Fate's Needle (3 page)

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Authors: Jerry Autieri

Tags: #Dark Ages, #Norse, #adventure, #Vikings, #Viking Age, #Historical Novel, #Norway, #historical adventure

BOOK: Fate's Needle
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“How is your back healing?”

“Like nothing ever happened.” Grim tried to infuse his voice with power and dignity, but even to his own ears he sounded like a child.

“Like nothing happened,” Orm repeated, then returned to his silence.

Orm sprang up, his arm shooting out like a thrown spear. The chair skittered away from him as he leaped from the table and seized his youngest son by the throat, shoving him against the wall. Grim grabbed his father’s arm, flailing against its iron grasp. Agony exploded across his back, and sharp pain shot through his ears and neck.

“Like nothing happened!” Orm roared into his face, following with a sour belch of mead. “Maybe I need to repeat the lesson until you notice something happened?”

“N-no,” Grim managed.

His father’s bloodshot eyes bulged with rage as he thrust Grim against the wall.

“Something is always happening with you, Boy. Do you know that? Ill luck follows you like a lost dog—from the day you were born! Do you think I want that in my army, in my hall? With you at my side I can’t fail to lose, can I?”

Orm’s grip tightened on his throat, and Grim’s vision hazed brown. He kicked and grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head. Then his father released him. Grim slumped against the wall and gasped, his hands reflexively clutching his wounded neck.

His father stood over him, heaving as if he were the one nearly strangled. Grim glared up at him, as defiantly as he could manage, but Orm just pushed his hair from his face and walked back to his fallen chair.

“I married your mother in this hall, on a day like today, sixteen years ago. Not a finer woman in the whole circle of the world. Until you pulled out her guts, killed her. Why did the gods trade her life for yours?”

Grim staggered to his feet, unable to contain his tears. Wanting to be manly, he tried, at least, to suppress the largest sobs, yet even they escaped. “It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t ask to be born!” he cried, like the child he was.

“I’d lash you to ribbons if it would bring her back.” Orm picked up his chair, but kept his back to his son. Drunken anger still quavered in his voice. “Just get away from me! Go find your brother. He’ll deal with you now that he’s a man.”

Grim fled, all pretence of dignity and manliness choked from him. He exploded out the front door, wailing like a baby, and nearly careened directly into Auden and Ulfrik. Not daring to look at them, he threw his arm over his face and ran blindly, wishing the gods
had
killed him instead of his mother. His life was a torment to everyone, including himself.

***

They remained at Auden’s hall after the attack to ensure no other raiders followed. None came. Ulfrik mingled with the men, enjoying being treated as an equal. Snorri trained him to throw axes and shoot arrows.

“When you go to battle, always keep a throwing ax in your belt,” Snorri, who was renowned for his martial skills both in the shield wall and at a distance, advised. “A good throw can split a man’s skull at thirty paces. It can mean the difference between fighting one enemy or two.”

When he wasn’t hurling axes or sparring, Ulfrik spent time with his uncle and cousins. Only Grim stayed apart. Ulfrik did not care at first. He was not eagerly anticipating seeing his brother again, but after witnessing him flee the hall, and learning what had happened, Ulfrik knew that making peace would become his responsibility.

Torn between resenting his brother for denying him a mother he could no longer remember and protecting his younger sibling, Ulfrik had always felt bad that Grim bore the blame for something he had no control over. Orm, on the other hand, had no trouble blaming him, and never seemed to care if Grim disappeared. When Grim had not shown for several days, Ulfrik sought him in the woods.

He and Grim always took to the woods when they needed time alone. It was dangerous— wolves prowled its depths—but it felt natural. The solitude was comforting. Ulfrik had no trouble locating his brother. Grim had left signs everywhere, pointing to where he could be found. Ulfrik located him hunkered against a tree, a small black shape in a brown cloak. He was scratching something in the dirt with a stick when Ulfrik approached.

“Come home now, Grim. Are you trying to starve yourself to death?”

Grim continued to slash and scratch the dirt. Ulfrik looked down at the muddy ground, but could make no sense of the violent scribbles.

“I heard Father was hard on you, and I’m sorry for that. Uncle Auden tore him down for it too, called him a beast. I think Father regrets what he did. Why don’t you come back now?”

Grim tossed his stick away, and pulled his hands back under his cloak. He finally looked up, his face dirty, streaked with dried tears. Ulfrik spotted the bruises on his neck, but averted his eyes.

“You just want to be the big hero again, bringing me back. Why don’t you go fall on a sword.”

Ulfrik stiffened and his fists balled. “Seems you’ve taken care of my sword, Grim. Now, I’m done fooling around. I told you to get home. Your going to starve out here, or wolves will scent you. Let’s go.”

“So you’re a man now! You’re the big warrior? A killer. Well, I could’ve done what you did. I bet Father did all the work and let you take the glory, just because you’re his favorite.”

“Shut your mouth, Grim! I did all my own fighting. I saved Father’s life!”

“That’s even worse! I wish the both of you died!”

The words froze the air between them.

Grim glared out from beneath his shock of black hair. Glaring back, Ulfrik grit his teeth and stepped back. His eyes felt hot. His arm drew back and snapped forward before even he understood what he intended, slamming his backhand into Grim’s cheek, his knuckles dragging across his brother’s face. Grim sprawled out, facedown in the dirt.

“You dare to speak to me like that! If Father heard you, I don’t know what he would do. You are a child—a brat! I’m sick of you feeling sorry for yourself all the time. I’m sick of chasing after you whenever you act like a baby. I’m the only one to come for you, and that’s what you say to me? That’s my thanks? Now get up. You’re coming with me.”

“I hate you!” Grim screamed into the dirt. “You take all of father’s attention, all of his praise! I get nothing!”

Ulfrik paused at the accusation, knowing Grim was right. He shrugged. Then he stooped to help his brother up.

In an instant, Grim flipped over and his arm arced out.

Ulfrik’s vision flared white and pain burst in his head.
What had happened?
The salt-sourness of blood leaked into his mouth and Grim’s face, muddy with dirt and fresh tears, hovered in the milky blue sky above him. Grim’s eyes bulged and his brows knitted together. Ulfrik could see his brother’s lips move, but the words were as if spoken through a wall. Whatever Grim said, Ulfrik did not understand. His brother backed up and flung a rock at Ulfrik. Then he turned and ran, leaving Ulfrik lying on his back, staring at the sky.

***

Ulfrik stood beneath the high table where Orm and Auden sat. The two men looked cold and fierce—expressions Ulfrik seldom saw, and never for anything good. The hearth fire crackled behind him, and mumbled voices came from outside the hall. Everyone else had been urged out when Ulfrik had staggered back with a bloodied head.

Orm had grabbed Ulfrik’s face in one giant hand and twisted it back and forth, contenting himself the wound was not serious, but Ulfrik still felt about to vomit. Then, Orm had sent a man to find Grim. But Grim had not been found; instead, he had actually surrendered himself. He now stood beside Ulfrik, staring down at his feet.

The silence continued until Ulfrik could stand it no longer. At last, Orm’s gravelly voice broke the quiet. “You could’ve killed your brother, do you understand that?”

“He didn’t mean…”

“Silence, Ulfrik! Not a word from either of you, unless I ask for it!”

Ulfrik lowered his head, chastened.

“Did you want to kill your brother?”

Grim nodded without hesitation. “But I’m sorry now. I was just angry. I didn’t think…”

Orm slammed the table, and everyone jumped, including Auden. “There’s no such thing as sorry for murder, boy! Your own brother, by the Gods!” Orm fell into a dark silence, folding his arms across his chest. He shared a glance with Auden, who nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. The two of you need to be separated. Ulfrik is a man now, and you, Grim, are a child with a jealous mind. I had hoped you would learn from your brother, become like him. I was wrong.

“Grim, you will foster with your uncle. Perhaps he can do better with you than I have.”

Auden snapped around to face Orm. “No, that is not what I meant, Orm. I cannot take this one. With all my daughters? Grim is too much trouble, not fit for my hall.”

Orm’s expression clouded, but he nodded. “Very well. He is my responsibility. My burden to bear. Ulfrik you shall stay here.”

Both men looked down at them. Ulfrik did not know whether to thank them, or say anything at all. He didn’t dare ignore his father’s order to remain silent.

But Grim did. “Uncle Auden is better. Everyone says so. I want to stay here instead,” Grim said.

Ulfrik fought his impulse to cringe. But the explosion from Orm didn’t come. Instead, Auden simply smiled, and Orm shook his head. “There’s no more to be said.”

***

Orm and Grim prepared to leave Auden’s hall, along with the men who had traveled with them. Gathered outside, they were met by Auden and his hirdmen. Grim stood dutifully behind his father. Ulfrik noticed he looked changed, harder and colder somehow. His black eyes registered nothing when they met Ulfrik’s.
Somehow,
Ulfrik thought,
Grim has become a man on this trip too. But what measure of a man?

Orm’s and Auden’s men exchanged kind words and farewells.

“Keep practicing,” Snorri said with a wink, and gently punched Ulfrik’s shoulder. “And maybe you’ll beat me at the ax-throwing contest one day. Though I doubt it.”

“Don’t let your daughters soften him up. Keep him strong for me,” Orm told Auden, not taking his eyes off Ulfrik. Then a hirdman guided Orm’s gray Fjord horse to him, and he prepared to mount.

“Wait.” Auden ushered Ulfrik forward to where Auden’s blacksmith stood waiting. The smith passed a sheathed sword to Auden, a brilliant green gem glinting in the sword’s pommel. “It’s a finer blade than the original.” Auden transferred the blade to him.

“It’s my best work,” the smith added.

A smile split Ulfrik’s face as he stepped backward to draw the blade. It hissed gently, and then sang as it left the sheath. The sword felt weightless in his hands, and its newly polished edge gleamed in the sun. Ulfrik waved it carefully in the air, thrilling at the balance. “This is wonderful. I can’t thank you enough.”

Orm looked impressed too, and gestured that he might test it. He weighed it in his palm and stroked the air several times. “Sure enough, it’s a good blade. Your smith needs to work for me, Auden.” He returned the sword to Ulfrik as the assembled men laughed. “Something this fine deserves a name. What will you call it?”

Ulfrik peered down the brilliant blue length of the sword, its blade thin and sharp as a needle. “Fate’s Needle,” he said. “That’s its name.”

Approving nods bobbed around the crowd. “Use it to sew a strong destiny,” Orm said. Then he turned and mounted his Fjord horse. Ulfrik looked again to Grim, his smile fading. Grim’s face was blank. Saying nothing, his brother blinked and turned away.

Two

The years passed quickly, and Ulfrik grew to manhood in Auden’s hall. He returned to Grenner often. On those visits, Orm would test him, setting him menial tasks. But he also taught him how to run the land and how to be a leader who made people feel confident.

“Raiding is for desperate men with nothing to lose at home,” Orm used to say—until one year when he returned with a boat full of treasure, making Ulfrik wonder if raiding was as bad as Orm described. The riches had been shared among the men and Orm buried his share in the hall. Orm also ensured Ulfrik mixed with the men, learning their names and getting to know their families. Even as Ulfrik grew taller and stronger, his father never appeared any older.

The years changed Grim little also. When he visited Grenner, Ulfrik still found him unimaginative, envious, angry and unsatisfied, traits that had now grown from childish drawbacks to man-sized defects. His temper was explosive; only Orm could keep him calm. Grim had not grown much taller, but his stout body rippled with ropy muscle. At nineteen years old, Grim was a physical match for any man. He seemed afraid of Ulfrik, yet avoided him all the same. Ulfrik did not mind.

In the seven years Ulfrik had fostered with Auden, raiders had come only once more to Auden’s lands. A band of ragged men from Vestfold—new faces, the same old threats. Unrest in the north produced roving bands of men who had lost their livelihoods and homes. Those men had met the same end as the first Vestfold raiders. Ulfrik had wielded Fate’s Needle for the first time in battle and sent three men to Valhalla, cementing his reputation as a war leader.

One sullen day in late autumn, a messenger from Grenner arrived at Auden’s hall.

“Your father has taken ill,” the man told him, his blue lips quivering in the cold. “Healing broths, magic—the wise woman attending him has tried everything. He is not expected to live.”

After rushed good-byes to his uncle and cousins, Ulfrik hurried home, deciding against the full day’s walk and riding one of Auden’s few horses instead.

Later that same night, he saw up ahead the beams of golden light shining from the hall’s shuttered windows, pulled taut against the night’s cold air.

“We thought you might come tonight,” said one of the guards.

“Gods keep your father,” said the other, as Ulfrik dismounted and gave Auden’s mount over to his care.

After a few strides, Ulfrik stopped and turned to the guards. “I don’t recognize either of you.”

“Your father is expanding his forces,” the other said, patting the horse’s neck as he spoke. “You know, the problems with the Vestfolders.”

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