The Eighth Lost Tale of Mercia: Canute the Viking Read Online Free PDF Page A

uneasy; but Tosti
reached out and clutched his hand, squeezing it gently where few
could see, and this gave Canute the strength to respond. “Very
well.”
    Tosti grinned, his wiliness returning as his
hand slipped away again, and then he dashed into the dimming light.
“This way!” Struggling not to look too eager, Canute made after
him.
    And behind him, several dozen Jomsvikings
followed after.
    Tosti led him away past several shacks,
through various sparring and weaponry arenas, until they approached
one of the primary living lodges, in which most the men slept.
Canute hesitated. “What in Valhalla would be here? ”
    Tosti only paused at the entrance to wave
inward. “Come and see!”
    “Don’t be stupid,” he growled, though Tosti
had already disappeared within the lodge. He realized he spoke to
no one but himself. Once again he sensed the large crowd behind him
like a cliff’s edge; one step back and he would fall into the
abyss. “Too late now,” he muttered.
    He followed Tosti into the darkness of the
lodge.
    The building smelled of sweat and dirty
blankets, as it usually did. His lips curled and he kept moving. He
thought that if Tosti was given the choice, surely he would want to
stay in more comfortable quarters, like Canute’s. Fortunately, the
lodge was mostly vacant of bodies right now—at least until Canute
and his followers arrived.
    Tosti knelt down by what must have been his
own bed and rummaged through a pile of belongings next to it.
Canute struggled to repress his trembling. What on earth did Tosti
have to show him? For some reason, Canute dreaded finding out.
    “Here!” cried Tosti, and held up a sack. Only
a small object seemed to occupy the sack—but that small object was
moving. Tosti grinned from ear to ear as the bag swayed in his
hand. “Close the doors!” he called.
    Someone obeyed, trapping them all as
witnesses to whatever was about to occur.
    When Tosti opened the sack and the black bird
flew out, Canute did not feel surprised. He did not feel much of
anything.
    There, captured and released for Canute’s own
sake, was a raven.
    His breath fled his body and left him
standing, transfixed, watching the dark wings flap. The raven’s
reach extended further than he had imagined; it seemed a tremendous
creature, almost monstrous, within the confines of the lodge. It
cast a sharp silhouette against the waning sunlight, trickling
weakly through the cracks of the walls, slicing at the brightness
like so many knives.
    But the sound emitted suddenly from its
gullet was the most awesome, and terrifying, feature of all.
    No one else in the room dared make a noise,
anyway; but even if they had all raised their voices at once, the
caws of the raven would have cut through the sound. It shrieked
with the agony of a magnificent creature contained for a day within
a woolen sack; it screamed with the rage of its injured pride; but
most of all, it cried out with the despair of a dying soul.
    Its caws grew louder and louder, shriller and
more piercing, until it released the power of its wings in a sudden
burst. It sped through the air like a dark streak of lightning,
propelled towards the largest beam of light from the wall.
    But the raven struck the wood, its cry
stopped sickeningly short. The beast bounced back, drooped, and
plummeted to the floor.
    Thud.
    No one moved for a long while. No one said a
word. Canute delayed inhaling for breath until his head swam with
dizziness. Meanwhile his eyes remained locked on the black,
unmoving shape on the floor, like a blot in his vision blinding him
to everything else. Sensation returned to his limbs first,
trembling; then stretched to his fingertips, curling; then came
rushing out of his throat.
    “ No! ” he cried.
    He rushed to the crippled creature before he
even became aware of what he was doing; he pushed gawking men aside
in order to make his way to the beast. He swooped down to its side
and reached out, hands shaking, to grab it. He gasped as it