4
Outside the longhouse the world was quiet and dim. Evening was falling. Neither Halfdan nor the horseman were anywhere to be seen, but Erlandr expected them to appear at any moment, probably with a dozen more riders and a dozen more weapons. They might fall from the grey sky or arise from the rocky ground or: "They—"
"Are gone for now," the Riverraider said.
Erlandr covered his mouth with the back of his hand, which tasted like blood.
"It takes anger to kill. It takes more than anger to think. You saved lives," the Riverraider said.
But Erlandr didn't feel like a hero. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything, except numb. Even his jaw had stopped hurting. It merely felt twice its regular size. "They all wanted me to kill him. I saved the life of someone who didn't deserve to live. I'm a coward," he said.
"You were among cowards."
The numbness became pressure, which became a pain that gripped Erlandr's heart. His nerves started vibrating like plucked harp strings. His teeth chattered. The realization hit him harder than Halfdan's fist. They were gone for now; they would come back. And when they did, they would be coming for him. "But they don't know who I am," he reasoned aloud.
The Riverraider glanced at the longhouse. "They are regular people inside there. One of them will tell your name, from fear or for profit. That is just the way it is."
Erlandr shook his head, and couldn't stop it's shaking. The Riverraider grabbed him. "Listen to me. Your time here is over,” he said.
"No."
"You must leave."
"This place is my home. These are my people, my family."
"And they owe you their lives."
Erlandr ripped the Riverraider's hands from his shoulders. "I'm a coward. I should have broken his head with that axe."
"And broken the heads of your own people?"
Erlandr vividly remembered the meat on the fire. He knew the Riverraider was right. Likvidr would have taken brutal revenge for the death of his son. But he wanted to argue, to disagree with everything, and especially with reality, because it was impossible that in that one moment the only life he'd ever known had ended. "I won't run. A man does not run from his home. He stands and fights."
"A man has no home until he takes a wife," the Riverraider said. "Home is family. However, the choice is yours. The fight is unfair and your people will not fight for you. They will burn your body and they will remember you, but what good is being remembered to a dead man?"
Erlandr's imagination was showing him the interior of the Valholl. Odin was passing him a chalice of wine. He could die a hero in a valiant fight against impossible odds, perhaps taking a few others with him; but they would be men like the horseman, henchmen, lackeys, men perhaps not much different than himself. His belief struck against his will to live like a monstrous sword against a mountainous shield.
It was as if the Riverraider had read his mind. "You are young, Erlandr. There is yet time to die in battle."
"Where would I go?"
"Beyond Likvidr's reach."
Erlandr combed his fingers through his hair. Above, the sky made the world seem infinitely vast. He could go anywhere, in any direction, all the way to the edge of the world. Yet he was anchored. He was stuck in place. He'd been taught that only a coward runs. He had believed it to be true. But here was the Riverraider, a man who was not a coward and who had fled here from the mainland. And here were his own feelings: a greater fear of what lay beyond the known areas of Iceland than of remaining here and dying for it. "I'm afraid, Riverraider," he said.
"Only fools do not fear."
"You said you sail tomorrow?" Erlandr asked.