Part 32 (2/2)
This next time, Ragnor leaped aside; Olaf's swing missed, and his giant axe swung hard into the earthen flooring.
”Kill him now! It's your chance!” his brother roared.
But all he had known thus far was the role of student, and so Ragnor hesitated. Olaf brought his weapon from the ground and came at him, swinging again.
Ragnor ducked and circled around, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the onlookers. When Olaf shattered his second s.h.i.+eld, Ragnor dropped the mace as well as the remnants of protective wood; he then picked up his sword.
When the giant came forward, laughing and drawing back his axe, Ragnor sped forward, striking instantly and with dead precision.
Ragnor caught him in the throat. Olaf, amazed, dropped his weapon and clasped his throat with both hands.
Blood gushed through the man's fingers. For seconds that seemed an eternity, Olaf stared at Ragnor.
Then he fell dead to the floor.
Men all around him cheered. His brother rushed forward and hoisted him on his shoulders. He should have felt the elation of his fellow men. He felt hollow instead.
That night, the Jarl of the isles gave Ragnor a s.h.i.+eld fronted with silver, an ancient bequest brought back from the ruins of an ancient Roman village on the mainland far to the south. The jarl awarded him two women as well, presents from a group who had gone a- Viking all the way to the lands of the yellow people.
He didn't mind the gift of the women at all. They taught him things he had never imagined. But despite the drink he consumed and the energy required from the women, he didn't sleep that night.
He should have died.
The next morning, he accosted his brother.
”You were quick to risk my life.”
”I never risked your life.”
”He was twice my size, brutal.”
”But you are our father's seventh son.”
”So I'm immortal? A child of the G.o.ds?” he scoffed.
Hagan put out a finger, touching him directly on the forehead. ”The seventh son of the wolf, who is the seventh son of the wolf. And a child of deep midnight, conceived of the hour, born of the hour. You have the cunning of the wolf, and the hunger, and the loyalty.”
”And that kept me alive?”
Hagan shrugged with a broad grin. ”Well, I had heard that it would do so. And now I have proof.”
”You risked my life!” Ragnor said again angrily.
”A Viking does not live forever. And his place in the halls of Valhalla is great only if he has performed great deeds on earth.”
The following day, they left, striking out for the rich treasure they sought.
When they came ash.o.r.e, Ragnor was sickened by the carnage. His brother's men set upon the little community of monks with a vengeance.
Men with tonsures, clad in brown wool, raced about screaming, dropping to their knees, crying for their One True G.o.d. Hagan laughed and ignored them, slicing them as he approached their place of wors.h.i.+p.
Ragnor followed behind, trying to remind himself that he was a youth here, that they would call him a girl, weak as a woman, if he decried the violence.
But they had set him up to battle a giant; he had some say.
So he shouted with such force that he caused them to halt and stare at him. ”Leave them! Leave them be!” he demanded. And striding forward, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the skinny man his brother was about to skewer from Hagan's hands.
”You've come for treasure. Take the treasure.”
”Are you a coward?” Ulric, one of the fiercest warriors shouted. ”The seventh son of the seventh son- a coward?” Ulric roared with laughter.
”I haven't such courage as you, to slice up men who are not even armed. The G.o.ds would mock you. A warrior! A man who slays men who are like sheep!”
There was silence among them.
”Get the treasure!” Ragnor insisted.
The monks were too stunned to protest; he thought later that many would have died to save their relics. One stood at the doorway to the monastery, a very tall man. ”Take the silver and gold, leave what means nothing to you-the bone and the ash.”
”The bone and the ash are the earth's!” Hagan ordered.
”Leave them their talismans,” Ragnor said. ”I have heard of the halls of Valhalla, and what I have heard is that the greatest warriors know when to give mercy.”
The Vikings swore as they let the remaining monks house their precious relics in the stoneware dishes which were surely meant for their meals. But the precious relics were left behind. Before they left, the tall monk found Ragnor perched on a rock, waiting.
”I had visions that you would come,” the monk told him.
Ragnor looked at him skeptically. The monk smiled.
”Don't bother me, or I'll let them slit your throat.”
”A lad with fire,” the monk murmured, ”but a lad, still, nonetheless.”
”Not anymore.”
”It will be years before you are full grown. But I prayed years ago, knowing that the Viking s.h.i.+ps were busy again. And G.o.d answered me in a dream, telling me not to fear. You would come to protect us.”
”I came to steal silver.”
The monk shrugged. He pulled a pendant from around his neck and held it out to Ragnor. Ragnor nearly hit him when he reached out to pull it over his head.
”Silver, not stolen, but given. It is set with jewels- and a relic said to come from the very body of John the Baptist.”
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