Chapter 6

Ooki sat up with a gasp, his caution finally managing to overcome his tiredness and telling him in dreams that his life could be in danger. Looking around with intensity, he finally calmed when he saw Svhen awake, sitting near a rekindled fire. He managed a smile but the tension returned when he saw what Svhen was holding. Looking at him blankly, the man played with the chitin flask, spinning it and passing it from one hand to the other.

“Care to explain?” the man said calmly but his body was ready to react – just as Ooki’s was.

“It would seem you know enough, no?” he retorted.

“Where did you get this, Fimm?” the Nord asked. “Is this what your people’s old ways worship? What the fifth Ting has embraced?”

“I was born and bred in Mannheim, Svhen,” he said. “I am Nord.”

“No Nord would carry this,” Svhen answered and Ooki let his silence be his answer. “Your Volva then?” he asked. “Is this her doing?”

Bringing his legs crossed before him, Ooki did not answer. He reached for his waterskin, pulled the cork and drank the little he had left the night before. Then, calm as a lake’s waters, he put the cork back on and placed the waterskin next to him.

“There is no Volva here, Svhen,” he said in the end. “And there is no shaman. Let it go.”

Svhen shook his head. “No,” he said. “I cannot. The Konungyr warned me, you know. He told me the Volvas cavort with their lot. He told me that to promote our cause, I had to expose them; through you.”

With each word he spoke, Ooki’s eyes widened then narrowed, thoughtful, calculative.

“He told me your shaman urged you to leave him and join Janhyr Jannennson,” he said. “He told me to attack you before you took lands and swordarms from him.”

Silence fell between the two men, starring each other, weighing each other.

“I know you not for a liar, Fimm,” Svhen said in the end.

“Nor I you, old friend,” Ooki replied.

“Why would he want us to kill each other?” Svhen wondered aloud and Ooki mirrored his uncertainty.

“Why indeed?” he asked, and silence fell between them once more, as each’s mind raced. First to speak was Svhen.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You hold this so his words were true.”

“And did you not plan to offer Janhyr your banner?” Ooki asked. “Deny it if you wish but I’d know you for a liar.”

Again silence fell between them and this time it lasted until their stomachs growled with ferocity, hunger demanding their attention. As the awkward sounds echoed in the cave, the two looked at each other and fell to laughter, at first shy but soon bellowing, their tension releasing.

“We need to move,” Ooki said in the end, getting up. “Storm or not, the land will claim us sooner rather than later.”

“I would have joined Janhyr,” Svhen blurted out, making Ooki turn to face him. “They say he followed the Old Lion – and he will lead the High Table before long.” Ooki sat, weighing his friend’s words.

“An Exile approached my Volva,” he said in the end. “She offered gifts as proof of their abilities. Tools that would help the sisterhood gain control of the High Table. They would offer me the Konungyr’s place,” he admitted in a low voice, in the end.

“With my help, Janhyr would have made a move against Vysing’r,” Svhen shared. “This was never about us. This is about seats at the High Table.”

“Did Vysing’r wish for us to kill each other? Why else would he urge both of us to fight?”

“He did not play us,” Svhen replied. “He played the shamans and the volvas. Think about it: he makes us fight. He allows the battle to start but not to finish, limiting his losses. Remember what he said? Not a private matter, we deprive him of his soldiers. So, he stops the fight and leaves us to kill each other, while the warg finishes the other. If either survives, then…”

Both men looked at each other with widened eyes, then reaching for their short blades, they turned towards the entrance as if their killer would just then walk in – a silly, panicked thought, formed by the realization of their Konungyr’s plan. But none came – not then, nor for the next minutes which they spent en guard, waiting. Laughter, once more, released them, as they looked at each other, noticing their own absurd reaction in the other.

“Clever,” Ooki commented, as he walked to the entrance, just to make sure. “He keeps his seat; the Volva and the Shamans lose their tools in his land yet he angers neither. Can’t say I blame him either, considering what our plans were.”

“Guess that’s why he is Konungyr,” Svhen said, raising his eyebrows appreciatively.

“Leaves us in an awkward place, though,” Ooki said. “If a killer was waiting to ensure neither of us survived, the storm probably kept them off us. But they are out there still. Where do we go? If we split up, we are more vulnerable. But if we both return… Even if we survive his killers, I am not sure how welcoming our Konungyr would be.”

“I cannot just leave,” Svhen replied. “My family, my men and women… They-“

“Vysing’r has many faults,” Ooki said. “Cruelty, I’d say, is not one of them. He won’t harm your family if you are no threat any more. He gains nothing.”

“Even so… I… I cannot see which path to take to be sure.”