The Valhalla Saga by Kristjansson Snorri

Author:Kristjansson, Snorri [Kristjansson, Snorri]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Quercus Publishing
Published: 2018-03-07T16:00:00+00:00

BY THE NORTHWEST COAST OF DENMARK EARLY NOVEMBER, AD 996

The waves stroked the sides of the boat, slapping against the cutting oars. The sails snapped in the wind. Above and behind them the seagulls cawed, hovering over two longships.

No one spoke.

The men rowed with a will, as if the further away they got the more they would forget, as if staring at the back of the man in front of them would make the images in their heads go away.

Audun sat with his back up against the mast, shivering despite the heat in his veins. He was covered from the chest up with congealed blood, grey skull sludge, vomit. He remembered the fight in frozen moments – strangers with bearded faces twisted in rage, teeth bared, wild eyes. The leap. The surprise on their faces as he landed among them. Screams and breaking bones. The taste of their fear, and the blood. The smell of the blood. He shivered and thought he would throw up again, but there was nothing left in his stomach by now. Audun wrapped the torn shift around himself and tried to huddle into as small a space as possible.

In the stern Hrutur steered, silent but frowning, as the knarr ploughed through the waves, cutting a path straight for the land of the Danes. The men stayed quiet, even when the pale blue line on the horizon became a strip of sand and grass.

A grunt and a nudge, and Hrutur’s boatsman took the tiller. The captain turned his back to Audun, knelt and started rummaging in packs by his feet. When he turned and rose he was holding a small travel sack. A hand-axe had somehow found its way to his belt. None of the rowers looked at him as he made his way to Audun’s spot by the mast.

The captain crouched by Audun, close enough to be heard over the wind. ‘Listen. We thank you for what you … did for us. But I think you’re trouble, and I won’t have any trouble on my boat. We’re setting you off just north of Skaer. There’s food, some coin and a new tunic in the sack.’

Audun looked up at the weathered captain. ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled.

A strange expression flitted across Hrutur’s face. Shame? Pity? ‘It isn’t much,’ he muttered. ‘Just your oarsman’s pay. Go south off the beach; the village of Skaer is a day away. Road’s a couple of miles inland.’ He rose, made his way quickly to the captain’s bench and took the tiller from the boatsman. The knarr curved sharply, heading straight towards a sandy beach up ahead.

They landed smoothly and still no one spoke. Audun struggled to stand, then somehow managed to turn and walk towards the bow. As he clambered over the edge he heard muttered voices.

‘—beast—’

‘—monster—’

‘—berserker—’

The freezing water shocked him out of his stupor and he waded onto dry land as fast as he could manage. Behind him feet hit the water and curses rang out, louder than ever, calling for a good push.

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