Displaced

Chapter 20

Ivar sat cross-legged on the bed with the tafl board in front of him. He reached out, slid a piece across from one side to the other, then paused and surveyed the board again, this time from the perspective of the player on the other side. He was playing a game against himself, planning out moves against an opponent with his exact intellect and skill level. He was equally matched with his invisible opponent, and they were well acquainted with each other's tactics, but that was okay. He wasn't playing to win, but simply to improve his skill and his forward planning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. He turned to see that the door to the room opening slowly. As he watched, Sigurd's head appeared in the gap and he looked around the room. Pointedly ignoring him, Ivar slid another piece across the board. The day before, his brother had chosen to disappear the day without saying a word, and hadn't even done Ivar the courtesy of letting him know that he was okay when he finally returned, and so Ivar wasn't particularly interested in chatting with him now.

Appearing to take Ivar's silence as an invitation, Sigurd pushed the door open wider. He pulled himself inside the room, then turned around to lean against the wall. He reached for his legs and carefully moved them until they lay straight out in front of him. He glanced at Ivar. "Do you have a minute?" he asked.

Ivar scowled and concentrated all of his attention on the tafl board. He selected a piece and moved it a little closer to the king, ready to defend him if needed.

"Ivar," Sigurd said.

Still ignoring him, Ivar continued to look at the board. There were several moves that he could make, the trouble was, none of them would be of any real advantage to him. He touched the top of one of the black pieces that he had left vulnerable earlier in an effort to tempt white to make a mistake. It hadn't worked. Playing black again now, he began to look for a way to...

"Hey!" Sigurd's hand hit the edge of the bed hard enough to move the pieces on the board, both the leather writs support that he wore, and his fingernails were encrusted with dirt. That made sense; wherever he had been yesterday, he had not been inside the house. "Why are you ignoring me?" Sigurd asked.

Ivar turned and glared at him as hard as he could. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "Is it frustrating when I am not available to talk to you whenever you want? Maybe the next time I want to be left alone I will disappear and not tell anybody where I am going." He continued to glare at Sigurd for a moment longer, hoping that he understood his point.

Sigurd frowned, looking vaguely apologetic which was more than Ivar had expected. "Hvitserk did mention that you were looking for me yesterday," he said. "I probably should have..."

"Yes, you should," Ivar interrupted. "You didn't even bother to tell me when you came back. You simply crawled into bed and went to sleep!" He folded his arms. "I shouldn't have to remind you that you are in my body. If you are going to disappear for a whole day, you need to let me know where you are going. What if you have broken a bone? Would you have been able to get home again? You obviously found yourself a very good hiding place, so how long do you think you might have been trapped in it before somebody discovered you?"

"Okay," Sigurd told him. He raised his hands into the air, palms outward, as though surrendering, and nodded. "Okay Ivar. You are right. I'm sorry."

That seemed far too easy. Ivar frowned, then stared at his brother searchingly, trying to decide whether he could trust him. "You're sorry?" he asked. "Just like that?"

"Yes," Sigurd told him. "Just like that. You are right, disappearing with your body wasn't fair, and it could have been dangerous. I'll be more careful in the future. Now, stop fussing like an old woman, Ivar. There is something that I need to talk to you about."