Jerry Autieri: Islands in the Fog

"Nye Grenner wishes to host the festival this year."

Faces turned to him in the yellow firelight. Ulfrik glanced at Ragnvald, who gave away nothing of his thoughts, and then the others. Wide eyes and raised brows met him, and a few gave approving smiles. Settling on Hardar, Ulfrik pressed his request.

"My people are new, called foreigners by more than a few of you. But we have settled here, raised strong families and farms. Our flocks thrive and my hall is rich. We want to be part of these lands and be one with the people here."

Hardar stepped into the circle as well, close to the cracking fire snapping at the center of the ring. "The festival is tradition of the old peoples of these islands. Trongisvagur has been home to the festival for years. I don't think you are a suitable host."

"So Hardar Hammerhand decides who is suitable and who is not? Are you high king here?"

"Do not insult me," Hardar said, forcing the words through an empty smile. "You could not understand the traditions we hold in high value."

"Nye Grenner has been isolated too long from the rest of you. My people want to marry within these lands, make connections to others. But you would deny us that."

"You are welcomed to the festival here."

"Now you insult me," Ulfrik said, his smile genuine. He enjoyed Hardar's efforts to conceal his rising temper. "Only my men would come, and then not all. That is not what we seek. We have young women who want husbands, craftsmen who want trade, and I have a hall worthy of all of you. But most importantly, Hardar Hammerhand, it is not you alone who decides."

Ulfrik paused, then turned to the rest of the assembly. "Only one man gets the glory of hosting these festivals, and it is always Hardar. Does that sit with you? Only one man speaks to the gods for you? And you bring gifts each year to the same man?"

"Enough!" Hardar checked himself as he stepped forward. Ulfrik whirled, a wicked smile on his face. "Hosting the festival is a terrible burden and expense. I do it each year as I have the means others lack. It is for their benefit."

"And your glory, and your sly way of placing yourself over others."

"No more slander on my lands! You are a poor guest." Hardar's hands shook, and Ulfrik noted he seemed to want to reach for his sword.

"Let the assembly decide," Ulfrik said. "The jarls vote, and if a majority choose Nye Grenner, then you live with it."

Hardar's eyes drew to slits and he folded his arms over his belly. The two stood locked in a stare until Hardar nodded consent. "A vote then. All in favor of Nye Grenner hosting the summer festival, give your sign."

Ulfrik watched Ragnvald and his allies raise their hands. Hermind the Fat raised also raised his. "Jarl Ulfrik has some good points. I'd like to see what he has done with the southern pastures."

Others followed, raising hands and nodding until Hardar waved his arms overhead in defeat. "Very well, then Nye Grenner hosts the festival. But don't look to me, lad, when you've spent all your silver and all your food."

"I am aware of the costs, old man." Ulfrik had not wanted to rise to the bait, but he could not resist. Hardar flashed a brief smile at Ulfrik's lapse.

"Old man? Perhaps we should wrestle at the games, eh lad?" Approving grunts and lusty laughter greeted Hardar's suggestion.

"Most certainly, we will. It will be the best moment of the entire festival."

The last blow staggered Ulfrik, and then he collapsed to his knees. Bloody spit hung from his lips, globules pattering on the long grass beneath him. Screaming voices echoed from every direction. His head felt stuffed with wool. He braced himself longer than he thought prudent. Two booted feet appeared wide-set at the edge of his vision. Words started to become clearer now.

"Get on your feet!" someone yelled.

"You've got him, Lord Ulfrik! Up now!" another voice trumped the others.

The two feet remained planted before him. Ulfrik touched his aching ribs, then shoved up. He sat on his haunches and regarded Hardar. The big man was resolute, waiting with fists balled at his sides. Hardar smiled, a crack beneath a pug nose that drizzled blood over his thin lips and beard.

"Do you yield, Ulfrik? I think you're done for, lad." Hardar kept his tone congenial, but his fighting stance did not shift.

"Not yet. Not if I'm still talking."

The men's cheering overpowered Ulfrik's words. The ring of on-lookers flexed with the combatants. Now they crowded the small space, eager to see their favorite win. Ulfrik staggered to his feet and Hardar backed off, wiping the blood from his mouth. They nodded to each other and dropped to a circling crouch.

Ulfrik ignored the crowd, focusing on his opponent's next move. Hardar's hair may have been silvered and thin, his gut bulging and soft, but his reflexes were keen. Ulfrik silently vowed to not allow the same feint to dupe him again. Hardar smiled, his left eye blinking closed from where Ulfrik had jabbed it.

Hardar burst into motion. His massive body sprang as if he weighed nothing. Ulfrik scrambled aside, on-lookers dancing away as he did. He slipped out his foot and pushed Hardar over it. He crashed face-down into the grass. Cheers and curses mingled together in reaction. Ulfrik leapt upon Hardar's back, seeking to finally pin his opponent and end a match he thought had lasted too long.

Hardar expelled a gust of breath. Ulfrik drove his knee into the small of his back, then seized his arm to wrench it behind.

"Yield, Hardar," he hissed into his ear. "You are subdued."

Hardar shook his head and flipped over. Ulfrik lost grip on his arm.

"They look like lovers!" someone shouted. The crowd laughed and jeered as Ulfrik squirmed over Hardar's body while trying to pin his arms.

Ulfrik looked into Hardar's face for a moment. Then his vision turned white and he sloughed to the ground. He vaguely realized Hardar had head-butted him. Again sounds dulled as he lay dazed for the second time. He was limp and ready to vomit. Hardar's arms worked roughly about his trunk, flipping him over. His sight melted from white to brown, and the crowd around him appeared smudgy and indistinct. A tang of copper filled his mouth.

He realized Hardar had clamped his neck in the crook of his arm and his other arm squeezed Ulfrik's windpipe shut from behind. Instinctively Ulfrik's arms flailed, grasping desperately at the hold on his throat. His vision again faded. He tried to turn into the hold to break it, but was too weak.

Ulfrik wanted to concede. He stopped resisting to demonstrate it. Yet Hardar maintained his lock. His head pounded as his sight collapsed to a small circle. Through that hole in the veil of gray, Ulfrik spotted Runa. Her face was tight in horror, and her hands hovered over her mouth. Hardar was strangling him and Runa knew it.

She's watching me die , he thought. My wife. She can't see me like this .

He knew the thoughts were foolish, but it gave him power. He took control of his flailing arms, a difficult feat under such duress. He lashed back over his head. Ulfrik grabbed a handful of sweaty hair and yanked as if pulling the tiller of a ship. Hardar rewarded him with a scream. Ulfrik's other hand found Hardar's face, and he worked his thumb into the eye socket.

He thrust with enough strength to touch the back of Hardar's skull. The gouge had its effect, and his arms snapped free.

Ulfrik fell forward, swooning from the rush of air and blood returning to his head. The crowd clamored for him, many chanting his name. But he ignored whatever praise broke into his deadened hearing. He got to his feet and turned to face Hardar.

Now Hardar knelt in the grass with his hand clamped over his eye. Blood ran from beneath his hand. Ulfrik knew he should demand him to yield. But he was no longer inclined to courtesy. Hardar had nearly killed him.