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B O N E L E S S
ivar the boneless
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A WEAK LIGHT settled in the room with a coldness Ragnar did not take comfort in. He came in at a quiet pace, grieved and hesitant. He found that the Seer was aware of his presence because he teased, "Thinking of going back for him?" Ragnar lowered his head, turning away from the eyeless gaze of the cloaked prophet. He mumbled under his breath, too low for the Seer to hear.
"Speak clearly, Ragnar Lothbrok," he advised. "Or turn away and face the consequences of your actions without my guidance." He looked into Ragnar's mind, foreseeing the question he was too ashamed to ask. But he also looked into the present elsewhere, in which Aslaug had taken it upon herself to do what her husband could not- let their son live.
Ragnar let out a sigh and went to sit in front of the Seer. "Have I made the right choice?" He asked. A wicked grin settled upon the Seer's face, baring rotting teeth to the Earl of Kattegat. An earl who, at the moment, was no more than a troubled father. A terrible father. It seemed that years had passed before the Seer answered, "It does not matter, for I see now that your boneless son weeps in his mother's arms."
The cold settling in the room seemed to sting and Ragnar became restless, shifting in his seat and empty of surprise. He could almost imagine everything- his wife following him into the woods, desperate to save her son. Their son. His son. A dark look fell upon his face, and Ragnar ran a hand through his hair. "He will live a miserable life, won't he? I want you to tell me- tell me what will become of my boneless son."
The light in the room seemed to dull still further, and the Seer's face sunk into the shadow of his hood. He let out a pained moan, seeking answers from the gods. His mind wandered everywhere and nowhere. To that which was real and that which was not. From the roots of a mountain to the blood of the moon. From the tears of fire to the serpents in the sea. He spoke through the abyss of what the gods let him forsee of the boneless one:
I see both pain and victory in his life,
I see wings surrounded by a skulk of foxes,
I see a broken weapon used for cleaving,
I see a snake whose ribs are broken,
And a trickster leashed without breath,
Ragnar stood up with a low growl. He began to pace around the room, pulling at his hair with both hands. Frustrated, he said,"Why must you always speak in such useless riddles?" But the wise one did not answer. In fact, he gave no indication that he had even heard the question. But Ragnar knew better. He approached the Seer, lowering his head so that they were now face to face. Then, he growled, "Answer me."
A low rumble escaped from the Seer's mouth. His lips curled in disdain and trembled in restrained fury as he seethed, "You asked, Ragnar Lothbrok, and I have answered." Then, he held out his palm, refusing to utter any more words. And so, Ragnar was forced to lower his head, ending their meeting with a lick to his palm. He made sure to push out an extensive amount of saliva into the Seer's hand, which earned him a growl in response.
Ragnar left the room in a hurry, but it was not his intention to return to his wife and child. Not yet anyway. I will bear you a monster, Aslaug had promised. And in the end she was right. Pressure settled in Ragnar's mind. She had no right to save him. No right to make him suffer still further. If they were not human . . . if they were wolves or even pigs . . . their poor, weak runt would be discarded.
Ragnar let out a sigh and hurried his walk through Kattegat. The place was as busy as always. Merchants from other countries were trading spices with the locals, slaves were being offered and bought, and children chased each other with wooden swords and thin shields. A few of his people took time to wave at him, offering warm smiles. Some even called out his name. But most of them, the ones who were observant, did not disturb him. They saw the scowl on his face and how it kept darkening with each passing second.
After much venturing, the earl finally came to an isolated area of the fjord. Ragnar settled down in the sand, letting the soles of his feet brush against the cold water. He gazed out towards the narrow inlet with longing. Sometimes he dreamed about sailing away from Kattegat, never to return. He'd sail out into the open sea, letting the gods determine his fate. Thor would beat his hammer, raging a great storm that eventually overtook Ragnar's boat. And he'd fall into the water, allowing the waves to drag him down into the darkest depths of the ocean. But he never drowned, for his dream would always end before such relief. It was his greatest curse.
Ragnar took in a deep breath and in a rasped voice began, "Gyda, my beautiful child," then his eyes began to water. "I hope that you do not think too harshly of me for what I did. I hope that your gentle heart will forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself."
Ragnar smiled slightly, cupping a few grains of sand in his hand. He ran it through his fingers, letting it fall back to the ground. "You see, I thought that it was a kindness. After all, I know in my heart that you would have raced to Midgard, like quicksilver, to take him in your arms. You would not have let him enter the other world alone."
A warm wind brushed against his face with a softness he'd never felt before. Ragnar closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth, which seemed to touch even his heart. "I see now that it was not in his fate to die today. But I know that living will not be easy for him, just as it was not easy for you. And I ask now, Gyda, that you take care of him."
Ragnar clenched his jaw, taking a moment to pause. Then, he murmured, "I ask you and not the gods because the gods did not protect you, so why should I trust them to protect your new brother?" He stood up slowly and wiped the sand away from his clothes. With a final look towards the fjord, he said, "I ask that you watch over him . . . and I hope that the day in which we shall meet again is near, for I wish nothing more than to be able to see you again, my heart."
Ragnar turned away from the water and began his long walk towards the Great Hall, where his child and Aslaug would most certainly be by now. And as he walked, the warmth he had felt faded; the winds grew cold and bitter once more.
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"Our child should have a name . . . now that the gods have saved him," Ragnar said. He sat on the floor with his wife and, together, they looked down at their newborn with grief and love. A soft coo escaped his lips, and his small hands moved around with no real purpose. He looked like any other child, truthfully, for the blanket that covered him concealed his abnormality.
Ragnar let out a sigh, extending his hand towards his son. He brushed a finger along the side of his face. His skin was tender and plump. Ragnar remembered leaving him to the mercy of nature and imagined a future in which his wife hadn't followed him. His soft skin would harden like stone over time. He pictured their son turning cold and pale. From the color of a rose to the color of milk. And eventually the color would darken into an ill purple, flesh rotting into the earth.
"His name is Ivar," Aslaug whispered, interrupting Ragnar's thoughts. He turned his face to her and the Seer's voice echoed in his mind. Your boneless son weeps in his mother's arms. "Ivar the Boneless," he added, forcing a weak smile on his face. Aslaug stiffened, pursing her lips.
A horn blew in the distance, a reminder of their next voyage to England. Ragnar sighed and met the expectant gaze of his wife. She nodded slightly as if to say 'you should go now.' But Ragnar shook his head, and wrapped an arm around his wife.
Together, they stared at their son for a little while longer.
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