Left in the Wake

Left in the Wake 

Scandinavia, c.850 CE 

The bull elk bugled and lowered his head, the sinews on his neck rippling. A tree of velvet swords pointed directly toward me. A spike of energy coursed through me, burning through the cloud of numbness which was my everyday life. His hide was already pierced by two arrows, but if they were anything more than a mild annoyance, he didn't show it. I released another arrow, and it clattered uselessly off his antlers. He charged, the ground shaking as his momentum built. 

I threw my bow aside and picked up one of the spears I had planted in the ground. I hefted it, pulled my arm back, stepped into the throw, and released it. It embedded itself in his shoulder, but he kept coming. He wouldn't back down. Nor would I. I lifted my next spear, but he was bearing down on me fast. I had no time to throw it, and his great antlers had an almost equal reach. Their points were close now.  

If I didn't move I faced oblivion.  

My animal brain took over. I dodged to the right, and plunged my spear into the elk's side. He bugled again, his head raised in a final appeal to the heavens. Then he fell. I released my grip on the spear as he crashed to the earth. I caught my reflection in a moist black eye as he opened his mouth one more time, letting out a hoarse and strangled cry, then closed it.  

I wouldn't be able to shift this carcass on my own. I headed back to the village for help. On the outskirts I paused and rested against a gnarled tree, feeling the rough bark against my calluses. 

We had climbed all over this tree when he had first arrived in the village. He, the adopted son of the Jarl, and I, the daughter of a farmer, were a fine pair of playmates. Though youngsters, we were old enough that our time should be spent productively, so ostensibly we'd be out hunting small game. Often, though, we would end up competing with each other. Racing, daring each other to climb higher in the trees, wrestling. 

I held my own in all the contests, slightly leaner but not much less muscled than the boys of my age. One of the limbs of this tree was long enough and broad enough that both of us could walk across it. We had tested our balance by standing on it and duelling with staves.  

We fought to a stalemate, our staves locked hard against each other, both leaning in and pushing. Eventually, I released the pressure, and he fell into me. I grabbed him, intending to throw him down, but he held on and we both tumbled from the branch and rolled down the leafy slope below. 

I descended into the village. Most of the men had gone viking, so I gathered a group of youths and women, and Thorfredr. We tramped back up the hill and through the woods to the corpse. When we got there, I caught one young lad looking from the giant elk to me; his eyes wide and his mouth gaping like a fish. I made eye contact and gave him a shrug, and he quickly turned back to the corpse. We'd brought ropes, but due to the size of the elk it needed to be partially butchered before we could drag it anywhere. Thorfredr and I took our knives and got to the task.  

The trudge back to the village felt long, especially with the weak incompetence of the boys accompanying me. I pushed them hard; they were our future after all. 

With the elk back, and the cooks setting to work, I headed out to the shores of the fjord. I traversed along its edge, until the village was out of sight, before stripping and stepping into the icy water. I walked out until my waist was submerged, then threw myself forward into the water, kicking hard with my legs and pulling the water toward me with my arms. I felt the mud, blood and sweat wash off me as I swam further out.  

The water grew colder as I got further from the shore. My breath quickened and my heart beat faster. I swallowed water and tasted the bitter salt, choking for a moment, then coughing and spitting. I kicked harder, and fought the windblown waves. 

When I stopped and turned around, the village and docks were like a child's toys. A small speck in the vast emptiness of the fjord. 

Unnblakkr sat in the dock, a bustle of crewmembers hurrying to finish loading. The wives of the village said their goodbyes to their husbands. Men roared and backslapped, bragged and told tales, building themselves up for the journey ahead. 

It was Einar's first time going viking. He matched the other men for bulk, and cut a fine figure in his tunic and furs, his pack slung over one shoulder and an axe in his hand. His beard, though, was a poor specimen compared to the other raiders. Short and wispy, it betrayed his youth.  

He kissed Kelda goodbye first. They'd been spending most of their evenings together recently and the gossips expected a betrothal when he returned from this raid. She often cooked the game he and I had caught in the daytime, and then they would sit gazing up at the stars and chatting, long after the rest of us had gone to bed. 

I was standing with the younger lads, those who were still too much of a liability to go raiding yet. Einar gave each of them a rough hug, and jostled and play-fought with them. 

Then he came to me. 

He caught me in an embrace, and I wrapped my arms around him. I felt his warmth as we gripped each other tight, then his arms slid down to my waist and we lent back to look into each others' eyes. My heart beat audibly as I gazed into frost-blue irises. His gaze flicked to my lips. 

He looked away and coughed, and we released each other. Kelda was looking in our direction with a frown. I slid my eyes aside and Einar jogged over to the ship. He boarded, to cheers from the boys next to me.  

I turned around and sat on the pier with my back to the ship as they cast off. When I brought myself to stand up and look again they were gliding out into the deep water. I could see Einar hauling on an oar, engrossed in his task.  

Gradually, everyone returned to their duties. I stood on the dock, gazing out to sea. 

I returned to the shore shivering and exhausted, pulled my layers on over my wet skin, and forced my stiffened muscles into a shuffling jog back to the village. The aroma of roasting meat filled the air, and the delicate sound of Thorvald's lyre accompanied his chanting. His tale was of a brave warrior, finding fortune and glory over the sea. My muscles had warmed up, and I increased my pace. 

Back home, I stirred the embers in the hearth and blew a flame into being. I put down more kindling to ensure the flame survived. Reluctantly, I peeled the wet layers from my skin and hung them before the hearth. I built up the fire, leaning the logs against each other to form a cone, and threw on a new shift, then wrapped myself in furs and sat on the edge of the bed. The flames licked at the newly added logs and the little structure I'd built began to crack, split and fall in upon itself. 

I held him tight, snuggled amongst the furs of our bed. He'd come home with a good reputation, a moderate fortune and a decisive aura.  

He'd come home, not to Kelda, but to me. Nothing could ever match the moment he'd come to me, on his first evening back, and taken me in his arms. Time was meaningless for as long as we remained there. Then, just as he had a year before, he moved his arms down my back, holding my waist so we could look into each other's eyes. Seven years of barely acknowledged dreams went into the kiss that followed. 

Now we shared a bed, and a home, and betrothal had been discussed. My land was about adequate to make the partnership, and Einar's iron will in the matter was a persuading factor for the Jarl. Einar had only been on short expeditions recently, and though it tugged at my heart whenever he was gone, the knowledge that he would be back kept me warm. He brought me gifts of gold, silver and ivory. There were always feasts when Unblakkr returned, but we would excuse ourselves as soon as we could and rush back to the hut.  

The thrill never dulled.  

For me. 

The room is hazy from the fire and the drying clothes. I lie back, my right hand clasping the furs on the empty side of the bed. Steam and smoke swirl and snake their way up to the hole in the roof. At the opposite end of the room the pigs grunt and I realise they need feeding. I think about getting up, start to move my arm, and then flop back down again. On the table to my left lies a beautiful collection of brooches, goblets and pendants. I should trade them away. I should live elsewhere. I should set out on my own. 

I pull the furs closer around myself. 

Snaebjorn had jumped straight from the sagas, drawn his sword, and cleaved through our peaceful existence. With his white-blonde hair, his fierce scar, and his magnificent beard, he came with tales of a new land to be settled and new trade routes to establish, glory to be won. He stirred the hearts of the Jarl and the leading men of the village, and was promised Unblakkr and a full crew. 

Einar was going, and nothing would stop him, no bond would hold him back.  

Could I go too? I would hold my own among the men, and they all knew it.  

But no, I had a duty to look after our home and the land.  

It was mere coincidence that Einar now lay inches apart from me each night, and slept soundly while I lay awake. 

On the morning of his departure I lay my head on his chest and listened to his even heartbeat. I told him how much I would miss him, how I hoped he would return soon, how I'd be here waiting, or how he just had to say the word, even now, and I'd pack my things and jump aboard.  

He stroked my hair absently, then shuffled out from beneath me and sat up, facing the wall. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and kissed his side. He unwrapped my arms, threw on his tunic, grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the breaking dawn.