Page 22 of Dragonbound

‘Oh, Erann, how many times do I have to tell you to keep these in the correct order?’ his father complained.

‘Sorry, but they got a bit disturbed when you opened the door,’ he answered with a rueful grin. His father wasn’t cruel, but sometimes he was more likely to chastise than see the humour in a situation.

‘Never mind, son, I can sort them out soon enough, although it’d be good if I didn’t have to every time you read them. I’m glad you only have one pile out; otherwise, it’d take half a day. I agree that all that son of son stuff can be a bit much at your age.’

‘Maybe a little.’ Erann laughed.

‘Here you go, this one’s quite interesting, I promise.’ His father handed him a smallish piece of script. The scripts were all an assortment of shapes and sizes, some tied together with strips of hide, while others were simply one piece, carefully rolled to preserve the contents. This was one of those scripts, and it was so small it was almost impossible to flatten without fear of cracking the old page.

‘If you can read it before supper, you can stop until tomorrow. Agreed?’ His father offered him a stern glance. Erann nodded too eagerly. But his father was already flicking through his small brown journal Erann often admired, and he didn’t see.

He’d asked about the journal before. His father’s reply had been less than forthcoming. ‘I’ll tell you when it’s time. Now promise me you’ll never touch it.’ The caution hadn’t stopped him from opening the journal one day when his father had left it on the wooden table. He’d closed it before reading anything, but he still remembered the smooth, creamy pages and the soft and biddable leather cover.

Erann read the script as promised, the words easy to decipher, for once.

This was told to me by Swein, son of Olaf, who witnessed this event for himself. We left our homeland in the early days of spring, and after many days at sea during which we experienced storms and lost many of our ships, we came ashore here. The land was fertile and uninhabited, and life was excellent for many rotations until the Arrival of the drekki. It was decided that we would stay. They were not happy with our decision and left us to our fate. This was written in the twenty-fifth Rotation after our coming here.

Erann blinked and read the script again. The Arrival of the drekki? He’d never heard of that. What did the word even mean? And who wasn’t happy? He turned to ask his father about it, but Ramon had disappeared. Erann heard his creaking footsteps above in the small loft area that served as their sleeping quarters.

An unexpected knock on the outer door had Erann turning towards it. It was so loud it was audible over the crackling of the fire, the howling of the wind and the chopping of Anya’s knife.

Erann felt his mouth drop in shock. Who could be outside in weather like this?

His father rushed down the ladder towards the door, concern on his face. It was unheard of for anyone to be out at this time of the Long Night. Whoever it was shouted above the screeching of the wind, as they banged on the outer door for entry so loudly it sounded like Thor himself.

His mother jostled awake. The baby began to cry. His sister, Aras, rushed to her mother’s side, fear on her face. As his father fumbled with the wooden bolt of the outer door, Erann ran to remove the wads of rags. The door caught the fierce wind and flew open into Erann’s face, knocking him to the floor, unconscious.

He opened his eyes, the blue glow surrounding him even brighter. He still felt warm. He still didn’t know where he was. The memory of his recent survival, against the odds, brought him enough comfort to close his eyes in sleep once more. Perhaps, when he woke, his father would be here, with him. He’d like that.

The wind drove at Erann, unrelenting in its intensity and bone-numbing chill. He couldn’t understand it. It had been still for more than two days. If it hadn’t been, he’d never have risked venturing outside. Now it reappeared, as if from nowhere, a ferocious, hungry beast, draining his body heat and leaving him rooted to the spot, too cold to even shiver.

The air was frigid as it attacked his lungs. Erann crouched, back pressed to his steading wall, hand clutched to the frozen guide ropes, unable to move.

Erann wanted to cry in frustration. He was so close to home, but he couldn’t reach it. His muscles refused to obey. It was an effort to breathe. It was an effort to keep his eyes open. Any moment now, Erann knew he’d be suffused with the warmth that came just before death. He almost relished the thought of it. At least then he’d be warm.

With a guilty sob, Erann steeled himself. He couldn’t die here. His family needed him. They’d perish without him. He must fight the warmth.

Erann thought of his mother, dozing quietly by the fire, unaware of his plight. He thought of his young brother, waiting patiently for his return and reading the family archive while he whiled away the time. Surely, they’d heard the wind and wondered where he was? Surely, they’d come looking for him?

No. They wouldn’t. He knew that. His mother was frail and ill. His brother was too young and trusting in his older brother’s invincibility. They’d be shocked to find his frozen body when the Long Day began. If they survived until then without him.

Determination welled inside him. He refused to let this happen. His family had already lost too much. He groped through the fog in his brain for the most pertinent God to pray to. He’d not sought comfort from the old Gods since before his father’s exile, and it was an effort to recall to whom he should direct his prayers. Finally, he settled on Thor, the strongest.

He bargained with the God as he muttered soft words.

‘If I live,’ he whispered through tight lips, ‘I’ll venerate you once more. If I live, I’ll honour you with a sacrifice in the Long Day.’ But his words were barely audible above the howling wind. His legs remained locked in place. His breath came in smaller and smaller gasps. He was becoming light-headed as well as frozen. Snowflakes landed on his closed eyelids. He had no strength to bat them away or open his eyes. The slow warmth crept up his body. His remaining time was short. He couldn’t make himself care.

It was all so hopeless and such a waste.

Abruptly, he felt something on his sleeve. The wind, attacking him from a new direction. He ignored it. He felt it again. Then a warm breath whispered in his ear, setting his ear tingling uncomfortably.

‘Come on, Erann. This is not meant to be your ending. You must get up and walk with me. You must go with me, and I will get you back inside.’

Erann turned his head into the wind. A man stood before him, dressed in a white wolf fur cloak. The man smiled at him. His father.

‘Come on, Erann. I will help you into the steading. The wind will not beat you. I will not let it. Neither should you. I know it is hard, but you must come with me. Do not leave your mother and brother. They have need of you. You must get up and walk with me.’ The voice was strong and warm and inviting, bringing with it such soothing comfort. It brought strength to his legs.

Erann obeyed the words as though they were an order and forced himself upright, his thigh muscles screaming as he straightened from where he’d been crouched in the same position for so long. With a deep breath, Erann turned again to look at the man before him, his long-missing father, and realised that with his help, he could make it home.