Nothing's left for me but the next battle, the next fight, the next chance I get to spill Nightwolf blood - or better yet, Tursgud's blood.
He buried Hal alive under that bridge, but only after torching the Heron. The Heron...maybe we could have salvaged her, with Hal's help. But Hal's dead.
Stefan's dead. Run clean through.
Jesper's dead. Head split open.
Lydia's dead. Shot through the heart.
Ingvar's dead. Crushed under the bridge with Hal.
Ulf and Wulf are dead. Cut open by a hundred swords.
Like the fellow who's skull I just split open with my axe. He probably wasn't using it anyway. Not that I care.
The fight's over, I'm just realizing. Looking down at myself, I'm covered with blood and gore.
There's something on my face. Wiping it off, I realize it used to be part of someone's head. I almost consider keeping it for a moment. Then - no. Too hard to stuff and mount.
I'm going to have Tursgud's head on my wall some day.
We're fighting again. Edvin and Thorn seem to give me a wide berth. I don't think there's any need for that. I can still tell friend from foe.
Red shape after red shape falls before me and I feel utterly invincible. I hear crazed laughter and realize it's mine.
Do I really sound like that?
Maybe that's why nobody will go near me.
I just manage to recognize Thorn before I try and decapitate him too.
What is this?
"Stig!"
I wheel around, and my face hurts like I've been grinning but I don't understand why I'm grinning when there's so little to grin about and
wait
attack
who is that
target
no that's Edvin stop Stig
swing
STOP THAT'S YOUR FRIEND -
contact
I wake up with a massive headache. Thorn's sitting an arm's length away, no doubt ready to brain me if I go off the rails again. I'm starting to think it might be a good idea.
ball and chain
cut away the problem
I try to ignore it, but the berserker rage is so much of what we - Skandians - are, that it's not as easy as you might think. Trying not to groan, I curl up into a hunched sitting position. I notice my axe and a sword I picked up a few fights back are gone.
find them
kill them
No.
Thorn looks up. There's a wetness on my face and at first I think it's blood but then I realize it's the beginnings of tears.
"What's going on?"
Thorn doesn't answer, just drinks his coffee, glancing over at the campfire.
Edvin's sitting there, next to his shield. It has a deep furrow in the wood, but he's unharmed.
Maybe the gods don't hate me after all?
Trusted with a saxe
Asked what I'll do if we're attacked
Given a cold look and told to improvise
red
targets
kill
NO!
Don't give in
Come on, Stig
You can beat this
...right?
Nightwolves. Ten. Reaching for the familiarity of my axe.
Remember.
Draw my saxe instead.
time to improvise
red
hack
slash
jab
blood stains the ground
who's blood?
'Stig!'
Is that my name?
Who am I fighting
'Stig!'
back away
still can't see anything
red
red
red
Shaking my head
Looking around in confusion
What's going on?
Thorn's giving me this look
Like maybe he can trust me again
Just a little
The red's going away
No dead friends.
No injured friends.
Improvement.
My thoughts are clearer now.
I have to be careful. Careful, controlled, fighting. Like nursing an injury.
I scared everyone then.
Myself, most of all.
The others didn't have to live with the red-voice in their heads.
I'm getting better.
Slowly.
Surely.
I am the skirl of the Heron brotherband. What's left of it, anyway.
One day I'll earn that.
But first, we need to rebuild the Heron.
Then maybe I can finish rebuilding me.
So that was depressing...