The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (15 page)

FOURTEEN

“
W
ho is
he?”

“He fought with young Skallagrim in the east.”

“But his name?”

The voices tugged at Raef’s ears and drew him into a sleepy wakefulness, his eyelids yet heavy and his limbs mired in straw. The first speaker was a stranger to him, the voice harsh and suspicious. The fisherman answered again.

“I have not asked.” A pause. “He is very weak.”

“He could be one of them,” the stranger said. “Their ship wrecked somewhere to the north.” Raef’s drowsy mind tried to think whom the stranger spoke of but his thoughts were like scattered leaves blown out of reach by a stiff breeze.

Brunn’s voice was stronger and more insistent now. “Look at him, Skarfi, he is just as you see him and he needs our help.”

“You have always been so quick to trust, Brunn. And what has that brought you?”

Silence but for the sound of Raef’s heart beating in his ears. It seemed a good time to open his eyes, before the conversation went further. He had intended to struggle into a sitting position so as to gain their attention, but the struggle was more real than he anticipated and he was glad of Brunn’s strong hands helping him until he could lean against the wall of the house, his lower half still burrowed in blankets and straw. The fisherman gave Raef water and asked how he felt. The stranger, tall and dark of hair, eyebrows knit together in disapproval, waited across the room near the ladder leading to the loft where Sigrid, Brunn, and their daughter slept, arms crossed over his chest.

When Raef had swallowed twice, the stranger seemed to think that enough and came to stand over Raef, his bulk looming large and no doubt meant to intimidate. Though it pained him to hold his neck at such an angle, Raef titled his head up and held the man’s stare, keeping his own eyes blank.

“Do you have a name?”

Raef did not answer.

“Answer, cur. You are in my brother’s house and I would know your name and your father’s before you.”

The man was big and strong, with the look of a builder rather than a fisherman like his brother. He might have been a warrior but for the absence of three fingers on his left hand. He could never have held a shield in battle. Raef wished for an axe and even a shred of his former strength. He had to settle for words. “Vakre.” Until he knew the stranger’s intentions it felt safer to cling to anonymity. “My father is Gedda,” Raef said, naming his grandfather.

Brunn’s brother scoffed. “Never heard of him. What manners did he teach you? To prey upon the kindness of others? My brother has given you more than you deserve. It is time you left.”

Brunn broke in, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Peace, brother. My house, my kindness. Do not forget it.”

“How could I? Ever has your kindness plagued our family. It will be the ruin of us all, the end of our line.”

Brunn’s eyes narrowed. “He stays if I say he stays.”

Skarfi did not bother to hide his displeasure, but something stilled his tongue. Brunn returned his attention to Raef.

“Sigrid has gone to visit her mother and Eadilwif with her. They will not return until after nightfall but do not think to lie here abed while the sun is out.” Brunn smiled. “She has charged me with getting you on your feet. She says it is time.”

“The sooner the better, that I may cease to burden you,” Raef said, his gaze on Skarfi, whose lip curled in response.

“It is no burden, friend.” Brunn got to his feet. “Brother, do you not have traps to tend and wood to cut?” Skarfi glowered but pulled his cloak tight across his chest and stomped out into the snow and the early morning sun.

“I do not wish to be the cause of anger between brothers,” Raef said.

“There was anger there long before you washed up on shore. I should never have brought him here to see you.” Brunn extended his hand and smiled again. “Come.”

Taking a deep breath, Raef locked hands with Brunn, who also leaned down to lift Raef from under one arm. Together, they hauled Raef to unsteady feet, though it was Brunn who did most of the work.

The pain in Raef’s left leg was fierce, the bones, tendons, and muscles protesting against the weight that bore down on them. He let his body sag to the right, easing the burden on his left leg, and did not let go of Brunn’s elbow, hunching close to the other man’s torso. With effort, he stood straight, forcing his shoulders back and his spine upright, though it cost him a great deal.

He was taller than Brunn, he found, and this surprised him for in his weakened state, Raef felt shrunken and depleted. That he stood a hand’s width over Brunn’s close-cropped hair was disconcerting when he felt only half himself, half a man. Down on the straw, Brunn and his brother had seemed as immense as Hrodvelgr, if not so fair.

Brunn said nothing of the white knuckles clenched around his elbow, his voice remaining cheerful. “A step,” he said, quietly demanding, and Raef complied, sliding his right foot forward. The left lingered and Raef dreaded moving it. “Another.” Grunting with the exertion of so simple a thing, Raef dragged his left foot until it was nearly in line with the right, but even this left him sweating as his knee burned with agony. “Good. But this time, I want to see daylight between your boot and my boards,” Brunn said, still smiling. His good mood was not infectious, for Raef was far from smiling himself, but it did feel indispensable, like water on a sweltering summer day.

Raef took his time before moving again and each step was agony but Brunn’s guiding arm did not let him stop until they had crossed the length of the small house. Raef’s reward was a sip of mead and a boiled egg but first he slumped in a chair, his knee throbbing.

“I should be dead,” Raef said as he swallowed the last of the egg and washed it down with the mead.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Men drown in shipwrecks every day. Others survive.” Brunn wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his own cup of mead half drained. “I see the bodies, both alive and dead, though,” he added, “never have I seen a body as bruised and damaged as yours and still flowing with life-blood. But that is in the past. You must look beyond it.”

Wise words but words Raef could not embrace with all his heart. He wondered what Brunn would say if he knew even half of Raef’s true story, half of what he had seen and survived. Brunn emptied his cup and stood. “Again.”

They walked the length of Brunn’s house three times before Raef begged for mercy. He felt as though he had climbed a mountain, his legs crying out, sweat beads trickling down his chest, and blood pulsing in his ears. Brunn let him rest, offering water and broth Sigrid had left over the hearth, but making it clear that they would resume after he returned from checking on the pigs.

Raef leaned back into the straw and let his mind drift as clouds passed over the window, bringing the house in and out of shadow. The sound of a horse drew his attention and he opened his eyes when a second horse called out in answer. A voice, angry and harsh. Another chiming in. And then Brunn’s. Raef could not make out words but the voices grew more heated and then the door banged open and Skarfi filled the doorway, blocking the sun.

“You, get up.” He pounced on Raef and dragged him to his feet as a second man followed. “Three nights ago, thieves tried to make off with Hollof’s sheep. Two escaped, and the third as well, but not before Hollof’s dog got hold of him.” Skarfi shook Raef and snarled, his red-rimmed eyes taking in Raef’s bruises, the fresh wound on his palm, and the mark Hrodvelgr’s creature’s tooth had carved into Raef’s arm. “That was you.”

Brunn, protesting, stepped close but the other man, Hollof, punched him in the gut. Brunn doubled over, unable to speak. Skarfi shoved Raef against the wall and held him there, his forearm cutting into Raef’s throat.

“Has the right look,” Hollof said, peering at Raef with pale blue eyes. “Needs a good gutting.” He spat and Raef flinched as the phlegm landed on his cheek. Skarfi’s thick forearm bore down harder and Hollof drew a knife from his belt and held it to Raef’s ear. Raef struggled for air, his hands reaching out to Skarfi’s shoulders but pawing uselessly, as a weak animal might at the end of a hunt. He was prepared to give up his name, if it would stay their wrath, but he was unable to do more than grunt. The anger in their eyes, the glee at having prey at their disposal, shone bright and Raef did not think the name of Skallagrim would give them pause while their blood was up.

Beyond Hollof’s shoulder, Brunn had risen, his face stricken but a crude hammer in hand. A single swing sent Hollof to the floor, blood sprouting from his temple, and Skarfi’s grip on Raef slipped enough for Raef to duck and limp away. The brothers squared off, Skarfi all rage and brute strength, a knife flashing from his belt, Brunn less certain but the hammer held in a firm grip.

“You will not spill blood in my house, brother,” Brunn said.

Skarfi bellowed in rage and lunged. Brunn sidestepped but Raef could see he did not have the training to win a fight against a bigger, stronger opponent. Skarfi circled again and Raef, his left leg a knot of agony, scanned the room for a weapon. Lurching to the table, he grasped a short, stubby knife.

“Stop this madness,” Raef shouted, his voice raspy from Skarfi’s hold. “The lord of Vannheim commands it.” It was Brunn who looked at Raef, who dropped his guard, and Skarfi, whether deaf to Raef’s words or choosing to ignore them, took his chance. He tackled Brunn to the ground, sending the hammer spinning across the floorboards. The smaller brother stood no chance against Skarfi’s bulk and Raef tried to go to his aid, but Hollof, recovered, if woozy, beat him there and placed himself between Raef and the brothers sprawled on the floor. Hollof blinked away blood that trickled close to his eye and his gaze was unsteady, but the blade in his hand did not quiver and Raef knew his depleted strength and crippled leg made a fight foolish.

For a moment, there was silence but for the heavy breaths of each man. And then Hollof spoke.

“The lord of Vannheim, he says.” A limp grin spread across Hollof’s wide face. “I begin to think we should let you live.”

Skarfi grunted from the floor. “Finish him.”

“He may be worth more alive than dead, lord or not,” Hollof said. “They will pay good coin for him.”

Skarfi rolled off his brother but did not let Brunn rise. “And if not?”

“Then we can kill him later.”

Skarfi got to his feet and advanced on Raef. Brunn rose and made to follow but Raef held up a hand to keep him from coming closer.

“Will you come without a fuss?” Hollof leered at Raef.

“If you leave this man alone.”

Skarfi scoffed. “Not worth the trouble, my brother. Never did have any ambition.”

Raef looked from one man to the other, wondering if they would keep their word, but he knew he did not have any choice but to hope they would. He would not risk further harm to Brunn or his family and home. Raef limped to the table, trying in vain to keep upright and show himself to be stronger than he felt. The effort failed and his leg gave out after two steps, sending him careening into the table. Steadying himself to the sound of Hollof and Skarfi’s laughter, Raef set the small knife on the table and caught Brunn’s gaze. He tried to convey a great many things in that shared look, but most of all his gratitude.

“My fate is my own,” Raef murmured, his mind on the words the Allfather had spoken. Raef turned to Skarfi and spread his hands. “I am yours. But if we must travel far, I will need a horse.”

Skarfi scowled. “You will walk.”

“Then the sun will set on us here. You have seen me fall after two steps. If you wish to travel, my legs cannot be trusted.”

“Use mine,” Brunn said. He did not meet his brother’s gaze, but looked instead to Raef, who gave him a nod.

Brunn’s horse was a shaggy-hoofed creature, big and strong for working the land. There was no saddle but Raef twined his fingers in the horse’s black mane and pulled himself up, glad of the freedom of movement the horse could grant him and the muscles, rippling under a thick winter coat, that would carry him with ease. With only one horse between Skarfi and Hollof, they agreed to take turns riding. Skarfi, his fingers red from the cold, tied the horses together, then they set off, heading north and into the hills. Hollof led the way, his mount breaking the snow, Skarfi following on foot in his tracks, one hand on the rope, Raef bringing up the rear. Raef looked back at the small house on the edge of the fjord. He knew not what the day held for him, but better that than bring danger to Brunn’s home. At least now Skarfi and Hollof would be far away when Sigrid and Eadilwif returned.

They rode in silence while the day passed out of its youth. The sun was bright, its light only broken by puffy clouds that skimmed across the sky. Snow crunched under the horses’ hooves and Raef drank in the fresh air, even though it was cold and biting, sneaking its way under his borrowed cloak and the woolen layers Brunn had insisted Raef accept. When they paused to ford a stream, Raef ventured to speak.

“Where are you taking me?”

Skarfi and Hollof glanced at each other and neither spoke.

“Who do you think is going to pay you?”

Again there was no answer and Raef, urging his horse up the bank, decided to save his breath.