Page 48 of Alien Viking's Passion

- Aretha -

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Aretha said as she sat down on the bench, finally getting used to adjusting the rear of her skirt before she sat.

Craxon stared emptily at her. “We’ve never met like this before.”

“I know,” she said. “Just a joke from Earth. Oh, this is a nice evening.”

It was a small clearing between two groves of fruit trees. The farmer, probably Bragr himself, had set up a Viking-size bench in the perfect place to enjoy the last rays of Straum before it set. The trees gave off a sweet scent, and there was a deep buzzing of alien insects in their crowns.

Arranging this meeting had been like in high school. One of Craxon’s huskarls had asked Chen to ask Aretha to come to this spot at a certain time. It had seemed a strange way for a Viking prince to do anything. Where was his brash manner and his confident grin?

Still, it had given Aretha serious butterflies. What was he planning? It had to be something interesting, because his ship was about done and ready to sail to Ragnhildros.

“The evening after a warm day is often better than the day itself, we sometimes say.” Craxon seemed distracted. He was standing up, holding a roll of rough fabric, peering up at the treetops. “But the day isn’t over.”

“Only almost,” Aretha said. “You’ve been busy today.”

“They have needed me to help build the ship. Nobody here has built a ship of that size for many years. But I have helped do it in Ragnhildros. We use ships a great deal still.”

“I was wondering, why haven’t your own people sent a ship to get you? I know it’s far, but not so far that they wouldn’t have been here by now, right?”

“Sailing a ship that far is something we Ragnhildroses usually avoid these days. We have a powerful enemy who will do his worst to destroy them and pull them down into the ocean.”

“Pull them down? So your enemy is a kraken?”

He gave her a blank look. “I can tell you no more about that enemy. But I have brought you something.” He unrolled the fabric and revealed a sword, thin and shiny. “This is the swordFjernstjerna. It was forged last night, from the steel that once was Eira’s own knife. Her fellow huskvens and huskarls gave it to me when I told them what I wanted to do with it. Bragr himself agreed. It will suit you better than the skrymtir weapon.” He held the sword out to her with both palms.

Aretha got up, carefully accepted the cold steel in her hands, and tried a swing through the air. It was lighter and laid much betterin her hand than the piece of rust she’d taken from the skrymtir. “TheDistant Star. I suppose that’s suitable for a sword that’s forged at night. Forged by a prince, perhaps?”

A weirdly joyless smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. I thought it a suitable name for a woman who’s always staring at the sky, wanting the stars to show her which path to take.”

“Oh, you noticed?” The sword felt good. When the blade hit a ray of light from the pulsar above, it sparkled like Craxon’s own sword.

“It’s good for the occasional dream. But your life ishere, right in front of you. Not up above. Anyway, you will have to make a scabbard for Fjernstjerna yourself. And a kvad to speak when you draw it. Now swing it at me!” He drew Krakhogg and got into a fighting stance.

Aretha tried a little slash, afraid she’d hurt him.

“That’s not what I taught you!” Craxon said, his voice suddenly harsh. “Do it right!”

Chastised, she lunged at him and did the same sneaky move he’d shown her. He parried with a lazy move of his own sword, and the blades clanged together.

“It has a different balance than your old weapon,” he told her, “and you’ll find it’s much better. It will not make you as tired. Strike again!”

They circled each other tensely. Aretha struck again, and this time Craxon had to move faster to avoid her edge.

“Yes! Already you’re doing it right. Is it the net in your mind?”

“It helps.” She attacked again, and he parried, sparks flying as their sword clashed.

“You’re faster than most,” he said. “And you are already performing the strike in the best way. Now you simply need the cold anger to kill with it.”

“I hope I’ll never need to.”

“Don’t hope to never be attacked. Just make sure you never lose. Now defend!” Craxon struck out towards her with deceptive slowness. Aretha acted from reflex, and she recognized the neural net’s influence on her arms from the sheer speed she attained.

Again their swords clanged together.

Aretha noticed movement at the edges of the clearing. People had heard the sounds of sword fighting and were coming to watch.

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