A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (i am reading a book txt) 📕

– crowded around them grinning. Their womenfolk waved, dressed in simple homespun that barely concealed their modesty.

That night, with Fasolt safely refitted and ready for their onward voyage the following day, they feasted under an open sky. Slaves laboured through the evening, ferrying out platters piled high with roasted venison and honeyed horse flesh, accompanied by hard, ripe cheeses and black barley-bread. They drank spiced ale as dark as the earth in that land and bread-beer flavoured with mint and berries. There was music and dancing long into the night.

The headman was a whale of a man, whose slavering and gulping were enough to put Lilla off her food, despite her hunger. But he was a jolly soul too, and through Bayan’s efforts they were able to communicate with their host a little. Mostly banalities and it wasn’t long before the headman was taking more interested in the next platter of food than his guests.

In a quiet moment, Lilla turned to Valrik. ‘It’s no small thing they’ve done,’ she said, gesturing at his crewmen scattered ruddy-faced and smiling about the tables. ‘That you’ve done.’

Valrik grunted and took a swig of his ale. ‘Yep. And my reward is this horse piss.’

‘You should be proud. You found a way.’

Valrik smiled. ‘Didn’t I say it could be done?’

‘You were right.’ Lilla traced a circle on the table with the heel of her cup. ‘Do you think I was right? To choose this?’

He looked at her, considering her for a moment. ‘It ain’t for me to judge a queen.’

‘Do it anyway.’

‘Hm! Very well. . . I think you’re just like the rest of us. Trying to find a way home. Only sometimes the surest way home is to set your course away from it.’

‘Then why did you agree to take me? For the gold? For your boys? You were home already.’

‘Ah, gold’s a wonderful thing,’ he sighed contentedly. ‘But a man’s wealth comes and goes. As for my boys. . . If they want to forge their way in the world, I can’t fault ’em that. Sure, I’d like to see ’em again.’ He shrugged. ‘But maybe I won’t.’

‘I don’t understand you then. Why did you come?’

‘I guess fate gave me another chance.’ He took a draw on his cup. ‘I told you I served your grandfather. I didn’t tell you how I failed him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Estland Wars were ended by your grandsire’s death. He drowned in the Visla estuary, did you know that? Fell overboard when he was so drunk he couldn’t see the end of his nose.’

‘I heard he drowned, at least.’

‘I was the guard on deck that night. Not twenty winters old, I was. Tired, probably drunk as a stoat too. I often was. I should have seen him. Should have stopped him going over.’

She saw the sincerity in his eyes. ‘It was a long time ago. You can’t have borne that guilt all this time.’

He stared into his cup. ‘Why not? Where else can a man lay down his guilt? It’s been on my conscience a long, long while. He was a hard man, old Ívar. But a good king. And I failed him.’ His eyes snapped up. ‘It’s you. You’re the reason I’m here. You’re my chance to set things right.’

It was strange to think of the threads of such different lives woven together into this moment. Valrik was still looking at her, waiting for some answer. Some affirmation. Instead all she said was, ‘Urðr. Verðandi—’

‘Skuld,’ he replied, finishing her thought. What Was, What Is, and What Must Be. The names of the three Norns who weave a man’s fate. He tapped his cup against hers and they both smiled and drank.

The cup was still at her lips when there was a sharp scream that silenced the revelry in an instant. Lilla turned with everyone else, and suddenly the night was filled with the shouts of angry men, the sound of a scuffle beyond the feasting circle and a moment later a group of Varkonni warriors appeared, dragging two others between them. They flung them down in front of the chieftain’s table. One of them was a Varkonni woman. The other was a Northman.

‘Hel,’ murmured Valrik.

The lead warrior yanked back the Northman’s head and put his knife to the man’s throat. Lilla recognized his face. He was one of Valrik’s crew, a youngish lad from the north of Estland called Jarpr. The Varkonni was railing angrily at his headman.

‘What’s he saying?’ Valrik hissed to Bayan.

‘He says this man dishonoured him and shamed his people. I think that’s his daughter. . .’

Valrik swore again. The headman shoved away his enormous platter and glared down at the pair.

‘He caught them together,’ said Bayan.

‘Jarpr couldn’t be that stupid, could he?’ growled Valrik. His orders had been hard but simple. No plunder. No women.

‘The others are saying he attacked her.’

Lilla saw now how young the girl was. She was babbling in her terror, pleading with the headman. Seeing the fear in her eyes stirred up old anger in Lilla. Why should she be begging for mercy? The fat headman still had grease smeared across his chin, but his friendly features were now dark as thunder. ‘She says she’s innocent.’

‘It was only a bit of sport,’ wailed Jarpr in Norse, but even if they could have understood him they were deaf to his pleas. ‘Skipper, I swear – help me!’

A fist smashed into his jaw. He buckled over, whimpering into the dust. The wronged father’s voice was a rapid rattle, fervid for justice.

‘He’s invoking Tengri the Sky God to avenge this wrong,’ said Bayan in a murmur. But all at once the headman silenced him with the raising of his finger. The whole company fell silent with him. The only sounds were the crackle of the huge fire and the whimpers of Jarpr and the girl.

The headman spoke. ‘He’s saying Tengri sees all and judges with the eye of the sun,’ relayed Bayan. The headman barked an abrupt command. Four men came