248. The Dragon of the North Sea (2).
"Yip-yip-yip-yip-!"
[Awooo-oooo-!]
[Huff! Huff! Kieeeek-!]
"What on earth are they doing?"
"I don't know either. For the past few days, whenever they get a chance, they howl together like that; they must find it amusing."
One young human baby, one nearly full-grown gray wolf, and two reindeer that should soon be retired.
The utterly nonsensical combination of humans and beasts sat in a circle and had been howling like that for well over ten minutes already.
Sigmarr's voice was so sweet and cute that I could have listened to it for ten hours not just ten minutes, and Bokshiri's howling had a familiar ring to it so that was fine, but why were those two reindeer joining in and letting out such bizarre, water deer-like shrieks?
No, wait, weren't reindeer's natural predators wolves? Those lucky deer that my father-in-law left, saying they were Inga's favorites and to raise them in the front yard, sometimes seemed to have lost all fear.
Or maybe it was because they had seen Bokshiri since he was very young, and Bokshiri, contrary to his energetic appearance, was an extremely gentle fellow, so they got along well.
Since pondering the unknowable world of nature any further would only force my poor brain cells into an all-nighter, I gently tugged on my spring goddess's left hand, which was wrapped around me, pulling her closer.
The word 'Ing' in Inga's name praised a spring goddess older than the old gods. My father-in-law and my late mother-in-law, whom I never got to meet, had crafted the most beautiful daughter in the world, and their skill at naming was no less impressive.
Because in Inga's embrace, which ever so subtly leaned her weight into my touch, there was always the scent of spring.
When I rested my head together with this woman who had placed her chin on my shoulder, oddly enough all the world's problems I had agonized over lost their meaning, and I was swept up in a cosmic emotion, like astronomers who gained enlightenment while gazing at the night sky's constellations.
The simple word usually used to describe such a thing was comfort.
"Yip-yip-yip-!"
[Awooo-ooooooo-!!]
[Huff! Kieeeek!]
Behold, how peaceful my heart was even in the face of such dreadful clamor.
At this rate, it would be nice to just drift into a deep sleep. What was my schedule this afternoon? Should I just sleep?
"Lord Fylkir."
[Hiss!]
[Hiiiss!]
The unfamiliar voice that disrupted domestic peace gradually dispelled the drowsiness that had been looting my mind, and the two pig-cats—no, cat-pigs that had each claimed one lap between Inga and me and had been dozing off scowled and hissed.
It seemed Rune's voice, which had dared to shatter their languor, had been terribly impertinent.
Perhaps because everything was grand in the northern hemisphere, the cats here were enormous, and Skoll and Hati were particularly large among them, so I sometimes thought they might be distant descendants of tigers.
With their naturally large frames and added weight, they were now literally heavyweight cat-pigs who had gone full doping and failed to cut weight.
The heavyweight hissing had an octave all its own and boasted a profoundly grave menace, so much so that even Rune, the valiant heir of the Kingdom of Strathclyde who had ridden at my side, grew tense. I lifted this monster-pig that, though its punching power had grown, couldn't even jump properly, set it down on the floor, kissed Inga's forehead, and rose from the long chair that was like a sunbed.
[Kiiiek- Meow!]
Skoll, displeased at having his hefty body exposed, voiced a protest, and Inga laughed and picked him up again, settling him onto my chair.
"What is it, Rune?"
"Word has come that Jarl Thorstein has passed through Uppsala. The Jarl of the Isles and the turbaned bastards' prisoners will arrive soon."
"Already?"
Originally, northern Britain belonged to Olaf the White, his son Tostein the Red, and my brother Ivar. Ivar traveled around so much that you could hear his name everywhere, but anyway.
Though it's said that governance has now stabilized without any particular disturbances or rebellions thanks to my blessing, which could be called an asymmetric force in Britain, the main business of the Kingdom of the Isles in northern Britain had always been piracy.
Naturally, resentment and old grudges were bound to remain. You could still feel the vestiges of it in the voice of Rune, the heir of the Kingdom of Strathclyde—which was beyond just being a rival to the Kingdom of the Isles—and now my captain of the guard.
It had been barely five years since they became one under my great shadow. It would take more time to shake off the accumulated feelings and wounds.
Yet there was always hope. Having gone on campaigns together to West Frankia and East Frankia, fighting battles, it seemed that at least among the soldiers under my command, a sense of camaraderie as comrades who had fought together had taken deeper root than regional feelings.
On top of that, wouldn't our unity grow even stronger as the Great North Sea Athletic Meet progressed, with the participation of not only the entire North Sea theater but also our powerful ally the Eastern Roman Empire, the Magyars who were to become even closer, and Lotharingia which had newly become our friend?
"Inga, I'll be back."
"Mm—"
Instead of answering, Inga pulled my head with her long arms and pressed her lips to mine.
For a moment, smiling at a distance where our breaths touched, a whisper full of secrets only a married couple would know passed quickly between us.
"Yip-yip-yip-yip! Awooo!"
[Awooooooo!!]
[Kieeeek!]
[Ppulppulppul! Tatat! Dagakdagak-]
With the assault of Sigmarr and his gang charging in and shrieking wildly, the area around the two long chairs and one small chair instantly became a chaotic scene of laughter and screams.
[Hiss! Kyaaak!]
[Meoooow!]
At the undignified sight, Skoll and Hati beat a retreat, waddling and huffing into the house, and not only we the couple but even the surrounding Huskarls laughed together.
After calming the briefly excited Sigmarr and the beasts, and kissing my son's forehead just as I had done for my wife, I was at last able to move my feet toward the dock.
*****
The valiant warrior of Áli. The fourth son of the family, Ahmed, felt like death.
It wasn't just that he had a bitter taste in his mouth or was among hateful people. Truly, literally, Ahmed felt as though he was going to die right then.
The origin of the matter was, of course, the disgraceful defeat at the hands of those devilish servants of Shaitan, and on top of that, being captured.
All his surviving brothers pleaded for mercy and prayed for salvation to Áli, but Ahmed was a man who could see reality a bit more clearly.
Probably we would become slaves, or sacrifices to be offered at these Shaitans' evil rites.
Why rage and despair! All of this was my own sin for not seeing through the Shaitans' trap earlier! There is no god but Áli, and Muhammad is the messenger of Áli! If death is to be faced, I shall face it bravely!
Ahmed, who had already resolved himself for death seeing the wound on his thigh from their javelin, found that things did not go as he thought.
"What's this? Why's this bastard already dying?"
"Let's see."
[Skk- Skk- Thwack!]
"Ahh! Ahhhh! Áli-hu Akbar! Ahhhh!"
"Looks like he took a spear to the thigh, eh? Still, the way he's squawking, I'd say he's got some fight left."
"We've got plenty of slaves— no, prisoners to take here. Why not just cut his throat and send him to Njord? He might look fine now, but the wound could fester."
"Hmm. Had he been cut down in the fight, maybe, but now he's surrendered - his life and death are no longer ours to decide. You know that, don't you?"
"True. Once a battle's over, death is no longer ours to deal. Poor bastard. Might've been better off dead."
"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Allah!! Curse you! You Shaitan!"
[Wham!]
"Urk!"
The Northmen, living up to their devilish reputation, were muttering in their boorish, guttural tongue—devil's speech if ever there was one—and soon clubbed Ahmed over the head, knocking him senseless. When Ahmed opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling and face to face with yet another circle of Northmen.
"Right, what's the wound on this one?"
"Thigh, hit by a javelin. Lucky the old hands who took him didn't pull the shaft all the way out. They bound the upper leg tight, so there's not much bleeding."
"Fortunate. This is all by the grace of Goddess Hel and the Fylkir. A quick prayer, then."
"Ekkert varir að eilífu."
"Ekkert varir að eilífu."
"Nngh... wh-where am I... Shaitan...! Water... just give me water..."
"Ah, the test subj— no, the patient has come round. Good news, but I'm afraid it does not help our treatment. Knock him out again."
"Yes, Master!"
"Water... w—"
[Smack!]
"Gah!"
And so darkness returned.
When he opened his eyes again, mercifully, he was among familiar faces, his comrades. Whatever they had done, Örn's thigh wound was now swaddled in pristine white cloth, and the searing pain he'd felt before was gone.
For several days they stayed in the prison of those whose speech they could not understand, receiving—with rigid regularity—generous (!!) portions of food, restoring their health.
To his astonishment, Ahmed and the rest of the Muslim pirates, who had grown pink-skinned and sleek from eating and sleeping far better than they ever had while tilling the fields of their al-Andalus homelands or raiding the distant seas, set out on a new journey under the satisfied smile of a Northman chief so massive that even his fellow giants seemed small, his hair swept back and bound, his well-trimmed beard a blazing red that forced the word 'Shaitan!' from one's lips.
The seas around the land of the Franks, ancient enemies locked in nearly a hundred years of war, had not been so rough. But the sea these devils' ships now sailed into was so wild that every mouthful of food threatened to leap back out, and they endured the brutal waves for days more.
When the white bandage wrapping his wound, and even the clothes on his back, had been repeatedly soaked in salt water until they were steeped in a fishy reek, a colossal shadow loomed on Ahmed's horizon, and then a city of these Shaitans came into view—impossibly ordered, impossibly beautiful.
"By Allah... dear God..."
At first, he had imagined the sea-soaked devils meant to offer Ahmed and the faithful servants of Allah as sacrificial offerings. Yet, gazing upon the white city set along the shore and the great riven rock split cleanly in two, not even the sharp sting in his thigh, nor the fear and gnawing unease, could withstand the wonder that swelled in his chest.
"It is the Proof of the Fylkir!"
"Every one of you, bow your heads! You who live, never forget that in the end, you too shall die!"
"Fylkir! Fylkir Helgi Ragnarsson!"
"Hel!!"
The sight of people who could build such a beautiful city now bowing their heads toward a broken rock and howling—well, idolaters would behave like idolaters. Ahmed steadied his reeling mind with a quiet prayer to Allah, but what came next drained any spirit left for prayer.
"Sorcery... this is surely the sorcery of Shaitans...!"
To conjure an illusion of this scale—could it be that this entire journey, the majestic city before his eyes, was nothing but a sweet delusion, and his flesh was even now being offered up by Shaitans beneath that alien ceiling?
[Wham!]
"Aagh!"
Torn by doubt at the boundary between reality and illusion, Ahmed slammed his fist energetically into his own wounded thigh. His body reacted violently, and cold, hard reality made itself known.
This place was real, and what he saw before him was the truth.
"The Fylkir is there! Everyone double-check your bearing! Inspect the prisoners' ropes! No mishap of any kind will be tolerated!"
"Yes, Jarl!"
[Shhk- shhk- shhk shhk-]
The red-haired Northman who had stood at the prow of the sleek longship, one hand resting on the carved dragon head, suddenly bellowed his orders, and the sound of a sudden bustle spread not only through the Northmen around him but also through the longships behind carrying their brothers.
Then, as if on some unspoken command, the Northmen all produced combs from their clothing and began running them through their hair and beards—an incomprehensible ritual. But their bearing was that of men marching to war, so Ahmed and the captured Muslim pirates merely shivered, holding their breath and searching for God.
[Bwoooooooong-!!]
"Ha ha! Brothers hunt for us! Sound the horn!"
"The Jarl commands the horn be sounded!"
[Bwoooooong-!!!!]
As the two horn blasts drew near and resonated with power that rattled the soul, Ahmed was soon guided into the pure white city, far whiter and vaster than it had appeared from a distance. While rough hands hauled him along, he turned his eyes every which way.
For a city of savage Shaitans, it was too beautiful, and Ahmed's heart filled with pure admiration—until the moment one presence entered his awareness, and everything around him lost its power and meaning.
[Thud!]
"Fylkir! Thorstein of the Isles has answered your summons!"
"Ha ha! Jarl Thorstein. Where did you learn such posturing? Do not embarrass me further and rise. You have endured great hardship on the long road here."
The Northman warriors, following the Red One's lead and dropping to one knee in unison, displayed a discipline so sharp it bordered on menacing—yet in the conscious world of Ahmed and his fellow Muslim pirate captives, there was no room for that image.
Because standing before them was a being truly worthy of the name Shaitan.
"Are these the ones?"
"Yes, Fylkir."
A fiend so immense he was beyond immense—when he lifted his head and regarded them, a crushing pressure that even the rough sea and the ceaseless crashing waves could not conjure clamped down on their entire bodies.
Before those green eyes, Ahmed felt his very soul stripped bare to its foundations, and his trembling flesh, unable to overcome the exhaustion and terror, at last began to tip backward once more.
[Flump!]