“Now, let’s get to the second competition for today,” Pengill shouted, clapping his hands together. He produced five knives from his bag. A dark smile spread across his features. “The bloodletting. Each Munrskipan, pick a single contestant.”
“I’ll go,” Berg said not more than two seconds after. He stepped toward the Jarl, and took one of the small knives from his hand. He held it loosely in his hand, and stared out toward the crowd of boys. His eyes were hard and posed a challenge, but Astra knew better than to rise to the bait. If she did she would be crushed. Someone bigger had to be chosen.
Astra knew just the man, too. She turned not toward her brother, but toward Drago Stern. The curly blond stared at Astra with no fear in his eyes, and Astra smiled.
“Drago, how would you like to represent our Munrskipan?” she asked, folding her fingers together. She placed them just under her sternum, and crossed her legs after just a moment. Drago locked eyes with her, and she felt as though she could see into his soul for just a moment. It was steady, and sure. She knew he would not lose. Drago nodded.
“I can do that for you, Vinr,” he replied, and stood up. He trotted out to his brother, and when he got near the larger man he stiffened. His muscles locked up, and his eyes closed after he had received his knife.
Astra glared over at Odin and Alf, both of which were staring at her and Rune. Their gazes were hard, and Alf looked like he was about ready to devour the smaller of the pair, Rune. Astra’s hand curled into a fist as Alf licked his lips.
“I’m going to catch them,” she swore, then added Qozuna, the goddess of vengeance, onto her phrase. She might as well if she was going to take vengeance for Fergusen’s death in the form of locking his murderers away.
Jun and Ameqran looked at each other, each wearing a similar mask of bewilderment. Then they shrugged, wordlessly dismissing the statement as one of the occasional ramblings their leader had. Rune crawled over to Astra and pulled up to her ear.
“How are we supposed to do this?” Rune questioned. “How will we get them to confess?”
“I don’t know yet,” Astra confessed. “I’m working on it.”
To help herself concentrate, she had Enok retrieve her throwing knife. Just as she was about to throw it for the first time, Pengill interrupted her with a shout.
“Now, let’s get started! Hemming, you can make the first cut,” he proclaimed. Astra gazed over at the five boys. Hemming Bjorn, Berg Stern, Drago Stern, Mikkel Caisen, and Tor Valdemarsen stood in a line. All of them were mostly undamaged, but they still had bruising around their faces and necks.
Hemming lowered the blade to his arm. Quickly, he slashed a long mark sideways across the middle of his forearm. He winced as blood flowed from his arm and dribbled down onto the smooth flooring of the Kinerell. Astra’s stomach churned. She was happy that she hadn’t gone up there, but butterflies flittered around in her stomach for her dear ones who were.
Astra averted her arms as Berg moved to cut himself. This practice wasn’t what she had bargained for when she had signed up for training, but she had to go through it to achieve her dream. That didn’t mean she had to watch, though.
Astra tossed her throwing knife into the air as high as her head. She felt Odin’s eyes on her, burning a hole into her forehead. She shivered as she caught the knife and sent it back into the atmosphere.
“How could I do this?” she murmured. Her eyes were focused on the knife as it glinted in the torchlight. She knew that Odin had to have a weakness, and all she had to do was find it and exploit it.
She threw her knife just a few more times before the solution wormed its way into her mind. As she watched her knife descend into her hand, her gaze landed on Alf Arnesen. A slow smile spread across her face, and her eyes lit up.
“Gotcha,” she whispered, and tucked her knife back into her pocket.
She glanced back at the boys who were trying to outdo each other by injuring themselves, and was horrified to see that three of them had already fallen. Only Hemming and Drago remained, each slashing his arm at careful intervals, and each cut was deeper than the last.
Astra pulled herself to her feet, holding her hand out in silent protest to their actions. She limped toward the cluster of people, and shoved through the mass to get to the front.
“Let me through,” she growled, and the last few parted to allow her to move forward.
Blood poured from both Hemming’s and Drago’s arms, and the pool that came from it was expanding over the solid floor. Astra’s stomach churned, and she looked at Pengill for some form of explanation. The man was eyeing the two boys with a ferocious hunger that caused Astra to reel. She took a step back, her eyes widening at the horrific scene before her.
Hemming and Drago had similar expressions on their faces: a determined look that was broken by pain every time the knife descended. Crimson liquid overwhelmed Drago’s arm, and Astra couldn’t see flesh at all from his wrist until his shoulder. Astra’s eyes began to sting.
The other boys from all Munrskipans were cheering the two remaining boys on. Of course, there were a few that wore Astra’s expression of disgust, but the group was predominantly made of those who had an expression similar to the Jarl.
“Stop,” Astra murmured. She lifted her head. “Drago, enough. You’re done now.”
“They have to keep going,” Pengill hissed. Astra took a step away from the crowd, toward her subordinate.
“Drago, I don’t care if we lose. You’ve done well,” she told him, though a grimace was evident on her face. Her nails dug into the skin of her palm.
Drago looked up from slashing, and Hemming stopped as well. Drago’s eyes began to fill with tiny tears, but he was strong enough to hold them back. He opened his mouth without saying anything for just a few seconds.
“I did?” he questioned. His tone was plaintive, like a small child being told he did well for cleaning up after himself. Astra nodded, a small smile appearing on her face.
“Yes, you did,” she murmured. Drago dropped the knife, and it splashed into the blood. He fell to his knees, and Birgir ran forward from the crowd. He caught his brother under the arms just before he fell face-first into his bodily liquids.
Hemming took two steps toward Kennet before he tripped and crashed to the ground. Two small boys, Esben River and Theodore Gulleita, rushed to his aid. They pulled him away from the rest of the group, and though Astra was curious to see how her good friend fared, she had a responsibility to care for her crew member. She moved toward Drago, murder slipping her mind for just a few moments.
Enok helped Rune make his way to Drago, and the healer knelt down next to his brother. Drago held him away with the arm that was less injured, and stared at him.
“What happened to you?” he asked. “That’s some serious damage.”
Rune shook his head. “I’m fine. Enok, get my bag. It’s in the corner, next to your things.”
“I’m on it,” the blond twin assured, and ran off to grab the small black satchel. When he returned, he set it next to Rune. “As ordered, one bag,” he quipped.
