“I still cannot believe that Vagn is gone,” Eadyth said, bringing up the subject he had hoped to avoid. But he should have known these good friends would want to discuss his dead brother.
I can’t believe I’m dead, either, Vagn said/thought. Or was it himself thinking that thought? Aaarrgh! He nodded, unable to speak.
“I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, Toste. You two were inseparable,” Eirik said.
Not just a brother. My best friend. A feeling of tightness crushed his chest like a vise. His heart pounded madly.
“Ivan, King Haakon’s third cousin, passed by here two sennights ago,” Eadyth told him. “He saw Vagn fall with a most grievous sword wound to the chest.”
The abdomen, actually. Toste put a hand to said spot reflexively. He still felt sharp pains there on occasion. And itching betimes, too, like a scar healing.
Phew, tell me about it. Vagn made a loud exhaling sigh inside his brain. There was so much blood, it turned my stomach. I would have been scared witless if I hadn’t been dying.
“Why are you grimacing like that?” Eadyth inquired with concern.
He waved a hand dismissively, overcome by the picture Vagn painted of himself. Toste thought he really was going barmy, and it was getting worse by the hour.
Alinor got up and walked around the semicircle, then gave him a hug from behind. “You loved him dearly, Toste, and my heart goes out to you for your pain.” She kissed his cheek, then went back to her seat, tears swimming in her green eyes.
Tears welled in Toste’s eyes, too. Holy Thor! Would he ever get past this pathetic yearning for a brother who’d gone to a better life.
Who says it’s a better life? After swiving your first fifty or so virgins, Valhalla gets old fast. And all that ale drinking and shield pounding!
“I remember the time you two kept changing places to court that young lady in Miklegard… you know, the one with the veils. Finally her father came after you both with a longsword.” Leave it to Tykir to lighten the mood.
Esme made a tsk-ing sound of disapproval at his side. At the same time, she squeezed his forearm in understanding. He could forgive her much for that small gesture.
“He still talks to his brother on occasion,” Esme disclosed.
Is she reading my mind now? May the gods forbid! Mayhap I should think something particularly lascivious and see if she blushes. Or mayhap I should just go take a nap for ten or twenty hours and try to get my mind in order. In any case, forget about the forgiving Esme business. Why did women always have to blather everything?
“Really?” Tykir asked. “And does he talk back?”
You bet.
“Sometimes,” Esme answered for him with a twinkle in her blue eyes. Obviously, she was getting back at him for past misdeeds, like making her kiss his manpart for hours on end… well, practically kiss it.
Now, there is a fantasy to play out in my mind. Forget about Vagn and Valkyries. Forget about blood-gushing wounds. How about Esme kissing my manpart? But not in a cart. Nay, this should be on a bed with me naked, arms stacked behind my neck and her… well, she could be naked, or… wait, wait, wait… she could be wearing her nun habit, and—
“Why are you smiling?” Esme wanted to know.
You do not want to know, my lady. To the others, he said, “It’s freakish, I know, this talking with Vagn, but I still see him in my head and hear him talking, like I used to do when he was alive. And I share his physical pains, too.”
“And his thickenings,” Esme offered impudently, to everyone’s shock and delight… though not his—delight, that is.
You are getting as bold as a Viking, my Saxon lady. Too much bad company. I could think of a better use for that tongue of yours.
“Thickening is their word—Toste’s and Vagn’s—for—”
“Esme!” he exclaimed. “They know what a thickening is.”
“Oh,” she said and blushed prettily.
“Mayhap you would like to elaborate on this,” Eirik advised.
“Huh?”
“The mental thickening business,” Eirik reminded him.