Saga - Chapter 28, part 1
Content - Saga is a Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850). This chapter is rated PG-13, comes with no specific warnings, and is ca 5,700 words long.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns - Links to previous chapters follow after the cut. Explanations of names and terms follow after each chapter. Thank you to Soulan for betaing this chapter.
Links to all previous chapters: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/43336.html
Saga - Chapter 28
Eoin didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran. The clearing was very near - if only he could get there…
The three men were following close behind, chasing him among the trees like hounds on the tail of a stag, running for all they were worth. The sound of their footsteps beating along the path behind him told Eoin that they were gaining on him. They did not waste breath yelling at him or calling to each other, they were efficiently intent only on one thing: Overtaking him and taking him down. With a frantic effort he threw himself out into the clearing, hurtling into the middle of the open space and turning around, panting as he pulled his sword and made ready to defend himself.
“Look out! Look out!” he shouted.
Ragnvald was sitting lazily on the log at the edge of the open space, his legs stretched out. He looked up in surprise. “What the…?”
The first attacker was already in Eoin’s face, sword ready to strike. Without hesitation Ragnvald jumped up, pulled his own sword, and hurried to join the fray.
Eoin met his assailant’s strike, the loud clang of steel meeting steel reverberating over the clearing as the two of them pushed up against each other, swords crossed at the hilts, their arms trembling with the effort to throw the other off balance. Eoin looked into the man’s eyes. They were cold and calculating, and met his unwaveringly. The attacker’s expression held neither malice nor hatred, just the firm determination get the job done quickly. The second attacker rushed at them and slashed at Eoin from behind, but Ragnvald got there just in time to deflect the thrust, throwing himself in between them and taking up position back to back with Eoin, yelling as he parried a sword thrust from the third man. The first one did not let himself lose focus, wasn’t distracted by the unexpected appearance of another enemy, but kept his bold eyes fixed on Eoin. He stepped back easily, disengaging from Eoin for a moment, feinting a low thrust against Eoin’s legs, and then spinning around, his sword forming a perfect arch towards Eoin’s neck in a strike as swift as an adder’s. Eoin ducked, his assailant missing him by a hair’s breath. Frantically he aimed at the warrior’s side, hitting home with his blade, but his near-loss of balance stole force from his thrust and the man’s chain mail deflected his strike. The man jumped aside easily and regained his balance in a heartbeat.
The other two stepped back from Ragnvald, their swords at the ready, and regarded his practiced fighting stance with irritation rather than fear.
“Don’t know who you are, but we have no quarrel with you,” the tallest of the two said loudly, his chain mail visible now that he had flung his cloak back, glittering at the spot where a ray of sunlight penetrating the tall spruces hit it. “Step aside and let us finish what we came for, or be warned - we’ll get you too!”
“Go fuck yourselves, dogs!” Ragnvald hissed, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Eoin was holding his own. “We’ll soon see who gets who here!”
He launched himself forward, his sword meeting the tallest man’s in mid-air, the both of them pushing up against each other, grunting with the force of it.
Once more Eoin and his attacker were face to face, staring each other down, circling each other and punctuating their steps with angry thrusts, parries, kicks and feints. His assailant did not for a moment let up, and subjected Eoin to a barrage of rapid, forceful sword-moves that drove the less experienced man backwards step by step, further away from Ragnvald. Eoin had no time to even consider where the third man might be. Everything was a desperate blur of motion, a whirl of combat, brute force and jarring physical impact, grunts and yells, loud clangs, hard steel screeching against steel.
Suddenly, as his sword was engaged hilt to hilt once more with his powerful assailant’s, out of the corner of his eye Eoin saw the sword of the third attacker slicing through the air, the man swinging at him purposefully, all his strength gathered into a mighty sweeping cut.
Ragnvald was too far away to help, but he saw what was happening. “Jaran!” he screamed, swinging his sword against his opponent’s face, simultaneously kicking at his legs and swiping at them backhandedly with his sword once the man lost his balance for the briefest of moments.
At the last second and with a desperation born of the instinct for self-preservation, Eoin threw himself to the side. Everything seemed to happen very slowly, as if he was moving through clear water. His body arched, nearly flying through the air in his frantic attempt to avoid the descending sword.
He was too late. The sword cut into his side, going deep, slicing him open above his hip and nicking his abdomen as it finished its arch. The pain was imminent and surprisingly real, a fiendishly red-hot fire searing his flesh. Eoin landed on his back with a scream, the air knocked out of him and a red fog rising in his mind. The first attacker jumped after him with a shout of glee, sword held high and ready. He took his time now to aim, coldly preparing to finish off the wounded man on the ground once and for all.
Ragnvald frantically kicked the legs out from under the man he himself was fighting, and spun around. For the briefest of moments the man flailed and didn’t manage to keep his guard completely up. Roaring like a berserker Ragnvald stabbed his sword point-first into his neck under the ear. The man fell like a slaughtered ram, blood spurting from his severed jugular.
Ragnvald didn’t even look at him, but wrenched his sword free and turned back towards Eoin just as the sword aimed at the Irishman’s heart descended. With a wild cry Eoin rolled to the side, bucking and kicking furiously at the legs of the man standing above him, somehow managing to topple his would-be executioner. The assassin’s brutal sword thrust went wild, but once the man lost his footing its momentum made him crash forward like a tree felled in the forest. He went down just as Eoin’s sword arm reflexively came up in defense.
The hired killer wore mail, but it wasn’t impenetrable and couldn’t withstand the force of a sword from below when he fell heavily right on top of it. The sharp steel bit through mail, tunic, skin and flesh, embedding itself deep in the man’s chest with a crunching, ripping sound. He landed hard, blood gushing out of his open mouth and splashing onto the ground next to Eoin’s head, a drawn-out wheezing moan bubbling from his punctured lungs, and his wide incredulous eyes glazing over in death. The heavy, leaden weight of his fully armed body nearly crushed Eoin.
The third man screamed in anger and jumped forward to finish Eoin off where he now lay pinned, helpless and wounded under the large inert body of his fallen attacker, his sword impossible to dislodge. Eoin saw the sword descending and braced himself against the violent thrust aimed at his neck, instinctively tensing, his body pulling in on itself and his eyes squeezing shut. But the sharp steel never reached its target. Ragnvald launched himself at the man and pushed him out of the way, his shove forcing the assailant to his knees. With a shout and a wild blow of an angry fist against the man’s jaw Ragnvald knocked him out cold.
All of a sudden there was silence in the clearing. An intense smell of blood and crushed grass hovered in the air. Three crumpled bodies lay still on the trampled and bloody battlefield. Panting as if he’d run many miles, Eoin convulsively heaved the corpse of the first attacker aside and sat up, pushing himself backwards, trying to move away from the blood and the grisly, gurgling death. His frantic eyes met Ragnvald’s. For a moment there was no other sound than their gasping breaths.
Eoin fell backwards with a moan, but still managed to drag himself on his elbows away from the dead man. He curled up on the grass, wheezing, and pressed both hands to his side, a steady trickle of crimson spilling out between his fingers.
Ragnvald stepped over to him and looked down, concerned. “How bad is it? Let me see!”
Wincing, Eoin slowly rolled onto his back on the ground, twisted at a tortured angle, a pained grimace stretching his mouth as he tried a joke. “It can’t possibly be as bad as it feels, for if so I’d be seeing a beautiful being with wings and a halo in front of me. But you look the same, as plain and ugly as ever!”
Ragnvald shook his head as he kneeled down next to Eoin, clearly not understanding Eoin’s jest. “Wings?”
He gripped the rent in Eoin’s blood-soaked tunic and tore it wide open. “Roll to the side a little… a little more…”
He chewed worriedly on his lower lip as he briefly examined the wound, wiping a thoroughly blood-stained hand across his brows when he finished. “Well, what can I say, Irishman? Many a hapless foreign nit-wit has received far worse from his first fight to the death with a skilled Norse warrior. But I won’t fool you, it looks serious. We need to get you back to your house at once, and…
“Torgeirr’s house,” Eoin whispered, his eyes closing. “That’s where I’m staying…”
“Torgeirr Haraldson’s house it is, then,” Ragnvald agreed. He went over to the nearest dead warrior, cut a part of his cloak off with his sword, leaned down to pull the man’s sword-belt free, and brought it all back to Eoin. He balled the cloth into a tight wad and carefully slipped the belt under Eoin’s back, pressing the wad of cloth to the bleeding gash and buckling the belt tightly to hold it in place. “Keep that pressed as hard as you can to your wound, and lie still. I will go get help. Is there anyone who knows leech-craft at Torgeirr’s house?”
Eoin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He had turned very pale.
“Never mind,” Ragnvald said. “Just lie still. Breathe! And don’t faint just yet!”
He hurried over to the man he’d knocked down, and studied him for a second. The man was still out cold. “Rope…” Ragnvald muttered, looking around, deciding that the laces round the unconscious man’s trouser legs were the only available means to tie his legs and wrists. Acting quickly, he tore the laces off, bound him, tightened the knots, and threw the man’s sword to the side and out of reach.
With a last worried look in Eoin’s direction, Ragnvald sprinted towards the township.
---
Eoin was aware of being jostled, and made a half-hearted sound of protest. He was being carried on a stretcher, and the swaying made the whole world twist and dance dizzyingly, the tree tops spinning around the sun, faster and faster.
The next time he awoke he was lying stretched out on a bench. His side and abdomen were on fire, a pain more intense than anything he’d ever felt. A no-nonsense woman’s voice was speaking close to his ear.
“He’s coming around. That salt helped. No hold him still for me, please - I need him to drink this….”
The stench of boiled leeks hit Eoin’s nostrils and made him twitch, even more so when a beaker of foul-tasting onion soup was pressed to his lips, his head firmly supported by a skilled hand. “Drink it all up!” the woman’s voice commanded, and Eoin didn’t have the strength to object. He forced it down, one vile gulp at the time. Eventually the beaker was empty. The woman let him go, her gentle hands belying her gruff and exasperated words. “Men! Nothing but brawling and nonsense! Maiming and killing each other for no good reason!”
Eoin looked up into her eyes, and she apparently understood the question in them. “You’ve got a deep long gash in your side, woodcarver, but it’s a clean one. I’ve rinsed it and closed it and stilled the blood. I’ve carved healing and blood-staunching runes on several wooden sticks for you, and placed them all here by your side. Now before I do more and sew it up I need to know whether your guts have been punctured. That’s what the leek soup is for. I put healing herbs in it too, and strong ones to dull the pain and make you sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”
She stood up, patting his hand for a moment and looking down calmly. “Rest now. There’s health in sleep. I will have a man waking over you, and I won’t be far off myself. Loising or no, I know Torgeirr values you, and that’s enough for me. I’ll see you back on your feet, the Norns willing.”
Eoin looked up at her. The mist hovering in front of his eyes made it hard to see, but he recognized her, knew he had seen her before. His mind was fuzzy and no name presented itself. She was an elderly woman and wore a fine dress with magnificent shoulder brooches, several glittering bead strings and some keys, though most of it was covered now by a blood-spattered homespun apron. Her face was stiff and strict, but the eyes in her wrinkled face were lively. She noticed him looking at her. “I am Torgeirr’s mother’s sister. Ragnhild is my name. You saw me at Torgeirr and Sigrid’s wedding.” Eoin nodded, the briefest of movements, and let his eyes slide away from her face to the man standing in the background. “Ragnvald?” Eoin tried to lift his hand, but he his arm wouldn’t move. “Ragnvald!”
“Yes?” Ragnvald said, stepping up to stand beside mistress Ragnhild, sending her a quick apologetic glance. “What is it?”
“Cross,” Eoin muttered. “Cross?” His hand twitched on the blanket.
Ragnvald looked at him uncomprehendingly, then slow realization dawned. “You want me to make your god’s sign over you?” he asked, uncertainly, once more glancing at Ragnhild.
Eoin’s eyelids slowly closed, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Yes…” he whispered. “Please!”
Ragnvald hesitated for a moment. Then he leaned forward and made a crude cross sign in the air above Eoin’s prone body. Eoin’s eyes blinked open and he looked up, his features softening as he slid into herb-induced slumber. “Thank you…” he whispered, and fell asleep.
---
There was no leek smell from the wound, and Ragnhild was pleased. She carefully tended it and cleaned it, making Eoin lie still on the bench, feeding him broth and dulling his pain and his mind with more herbs when he showed signs of becoming fretful and uneasy. The first week he drifted in and out of sleep, disoriented and weakened by blood loss, the burning pain in his side a new and unwelcome constant in his life.
Around him life at Torgeirr’s town house continued as before. Ragnhild’s clan members and servants went about their everyday tasks and bedded down quietly on the benches along the walls every night. Eoin felt better for having people around. Ragnhild herself tended all her duties as mistress of the place, but nevertheless always seemed to be close by with her herbs and poultices, cooling cloths and refreshing drinks.
As day followed day Eoin slowly felt better, and he became increasingly restless. Ragnhild admonished him sternly to keep still, and to let his wound heal. What she had learned from Ragnvald about the attack - the unfairness of it, and the uneven odds that Eoin had faced - made her even more intent on bringing the woodcarver back on his feet, sound and whole.
Eoin himself told her no more than that he knew neither the three men nor their reason for attacking him, and Ragnhild listened, looking troubled. “My son-in-law will soon travel north on clan errands, and I will have him stop by Torgeirr’s farm to tell him of this unprovoked attack on one of his men,” she said. “Such things should not be taken lightly.”
“There’s been no news from the north?” Eoin couldn’t help asking.
“No, none,” Ragnhild replied. “Were you expecting any?”
Eoin wearily shook his head and closed his eyes.
Ragnhild saw to it that the servant occasionally watching over Eoin for her was armed. “No-one is coming in here to kill an injured man unchallenged while I am in charge,” she stated, matter-of-factly.
Ragnvald stayed away, and not till two full weeks had passed did he return to see how Eoin was doing. He sat down on the bench by Eoin’s feet, looking him over critically.
“Looks like you’re going to live, Irishman. What was that all about? Who did you piss off so sorely?”
Eoin glanced around the hall, but it was the middle of a fine summer day, and no-one was hanging about inside in this weather. Even his minder had left as soon as Ragnvald showed up to sit with Eoin for a while.
“Thank you for aiding me, Ragnvald,” Eoin said. “I would have been dead if you hadn’t. There’s this woman… she found out… her husband…”
Ragnvald grimaced, looking annoyed and disappointed.
Eoin’s hands moved over the blanket in agitation, a flash of fear crossing his face. “I worry now - I worry for him…”
“Tor’s balls, man!” Ragnvald scoffed, hurt and dismay mingling with anger in his voice. “You have been far too careless if you’ve let some man’s wife and clan find out about it - whoever he is! The best you can do for him now is to leave him alone. If the little wife’s gone after him as well it will already be too late for you to interfere. Obviously she’s not without means if she could afford to pay those three. They knew what they were about.”
Eoin didn’t respond at once. He lowered his eyes, drawing a tired hand across his pale face, pushing back emotions. “I didn’t know… that we’d been so careless. I can’t imagine how….”
Ragnvald made an exasperated gesture, looking around the empty room. “Shhh…. shut up, don’t say more. There are ears everywhere. I don’t want to hear, and I don’t want to know!”
Eoin drew a breath and changed the topic. “What… happened? Did the third one survive?”
“He did. I asked the guards at the ale hall for help. Friends of mine, as you know. They helped carry you back here, and dragged the last attacker back to town too. We went to the godi. I wanted all to be above board. I need to be able to hold my head high, I am supposed to continue working here in town. I must protect my honor, for Tor’s sake! We poured water in the coward’s face, made him come around. The godi asked why he was trying to kill you. Tyr and Odin be thanked that he assured us he didn’t know, and I think I believed him. If he’d even suspected, he’d have had every reason to tell the godi about it, to turn the tables on you… on us.”
Ragnvald frowned, looking unhappy, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. “That was far too narrow a shave for the both of us! Well, the man wouldn’t say who had hired him either, but admitted they were paid silver up-front to go after you. Came from a place further north, wouldn’t say where exactly. I took legal responsibility for our having killed the two others, and the godi agreed we were attacked without provocation and were in our right to fend them off by any and all means. There will be no fines to pay, and the dead men’s clans have no legal right to go after us.”
Ragnvald paused for a moment, thinking his tale through. “We asked what he wanted to do with the corpses of his two companions. He asked for help to get them properly buried, said he’d see to it that their clans were told. Seemed they’d been serving as guards together for a long time, and were close friends.”
Ragnvald shrugged, his serious expression and worried eyes belying such an unconcerned gesture. “Who knows what this vengeful woman of yours will do next, when they didn’t succeed? But I don’t think she knows yet - I saw the last one in the ale hall just two days ago, drowning his last wits, such as they are. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just decides to join one of the raiding ships to get away from here. He lost face in managing to lose a battle of one against three.”
“Two against three,” Eoin said, his voice low and sincere. “You being there saved my life. Thank you, Ragnvald.”
Eoin lay back with a sigh, his eyelids sinking tiredly shut. They didn’t speak for a while. Eventually Eoin looked up again, plastered a small smile firmly across his face, and indicated the ale bowl by the hearth.
“Bring that over here, won’t you, and let’s talk of happier things for a while! Now more than ever I am eager to hear all the news there is from abroad, Ragnvald, and all that you’ve heard from men who’ve been returning from over the far seas.”
Continued in Chapter 28, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/48400.html