*
The walk back to Jom seemed much longer when their muscles ached, their bodies were slick with sweat, and they both suffered scrapes on their feet. Canute noticed some blood in Tosti’s footsteps, but Tosti did not even seem to care, so he said nothing.
In fact, they were both in unexpectedly jovial moods.
Canute felt elated by the day’s events, which were a bright and colorful blur in his mind—all but for the sharp moment still hanging in his memory when Tosti had kissed him. Had he only done it to distract Canute? He had not done anything like it since, even though they had continued to explore the land together and develop their fighting skills. They had even paused to give each other tips and suggestions. Canute flushed with anger the first time Tosti critiqued his methods for swinging a punch, but he swallowed his pride and found that when he allowed Tosti to help him, he did in fact improve. Never in his advice to Canute did Tosti suggest a tactic so strange as the one he had used to win their match.
A long silence hung over them as they walked, and the sun’s waning light surprised Canute, for he felt as if the day had passed in a matter of hours. For the most part he felt more peaceful and fulfilled than he had for a long time, and it calmed him the way he and Tosti never struggled to stay in stride with each other, but walked together with a synchronized rhythm.
At long last, however, Tosti broke the silence. “So tell me about the birds.”
Canute sighed. He could not go back on his word now. “When I was born, a runewoman saw a raven perch on the roof of our lodge. The raven stayed there until the moment I came out of my mother’s womb and started crying. Then ... it flew away.” He grew quiet again.
“So?” Tosti pressed.
“So ... my mother took it as a sign that I was chosen by Odin to become very powerful, even more powerful than my brother Harald. Father, however ...” He stopped walking, grimacing as if his knee was in pain and this was reason enough to catch some respite. He went over to a tree and leaned against it, the bark massaging the bare skin of his back. Tosti propped his elbow against the trunk and stared at him expectantly.
“Sweyn believes in Jesus now,” the other offered.
Canute made a noncommittal grunt. His father claimed to be a Christian, but Canute wondered if he only acted as one for political convenience. “He said that if the raven was truly Odin, then Odin chose to abandon me.”
“And what do you think?”
Canute turned away, feeling his stomach churn within him. Tosti’s granite-like gaze suddenly seemed hard to endure. “I think it means nothing.”
“Then why do you keep looking at the sky?”
“Because ...” His chest ached as he took a deep breath. “That is the strangest part. I’ve never seen a raven in my life.”
“What?”
The surprise in Tosti’s voice stung. Canute scowled at him. “From a very far distance, perhaps. But never close by. It is as if they are always flying away from me.”
Tosti was quiet a moment, then he chuckled softly. Once he started chuckling, something seemed to release within him, and he burst out laughing.
Canute watched him with a curious expression. “Do you find the gods amusing?”
“Sure,” he said gleefully. “Don’t you?”
The Viking prince considered a moment. “I think the gods are very real. And I think they are no laughing matter.”
At last, Tosti stopped laughing. “So you’re not Christian?”
“I’m not sure yet. The Christian God seems real to me, as well.” He looked up at the sky, its hues shifting to red with the setting sun. “It seems to me that all the gods are fighting now, and Jehova will be the victor.”
Tosti’s face held a strange expression, torn between grimness and the lingering urge to laugh. Canute turned to face him, and stared at him long and hard.
“The strongest god will be my God. It is as simple as that.”
The look on Tosti’s face changed again, this time into something completely new. His eyes darted from one section of Canute’s face to the next, restless, searching. He leaned closer.
Canute pushed himself from the tree and stepped forward. Tosti glided back slightly, swaying in his usual graceful way, dancing with a moment of hesitation. Then he grew very still. Canute moved closer, holding Tosti’s eyes with his own. Tosti breathed quickly, his chest rising and falling rapidly with the strain, his thick lips parting. Canute reached out and put his hand against Tosti’s chest, pressing until he felt the racing beat of Tosti’s heart against his palm. Tosti trembled, and Canute feared that he might flee. He slid his hand up, around Tosti’s neck, and gripped it tightly.
Then he pulled Tosti close and kissed him.
At first Tosti went completely still, his body so stiff it seemed that all the water within him had frozen to ice. But Canute only pulled him closer, gripping him until he melted. Tosti’s arms folded around Canute, his braids tickling Canute’s chest, his thigh sliding along Canute’s.
Their hips locked, only for a moment; then Tosti jumped away again.
Canute felt dizzy, his breath gone as if Tosti had taken it with him. His eyes swam, his hands searched, but Tosti only drew further away.
“Hey … hey!”
Tosti turned and ran.
“Tosti!”
The young Jomsviking only ran faster.
Canute fell back, his raw shoulder colliding with the tree and knocking the breath back into his body. A tremor wracked him, and he yelled with rage.
He remained there a long while, and did not move again until the sun had nearly fallen.