They had just collected the remaining meat from the shadowcat he had killed the day before, and now they were traveling north toward their settlement.
He had been hesitant to follow when he first realized the elders were leading them farther north years ago. He knew what lay in those lands, or at least from what he remembered, and he still did not know the exact timeline he was in. The elders did not track years the way more civilized lands did, and he had yet to meet anyone who could name the current year. That uncertainty kept him wary. Still, in the end, he had chosen to follow. No one in their clan, or in the neighboring clans, had spoken of the dead rising, so he could only assume he was still far from those certain events. But he had swore that if he ever truly saw the dead with his own eyes, he would not hesitate. He would run as quickly as he could. And so far, he hadn't seen them yet.
Or perhaps he was wrong. Maybe this wasn't truly the world he had watched in his first life, but merely one that bore striking similarities to it. Only time would reveal the truth, or perhaps he would, when he finally chose to travel south in search of answers.
Ivar stopped and glanced over his shoulder. They had been traveling for more than half a day without rest, and he felt a quiet satisfaction seeing that his band could keep up with his pace. He then looked ahead and continued on. After another three hours of trekking through the snow-covered land, he finally recognized the familiar signs that their settlement was near. He halted once more and waited for the others to catch up. Haldor reached him first, barely out of breath.
"Thought ye wouldn't stop walkin' till we reached the settlement," Haldor said, unstrapping the heavy bundle from his back and letting it drop.
"Ahhh…" He stretched his arms and back.
"Are we eatin' here? I'm so hungry I reckon I could eat the whole elk." He patted his stomach for emphasis.
Ivar smiled faintly and glanced at the others drawing closer. "No. We'll move once everyone's here. This is the first time we've brought back so much meat. We'll divide our portions here before we head in."
Haldor looked at him, puzzled. "Why? Couldn't we just divide th' meat when we arrive?"
Ivar looked at Haldor and couldn't help but think, what a f*cking innocent idiot. He had noticed a pattern over the years: every time they brought back meat, no matter how little, Haldor would fall for his mother's tears and tales of starving for days. He would hand over his entire portion without hesitation, only to come back later asking Ivar for food. The big, broad-shouldered fool had a heart far softer than his build suggested. Ivar wasn't against the idea of sharing with one's own Ma, even if that same Ma had once cast him out, but a man had to leave enough for himself to survive. Only then could he continue providing for others. In the end, Ivar could only sigh. More often than not, he found himself feeding the idiot from his own portion.
"I don't want the others seein' us dividin' the meat," Ivar replied, shifting his gaze to those who had just arrived and giving them a small nod. "An' I'll be takin' half of yer portion, in case ye come crawlin' to me later askin' fer more."
"What?!" Haldor stared at him in horror, then his expression turned fierce. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat when he met Ivar's gaze.
Ivar fixed him with the same look he wore during training, cold and unblinking. He lifted a hand and crooked his fingers. "What? Ye want t' fight? Come."
Haldor hesitated. After a long moment, he shook his head. "I don't want t' fight. But why?! It's my own portion!"
"Because ye're always askin' me fer food after givin' yers away," Ivar said evenly. "Consider this meat payment. Ye can ask me fer some later, on credit."
He lowered his hand and looked away, already bored of the argument.
"What?! What's credit? It's my foooood!" Haldor protested, waving his arms wildly toward the pile of meat.
"Enough," Ivar cut in. "The others can testify how much food ye've taken from me. When ye've got nothin' left, come ask. I'll give ye some."
He waved him off and walked toward Ulf and Hilde.
"We'll divide the meat here. Gather everyone."
Ulf raised a brow, then understanding dawned. "Aye."
He turned to the others. "Everyone, bring what ye're carryin' here."
They gathered in a loose circle upon the snow, laying down the elk meat and the shadowcat meat in a single heap. Ulf crouched in the middle with a knife in hand, jaw set in concentration as he began dividing the portions carefully. He measured by weight, size and by eye, making sure no one could claim unfairness. The others watched in tense silence, boots shifting in the snow, breaths misting in the cold air.
Ivar did not involve himself. He sat off to the side upon a flat stone, arms resting on his knees, observing their surroundings without comment. He trusted Ulf's sense of fairness.
When the portions were finally arranged into neat piles, Ulf began handing them out one by one.
When it came to Haldor's share, Ulf hesitated only a heartbeat before slicing it cleanly in half.
One half was placed in front of Haldor. The other was carried over and set down before Ivar.
Haldor stared at his reduced pile as though someone had struck him. Then his gaze slid slowly toward Ivar.
"This ain't right…" he muttered.
Haldor looked back at the meat. Then at Ivar again.
His lips trembled. "That's half my elk an' shadowcat meat…"
A strangled sound left him, half outrage, half despair. He dropped onto the snow and covered his face dramatically. "I worked fer that…"
A few of the others snorted.
Ivar ignored him entirely. He rose to his feet, gathered his own portion along with Haldor's half, and secured them together.
"Enough sulkin'," he said calmly. Then he gestured forward. "We move."
The band lifted their shares and began marching once more.
Behind them, Haldor scrambled up with a miserable sigh and hurried to catch up, clutching what remained of his hard-earned elk.
It didn't take long for them to reach the end of the path. Before them stood a wall of branches and thick bushes, so carefully arranged that, unless one looked closely, it would seem nothing more than tangled growth. In truth, it was a man-made cover.
Ivar stepped forward and pushed aside one of the branches. The others followed his lead, shifting the brush just enough to reveal a narrow entrance hidden behind it. Without looking back, Ivar slipped inside. He had already checked their surroundings before reaching the hideout and was certain no one had followed them.
He waited until everyone had passed through the tight opening before giving his orders. "Maera. Boroq. You two cover the entrance."
They nodded and moved at once to restore the camouflage, weaving the branches back into place.
Ivar then turned to the rest of the band. "We'll rest fer a few days. Hope ye don't finish yer meat before we head out t' hunt again."
A few chuckled, their eyes drifting toward Haldor.
Haldor, in particular, stared straight ahead, refusing to look at any of them.
Ivar gave a small nod to the group, then turned and walked away, heading toward the center of their settlement on his own while his band waited for Maera and Boroq to finish.
He hadn't walked far when he passed several clansmen and women, the old and the maimed who hadn't joined Bjorn on his last raid. He gave them brief nods as he went by. They watched him with open curiosity, their eyes drifting to the meat he carried. A few even called out, asking what he had brought back, but he ignored them and kept walking.
Truth be told, he was surprised they had lasted this long. Some had died during the last winter, aye, but those who remained possessed a will to survive as unyielding as the Frostfangs themselves. They lived on scavenged roots and wild fruits, scraping by on whatever the land offered.
At times, when he grew tired of meat, he would trade a small portion for their gathered roots and berries. Others from his band, and even some from Yrna's, did the same.
But not now.
For now, he would keep his meat. Perhaps in a few days when he grew tired of eating it again.
The narrow passage began to widen as he reached the heart of their settlement. It was nothing more than a fissure between massive rocks, opening into a broad hollow at its center.
He was about to mind his own business and head straight to his tent when Yrna called out to him.
"Oi! Ivar!"
He sighed and stopped, waiting for her to approach. When she did, he looked at her and asked plainly, "What?"
She stared at what he was carrying instead of at him. When she recognized the hide, her eyes widened before she finally met his gaze.
"Ye hunted this with yer own band? How many died?"
Ivar chuckled at her reaction. "Not one. They're comin' now. Ye can count 'em yerself."
"Impossible." Yrsa shook her head, then her expression hardened. "Someone else hunted it, an' ye brats stole it."
"What's the matter, Yrsa?" Thyra, one of her warriors, stepped to her side. The moment she recognized the hide slung over Ivar's shoulder, she blurted out, "Shadowcat?"
Her eyes snapped back to him. "Where'd ye steal it from? Ye sure ye weren't followed?"
At that, Yrsa's band began gathering around them. Even the widows who had chosen to remain independent, neither joining Yrsa nor Ivar, drifted closer to listen.
Ivar's eyes narrowed. "Watch yer mouth," he said coldly. "I hunted this meself. Now move. It's heavy."
No one stepped aside.
So he moved instead, circling around them. As he passed Thyra, she suddenly grabbed a fistful of his old fur cloak and spat at his feet.
"Where d'ye think ye're goin'? Enough with the lies. Where'd ye get it?"
Ivar looked down at her hand gripping his fur. Fury rose fast and sharp.
He let the bundle drop, freeing his arms. It hadn't even hit the ground before he moved. His fist shot forward, aimed straight for her jaw.
The punch landed clean.
Thyra didn't even manage a shout. Her body went slack, and she collapsed onto the snow.
Seeing Thyra fall, Yrsa and her band reacted at once. Weapons were drawn and leveled at him.
"Why'd ye do that?" Yrsa demanded. "She only asked ye a question."
Pain throbbed in Ivar's knuckles, but he didn't show it. His gaze moved slowly from one weapon to the next, then settled on Yrsa.
"She grabbed my cloak," he said evenly. "Ain't that reason enough?"
His eyes hardened. "What? Is this what ye want, Yrsa? A fight?"
He spread his hands slightly, unarmed. "If ye want it, fight me fair. Don't be a craven hidin' behind yer whole band just to face one man, no, not even a man yet. I haven't even grown a beard and not a single hair on me wee-wee…"
He hadn't expected her to move like this, gathering every member of her band just to stir trouble with him.
His reputation in the clan had been growing ever since he formed his own band, from bringing meat back time and again to leading his young warriors through winter even though they were still brats. He had even heard whispers that he was Bjorn come again. He hadn't paid it much mind, but he knew such talk would invite jealousy. And it hadn't taken long for him to see it in Yrsa and her band.
Every time he and his band returned with game while hers did not, the look in their eyes when they watched him had grown sharper and fiercer, as though they were waiting for him to fall. It had sharpened even further when she lost three warriors during the winter while he had lost only one. That was when he knew it was only a matter of time before they acted. These people were such simpletons that even such a small reason like jealousy was enough for them to kill.
But to act like this? Were they expecting him to be intimidated with this? Were they trying to show him who was boss? Sadly for them, he hadn't lived two lifetimes before for nothing.
Yrsa's ears turned red at his words, and she stepped closer to him. "Fight, ye said? D'ye think ye can walk away after sayin' that?" She then turned to those gathered around them, Thyra forgotten on the ground. "He said it himself. Said he wanted to fight me. Then we'll fight."
Her band smirked, as though they had been waiting for this moment, as if what had happened to Thyra was nothing more than a fluke. He couldn't entirely blame them. They had never seen him truly fight. The others who remained neutral simply watched with interest, as if this were nothing more than a spectacle.
Yrsa was about to continue when Ylva's voice cut in.
"What're ye ramblin' about, Yrsa?" she said sharply as she stepped forward. "Have ye starved so long ye've lost yer wits? Lookin' fer a fight with a brat who hasn't even grown hair below yet?"
She came to stand beside Ivar.
Freya arrived shortly after. "Did I miss a meetin'?" she asked, pushing her way through the crowd to stand beside Ylva. "What're we gatherin' fer? Have we decided which clan t' join?"
Ylva quickly explained what had happened. Not long after, Freya let out a sharp laugh.
"Have ye gone mad, Yrsa? Ye want t' fight Ivar? Ye'd find yerself dead soon enough."
She had never seen Ivar truly fight, but from what her son had told her about their escapade during their hunting, and from the game his band had brought back over the years, she had come to believe that Ivar was not someone to trifle with.
Yrsa snorted and looked first at Ylva. "He's the one lookin' fer a fight. I'm not one t' back down, no matter who stands before me."
Then she turned her gaze to Freya. "An' who're ye callin' dead? Might be him who ends up in the snow."
She turned to her warriors. "Give us space."
They obeyed at once, forcing the crowd back. Even Freya and Ylva were pushed aside, though they struggled for a moment before relenting when they saw Ivar give them a small nod.
Just then, Ulf, Torren, Hilde, Haldor and the others arrived. They slowed, confused, taking in the sight of Ivar standing alone in the clearing with Yrsa before him and her band forming a ring.
They were about to rush forward despite not knowing what had happened when Ivar glanced at them and said calmly, "Stop right there."
Then his lips curved faintly. "An' watch me pummel this bitch."
Yrsa and her band snorted at his words, while Ulf, Torren, Hilde, Haldor, and the rest still wore confused expressions. Only after hearing the explanation from the nearby clansmen did their lips slowly curl into smirks, as if they already knew how this would end. Even so, they shot Yrsa and her band fierce looks for cornering Ivar with all her warriors present. They shifted closer, positioning themselves opposite Yrsa's band, ready to intervene if anyone tried to cheat.
When Ivar saw Thyra being dragged away, he suddenly remembered the cubs inside the bundle at his side. He unlatched it and lifted it into his arms before opening it. Two small heads popped out at once.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Yrsa's eyes widened for a brief moment before she let out a mocking chuckle and glanced at Freya. "See? Even if I do nothin', this Ivar's already seekin' his own death. Sooner or later, when those shadowcats grow, they'll eat him. Better t' end this now so he won't suffer later."
Ivar ignored her entirely. He picked up the bundle he had dropped earlier and walked over to Ulf.
"Watch me food, and these two."
He shoved the bundle into Ulf's arms, along with his bow, without waiting for a response. Then he returned to the center of the clearing.
Drawing his sword from his side, he gave it a few slow swings, loosening his arms and letting the weight settle comfortably in his grip.
—-----
Seeing that both Freya and Ivar ignored her, Yrsa's irritation flared. She swung her axe a few times, loosening her arms just as Ivar had done. He might have been young and green, but she would not let her guard down. She had seen too many warriors fall because of carelessness. And she knew Ivar understood the blade. She had watched him train, he was skilled, far more than most his age. He was tall for his age too. She had grown together with Bjorn and knew that Bjorn was not that tall and strong at his age.
And that's one of the reasons why she had to end him early. Before Ivar could go so strong that she couldn't fight him any longer.
If only he had joined her band instead of forming his own. She might have made him her second. He was sharp in the head as well as the hand. She had thought many times about how to deal with him. She had wanted to grow her band stronger, but the brats who should have followed her chose him instead. Then there were the whispers spreading through the clan, how good he was at huntin', gatherin', and fightin'. That he was Bjorn come again.
She could not allow that.
The clan had been speaking of joining another clan to survive, but she did not want that. She wanted the clan to remain as it was, and for her to stand as the chieftain. She couldn't remember how many times she had dreamt of that already. And to do that, she had to remove the only obstacle standing in her way.
Fortunately, Ivar had done her a favor with only a little provocation, calling for a fight himself. That saved her the trouble of finding a way to challenge him without looking like a fool in front of her band and the rest of the clan. Killing him publicly would serve her well. Even if some muttered about how it began, it was Ivar who had called her out. All she needed to do now was finish it.
She briefly considered ending it in a single strike, cutting him down swiftly, then presenting her case to the elders while his body still bled in the snow.
Her gaze swept over the crowd, locking eyes with several of them before settling back on Ivar. She swung her axe once more, testing its weight.
"Brat, ye son of a bitch," she called, "don't forget, ye did this to yerself."
Then she roared, "Fight!"
And rushed at him.
—---
Ivar had intended to give her a swift end. His knuckles still throbbed from striking Thyra earlier, and the long march weighed faintly on his legs. He wanted this done quickly. But the moment she spat, 'Son of a bitch,' something in him shifted. He could be many things. But 'a son of a bitch' was not one of them.
When she charged, he drew in a breath and let his qi flow. It coursed through his limbs like fire through dry grass, tightening his muscle, and sharpening his senses, slowing the world just enough.
Yrsa swung her axe in a brutal arc aimed at his neck.
He stepped aside smoothly, the blade cutting nothing but air. As her momentum carried her forward, he turned his wrist and struck, not with the edge, but with the flat of his crude sword.
The crack rang out sharply. The blow landed across her back.
Yrsa staggered and pitched forward, crashing into the snow. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Ivar retreated three calm steps, blade lowered but ready. He could have cut her then. The opening had been there. Instead, he did not. He wanted her to feel the humiliation she had so eagerly sought.
She rose with a snarl, fury burning in her eyes, embarrassed by the ease with which he had avoided her.
"Stand still an' fight me head on, ye craven!" she roared, charging again.
This time she aimed low, attempting to cleave through his thigh. He pivoted, letting the axe bite into the snow. Before she could wrench it free, he drove his foot into her wrist.
Pain jolted through her arm. Her grip faltered. The axe slipped.
Ivar followed with another strike of the flat of his sword, this one across her shoulder. Metal struck fur, then bone. The sound echoed through the crowd.
She dropped to one knee, clutching her shoulder and wincing.
The crowd had fallen completely silent.
He circled her slowly.
"Come again," he said evenly. "Yer too slow."
With a furious shout, she seized her axe once more and lunged upward, abandoning all defense. The weapon came down in a reckless overhead strike.
Ivar stepped inside the arc. Too close for the axe to matter. His fist drove into her stomach, forcing the air from her lungs. Before she could recover, he thrust the tip of his sword into her ribs and drove it forward. The blade sank deep, until it burst through her back. He withdrew and stepped back, letting her mind catch up with what had happened.
She looked down at the sword embedded in her, then back at him. Horror overtook her fury.
"W… wait…" she managed to whisper. Then she collapsed into the snow, staining it red.
Ivar would have liked to toy with her longer, but his qi was already thinning, and the fatigue from the march crept into his limbs. So he ended it there. He turned toward her band, meeting their eyes one by one. Some lowered their heads. Others stared back at him, shock and fear written plainly across their faces.
After holding each gaze, he drew in a breath and roared, "Is there anyone else?"
The crowd remained silent. For a moment, he wondered if they had even heard him.
He roared again. "I said….. Is there anyone else?"
He waited.
A full minute passed and no one stepped in.
Relief flickered quietly within him. Had someone accepted, he might have paid dearly for his challenge.
A faint smirk curved his lips. "I thought so."
Then he turned, walked toward Ulf, who stood grinning, and took back the cubs and his meat.
He then left and the crowd parted as he passed.