Summer Of The Viking. Michelle Styles

leadership?’ Girmir came forward and put a knife against Valdar’s neck. ‘You know what happened to Horik the Younger when we fought. And to Sirgurd.’

      ‘Your boat now, Girmir, but I’m entitled to an opinion.’ Valdar ceased rowing and stared at the usurper, who had attacked at night, killing Horik before he could reach for his sword. Then forced Sirgurd to fight when he was clearly ravaged by fever. ‘The storm may be difficult to ride. We should put to shore.’

      ‘The only way which will quiet the gods in this weather is a life. I’ve seen it before.’ Girmir nodded towards where the youngest member cowered beside his oar. ‘A noble thing to give one’s life for one’s friends. Someone should volunteer.’

      The boat became silent as all the men paused in their rowing.

      ‘Me?’ Valdar enquired as the wind howled about them.

      Girmir adopted a pitying expression. ‘We have need of you and your navigational skill, Valdar Lack-Sword. I gave my word. You will see Raumerike again.’

      ‘If it is such a noble thing, then we should draw lots,’ Valdar said, ignoring the jibe and laying the trap. Girmir would murder him as soon as the cliffs of Raumerike were spotted. Earlier if it suited him. Once an oath-breaker, always one. ‘Let the gods decide...unless you fear their judgement.’

      Even Girmir’s loyal followers muttered their agreement. Girmir’s beady eyes darted right and then left, seeking friends and finding none.

      ‘Which will it be?’ Valdar pressed, as another lightning bolt ripped through the sky, highlighting the men’s drenched and pinched faces. ‘Which is Ran most likely to be satisfied with—your choice or his?’

      The other man blanched slightly, belatedly realising he had tumbled into a trap. ‘I will abide by the gods’ decision.’

      ‘You will not mind if I hold the counters,’ one of the men said.

      Girmir bowed his head. ‘Go ahead and Valdar Lack-Sword can prepare them. I wouldn’t want to be accused of cheating the gods.’

      Valdar retrieved a set of tafl counters from his trunk, placed them in a sealed pouch, carefully showing everyone the one black stone, and gave the pouch to the man who’d asked for it.

      After days of inaction and humiliation, it felt good to be doing something. One way or another, he would regain his self-respect before he died. For too long he’d lived with this hungry animal gnawing at his belly, telling him that he should have heeded Horik’s request and sat up with him that night.

      He should have woken before Horik the Younger was murdered, before his own sword was taken from him. He should have gone against his years of training, followed his instinct and become involved before things spiralled out of control.

      If this boat went down, other than the boy, there was not a man he’d try to save. They had Horik’s blood on their hands. They had all stabbed Horik’s body under Girmir’s orders to prove their undying loyalty. When Valdar had made only a token stab at the lifeless body, he had seen Girmir’s face contort and had known that his fate was sealed.

      ‘Go first, Girmir, you are the leader!’

      Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. ‘Ha! A white counter!’

      One by one each of the felag took their counter. The youngest blanched as he saw he’d drawn a counter darker than the others. Valdar put his hand over the boy’s. ‘Open your hand and turn the stone over. You only think it is black.’

      The boy did as Valdar bade. ‘The stone gleams white on this side. But I thought...’

      ‘Funny how that works.’

      Valdar regarded the cliffs on the horizon as he weighed the pouch in his hand. He could do it. He knew how to swim. His body tensed with nervous anticipation. Better to die fighting than to be slaughtered like a sheep. Cheating the gods to palm the black stone from the boy? Maybe, but they had deserted him five nights ago.

      ‘The gods want my hide today.’ He held the jet-black stone aloft.

      He waited as the other warriors glanced between each other and muttered. But the relieved look on the boy’s face was worth it.

      Girmir shrugged. ‘The gods have decided. Your arms will be bound, Nerison, but Ran prefers his victim alive so I shall not slit your throat. I’ll let him do it.’

      Valdar closed his eyes. He should have expected Girmir’s sadistic twist of binding his arms. His legs would have to be strong enough if he couldn’t free his wrists. He would be able to make it to the shore. ‘As you wish. But know one day there will be a reckoning. The gods will punish those who break their oaths.’

      Girmir clasped his forearm after he gave Valdar his share of the takings thus far. ‘Your sacrifice will appease the gods. You may have your sword returned. You behaved with honour. May you die with honour.’

      After buckling his sword to his waist, Valdar tossed the sunstone to the young boy. ‘Have charge of the navigation now. Use it well. Like I showed you.’

      Girmir’s eyes bulged. ‘He can navigate?’

      ‘You wouldn’t want to lose another navigator, Girmir. How else would you make it back home?’

      The boy’s ears coloured pink. ‘I’ve always admired you, Valdar. I know what you did for me.’

      ‘Then tie my ropes.’ Valdar grasped the boy’s hand. ‘Will you do that for me?’

      The boy’s eyes grew wide. ‘Aye, I will.’

      ‘Good lad.’

      ‘When you return home, the sunstone will be waiting for you. Just ask for Eirik, son of Thoren, and they will find my cottage. My mother moves about a great deal,’ the boy whispered. ‘The Norns are not finished with you. I know this in my heart.’

      ‘I’m to be sacrificed.’ Valdar moved his wrists, creating a gap. ‘How can they not be ready to snip my thread of life?’

      ‘My mother always says this.’ The boy tied the ropes with a bit of slack. ‘You have to believe that the Norns decide when your thread is snipped, not you.’

      ‘Get on with it!’ Girmir shouted above the rumble of thunder. ‘Thor’s anger increases.’

      Valdar nodded and balanced on the snarling bear post on the prow of the ship. The wind whipped fiercely about him. He tried to think of all that he had done and had left undone, but all he could think about was the low white cliffs he spied on the horizon. There was a slim possibility that he could make it. That the gods wanted him to live. That with his sword arm and the gold in his pouch, he could get justice for the dead.

      He listened to the ritual words, then jumped. The water hit him, stinging with its bone-chilling cold. He went down and down with blackness swirling about until his lungs wanted to burst. Then he began to kick his legs. Up and up until his head breached the waves. He wriggled his arms until the knot gave way and they were freed.

      The ship had already disappeared from view and all about him was dark grey. Valdar spun around until he spied what appeared to be a white sandy beach and started towards it. With each kick of his legs, more about the technique of swimming came back to him.

      Some day there would be a reckoning. And Girmir would pay dearly, he silently promised. It was as good a reason to live as any.

      * * *

      Alwynn shielded her eyes against the bright sun which now sparkled on the calm blue sea and surveyed the coastline. Last night’s storm had brought in more than its fair share of seaweed, wood and sea coal. But there was little sign of bodies or wrecked ships as there had been at this time last year after St Cuthbert’s storm had saved them all from invasion.

      This time, there was plenty to be had for the scavenging instead of bodies being strewn everywhere.

      She gave a small shake of her head.