Displaced

Chapter 4

They appeared to be walking a path now, rather than simply picking their way through the woods. There was a definite track carved out by many feet walking the same route over years, flattening the grass and undergrowth and eventually trampling it into the ground. That was good; it meant that they were almost home. After all, if they were on a well-used path, it stood to reason that they were near to where people were, and that meant a town. That meant Kattegat.

Ivar narrowly avoided the woody root of a tree, which had grown up through the path and lay across it, waiting to trip up unsuspecting travellers. He stumbled, but managed to right himself despite the heavy weight he was carrying. He felt Sigurd slip a little lower on his back.

"Either Floki is very strong, or you are very weak," he grumbled. Walking had been hard enough, but he had not anticipated how much more difficult it would be to walk with the weight of an entire other person on his back. The muscles of his arms and back screamed for relief, and Sigurd gripped him too tightly around his neck and chest as though he thought he was going to fall, and that the best thing to do in that situation would be to ensure that Ivar went down with him.

"What are you talking about?" Sigurd asked, over his shoulder.

Ivar tried to shrug, but the weight on his back and shoulders prevented it. He settled for turning his head as far as he could to catch a glimpse of Sigurd instead. "Just that Floki has carried me in this way many times, and he did not seem to find it this difficult," he told him. "So I assume you must be weaker than him."

"Floki is an old man," Sigurd protested.

Ivar grinned. "Then that must be very embarrassing for you, to be weaker than an old man."

"I'm not..." Sigurd began, then broke off. "Fine, yes, I'm weaker than Floki. So what?"

That was the third time that Sigurd had failed to rise to the bait in the way that Ivar had expected. He wasn't disappointed exactly – in a way it was nice not to have to watch his back, or to be on guard for any snide remarks and insults that his brother might throw his way – but it was strange, and it added to the sense of unreality that permeated everything.

Ivar sighed. He stopped walking for a moment to hoist his brother a little higher on his back, and he heard a sharp intake of breath as he did, as though the sudden, unexpected movement hurt Sigurd. Which, of course it would have.

Ivar winced along with him. "Sorry," he said.

"Shut up. It's weird when you apologise."

He shut up. A drop of sweat tickled his face as it dripped down, and he could not reach to wipe it away, so he ignored it.

Although he was sure that they must be getting closer to home, he still did not recognise anything. He supposed that was to be expected, after all, they could be on any number of paths through the woods.

"What are you looking at?" Sigurd asked from behind him.

"Looking for," Ivar corrected. "Anything to tell us we are nearly home."

"Found anything?"

Ivar shook his head. "Of course not. I would have told you if I had. We are on a path now though, which I am taking as a good sign."

"Maybe," Sigurd said, immediately understanding what Ivar meant. "Or maybe not. How do we know that whoever did this to us didn't drop us off near another town? We could be nowhere near Kattegat."

Ivar frowned. He had not thought of that, and it bothered him that Sigurd had. "Don't be such a pessimist," he said.

The ground ahead of him was free of hazards for a short distance, and so he risked another glance around him, searching for something familiar. Walking was easier now. At first, he had found himself unable to take a single step without watching his — Sigurd's — feet, partly because he had been convinced that trip hazards lurked under every step, and partly because he had needed to keep reminding himself that he really was walking.