Page 38 of Viking Beast
October 31st, 960AD
No matter how I twisted, my fingers wouldn’t reach the cloth that bound my wrists. I refused to give in. I knew not in which direction Skálavík lay, but I believed some force watched over me. I had faith in that guiding power.
Drawing my feet under, I managed to stand, but the bindings round my ankles were too tight. I lost balance, pitching forward into the damp leaves. Again I tried, and again, but succeeded only in scratching my arms and face on brambles.
How often I’d imagined escaping; had thought of which path I might take through the forest’s edge and down to the meadows, finding the river and following it back to Svolvaen.
I’d wondered how I might evade detection.
Now, I needed to be found.
I needed Eldberg to come for me before wild beasts sniffed my blood.
Rolling to place my back against a tree, I sat cold and shivering, peering through the gloom.How many eyes were watching me? I listened for the breath of the forest’s creatures, imagining movement where there was none.
Should I call out? If Eldberg were nearby, it would help him find me, but what of those other beasts? Would if I summoned them also?
I closed my mind to what else might be lurking—entities for which I had no name. I’d brushed against the unknown things of the otherworld before, when Asta’s restless spirit had reached across the veil.
Curling small like a child, I buried my nose to my knees—as well as my belly would allow.
Time passed, the shadows grew darker, and then I was certain I heard breaking twigs.
Something was in the bushes.
I looked about. Was there a branch I might grasp to defend myself? Nothing was close. In any case, my hands were bound.
Whatever it is, let it not see me. Let it pass by.
I sat very still, breathing shallow. My pulse galloped in my throat.
When the thing exploded from the undergrowth, I shrieked. Wings flapping, squawking, whirling away—a pheasant of some sort. A creature as startled as me.
A sob stuck in my throat, making me laugh and cry.
Only a bird, nothing to hurt me.
Through the gloom, something was staring at me, no more than twenty footsteps away. I peered harder and saw bright eyes gleaming. I saw a flash of tusk. A boar! Those rough-bristled swine had vicious tempers. A single gore could tear a man in two.
“Go away!” I shouted, then again.
I growled. I hissed. I barked like a dog.
Still, the creature watched. I heard its grunt, and it emerged from the bracken, swinging its head, snorting, making ready to charge. It pawed the ground, throwing up leaves and chunks of moss.
I screamed, drawing back against the tree. My time had come.
But there was another sound—a soft footstep?
The beast raised its snout, nostrils twitching, sensing some other presence. I couldn’t see and hadn’t the courage to turn.
A wolf? Or more than one?
Would they fight over which was to make a meal of me?
And then a steady voice, low and firm, commanded me. “Be still.”
Briefly, I saw the glinting blade. Eldberg threw his axe true, driving it into the boar’s neck. The creature thrashed and squealed, blood gushing. In fury, it lowered its head and rushed to meet its attacker, but Eldberg’s dagger was ready. As it was almost upon him, he sank it through the boar’s snout.
