Epic by Conor Kostick Page A

back over his shoulder.
    “Really, Dad?” Bjorn sat up. “What was it like? Was it working?”
    “Oh, yes.” Rolfson nodded. “It was fast. You had to be careful not to get in the way as it came along the road. Very low. The driver’s head would not have come above my belt.”
    “That’s really tech. I hope we get to Mikelgard and get to see them.” Bjorn beamed at the others.
    “If we do win places. It’s a shame we didn’t get one more win and then we would have been in the compulsory places.” Erik didn’t want them to get their hopes up too high.
    The cart paused as a herd of goats, bells jingling, crossed the path.
    “Oh, don’t be a spoiler, Erik.” Now that she did not need to hold on to the side of the cart, Sigrid used her free hands to wave away his pessimism. “Nobody outside Mikelgard has done this well for years.”
    The sun was just beginning to redden as their cart jolted over the last hill. Orange and brown light filled the fields of olive trees that surrounded their houses. Not long now and Erik would be in the kitchen, telling his parents everything about the tournament. He felt hungry and was looking forward to a large dinner. Even if they had eaten already, his mum and dad would sit with him to hear about the day’s competitions.
    “Strange,” said Rolfson. “What’s Freya doing on the roof?” Sitting up, Erik could see a yellow light reflected from the ax blade that his mother was bringing down vigorously near the solar panel.
    “Is it broken already?” Bjorn’s brow furrowed. “That’s bad luck.”
    A cascade of sparks flickered like fireworks from her next blow; it was followed by a painful groaning sound as the panel lurched partway down the roof, causing a flock of starlings to flit away towards the sea.
    Another flashing strike with the ax, more sparks, and the panel slid to the end of the roof, cables pulled taut behind it.
    Erik jumped from the cart and ran. Something was wrong.
    “Erik!” shouted Injeborg. But he did not turn.
    Dashing through the trees, eyes jumping from the path ahead to his mother on the roof, her ax raised for a final blow, Erik was still far away when the crash echoed through the valley. A thousand glass bottles dropped together would not have created so much volume. Nor would they have made such a hideous splintering sound, as though the sky itself had been wrenched and cracked apart. Up on the roof, his mother fell forward, hiding her head, sobbing into her arms.
    “Mum, Mum!” Erik burst into a yard that was now strewn with thick black slabs of glass, the bigger pieces cracking and sliding as he made his way precariously over them, feeling them slide beneath his feet, grinding down into the stone.
    “Mum! What is it?” Erik gasped out, a hand clutching his side, his head craning back to look up to his mother.
    “I hate it. If only I hadn’t wanted a new one,” she called out, crying. “It’s your dad. They’ve taken him into exile. I knew it. I should never have told him to play for us. I knew it was too risky.”
    The horse and cart arrived. Everyone was silent, looking slowly up to the roof and down to where Erik stood as though at the edge of a sea of black ice that had been compressed and shattered, blocks sliding over one another. He could not bear their expressions of concern and confusion, so, without a gesture or word to them, Erik fled inside.
    Much later, his mother joined him in the kitchen, her eyes red. Both of them watched the small flames inside the stove, neither looking at the other.
    “What’s happened, Mum? Where’s Dad?”
    “On his way to the Isle of Roftig.”
    “The island for exiles.” Erik was bewildered. “But why?”
    “A long time ago, when we were both in University, he hit somebody.”
    “Dad? Hit someone? Never.”
    “Yes, he did.” Freya heaved a big sigh, the only sign that it was a struggle for her to keep her voice level. “Another student called Ragnok Ygvigson. Harald punched him in