Jerry Autieri - Fate's Needle

Ulfrik’s vision blurred until only his brother’s black hair and wicked sneer were visible. Grim was grunting with the effort, but Ulfrik could not breathe. Terror wormed its way into his heart. His hands searched for a weapon, but found none. Grim would deny him the feasting hall as well. He closed his eyes, blood and sweat now making vision impossible.

Grim laughed, a cackle like a crazed man. Thinking of nothing, ruled only by panic, Ulfrik clawed and pawed at his brother, his lungs afire as he thrashed. One hand landed on Grim’s face, shoving it weakly, but as it fell away it caught on the silver chain that held Aud’s bones. Through the fog of blood, the necklace of bones danced before him. In a final act of defiance, Ulfrik ripped it away and threw it to the deck.

Grim screamed, and his grip relaxed for an instant. Ulfrik reflexively took a draught of cold air and his vision cleared momentarily. Grim still held him, but his brother’s eyes were focused on the deck, where he searched for the scattered bones.

In that moment, Ulfrik hooked his leg behind Grim’s and swept him off his feet. His brother’s grip faltered and he tumbled to the deck. Desperate power, given by the gods for men to make their last stand, propelled Ulfrik back to his feet. As his brother scrabbled to stand, Ulfrik noticed the dagger at Grim’s belt.

He snatched it out of the sheath and swung the cold iron edge under Grim’s throat. All around men jostled in combat, blood and sweat fogging the air, but as Ulfrik hunched across Grim’s back, the dagger promising death, their world became a cold, quiet bubble.

Snorri had broken through, and was running for Ulfrik with sword ready, though he seemed to not move at all. Grim struggled beneath Ulfrik like a calf about to be slaughtered. Ulfrik felt his own hand trembling.

Grim let out a cry-a sniveling, familiar cry. A cry Ulfrik had heard so often in their youth. Grim had cried like that whenever he knew he had misbehaved. It was a more powerful stroke than any blow Grim had just given him.

My brother. A baby once: innocent and deserving of love. Ulfrik knew Grim never got that, not from Orm, or from anyone. He has done so much evil for it, but now he weeps. At the edge of death he understands the wrongs he has done. Knows the guilt. Surely that is justice enough. If he understands, then he suffers.

“I am no coward,” Ulfrik said, his voice oddly normal and almost lost in the thunderous chaos of battle. “And I am no murderer. You were my brother once. I will not kill you.”

He removed the dagger from Grim’s neck. The world started to move again, and his brother whipped around and sprang to his feet.

Grim’s eyes flashed, and his lip drew into a snarl. Yet another familiar reaction; Grim never gracefully accepted mercy. He held up a fistful of the bones that Ulfrik had pulled from around his neck and opened his mouth, as if to proclaim something.

Then he screamed, and the bones clattered to the deck before him. Ulfrik did not understand at first. Then he saw the blade protruding from his brother’s chest.

Grim fell forward, and Ulfrik skittered away.

“My lord is avenged!” Snorri placed his boot on Grim’s back and yanked out his sword. “Justice is done today!”

Ulfrik faced Snorri, both men smeared with gore, but only one still wild with rage. Ulfrik had never considered the depth of Snorri’s need for revenge. Hirdmen were sworn to avenge their lords, and Snorri had carried that duty with him.

A feeble battle continued in the forecastle. To Ulfrik’s left, Thor Haklang knelt before King Harald. Despite the ax embedded in Thor’s forehead, he still appeared alive. King Harald raised his blade and struck down twice on the giant berserker’s neck, severing Thor’s head with the second strike. With a howl of victory, Harald held the head aloft.

The day is lost. Ulfrik knew it then. Thor’s men would die with him, but Ulfrik saw no need to waste his men on this cause. He screamed for a retreat, gathering any of his men who still lived. Toki guarded them as they leaped down to the boat.

“Give me your arm.” Ulfrik reached out for one of his men who was crawling on the deck, his hand clutched to his stomach. As he raised his arm to Ulfrik, a coil of guts slid out. The man was lost, but Ulfrik refused to leave anyone behind. Toki grabbed the man’s feet and helped Ulfrik get him aboard the Raven’s Talon .

Harald’s men were distracted by their celebration of Thor’s death. On deck, the remaining berserkers continued to fight, which gave Ulfrik time to escape.

They dropped the crewman onto the deck, and he screamed as he landed. The ropes were already cut and the men piled in, Runa tumbling in with them. The Wave Spear would have to be abandoned; Ulfrik no longer had crew enough to pilot it, but he said nothing as he pushed the ship-the first he had built with his bare hands-away.

Some men took to rowing; others helped aboard men who had jumped into the sea. Ulfrik walked among his crew, counting them. Seventeen of his men were dead or lost. Turning back, he put a hand to his brow, staring at Harald’s fleet.

The deck of Harald’s ship was still alive with warriors, but the battle there was over. Beneath the dead, Harald would find Grim and throw his corpse into the sea.

No land. No father. No brother.No son . Ulfrik thought. There is nothing left for me in this place.Nothing at all. Ulfrik turned away again, catching a glimpse of Runa, who stood unsullied amid the bloodied men. At least she remains with me . On the deck beside her lay Yngvar’s corpse.

The men rowed as fast as their war-weary bodies allowed, enemy ships falling away like a wake as they fled. Toki took the rudder as Ulfrik moved to the two men-one living, one dead-who lay on the deck.

***

Ulfrik wept for Yngvar, his tears turning red as they bit through his fresh wounds. Runa’s small, warm hand massaged his shoulder.

There was no time for a proper sea burial; instead, Ulfrik motioned for men to help him commit the corpse to the sea. As they lifted, a gleam of green flashed from Yngvar’s chest. In death, Fate’s Needle lay firmly in Yngvar’s grip.

My sword . Ulfrik considered keeping it, but Yngvar deserved to be sent to the sea grave with riches and a weapon in hand; the blade served both purposes. Their friendship had been sealed with that blade, it was right for Yngvar to take it to the feasting hall. Yngvar would put it to good use in Valhalla, and stand proud among Odin’s heroes with a fine weapon of his own.

No land. No father. No brother. No son. No sword.

The sword and the body fell overboard with a splash, and Ulfrik turned away. Beside him, Runa gave a small sigh and her expression eased. She seemed about to speak, until interrupted by Ari coming to Ulfrik’s side.

The wizened old man was splattered with blood and sporting a gashed cheek. “Jarl Kjotve lives. He is making a stand on that island.” Ari pointed to a blur on the horizon. “Should we join him?”

What is an oath to Jarl Kjotve now? Ulfrik thought. What is left, now that Harald has defeated his opposition? The island was not too distant, but men were scattering in every direction, and Ulfrik knew Harald would pursue the remaining jarls first.

“Ari, do you still serve Jarl Kjotve?”

“I suppose I do.”

“Then I can drop you off on the island.”

“Where would you be going, then?”

“To a place where men and women are free to rule themselves. Where no greedy or vengeful hand can reach.”

Ari was silent. Ulfrik listened to the distant cheers of Harald’s men proclaiming their victory. All around ships scuttled away like roaches from a lit candle. Runa had joined her brother at the prow, and her hair bounced behind her in the wind. She looked back at Ulfrik, her eyes brimming with tears and hope.