The Raider by Asta Idonea Page B

placed the bow down against the wall and laid the bag upon the table. He started when he turned and saw Thorstein awake and looking at him, but he quickly recovered and offered a smile. The gesture made him look even younger, but Thorstein guessed he must be in his early twenties—already a man despite his deceptively lithe frame.
    â€œ
Heill
,” Thorstein said, his voice cracking a little as he offered the greeting.
Gods, I am thirsty
. “Thorstein,” he added, tapping his chest. “
Ek heiti
Thorstein.”
    â€œGodwin,” the youth replied, catching on quickly.
    â€œ
Heill
, Godwin.” Thorstein started to cough and tried to sit up, pulling himself backward in the pallet.
    When Godwin offered him a cup, he skulled it in a single swallow. The ale was weak but refreshing, and it eased his parched throat. He made short work of a second cupful, and then a third, before handing the beaker back.
    Godwin opened his bag and pulled out a loaf of bread. Breaking off a large handful, he approached Thorstein again and offered it to him. “
Hlāf
?” He pointed at the bread. “
Hlāf
.”
    Thorstein took it. He weighed it in his hand a moment, and then, seeing Godwin watching him, pointed to it and said, “
Brauð
.”
    â€œ
Brauð
,” Godwin repeated, looking to Thorstein for approval, which he gave in the form of a nod.
    As Thorstein ate, Godwin returned to his bag and pulled out a small rabbit. He set about skinning and cleaning the animal, and then tossed the chopped pieces of meat into the cooking pot, adding some herbs to the mix.
    The bread had only sharpened Thorstein’s hunger and the smell of the rabbit stew made his stomach growl. When it was ready, Godwin filled a bowl and passed it to Thorstein. The stew was thin and the meat in meagre supply, but at that moment, it was the best thing Thorstein had ever eaten, and he wolfed it down, happily accepting a refill.
    It was only as he commenced his fourth serving that he realized he was using Godwin’s only bowl, and the young man had not yet partaken of the meal. He held the bowl out, gesturing for Godwin to eat, but his host just held up the piece of bread he had been nibbling on and rattled off a string of words which Thorstein took to mean the stew was for him alone.
    Finishing his meal, Thorstein lay back down and sank once again into a peaceful slumber.
    THE DAYS passed quickly. Thorstein slept often, and when he woke, Godwin was always there with food and drink. Their conversation was limited at first, but as the days became weeks, they picked up words from each other’s language until they were able to communicate well enough to express their needs.
    Thorstein’s wound continued to heal thanks to Godwin’s care, and eventually he was able to move about the room and take tentative steps outside. Thorstein learnt Godwin was a shepherd whose sheep roamed the nearby hillsides, and he started to walk out with him to tend them, needing to exercise his leg and breathe the fresh air.
    More and more, he found his thoughts straying to the young man. Even in dreams, he saw him. He told himself it was simply the fact that Godwin was all he knew here. Perhaps his people would return the next summer and he’d be able to go home with them, but there was no certainty—this land could just as likely be where he would spend the rest of his life.
    Summer soon became autumn, and the nights began to draw in. As they sat close to the fire, Thorstein would watch Godwin out of the corner of his eye. He knew his every gesture now, from the way he bit his lower lip when he was nervous or unsure, to the way he ran his fingers absentmindedly through the soft, dark curls that framed his head. There was only one word to describe Godwin: beautiful. For a while, he’d wondered if the boy was actually Baldur, come back from Hel’s domain. But his gods did not seem to exist here. As near as he could