Master of My Sea
replies:
HeavensWeatherHellsCompany - Yes, I can't wait for them to grow up too, but there's a few nails I need to hammer in before that happens, lol. When I do get to that, there will be a time skip, so we don't actually have to live through them going age-by-age.
May - Thank you so much for the review. It was very encouraging!
I was able to get this chapter up faster than the previous! It's a bit shorter, but it's a good one. Next chapter will be longer, and that's when things sort of pick up a bit. Anyway, A huge thanks to those who reviewed, favourited, and alerted! It's super encouraging, and I love to know if you guys are enjoying the direction I'm going, and I'm also open to all kinds of feedback.
I don't know if any of you noticed, but I have changed the summary of the story. I was never happy with it to begin with, and I don't know if I'm happy with this one. If you can give me your opinions about it, it would be great.
chapter seven:
THE URUZ
The trees became greener, and the sun more orange as it stood above the heads of the people of Kattegat. The days were getting longer as they neared midsummer, which meant that soon Ragnar and his army would return to Paris. His warband seemed to become larger as more and more visitors docked at the port, which included King Harald Finehair and his brother, Halfdan the Black. Everyone was preparing with more vigor; after the failure of the last year, they wanted to return with a vengeance. Now, they would not underestimate the franks as they had before.
Ivar was one of the many who diligently prepared himself for the upcoming raid that would surely go down in history. He had spent the last week or so training with his brothers, and then privately taking lessons with Kára. She didn't have the sword prowess that his brothers had, but she did offer a lot of help with regards to repairing weapons, hunting, fishing, and survival tips. What kind of plants and things you could use to patch up an injury; how to make a temporary splint for a broken bone; what berries were poisonous, which ones you could eat, and what ones you could weaponize by tainting the tip of your arrows with it. All of this seemed to be common knowledge for everyone but the boys who grew up not needing to know these skills. The princes of Kattegat always had someone that could provide the finished product for them. Kára had explained that most of what she learned was by trial and error, but most of her healing knowledge came from her mother. Other times, especially in times when she had to repair something, she had to use what was available to her. For example, her iron arrowheads were old - she had reused them for years. Every animal she had hunted, she would take the arrow from the body and reuse it. Her other arrows had ivory or bone heads, or simply sharpened ends of the wood.
It was on that bright day that Kára was showing Ivar how to fletch arrows, and learning how to make arrowheads with stone and bones. They sat on a fallen tree partially hidden under smooth large rocks that bordered the shoreline of the sea. They weren't too far away from Kattegat; they could see the docks a couple of fields away from where they sat, but they were isolated and far enough away that couldn't hear the city's chatter. The shade of the trees that hung over them on raised land had shielded them from both the sun and onlookers, making this the ideal place for Ivar to struggle to make fletching.
The boy winced when he felt the tip of the dagger he was using nick his finger. He brought the digit to his eye and examined the droplet of red that contrasted against his skin. "This is the third time," he muttered before bringing the bleeding wound to his lips and sucked up the blood.
"It won't be the last time," Kára smiled to herself as she tossed a new arrow shaft ready for its fletching. She turned her head over to her companion and wiggled her fingers at him, which Ivar now realized was all nicked and littered with tiny white scars. "Once your fingers get calloused from them, it doesn't happen often. Your skin becomes thicker and stronger when it's scarred," she turned back around and grabbed another twig to be skinned.
"I think I can officially say that fletching is my least favourite thing," Ivar commented before grabbing another feather and carefully trimming them to a fine edge.
"It's not so bad," Kára shrugged. "It gives me time to think."
Ivar pulled the feather up to his eyes and examined it scrutinizingly. "Think about what?"
"Things."
"Things?"
"Do you think my mind is just blank half the time? Don't answer that-" she cut him off with a finger and a pointed look just as he opened his mouth to comment. Kára turned back around and looked out towards the sea. She gave another shrug with a single shoulder, "I just think about what it would be if my father was still alive."
Ivar paused what he was doing and shifted his blue eyes over to her. She sat just a little ahead of him, while he leaned against the incline of the hill of soil and rock behind him. After Ulf was mentioned at that dinner, Ivar had started to hear more about him; perhaps he was talked about before and Ivar had only been paying attention now, but it still felt like the man's name was brought up more often ever since Kára had entered into his life. Ulf was mentioned when comparing weapons with the current smiths, or when someone had an intricately carved statue or figurine they would claim it was made by Ulf the Silverhand.
"If your father was alive," Ivar began to speak after some thought, "You would not live in the forest, away from Kattegat." Kára turned to look over her shoulder at him. His eyes were looking at his feather and dagger as he continued, "Perhaps… we would have been able to know each other longer. We could have possibly been raised together while our fathers went raiding in England."
Kára blinked at Ivar as a sly smile slowly crept on her face, "Are you saying you enjoy my company so much you wished that we had known each other longer?"
Ivar looked up, heat rushing to his cheeks, but he quickly squared his shoulders and furrowed his brow at her, "Do not get ahead of yourself, Greenfoot. You are still annoying."
"You spend a lot of time with someone who annoys you," she scooted back from her sitting position so she was shoulder-to-shoulder with the prince. She turned her head to the left so that her chin was resting on her shoulder and batted her eyelashes at him, "You fancy me."
Ivar scoffed and threw the feather he was holding at her face. She giggled as she watched him pull himself up to a straighter sitting position. "If you recall, you're the one who kissed me. If there is anyone that fancies someone here, it is you."
A rosey colour painted Kára's cheeks as she took the feather that he threw at her and twirled it in her fingers. It was true enough, she thought at that day he looked attractive and wanted to kiss him. Though her impression of him after that had changed to a rapid decline. Now, however, she was conflicted. He was nowhere as rugged as his brothers, but that was because he still held some youthful qualities yet to grow through; his blonde hair was darkening with his age, his cheekbones were getting sharper, but his arms were as thin as his legs. Well, that wasn't entirely true, especially since Ivar had started training with his brothers and learning archery from Kára. His biceps were getting larger, and his fingers were growing. He had a long way to go to even become as muscular as Ubbe was becoming, but was beginning to start. Ivar was still boyish, but to a girl his age, he was handsome.
Kára looked at the back of his head, which was freshly shaved, while his front remained long. It was the same hairstyle his brothers, save Sigurd, had. She wagered it was because he wanted to be more like them, and because it was getting hotter, so the close shave helped with the heat. Her eyes traveled back to the feather she was twirling, and another impish smirk blossomed on her face as she reached out with it and tickled the nape of his neck.
Ivar immediate shuddered and pulled away rapidly. He turned around immediately with an intense glare, only to see Kára with a shit-eating grin, relaxed against the the dirt and rock behind them. Without a word, he launched at her with hands aiming for her sides and underarms. The redhead squealed as Ivar met his aim and began to tickle her furiously. Kára twisted and curled her limbs into herself as she laughed and screeched from Ivar's fingers that dug under her arms to tickle her. She reached under her and began to tickle Ivar's stomach, and immediately he buckled away from her hands, giving his own yelp.
The two began to wrestle, arms wrapped around each other and fingers reaching out to assault each other's weak spots. They were a tangle of arms, laughter, and screeches, rolling off the log they sat on and soon found themselves in a tumble. They began to roll towards the shoreline of the beach; Ivar could feel the rocks hit and scratch at his face, little twigs breached the fabric of his clothes and poked at his skin. He winced when his legs hit a particularly sharp rock, and out of instinct he let go of Kára to grab the pained area, then used his other hand to dig into the ground to stop himself from rolling further down the incline. Kára didn't have enough time to react, though, and she kept rolling until she slipped off the rocks that bordered the shore and fell right into the water.
The depth of the water in this area of the beach was deep as the land was higher. There was no wind, but for someone who was afraid of the water it felt like the cold grip of Hel had wrapped her fingers around Kára's ankle and pulled her further into the ocean. The girl screamed as she scrambled to hold onto the rock that she fell over, but it was too slick to hold on to. Panic rippled throughout her body when her legs flailed under her and she could not feel the bottom. She screamed bloody murder, trying to claw at the surface of the water, but the waves began to slowly pull her away from the shoreline. Her fingertips barely brushed the surface of the beach rocks now, and with her muscles tensing and her blood rushing to her head, her body felt like lead.
Ivar watched in horror as Kára screamed and scrambled to keep herself afloat. The panic sounds she was making began to gurgle as water pooled into her open mouth with every tide that cloaked over her and the further her head was pulled under the surface. The pain in his thigh was immediately forgotten the moment Ivar sprung into action. Screaming her name, Ivar dung his fingers into the hard earth as he rapidly crawled over to the water's edge. Her fingers were barely touching the rock once he reached it, then suddenly it felt like the tide was getting stronger right in front of his eyes. It was as if the sea was taking her on purpose; taking claim of her body as if it waited for many years.
Kára felt the water freeze her body to sonte. Her breathing became short and her muscles tired from moving rapidly in attempt to keep itself afloat. It was becoming harder to breathe, not because of the water slipping into her throat, but because her heart and lungs were working in overdrive. When the water overlapped over her head, she was pulled under for a moment. The salt water stung at her eyes, forcing her to blink uselessly. A pale, bearded face appeared in front of her, floating in the murky sea water. His green eyes stared into her with lifelessness; bubbles from his mouth dripped from his open, blue lips, and got caught in the dark brown ribbons of his long dark hair that floated around his face. The girl's mouth opened in a scream, which allowed the water poured into her throat. A great spike of fear ran throughout her body, and she began to thrash around against the current. Her arms stretched out, trying to grab anything she could, but it was mostly met with empty air and water, until, that is, warmth gripped around her wrists. Kára blinked out the salty water from her eyes when she was lifted just over the surface, and saw the blurry image of Ivar hanging over the edge of the rock and holding onto her hand with both of his.
"Kára! Hold on!"
She quickly grabbed his wrists with both of her hands in desperation. Ivar curlsed his fingers around her tighter, then grit his teeth in a growl as he pulled her back to the rocks with as much strength as he could. The water made her feel heavier, especially as they crashed over her back and head and dragged back out. The muscles in his shoulders strained as he gave one last tug before the weight lifted and Kára was out of the water. Ivar rolled onto his back, and the girl toppled on top of him, coughing and gasping for air profusely. What took him off guard the most in that moment was when her arms and legs clung him.
She was crying into his tunic.
Ivar didn't know how to react, he was frozen on the spot, breathing hard from the adrenaline that filtered through him. He didn't know what to do, especially after what had just happened, and what she was doing. This was foreign to him in all angles he saw it; then it grew even more uncomfortable when she started to weep the words "why did you do it?" over and over again.
Not knowing what else to do, Ivar immediately thought to his mother, and what she would do during the times he had his tantrums. His arms slowly wrapped around her trembling body, squeezing her to his chest and resting his nose in her hair. The boy's eyes remained wide as he stared into nothingness, only listening to those five words over and over again through her cries and sobs.
x x x
It wasn't long after that they were found, but it felt like ages. Floki and Helga did not live too far from where they were, so they were the first to hear the screams from their house. The couple had arrived to the scene, their eyes widen once they realized what they were looking at. Floki looked from the two kids tangled on the floor, to the water that soaked the earth around them. Ivar looked at him with no words, and nonwords were given, save for the muttering of the redheaded girl. Floki quickly bent down and scooped up Kára after prying her arms off of Ivar. He pulled her close to him, and the girl crippled into his chest once he stood up. Floki quickly handed her to Helga, who took her immediately into her arms, then he bent down and picked and hoisted Ivar over his shoulders.
It had been some time since they got to Floki's house by the shore, where the sea caved into a bay of sorts that lead to the river. Many of Floki's ships, both finished and works in progressed bobbed in the water like vigilant dragons watching over their brood. Helga had stripped Kára from her damped clothes and put one of her apron dresses on her, then wrapped her in thick wools, and put her down to sleep. Ivar remained outside, sitting on a chopping block, staring at the coastline that peaked between thin limbed trees. Helga had left as soon as the redhead and fallen asleep from exhaustion, and immediately took off in the direction of Hulda's hut, which was a mile away.
Floki dragged a bench over and sat down next to him, then looked out in the same direction as the boy. The viking plopped a bundle of arrows, some finished and others needing fletching, on the ground. When Ivar looked down at them, he recognized them as the ones that he and Kára were working on before it happened.
"How are you doing, Ivar?" Floki's soft voice broke the silence.
"I do not know," he furrowed his brow and hugged his arms tighter around himself. "I do not know what just happened, or how it happened." Floki let the silence fill the space again, for a moment, until Ivar turned to look at him. "How is...How is she doing?"
"She will survive."
"Is she hurt?"
Floki's eyes softened when he looked at Ivar, whose face was full of concern. His large hand clasped the young one's shoulder and he gave him a smile. "No. She's a strong one."
Ivar squared his shoulders and took a deep sigh before looking back at the sea. "You should have seen her, Floki. I've never seen someone so terrified… What is wrong with her?"
Floki let a steady breathe through his nose as his hand slipped from the boy's shoulder. He looked at his dirty fingernails from long hours of work and imagined the hands of his friend, Ulf, who always made sure his hands were clean before he went to work. "Her father drowned in the lake in the middle of winter. The ice caved under him, and the water swallowed him," his reply pulled Ivar's attention back away from the landscape and onto his mentor. The viking peaked at the boy through his lashes, "Ulf took his own life. Somehow his daughter had inherited a natural fear to the water, even before she knew."
Ivar blinked slowly as he processed this information. He suddenly remembered that he had heard this before from his brothers, but he didn't know about it was Ulf's own doing. Ivar still didn't understand how Kára could be afraid of the water if she wasn't even born when it happened, or even just understanding that it wasn't an accident. Ulf willfully went out on thin ice, and let it collapse under him. It was a strange way to take your own life, Ivar thought, but perhaps there was some poetic irony he didn't know about.
But, realistically, how could he judge Kára? The water was one of his greatest fears, but for a more rational reason. There was no way he would be able to swim with his legs. He's floated in water that was no more than three feet or less, and most of the time it was in the wooden tub that was made specifically for him. Though the thought of being in open sea, being caught in a storm, and then falling overboard terrified him more than he realized until that moment. Truthfully, would he even survive mentally if he were to go with his father and brothers back to Paris? And Odin forbid, if there is a storm that tosses him overboard, and kills him.
Ivar stared hard into the ground at his feet, his mind flooded with images of the event that happened not too long ago. He remembered her words clearer now than he had did then: "why did you do it?" In light of what Floki had just told him, he now understood the context of the question. It was a valid question indeed, and it seemed that not even Ulf's own daughter knew the answer.
He turned his chin back at Floki, "why did he do it?"
The man's lips turned into a fine line beneath the whiskers of his mustache. His eyes flickered away from the boy and back at his fingers, before moving the didgets over his scalp. "Intelligent men tend to not always be the happiest of folk," he finally replied with a soft tone. "All it takes is one seed on the back of the overpacked muel to break it's back."
Ivar opened his mouth to ask Floki to elaborate, but the sound of footsteps came within ear shot, and the two men turned around to see Helga in tow with the Red Woman. Hulda immediately went to Floki the moment he stood up to greet her. Her face was like a stone dam with water leaking through the cracks, threatening to push the wall down. There was worry there, but she wanted to show some composure.
Ivar twisted his body to look over at her as she gripped Floki's forearms and whispered what he assumed were questions about what happened. Floki answered and then looked over to Ivar, who blinked at the audience. Hulda's eyes softened when she looked at them, and took no hesitation as she floated over, knelt down on her knees and took his hands in hers. Ivar froze under her gaze, which at this moment didn't look as intimidating as they seem to be before. They were the most familiar eyes he, as a child, would know: the eyes of a mother.
"You saved her life, Ivar," her fingers brushed around his hairline as gently as the brush of a dandelion. The boy felt goosebumps litter his arms from the electricity he felt from her. That must be the magic she held; it made the blood in his veins pump, and fill him with both freight and wonder. "For this, I will give you something that was taken away from you many seasons ago."
Confusion was in his eyes, and it only increased when she reached around her own neck and pulled a string over her head and put it over his. He looked down and saw a piece of petrified wood with the Uruz rune carved into it. Ivar lifted his confused eyes up at her, and found her leaning in to kiss his forehead, then gave him one last look before standing up and going towards the house.
Ivar and Floki shared a look once the woman was out of sight, and all the latter could do was reach out with a tight smile and run his hand over the boy's head. Ivar looked down at the necklace once again, his fingers brushing through the carving in contemplation. This was a rune of Freya's Ætt. Floki had taught him. What that meant to Ivar was lost to him; he knew it was the wild ox, but what did it have to do with 'something that was taken away from him many seasons ago'. Nevertheless, he curled his fingers around the piece gently, and looked back up to see the woman in red cradling her daughter in her arms, and nodded at the three others before leaving in silence.
Uruz Rune - Uruz Rune is like a lop sided lower case n. It means he Auroch, which is a wild ox that went extinct in the 17th century. Uruz represents physical, mental strength, and endurance. For men, specifically, it represents manhood.
I chose this rune specifically to foreshadow the changes I'm making from canon. This is not a spoiler, because I already mentioned this in the prologue in my disclaimer.
Anyway, hope you have enjoyed the chapter. This was an interesting one to write, despite it being shorter than most. Next chapter is longer, and hopefully I'll be able to get that out sooner, because I'm at an arc in the story that I just want to finish so I can get to the moment of time skipping.
Also, I'll be releasing the link to my pinterest for the story soon, which features songs, muse/inspiration images, and face claims that play the OCs.
~CB
