OOM - part one

[gods_that_haunt_me]

I think I am dead.

I am laid out on a boat. A boat I built myself.

But there are no flames; only endless waves that rock me, carry me away to I know not where.

Home, perhaps?

Valhalla?

Endless, endless waves.

People surround me. They come and they go, passing silently. Sadly.

I must be dead.

There is one man who does not come and go, but rather he stays. Solid and unmoving in his presence. Like the anchor on this boat, even as it rocks on these endless, endless waves.

There is no nighttime; there is no daytime.

Only hunger and thirst and pain.

I hope I am dead.

I want this journey to end and for the gods to take me.

Instead I am borne away by hands, a multitude of hands that lift me and carry me to I know not where.

Am I home?

Lips kiss me, her voice soothes my soul. Soft, warm, and gentle. Like sunshine. Endless sunshine.

But fever grips me and makes me pray for death, even as her kisses strive to keep me in this realm. The gods cannot make up their minds to take me or leave me.

I see ships.

A fleet of huge, magnificent ships. Bright sails unfurled in the wind, oars pulled by countless men. And there is one man, solid and unmoving like an anchor.

I must build those ships for him. And they will take us to rich, wonderful lands that lie far, far beyond the horizon.

I am not dead.


***

Helga presses a damp cloth to Floki's forehead. His fever has broken, and for the most part he is conscious again.

She would rather look after him in their own home, but he needed immediate care when the men returned from battle. So he was brought to the village infirmary instead. Since then he had been too ill and too injured to move him. But Helga never left his side, and she used every ounce of knowledge she possessed to help heal him.

Floki's face is bruised, one eye blackened without the help of ink, his jaw still a bit swollen and making it difficult to eat. His torso is bound with bandages. The bleeding from his axe wounds seems to have stopped, but his cracked ribs are still painful. His right arm is wrapped tightly in a sling, all the way up to his wrist.

That is the worst of his injuries. Because without his hand, his shipwright's hand -- he cannot work. None can tell yet if he will regain the use of it, so badly was his wrist broken. And if he survives, that would truly break him, more than any physical wound.

"Floki, try to drink this," Helga murmurs. She cradles the back of his head while holding a cup to his lips.

Without opening his eyes, he parts his lips, and she pours some of the liquid into his mouth. He coughs a little, painfully. It tastes bitter with herbs and roots, and the tang of his own blood is still on his tongue.

Helga kisses his brow to make up for it.

"Helga," he groans.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"Warn me the next time before you give me medicine. It tastes like reindeer piss."

Helga can't help but laugh. She hasn't laughed in what feels like a very long time. And Floki can't help but smile, even if it hurts to do so.

He is not dead yet, no matter what the gods say.

Comments

[athelstanthescribe]

"Helga?" Athelstan asks from the doorway, smiling uncertainly at the sound of her laughter. "Is he...?" And then his eyes fall to Floki's face. "Awake?"

[gods_that_haunt_me]

Helga looks up in surprise, and though her welcoming smile is bright, her eyes are tired.

"Athelstan," she greets him warmly. "Yes, he's awake now. Come in."

She strokes Floki's head. His eyes are still closed.

"Floki, you have a visitor."

[athelstanthescribe]

"Don't make him tire himself on my account", he says quickly. "I came to see how he was, and if you might need a rest."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

"I'm not dead yet, priest," Floki stubbornly insists, "if that's what you're wondering."

Helga clucks her tongue at him, scritching his head.

"Thank you, Athelstan," she says. "I might step out for a little bit if he promises to behave."

Floki grumbles. "In that case, I won't behave."

Helga sighs and turns to Athelstan with a weary smile and a shake of her head.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan eyes him.

"I don't want you to be dead, if that's what you think. Go on, Helga, he couldn't get up to misbehave if he tried."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

Floki grumbles again.

"You are too ill to be so ill-mannered," Helga tells him before kissing his forehead and getting up off the edge of the bed.

She goes over to Athelstan. "There's water in that jug if he needs any. I'll be right back." She smiles and touches his arm in thanks before leaving the room.

[athelstanthescribe]

He gives her a quick smile in return as she goes, then turns back to Floki.

"Do you want some water?"

[gods_that_haunt_me]

"No."

He is being as stubborn as an old goat.

He opens his eyes a crack, squinting at him in the daylight.

"Why are you really here, priest?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"The reasons I said." He wanders over and busies his hands with something. "Helga's been working herself to exhaustion. And Ragnar's had enough grief."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

He sighs. And he closes his eyes.

"Yes," he says quietly. "That is true."

[athelstanthescribe]

"So you see, Floki", Athelstan says with a glance over his shoulder, "I really don't want you dead. He needs your gift, and he wants your company."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

It's almost painful to hear that.

So Floki is silent for a while.

"I don't know if I will be able to use my hand again. I will be useless to him."

[athelstanthescribe]

"You'll still have your mind", Athelstan corrects almost sharply. "And he'll have your friendship. As for your hand, we'll have to wait and see, and do what we can for that."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

Floki utters a choked grunt.

Ugh, his mind.

Nobody, nobody understands. Nobody.

And there is no way he can begin to explain what goes on in his mind. To be left alone with it spells madness.

"Curse you, Rollo," he mutters in frustration.

[athelstanthescribe]

"You know", Athelstan says slowly. "There might be one way we can be sure of repairing your wrist, better than anyone could here."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

He seethes for a moment.

And then suddenly the feeling is lifted, and he opens his eyes as it dawns on him.

"Do you think so?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"They can do such things there", he says, nodding eagerly. "It might be done in minutes, with the machines they have there, as good as new."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

He blinks up at the ceiling, trying to process this new hope.

"I don't care if nothing else heals, I just want my hand back," he murmurs.

In his eagerness, he tries to move. And promptly lies back again in searing agony.

"...Perhaps later when I can walk."

[athelstanthescribe]

"We can't leave it too long", Athelstan warns, "or the bones will knit badly. Perhaps if I go ahead and bring something back to move you...?"

[gods_that_haunt_me]

He hesitates, glancing at the doorway.

"Helga might come back. And I'm too exhausted. But-- tomorrow? I'll be ready then."

[athelstanthescribe]

"Tomorrow", he agrees. "And you should think of something to tell Helga. Perhaps even the truth, because if anyone can keep secrets..."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

"No," he snorts. "She is worse at keeping secrets than I am."

[athelstanthescribe]

"...all right, not the truth." He considers. "So it's either keep your sling on until it would have healed naturally, or claim intervention by the gods."

[gods_that_haunt_me]

"I will not lie about what the gods have or have not done," he says almost immediately, sharply.

"So I will keep the sling on."

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan nods, unsurprised and even a little apologetic.

"You can take it off to stretch your arm when nobody's here."