CHAPTER II
MEN WHO LIVE TOO LONG
They did not stay.
The shore offered nothing worth taking and nothing worth fearing. By midmorning the ships were back on the water, sails catching the wind, the land slipping away behind them like something already forgotten. The men talked again. Loud voices. Crude jokes. The dead were not mentioned.
Thorfinn sat near the bow this time, legs folded, hands resting on his knees. He watched the horizon. The line where sea met sky never changed, no matter how far they traveled. It was always just out of reach.
By noon they spotted another sail.
At first it was only a dark line against the glare. Then the shape sharpened. A longship, heavier than theirs, riding low in the water. The men noticed all at once. Shouts went up. Someone laughed.
"Merchants," a voice called. "Look how slow they move."
Orders were barked. The ships angled toward each other. Oars dipped. The wind carried them closer.
Thorfinn felt the familiar tightening in his chest. Not excitement. Readiness.
The other ship turned too late. Panic rippled across its deck. Men scrambled for weapons that had not been meant for fighting. A horn sounded, thin and desperate.
They collided hard.
Wood cracked. Hooks flew. Ropes caught. Men surged across the gap screaming.
Thorfinn leapt onto the enemy deck as if it were solid ground. A man rushed him with a short sword, eyes wild. Thorfinn ducked under the swing and drove his shoulder into the man's chest. They went down together. Thorfinn brought his knife up into the man's throat. Blood sprayed hot across his face.
He rolled clear and rose as another came at him. This one had armor. Poorly fitted. Too loose. Thorfinn slashed at the gaps, fast and precise. The man staggered back, clutching his side, screaming until someone else cut him down.
The deck was chaos.
A merchant tried to flee below and was dragged back up by his hair. His head struck the railing with a wet crack. A shield split under an axe blow. Fingers were severed. Someone slipped on blood and went over the side, vanishing between the ships.
Thorfinn moved through it all, low and fast, never staying in one place. He did not shout. He did not rage. He killed and stepped aside. Killed and moved on.
When it was over, the deck was slick and quiet.
The surviving merchants were herded together near the mast. There were five of them. One was no more than a boy. He was crying openly, shoulders shaking.
A man from Thorfinn's ship stepped forward, blade raised.
"Wait," another said. "We can sell them."
The first man spat. "Waste of space."
Arguments broke out. Voices rose. Someone struck the boy to make him stop crying. He fell to his knees.
Thorfinn watched.
He thought of the other boy. The one in the house. The way his eyes had looked through him.
Before he realized he was moving, Thorfinn stepped forward.
"Enough," he said.
The men looked at him, surprised. He rarely spoke.
The older man with the grey beard frowned. "What."
"They live," Thorfinn said. "Or we lose time arguing."
Silence stretched.
Then someone laughed. "Listen to him. Thinks he's the captain."
The older man studied Thorfinn for a moment. Then he waved his hand. "Tie them. We'll decide later."
The boy sobbed harder as ropes were wrapped around his wrists.
Thorfinn turned away.
They looted the ship quickly. Cloth. Grain. A few silver pieces. Not much else. The merchants' ship was cut loose and left to drift. The men were transferred to Thorfinn's ship and shoved into the hold.
They sailed on.
By evening, clouds rolled in heavy and dark. The wind shifted. Waves rose. The ships pitched harder now, spray breaking over the sides. Men cursed and held on.
Thorfinn stood anyway, gripping the rail, letting the cold water soak into his clothes. It kept him awake.
Night fell hard.
The storm came with it.
Rain lashed down, sharp and stinging. The ships fought the waves, rising and slamming down again. Oars snapped. Someone was thrown against the mast and did not get up. Orders were screamed into the wind and lost.
Thorfinn moved where he was needed, hauling rope, bracing beams, pulling men back from the edge when they slipped. His hands burned. His shoulders screamed. He welcomed the pain. It anchored him.
Hours later, the storm broke.
The sea calmed gradually, like a beast settling after a kill. The ships limped toward the nearest land, battered and leaking. Dawn found them exhausted, hollow eyed, silent.
They made shore on a rocky inlet. No village. No smoke. Just stone and scrub and a narrow stretch of beach.
They dragged the ships up and collapsed where they stood.
Later, when strength returned enough to move, they gathered the prisoners.
The merchants were hauled out and shoved to their knees. The boy was pale now, eyes red and empty.
The grey bearded man stood before them.
"We can't keep you," he said. "And we won't let you go."
One of the merchants began to beg. The words ran together, frantic, meaningless. The man's mouth worked, saliva flying.
"Quiet," the older man snapped.
He looked to the others. "Any objections."
No one spoke.
Thorfinn felt his jaw tighten.
The first merchant was killed quickly. A single blow. The second fought. He screamed until his voice broke, then until it stopped.
The third tried to run. He made it three steps before an axe took his leg out from under him. He crawled, leaving a red trail across the stones. Someone stepped on his back and drove a blade down into his neck.
The fourth collapsed without resistance. He stared at the sky as the knife went in.
Only the boy remained.
He looked up at them, eyes wide again. Not crying now. Just watching.
The grey bearded man hesitated.
Thorfinn stepped forward.
"I'll do it," he said.
The words surprised even him.
The man studied his face. "You sure."
Thorfinn nodded.
A knife was placed in his hand. It felt heavier than usual.
The boy did not move as Thorfinn approached. He did not flinch. His eyes followed every step.
Thorfinn knelt in front of him.
The boy's lips trembled. "Please," he whispered.
The word struck harder than any blade.
Thorfinn's hand shook.
He saw his father again. Not dying. Standing tall, calm, telling him to run.
He lowered the knife.
"No," he said.
The word came out rough.
A murmur rippled through the men.
The grey bearded man's face hardened. "Move."
Thorfinn did not.
The older man stepped forward, hand closing around Thorfinn's wrist. "Get out of the way."
Thorfinn pulled free.
Silence fell like a dropped shield.
"You want him," Thorfinn said, voice low. "Do it yourself."
For a moment, Thorfinn thought he would be attacked.
Then the older man sighed.
"Fine," he said. "Tie him. He can work. Until he can't."
The boy was dragged away, shaking, rope biting into his arms.
Thorfinn stood alone on the stones, knife hanging uselessly at his side.
The older man leaned close. "That mercy," he said quietly. "It'll get you killed."
Thorfinn did not answer.
That night, as the fire crackled and the men ate in silence, Thorfinn sat apart once more. His hands were clean. His stomach churned anyway.
He stared into the flames and wondered when killing had become easier than not killing.
Somewhere out on the dark water, the sea moved on.
It did not remember.
But the men who lived too long did.
The boy did not speak that night.
They kept him apart from the others, tied near the rocks where the waves could not quite reach. He sat with his knees drawn to his chest, staring at nothing. When food was brought, he did not touch it. When the rope cut into his wrists, he did not cry out.
Thorfinn noticed.
He told himself it meant nothing. He told himself he had seen dozens like him. Boys who lasted a day. Boys who lasted a week. Boys who broke, or hardened, or disappeared.
Still, when the fire burned low and the men drifted into sleep, Thorfinn rose.
He moved quietly, careful where he placed his feet. The night was cold and clear. The boy looked up as Thorfinn approached, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. Not afraid. Measuring.
"You should eat," Thorfinn said.
The boy said nothing.
Thorfinn crouched and cut a piece of dried meat with his knife. He held it out.
The boy hesitated, then took it with stiff fingers. He chewed slowly, never looking away.
"What's your name," Thorfinn asked.
The boy swallowed. "Riqua."
Thorfinn waited.
"Riqua Varson," the boy added. "From the south."
Thorfinn nodded. "I'm Thorfinn."
Riqua frowned slightly. "I know."
That surprised him.
"You fight like someone who doesn't want to," Riqua went on. His voice was quiet, steady. "But you do it anyway."
Thorfinn said nothing.
Riqua finished the meat and wiped his hands on his torn tunic. "They killed my father first," he said. "My brother tried to run. He didn't make it."
The words landed flat. No emotion clung to them. They were facts. Like weather.
Thorfinn reached for the rope. He cut it cleanly.
Riqua did not move.
"You run," Thorfinn said. "Now."
Riqua stared at him. "They'll hunt me."
"Yes."
"They'll catch me."
"Maybe."
Riqua looked past him, toward the dark shapes of the ships and the sleeping men. Then back at Thorfinn. "Why."
Thorfinn did not answer.
After a moment, Riqua stood. He was smaller than Thorfinn, but not weak. There was something tight in the way he held himself, like a bow pulled too far back.
He stepped into the darkness without another word.
Thorfinn watched until he was gone.
By morning, the boy was discovered missing.
Shouts rang out. Men cursed. Weapons were grabbed. The grey bearded man rounded on Thorfinn almost immediately.
"You," he said. "You were on watch."
Thorfinn met his gaze. "I saw nothing."
The man searched his face, then spat. "Doesn't matter. He won't last."
They broke camp and moved inland.
The land rose quickly, rocky and uneven, trees crowding close. The path they followed was old, barely visible, more animal track than road. The men moved cautiously now. Too many places for an ambush.
They found blood before they found the boy.
A smear on a stone. A torn strip of cloth caught on a branch.
"He's bleeding," someone said.
"Good," another replied.
They spread out, moving faster.
Thorfinn felt it then. A shift. The sense of being watched.
He turned just as the first man fell.
The arrow took him in the throat. He dropped without a sound, hands clawing uselessly at the shaft. Another arrow followed, striking a second man in the leg. He screamed and went down hard.
Shouts erupted. Shields came up. Men scattered, looking for the source.
Thorfinn ran toward the sound.
The forest opened into a narrow clearing. Riqua stood at the far end, bow in hand, face set. He loosed another arrow, then dropped the bow and ran as men charged.
Thorfinn reached him first.
"This way," he said.
They ran.
Branches whipped at their faces. Roots caught at their feet. Behind them, men shouted, crashed through brush, cursed as they stumbled.
They burst out onto a rocky slope that dropped steeply toward the sea.
Riqua did not slow. He leapt.
Thorfinn followed.
They slid, rolled, slammed into stone and scrub. Pain flared and faded. They reached the bottom hard and kept running, lungs burning, legs screaming.
An arrow struck stone near Thorfinn's head. Another flew wide.
They reached the water's edge and did not stop.
The waves were cold enough to steal breath. They waded, then swam, strokes rough and desperate. Behind them, men shouted again, but none followed.
They dragged themselves onto a stretch of jagged rock farther down the coast, soaked and shaking.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Riqua broke the silence first. "You didn't have to."
Thorfinn lay on his back, staring at the sky. "I know."
Riqua sat up, hugging his knees. "They would've killed me."
"Yes."
"Why," Riqua asked again.
Thorfinn turned his head and looked at him. The boy's face was bruised now. Blood dried at his temple. His eyes were steady.
"Because I didn't want to watch it," Thorfinn said.
Riqua nodded slowly, as if that made sense.
They rested until their shaking stopped.
When they stood, the ships were already gone. Sails cutting away from the shore. Small. Distant.
Riqua watched them disappear. "So now what."
Thorfinn looked inland, at the forest rising dark and endless.
"We walk," he said.
Riqua adjusted the strap of the knife he had taken from a fallen man. "Then I walk with you."
Thorfinn did not argue.
They turned away from the sea together.
Behind them, the waves erased their footprints.
Ahead of them, the land waited.