The Lost Tales of Mercia (21 page)

Instead, he realized his body ached more
than he first gave it credit for. He wondered if he had twisted
something. Meanwhile, Tosti sat up but didn’t move other than to
struggle to regain his breath.

Canute snorted at him. “Whenever you’re
ready to go again, you let me know.”

He strolled over to the nearest pool of
water, lapping warmly in the dip of a rock, and splashed it on his
face. He hissed as he discovered a raw scrape along his
cheekbone.

A bird call split the air, and he looked up,
glancing around desperately. In reward for his efforts, the sun
half-blinded him.

“What’s with you and birds?”

Canute twisted his head to look back at
Tosti, glaring. This did not daunt the other fellow in the
least.

“You? And birds? One distracted you when we
sparred yesterday, as well.”

Canute looked away and picked at his nails,
as if suddenly this was a task requiring his attention. But Tosti
saw right through him.

“Something to do with Thorkell, eh? Always
going on about eagles—when he talks at all, that is.”

Canute couldn’t help but smile at that.
Truly enough, Thorkell was not a talkative man, but he did like to
tell the story of Thiassi, a giant who took the form of an eagle
and stole Iddun and her apples of youth from the gods. Loki managed
to recapture her, and afterward, Odin took Thiassi’s eyes and
placed them in the sky as stars. It seemed to Canute that his
mentor had a strange sort of affection for the legendary rebel.
“I’m not looking for an eagle,” said Canute. “I’m looking for a
raven.”

“Ah, so you can wave a hello to Odin?”

Canute was not sure what to think of Tosti’s
cynical attitude, so he tried to ignore it. “No,” he said, and then
grew silent again.

“What then?” Tosti leaned closer to him,
hands spreading along the grass. The longer the silence, the more
curious he seemed to become.

The Viking prince stopped fidgeting with his
hands and paused to consider the truth. It sounded foolish and weak
when he reflected on it directly. He did not want to embarrass
himself further to someone who had managed to paddle him on the
rump only yesterday. Nonetheless, he felt strangely touched that
Tosti bothered asking such a question.

He must have remained quiet for so long,
however, that Tosti began to give up on him. “How about you tell me
why you care so much about damn birds after I beat your ass to dust
bits,” Tosti suggested.

Spry once more, Tosti hopped to his feet and
brushed off his tunic; then, to Canute’s surprise, he proceeded to
take it off. He had a look on his face of fierce optimism, gray
eyes glittering, white teeth flashing, his cat-like nose pinched by
an unrelenting smile. Canute could not help but pause and watch for
a moment as the young man peeled off his clothes; underneath his
skin was even more golden than Canute remembered, its smoothness
interrupted by nothing but the flow of his rippling muscles. His
body seemed dark against his pale braids swaying in silky
ropes.

In a moment Tosti was nearly finished and
ready to go again, stripped to nothing but his loincloth. Canute
ripped his eyes away and followed his example, flinging off his
fine linens with all the gentility he might show a poison-soaked
rag. The sun bathed his body, soaking into his veins and filling
him with fire. It felt good to bare himself to the sun, and at the
same time he felt insecure. Would Tosti find him scrawny and pale?
Why did he care?

Tosti smirked at him. “My turn now.”

Canute looked back at his wooden sword,
discarded on the hillside. “Weapons?”

“No weapons.” Tosti wriggled his fingers in
the air. “I’ll take you down with my bare hands.”

“Very well. I weary of those toys, anyway.”
Canute spat to the side. He rubbed his hands together, then opened
them wide. “Where shall we do this?”

“Over there.” He pointed to a smooth stone
in the middle of the rocky shallows.

Canute still thought it seemed like a
terrible place for a skirmish—not only would it be slippery, but to
fall one would risk a severe blow to the head. Nonetheless, they
had an agreement.

He made his way out to the stone Tosti
indicated, wondering if he would regret keeping his leather shoes
on. They sopped wet as he walked, and stole from him the sensations
of the stones and soil under his feet. However, they also numbed
him to the occasional sharp edge. At last he found his position and
made his stance.

Tosti had chosen to take off his own shoes.
He strolled along the rocks, his gaze locked on Canute, as if he
did not need to look down to determine his footing. Canute scowled
at him, and shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of impatience.

Tosti pounced without warning, gliding over
the rocks as if they were no more than a slide for his feet. In his
surprise Canute shifted drastically, lifting his arms to block, and
felt his heels slipping downwards. Trying to right himself only
made him slip further, and by then Tosti was upon him, hands
gripping Canute’s wrists and twisting them around.

Canute cried out, struggling to regain power
over his arms while Tosti shifted to kick at him. He blocked
himself with his own leg, though as a result Tosti’s shin struck
his knee at a sharp angle, and he yelled again.

The burst of pain fed him strength. He
pushed back against Tosti, bending the youth’s arms until his grip
folded and Canute burst through, jabbing his elbow into Tosti’s
sternum. Tosti gasped for breath and fell back.

Seeing his chance, Canute pushed forward,
aiming another blow that would drop his opponent into the stones.
But at the last moment Tosti wriggled about, regaining his balance
somehow, and slipped to the side like a snake. Canute’s fist
swished through empty air and disrupted his own balance; his feet
came loose again and he stumbled about, hearing his leather shoes
snag against a sharp stone.

In such a manner the two fought for an
indefinite amount of time; Canute lost track of the number of times
he thought he would throw Tosti for good, only to find himself
scrambling and waving his arms like a fool as Tosti slithered about
him. They exchanged one blow after another, until Canute’s stomach
ached from so many punches, and a number of spots along Tosti’s
gleaming torso swelled from the impact of Canute’s knuckles. Canute
felt dizzy from all the twisting and turning, and the longer he
fought the less he tried to stable himself, kicking and swinging
desperately at Tosti’s slippery form.

At one point he threw all of his strength
into a punch, but again Tosti slipped out of reach, and as Canute
lunged forward with his own momentum he knew he would not be able
to recover balance. He would fall on a particularly sharp pile of
rocks, maiming himself and ending this match in a humiliating
defeat. But all of a sudden Tosti grabbed him from behind, his
smooth arms slipping around Canute’s back, one arm locking his
shoulders in place while the other pressed tight against his
throat. Canute wriggled a moment, testing his confines and
preparing his limbs for their escape.

Then he heard Tosti’s breath against his
ears, and felt Tosti’s soft lips press against his cheek. Canute
froze. What had seemed like a chokehold suddenly seemed like an
embrace. Tosti’s arms held him tight while he brushed his smirking
mouth against Canute’s skin. There was nothing to call the gesture
other than a kiss.

And just as suddenly, Tosti drew away
again.

He released Canute, moved around him, and
ducked. With a single deft movement, he kicked Canute’s feet out
from under him, and the Viking prince went hurtling to the
ground.

Water splashed all around him; the breath
puffed out of his chest as his back struck the earth. But it could
have been much worse: Tosti could have pushed him against the
rocks. Even once he had physically recovered he remained still a
while, staring vacantly up at the sky, confused and
disoriented.

Tosti leaned over him, grinning.

“What ... what in Thor’s name was that?”
Canute gasped.

“I don’t know.” Tosti shrugged. “But it
worked.”

He reached down, gripped Canute’s hand, and
pulled him to his feet.

*

The walk back to Jom seemed much longer when
their muscles ached, their bodies were slick with sweat, and they
both suffered scrapes on their feet. Canute noticed some blood in
Tosti’s footsteps, but Tosti did not even seem to care, so he said
nothing.

In fact, they were both in unexpectedly
jovial moods.

Canute felt elated by the day’s events,
which were a bright and colorful blur in his mind—all but for the
sharp moment still hanging in his memory when Tosti had kissed him.
Had he only done it to distract Canute? He had not done anything
like it since, even though they had continued to explore the land
together and develop their fighting skills. They had even paused to
give each other tips and suggestions. Canute flushed with anger the
first time Tosti critiqued his methods for swinging a punch, but he
swallowed his pride and found that when he allowed Tosti to help
him, he did in fact improve. Never in his advice to Canute did
Tosti suggest a tactic so strange as the one he had used to win
their match.

A long silence hung over them as they
walked, and the sun’s waning light surprised Canute, for he felt as
if the day had passed in a matter of hours. For the most part he
felt more peaceful and fulfilled than he had for a long time, and
it calmed him the way he and Tosti never struggled to stay in
stride with each other, but walked together with a synchronized
rhythm.

At long last, however, Tosti broke the
silence. “So tell me about the birds.”

Canute sighed. He could not go back on his
word now. “When I was born, a runewoman saw a raven perch on the
roof of our lodge. The raven stayed there until the moment I came
out of my mother’s womb and started crying. Then ... it flew away.”
He grew quiet again.

“So?” Tosti pressed.

“So ... my mother took it as a sign that I
was chosen by Odin to become very powerful, even more powerful than
my brother Harald. Father, however ...” He stopped walking,
grimacing as if his knee was in pain and this was reason enough to
catch some respite. He went over to a tree and leaned against it,
the bark massaging the bare skin of his back. Tosti propped his
elbow against the trunk and stared at him expectantly.

“Sweyn believes in Jesus now,” the other
offered.

Canute made a noncommittal grunt. His father
claimed to be a Christian, but Canute wondered if he only acted as
one for political convenience. “He said that if the raven was truly
Odin, then Odin chose to abandon me.”

“And what do you think?”

Canute turned away, feeling his stomach
churn within him. Tosti’s granite-like gaze suddenly seemed hard to
endure. “I think it means nothing.”

“Then why do you keep looking at the
sky?”

“Because ...” His chest ached as he took a
deep breath. “That is the strangest part. I’ve never seen a raven
in my life.”

“What?”

The surprise in Tosti’s voice stung. Canute
scowled at him. “From a very far distance, perhaps. But never close
by. It is as if they are always flying away from me.”

Tosti was quiet a moment, then he chuckled
softly. Once he started chuckling, something seemed to release
within him, and he burst out laughing.

Canute watched him with a curious
expression. “Do you find the gods amusing?”

“Sure,” he said gleefully. “Don’t you?”

The Viking prince considered a moment. “I
think the gods are very real. And I think they are no laughing
matter.”

At last, Tosti stopped laughing. “So you’re
not Christian?”

“I’m not sure yet. The Christian God seems
real to me, as well.” He looked up at the sky, its hues shifting to
red with the setting sun. “It seems to me that all the gods are
fighting now, and Jehova will be the victor.”

Tosti’s face held a strange expression, torn
between grimness and the lingering urge to laugh. Canute turned to
face him, and stared at him long and hard.

“The strongest god will be my God. It is as
simple as that.”

The look on Tosti’s face changed again, this
time into something completely new. His eyes darted from one
section of Canute’s face to the next, restless, searching. He
leaned closer.

Canute pushed himself from the tree and
stepped forward. Tosti glided back slightly, swaying in his usual
graceful way, dancing with a moment of hesitation. Then he grew
very still. Canute moved closer, holding Tosti’s eyes with his own.
Tosti breathed quickly, his chest rising and falling rapidly with
the strain, his thick lips parting. Canute reached out and put his
hand against Tosti’s chest, pressing until he felt the racing beat
of Tosti’s heart against his palm. Tosti trembled, and Canute
feared that he might flee. He slid his hand up, around Tosti’s
neck, and gripped it tightly.

Then he pulled Tosti close and kissed
him.

At first Tosti went completely still, his
body so stiff it seemed that all the water within him had frozen to
ice. But Canute only pulled him closer, gripping him until he
melted. Tosti’s arms folded around Canute, his braids tickling
Canute’s chest, his thigh sliding along Canute’s.

Their hips locked, only for a moment; then
Tosti jumped away again.

Canute felt dizzy, his breath gone as if
Tosti had taken it with him. His eyes swam, his hands searched, but
Tosti only drew further away.

“Hey … hey!”

Tosti turned and ran.

“
Tosti!
”

The young Jomsviking only ran faster.

Canute fell back, his raw shoulder colliding
with the tree and knocking the breath back into his body. A tremor
wracked him, and he yelled with rage.