Varg stared at Vol.
He sucked in a deep breath. It was a responsibility he had guarded like treasure. As if speaking of it would release it, like a captive bird. He swallowed.
“I do not know all that happened. Some of it is… blurred,” he said.
“Tell me what you know, then,” Vol asked him.
“It is for my sister, Fr?ya. She was murdered.”
“Yes,” Vol nodded, “this we know.” A look came over her face, a pain shared with Varg.
“I understand love for a sister,” Vol whispered, squeezing Varg’s hand. “My own sister is… missing. I worry for her.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Varg said.
Vol shook her head. “It is probably just my thought-cage, making things seem worse than they are. Uspa is strong. I imagine I will see her soon.” She looked at Varg. “So, you were telling me…”
“All right then,” he said, summoning the strength to tell his tale. “Fr?ya and I were sold to a farmer, Kolskegg, when we were young. Five, six winters.” He shrugged. “Kolskegg was not a kind man. All Fr?ya and I had were each other. We were close.” A smile twitched the corners of his mouth at the memory of his sister. “So close that we came to know how the other felt, without having to say it. Just a look. And as we grew, even when apart I could…” He looked up at Vol. “I could feel her, in here,” he touched his chest. “It sounds like I am moon-touched, saying it out loud, but it was real.” He paused as he dealt with the surge of memories. “One day I was out clearing a new field of rocks for a winter pasture, and I felt her scream. I felt it in my bones. I knew something was wrong.” Another pause, then he continued. “When I got back to the farm I was told that Kolskegg had sold her. This was a year ago, I do not know to whom. Kolskegg told me that if I continued to fight for him in the pugil-ring, earned him enough coin and won the pugil-purse of our district, that I would buy my freedom, and maybe even enough to buy Fr?ya back. He said if I won this last fight that he would give me a sack of coin and the name of those who bought her.”
“Did you win, brother?” Torvik asked.
“Aye,” Varg muttered. “I won. Though I was beaten and battered. Afterwards I was carried back to Kolskegg’s barn and flung on a pile of rotting hay, could hear Kolskegg and his freedmen celebrating their win in his hall. As I lay on the ground, I…” He choked on the words. “All the time we were apart, I knew she was there. That Fr?ya was well.” He shrugged. “I just knew. But as I lay there, tasting my own blood in my mouth, I felt her scream. And then I felt her die.” Muscles in his face twitched and his fists clenched, knuckles white. A tear rolled down his cheek. Torvik reached out and squeezed his arm.
“I got up,” Varg continued, wanting to get it all out now that he had begun. “I went to Kolskegg and asked him for my coin, asked him to remove the thrall-collar around my throat. He laughed, said he would be a fool to ever allow such a gold-bringer to just walk away from him. I…” Varg looked down at his hands, shook his head. “The next thing I remember, my hands were around the throat of one of his freedmen, crushing the life from him. They were dead: Kolskegg, all of them, the walls of the hall covered in their blood, pools of it glistening on the ground, and I was stood there among them, chest heaving, blood-drenched. I found the key to my collar, took it, and a purse of coin, and ran.”
A silence settled among them.
“And that is why Leif Kolskegg hunted you, for the murder of his father,” Vol said. It wasn’t a question.
“It wasn’t murder,” Varg snarled.
Vol just looked at him, held his gaze and Varg returned it, fierce, raw.
“And you have something of your sister?” Vol asked as she looked away. “If I were to attempt this akáll I will need a link to her.”
“Aye. I have a lock of her hair from a comb she left behind.”
“Good,” Vol nodded. She looked up at Varg, sympathy in her eyes. “You are aware, an akáll will show you the last moments of her life? That could be hard for you. They will not bring you joy.”
“I understand,” Varg said, “but I must know what happened to her. I have sworn vengeance on her murderer. I will see who did the deed, in an akáll.”
Vol squeezed his hand.
“Will you do it?” Varg asked her.
“I will speak to Glornir,” Vol said. “He is chief; it is his decision.”