‘Hey, Hairydog, would you like another dog to play with?’ Oddo bent down to pluck a curled-up leaf. ‘This looks just like your tail. And these,’ he picked up a handful of sticks, ‘could be legs. Now, we just need a body, and a head . . .’ He gathered a few more leaves and twigs and arranged them in the shape of a dog. ‘I wonder if these are the right plants for magic. Thora would know.’
He sat back on his heels and frowned at the pattern he’d made on the ground. ‘Do you think it looks like a dog?’ He glanced at Hairydog, who was watching intently, head on one side. She seemed to raise an eyebrow.
‘Well, let’s give it a try.’ Oddo drew a deep breath and began to chant.
‘Where only leaf or twig now lies
Make a living dog arise!’
He grinned at Hairydog and waited. Hairydog poked her nose forward.
The curly leaf twitched and began to wag like a tail, and suddenly a little dog stumbled to its feet. It gave an excited yap and tried to run, but its legs were all different lengths and it toppled over. When Hairydog bent to sniff the fallen dog, there was nothing in front of her but a heap of leaves and twigs.
Oddo chuckled.
‘I don’t think I did that quite right,’ he said. ‘Oh well.’
‘Oddo!’ There was a shout, and Bolverk came striding across the ploughed field.
‘Whoops. Better get back to work.’ Oddo grabbed the basket of seed. His father would not be impressed to see him wasting his time on useless spells. Bolverk whistled, and Hairydog raced to meet him.
‘That dog can make herself useful for a change,’ called Bolverk. He jerked his head at the mountain pastures. ‘She can help me check on the lambs.’
Oddo felt his father watching him as he set off down the line of furrows, carefully scattering a handful of grain with every second step.
‘You look after those seeds,’ said Bolverk, ‘just the way you did last year, and we’ll have the best crop in the district again. That greedy neighbour of ours will drool with envy.’ Rubbing his hands, he turned towards the mountain.
Oddo straightened his shoulders. He looked at the ploughed rows of earth steaming gently in the spring sunshine, and pictured them covered with a fuzz of green shoots.
‘All thanks to me,’ he thought.
As he trod proudly forward, he glanced at Grimmr’s farm on the other side of the fence. Working on the rocky strip of ground was a boy about his own age. Oddo had never seen him before.
‘Must be a thrall,’ thought Oddo. ‘I bet Grimmr bought him at the market to do his dirty work. I don’t envy him, working for that bully!’
The boy was struggling to up-end a heavy bucket. Dung poured out, and he began to spread it over the field. Oddo wrinkled his nose, dumped his basket on the ground and flapped his hands.
‘Send me some wind,’ he called to the sky. ‘Blow this smell away!’
Immediately, a breeze sprang up and the odour faded. Oddo grinned and bent to retrieve his basket.
A young starling was perched on the edge, pecking at the seeds.‘Hey! What are you up to? I left some over there for you birds.’ He pointed across the field to where a cluster of other birds was squabbling over a heap of barley. He looked at the thrashing wings and stabbing beaks, then back at the little starling hopefully cocking its head.
‘All right,’ he sighed, ‘just a few more.’ He strode to the boundary wall and trickled a small heap of barley seeds on the ground. ‘But that’s it,’ he said sternly. ‘Leave the other ones to grow.’
Oddo had barely started down the field again, when there was a squawk of indignation. The starling was scolding and flapping its wings as the strange boy from Grimmr’s field leaned over the boundary stones, grabbed a handful of seeds and stuffed them into his mouth.
‘Trust Grimmr not to give his slave enough to eat,’ thought Oddo.
When the boy saw Oddo watching, he straightened, his dark eyes flashing defiantly. His cropped hair stood up in red-brown tufts, like winter heather, and his pale face was dotted with tiny brown specks, like the seeds scattered on the ground.
Oddo took a step towards him and held out the basket.
The thrall screwed up his face and shot a stream of chewed-up seeds in Oddo’s direction.
‘Viking!’ he spat. ‘Tothaim cen éirge foirib uili!’
Oddo reeled back.
‘I . . .’
He shut his mouth quickly as the boy snatched up a lump of dung and weighed it menacingly in his hand. Warily, Oddo turned on his heel. He waited for that clod of dung to hit him in the middle of his back as he reached into his basket and drew out a fistful of seed. He scattered it, moving stiffly, conscious of those eyes burning into him. But when he reached the end of the field and looked round, the thrall had gone back to work.
Oddo puffed his cheeks and let out a breath.
‘Rodent!’ he muttered. ‘That’s the last time I try to make friends with him.’
