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A woman yelled. Her voice was calm and tired but loud enough to break open Brómber's eyes.

The river smacked him against itself, slowing as it hit a bend and shallower water. Something covered him. His feet hooked into the stone pathway. The day was beneath him and above him was the ford. Little flecks of gold and amber danced against the rocks, a lens forming in the cracks beneath, revealing a sheet of silver. His hand stretched out slowly to try to grab the wealth before his eyes blinked it away. The sun grabbed him by the hair and pulled him down into the day.

Brómber let out a shout then caught his voice in his throat and ate it. The woman called out again, she was standing down the bank with wet crimson fabric in her hand. Her gaze shot over Brómber as she spoke, looking just behind him. He tried to pivot to see who she spoke to but slipped and fell onto his knees. He was free. He sprinted slowly from the water. Another sea hung above him, dyed pale blue. An unmoving fire burned the earth, its flame's lips burnt green over brown coals. Birds flew from the inferno, fleeing the disturbance at the ford. A voice yelled out behind him and sent water flying after him as he ran. He saw smoke coming from raised earth and hurled himself toward it, lusting after the heat it came from.

The river stayed behind but not the cold. His chest heaved and spasmed again and again. A will wrenched his back up and nipped at his ankles to keep him from stopping. He could smell the river on him. Beasts on two feet or four turned to face him as he ran, the sun chasing him. He pulled open the door of the longhouse. Inside it was empty of life save for a few slaves and a tall man wrapped in fur. A white ring curled around his arm. His cheeks dug themselves out from his skin and held a red-brown beard below. The shadows on his eyes were soft enough to show their color, amber and green. Footsteps pattered out behind him. Brómber fell onto his legs sideways pouring water from his body as he went. Brómber looked up at the man from the floor. They both laughed.

The man spoke and pointed behind Brómber. He heard a door close then more words. Brómber did not listen. The slaves heard for him and began to strip him of his clothes, pulling out the shaking flesh within. Brómber fell onto his back as two slaves pulled off his boots, pouring water onto him and causing him to cackle in glee. They slid the breeches off of his legs. The man in fur pulled him off the floor and dragged him by the fire, the whole party following behind in search of heat. The man sat on a wooden stool as Brómber crouched naked on the ground. His teeth crawled out from his lips and his feet stuck out from his legs, nearly every part of his body stretched itself as near to the flame as it could get. The man spoke again. A slave brought over bread and gave it to Brómber. He chewed but did not swallow, letting it dissolve into nearly nothing before he let it into him.

The man put his right hand on Brómber's head and turned the boy to face him. He spoke but was not heard. Brómber's grin was matched by his savior's smirk for a single breath. The man's left hand cracked against Brómber's face.

"I asked of you a question. What are you doing in our hall?"

The water froze Brómber's thoughts in place. He ran his tongue across his teeth, trying to read what Godric had inscribed. The man raised his left hand again and Brómber's lips broke. He puked the words out.

"My name is Brómber and I come alone, save for my horse," he said as the man sent one of the slaves outside. "Yesterday two Englishmen attacked her and then tried to do the same to me. Both now lie dead. I have come to ask for sanc, sanc, sanctuary." The other man opened his mouth yet failed to interrupt Brómber. "Sanctuary from my attackers. I have not silver to give you but I can work. I will earn my place among you and will not eat more bread or drink more ale than made nec, necessary. I am guilty of nothing but defending myself. I have no kin and no lord to defend me. Please take mercy on me. Please..." He coughed and spat up water and acid.

The man in fur took this as an opportunity to interject. He pulled Brómber's head back up to look at him. "I know who you are. I know what you have done. You did it well, or so I hear. Of course those were just boys." The slave returned inside and shook his head. The man in fur sighed before he continued. "There is no horse outside of our hall. It ran away. I am sorry."

Brómber looked up at him. "I am sorry," he repeated.

"Be not. I care not for your horse." The man slapped Brómber's shoulder and smiled. "What matters is you live." The man's face darkened and his smile slid away. "Why were you in the river then?"

"To cross."

"I am not a fool. I know to cross, but why not at the ford, you are nearly frozen and smothered in river water."

"I did not want to be caught."

"But you are innocent, yes?"

"I am," Brómber sputtered, "but..."

"I see. Yes, those Englishmen are brutes and liars. They claim to keep a law but kill when they are afraid. It makes me sick." The man's voice slipped out like a growl. He pulled himself back and forced his lips into a tight grin.

"You are smaller than they say. Younger too. To think they are fearful of this! It is a wonder you killed two so easily." Brómber grimaced at his words. "With a knife too. Not even a sword! Uffa said he saw it from the river. Said they were looking for a fight. One Dane and three chops later and it was over." The man slammed his hands together as he said the last word. Brómber bounced off the floor for a moment, his head jerking toward the flame.

"It is not over now," Brómber said under his breath.

The man sucked his teeth. "But it is, yes? It was all in the light of day. The big one drew his weapon first, yes? You said it was in defense of yourself, yes? So you are fine. In one week's time you will be free to walk the town as you like."

Brómber's eye fluttered but did not close. He coughed again.

"Of course, if Uffa has it wrong and you drew your blade first that would be a darker saga." The man's voice fell with his smile. "So you should hope Uffa likes the first story better." He made a gesture and the slaves left the hall. Brómber could hear the man breathe. He did not reply.

The man burst up and sent the chair to the ground with a thud. "You would need silver. Have you silver?" Brómber shook his head but did not speak. The man circled behind him, passing from his left to his right. "Be not worried, you have someone to speak for you, yes?" Brómber sat still and the man continued, "No, not even your horse. It seems that all you have is your knife and your clothes, and"—the man's legs came into view briefly before he swung his head down and looked Brómber in the eye—"me!"

"I would be wasteful to let you go unused while you still stand. Work for me and you will have a place to stay and maybe enough silver to pay for those bodies. If not, maybe Uffa will like you as much as me." Brómber tried to stand but the man pushed him to the floor with hands on both shoulders. Brómber shook. He clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from shaking with him. The man kneeled behind him, Brómber could feel his breath on his neck. It hardly felt warm.

He came up to Brómber's ear and bit it, whispering, "If you leave here now you will be dead by nightfall. You are Ulf's man now. Say you understand."

Brómber's skin pushed back against the man's thumbs, sapping them of their warmth. He stared into the fire, barely tracing out the priest's words while trying to ignore the panting in his ears. Then there was a groan. The door opened. Then another, this time from the man in fur. The man stood up behind Brómber and addressed the returning Danes. "Brothers, we have a guest."

A slave appeared and wrapped him in a blanket as the people of the hall returned to their places, speaking freely about the overlong mass and funeral and the gangly man by the fire who caused it. He looked to his left and saw Wynflæd sitting and staring at him in silence. He pulled the blanket tighter and turned the other way. Slaves brought him some porridge and some ale. He left the bowl untouched by the fire and chugged the ale. The warmth of the drink met with the warmth of the fire. He heard a horse's whinny outside and his ears twitched. Some water drained from his eyes and his ears.

He decided to focus his attention on something else. The man in fur was speaking to a small woman with light hair. He could hear only half of their words. The other half was not needed. He knew it was over him. "reckless," she said. He spoke softer to her than he had to Brómber. "here?" she asked twice, the second time louder. Brómber stood as they continued to argue and began to shuffle toward them, their words becoming clearer.

"Yes here. Where else?"

"At the church," she replied.

"Church!" he snorted. "A weak fortress for a weak god. They would kill him in his sleep as a sacrifice."

"Ulf, you know that is not true. They are not the wild beasts you think they are."

"And neither is he! Uffa said so, they cut at him first."

"One of the English thralls said otherwise."

"You trust a thrall over Uffa?"

"I did not say that. The blacksmith, he..."

Brómber cut them off. "I will leave."

For a moment they stopped and faced him. Ulf looked back at the woman and said, "See now, Halla," stretching out her name twice as long. "You have scared the boy off. You make him think he is not wanted here."

Her eyes looked Brómber up and down. "He is a man, and I want him not here. You must not do these things without asking us first."

"You were not..."

"Yes," Brómber stammered. "Yes, so I will leave. Your wife is right."

"No!" they cried in unison. Ulf's face twisted and reddened.

"No?" he repeated.

"Where would you go?" she said. "His wife?" she added with a shout.

"I..."

"No. You are here now," Ulf said. "Halla is just mad that I did not ask her first."

"That is true," she said.

"because she is a tyrant," he continued.

"I am his brother's wife," she said with her hand on Brómber's arm and shaking her head.

"Please, listen, I just need my seax and my cloak and I will be on my way," Brómber said quietly.

"You are a fool," she said. "Your cloak is dripping wet and I will not leave you with a weapon in this hall."

"Or a coward. And you have to work!" Ulf added. "I need a man like you."

"I thought I was a boy," Brómber replied.

"Well, you are not a maid." Halla laughed. "You will sleep here until we decide what to do with you." Her eyes turned to Ulf. "All of us."

"You would rather it was just you..." Ulf grunted.

"I would rather Gunnar was not gone!"

"So it is my fault he is not back?"

The two did not seem to notice as their prisoner walked away, too busy with one another. He trudged back to the fire, doing his best to look at no one and see nothing but the flame. He failed and again saw Wynflæd. Her face was perfectly slack besides her open eyes. He broke his eyes away from hers and whispered one of Godric's words, "mercy."

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