The Extremely Epic Viking Tale of Yondersaay (31 page)

Dani and Granny let out a big sigh of relief.

“What happens now? Will someone have to climb in here and move it to the bottom of the mast?” Dani asked.

Granny did not answer. Dani looked at her. When Dani saw Granny’s face, the relief she had felt seconds earlier drained away. Granny was not looking at the lit torch smoldering beside them on the deck of the boat. She was not looking at the setting sun, nor even at Silas Scathe. Granny was looking out over the side of the longship toward the celebrating Yondersaanians, her lifelong friends and acquaintances, who were approaching the longship in even lines, singing and dancing a looping dance. Hundreds of them. Each holding a lit torch.

Granny and Dani had not noticed the music changing. It had gotten louder, more rhythmic, and that there was an insistent beat. They noticed it now.

The villagers’ song of defiance and war accompanied their dance. They approached and retreated in turn, dancing forward, skipping back, then spinning one another around.

At the end of the first chorus, a line of Vikings surged forward from the back, their torches held high, chanting with a fervor to terrify any enemy, “Up HellyAa! Up HellyAa! I’m a Viking. The sea’s the place for me. Up HellyAa!” They stopped abruptly at the edge of the pyre and fired their lit torches forward onto the longship.

“I don’t like this dance,” Dani said.

“I used to love it as a child,” Granny said merrily, thinking back. “Of course, nobody was burned alive when
we
did it.”

Most of the torches glanced off the side of the boat and landed on the pyre, which lit very easily. A couple made it to the deck of the longship and burned softly there. One landed on the kindling close to Granny’s feet. With her feet bound at the ankles, Granny did her best to kick out and tap at the torch and the kindling around it. It wasn’t very effective, so she tried blowing, which caused the flames to rear up. Alarmed, she used her toes like flippers and flicked from her knees, back and forth, back and forth, until she was able to scatter the wood and reduce their flames.

“You know it’s interesting that they’re using kindling,” Granny said to Dani.

“It
is
? You’re interested in the
kindling
right now?” Dani shouted over the growing din.

“Well, yes, because in Viking times, kindling hadn’t been invented yet—”

“
Watch out
!” Dani screamed as another torch landed a foot away. Its lighted end nudged a stray twig, which glowed orange and then red and slowly broke apart into flickering flame. Granny and Dani watched helplessly as this thin bit of wood, fully ablaze now, spat fat sparks in all directions. While a few of the sparks landed on inhospitable ground, the rest found dry, flammable homes, and the fire spread rapidly.

Granny and Dani concentrated hard on stamping out the flames. They became slowly aware of the villagers beginning the second verse of their song.

“How does the second verse of this song go, Granny?” Dani asked.

“Let’s just say,” Granny said, “that there is a lovely kind of pattern, a symmetry, if you will, to the verses of this particular song.”

“Uh-huh. Is that right? And just how many verses are there?”

“Oh, there could be hundreds! But I wouldn’t worry about the song becoming boring or repetitive. We’ll be dead long before then.”

“Comforting. Thank you. I can always rely on you to see the sunny side of the situation.”

“Aaaaand here they come! Brace yourself!” Granny flinched as a new wave of Vikings stormed forward, ready to hurl their torches at the enemies tied to the mast of the longship. They swung backward from their hips, levered from their back feet onto their front, and as they prepared to launch their flaming torches into the air toward the deck of the smoldering longship, a voice rang out from the back of the crowd.

“Stop the music! Lay down your torches!”

“And would you look—here he comes now!” Scathe lifted a robed arm and pointed to a distant spot where a small, copper-haired boy dressed in a robe similar to Scathe’s made his way forward. The dancers faltered; the music stopped. The crowd turned to face the approaching red-haired figure.

“Good people of Yondersaay,” Scathe shouted out. “The Red King of Denmark has graced us with his presence!

“
No
!” Dani and Granny shouted together. “Run, Ruairi!
Run away
!”

The boy walked calmly forward as the crowd parted with shocked whispers. “You can let them go now. I’m here,” he said in a voice booming and crisp. All eyes were on the little redhead as he slowly and steadily approached the pyre. He never once glanced at Dani and Granny, though he did take in the henchmen dotted through the crowd.

Dani thrashed frantically, desperately trying to free her hands. Granny kicked and flailed, and they both screamed and shouted for Ruairi to run away.

Dani, panicking now, bound and helpless, bereft of ideas but still refusing to give up, felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Startled, she froze.

“Don’t move!” came a soft voice from behind her. She felt the ropes around her hands being cut. Once she and Granny were released, they looked around and saw it was … Ruairi. He was standing there in his normal clothes with his Swiss Army knife in his hand.

“What? But how?” Dani said.

“What’s happening?” Granny asked, frantically casting her gaze from normal-clothes Ruairi to robed Ruairi and back again.

“Quick, come,” Ruairi said and led them off the ship. “I went back for you; I never really left. It was easy to give the moron twins the slip. I made tracks going one way in the snow and then doubled back. They followed them without even thinking. I hid among the trees and watched. You’ll never guess who I found there, wandering around talking into branches!” Ruairi grinned, put his fingers to his lips, and motioned for the two of them to look.

The robed Ruairi mounted the stage next to Scathe, turned to the crowd, and said, “Greetings, good people of Yondersaay,” in a voice very unlike Ruairi’s. As he spoke, he slowly brought his arms up into the air. Scathe and his men were mesmerized. Instead of grabbing the boy and restraining him, they stood there watching him address the crowd. Slowly, as his arms were raised, his robes parted, and from under them came two ravens of the shiniest black. The ravens flew out and up into the sky. At the same time, the small, copper-haired boy started to transform. He morphed, his back curved into the form of a wizened, stooped old man, back gnarled and twisted, head bent toward the ground.

The villagers were astounded. Some of them instinctively took steps away from the site of this astonishing metamorphosis. But there was something very familiar about this man now, about the way he carried himself. They were not frightened. The old man straightened and rose to his full height. The ravens fluttered and came to rest, one on either shoulder. The man reached into his robes and slowly, carefully produced the staff that had been hidden there.

Instantly, the villagers knew who he was. They threw themselves onto their knees; they bowed before Odin, father of all Vikings.

“Odin has returned!” Scathe announced, rushing forward to stand beside the man. Quickly, he motioned to his men in the crowd. Scathe approached the old man, took his hand, and shook it heartily. “There is nothing you can do, old man,” Scathe whispered to Odin, and he turned to the crowd and smiled a limp, slithery smile. “I know you are weak, and you know I am strong. I’m going to do away with these people”—Scathe cast a glance back at the three Millers, who were right now wending their way through the crowd—“and if you try to save them, I’ll do away with those people.” Here he motioned toward his henchmen standing, weapons drawn among the oblivious islanders.

“I can tell that you have not regained your powers,” Scathe whispered. “My dear Odin, you must accept defeat. Have your party, bask in the adoration of your subjects, but know that these people”— he nodded toward Granny, Dani, and Ruairi once more—“are finished.”

“It won’t be necessary to kill them,” Odin said.

“Is that a fact?” Scathe said scornfully.

“I will make a deal with you, Mr. Scathe, let me address the crowd, and we’ll talk.”

Scathe nodded, and Odin walked to the edge of the platform and addressed the islanders. “My fellow Vikings, I am delighted to have come home to you on the night of our annual festivities. I shall return forthwith to celebrate with you. Commence your feasting. The night has barely begun! Enjoy it to the fullest.”

The Yondersaanians cheered a welcome and took up their singing, torch-throwing dance, and the festivities continued in earnest.

While they were thus occupied, Odin led Scathe, closely followed by Hamish and four of the five twins, off the platform.

“Isdrab! Asgrim! Apprehend those three! They are coming with us,” Scathe snapped, and Isdrab and Asgrim raced after the scurrying Millers.

“I know what you want, and I am finally prepared to let you have it,” Odin said to Scathe as they walked up the shore.

“You are going to let me become lord and master of all Yondersaay?” Scathe asked skeptically.

“No,” Odin said, and shook his head. “I don’t have the power to do that. There are two ways and two ways alone you can become lord and master of all Yondersaay. You know that. Besides, I don’t believe that’s what you really want.”

“In truth, it is not,” Scathe said, smiling and bowing to any islanders that happened to pass close by.

“I suspect you cannot wait to leave Yondersaay,” Odin said. “All that is stopping you is my treasure.”

“You are very perceptive, old man. I want nothing more than to get off this godforsaken rock. With the treasure, of course,” Scathe said.

“I will take you to the treasure and show you how to retrieve it,” Odin said. Here Scathe stopped and looked him directly in the face, watching for signs of trickery. “I shall show you where it is. In return, you must release your prisoners,
all
your prisoners, and leave the island, never to return.”

“These three must mean quite a lot to you,” Scathe said, unconvinced.

“They are Yondersaanians, and it is my duty to protect all who are of this island,” Odin said.

“I agree to your trade,” Scathe said just as Isdrab and Asgrim returned with a struggling Dani, Ruairi, and Granny. “The treasure and my departure for the prisoners.”

“All your prisoners,” Odin corrected.

“All right, yes. All my prisoners,” Scathe agreed.

Odin nodded. He turned and led Scathe, the Millers, Hamish, the Turbot cousins, and four of the five twins up the hill and through the center of the village.

At the brow of the hill, the little group turned toward the Crimson Forest. Odin stopped and looked back at the harbor. Ruairi saw a resigned sadness in his eye. And an unmistakable twinkle.

Everyone in the small group paused to follow Odin’s gaze. From that vantage point, they could see that the majestic dragon-headed longship was fully ablaze in the harbor. In the glow of the flames and by the light of the myriad torches in the sands of the shore, the small group could clearly make out the Viking inhabitants of Yondersaay, the enchanted island in the middle of the northern-most seas, having the night of their lives.

Odin took a long, deep breath and turned his back on the view. The group moved away from the top of the hill and followed Odin along the path to Mount Violaceous. He stopped walking when he reached the taut old oak in the hollow of the Crimson Forest. Everyone looked around, wondering why they had stopped. Odin looked up. “Hello, old friend,” Odin said to the tree.

“Welcome back, your godship. I hope you’ll be telling me you won’t be staying away so long ever again,”

“I hope not, Rarelief,” Odin said.

“And hello again, you two,” Rarelief said to Dani and Granny.

“Hello there, Rarelief,” Granny said with a small smile.

“Hi,” Dani said and gave a weak wave.

“I hate to interrupt this touching little reunion,” screeched Scathe. “But the treasure is literally
not
here!
And you will not convince me that it is. I have searched this forest inch by inch a hundred times over. And I have most certainly looked under this tree.”

“The treasure is here, Mr. Scathe,” Odin said. “You were just never permitted to attain it before.”

“Well then, you won’t mind if I have my men dig while we all wait,” Scathe said, suppressing visible rage.

“I’m afraid that will not work,” Odin said. “Whosoever wishes to claim the treasure as his own, whether it was originally his or not, must remove it from the earth himself. In a very particular way.”

“You there, give me your spade!” Scathe said to one of the airport twins.

Odin shook his head. “That will not be adequate,” he said to an exasperated Scathe. “The treasure can only be released by the battle-ax of a warrior, an ax that has seen battle and bloodshed, and a spade of wooden making.”

“So I must go away and get these and come back?” Scathe sounded murderous.

“Yes,” Odin said simply.

“What kind of a moronic, dupe of a dithering fool do you take me for?” Scathe shouted, incandescent. “You are trying to hoodwink me! And I’m not falling for it! You’ll move the treasure when I’m gone. Or you’ll make me forget where it is.”

Odin turned to Scathe and with resignation said, “I swear an oath upon the souls of all the Viking men awaiting their final battle in Valhalla that I have told you the truth about the location of the treasure and how to retrieve it.”

“Don’t do it, Odin,” Ruairi said quietly, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation.

“Odin, no!” Dani said, defiant.

“I swear an oath upon the souls of all the Viking men awaiting their final battle in Valhalla,” Odin continued, with vigor now, resolute, “that I will not move or disturb the treasure or the tree in any manner, nor will I have either of them moved or disturbed in any way by another.”

“Please,” Dani said.

“I swear an oath upon the souls of all the Viking men awaiting their final battle in Valhalla that I will not alter your memory of these events,” Odin said and paused to look at the gathered men. “In fact, Mr. Scathe, I will assist you in your recollections.” At this, Odin lifted the hem of Scathe’s purple robes and tore a long stretch of material from around the bottom.