft dew from the earth. All seemed still as the grave. Yet now a shadow passed overhead, casting its shape against the pale light of the moon. Something large moved above him.

Brandr sat beside him, also awake. Both men held weapons ready. Yngvar glanced behind him. The others slumbered soundly. He saw no sign of danger. Then he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching along the ground.

The steps stopped directly before him.

Someone whispered. "Wake the king."

Yngvar jumped to his feet, sword drawn. As soon as he felt its weight in his grip, he recognized the voice. It belonged to none other than King Hakon.

"You are dead," he said.

Hakon stepped forward, naked blade gleaming silver in the dim moonlight. He wore a thin smile. "Not quite."

"What is your meaning?"

His eyes flashed bright white in the gloom. They widened further when they settled on Brandr standing behind Yngvar.

"Put away your weapon," Hakon commanded. "This is just me coming to speak with you. You're safe."

"I'm sorry to say there is little safety to be found here. We have enemies surrounding our encampment. Some of my own guards tried to kill me last night. Those who survived fled to sea, but I doubt they made it far."

Hakon sighed. "Then we will talk elsewhere."

"Wherever you wish," Yngvar agreed. "But can't you use sorcery to make us invisible again so I don't feel threatened?"

Again the flash of white teeth in the dark face.

"No need for invisibility anymore, lord. Just go back to bed and stay out of trouble tonight. Tomorrow morning we'll discuss what comes next."

With that, Hakon turned on his heel and slipped deeper into the woods.

They gathered their things then set off toward where Hakon waited. Their way led downhill into thick underbrush and dense ferns. Birds called and chirped loudly. Small animals scurried aside as they walked past. Even in the warm summer air, the dampness of the land clung to everything. If they were going anywhere, it would not be easy.

At length they emerged onto a small clearing. A low hill rose ahead. From its top stood an old man leaning on a staff carved from green wood. His head was bald and shiny with age spots. Silver hair ringed his craggy brow.

King Erik Blood-Axe sat upon a rock overlooking the scene below. He looked every bit the king he claimed to be, dressed in mail shirt over leather pants and boots. On his belt hung a short sword and dagger. About his neck rested a gold chain holding a pendant shaped like Thor's hammer. But while most kings might wear such finery, he carried himself with the ease of a warrior used to battle. He did not sit comfortably atop the boulder, nor did he recline as if enjoying the view. Rather, he stared down at them all with a wry grin.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me, eh? Too afraid to meet me alone?"

Erik waved the comment aside, then gestured at the two young men standing beside him. One was tall and slender and bore golden curls at the temples. The second was shorter, thicker, and darker haired. Both had spears resting on shoulders. Neither smiled or offered greeting to anyone else besides Erik.

"It seems you know these warriors better than I thought," Yngvar said. "If you knew their names, perhaps you could tell me more about how you met. How many times have you visited each other across the water?"

Both men stiffened at those words. Erik merely shrugged.

"There's nothing to say, really. When my father died, I came here to find you. At first, I assumed you'd never return. That was foolish thinking. Instead I ended up finding myself trapped in some petty dispute between the jarls of Northumbria. So I decided to come see what sort of place I landed in. This was one of the places I wanted to visit."

Yngvar remained silent. No explanation was required. Though he had guessed much already.

"Well, let's get started," Hakon said. "We should move closer together. I want everyone within sight of me."

As the four began walking toward each other, Yngvar noted the expressions of both men. Each seemed impressed by something different. The younger blond lad watched Hakon closely, fascinated. The older fellow watched Yngvar. He studied him hard, then nodded as if satisfied.

When they were close enough for conversation, Yngvar spoke. "Why do you think I am hiding from you?"

Hakon laughed, tossing his long gray braid back over his shoulder. "Because you are no longer welcome in Frankia. Or wherever you call home now, I suppose. King Charles has declared war against any Norsemen still living among his lands. It wasn't too difficult to guess you were either captured or killed during the fight. Your sister must have told you what happened to her husband. She didn't seem happy to hear it."

Brandr folded his arms. His expression darkened. "You shouldn't listen to anything she says. You know how she lies. Besides, even if he was dead, there's no reason to believe he wouldn't take revenge on his killers."

Yngvar shook his head. "She doesn't lie. And yes, Bjorn lives. My brother sent word before sailing for Ireland. As soon as he arrived, he went straight to Father. They're safe, but they won't ever return to Norway."

The three exchanged looks. Brandr's eyes narrowed, but he asked no further questions. Only Hakon wore a smile.

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, can we focus on getting us all safely away from here? We don't have far to travel to reach our destination, but when night falls, it will be nearly impossible to hide ourselves.