Immortal Enemies Read online

  Refusing to look back in the other boy’s direction, I decided to tell the woman who gave me life what my father often said to her when he was forced to answer a question he did not want to answer. “Sometimes a man has to do what he has to do, and I will not take any further lip from you on the matter, woman.”

  I had heard my father say this to my mother often. Sometimes it got him an angry glare, and sometimes she would swat at his shoulder playfully while shaking her head in good-natured disbelief.

  I, myself, had never uttered these words to my mother before. Only ever watched as my father braved her temper to say them himself. I was not lucky enough to receive the latter sort of reaction that my father sometimes received.

  In fact, the look of fury that overcame my mother’s face was so fierce I immediately turned on my heel, running off just in time to miss the swat of her hand she had aimed at my head. Her missed slap wasn’t enough to deter her from yelling at me as I ran away though. “You’re lucky I missed you, you irritating little shit! And don’t you dare come back without something for dinner.”

  As I made my way back into the woods I’d been in earlier, only this time going deeper than before, I thought of my rabbit traps I had set in the beginning of this day. Hopefully one of them would have caught something, because when I had told my mother I was going hunting, I had not meant for animals.

  No, I was on the hunt for her.

  The girl who had one day out of the blue shown up to live with the old woman, about a month or so ago. No one ever stayed with the old woman who lived deep in the woods. Some said the Gods themselves were afraid of the old woman in the woods.

  Of course, I was not afraid.

  That didn’t mean I did not heed what others in our village had said about the old woman.

  From many mouths I had heard she was a Völva, or witch, that few were brave enough to approach.

  A caster of dark magics, one man had said.

  Cursed by Odin himself, a woman had said.

  When I had asked Father about her years ago, he had solemnly told me that she was one of the most powerful women in the kingdom… and I should stay away from her if I valued my life.

  So, that was what I had done, for the most part. Stayed away from the old woman everyone in the village seemed to both fear and respect.

  The only time I ever came close to her dwelling was when I was out hunting deep in those woods. That was how I came to discover the girl.

  Ever since I had laid eyes on her, I could not keep myself from going back and watching for her yet again. If she were older, I would wonder if the old woman had taught her how to cast a spell on me. Since she was younger than me, by at least a couple of years as far as I could tell, and still yet a child, I knew that was not possible.

  I no longer cared for the reasons why I felt the need to see her, I just went.

  Simply as I was now, traveling through the forest that would take me to the large ancient tree that allowed me to climb its branches and hide within its leaves so I could watch her without being seen.

  Looking up to the sky, I watched as the fiery orange and reds from the sun, that reminded me of my quarry, started to disappear, making way for the darker blues and purples that would make the night sky. My time was running out.

  Hastening my steps, I did my best to rush as quickly and quietly as I could toward my destination. Upon reaching my tree, I climbed up its body, settling myself on the sturdiest branch just in time for the door to the small home across the stream to open.

  There were always two things I looked for once I sat in my hiding spot.

  One was her.

  The other was a sign from Odin.

  I’d noticed one of his ravens in a neighboring tree the first time I had spied on the girl. Everyone knew ravens were Odin’s messengers, and that had been my sign that fate had found me. Now every time I came to see her, I looked for a raven. One was always nearby, either in a tree or circling in the sky somewhere above where she lived.

  Scanning the tree line, I didn’t stop until I finally spotted the rustle of black wings in a tree across the way behind the old woman’s home. Letting out a sigh of relief, I knew that once again I was following Odin’s signs toward my fate.

  Moving my gaze from the bird to the home’s door, I waited impatiently.

  Holding my breath, I watched as, finally, the familiar, shining, crimson locks that flowed in a mass of curls around her face appeared in the doorway. She did what she always did— she looked around, checking to make sure she was alone. The moment she decided it was safe, she burst through the doorway in glee, rushing straight for the stream. It was always the first place she headed once she gained her freedom from the old woman’s home. Her blue dress flared out behind her, accenting her pale skin that never seemed to see the midday sun, and her hair looked like ribbons dancing on the breeze.

  She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  Once at the edge of the small river that flowed over rocks, making its way down to the Nordic Sea, she stopped and dropped to her knees as she always did when I got the chance to watch her. There she would sit or kneel, staring into the babbling water, sometimes allowing her fingers to touch the surface.

  I wondered what she was looking at. Her reflection? Fish? There was no way to tell from the distance I had to keep from her in this tree. Perhaps one day I would figure it out. Today was not that day, though, since all I had a mind to do was sit here and watch my prey.

  And as I sat there, eyeing every little detail I could make out about the girl who had completely captured my attention, I couldn’t help but wonder one thing.

  What color were her eyes?

  Were they the blue of her dress?

  Perhaps a warm brown like my father’s horse?

  No. Her eyes could never be as simple a color as a horse’s brown.

  I didn’t know what color they were, but one day I would find out. A patient hunter always got his prey.

  My father once told me he had known the moment he laid eyes on my mother that she would be his.

  I longed for the day the girl would know she was mine.

  Because Odin knew, I was already irrevocably hers.

  Two

  I had watched for long enough.

  Two summers had passed since the first time I had laid eyes on her.

  I couldn’t see her every day, so those times that I could slip off through the woods, sit in my tree, and watch her at sunset exploring the world around her I held possessively in my heart the way any Viking would hold his riches dear.

  Watching, as no matter the season or Mother Nature’s elements, she made her way to that stream so that she could stare into its depths.

  The girl’s fascination with the water was almost as deep as my enchantment with her.

  Rain could be pouring down, thunder and lightning flashing through the sky with Thor’s fury, and yet she would come and sit at the stream’s edge to survey the slow-moving currents.

  In the cold, hard snow, she would still kneel at the edge of the stream. Even break the ice with her little fist so that she could stare into the running water unimpeded.

  And I knew all of this because for two years I had spied on her.

  Trying my best to figure her out with what little clues I could see.

  For instance, I could tell by the way she used her hands to pick things up, or do her chores, that she was left-handed. Not really a bad thing, but it made her one of the few that did so.

  I also had gleaned that she preferred her hair down and flowing about her face rather than pulled back in knots and braids. This had been learned over time as she would come running out of the old woman’s home, ripping the ties out of her hair anytime it was bound.

  It made me wonder if deep inside she yearned to be free, and therefore, did not like to be bound in any manner. Which would make sense because her life seemed to be restrained in so many aspects.

  She never came to the village, even when the old woman
made special trips for specific items she needed to trade or buy. Usually there was a certain man who delivered the old woman’s items to her twice a month, but a few times a year the hunched-over, aging woman made her way into the village. Once to cast a blessing over a woman struggling in labor, and a couple of other times for certain herbs she needed for some unknown reason.

  The man who delivered the old woman’s goods was never allowed to enter her house, and he was always met outside to be given payment for the cargo.

  Rumor was, if you needed the old woman’s help with something, you knocked on her door, then retreated to twenty steps away, near the stream, and waited for her there.

  I had overheard Wulf’s father once telling our Jarl that his brother had once made the mistake of not retreating to the stream because he was curious and hoped for a peek inside the old woman’s home.

  However, the old woman had refused to open her door, and on the way back to the village, Wulf’s Uncle was attacked by a mad raven in the face, and that was how he lost the use of one of his eyes. Since then, no one from the village ever dared to do such a thing again.

  After I had stumbled upon the girl’s presence, it made sense to me why the old woman no longer let anyone near her home. She was hiding the girl and didn’t want anyone to know about her.

  But I did.

  And I was never going to tell a soul about her because she was mine, and mine alone.

  That decision had stayed strong within me these lengthy two years and only seemed to grow in my mind and heart. All my instincts screamed at me that she had to be hidden and protected from the people in the village. I wasn’t sure why I knew that; I just did.

  Which was exactly why I always snuck off to see her. Never letting anyone, especially Ødger, follow me on my trips. The Jarl’s son had an unnatural dislike of me. He seemed to enjoy tormenting me in every way possible. Things such as stealing the food off my plate when no one was watching. The many times he purposely kept trying to trip me if I walked by him.

  Once, he even threw a hot coal from the fire in the Jarl’s Hall on me as I slept. Causing me to cry out in pain and alarm. No one had seen him do it, though, because it had been midday, and I had been in there alone sleeping because I had been sick with some sort of malady.

  Ødger was a horrible “little shit” as my mother would say, and I was stuck putting up with his tricks. There were times he was so awful I wondered if he had actually been fathered by the trickster god Loki himself instead of the Jarl.

  My trials with Ødger had not gone unnoticed by my parents, though, and they both knew as well that I could not truly act against the Jarl’s son without getting the Jarl’s wrath in return.

  This was why they never bothered me when I wandered into the woods. They had no idea I was sneaking off to see my hidden treasure, they thought I was getting away from Ødger.

  Their assumptions suited me just fine, and I was not even tempted to correct their notions.

  However, there was one downfall to my secret trips through the woods to sit in the tree a field or so away from the stream that stood in between me and the old woman’s little house.

  My self-restraint was slipping away more and more with each visit.

  Like the cold waters of the Nordic sea coming higher ashore twice a day to steal small things such as pebbles away, my patience was slowly washing away as well.

  I was always fighting the urge to move from my hiding place in the tree so I could be closer to her. Never taking the chance to do so.

  Time felt like it stretched on forever whenever I was unable to leave the Jarl’s Hall unnoticed so I could make my way to her.

  On the other hand, time also seemed to go by much too quickly when I was sitting there observing her. Cataloging every move she made. Wondering what it was about her that had ensnared me so deeply. Hours spent in that tree often felt like mere moments, and all too soon I was reluctantly leaving my spot to return home.

  One half of me content I had finally been able to lay eyes on her again.

  The other half bitter that I had to return to the village without her.

  Some might think after two years my need to come, and my reluctance to go, would have lessened, at least a bit.

  This was not the case at all.

  Instead, as time passed, my urge to see her increased.

  So much so, that even in the dead of the second winter after discovering her, I would sneak off through the heavy snow once or twice a week to see if she and the old woman fared well through the weather.

  Now that spring would be here soon, my patience was finally lost, and one thought dominated my mind.

  I had to know what color her eyes were.

  The possibilities had haunted my dreams for far too long now, and I feared if I didn’t find out the answer it would drive me to the sort of madness only Berserkers endured.

  Every day that I was trapped in the Jarl’s Hall with my mother, father, Ødger, and everyone else trusted enough to sleep there, I had thought of the ways I could sneak closer to the stream to get a better look at the girl.

  There was no tree strong enough to hold my growing body, nor thick enough for me to hide fully behind. No hill to conceal me, no ditch to take cover in.

  It was when the snow was the heaviest, and I was irrevocably trapped in our lodging, that the idea finally came to me.

  The old rotting tree that was only half a dozen steps from the stream!

  It might not be wide enough for me to hide behind while it was still standing, but if I could cause it to fall, I might be able to lay flat on the ground, concealed by its trunk, and hide that way.

  Instead of being over a field away from her, I would be a stone’s throw.

  Close enough to finally see the color of her eyes.

  Waiting the remainder of winter out had been hard. Every day I had prayed silently to the god Freyr for better weather conditions to blow the storms away, rushing spring in. I wasn’t certain he had heard my prayers, but with or without his help, the snow finally stopped falling. The moment my parents let me linger outside to do more than my chores, I disappeared deep into the woods that would take me to the old woman’s home.

  The snow was still thick on the ground, causing my breeches to become soaked up to my knees. The cold seeped through my skin and muscle, sinking all the way to my bones until my body started to tremble. That didn’t stop me from pushing myself forward until I stood near the dead, rotting tree.

  This was closer than I had ever been to the old woman’s house.

  The closest I had ever been to her.

  Yet neither of them had any idea that I stood on the other side of the stream from their home, just inside the copse of trees there. I didn’t have long before my father would come looking for me due to the cold weather if I didn’t return. Whatever I was going to do, I had to do it quickly.

  Tearing my eyes from their home, I looked back to the dying tree that was already pitched to the side, half of its roots already pulling up from the earth, as it had started its slow descent toward the ground. In my haste, I had not brought any tools with me.

  No axe to cut the tree down.

  Nor a rope to try to pull it.

  The only tool in my possession was myself, and if I didn’t do something now, I might never get this chance again.

  My father liked to say that no man would ever get his riches if he wasn’t willing to fight and die for them.

  Shooting a quick glance at the old woman’s house to make sure they were not coming out; I couldn’t help but think the riches I sought were worth fighting for.

  Those eyes of hers would be my own personal treasure. Perhaps the color of jewels themselves.

  It was time to find out.

  Still not seeing any movement from the old woman’s home, I said a silent prayer to Odin for good favor, then threw myself into motion.

  Running as fast as I could toward the doomed tree, I flung my body as high and as hard as I could against its trunk. Using my
weight as best I could, I let myself slam into the crumbling wood. Once I made contact, I didn’t let my momentum stop. Using my hands to grab the tree as firmly as I could, I swung the lower half of my body so that it pitched forward, past the mass of its trunk. Using every ounce of my strength, I pulled with my arms on the trunk, trying to bring it with me to the ground.

  I failed miserably.

  Falling to the ground, I lay there for a second limply wondering what had gone wrong.

  My chest hurt from the impact of hitting the tree, and my shoulder hurt from wrenching my arm backward as the lower half of my body had swung forward.

  Obviously, Odin was not going to give me the strength of Thor to move this tree. That didn’t mean I was going to give up.

  Rolling myself over so that I was on my belly, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees and crawled behind the tree. I wanted to keep as much coverage between myself and the old woman’s home as possible in case one of them came out.

  Once I was safely behind the tree, I got to my feet and jogged the distance back to where I had stood before. Turning my focus back to the tree, I noticed it was pitching more to the side now, but I needed to put more of my weight on it if I hoped to get it to the ground.

  What would be the best way to get as much of my weight as possible on the tree trunk, though?

  Frustration welled inside of me. It appeared that the only way to take the tree down was if I could put all of my weight on it. How was I to do that?

  Squinting my eyes in aggravation, I decided I only had one option. I must climb the tree to put my weight on it.

  Looking down to my soaked breeches and shoes, I wondered how well this was going to turn out. My attempt to take the tree down a moment ago had knocked most of the snow off, but it was still slick from weather and covered in small patches of ice.

  As I made my way back to the tree, taking in its angle, and contemplating the best way to climb it, I resolved myself to doing the task as carefully as I could. There was no other way to put all my weight on the tree than to climb it.