Raid

VIII

The deep orange ray of sunlight shone through the morning dew enveloping the hillside. It fell upon Aksels closed eyes and his brow twitched in reaction before his right eyelid lifted slightly. He woke and looked around. Braum lay slumbering in his pallet underneath their makeshift lean-to. He let his head fall back down into the bunch of leaves he had been using for a pillow, Fjandinn he swore.

Every morning since the raid, Aksel had woken up and thought it all to just be a bad dream. Unfortunately, all the memories of the past months came flooding back to him. He remembered the decision to leave the village Braum had taken him to under the guise of his mute brother. He tried to be inconspicuous like he had been told but the colour of his hair and eyes could only carry them so far before someone became suspicious. With the accusatory questions and fabricated interests in Braums sibling came unwanted attention and infamy. So they moved north-west.

He responded to the vat of anxiety he was drowning in and threw himself up into a sitting position, his hand fell onto the shaft of Hrafnfiða that lay next to him on the ground. He rose and began rolling the small quilt he had been laying on. After it was rolled, he tied it down onto the back of the sturdy leather rucksack he had been given with the twine that had come with it. He reached inside the larger section of the pack and retrieved a slab of dried and salted meat he had kept from the raid in East Anglia. Tími fyrir dagmál., he exhaled gleefully before digging his teeth into the jerky in his hand. He pulled away to tear an edible piece off and was met with resistance, Skít! he hissed through the food in his mouth. His jaws began purposefully gnashing in an attempt to reduce the material to something digestible. His gaze wandered back to Braum, Hvað dreymir hann? he thought to himself.

No sooner had he thought that than Braums head moving, fluttering his eyelids in the morning light. Aksel spoke, Vaknaðu. Það er kominn tími á mat., Braum squinted one eye and looked up at the Heathen in question. Aksel returned his gaze to the embers of the fire they had made the night before in front of him. Braum rolled over rebelliously, drawing his knees closer up to his stomach. The Northman heard this and calmly rose from his position in front of the fireplace and began walking over to Braums pack. With the other half of the jerky hanging in his mouth, Aksel undid the strap securing the top of the bag and looked inside. His arm began crawling its way toward the bottom of the pack before Braum heard anything.

He rolled back around and looked at the scene in front of him, What in the fu-? he was cut off by Aksel tossing a small piece of dried blackbird breast at him. Braum caught it with one hand, looking surprised. Tími á mat., Aksel said again through his chewing, gesturing at the bird breast with his free hand and turning around. Braum layed back down with one arm folded behind his head and gazed into the warm morning sky. If one had asked him, What do you think youll be doing come a few months from today? while he was still living in East Anglia he would never have guessed the correct answer. This sense of surrealism enveloped him, inducing a trance-like state as his steel-blue eyes glazed over.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small stick falling on his leg. His head shot up and he saw Aksel standing over him, returning to his seat in front of the ashes. Elda he spoke as he gestured to the stick and the bird breast in Braums hand. Braum looked at the meat he was holding and looked back at the Heathen, Cook? he asked. Braum lifted himself from his quilts, Mate, we must learn to communicate eventually., as Aksel looked at him inquisitively. The Saxon retrieved the stick at his feet with his free hand, walked over and knelt down beside his friend. Aksel watched Braum do this, knowing that he was meant to learn something from whatever was happening before him but not understanding what that thing was. Braum brought the raw meat up to one end of the stick, impaled it, and held it over the ashes of the fireplace dramatically, Cook To cook he said looking back at Aksel.

Aksels eyes moved to the meat over the fireplace, Kúkk he repeated. Braums face lit up in recognition and Aksels brow raised in return, Gea! There you go. Either as a show of retaliation or appreciation, Aksel pointed to the stick and said, looked at his partner and said, Elda. Braum repeated, Elldah? and Aksel praised him, nodding, Góð. Aksel looked back to the fireplace and Braum rose, poking the ashes with the end of his stick, Let us rekindle this then, he said more to himself than anything. Aksels head rotated, looking at the Saxon out of the corner of his eye and said, Leht öss rehkindel þís þen?, Braum was taken aback, he looked to the Northman with his brow raised, Gea Very good he said. Aksels head turned back to the ashes, nodding in confirmation of his success. The Saxon took a step away from the other before Aksel turned and asked, Viltu eld?, pointing at the ashes in the fireplace. Braum stopped his pace and turned to see his friend, I must collect wood if Im to start a fire., Aksel was looking at his friend now with that same learning expression as before, Oh já, vúd fyrir fær.

The Scandinavian rose, mumbling that phrase to himself as he began searching the ground for woods to fuel their campfire. Braum watched him as he began visually searching the earth and thought to himself, Well that was quick. All of what hed been taught about the Heathens contradicted his most recent encounter with one; the impression left in him by Aksel definitely didnt make him think that they were all savage animals with no hope of redemption.

The impression became one of humility and humanitarianism the longer Braum thought about it.