I reached Brand, but I don’t even remember how. My soul bleeds every waking minute and I am haunted with the images of my family dying. All at once or each member’s death in detail.

Brand gives me something hot and savoury to drink, and I immediately fall asleep.

When I wake up, I can’t recall what happened or where am I. And then, like needles being pulled from under my nails, the painful memories come back to me one by one. I groan in suffering.

I hear Brand’s raspy voice:

“Ah, you finally awake, boy.”

A flint sparks in the darkness, Brand lights up a candle. I am in his abode, filled with fishing gear, and the stench of fish. Outside I hear seagulls and waves. Brand continues:

“You took your time. Nearly a full day.”

I jump on my bed.

“Uncle Brand! My parents, my uncle, are they alive?”

Brand’s pale eyes look away.

“If only I knew myself, lad. Folk say that they’re all dead. The attackers fled, only the corpses remained. Brits, by the look of ‘em. Come evening, Bjorn Red Beard himself arrived at Kalmar. Said to us all to keep our traps shut on this matter and mind our own business. Couple of our lads protested and he ordered them flogged. If that’s not fishy, I don’t know what is. What do you have to say, son?”

I can’t get myself to look into his eyes. All I can do is give a grievous sigh. Brand is the only man I can trust. A seasoned sea wolf, he is a living legend among the folk. Scars cover him from head to toe. He was through so much hardship and suffering, it seems unfathomable, what still keeps him going. Despite the life he lived, his yellow hair and beard don’t have a single touch of grey.

I tell him everything. Surprisingly, I am able to hold myself together and not shed a tear, even though it’s uneasy to speak.

He lets out a heavy sigh, chews on his stone-grey lips and says:

“Listen here, son. I owe your father a great deal, and I will get you out of this. You are the last of the Krusensterns, the fate of the dynasty rests on your shoulders. Your kin feasts now in the Great Hall, at Odin’s side. This a glorious and honourable death.”

“Y-yes, uncle Brand.”

He gives me a stern look.

“You a warrior or a milk-sucking pup, boy?”

“A warrior, sir!”

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“Then act like one, and don’t you “uncle” me.”

“Yes, Brand.”

“That’s more like it. Now, I will need to secure your stay at the port, and learn what is going on. Let’s get you a proper look then.”

First, he shaves me bald, then gives me foul smelling rags to change into. Without warning, Brand gives me a black eye and finishes the job by smearing me in soot. I protest, but he snaps at me:

“We don’t know what the jarls are up to. If someone recognizes you, it’s all over, you understand?”

“I do.”

I am resentful, but deep in my heart I know Brand did this to protect me.

Two days on I toil in the port. Hard work is salvaging me from the thoughts about my family.

Hauling, packing, courier work, ship repair, tying ropes. Foul food, uneasy sleep and frequent brawls. Three times I return home badly beaten up. My hands are aching to cast a spell, but I have to suppress my rage every time someone spits my way. I never would have thought some peasant riffraff could beat me up so easily. One on one they wouldn’t manage, so they always attack in groups. That is when I learned of another way out of a fight - making a run for it. Some time ago, I would have despised myself for that.

I learn how cruel and unforgiving peasant life is, a chilling and unpleasant discovery. I took so much good in my life for granted, living in a fine house, never having to fight for food, with a huge family that supports me.

Anger, bitterness, hatred, anguish, pain - I switch from one to another in a circle. Add to this what memory of my family’s death brings me every day. At times this internal hell stops torturing me, but only when I am running away from young thugs in the port, to save myself from being beat up again.

One day, when Brand comes home, I have ready a plan of how I am going to go on with my life, I want to share it with him.

He throws a sack on the table.

“I brought you something. I see you’re having quite the time working with them boys?”

I pull out a piece of jerked beef, and sink my teeth into it ravenously.

“One day, I will get back at them all.”

“Ya won’t.”

Brand looks tired and he sits back into a huge reel of tow rope, exclaiming to the heavens:

“Odin, you one-eyed devil, how long do I have to wait for your damn call! I hate this life more than I hate the wretched sound of Hel’s breath behind my back. You, boy! Ever heard that sound before?”

“No.”

“I heard it one too many times. The old hag laughs at me and says one and the same thing - now is not your time.”

He spits with disdain.

“Anyway, back to your business, son. You will leave Kalmar in the fastest way possible. The son of a whore, who calls himself king of our land, is suspiciously reluctant to investigate the attack on your family. Them officials think this was either a conflict between your father and uncle, or the work of pirates. Pirates, lad! You understand?”

His wild laughter makes him cough badly, after which he rains such curses on the heads of the jarls and the king, that would make even a harlot blush.

“I don’t know what they got going on, but these bastards sure don’t want to look for the murderers. If someone were to discover who you are and slit your throat, I doubt these mutts would even budge. There is only one way to keep you safe. I have an old friend, he sails to Rus’. You’re half russian yourself, aren’t you? You’ll get to see your motherland, boy. I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy, but I can’t keep you safe here.”

I can’t believe my ears.

“You’re sending me to Gardarike?”

“That’s right, lad. Start packing, the ship sails soon.”