CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN VARG

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

VARG

V arg sat on a barrel, blinked salt spray and rain from his eyes and stabbed a bone needle through one side of a tear in his wool tunic, pulled the thread through and stabbed the needle into the other side of the tear. Pulling the thread tight the rip in the wool closed and Varg tied his thread off and cut it with his eating knife. He had been concentrating on his task, but also on staying in his seat, as the Sea-Wolf rose and fell like a horse, trying to throw him from his place. His balance shifted with each swell and lull of the sea.

At least this time I can do something without emptying my stomach over the top-rail , he thought, remembering his first voyage, sailing to Iskidan in chase of Jaromir and Vol.

That feels like a long time ago now. He thought he had been going to die, much to Svik and R?kia's entertainment. He looked up, saw over the starboard side that the coast of Vigrie was slithering by, cloaked in a fine mist of rain, and to the bow, almost at the edge of his vision, he saw the sail of Jarl Orlyg's drakkar .

Beside him R?kia was muttering under her breath as she hammered at her brynja , which was spread across her sea-chest. She had tongs in one hand, hammer in the other as she repaired a rent across the ribs of the coat with new rings. On the deck of the ship Einar Half-Troll was on his knees, wrestling with Refna Strong-Hands and a few other children. Svik was leaning on the mast-pole, arms folded, watching.

Varg pulled the repaired tunic over his head and stood, let it fall down his body.

"R?kia, come, let's watch Einar," he said.

R?kia looked up, over at Einar and the children.

"No," she said with a scowl.

"Why?" Varg asked her.

"Because Einar lets them win. It is wrong," she said.

Varg walked away, smiling and shaking his head.

"Ouch," Svik said, wincing as Varg joined him. "Duck, Einar, they are too quick for you," he shouted.

Einar was laughing, toppling forwards as Refna and a handful of other children swarmed over him, dragging him to the ground. He lay there like a dead walrus a few moments, then slowly rose to his hands and knees, shook himself like a hound coming out of a stream, and children flew from him in all directions, laughing and shrieking.

"Come then, try again, little pups," Einar said, rising onto his knees and grinning.

"Mama, can I try?" Varg heard a voice, looked and saw Orka with her son, Breca. He was stood with a shield in one fist, a short spear in the other, a leather cap over the blade.

"Half-Troll?" Orka called out.

"All are welcome," Einar said, grinning at Breca as he stepped forwards. He walked towards Einar until he was just out of spear range, then set his feet, raised his shield and lifted his spear, spun it in his hand into an overhand grip, spear shaft just behind the blade resting on the upper rim of his shield.

Svik grunted approvingly.

"He has been taught well," a voice said close to Varg's good ear, and he jumped, saw that R?kia had come to stand beside him.

"I thought you did not want to watch," Varg said.

"I don't want to," R?kia said, "but I cannot stop myself."

Svik snorted.

Einar grinned at Breca and the boy stepped in, a short, quick, well-balanced shuffle of his feet and he stabbed his spear, fast and hard. Einar batted it away with a swipe of his hand, and smiled encouragingly. Breca pivoted left, spun his spear and cracked Einar across the forehead with the butt end, pushed himself back the other way off his left leg, ducked Einar's looping arm and raked his spear blade across Einar's cheek and nose, then stepped back out of range, shield and spear held ready. The big man grunted and swayed back on his knees, put a hand to his forehead and looked at his bloody fingertips. Frowned.

"Now that is more like it," R?kia said with a smile. "I like this little wolf cub."

There was a ripple of cheers among the Bloodsworn who were watching, and some laughter at Einar. Then a figure slammed into Breca's side and hurled him to the deck, his shield and spear clattering from his grip across the decking. He rolled on the ground and looked up.

Refna Strong-Hands stood over him, her hands balled into fists, her face white and trembling with rage. Varg saw colours flickering in her eyes.

"You hurt Einar," Refna screamed at Breca, spittle spraying.

Breca's legs kicked, and he scrambled on the ground, surged to his feet, lips pulled back in a snarl, his own eyes glinting amber and green. Refna did not wait for him, but hurled herself at him, fists flying.

"Oh no you don't," Einar rumbled, climbing to his feet and reaching in, Orka moving at the same time, grabbing at Breca. In heartbeats both children were dangling in the air, spitting and snarling at each other. Einar held Refna by her tunic and Orka held Breca by the fur around his neck.

"Enough," she barked at Breca and slowly the flickering lights in his eyes faded, and he slumped in her grip.

"She attacked me," he said sullenly.

"Refna, you can't go around attacking people just because I got a scratch," Einar said to Refna, who was still glowering at Breca. "There are rules, and manners."

"Your head," Refna said. "It's only just got better."

"A tickle from his stick is not going to do me any harm," Einar grinned. " Now, can I put you down?"

"Aye," Refna grunted, giving Breca a last scowl.

Glornir walked through the crowd as Orka and Einar put the children down.

"What's going on here?" Glornir asked.

"Nothing, chief," Einar said, "just a bit of friendly sparring."

Glornir looked at the cut on Einar's forehead and cheek, then at Breca and Refna.

"Huh," he grunted, then he walked over to Varg.

"Here," Glornir said, holding up a bucket of heated pitch to Varg. "Repaint your shield black. Tonight, you take your vow."

Varg sat upon a rock, listening to the surf as it roared up the beach, then the hiss as the silver moon-glint of it slithered back down into the darkness.

The Sea-Wolf and Sulich's knarr bobbed in a small cove on the south-western coast of Vigrie, where they had dropped anchor for the night. Out in the bay there was a soft glow of light from awnings on the drakkar and knarr , where a handful of guards watched over the two ships. The bulk of both crews were gathered further up the beach, though, where the shingle turned to soil and stiff grass.

"Fr?ya, what would you say to see me now," he breathed to the moon and night air, to the stars pinpricking the vault of the raven-cloaked sky. He was wearing his fresh-scrubbed mail, his weapons and helm buckled at his belt, the sides of his head newly shaved with the edge of a sharp knife. The length of his hair was tied at his crown, and when he had combed his beard with a comb fashioned from elk-bone, he had discovered it was long enough to put a braid in it, which he had tied off with a thin strip of leather. His silver arm ring glinted around his left bicep, given to him by Glornir after the battle at Rotta's chamber.

"I am to become one of the Bloodsworn," he murmured to the sea. Their fair-fame was how all in Vigrie knew of them, but that meant nothing to Varg. "They are home," he breathed to the listening moon and stars. "They are kin." He shook his head. "I wish you were here, Fr?ya, wish you could have known this … belonging. This peace."

Varg listened, the sigh of the wind over the sea, hissing across the sea-spume and shingle, rustling through the dry grass, was almost like a voice.

Footsteps crunched on shingle, growing louder, a shadow looming, silhouetted by the firelight further up the beach.

"Varg No-Sense, it is time," Svik said to him, serious for a change.

Varg breathed deep, blew out a long breath and stood. He bent and gripped his new-painted shield, just a darker shadow in the crow-black of night, and nodded to Svik, who turned and led him up the beach towards the firelight.

The sounds of voices grew louder as Varg drew closer to them, people eating, drinking, talking, Varg making out the bulk of Glornir, Vol, Iva, Edel and Taras with them. The conversation faded and died as Varg reached them, Svik leading him through the crowd that now moved to form a circle around the fire pit. Around Varg.

Glornir stepped into the circle, stood before Varg, and gripped him by the shoulders, looked at him for a long moment. Then Glornir smiled, which made Varg blink. He let go of Varg and turned a slow circle, facing out to the Bloodsworn gathered around them, talking as he turned.

"Varg No-Sense has come to us, a wolf-blood stray, a lone wolf. He has eaten with us, drunk with us, sailed with us, bent his back at the oar-bench with us. He has fought in the battle-fray and shield wall with us, buried our dead with us. Risked his life for us." He stopped in his turning, standing to look at Varg again with his green-touched eyes. "Varg No-Sense, why are you here?"

"I would be one of you," Varg said. "I would be one of the Bloodsworn. I would be kin."

"Who here would have Varg No-Sense for an oar-mate?" Glornir called out. "Who here would trust him at their side in the shield wall, who here would give their life for him?"

A long, flame-licked silence, and then R?kia stepped out of the crowd, the fire-glow casting her face in sharp-gleaming angles and deep shadows .

"I would," R?kia said.

"And I," Svik said, stepping next to R?kia, firelight glinting on his oiled beard and sharp-toothed smile.

"I would," Einar Half-Troll rumbled.

"And I," said Sulich, taking a step into the light.

"And I," said Vol, a hint of a smile on her lips as she held Varg's gaze.

"And I," Edel said. And so it went on, each of the Bloodsworn stepping forwards, forty of them, fifty, until finally all had taken the step and raised their voices, all except one, all eyes coming to settle upon Glornir.

"And I," Glornir said, his voice like gravel.

A silence settled, the crackle of flames.

"Give me your shield," Glornir said, and Varg handed it to him.

Vol stepped closer, her serpent draped across her shoulders, a leather cup in one hand, drawing a seax with her other, a slithering hiss as it left its scabbard.

"Give me your hand, Varg No-Sense," she said, and he held his weapons hand out to her. She took it, her grip firm, skin rough, and lifted it, with a swift movement drew the seax across the back of Varg's hand, blood welling black in the night. A moment before he felt the sting of it, then she was drawing the blade across the back of her own hand, more dark blood glistening. She pressed the back of her hand to Varg's cut and held the cup beneath both their hands, Varg seeing their mingled blood drip into the cup.

"Snaka blóe, tekki barnie titt, Varg úlfsson," Vol said. There was a flicker of light within the cup and, as Varg watched the blood began to rise into the air, two strands of flickering, grease-slick blood spiralling together, around each other, slowly intertwining, twisting, like the iron rods of a sword as they are forged together. A hiss and flare of flame as the two strands became one, dropping back into the cup, swilling there like molten metal.

"Say the words," Glornir said.

"Before you all I swear my oath," Varg began, reciting the words that Glornir had spoken to him upon the beach. "To become kin with you, my brothers, my sisters; to become pack. To fight for you, to die for you, if needs be to avenge you, until the world's ending." He looked from Glornir to the Bloodsworn gathered around him. "By my blood, bone, flesh and steel I swear it."

"Your hands," Vol said and Varg cupped his hands as Glornir raised Varg's shield. Vol lifted the cup and turned it over, the still-glowing blood dripping and pooling into Varg's hands.

"I seal this oath with my blood," he said and flung the blood at his shield. With a sizzling hiss the blood spattered across the shield, burning and marking it, the reek of charred linen and wood wafting, tendrils of smoke rising from where the blood had kissed the shield.

Glornir handed the shield back to Varg and he took it.

"Welcome to the Bloodsworn," Glornir said, and a great roar of cheering erupted around Varg. He grinned with the joy of it, emotion rising like a wave, and tears ran down his cheeks.