Strange stories

Meeting floki

Ragnar followed behind his brother Rollo and his brother's friends as they walked through the woods outside of Kattegat. The older boys already had their arm rings; Ragnar was a year or two away from receiving his.

"You should be glad we let you come along with us," Rollo had told him smugly. He never missed the opportunity to tell his younger brother what to do. Ragnar took it all with equanimity, secretly believing that one day their roles would be reversed.

Eventually the group came to a small clearing. "This is the place I was telling you about," said Rollo, pointing to a somewhat dilapidated hut that stood in the middle of the open space. "Why would someone live way out here with nothing but the trees for company?"

On closer inspection, it seemed as if someone was indeed living there. Faint tendrils of smoke rose up through the roof as if from an old cooking fire and there was a rabbit pelt drying on a rack by the door. But there were no indications that anyone was currently at home.

The boys crept closer, Ragnar right at the front. He was so intent on the mystery in front of him that he barely heard the whispers from those behind him. Suddenly, Ragnar felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his brother smirking down on him.

"You think you are ready to get your arm ring, little brother?" asked Rollo. "Then go inside that hut and bring something back for us. A trophy. A cup, a bowl, something to prove your bravery. We dare you."

Those last words made Ragnar's decision for him, because he would never back down from a dare. After a brief glance back at his companions, he went up to the door and pushed it open.

Someone had obviously taken up residence in the hut. There was a pile of furs on a frame in the corner and a table with two chairs by the smoldering fire. A rude shelf attached to the wall held an assortment of herbs, most of which Ragnar did not recognize. The remains of a meal sat on the table, and Ragnar reached for the empty bowl.

Out of nowhere, Ragnar felt a strong hand clamp down on his wrist. He instinctively let out a yelp as he tried to pull his arm free.

"Are you alright in there?" That was Torstein, the one friend of Rollo's who seemed to actually like Ragnar rather than just tolerate him.

The strange man gripping Ragnar's arm raised his other hand briefly to Ragnar's mouth. "Shh," he whispered, shaking his head.

"I'm fine," called Ragnar. "I'm just looking around. I'll be out in a minute."

Ragnar finally freed his arm and looked at the man who had been holding it. He was wiry, skinny, and of no determinable age. Instead of the long hair and full beard favored by most Norsemen, his head and face were dotted with seemingly random tufts of hair. But the most striking thing about this odd apparition was his eyes. They were ringed in kohl like a woman's, with lines of kohl extending down the man's cheeks. The irises were the same color green as the trees outside the cabin, but when the man smiled they seemed to turn silver for just a moment.

The man was smiling now, suppressing a titter. "You owe me a bowl, Ragnar Lothbrok," he whispered in a strange, sing-song voice, indicating the item Ragnar still clutched in his hand.

"How do you know my name?" Ragnar replied, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.

"Oh you would be surprised just how much I know. Now go, before your friends leave without you." With that, he shoved Ragnar, trophy in hand, toward the door. Before he went back outside, Ragnar turned for one last look at the man. The hut was empty. Had he imagined the whole thing?

A few days later, Ragnar was by himself in Kattegat. Rollo and his friends had deserted him when they went off in search of female companionship. Ragnar was glad of the opportunity to be by himself, and even happier when he came across the Earl's new bride.