Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
It was the day after the shy moon, and I was enjoying juniper berry sauce—it was meant to pair with fish, but I was exhausted by fish, as the Norsern ate so much of it.
The sauce, however, I could eat for days.
I hadn’t seen Dania in an evening or two, so I was hoping she would show up for supper with her boys.
I wanted to talk to her about Fell, or more truthfully, I wanted to casually bring him up and let her talk about him.
If she didn’t arrive—because sometimes the boys were, as she put it, “too cuddly” to leave their home—I would join the many bards who were employed by King Arik and have a musical evening.
I knew a handful of Norsern songs, and enough of their musical patterns that I could jump in and play parts of tunes I wasn’t familiar with.
My evening plans were dashed quickly.
Fell arrived in the hall.
He managed but three paces before someone charged into him from the side.
It took me a moment to see who because they were rolling at such a speed on the floor.
It was one of the travellers who’s reading with Jorn had been delayed weeks by my refusal to finish my own reading (and my inability to understand I could simply tell Jorn I didn’t want my reading).
I had eventually figured it out and told Jorn my preference.
He’d obliged, but the travellers were still furious because they’d had to wait as long as they had.
“Oh dear, no,” I said under my breath, scampering up just as it seemed they were to roll into a brazier upon which a boar was roasting on a spit.
One of them—I couldn’t say for certain which—sensed the impeding burn and kicked against the brazier’s edge with a boot, sending their tangle of limbs away from the coals.
I let out a breath.
Naturally, people crowded around to watch the fight, and this made me particularly nervous as I’d seen outsiders join brawls when they agreed with one party or the other.
I didn’t want everyone I’d annoyed to attack Fell at the same time.
Dania was my only friend who would possibly come to his aid on my behalf, and she wasn’t present.
Even if she were, I wouldn’t want her getting hurt for the sake of Fell.
Fell seemed to be faring fine enough, writhing and wrapping around his attacker’s arm, holding it in a way that had me wincing even though it wasn’t my arm trapped in the grip.
There was some blood in the mix—his lip had split.
How I hated the sight of blood, especially blood in the mouth. It reminded me of leeches.
I looked away, but I couldn’t bear not knowing, so I looked back.
They were still entangled but had slowed, speaking to one another—hopefully coming to a quick resolution.
I’d seen this happen at court before, too.
A brawl could turn into a heartfelt conversation, drinks, and sometimes even hugs.
I was terrified for a moment that the traveller might convince Fell I’d done something terrible and then Fell—the only person allowed to see me punished—would order something cruel to take place.
Before their conversation completed, the second traveller I’d offended grasped one of Fell’s legs and dragged him away from the first traveller, instigating a three-person brawl.
My entire body felt like icy flames—contradictory senses clashing within.
I felt guilt but also righteous anger—for surely this ridiculous practice of battering one another senseless couldn’t be said to be my fault—all mixed with disgust because the floor was smeared with blood in some places and chunks of cod in others.
It seemed we were all in for a brutal sight, but Fell somehow escaped the grip of both men and jumped, grasping one of the support beams of the vaulted ceiling. He pulled himself up with the strength of his arms alone and sat at the height, tucking his legs in.
“Surely she has not caused so much trouble. She is just tiny,” he called down with a big grin.
“She is an owl-faced, high-horse with no understanding of sportsmanship,” someone shouted back up to him. It had taken me a painfully long time to learn to play most of the evening games that entertained King Arik’s courtiers, so I wasn't surprised by this sentiment.
One of the travellers jumped for the beam as well, beginning to pull himself up, but luckily King Arik arrived. He shouted, “Both of you get down this moment! I will not have my roof caving in because you cannot fight fairly on the ground.”
The traveller released his hold immediately.
Fell didn’t. “I wish to know how many I am fighting before I resume.”
Several hands rose, and then, a few more joined seemingly in jest.
Fell laughed. “This will be a long evening if I face you one after another, or a very painful short one if I face you all at once. Do I have allies?”
No one raised their hands. Laughter coasted through those gathered, looking up at the bleeding man in the rafters.
“The soten has not upset me, but I will fight you all the same, for you abandoned her here. It was your work to guard over her, no? The poor thing. She is a bit like an orphan.”
I hadn’t seen who’d spoken, but I found myself a little warmed by the idea that someone had taken notice of me and thought I ought to be better cared for. Yes, I thought. He should have stayed; that seems to be the rule.
All the same, I wanted to say something to ease the situation, to apologize somehow, but speaking in front of one or two people was difficult for me—the entire court gathered felt like an impossible thing to address.
And even if it hadn’t, it was very possible that speaking up would cause further ire.
I’d seen people try to speak their way out of brawls and end up with a fist in their mouth.
“Arik will fight with me,” Fell said with a devious smile.
How can a man hiding in the rafters, awaiting a beating, smile so?
“I just had my teeth cleaned,” the king said. This wasn’t a Norsern phrase; it was something he had done regularly, and he didn’t like to eat or do anything messy right after, as he wanted his teeth to “dry cleanly.”
When Fell rolled his eyes, the king laughed. “If you had been here, grievances would not have piled up so.” Though the king’s words were reprimanding, his expression was anything but. His adoration was so clear, I could almost taste it from across the room.
A thick hand rose from among the sea of people. “I will join you, Fell.”
I had to shift so I could peer through the tattooed bodies to see who had agreed to my defence against a great many foes. My blood stirred in my chest. It was Broder.
Many people must have looked as confused as I felt, because he explained himself.
“The soten cast a spell for me,” he said. “When my father joined Hyrold. It was strong. I will take some of what she is owed.”
Fell pointed at Broder. “You are a swell man. I will kiss you and buy you a drink when this is all done.”
“You have not paid for a drink in ten years,” said the king.
Everyone laughed.
“Very well,” Fell said, rolling up his tunic sleeves. “Two against twelve. It shall be over quick.”
“Three.”
I knew that voice. It was Reedman.
Ha! I thought. See? Some people like me.
When people glared at him, he said, “What? She appreciates my music.”
“Make it four.”
“Aha! Now it is a story!” I wasn’t sure who in the crowd said that, but quickly, I came to see that my fourth defender was Hallbjern.
I’d spent little time with Hallbjern except for when we’d gone to shore with Jorn.
That being said, I’d gathered that he was considered among the strongest in King Arik’s court.
Everyone wrestled and fought so often that they were excellent judges of one another’s abilities.
Someone said, “Hallbjern, you surprise me.”
“Why?” He shrugged his thick shoulders. “She introduced me to Hyrold. The least I can do is batter a few fools who refused to explain rules to a foreign girl before trying to play party games with her.”
Fell jumped down from the rafters, and so ensued a bloody evening in the court.
I stood to the side, feeling sick as people cheered and winced and shouted and laughed as if they were watching a game rather than a gruesome overreaction to me genuinely misunderstanding basic elements of Norsern life.
Though now is perhaps a good time to comment on myself as a character in history.
This evening illustrates a pattern in my life.
I was someone who offended easily, but also someone who gained admirers easily.
And often, without any say from me, those offended and those admiring came to clash with one another.
As the brawl continued, King Arik caught my attention, for he wasn’t watching the fight as everyone else was.
He was watching me, and I could tell by the brightness of his eyes that his mind was racing.
He seemed ready to laugh ginnaung, as if he’d wagered a stack of coin on the very outcome he was witnessing.
No one broke bones, but everyone tore skin.
Hallbjern, true to the court’s opinion of him, performed particularly well, throwing one attacker into a table with so much force the man didn’t return to the fight but rather rolled over onto his stomach and spent several moments groaning before rising and limping over to the nearest mead goblet.
Ivar—the man who’d flicked my knuckles back when I was learning to play Two Cups—was actually King Arik’s court healer.
He approached the attacker and felt along the man’s ribs, looking for injury as the man grimaced.
After some time, the attackers grew tired and slowed, seemingly deciding a fair measurement of pain had been handed out. One man even admitted he couldn’t remember why he’d tied cloth to the Fell-doll, only that he’d been very angry when he’d done it.