Erik is sitting on a wooden fence surrounding a small field. Alvin is squatting in the field, taking seeds from a leather pouch and planting them.
Erik: Al, try to keep them in rows, and evenly spaced. A drunken man's footsteps make straighter lines than you.
Alvin: Sorry. You're not far off.
Erik smiles.
Erik: Too much ale last night? And too little sleep, I imagine.
Alvin: Uh...yeah. So how long will it take these to grow?
Erik: Nine weeks should be just about enough until harvest. Carrots are easy. Just check the soil once a week, and water them if it's dry.
The sun comes out from behind a cloud. The lenses of Alvin's glasses darken. Erik gasps.
Erik: Al, your eyes!
Alvin: What? Oh.
Alvin takes off his glasses, wincing in the sunlight, and shows them to Erik.
Alvin: It's just my glasses. They...they're...well, they're magic. They go dark in the sun to protect my actual eyes.
Erik stares into Alvin's eyes.
Erik: Your actual eyes are such a dark brown. I've never seen that color.
Alvin stares back, then hastily puts his glasses back on and returns to his planting.
Alvin: So, uh...have you ever thought about getting married?
Erik: No. But I suppose I'll have to, someday. If anyone will have me.
Alvin: 'Have to'?
Erik: It's a Viking's duty to marry and have children.
Alvin: So I've heard. But what about personal freedom?
Erik: What do you mean?
Alvin: I mean a person should be able to marry whoever he wants. Someone he loves. Or not marry at all.
Erik shakes his head dismissively.
Erik: No.
Alvin: No?
Erik: No, it doesn't work that way when you're part of a clan.
Alvin: How does it work, then?
Erik thinks.
Erik: Look. When the clan builds a boat, or a new house, everyone helps. You can't just sit idly by the fire and say: 'That's not my house.' It's your village, and you have to help build it. A clan also needs new people.
Alvin: But marriage – that's personal. No one should feel they have to marry.
Erik: If a person belongs to a clan, he can choose to. Anyway, why are you arguing? Didn't you just get married yesterday, to uphold your Viking duty?
Alvin: I guess. And because I owe Solveig my life.
Erik: So you agree love doesn't necessarily come into it.
Alvin: I didn't say that! It's complicated.
Erik: On that we are agreed. Anyway, let's tend to the things we have more control over. Such as not crowding your carrots by putting ten seeds in one hole. When you're done, we could try some archery.
§
Erik and Alvin are standing in a field, twenty yards away from a strawman mounted on a post. Alvin is holding a bow and arrow. Erik is standing behind him, placing his hands on Alvin's hips, shoulders and elbow, to correct his posture.
Erik: Line your feet up towards the target. Lift your elbow so you use your shoulder muscles. Now shoot!
Alvin looses the arrow and it arcs into the strawman's left leg.
Erik: Good! Ready to try one on your own?
Alvin: I think you should show me again.
Alvin notches another arrow onto the bowstring and lifts his bow. Erik adjusts his stance again.
Alvin shoots another arrow and hits the strawman in the stomach.
Erik: Excellent! Now by yourself.
In quick succession, Alvin shoots three arrows into the strawman's heart and both eyes.
Erik: Al!
Alvin smiles innocently.
Alvin: Yes?
Erik: You've done this before! Why didn't you say so?
Alvin: I did take archery lessons in coll...when I was younger. But it's been a while.
Erik: I'm impressed! You must be quite the hunter.
Alvin: Oh, well, I'm not bad.
Erik: What's your favorite prey?
Alvin: Have you heard of...cockroaches?
Erik: No. But they sound fearful.
Alvin: Most people think they're terrifying.
Erik: How big were they?
Alvin: Huge!
Erik: How many kills?
Alvin: Oh, hundreds.
Alvin and Erik hear a whacking sound coming from the direction of the target. They turn to see Sten lopping off the strawman's head and arms with three brutal slices of his sword.
Sten walks toward them.
Erik: Why would you do that?
Sten: Just checking to see if my sword needs sharpening. I think it will serve. I'm sorry, were you not done killing it? I would think it's easier when your foe is tied to a post.
Alvin: What do you want, Sten?
Sten: I came to do you a favor, Jarl Al.
Sten lands on the "Jarl" with withering scorn.
Alvin: Can it wait? We're busy.
Sten: No, it won't wait. I spotted fresh boar spoor up on the ridge, at the edge of the yew forest. From the size of it, it looks like a big one. I was sure you'd want to take advantage of such good fortune.
Alvin: Thanks, but no thanks. I need more practice.
Sten: Come, now, I'm sure you're just being modest.
Erik: He is, actually. Al is an accomplished hunter and an excellent marksman. Better than you, in fact.
Sten sneers.
Sten: I'm happy to hear that. We must have a competition some time. Now remember, if you find the boar, the Jarl must be the one to make the kill. Otherwise he won't fulfill the Task.
Erik: Thank you, Sten. What would we do without your sage advice?
Sten: I do wonder. Good hunting. May your day end in blood.
§
Erik and Alvin are stalking through the woods, with Erik in the lead. Bows and quivers are strapped to their backs.
Alvin: You know, maybe we should take a moment to think about this. Do we really have the right to take the life of a living being? Morally speaking. I mean, a boar eats and breathes. It feels pain and has emotions. It has babies. Really, when you think about it, a boar is no different than you and me.
Erik: With one crucial difference. Morally speaking.
Alvin: What?
Erik: It's delicious with dill sauce.
Alvin: Erik, try and open up your mind. I know you can if you want to.
Erik doesn't reply, but continues to stride through the forest, treading silently on the carpet of yew needles. Alvin is panting with the exertion of simultaneously jogging and lecturing. He crunches heavily over twigs and pebbles.
Alvin: I can see you don't want to. But listen, we've been out here forever. This boar's long gone, if he ever existed in the first place.
Erik: He's out there.
Alvin: How do you know Sten isn't playing a trick on us? I wouldn't put it past him.
Erik: Vikings don't joke about spoor.
Alvin: Really? Fire demons do nothing but joke about spoor. Don't spoor where you eat. Same spoor, different day. Spoor happens.
Erik turns back to look at him.
Erik: Quiet, Al! You make enough noise to scare off fifty boars.
Alvin mouths "Sorry", waits for Erik to look away, and jumps on a fallen branch, producing a loud crack.
Alvin: Oops.
They continue to weave their way through the trees. Erik suddenly stops and points. Alvin collides with his back.
In a small clearing, a boar the size of a young bear is snuffling at roots.
Erik steps behind Alvin and whispers.
Erik: Shoot for the eye. Quick! Before he smells us.
Alvin notches an arrow and lifts his bow. He hesitates, grimacing. He aims carefully at the middle of a tree trunk.
The boar jerks its head up, looking in Alvin's direction.
Alvin is startled by the sudden movement and releases his arrow reflexively, without correcting his aim. The arrow arcs towards the boar and pierces its ear. The boar squeals in rage, and with the arrow flapping from its ear, aims its sharp tusks at Alvin, and charges.
Alvin is frozen as the crazed boar charges towards him.
Erik: Al!
Erik steps in front of Alvin and shoots an arrow into the boar’s chest. It grunts and collapses to the ground with a thud. It continues to groan piteously.
Erik: Make the kill shot.
Alvin stares at the boar, horrified.
Erik: Al! The beast is suffering.
Al comes to his senses, steps forward, and shoots an arrow into the boar’s head. The boar lies still and quiet.
Al sits down hard on the ground and drops his head in his hands. Erik crouches beside him. After a moment, Erik tentatively touches Alvin’s shoulder. Alvin looks up at him, eyes filled with tears.
Erik: I thought you said you were a hunter.
Erik studies Alvin’s face, then gets up and takes out a hunting knife from the sheath at his belt. He steps over to the boar, slits open its belly, rummages squelchily among its organs, and carves out a gleaming purple slab of flesh. He stretches a bloody arm out to Alvin, offering it him. Alvin recoils.
Alvin: What is it?
Erik: Liver. My father used to say: if your own liver fails you, borrow another’s.
Alvin: No, thank you. I thought you hated blood.
Erik: Why would you think that?
Alvin shrugs, not meeting Erik’s gaze.
Erik: Has Sten been telling tales?
Alvin: No.
Erik stares at Alvin with narrowed eyes, then bites into the raw liver, juices streaming down his chin. Alvin watches in revulsion for a moment, then looks away.
§
Alvin and Erik walk into the village in the late afternoon, Alvin in the lead. Each is shouldering the end of a branch from which the slain boar dangles by its bound feet.
As they walk, they collect a train of admiring children, the boldest of whom stick their fingers in the boar’s mouth and jump back, giggling.
Hearing the commotion, Sten steps out of his house and bars their way, looking grim. Alvin and Erik stop.
Sten: So. Did you make the kill shot?
Alvin looks at Sten defiantly.
Alvin: I did.
Sten looks suspiciously from Alvin to Erik.
Erik: He did.
Sten grunts and steps aside.
Alvin and Erik walk on, carrying their kill.
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