Displaced

Chapter 5

The streets of Kattegat were almost deserted as they finally entered the town. A couple of the more unlucky tradesmen who had failed to sell all their wares that day were wearily packing away their goods for the night and counting their coins, shouting conversation to their fellow traders as they did.

Two men, both a little older than Sigurd and Ivar, swayed slightly under the influence of too much ale as they staggered across their path. The taller of the two men glanced Sigurd's way, then tapped his companion on the shoulder. The other man stopped, and both of them stared openly at Sigurd with grins on their drunken faces.

Sigurd looked away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, and busied himself with the act of placing one hand in front of the other and moving himself onward.

As he and Ivar passed the two men, he heard one of them let out a loud, raucous laugh before they continued on their way. Sigurd gritted his teeth and tried to ignore them; he didn't know they were laughing at him, but he felt it; a certainty that came from somewhere deep inside him, and he hated it. He wanted to challenge them, to ask them exactly what they were laughing about, but he couldn't. Drunk as they were he was still sure that they could overpower him if they chose to do so, and he did not have Ivar's experience of fighting at ground level.

Besides, he reminded himself, it was not his fight. Whatever they said, whatever they thought, whatever was so funny it was Ivar that they were looking at, not him.

That did not help anywhere near as much as it should. For all they might fight, for all that he might hate him sometimes, Ivar was his brother; he was allowed to laugh at him. Two out-of-towners that he had never even seen before were not.

Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Ivar watching the two men. His brother wore a scowl as he watched the pair Briefly, he glanced down at Sigurd, and then quickly away again. "Ignore them," he said quietly. "Happens all the time."

Sigurd turned and watched the two men round a corner and disappear. He stared after them for a moment, then turned back in the direction they were going. "Come on," he said, "we're nearly there."

They really were, too. After a full day of travel, they were finally just a few moments away from walking -- or not -- through the door of their home. Just a few short moments away, if Ivar's theory was correct, from being themselves again.

The thought buoyed Sigurd, and he found the strength somewhere deep within him to increase his speed slightly as he rounded a final corner, and approached the door of their home.

Ivar reached out to push open the door, and Sigurd experienced a moment of panic. He reached out and grabbed his brother on the leg to get his attention. "Wait."

Ivar frowned as he looked down at him.

"What if..." Sigurd hesitated. "What if it doesn't work?"

Ivar's hand was already on the door. He allowed it to drop down to his side. "If what doesn't work?" he asked. "The door? It looks fine to me."

"No, you idiot," Sigurd shook his head. "What if we go through that door, and we stay like this?"

Ivar's frown remained unchanged.

"You said you were hoping the gods would transform us back when we reached home," Sigurd said, speaking slowly, as though to someone very stupid. He knew that Ivar was not stupid, but it made him feel better. Besides, after a day like they had just had, he could be forgiven for not being at full brainpower.

"I told you what I think we should do," Ivar told him. "First Ubbe and Hvitserk, then the Seer, then..."

"No," Sigurd interrupted. "Not that. I mean, how will we... what will..." he broke off for a moment to think, then shook his head.