Displaced

Chapter 10

Ivar had once asked Floki why he lived so far outside of Kattegat. The boatbuilder had simply laughed, and told him that once upon a time he had been even further away, but that the town had kept growing, bringing the people ever closer. "Mainly though," he had said, with a smile playing on his lips, "I stay here to make sure that you do not pester me so much, Ivar. If I lived next door to you, I would never get a moment's peace."

Ivar had laughed, because he had known that it was a joke. It was not Ivar that Floki wanted to avoid, but everybody else. He was particular about the company that he kept, and Ivar considered himself privileged to be one of the chosen few. He had spent many pleasant days and evenings with Floki and Helga, listening to the stories of their journeys across the sea to England and Frankia, and of course, to their stories about Ragnar.

But it was Floki's knowledge of the gods that he needed now. Even though his friend would not believe him about who he was, he hoped that Floki would recognise a son of Ragnar asking for information about the gods, and that he would provide it.

One thing that he had always been able to rely on, his whole life, was that no matter when he showed up, or why, Floki and Helga would always know the right thing to do, or to say. Somehow, Floki had always understood Ivar, even when nobody else did.

Floki was his friend, and his confidante, and Ivar knew that no matter what was going on in Floki's life, or in his own, he would always be welcome in Floki's home; there would always be a place for him there.

Of course, the same was not true of Sigurd, who Ivar had never seen exchange so much as a few words with the boat builder. That meant that if Floki, like everybody else, did not believe him -- and Ivar was reasonably sure that he would not -- it would be difficult to get what he needed from his friend.

He did not care. He needed to try.

He was far outside of the city now, where the air was fresher, and the world around him quiet. The only sound that he could hear as he made his way down the narrow path carved into the dirt by Floki and Helga's feet, was his own footsteps and a bird singing in a nearby tree. As his steps fell into a rhythm and he allowed his mind to wander, it occurred to him that this was the first time he had really been alone since it had happened. He had spent the whole of the day before either in Sigurd's company, or that of his brothers.

For a moment, he was glad of the solitude, until his mind began to circle back to dark, frightening thoughts, and he wished that he had somebody with him to fill the silence.

He reached up and began to fidget with one of Sigurd's braids that had come loose and was swinging against his shoulder. His fingers ran compulsively up and down the strands of hair, and toyed with the rough, unbraided end as he tried to ignore the nervousness churning in his stomach.

From his slightly elevated position, he could see both Floki and Helga outside their small house. Helga hung clothes out to dry in the warm, early summer air, while Floki appeared to be playing with wooden planks, arranging them into shapes on the ground.

Ivar slowed his approach slightly, still moving forward, but with smaller steps now, feet dragging on the ground, as though something inside him was reluctant to reach his destination. He heard the volume of his footsteps on the ground decrease as his steps softened and slowed, and he felt as though he were sneaking up on Floki. It occurred to him how much more difficult it must be to sneak around on foot. It was easy to be unobtrusive while crawling on the ground.

He wasn't sneaking up on him though, there would have been no point. Although Floki wouldn't mind Ivar appearing unexpectedly from the bushes, he doubted that his friends would greet Sigurd quite so warmly.