The Songbird

Rune

Rune pressed his back against the small hill as he peered down into the village and frowned. He could see twenty, maybe thirty men, some of them already drinking and laughing, some of them still busy helping set up that large table in the middle of the houses. It must have been a wedding, the table littered with fresh flowers, most of the women gathering around one of the houses with their faces bright and warm and excited. Rune nodded, Erik would be happy, another English village would fall under his command by the end of the night when their men were too drunk to fight back, so he lifted his hand, ready to tell Wolf and Tooth to stick to his heels, but then he heard, “Play us a song.”

Rune turned back around, watching that man sitting on the table, a lute in his lap, a group of women surrounding him and laughing.

“Yes, please, please, play us a song,” one of them said.

“A song?” the man asked, a big smile on his face. “I don’t know about that, wouldn’t you rather wait until the evening?”

He spoke odd, his accent a little hard for Rune to understand as he laid back down on the grass, his forehead furrowing in a crease.

“No, please, just one song.”

The man leaned forward, that smile turning into a smirk, his eyes shining bright. “Just one,” he nodded. “But you have to promise to dance the next time I play.”

Those women laughed, some of them leaning forward and nodding, some of them hiding behind their hands, their cheeks going pink as the man lifted his lute, strumming it a few times and watching them all smile and gasp.

“My young love said to me,

My mother won’t mind,

And my father won’t slight you,

For your lack of kine,

And she stepped away from me,

And this she did say,

It will not be long now, till our wedding day.”

Rune laid there, so frozen and stiff, his eyes suddenly heavy and stinging, but when he looked back at that man, Rune couldn’t say if he was more happy or angry, but he knew he had to try, so he pressed his hands into the earth, feeling Wolf and Tooth stalk up around him, and he counted the men again. Rune was only alone, only supposed to scout ahead and come back, but he wouldn’t miss his chance when his skin was still tingling and cold with that ice-cold chill of prophecy, so he leapt up, giving a quick whistle, both him and the dogs letting out loud growls as they stormed towards that table. Some of the women went still, some of them went pale and started screaming, but that man only stared back at Rune with his eyes big and wide, the colour draining from his cheeks.

The dogs took care of the men, Rune killing the women who wouldn’t move out of the way and slinging that man over his shoulder. Rune thanked the gods the man was only a small thing then, feeling his boots tapping at his stomach and those fists banging into his back, but Rune only grunted, a curt, short grunt, and called for the dogs. The men were coming back, some of them already with makeshift weapons, some of them just running and racing to the table as the man on his shoulder started to kick again, harder and quicker, but Rune wrapped an arm around his calves, his face scrunching up in a scowl, his eyes going cold and sharp.

“Cut that out or I’ll cut them off,” he warned, and the man went still.

At least he wasn’t a fool, that was something, Rune’s heart somehow lighter and heavier all at once at the thought. He bit back a sigh as he watched the men, they were only villagers and Englishmen at that, but Rune still had to make his way out with only one of his hands. He killed that one that ran for him so quickly, the metal of that axe in his hand ringing in the air, and then he whistled, the dogs clearing the way for him up ahead, him making sure no one followed behind them, but it still seemed like a lifetime before they’d made it back into the woods where his chest heaved, the dogs still scouted up ahead. Rune threw that man down by a tree and slammed his axe into the wood beside him when he started to struggle, and the man went still, his eyes big and wide, his hands still outstretched and hanging in the air.

“How do you know that song?” Rune asked, but the man didn’t answer, only shaking his head, his eyes shining bright. “How do you know that song?” Rune asked again, his voice deep and low in warning.

“What song?” the man shook his head again.

“The one you sang just now.”

“About the wedding?” the man shook his head a third time, his eyes shining bright. “Oh, God, I don’t know, I picked it up from somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember. I… I travel a lot, I’m a bard.”

Rune stared at him, feeling his face go grim and tight, his eyes never blinking as he crouched down in front of the man. It was still a risk, but this man was small and slight, it wouldn’t be much of a risk to take him back to camp and see if someone else could find out more.

“Get up,” Rune said, suddenly getting to his feet.

“I’ll try to remember, just don’t kill me.”

“I said, get up.”

The man got to his feet, his knees a little shaky, his face pale and slack, and then the dogs nudged at the back of his legs, nipping here and there and keeping him in place beside Rune. Rune didn’t stop when they’d made it back to camp, only pushing that man into Erik’s tent and making sure the others weren’t around before he went in after him. Erik stood at his table, leaning over a map, his head tilting to the side as he studied the man on the floor.

“Rune?” was all he asked.

“Sing,” Rune said, kicking that man with his boot.

“Sing?” that man gasped, struggling to get up, but Rune pushed him back down. “What song would you like?”

Rune sighed, rolling his eyes and reaching for his axe, and the man seemed to understand.

“My young love said to me,

My mother won’t mind,

And my father-,”

“Enough,” Erik cut in, his hands clenching into fists, the colour draining from his cheeks, and then he looked at Rune, for so long and so hard like he was hoping for more, but Rune had nothing else to say.

“I know other songs,” the man said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be that one. Which song would you-?”

“How do you know that song?” Erik asked.

“I learnt it from somewhere… I travel a lot, I’m a-,”

“Listen here, Little Runt,” Erik said, crouching down in front of that man, his face scrunching up in a scowl. “When I ask you something, you just answer, don’t waste my time. How many toes does an Englishman need to answer questions, Rune?”

“None,” Rune answered, and that man began to shake.

“How do you know that song?” Erik asked again.

“I can’t remember,” the man shook his head.

“Hmmm…” Erik hummed, resting his chin in his palm and tapping his cheek with his fingers.

“And I’m not English,” that man snapped, and Rune reached for his axe again, his eyebrows raising, his face going tight, but Erik laughed, tilting his head to the side and staring at the man in front of him.

“What’s your name, Little Runt?”

“Jasper.”

Erik stood up, his eyes flicking to Rune, his fingers then tapping at the hilt of this sword as he switched to Norse. “Keep him with you. Don’t tell the others yet, it might not mean anything.”

Rune nodded, kicking Jasper again. “Get up,” he said, but Erik wasn’t finished yet.

“I mean it, Rune, don’t get your hopes up.”

Rune looked back at Erik, nodding a quick nod and grunting as he pushed Jasper out of Erik’s tent and it wasn’t long before he was pushing Jasper through the door of his own, pointing his finger down in front of the pole in the middle that kept it up. Jasper listened, sitting down in front of it and not fighting when Rune tied him to it, and then Rune sighed, sending Tooth to watch him, and throwing himself down on the bed. Erik was right, it might not mean anything, especially if Jasper couldn’t even remember how he knew that song, but still Rune’s heart raced in his chest as he reached out, holding Wolf closer and running his fingers through his fur.

“Rune…”

Rune hadn’t expected to feel that chill, that sudden ice that sprang to the pit of his stomach when Jasper spoke, his hand going still on top of Wolf. “Quiet,” he warned, but that didn’t make it better.

“I… I just want to know where my lute is and I’ll be quiet.”

“I don’t know,” Rune answered, his voice so strained and tight.

“You don’t have it?” Jasper asked, his eyebrows rising, his eyes a little wider.

“No.”

“So it’s back at the village?”

“I don’t know.”

Jasper turned around to look at Rune, his eyes even bigger and wider, his forehead lining in a crease. “Will you go back and get it?” he whispered, and Rune stared at him, his head tilting to the side, his eyes never blinking.

“No,” he said, and Jasper seemed to shrink, that crease growing deeper, his eyes shining bright.

“Please,” he said. “I’ll give you everything I have, just go-,”

“You don’t have anything, not anymore,” Rune cut in, and Jasper turned away, but Rune could still hear him crying, his hand going back to petting Wolf, his heart a little easier than it had been before.

“Rune?” he heard, and Freya popped her head in through the door. “You’re back? That was quick. Who’s this?” she asked as she stood in front of Jasper, her hand on her hip, her head tilting to the side

“A bard,” Rune answered.

“A bard?” Freya said, crouching down in front of him. “Sing a song, bard, we like songs around here.”

“I…” Jasper started, gritting his teeth as he stared at Freya. “I can’t without my lute, my Lady, please I-,”

“What’s with you Englishmen and calling me a lady?” Freya asked, shaking her head.

“I’m not English,” Jasper snapped, and Tooth let out a little growl, but Freya reached a hand out, petting Tooth on the back of the head and staring at Jasper.

“What are you then?” she asked.

“Irish.”

“You don’t like the English, Irishman?”

“Of course not,” Jasper shook his head.

“But you’re here in England.”

“I still want their gold,” Jasper said, and then Freya laughed, a bright, warm laugh that took Rune by surprise.

“Bring him to the drinking tent,” she said.

“I just got back, Freya, I-,” Rune started.

“Don’t make me give you an order,” Freya cut in, that smile on her lips not hiding the ice in her eyes, and then Rune sighed, cutting Jasper free and pushing him through the door behind her.

Freya laughed as Jasper stumbled out, her hands clasped behind her back, her axes shining in the bright sunlight, but Rune leaned in close, squeezing Jasper’s arm as they followed after her.

“You sing that song and I’ll kill you,” he whispered, and Jasper nodded.

“I need my lute,” he said.

“You can sing without a lute,” Rune said, and Freya turned ahead of them, her head tilting to the side.

“We can get you a lute, Irishman,” she nodded.

“I need my lute,” Jasper shook his head. “Please, my Lady, it’s all I have.”

Freya laughed again, coming to stand in front of Jasper, her sky-blue eyes shining so brightly. “It can be hard to let things go,” she nodded. “But I’d be more worried about my own neck if I were you. The men like bad songs less than they like Englishmen.”

Jasper looked like he was about to say something back, his eyes big and wide, his hand clutching at the front of his shirt, but Arne came bursting out of the drinking tent, his mane of red curls wild and bouncing around him, his fists beating into Toke’s face, but Toke was laughing, catching the blows that he could, his mouth going red with blood when he couldn’t.

“I told you not to talk about my sister like that,” Arne said between punches, that scowl on his face growing deeper and deeper.

“What did he say this time?” Freya sighed, her hand reaching for one of her axes.

“Freya!” Toke smiled, turning around and flipping Arne off of him. “Where have you been? I missed you.”

The dogs growled, deep, low growls that rumbled in the pit of Rune’s stomach, and Arne leapt for Toke again, pounding his fists into the side of Toke’s head and grabbing him by the hair, but Toke laughed, flipping Arne over and pinning him under him.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Arne the Small,” Toke said, spitting onto the ground beside them, and then he reached a hand up, rubbing his chin and shaking his head. “I think you knocked a tooth loose.”

“Get off me, you fat pig!” Arne struggled, and the dogs growled again.

Only then did Toke sit up straight, his eyes closing as he smiled, his hands raised up in front of him. “It was just a misunderstanding, Freya,” Toke said. “I promise.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Freya shook her head, and Arne went for him again, his face scrunched up in a scowl, his eyes shining bright, but the dogs growled and Arne went still.

“I’m not small,” Arne said, glaring at Toke.

“You’re pretty small for a grown man,” Toke shrugged.

“I could still grow.”

“You could,” Toke nodded, leaning back on his palms and smiling at Arne. “But why would you want to, you wouldn’t be as quick.” Only then did Arne look away, that scowl growing deeper, his eyes growing darker, and Toke laughed, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to him. “You owe me a drink,” he said.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“A drink for a tooth, that seems pretty fair to me.”

“A tooth for an insult. You’re lucky I didn’t take more,” Arne said, the corners of his nose twitching like he was holding something back, but Toke laughed again, pulling Arne to his feet and shaking his head.

“You’re Ivar’s son, no doubt about that,” he said. “Who’s the Englishman?”

“He’s Irish,” Freya said.

“Hmmm… I’ve heard of Ireland,” Toke nodded, staring at Jasper and spitting again. “Supposed to be a lot of good land over there.”

“Why don’t you ask him about it?” Freya smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Freya,” Toke shook his head. “I go wherever Erik tells me to, you know that.”

“Hmmm, and you’ve become quite rich because of it,” Freya nodded, and then she pushed Jasper towards the tent. “Go sing us a song, bard.”

Jasper looked back at Rune, his brown eyes bright and wide, his pale red hair a little paler in the sunlight, but Rune only stared back, his eyes narrowing, his hand resting on the head of his axe. Jasper cleared his throat, taking a few steps into the tent, his shoulders rising as the men yelled and drank.

“What song would you like?” he asked, his voice a little quiet.

“Better make it a happy one,” Freya said, and Jasper cleared his throat again, his shoulders dropping a little.

He looked so strange there, like a sapling in a forest, so thin and small a burst of wind could snap him and Rune almost shook his head, something in his heart telling him that he had been wrong and this was all a mistake.

“Hey!” Jasper shouted, his fingers tapping at his hip. “How many of you oxes can keep a rhythm?”

The men didn’t answer him, most of them not understanding, some of them already reaching for their axes, but Jasper rolled his eyes, shaking his head and smiling at them. He snatched a cup from one of them, draining it and holding up a finger to the warrior’s face when he went to stand and fight over it. Jasper smacked his lips when he was done with the drink, making a big show of flipping the cup around, and then he tapped it against the table, keeping a beat and watching the men around him.

“I’ll sing you one, oh,

Green grow the rushes, oh,

What is your one, oh,

One is one and all alone,

And evermore shall be so.”

The men were laughing then, some of them banging their cups or their fists or stomping their boots, and Jasper laughed too, the light in his eyes shining bright, his face soft and slack when he sang again.

“I’ll sing you four, oh,

Green grow the rushes, oh,

Four for the gospel makers,

Three, three, arrivals,

Two, two, the lily-white boys,

Clothed all in green, oh,

One is one and all alone,

And evermore shall be so!”

Rune couldn’t breathe, he could only stand there, so stiff and tense and wishing that Erik was here too. The men cheered, banging their cups and stomping their feet and Rune’s mouth went so dry and he knew that it couldn’t be a mistake, it just couldn’t be, Jasper had to be the one.

“They want another one, Irishman,” Freya said.

“Another one?” Jasper asked, and the men cheered again. “Hmm…” he hummed, tapping his fingers against his chin, and soon the men were tapping their cups.

“Oh!” he started so slowly, his eyes darting around all of their faces. “Ro! The, rattling bog,

The bog, down in the, valley-oh!

Oh, ro, the rattling bog,

The bog down in the valley-oh.

And in this bog there was a tree,

A rare tree and a rattling tree,

A tree in the bog,

And the bog down in the valley-oh!

And on this tree there was a limb,

A rare limb and a rattling limb,

A limb on the tree and the tree in the bog,

And the bog down in the valley-oh!

Oh, ro, the rattling bog,

The bog down in the valley-oh,

Oh, ro, the rattling bog,

The bog down in the valley-oh!

And on that tree the was a feather,

A rare feather and a rattling feather…

Feather on the wing, and the wing on the bird, and the bird in a nest, and a nest on a branch, and a branch on a limb and a limb on the tree, and the tree in the bog,

And the bog down in the valley-oh!”

By the end, Jasper’s face was pink, his eyes shining wet and his chest heaving as the men cheered for him. He gave a little bow, his eyes closing, his hands reaching up when he realised they were asking for another.

“I can’t,” he smiled. “I’m sorry, that’s it from me.”

“That’s a rare voice you have there, Irishman,” Freya said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him out of the tent.

Jasper looked like he was about to say something, that smile still on his lips, his eyes shining bright, but then he turned, doubling over and heaving until he was sick.

“I need my lute,” he gasped. “I can’t sing without my lute.”

“Why not?” Freya asked, handing him the flask from her belt.

“I can’t, I never-,” Jasper’s breath caught in his throat, his hand coming to wipe at his mouth.

“We’ll get you a lute,” Freya said.

“It has to be that one,” Jasper shook his head.

“Hmm…” Freya hummed, her eyes darting to Rune. “You may want to get used to singing without it and… You don’t get seasick, do you? I have a feeling we’ll be needing you.”