When the night set and the moon sobered up, I flew into the raider’s camp and landed above the largest hut. The roof made of strung together straw made it rather easy to chew through. It tasted of wood and grass. When I made a hole big enough to fit a bat twice my size, I popped my head in and located two wooden beams which held up the roof. Inside there were two large wooden tables and a throne like wooden seat. Ten men stood in a circle; however, their words did not differ from animal cries.

I snuck in and hung under the beam for the duration of their talk without trying to hide my presence. I would take the road of gentle acclimatization.

The men continued to talk for another twenty minutes. Some of the men glanced in my direction, but they didn’t pay me any heed. Their voices increased five minutes later, and their cloth tunics trashed around in the air as their fingers went up in accusation. Finally, after another ten minutes one of the men slapped another across the face. The man on the receiving end stumbled back. He managed to keep his bearings, only to be jabbed on the nose. He cupped his hands under his face and ran out of the building. The argument continued for another five minutes before everyone except two men left the building.

#

“What do we do with that fucker?” asked Gustaf.

“For now, we must suppress him. He’s just a kid who underestimated the hardships of Viking expeditions.”

“What the fuck did he expect? For there to be no challenges, no hiccups, nor trials. Let him leave with a boat and we’ll be done with it.” Gustaf rested his hand on the head of his iron axe.

“He can’t die. He’s still the son of the chief.” Ari stared through the still open door and then he looked up to imagine the stars. There he saw a little bat look down on him. “There are eyes and blades everywhere."

Gustaf slammed the table with his fists. The metal bracelets he wore around his thick forearms dented the wood. “Halvar isn’t that kind of man, he understands better than anyone the necessity of these expeditions. And if what you say is true, isn’t it better if we go all the way to Constantinople and become Varangian guards.”

Ari, who stood over six feet tall, looked down on Gustaf. “No, although we might have travelled up and down these rivers, traded with these people, and learned their language for twenty years our home is in Sweden.”

At his leader’s definitive words, Gustaf stayed silent. However, this time something broke in his calm and a rush of blood enraptured his heart. With all the strength of his lungs he yelled, “No, Sweden is no longer our home!”

Ari’s eyes widened. He had never seen Gustaf disagree with him on this subject. However, this didn’t mean he’d take a step back. Ari took a step forward and stared into his friends’ eyes. “Although some of the young men’s desires for riches may lead them to the shores of Greece you should know better. Do you not care for Audun, Dagmar, and Erik? Are you content in letting them think their father has died in marshy fields?”

“Oh, do not give that to me. These are words to be used on the likes of that kid. Mine are already old enough to go on their own expeditions. I have brought enough wealth for three of my generations to prosper. Is it not better for us to fall in battle and ascend to Valhalla? At this rate we will die of old age. Look at us.” Gustaf ran his hands on his wrinkled, dirt-covered face. “Does this skin look like it can hold together a body for more than a decade?” He moved aside his thick and heavy cotton cloak and showed his partially atrophied muscles. “Look at our arms, do you think these can swing swords for another decade?” Our time is soon over. If we do not grab this opportunity, the next time we go out as Vikings or traders, our time will be long over. It is now or never.”

Ari let out a long breath which released enough condensed air to mask his insecurities; however, Gustaf didn’t let his friend think too long.

“My dear friend. Have you not felt it too? When we are home our arms twitch, and our minds think of iron, rust, and the taste of blood. We are no longer of our homeland. I cannot sleep in Sweden without itching to pillage or feel the river waters splash onto my forearms as we paddle down the Volga. Sweden is no longer our home. We are Varangians, the only thing missing for us to be complete is to join the court in Constantinople. What do you say my dear friend?”

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

A bell rung deep within Ari’s heart and shut down his mind and mouth. It took him time, however, eventually he managed a few words, “let me think it over.”

Gustaf smiled broadly knowing he had managed to make his infamously hard-headed friend think over his words. And so, he tapped Ari’s broad shoulders a couple of times and left for his own hut.

#

Another man left the hut. Now a single Viking if that is what they were, remained. It seems that the words of the one who had just exited had struck him as he roamed about the room for ten minutes before he went to sit on his solemn wooden throne.

I decided this would be the best moment for me to get closer to the leader. As such I flew down and landed on the table next to the man. He quickly looked up and grabbed a small axe. However, seeing that I was but a bat he relaxed and sheathed his weapon. Seeing as he did not go back to pondering nor did he try to kill me it seems that I had struck his interest. And so, I slowly approached him, one step after the other like a cat emerging out of tall grass. When I was within arm’s reach of the man, I stopped and waited to make sure he wouldn’t try to grab me. And only after a minute, when he reached out with a few words and his hand laid bare did, I flap my wings and perch myself atop his hand. My claws dug into his skin; however, he didn’t seem to mind the blood which dripped from his hands.

With slow movements, perhaps afraid I would fly away he brought his hand to his shoulder. I jumped off his hand and landed on his shoulder and covered my feet in his comfortable cotton cloak.

#

Ari sat upon his seat; fingers linked under his chin stared at the empty table in front of him. This table, built from a single tree, possessed two deep cracks which split it into three pieces. And try as he might, nothing seemed to mend these wounds. The pull of the three rivers was too strong. One piece wished to flow up the river back to the Swedish tundras. Another wished to wait for the currents to turn before returning home, and the last piece wished to be taken away and bask in the warmth of the southern lands.

Ari heard a slight screech and caught a black dot move with his peripheral vision. He kicked back his chair and raised the axe tied to his hip. However, before he could swing it down, he found the source of the commotion. A little black bat had landed on the table. He placed his axe back on his waist, set his chair back in place and sat down.

His eyes remained locked on the bat which took small steps towards him. Ari placed his finger next to the bat. However, his mind couldn’t escape the current predicament and so he said, “Fly off into the sky if new lands we must find, come to me if the old ways should prevail, and remain where you are if it is time to head home.” The bat remained still, and just as Ari was ready to set off to Sweden the bat flew onto his hand and got a good grip in his flesh. He didn’t mind it; the blood only reinforced his beliefs. Ari looked into the bat’s beady eye’s and spoke his mind, “Then we will proceed as planned.”

Satisfied with the night, Ari brought his hand up to the white light which shone through the hole from which the bat had entered. However, the little rat did not fly off. He brought his hand back down and grabbed the bat around its wings, unhooked its claws from his fingers, went into his bedroom, and let the bat hang under the room’s support beam.

#

When Ari awoke, he saw Ratatoskr stare into his eyes. Having forgotten about the previous night, he jumped out of bed and grabbed his axe, unable to understand why the gods wished to play tricks on him. But he soon set his weapon down when his reason returned. Sweat poured from his forehead and trickled down into his eyes. He furiously wiped his face with the clothes which made up his day and night wear.

The mud and earth stuck in his clothes mixed with the salty water and oils on his face and gave his once pasty white skin an orange, brown tan. His hair, which he hadn’t cut in a few months formed natural dreads.

The bat flapped its wings and landed on his shoulders. The bite of the claws let him look past the morning pains which pierced his back and knees.

Ari tried his best to turn his head and meet the gaze of the little black rat; however, his neck stopped halfway. He quickly found gloves, put them on and let the bat climb on. “I think you need a name,” said Ari, tired of thinking of this interesting animal as just another bat. “Perhaps Frode. Yes, that would suit you nicely.” He let his new friend Forde walk back onto his shoulder. “Well, it is time to speak to the group. Let’s go.” He said as he stuck his axe in between his belt and waist. “Let’s see how many die today,” he said. “Oh, why can’t things be agreed upon once and end there.” His steps were heavy, and the wood yielded under him, letting out cries of respect as he stepped on them. “I am getting too old for this. After this round I’ll stay and manage the farm back home. I’ve seen enough blood, anymore and I might even find flowers dull.