Page 4 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

T he crowd at Drangar was growing. Spreading onto the wooden piers and stony beach and circling the torches that towered in iron baskets. Longboats bobbed in the harbor, the day gray but calm.

A drum was banging repetitively. Boom. Boom. Boom, boom, boom.

Haakon looked at his father, who pulled his fur cape tighter and then gripped the head of his cane.

How had it come to this? It was a strange path that led to two sons fighting. Haakon’s mother, Ingrid, would be watching down from her seat with the gods and shaking her head. What a waste of time, what a waste of life.

But even with that thought, Haakon would not be dissuaded. He had reveled hard during the Uppsala Festival, making much use of amanita and its ability to bring dreams to life. He had watched Ravn and his wife roll naked in the snow as though frolicking in feathers, and he himself had indulged in an orgy that had gone on for half the day and most of the night—a delicious tangle of naked, sweating bodies and uninhibited cries of pleasure.

Was he living his last days on Earth? Was that why he was so determined to live it to the maximum?

“Father. Are you ready?” Astrid asked, tightening the hood of her white fur. Her red hair peeked out of it like small, licking flames.

“Ready to watch one of my sons die? No. I will never be ready for that.”

The frown on Haakon’s brow deepened. He didn’t want to cause his father pain but could see no way around that.

“So call a halt to it.” Astrid gestured to the crowd. “You are king, Father. It’s your right.” She paused as a jet-black raven called from a nearby rooftop, narrowing her eyes as though trying to decipher what it was saying. “Pick one son to succeed the throne and be done with it. Both will live, even if one is unhappy.”

“They would not tolerate that outcome.” Urd looked at Haakon, as though hoping he might be amenable to that solution.

Haakon wasn’t, so he stayed silent.

“I brought them up to be men of their word,” the king went on with a sigh. “The fact that I did that is my burden to bear. They have said they will fight and they will.”

“So how about this solution…” Astrid cocked her head and twitched her eyes. “Pass the crown to me. I am the eldest and more than capable. I know you know that, Father, in your heart.”

Haakon studied his sister’s flashing eyes and the determined set of her jaw. She was one of a kind, and ja , likely more than capable. But what she didn’t realize was she would need a man one day, one she didn’t insist on terrifying with her quick temper and knife-sharp wit. Without a man, she wouldn’t have the means to have children to continue their line.

“You refused Tyr’s marriage proposal, when we were at Uppsala,” Haakon said.

“What? Ja , of course.” She huffed. “He was full of mead and horny. It was not a serious offer.”

“It is the third time he has suggested it. Sounds serious to me,” the king added.

“We should get on with this day.” Astrid huffed.

“No, I want to know why you keep refusing him,” Urd said. “Tell me.”

Astrid’s features tightened, the way they did when her blood was heating and her temper rising. She bit on her bottom lip as though holding in sharp words.

“He is a fine man,” Haakon pointed out. “A strong warrior and he has a trade that would support you while you carry sons. His boats are of the finest quality and sought out for miles around.”

“And he seeks to please me with gifts and entertain me with walks into the forest. How can I tolerate that?” She blew up her cheeks as though sickened at the thought.

“It sounds perfectly tolerable.” Urd nodded slowly. “It was how I wooed your mother.”

“I’m surprised she fell for it.” Astrid folded her arms. “Such whimsical activities.”

“Lucky for you that she did.” Urd shrugged.

Astrid frowned. “Tyr agrees with me. He’s too agreeable.”

“‘Too agreeable’?”

“ Ja .” She held out her hands. “He agrees with everything I say. It is as though he has nothing to say himself.”

“Or he is scared to upset you,” Haakon said.

“Exactly.” She waggled her finger at him. “And who wants to be married to someone who is scared of them?”

Haakon chuckled. “Your problem, Astrid, is that you are scary. It is going to take quite a man to stand up to you once he has given you his heart. He will need to be brave to risk having his soul crushed, watch his reason for breathing walk away when he upsets you by not agreeing.”

“I doubt there is any such man in these lands,” Urd said.

“You may well be right.” She folded her arms.

The crowd around them began to chant, parting as Ravn and his wife, Siggy, in her amber-colored cloak made their way from the Great Hall to the makeshift fighting ring.

“May the gods be with you,” Astrid said to Haakon. “And more with you than Ravn.”

“The day’s end is already planned, sister. Now it must be acted out.” Haakon’s belly tensed and he flexed his limbs. It was time to fight for what was rightfully his.

He glanced at Siggy. She had her hands knotted beneath her chin and was wide-eyed and pale. At her side was her mother, holding Ravn and Siggy’s infant son, Thormod. Had the gods planned on her being widowed today? Her son fatherless? Haakon hoped not, but that would mean his own death, so he didn’t hope too much.

He didn’t want to die. Not yet. He had so much to still see and achieve.

Clutching his shield and with his freshly-sharpened dagger at the ready, Haakon stepped into the ring and up to Ravn.

Like him, Ravn was bare-chested and bare-footed. They stared at each other unblinking.

Orm appeared before them, almost hopping on the spot with excitement. His cloak was a black wolf fur, and the head of the wolf was still in place, pulled up as a glassy-eyed hood. “The brothers are here, and ready. And they’re both hungry for victory.” He whooped and the crowd cheered again. “Kingdom of Drangar!” Orm boomed as he bounced around the fighting circle. “Are you ready for the spectacle of the century? The battle that will go down in history? History not just on Earth, but in the halls of the gods. The fight to the death of the sons of the great King Urd Rhalson of Drangar.”

The crowd’s excited yells made Haakon’s ears ring, but he focused on the task at hand and forced everything else to fade away.

“Today, we will witness the birth and death of a king. One will be victorious in this life; the other will be victorious in feasting with the gods on this day in Valhalla.” Orm spun to Ravn. “Will it be Ravn, a mighty warrior, fine horseman, and sharp of mind?” Orm tapped his head and cackled. “Or will it be Haakon?”

He stomped over to Haakon. “Haakon, my brave brother.” Orm slapped him on the shoulder.

Haakon snarled.

“The finest seafarer I have ever known,” Orm went on, “master hunter and slayer of none other than Dann Erikson, the berserker of the Eastlands.”

The crowd cheered wildly, stomping their feet and clapping.

“Both would make an excellent king,” Orm shouted. “And it is a decision no mere mortal can make, not even their father, so let us leave it to the fate the gods mapped before the moon and stars were created.” He snatched up a shield and withdrew his axe then used the handle to bang the shield wildly. “Let the fight begin. May the best man win!”

Ravn roared and rushed forward, dagger at the ready.

Haakon sidestepped, puffing up grit and stones as he moved. Despite the cold day, he was hot, the blood in his veins boiling with a sudden determination to take his brother’s life.

Ravn lunged for Haakon again, but Haakon blocked him with his shield—a thick thud of metal on wood that rattled his teeth together.

He grabbed an opportunity and aimed a swipe at Ravn, catching him on the upper arm. Instantly, blood appeared, but Ravn didn’t appear to notice and aimed again at Haakon.

Haakon slipped to the right. He was nimble despite his size and always used that to his advantage.

Ravn swung around, following him. Also fast and light on his feet and annoyingly knowing Haakon’s moves.

Haakon spun and took aim, hitting Ravn’s shield this time. Ravn backed up, adjusting his hold on his shield.

The crowd yelled and heckled, clearly enjoying the excitement.

“Get the fuck over here!” Haakon bellowed.

“Be careful what you ask for.” Ravn snarled and stormed at Haakon, dagger at the ready, shield protecting his torso.

At the last moment, Ravn aimed high and Haakon had to drop to his knees, shield above him. He then rolled to the right, turning over in the dirt before jumping up again. His body was alive with the need for victory.

Ravn grunted in frustration, slamming his fist on his shield, and attacked again.

Haakon stormed forward to meet him, features twisted with fury and determination.

They came together in a great crash. Charging bulls, battling walruses. A tangle of bitter rivalry that shook Haakon’s bones.

Then suddenly, a mighty chest blow knocked the wind from his lungs and he fell to the floor. His dagger landed several feet away and his chest refused to expand. He clutched his throat, trying to inhale a ribbon of air. None came. He fell backward.

To his right, Astrid shouted, “No, please, no.”

Ravn dropped to the ground with his knees folded on either side of Haakon’s upper body. He raised his bloody dagger high and let out a feral roar.

This was it. The gods had spoken. And they’d stolen his ability to breathe moments before Ravn’s dagger plunged to be doubly sure of his death.

“Stop! Stop this now!” Suddenly, his father hurled his empty horn of mead into the ring. It rolled to a halt beside Ravn’s bent knee. “I order this to stop.”

The crowd went silent.

Ravn was staring down at Haakon. The dagger was poised, ready for its deadly plunge.

Haakon’s vision blurred, his head felt light and dizzy. This was the moment of his death. How could it not be?

“I command this to stop,” Urd said, rushing forward. “I will not lose a son today.”

“Father.” Orm bounced around him. “It is a fight to the death. That was the agreement and—”

A trickle of air made it into Haakon’s lungs. He gasped, trying for more.

“Be quiet, boy!” Urd shook his fist at Orm. “And get out of my sight.”

Orm ran in a fast circle, his cloak billowing and his wolf’s hood falling down to reveal a freshly shaved hairstyle that left only a long plait falling from the crown of his head.

Urd ignored him and wrapped his hand firmly around Ravn’s aloft hands to hold them steady. “This ends now, son. You are king.”

“I am king?” Ravn repeated, still staring at Haakon. His arms shook with tension.

“ Ja , you have won the crown. There is no need to spill your brother’s blood.”

Haakon managed a proper breath and his vision cleared. Had he heard right? His father had given the crown to Ravn before Haakon’s mortal life was over?

It seemed Urd had. Anger instantly replaced the reassignment to death. He glared at Ravn.

“Haakon will always be my enemy if I do not kill him today.” Ravn spoke through gritted teeth.

“He is your brother,” Urd said. “Now that this matter is settled, he can return to being your brother.”

The crowd seemed to be collectively holding their breath. A raven cawed. A wave broke against the shoreline.

“Son, give me the dagger,” Urd said.

Ravn raised the dagger, his grip loosening.

Urd took it and straightened with the sticky weapon hanging at his side.

Ravn stood. He spat on the ground then swiped at his bloody, wounded arm.

Haakon pushed to sitting. “I will never accept this.” Fury gripped him like a tight fist. “You should have killed me.”

Astrid was suddenly squatted at his side. “Brother.” She rested her palm on his hot, grimy back. “Are you well?”

“How can I be when I have been cheated? I should be preparing to feast with the gods.”

“No, that was not your destiny. Not today. Believe in their wisdom.”

How could he? How could he go on? Drangar couldn’t be home now. Not for him. It wasn’t big enough.

“Good people of Drangar, you have your new king!” Urd clasped Ravn’s hand and held it high. “King Ravn, a fine warrior and a fine and fair leader.” He swung his attention around to his people. “Show your respects to my son, your new king.”

“I am your king!” Ravn pounded his chest with his free hand. “I am victorious. I am your king.”

Haakon thought he might vomit.

There were smiles and cheers. It was clear the people were happy with their new young king, who would lead and protect them.

“What the fuck?” Haakon pushed away from Astrid and got to his knees. Slowly, he unfolded and stood. This situation was not acceptable and he had to do something about it. “ He is not king. We haven’t fought to the death.” He spotted his dagger and rushed for it.

Quick as a kingfisher’s flash, Astrid grabbed it. She held it behind her back and stepped away, her gaze flicking to her father.

“There will be no more fighting on this day,” Urd said with his focus on Haakon. “I have no intention of lighting a pyre boat at dusk.

“It was a deal!” Haakon said, slamming a fist against his palm. “There is only room for one of us here.”

“Exactly!” Ravn pointed at him. “And that is me. This is my kingdom. I will reign over Drangar and all the provinces.” He tilted his chin. “You must get used to it, brother.”

“I cannot, and I cannot stay here.” Haakon swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away spit and blood. “I cannot breathe the same air as you, Ravn.”

“That is preferable to you dying, son,” Urd said. “If you leave, I will know you still have life in your veins.”

“If I leave, Father, I will never return.” Haakon gestured out to sea. “You will never see me again in this, our mortal life.”

“But I will know you are out there.” Urd gestured out to sea. “Somewhere. ’Haps even happy.”

“ Happy ! Huh, after I have had the crown stolen from me.” He’d never be happy again. He’d never smile again—he knew that much for certain.

“I won fair and square. I am the stronger warrior.” Ravn held up his arms, fists clenched, and turned a circle, as though showing the crowd his bulging muscles.

A cheer went up. Siggy was smiling broadly.

Haakon scowled and his attention went to Urd’s new longboat, built by Tyr and stocked ready for the first expedition of the spring. An idea jumped into his head. An excellent idea. “I will leave now,” he said, grabbing his tunic and cloak from Joseph. “This very day.” He stooped and snatched up his boots, suddenly bursting with the brilliance of this new plan.

“The weather is not suitable.” Urd frowned. “And there is so little light each day.”

“You said it yourself, Father: I am an excellent seafarer, and that”—he pointed at the harbor—“has no more waves than a bathing barrel. Torches will easily lead the way.”

Urd’s lips tightened, but he gave no more argument. And Haakon knew why. The sun was going to set and both the king’s sons would be alive and he wouldn’t do any more to jeopardize that.

Ravn laughed. “It’s all very well the harbor water being flat, but out of the fjord, past the mountains, and into open sea, the waves can be as tall as Eagle Cliff and as mean as a hungry bear. You will not last a day and night out there. But you are a fool, always have been, so I am sure you will go, brother.”

Haakon pulled on his tunic then wrapped his cloak around himself. In an instant, he’d shoved his feet into his boots and stowed his dagger on his belt. He faced the crowd, his back to Ravn. “It is the desire of the gods that I go find a fate of my own and not one at the hands of my brother, your new king.” He grimaced; the words tasted bitter and uttering them had made their flavor worse. “I bid you all farewell, and you, Father, I wish you peace here with Ravn and his family.”

Urd didn’t speak.

“You have been banished,” Ravn shouted with a pointed finger. “Do not tell the story that you left of your own accord.”

“That is exactly what I am doing. This is my choice, my decision.” Haakon rushed toward Ravn, his anger re-stoked. “And I would urge you not to tell the story any other way unless you want me to stay and know that you will never sleep easy. If I stay here, under your rule, you will always wonder if tonight is the night your twin slits your throat and takes the crown.”

Ravn growled. “I should have slit yours when I had the chance.”

“Ravn.” Siggy was behind him, tugging his arm, the breeze catching her long, blonde hair. “Please, it is for the best if Haakon leaves. It does not matter who decided it.”

Ravn calmed at her touch. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “How does it feel to be the new queen?” He set a hard kiss on her lips.

Haakon snapped his hood over his head and spun around. He marched toward the crowd. They separated, a wave of movement. A hum of conversation rose quickly and a drum beat filled the air.

He stomped onto the pier, his cape flowing behind him and with the familiar thrill an upcoming sea voyage always gave him.

When he’d reached the boat, he jumped nimbly onto it and went to the bow. With one arm wrapped around the serpent’s neck, he leaned forward, over the water. “Who will accompany me?” he bellowed.

Silence.

“I know you want to. Come aboard, join me.” He fist-pumped the air.

A spread of faces: women, men, children. No raised hands. No excited cries. No rush up the pier toward him.

A claw of doubt scratched at Haakon’s confidence. “I know there are bold men amongst you. Men who wish to live a life free of King Ravn’s taxes, bad fortune, and certain famine?” He pursed his lips and stared at the crowd. “Do not fail me. Do not fail the gods. They have spoken this day and a new life awaits those who are brave enough to take it.”