gods_that_haunt_me | OOM (during the 4 year jump)

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OOM (during the 4 year jump)

I work like a Dwarf through the seasons.

My toil is fraught with frustration, and blessed with inspiration.

The gods move me. They give me every reason to wake up with the sun. To make love to Helga. To seek the trees with which to build my boats.

This is my existence. And I would not trade it for anything.

It is early spring, when the first warm breath of wind mingles with the receding chill in the air. The water reflects a cloudless sky. A perfect time to stay outdoors from morning to evening. Working, and delighting in the work.

With every pull on the draw knife, a plank of wood takes shape. I see what it will become; I see how it will be a part of the ship.

The ship itself is yet a skeleton. On its bones I will lay the flesh and smooth its skin, a living thing. I see it all in my head, and I pray to the gods to help me make my vision real.

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"Show the pups how it's done, hm? Yes."

He gives him a sidelong glance and a crooked expression.

"Any good pupils so far?"

"A few," Ragnar says. "Gudrun, Eirik's daughter -- you know the one -- will make a good shield-maiden, and even Athelstan can hold up an axe by now and knows what its beard is for."

"Ooh, is that so?" he crows.

"I hope you are not going easy on him. I wouldn't."

"No," Ragnar says, emphatically. "Going easy on him in training is what would get him killed in the shieldwall. If he wants to be able to fight on our side, he needs to pull his weight; but he's ready to face some traders or the like, in the east. I'm not certain about Saxon soldiers yet."

Floki makes a thoughtful, grumbly noise.

"Traders are a good first lesson, but their guards are often easy to overpower when they realize that they value their own lives more than what they are guarding. Still, you cannot replicate the thrill of being in a real shieldwall on the training grounds."

"No, so that is where we go," Ragnar says. "For Gudrun, Athelstan and all the new fighters. Also, some of the old fighters would rebel if there was no raid at all."

"Some might say you were turning into Haraldsson," he teases wryly. "Promising the West but always going East."

"We go west again next year," Ragnar says. "We need your ship, and it's not ready."

"We know that well enough, but others may grumble and grow impatient. I suppose we can only trust in the gods that the raids in the East will be successful to make up for the wait."

"If they have gold to spend in winter," Ragnar says, "they'll be cheerful come spring. So I'll make sure they have that."

"And everyone will benefit," he agrees with a nod.

"It will be a long year, but a good one. I can feel it in my bones, Ragnar. Everything we do now will prepare us for bigger things to come."

"Whatever treasure we bring from the east can go into the building of our ships," Ragnar nods. "I don't need anything from that raid, except supplies for next year."

"That is an investment that I will guarantee you the best possible results," he says firmly.

"Yes, I know that you will deliver them," Ragnar says. "After all, didn't we once hear that those from the future found us 'awesome' because of our ships?"

"Such a legacy to live up to!" he says. "But if it already known and told and written, then we ought to keep doing what we're doing. We cannot fail if we stay true to our paths."

"No, we can't," Ragnar says. "Especially as there's only one of us each, and history needs us!"

"And we have but to live it! The gods are telling us that they want us to succeed. If ever there was a sign that our lives are fated, this is it."

They make a wide, vague turn back toward the cabin.

"But now, my stomach is telling me that I am hungry. How about you, Ragnar?"

Ragnar pretends to ponder this. "Hmmm," he says. "I could eat something! Especially if it's Helga's wonderful stew."

He grins cheerfully. "Then come! We shall appease our stomachs."

As they turn to hike back home, Floki, after a few moments of pensive silence, says to his friend, "You know, I must thank you, Ragnar."

"Thank me?" Raagnar saus. "What for?"

"You always believed in me," he says, not looking at Ragnar, but up at the trees, which are easier.

"When everyone was saying, 'Oh, that Floki, he is only a fool. Oh, poor Floki, he will never be as good as his father was. Oh, don't mind Floki, he always jokes around and will never amount to much in life.' You, Ragnar, you never said any of that. You were my friend when nobody gave me a second thought. And now, here we are. Still friends. That is what I thank you for."

"They were blind to what you can do, and how amazing your skills are," Ragnar says.

Just as some people are blind to Athelstan's real skills, now.

"But you really don't have to thank me for it. You were my best friend before you ever were my boat-builder."

Floki's heart swells.

He looks down at the mossy ground, and grins up at the trees.

"Then I will thank the gods instead, as I have always done. It was they who brought us together."

He then grins at Ragnar, and slings a long arm around his shoulders as he points toward the water coming into view.

"And it is they who will bring us into history!"

A beat, as the scent of beef stew wafts along on a breeze.

"And also to food!"

Ragnar looks at Floki, and laughs. "Food is first!" he says. "We wouldn't go and raid other people if we didn't have to feed our own."

"And we wouldn't have the strength to go raiding if we didn't first have food," he remarks with a chuckle. "It is all connected."

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