Young Writers Society

2. The Munin

For what seemed like a small eternity I roamed through a realm of half-sleep, half-wakefulness. Images of dying comrades, burning homes, and cruel raiders danced through my dreams, or was it all real? At some point I drifted into true sleep, and my mind was at peace.
Now I was awakened by the rolling motion and creaking and shouting that could only mean one thing: I was at sea. I blinked open my eyes groggily, temporarily blinded by the sunlight. Something hard was caked on my head and I realized with an inward shiver that it was blood.
Where was I? I searched my last conscious thoughts for some explanation, but could find none. Then I remembered: the raid. As my vision returned, I could see the burly legs and feet of the Norsemen who must have captured me. Why hadn’t I been left for dead? Had they purposely knocked me unconscious? I peered around, and suddenly my sight was filled with a pair of two enormous blue eyes set in a white, furry face.
Startled, all I could do was stare into the fathomless, icy-blue depths of those intelligent eyes. The creature stared intently at me, too, its gazing seeming to penetrate into my very soul. I was awestruck. It held my gaze for over a minute, but looked away suddenly as it heard a command
“Hati! Get over here!” a surprisingly young-sounding voice shouted. As the creature turned away, heading toward the voice, I could see that it was a wolf. The animal was beautiful, with fur the color of new-fallen snow that sparkled in the bright sunlight. I sat upright and looked to see who had called to it. It was a teenage boy, probably about my age, with long blond hair tied in a braid and sharp, sculpted features. His eyes were the color of rainclouds before a storm, and were fixed on the magnificent wolf that trotted toward him. Behind him, the waves rolled gently and shone with the light of the sun.
His features softened as the wolf neared. It walked slowly until it was directly in front of the boy and looked up at him with an expression that said, “What’s that fellow doing on this ship, and what did you call me for?” I almost laughed at how odd this seemed; I never knew wolves could so effectively communicate with expressions alone. Perhaps I was just imagining it, but it seemed trained.
“Good girl, Hati,” he praised her, and stroked her forehead. She seemed to enjoy this, almost like a dog would, and let the boy touch her. The boy’s gray eyes wandered to me and I met his gaze. He was surprisingly friendly. “Hello, there,” he said to me. A smile played on the corners of his lips. “My name’s Sven Hakansson. Welcome aboard the Munin.
I was taken aback by his outgoingness. I was a prisoner, right? Shouldn’t I be beaten and treated harshly? Well, I decided to put up a friendly façade to match his. “I’m Aric Barrington, son of Aidan, baron of Reymont,” I replied.
“Son of the baron, eh?” Sven said, eying me curiously. “Well, you’ll fetch a pretty penny back in Svalbard, or maybe I could ransom you. I’m sure your father would pay handsomely for your safe return.” His expression became thoughtful, and he now looked at me like I was a rare item to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Before I could respond, a big, rowdy man with long red hair shouted something directed at me. He spoke in the tongue of the Norsemen, and I could not understand him. I was surprised that Sven could speak English. Perhaps he was the only one on the ship with this skill.
“Bjorn says you need to get to work rowing,” Sven quickly translated for me. Sven replied to the man, this time in his native tongue. “I told him that you’re my prisoner, and I can do with you what I like,” he told me. Sven would be helpful to have around with these raiders.
The man called Bjorn strode up to where Sven and I stood, his fiery blue eyes smoldering with anger. I became terrified of him instantly. He reminded me of a bear, with his broad shoulders and barrel chest. Belted round his waist were two fearsome-looking axes. I doubted I had the strength to lift one of them. Bjorn spoke again, his words an angry roar.
“Apparently he thinks that prisoners are automatically slaves, and slaves must work, or they are no good at all,” Sven told me. Bjorn stood there, his breath coming in huffs, while he waited for Sven to respond. Suddenly a hand was placed on Bjorn’s shoulder and Bjorn whirled around to face a man as large as himself.
The newcomer was built similarly to Bjorn, with long braids of red hair hanging almost to his waist. His green eyes were stern as he stared down Bjorn. I could tell instantly this man must be the ship’s captain. He reprimanded Bjorn, and Bjorn gave no reply except to hang his head low and walk dejectedly away. I shivered as Bjorn clenched and unclenched his massive fists.
The captain became friendlier now, and faced me, the fire gone from his green eyes. He said something that sounded like an introduction in Norse and indicated for Sven to translate.
“He says that he is Magnus Torsson, jarl of Svalbard and captain of this ship, the Munin. He is pleased to meet you,” Sven said. I deduced that the jarl must already be aware of my lineage, for there was no way an ordinary prisoner would be treated with such courtesy by such a powerful man.
I faltered as I tried to think of a response. “I… I am Aric, son of Aidan, baron of Reymont,” I stumbled. “Pleased to… to meet you as well.” The man’s commanding air made me submissive, and I was careful not to say anything offensive. Sven translated Magnus’s response for me:
“You are welcome aboard the Munin, Aric son of Aidan. I apologize for the behavior of Bjorn Baldursson. If he bothers you again, tell me through Sven and he shall be reprimanded.” With that, the large jarl turned and returned to the head of the ship.
Sven went to talk to another sailor, and for a little while I was by myself. I used the time to assess my situation and size up my surroundings. My gaze traveled along the length of the ship. The vessel was long and thin, a typical raider’s boat. Its sails were a simple square-rigged affair, but they generated surprising speed. The raiders’ colorful roundshields adorned the outer rims of the ship. I wondered what their purpose there was. A raven’s head extended from the helm of the craft, ornately carved. It looked eerily realistic, with its wedge-shaped beak and unfeeling eyes.
A crew of perhaps thirty raiders stood on the deck of the ship. Some rowed, but many idled around, since the breeze was fair and the ship was making good speed. I saw no other prisoners aboard. Magnus stood at the stern with another man at his side. For a moment I thought the other was Sven, but this man was taller and more muscular. He did look uncannily similar, though. Sven’s father, perhaps?
I hadn’t had a chance to take in my predicament until now. I was miles away from home, in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by barbaric raiders. One of them already wanted to kill me. I had to admit, things didn’t look too bright, but at least my captor, Sven, was friendly enough, and the captain seemed to favor me. What could I do? My best hope was that I would be ransomed back to my father sometime soon, but who knew when the next raid would be? My only choice was to wait it out.