Raven Boy

Chapter 1

"They are back! Konungr* Torgeir is back! They won!"

Turid abandoned her weaving and ran out of the longhouse.

Outside, attracted by the shouting, people hurried toward the sea. Everyone wanted to greet the konungr.

Two beautiful ships with striped yellow and red sails slowly, like gracious swans, glided on the sparkling water toward the land.

The crowd murmured excitedly, warmed by hope, curiosity, and impatience.

Just like the others, Turid spotted the ships from afar and frowned as a slight twist of worry tugged at her insides. It was just a presentiment, the usual woman's intuition – too small to talk about, yet perceptible enough to make her run faster.

From the first sight her suspicions were confirmed – Konungr Torgeir was not at the bow. His close friend Ari stood on his place, arm lifted to greet the crowd.

Her heart heavy with dark expectations, Turid made her way to the very edge of the pier.

Most of the people around her froze in apprehensive silence, every now and then interrupted by a whispered prayer or a sigh of relief when someone spotted their man alive among the crew.

Finally, the sails were lowered and the oarsmen maneuvered the ships to the wooden pier.

Ari spotted Turid and their eyes met. He said nothing; he didn't even move a single muscle of his face, but she understood it all as clearly, as if he had just shouted it: something bad had happened. The konungr would not return.

A couple of sailors jumped to the pier with ropes and started to tie the ship to it.

Without delay, Ari spoke.

"Peace and prosperity to you, my people," he started, and his strong low voice sounded official in the apprehensive silence around him. "We are happy to be finally home."

Several voices replied with a loud "Welcome!" while others just nodded silently, impatient to hear it all.

Ari was an excellent warrior, but a poor storyteller. Not that it had been a handicap for him – he sincerely believed a good punch to be more effective than a long speech. So, feeling the impatience of the crowd, he stepped to the pier and went straight for it.

"We took their fortress. But our konungr is dead."

For the time of one breath everyone was silent, assimilating what they just heard, then shouts and sighs of pain, anger, and frustration erupted from the crowd. A woman started weeping loudly. Worry and foreboding filled all their hearts – the konungr was loved and respected by his people, and his death meant changes for everyone. It was all the more dangerous because they were in a war that was forced upon them by the Foreigners who had cruelly conquered some of their lands.

Then women pressed forward, all talking at the same time and pushing each other. They wanted to know what happened to their husbands, brothers and sons. But Turid was no longer aware of the mayhem around her. She felt as if she had been hit hard in the chest. She couldn't breathe anymore, and the world went dark. Her beloved husband was dead. And she didn't even see him go, she didn't even kiss him farewell! In her mind's eye she saw Torgeir as he laughed, as he galloped on his favorite horse, she saw him bringing her wild flowers at the dawn, playing with his sons, lying by her side on the grass and telling her about his love, his golden hair shining in the firelight... He was so alive in her mind that it was all the harder to realize that from now on this man was gone. Gone forever! Dead! From now on, she was alone. From now on, she was a widow. Never again will he mischievously wink at her in the middle of an important assembly, never again will he kiss her and lift her in his strong, tender arms, never again will he hug her in his sleep...

A piercing, painful emptiness swept over her, tearing every inch of her body. She would have collapsed, but a strong, caring hand seized her shoulder and stopped her. The warmth and firmness of this touch was somewhat consoling, and she slowly returned back to reality.

Her youngest son, Hrafn, stood by her side, his hand on her shoulder. Turid met his gaze and they remained motionless for a moment, silently sharing the pain and comforting each other. Somehow, the boy's presence and silent support made it easier to bear.

Then Turid's eldest son, Olaf, joined them as well. Tears shone in his darkened gray eyes. Yet none of them cried – not in front of everybody. Together, they made their way through the crowd and back to the longhouse.

As they passed, people bowed or muttered words of compassion. But the widow and her sons were beyond noticing. Her rank separated her from other women; Turid was denied the time to cry her pain out. As queen, she was in charge of everything when her husband wasn't there, and the return of the warriors meant additional work that needed to be done. On the dreadful walk from the docks to the village, she struggled to pull herself together, to push all the hurting thoughts to some far corner of her mind and to lock them there for a while.

Her sons held her hands. Her brave little men stoically fought off their own tears and pain. She had to be strong too. For them and for her people.

For the good memory of her beloved husband.

This fresh thought of Torgeir provoked another huge wave of pain inside her. Before it would swallow her completely, Turid screwed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths. Her mother had always told her that breathing was the best remedy, the fastest way to regain the self-control.

When she looked at her sons again, both regarded her with apprehension.

"Olaf, Hrafn, I am sorry. There is no time to mourn now. I must take care of the warriors and organize the feast..."

She wanted to say "in Torgeir's memory," but the words just wouldn't come out.

She couldn't decide what was better – to let the children go home or to keep them busy with something, but they solved it for her.

"Can we stay and help you?" asked Hrafn and Olaf nodded, looking hopeful.

A sudden surge of tenderness toward her twins brought tears to her eyes and she hugged both of them, unable to utter a word.

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* Konungr – king (Old Norse)