Authors: John Flanagan
Tags: #Fantasy, #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Action & Adventure, #General
The Outcasts (44 page)
The feel of the ship was totally different now, like a thoroughbred after a plow horse. The hull vibrated. The rigging hummed in the wind. Hal leaned out over the rail to see where
Porpoise
lay. She was close to the harbor, although still on their starboard bow. Her oars were thrashing white foam from the sea. He measured their relative courses with one eye shut.
Porpoise
lay. She was close to the harbor, although still on their starboard bow. Her oars were thrashing white foam from the sea. He measured their relative courses with one eye shut.
Neither ship was gaining on the other. They were heading for a collision at a point about one hundred meters away. Whichever ship was forced to turn away would lose the race—and the entire contest.
He looked at the sail, hoping they might find a few more meters of speed by re-trimming. But he could tell there was nothing left.
Fifty meters. Forty. Still on collision course. Hal swallowed. His throat was dry. Gort had edged closer to him, watching him carefully. Suddenly, he sensed that if a collision was inevitable, the instructor would grab the helm from him and turn the ship downwind, behind the
Porpoise.
Porpoise.
Then it happened. The harbor mouth was barely eighty meters away when a rogue wave, bigger than its predecessors, came at them from the northwest.
Heron,
taking it at an angle, slid gracefully over it, swooping down its back.
Heron,
taking it at an angle, slid gracefully over it, swooping down its back.
A few seconds later, the wave hit
Porpoise
head-on. The bigger ship staggered, checked momentarily by the impact.
Porpoise
head-on. The bigger ship staggered, checked momentarily by the impact.
On board, one of the crew was hurled backward from his bench into the rower behind him. The ship crabbed awkwardly with the sudden loss of thrust from two oars. She swung sideways. The rowing crew scrambled desperately to recover and get the ship under way again. Tursgud, at the helm, dragged on the steering oar to bring the ship back on course, but the momentary interruption was all the
Heron
needed. She knifed past the bow of the other ship, angling for the entrance to the harbor.
Heron
needed. She knifed past the bow of the other ship, angling for the entrance to the harbor.
At the last moment, Hal laid the steering oar over and swung the ship’s bows to port, slipping gracefully into the calm waters inside. He could hear the cheers starting from all around, then he looked up in horror and saw that
Wolfwind
was back in her normal position, alongside the wharf and right in his path.
Wolfwind
was back in her normal position, alongside the wharf and right in his path.
“Get that sail down!” he screamed. As the yard slid down, he hauled the ship’s bow farther to port, scraping by the moored wolfship with only meters to spare.
He heaved a gigantic sigh of relief, and then the realization hit him.
They had won. The Herons were the champion brotherband for the year.
Celebrations. Congratulations. Felicitations. Commendations.
The outcasts, eight boys, who nobody had wanted in their brotherband, had triumphed and Hallasholm was going to celebrate in style, with an enormous feast held on the Common Green. The day became a whirlwind of cheering, back slapping, and smiling faces. Hal was delighted when a certain blond-haired girl slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. Even more pleasing was the thunderous sight of Tursgud’s face when Lotte did so.
Among the thronging, happy crowd, Tursgud was the one standout who refused to congratulate them on their success—although all of his crew did so.
The first to offer his congratulations was Gort. He slapped the lightly built skirl on the back and sent him staggering.
“Well done, boys!” he bellowed. “I knew you had it in you!” Then he paused and added, more truthfully, “Actually, I didn’t. But I hoped you did! And you did!”
Rollond, surprisingly, was the second. He shook hands with each of them.
“You deserve it,” he said. “You are the champions.”
But the most special moment came when Hal, shoving through the crowd of well-wishers in something of a daze, came face-to-face with his mother and, just behind her, Thorn.
He hugged his mam as tears streamed down her cheeks. She told him over and over again how proud he had made her. Then she stepped back and made room for Thorn.
For a long moment, Hal and the old seafarer looked at each other. Then Thorn gathered him into a crushing bear hug.
“No words. No words,” Thorn managed to croak, around a large lump in his throat. But the pressure of his hug increased, and when Thorn finally released his young friend, Hal could see there were tears running down the man’s weathered cheeks.
And that was worth more than anything words could say.
Then Erak was upon them, shoving his way through the excited, shouting crowd. He grabbed Hal in a huge hug, crushing the breath out of him. Hal had a moment to wish the Skandians could find another way to express their affection.
“Well done! Well done! You’d have made your father a proud man! You’re a true Skandian now, boy, and that’s a fact!”
Hal beamed. His heart swelled with pride inside his chest until he thought it might burst with sheer pleasure. All his life, he’d felt like an outsider. Now here was the Oberjarl himself, publicly expressing his total acceptance.
“Mind you,” Erak said, “I told you those spars were too light.”
“You could be right,” Hal said. After the accident with the port yardarm, he was in no position to argue. But Erak’s statement reminded him of something that was on his mind.
“Oberjarl … ,” he began and Erak slammed him on the back with a ham-size hand.
“What is it, boy? Anything you need! You’re the toast of Hallasholm today!”
The people surrounding them cheered and shouted their agreement. A few of them waved ale mugs to show their sincerity, and managed to slop ale over their neighbors.
“The wind’s getting up still,” Hal said, “and I don’t like to leave my ship on the beach. It’s a little exposed to the northwest. I’d like to get her back round to her mooring in Bearclaw Creek.”
“No problem there!” boomed Erak. He turned and yelled over his shoulder. “Svengal! Where are you?”
His former first mate appeared at his elbow. “Here, chief,” he said.
Erak put his massive arm around Hal’s shoulders. “Our champion skirl here is worried about his ship. Take a half a dozen men and row her round to Bearclaw Creek. He has a mooring there.”
“Right away, chief,” Svengal replied. He turned away, calling the names of half a dozen of his crew to join him. Erak tilted his head questioningly at Hal.
“Satisfied?” he said and when Hal nodded, he boomed at the top of his voice. “Then let’s get this party started!”
chapter
forty-one
forty-one
B
efore the party really got started, there were certain formalities to be observed.
efore the party really got started, there were certain formalities to be observed.
First, Sigurd declared that the members of all three brotherbands were deemed to have graduated from the training program. They were now eligible to serve as crew on a wolfship. To mark the fact, each of the twenty-eight newly declared warriors was presented with a horned helmet. They stood in a large group, examining their new headware with pride. A few tried them on, and hurriedly removed them when they felt how heavy they were. Hal looked at his doubtfully.
“Not sure that my head is big enough for this,” he said to Thorn, and instantly regretted his choice of words.
“A few more hours of everyone telling you how wonderful you are and it should be,” the old sea wolf replied innocently.
Hal sighed. “I walked into that, didn’t I?” he said, and Thorn nodded happily.
Then Sigurd read through the scores and declared that the Herons were the winners for that year. The margin, taking into account some demerits that had been applied in the last week, was a mere twenty points. He called upon the winning team to assemble on the podium with him. The eight boys moved forward, deafened by the cheers of the crowd, and stepped up to receive Sigurd’s congratulations. Then the chief instructor handed each of them a copper bracelet. These bracelets, engraved with a symbol of a heron, were tangible proof of their status as that year’s champion team.
Hal looked at the copper band, his eyes clouding with tears of pride. Stig brandished his to the crowd and was greeted with cheers. Ulf and Wulf promptly began squabbling, each claiming that the other had received the bracelet meant for him, until Jesper told them sharply:
“They’re exactly the same, you idiots. Just like you two!”
Then Gort came forward, accompanied by two Skandian warriors carrying a table full of weapons. Each Heron member was presented with a new weapon—corresponding to the one he had trained with. Axes for most of them, and swords for Hal and Edvin. However, unlike the notched, battered weapons they had been issued for training, these were brand-new, well made and perfectly balanced—although, in Hal’s case, his father’s sword was far superior. Still, the presentation sword was a further indication that they were the champion team and he accepted it gratefully.
Then it was Erak’s turn to speak. The Heron team was ushered into position on either side of him. Hal was on his right hand, Stig on his left.
“What a brotherband!” he declared. “A thief, a touchy first mate, a shortsighted bear, a joker, two twins who can’t tell each other apart, a bookworm and a skirl who doesn’t know the right shape for a ship’s sail.” He beamed at all of them, then added, “I can’t think of better qualities in a wolfship’s crew.”
The crowd bellowed their agreement. Mind you, with the number of ale barrels that had been broached already, they would probably have bellowed their agreement if Erak had declared that from now on, the sun would rise in the west and everybody must walk on their hands when it rained.
He held up his hands for silence and the noise slowly died to a low hubbub. No crowd of Skandians would ever be completely silent.
“As you know, each year we have a special honor for the winning brotherband—to show them our admiration and our trust in them as newly initiated warriors.”
The crowd leaned forward and a mutter of anticipation ran through them.
“This year’s winners, like all those before them, will be privileged to serve as the honor guard for the Andomal, for one night.”
Hallasholm’s most treasured and valuable artifact was kept in a tabernacle inside a small shrine on the hill above the town. It was attended day and night by a rotating honor guard of six warriors, men specially chosen for their courage and prowess in battle. Only the finest warriors could aspire to guard the Andomal.
Hal looked at his companions. Like him, they were overwhelmed by this honor. He shook his head. They had been the outcasts, the unwanted ones, and now they would be guarding Skandia’s most precious relic. They had come a long way.
“Your term as the honor guard will begin at midnight,” Erak continued. “So I suggest that for the next few hours, you busy yourself with feasting.”
At ten minutes to midnight, the Heron brotherband assembled and, to the cheers of the celebrating people of Hallasholm, marched away from the Common Green. Under the direction of Erak and Sigurd, they climbed the steep path to the shrine, bearing the new weapons that had been presented to them. From here, they looked down on the town of Hallasholm, and out to sea. Hal paused, looking around at the spectacular view. He sighed happily. He wondered if life could get any better than this.
Then, he led the Herons to the foot of the earth platform where the shrine was built.
“Who goes there?” a voice boomed out. A large, helmeted figure stepped forward to the edge of the platform. As form dictated, Hal replied.
“The Heron brotherband, champions for this year. Here to relieve you as honor guard until dawn.”
“Then step forward, champions, and take our place,” the sentry called. The Herons began to surge forward in an unruly mob, but Hal’s sharp command stopped them in their tracks.
“Stop! We’ll do this properly, not like a rabble! Form in pairs. Stig, call the step!”
Hastily, they arranged themselves in two files and marched up the stairs, Stig calling cadence for them. They halted, facing the six guards, now lined up to meet them.
“Warriors, we relieve you,” Hal said. Erak had told him the formula to be exchanged. The guards grounded their axes and inclined their heads. More of a nod than a bow, Hal thought.
“Heron brotherband,” their leader intoned, “we stand relieved. Keep safe the Andomal.”
“It will be safe with us,” Hal replied and the other brotherband members added a growl of agreement. The guards’ leader stepped forward and shook hands with Hal. That was a departure from the usual ceremony, he knew.
“Well done, Hal Mikkelson,” he said. Hal felt his chest swell with pride. Then the warrior gave an order and, with his five companions, strode down the stairs, leaving the Herons with Sigurd and Erak. Erak shook hands with all of them, then bade them good night.
“You’ll be relieved at dawn,” he told them. “Enjoy the honor.”
Sigurd echoed the thought, then they were left alone with the Andomal.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Hal told his teammates. “The rest of you might as well get some sleep.”
It had been a long, hard day and the other boys needed no second urging. They settled down on the packed earth in front of the shrine, wrapping themselves in their cloaks or sheepskin jackets. For some minutes, there was a desultory buzz of conversation; then, one by one, they grew silent as sleep claimed them. Hal patrolled the edge of the platform. He was wearing the sword he had been given earlier that night, although he didn’t expect to need it. The honor guard at the shrine was more ceremonial than practical. No Skandian would ever attempt to steal the Andomal.
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