#i wannaa... lay on top of her

[luvdisease]

dont read the tags or do this is embarrasing i need to gush

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 29) Bird of nightmare

.-.-.

“I am the youngest offspring of Ragnar Lothbrok, the most famous Viking who ever lived,” Ivar spoke, pressing the back of his head against the board that separated the boxes. After his disgraceful meltdown, he felt the need to overcompensate and in all honesty, his royal blood seemed like his last resort. 

Piglet paused her knitting, she’d been trying to patch the destroyed potato sacks together, giving him a long bug-eyed look that she eventually broke off to continue  her work. 

Ivar couldn’t tell if she believed him or not, but she wasn’t mocking him yet, so he continued: “he was a king, a legend. And I was destined to be at his side, to die, by his side-” he paused and let out a long deep sign, “-but I failed to do so. It displeased the Gods, so now I’m here. With you, enslaved and ruled out of dying with dignity. Which means I will either die an unworthy death, or of old age, which I highly doubt. Doesn’t matter though, both won’t grant me access to Valhalla. Which means I will never see my father, nor my brothers and mother, again.”

In the shimmer of twilight, it was hard to see, but Piglet’s eyes slowly welled up with tears and although she furiously rubbed her face, it was evident she’d been touched by his revelation. 

It again brought Ivar back to the great puzzle that was Piglet, the still nameless slave maiden who time after time surprised him with the tricks up her sleeves. 

But before Ivar could reminisce about Piglet’s past, the maiden jolted up and dropped the bags.

“UTSTOTT!” She exclaimed, and hastily started to move her hands through the blanket of hay. Ivar could feel the color drain from his face and cursed himself for not thinking about the tiny white raven sooner. 

Piglet hurried to pick up her broom and started sweeping the shed, while Ivar scanned every inch of his box with his eyes and hands. He checked everywhere, inside his trough, underneath the loose planks of the floorboard, and clenched his jaw when he noticed all the ripped pieces of potato bag. What if, during his fit of rage, he’d ripped off the hatchling’s wings as easily as he’d destroyed the tough fabric? 

“Seek upstairs!” Ivar ordered with a voice that skipped a few beats, when Piglet returned empty handed from her search. 

What if he stomped it? What if he killed it? 

Ivar swept away hay and scraped his palms over the sandy floor until his box was empty. 

“He vanished”, Piglet mumbled sorrowfully, as her search upstairs had been fruitless as well, “maybe you scared him off and he escaped?” 

Ivar threw her an annoyed glance and motioned to the door, “we’re locked up, he’s small, but not small enough to pass through the door’s lock!” 

Ivar shoved his trough aside, turned over a bucket that lay in reach and checked the floorboards again all while Piglet pushed and pulled herself through cattle.

A soft caw made both of them freeze, the sound was almost inaudible and sounded from far, far away. But it was there, dull and muffled, as if there was a thick wall in between them. 

Ivar covered his ears, trying to locate the side the sound was coming from. A caw echoed from the attic, but the moment Ivar wanted to scold Piglet for being such a lousy seeker, the sound stopped and traveled downstairs, over the boxes and ended underneath Ivar’s floorboard.

  Ivar’s mouth dropped; because that featherless chick could in no way possible travel so fast on his own. He’d seen it wobble through the shed, there was no way those naked feathers could carry his weight. 

Piglet must have realised that too, because the slave maiden glanced around the corner of Ivar’s box with huge eyes, shock written all over her face. 

Ivar didn’t know what held him back and eventually decided it could not be fright when he pulled up the plank of the floorboard. Expecting Utstott to be seated on top of his humble treasury; woodcarvings, nails, the knife and sling, Ivar’s face went completely blank when the baby bird wasn’t there. 

A caw came from up close and Piglet let out a petrified shriek, hastily moving down at Ivar’s side. Casting anxious skyward glances, she pinched Ivar’s shoulder and huddled close to him.

“Voodoo!” she whimpered and cried out when a high pitched caw blared right over their heads. Ivar froze and could feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He recalled his first weeks inside the shed; how he’d battled fever and the mare riding his chest. He also recalled vividly how he’d witnessed his father being devoured by a flock of ravens. 

When he regained strength, he simply brushed it off as feverish dreams intensified by the mare. Yet, during the feverish days, he’d been staring into the shadows, petrified to register tarred feathers and beaks inside the darkness of the shed. 

A gust of cold night’s air made the pair duck their heads down, instinctively Ivar shoved Piglet down to the floor and reached for the knife, although he highly doubted it would do any damage. 

The cawing continued and it started to frighten the animals inside, for they could sense the unnatural atmosphere. 

To make matters worse, Piglet’s body went completely limp, only to abruptly shoot into a series of spasms. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me”, Ivar hissed through his teeth and hastily dragged the young woman onto her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue. Her eyes were all white while her limbs convulsed in quick and odd motions. 

Piglet’s unconsciousness made Ivar feel utterly alone and exposed. Raising the knife in his fist, he held his breath- all while holding onto Piglet’s chin to prevent her from banging her face into the floor. 

Another caw cackled through the shed; it didn’t come from one side, no- it seemed to twirl in circles. 

It was then and there that Ivar realised he could either whimper as a coward or face the unknown abomination hiding inside the shadows. 

“SHOW YOURSELF!” Ivar roared, rising up to his knees and puffing his chest out. 

‘What are the odds of survival?’ Ivar asked himself. He was in chains, crippled, and his only ally lay in a seizure down on the floor. 

As an answer, the cawing evaporated and all went quiet inside the shed, aside from the soft frightened noises of the animals. 

Ivar’s eyes darted through the room, scanning all shadows and dark corners. Surely, this couldn’t be the end of it? 

A small beak appeared from around the corner of his box, causing Ivar to withdraw and land on his arse. To keep a slice of his dignity, he struggled back onto his knees and watched the tiny hatchling hop over Piglet’s makeshift line. There was a bit of smugness in his strutt as he blinked a couple of times; one eye glazed and milky white, the other a vibrant blue. 

“What are you?” Ivar whispered, pulling Piglet close and keeping the knife raised above his head. 

Utstott tilted his head, puffing up his humble feathers as he hopped toward Ivar. Like a half naked, fluffy ball, Utstott inched closer and closer. For some reason, Ivar sensed that the bird knew he’d be able to kill it, yet that  didn’t stop him. Utstott didn’t fear Ivar. 

Inch for inch, Ivar lowered the knife until he placed it down onto the floor and reached his hand out to the hatchling. 

Contentment seemed to beam from the tiny creature as it seated itself into the palm of Ivar’s hand. 

“What are you?”, Ivar wondered, calmer this time as he watched the bird peck at its own feathers, “what are you?”.

.-.-.

Piglet and Ivar did not see eye to eye; the slave maiden was convinced Utstott was ‘black magic’, an evil creature summoned from Jahannam, a place of blazing fire and the final destination of sinners. 

Despite  Piglet’s conviction, Ivar still couldn't put his finger on what Utstott actually was, and decided to keep him. 

Utstott sided with Ivar, with a raspy caw the bird sat on his shoulder and refused to leave that spot. 

“Fine”, Piglet eventually settled, “but you lock it up!” 

So, Ivar forced a deeply insulted Utstott inside a crate and placed his trough on top of it. He highly doubted the bird would remain inside of the makeshift cage, but it calmed Piglet’s fear.

Another day of scrubbing started and with that, rain started to pour down. Usually the task was pointless, now it was simply a joke. Ivar spent the first few hours of dawn soaking wet; his hair became one with his face, wetly draping over his bone structure. Muddy water splashed up everytime someone hastily passed him, hurried to find shelter inside. 

Oh, but Ivar continued his pointless task, gritting his teeth as the Giant watched him from the doorway. The large man stood with  crossed arms, contently watching his slave from up high and dry. 

Another dreadful and overall wet day ended and Ivar’s knees soaked the hay as he was returned to his shackles. The moment the Giant left, Ivar plucked at the cuff of his tunic and hastily peeled it off; he wasn’t cold per se, spring had been kind to him today. But removing the soaked fabric from his skin felt like a blessing. 

Piglet silently picked up his clothes and hung them out. Throwing a few blankets to his side, she paced around the shed for a few moments before casually mentioning:

“I think Utstott died”, as she watched how Ivar’s face fell, she quickly added: “he didn’t make any sound all day”. 

Ivar’s eyes shot to the crate and he crawled toward it, picking it up, he shook the wooden box. He didn’t hear the sound of Utstott’s aggravated caws, nor did he hear a tiny limp body toss and turn. 

���He vanished again”, Ivar explained as he showed Piglet the empty crate, “see?”. 

“By Allah…”, Piglet’s voice faded as she stared in shock at the emptiness inside the crate. She faltered down onto her knees and started a prayer: “Bismillaahir-Rahmaanir-Raheem . Qul 'a'oothu birabbin-naas . Malikin-naas . 'Ilaahin-naas . Min sharril-waswaasil-khannaas. Allathee yuwaswisu fee sudoorin-naas. Minal-jinnati wannaas”. 

Ivar simply rolled his eyes and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders: “don’t be such a wimp Piglet, he did not do anything harmful to us”. 

“That’s easy for you to say!” Piglet snapped through her prayer, “you’re Viking, you’re religion is an interplay of wickedness and bloodshed. The place you call ‘hell’ is a simple wasteland for the weak. My version of hell is an endless circle of pain and suffering and I will not put my soul on the line for your demonic bird!”.

Perfectly on cue, Utstott came teettering from underneath Piglets skirts, causing the slave maiden to scream bloody murder. Jumping onto the tips of her toes, she tried to kick the little hatchling.

Utstott managed to avoid Piglet’s toes and quickly ran toward Ivar for safety. He made one final jump, flapped his little wings, and landed onto Ivar’s lap. 

“Hamar! Idiot! Thick-head!” Piglet cursed him, as Ivar clapped his hands and started laughing. “You’re damming yourself! I won’t be a part of this!” 

Ivar continued laughing and shook his head as Piglet barged up the stairs to the attic. Petting the tiny bird, he watched Utstott puff up his feathers and close his beady eyes in content. Later that night, Piglet eventually moved to Ivar’s side, instead of remaining upstairs. The fear of the danger that lingered outside of the walls of their shed victored over the fear she held for the little white raven. 

.-.-.

A/N: For those of you who’d like to be refreshed, I highly suggest you re-read chapter 5; ‘Eaten Alive’, that’s the chapter where Ivar’s fever gets the best of him and he sees his father being devoured by ravens. 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I’m very curious how you feel about Utstott.

Xoxox Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)