SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

Strange, guttural sounds dogged their heels as the party trudged north, the hours rolling by in a leaden crawl, fear clawing at their feet. It wasn’t until the stars alighted that Bard spied the deeper darkness of something looming ahead. He brought his companions to a halt, motioning to the shape that sat along their path. They waited in silence for several long moments, willing their vision to resolve.

“Another barrow?” Devin asked.

Bard shook his head, though the warrior couldn’t see the gesture, standing before Bard as he was. “It’s a hut.”

“Aye,” Hilde confirmed, not waiting for the others before she started off again, Bard and Devin following.

Shortly after, they stood hunched outside a rocky pit house, ears pressed against its cold wall. Nothing stirred within. Bard pulled away and circled the home to find its door left open. He peered inside, heart aflutter, only to find the tiny hut empty.

“There are others,” Hilde said at his back, drawing his eyes to where she pointed. And, true enough, a dozen or more similar homes were spread out behind the first, each separated by a few horse-lengths of open space and little more but weeds and thorns. No lights or sounds greeted the trespass of the three Norse warriors.

Bard drew in a lungful of brisk air and crept to the nearest of the huts to find it, too, deserted. He went to each in turn, Hilde and Devin at his back, but there was no one to be found. When the last of them also proved empty, Bard turned to his companions. “We’ve a choice.”

“Live or die?” Devin answered, a crooked smile on his lips, but no light reached his eyes.

Hilde ignored them and stared off, her thoughts tormenting her features. Bard followed her gaze to see the hazy flutter of trees a distance further north. Their leaves danced serpentine in the gloomy starlight, the barest whisper of a rustle reaching Bard’s ears.

“The woods are one of our choices, eh?” Devin said. “I’d much rather dig a hole and wait for morning.”

Bard agreed. He looked back to the nearest of the huts and was made wary by its emptiness, but the lure of shelter, after battle and wind had pecked at his marrow since he’d set foot upon the isle, was undeniable. He caught Hilde’s stare as he scanned slowly about.

“If you had a choice…?” he started.

She sighed. “If nidhoggr roam the land in the open like sheep, I’d prefer sunlight on our necks before setting foot in yonder woods.”

“Then a hole it is,” Devin said. He motioned for Hilde to enter the nearest of the huts first. “Never thought we three would share a warren on a cold winter’s night.” He winked at Hilde. “Don’t tell your faðir, now.”

She grinned and grabbed at her armored chest as she went inside. “It’ll be my blade you need worry about should you try making a nest of these pillows, boy.”

Devin glanced to Bard, an eyebrow raised.

“You’ll find no love here, either. Keep your hands on your own sword tonight,” Bard told him, stepping in behind Hilde. Hilde’s throaty laugh welcomed them, and Bard eased the door shut, setting the bolt.

“Damn Freiøya’s eyes. Leave me to spend my final hours with a swollen sack and two old maids with shuttered arses,” Devin muttered. “I could have stayed home with my wife had I wanted to die with a limp kokkr between my thighs.”

Hilde dropped into the corner furthest from the door, wiping the grin from her lips. “If we make it home, brother, I’ll let you take Dagny for an eve.”

“Your goat for a whole night? How generous.”

Bard sat near the door, muffling his laugh against the stiff sleeve of his tunic while balancing his ax across his knees. The other two prattled on in quiet voices as he settled in, resting his head against the cool stone of the wall, letting its chill sink into his fevered flesh. He blinked once, twice, resting his eyes, the quiet murmur of his companions blurring, and then darkness pulled him under.

* * *

“They’ll be here soon.”

Bard snapped upright, eyes flying wide at the familiar voice. Arndt stood before him. Blood had crystallized upon his chest, and the wound at his throat pulsed — a gaping black crevice in his pale skin, as though it clasped at the air, trying to draw breath.

“How…?” Bard asked, barely able to get his tongue moving in the dry well of his mouth.

“No time,” Arndt answered, drawing Bard’s gaze to his friend’s face. It was there that Bard found his answer as to how the warrior he’d thought dead could be there beside him.

Eyes a deeper blue than Lake Votka stared back at him. Bard’s gaze sank into their abysmal depths, will o’ the wisps drawing him deeper with every passing moment. He shook his head to clear the sluggishness from his limbs and scrabbled to his feet. Though his gaze never left Arndt, he avoided the warrior’s eyes, focusing instead on the man’s broad nose.

“Why have you come?”