Chapter 6) Till the Bone.
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Piglet's will to keep Ivar alive turned out to be relentless. Her guard was high up as she crossed her makeshift line, skittish as a deer; dark eyes large and breath shallow, lips slightly ajar.
She nearly dropped the steaming content of her cup when Ivar was caught by another coughing fit.
It would have earned her a mocking laugh from Ivar's side, were it not for the lack of strength to lift his head up. Lucidity was an ability he no longer possessed. There was a Mara riding his chest; the demonic creature made his chest heavy; entangled his lungs and riddled his sleep with nightmares. Panic rose in waves between the moments of regaining consciousness and drifting back into the Mara's realm of nightmares.
"Mother?"Ivar muttered when hands tenderly lifted his head to rest on comforting thighs, "I'm sorry, I should have never abandoned you." Ivar's voice was nothing more than a whimper, "father's death… I should have died too."
His quivering lips were pressed around a wooden rim and scalding hot water was forced down his throat. The smell and taste was ferocious, that of strong herbaceous. Ivar gagged and fought, but the fever had burned away all his strength.
Feebly, he arched his head to the side, but those tender hands were ruthless; merging his head in between strong thighs and pinching his nose until Ivar nearly choked and gasped for air.
This cruel ritual became a routine of four times a day. Ivar was being force fed a variety of soups; broth with seasonal vegetables, soaked pieces of bread and herbs. Every waking moment was a struggle; his phlegm filled lungs were desperate for oxygen and the fever continued to scorch his body and ravaged his mind. At times he saw his mother's morose eyes behind the dark lashes of Piglet. Every shadow seemed to be possessed by feathered creatures, their gurgling croaks keeping Ivar on edge and petrified.
It took Ivar six days to fight off the Mara and regain enough strength to slap the wooden bowl away from his face.
Piglet took that statement of defiance as her cue to retreat back behind the line. Her care however did not lessen; for reasons unknown to Ivar she was dedicated to nurture him back to health. It was one of the things that occupied Ivar's thoughts. Tit for tat, in life no-one does anything without getting something in return. Ivar's sickly condition was not doing her any favours. The Giant would come by every day to inspect the coughing patient, to see if he was worth all the time and trouble. The Giant would not leave out any occasion to either bark or spit at Piglet; who'd obediently make herself as small as possible and simply take full blame for Ivar's slow recovery.
She wore the bruises of Ivar's dreadful healing process and spent half her ration on him. She must be starving herself so Ivar could gain back little of his strength.
"Stupid thrall, if you'd know what I'd do to you if I wasn't shackled," Ivar sneered at her as he picked on his bread; it tasted stale, but everything was better then a howling stomach.
Piglet sat across from him against the wall, petting a lamb, it's wool such a contrast to her dark arms. The lamb's wobbly legs were still nascent and thin, but functioning well. As it's mother bleated and the youngster squirmed to get free. Unbalanced, the lamb hobbled back to the motherly call.
Ivar stared at the little legs, each one a spindle of bones and skin. Ivar channeled down to his own legs, the similarities were not to be missed. The only difference was that the legs of the lamb were able to carry its body weight with ease.
Ivar's legs were useless and deformed, twisted in odd angles due to erupting spasms and stiffness. He used to fracture them when he was a child, how could he not with so many older brothers, eager to fight and frolic, as all kids do. All kids, but Ivar, because his physical condition would not allow him to. He hated his lower body for it; the lack of muscles made his bones stick out, the skin of his shin bones translucent and delicate from being shielded off by his braces. Some of his toes were crooked and repulsive to look at. His lower body; everything from the waist down, was useless and ugly. And if he survived, he'd cut it all off.
Ivar noticed Piglet watching him stare at his own deformities. She did that a lot, ogling at him from the curtains of her headscarf. It pissed him off greatly.
If looks could kill, Piglet would be halfway to Valhalla, or whatever afterlife her religion offered. His scowl formed a toothy smile on Piglet's face. Cunningly, she redrew her makeshift line on the floor with the heel of her foot, regarding her safety.
"Hamar," she addressed him, while sitting down Indian-styled. From a hidden pocket, she retrieved a handful of dumpy bones. Ivar recognised them as knucklebones from a sheep as Piglet dropped the bones on the dusty floor.
Unimpressed, Ivar stared at the bones and then back up at her. It did not lessen her enthusiasm; teeth glinting as her smile grew wider. Picking up one of the bones she let her thumb rub over the smooth upper side.
"Wahid," she spoke, holding up her index finger. She then pointed at three bones, all with their stubby sides up.
"Arbe," she held up four fingers.
"Sitta," she pointed at the remaining knucklebone, with it's ear-shaped side up and showed Ivar six fingers.
"Wahid, arbe, sitta," Piglet held up her fingers with every word and drew tally marks with her other hand on the dusty floor. "Tiseat eashar."
She was teaching him a game, one quite familiar with the game he knew as tali; the difference was that her game added up all different sides, while tali's rule was to throw and catch the bones in various manners.
Now that she got his undivided attention, Piglet hastily recollected the bones, but froze as her fingers crossed the makeshift line to pick up the last one. She held her breath and scanned over his on-edge demeanor. She left the knucklebone that had crossed the safety border and placed the recollected ones along the line.
"You want me to play games with you?" Ivar scoffed, wondering if the savage lost her mind or will to live. Did she seriously think he'd consider participating in any way that might make them appear as equals?
"Then why don't you come a little closer?" Ivar purred innocently and motioned her with his index and middle finger to come closer, "c'mon, I'm not a threat," the words escaped his lips sweet as honey."
Bowing forwards, Ivar lay his hand on his stiff legs, "I am but a cripple," extracting his arms he held up his palms and nudged his chin towards the knucklebones. "If you want me to play, you need me to get the dices, c'mon now," he cooed.
Piglet remained marble, indecisive as a startled deer, her muscles grew tense, all set to flee if provoked.
"Come closer, so I can gut you like the little piglet you are!" The last set of words turned into a low growl and Ivar launched his body forwards, hands trained to adjust to the unevenness of the ground. His legs however curled up due to the pain coming from his knees, they'd still had to get used to the inevitable scraping over the floor.
Piglet yelped and faltered back, cowering away into the corner near the door. The whimpering response of his useless attack was pleasing Ivar, although his shackles had embedded themselves into the skin of his ankles, tearing open old cuts; he roared in victory.
Piglet covered her mouth with her hands as Ivar puffed out his chest and screamed again. A wooden bowl, chunks of dirty, rocks, everything within arms reach was lifted and thrust into her direction.
Piglet managed to use her wrists as a shield and shrank further away from him. The madness erupting within the barn startled the animals and Ivar's raging sounds were joined with the panicked bleating of the cattle.
The noises alerted the masters and once the keys were turned, Ivar's outburst came to a sudden end.
Two peasants overpowered him with ease, his upper body still weakened due to hunger and overcoming pneumonia.
"Don't you dare touch me, pathetic human beings! I am a prince!" Ivar yapped and tried to sink his teeth into the wrist of one of the men. He managed to tear open his opponent's sleeve, but the small triumph came with a terrible price.
The Giant merged in between the two peasants and stomped his foot down onto Ivar's right bicep. The immense pressure on his upper limb casted out Ivar's rage and brought him back exactly where he was; an insignificant slave, trampled down by it's master. Powerless, utterly and completely powerless against the men who enslaved him.
An eel slithered from his stomach up to his lungs, it's skin touched by ice and Ivar choked up.
In slow motion, the Giant craned his axe up, all the way over his shoulders. The man's dead grey eyes did not focus on the fear stricken eyes of his victim, but on Ivar's right wrist.
Ivar felt his jaw drop and the eel must have eaten his tongue; because no words came out to express his pleads. To please stop, to please I'll do anything, because if he'd lose his right hand, his entire life from this moment on, would be useless.
The eel's tail clutched his chest and slithered itself around his heart, as the Giant's axe struck down. A crack of splintering bones silenced all sounds within the shed and Ivar felt bile rising up his throat while his trousers soaked in his own piss.
Ivar expected pain, reflectively he clenched his teeth and squeezed his tear-ridden eyes shut. Bracing himself for the upcoming smell of blood, the sight of his own right hands spasming detached from his body on the floor and for fire to merge through every never of his wrist.
But none of that came and laughter filled up the room. When Ivar dared to peek through his lashes, he saw the three men tower over him, nudging one another towards Ivar's pathetic squirming state and piss stained trousers. The Giant's axe rested upon his shoulder, it's blade still impeccably clean.
Ivar's head snapped to the right side of his body. His right hand was balled into a fist, but still very much attached to his wrist. Beside him, laid a wooden bowl, split perfectly into two.
The Giant's bouldering laugh stopped abruptly and he brought the tip of his axe down to Ivar's throat, applying just enough pressure to tear his skin.
Ivar did not need to learn Dietsc to understand the meaning behind the Giant's words as the man started to speak. The message was clear: obey, or lose a limb.
And Ivar did something uncharacteristic; he nodded and surrendered. It was not worth losing either his right hand or his life. Not like this, not with him and his opponent in a state like this.
Ivar cradled his right hand tightly to his chest, curling up into a ball while his shoulders shrugged from grief. He'd given every bit of his willpower to remain strong, keep his head up as all Ragnarsons would. But this was simply too much. He was entirely alone in this godforsaken place, with only a wildling as a witness of his breakdown.
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A/N: A show of hands if you thought Ivar was going to lose his. I think this chapter was the beginning of the end. Sure, ever since being sold as a slave, Ivar grew hungry. And cold. And hurt. But I think in this chapter he realised quite brutally how absolutely powerless he is. How his life lost it's value, completely.
Oh and the Mara, again I took a dive into Scandinavian folklore. The Mara is a demonic creature believed to be the bringer of nightmares. With Ivar's fever and hallucinations it seemed like the perfect creature to summon up.
Please share your thoughts, I'd love to know what you think of the story.
xoxoxo Nukyster