Omphalos (Hiccelsa)

Chapter 22

A Week After Wedding

Unn took a long swig of the ale in front of him, frowning distastefully into the flight filtering into his chaotic and rancid abode. Flies buzzed all around, landing on deposits of half-eaten meat and other forms of disgusting decaying material, and the light streaming through a window was covered with a moth-infested cloak. Unn's half-glazed eye glanced around, and his fingers went to the molding plate near him, but found it empty. He took another couple drinks and soon realized that his ale was gone. He threw the glass against the wall.

"OLAV! Get yer ass in her, you incompetent little ass." He cried, but no one scurried in, especially not his right-hand man. What was a person without a second-hand to pour him drinks and discuss their next move with him? Unn scowled, 'OLAV!" He repeated louder, smashing a glass plate in anger.

"Chief." A man, still not Olav, came in, but Unn's anger subsided a moment.

"Garthar." He growled, and Garthar had to hold his breath in the stench of the room, coupled with the fumes wafting from Unn's body and mouth. He'd always known his leader to be not the cleanliest of guys, but ever since that little shit Hiccup of the Hooliagans had roughed up Unn, things had gone downhill.

"Garthar." He repeated, turning his whole body around, "Where is Olav?"

"Olav hasn't been seen for a week, chief, sir." Garthar coughed, making the mistake of sucking in deeply.

"Humph." Unn grumbled, picking some old meat from underneath his finger nails, "Likely got him killed." He said, "I require more ale. And food."

Garthar was about to leave when a faintly buzzing dim that had once been a minor irritation now grew louder and louder. Unn turned his head sharply toward the windows, as did Garthar. Garthar scowled; more riots. Unn seemed unconcerned.

"Where is my son?" He asked, turning back away and poking a pile of unidentified mush with his foot.

"He's with the maid, shall I call him in?" Garthar turned to leave already to fetch Unn's five-year-old son, Einar, but Unn waved a hand.

"No, let him. Perhaps he can get something from the wrench, eh?" Unn asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow. Garthar locked his jaw.

"He's five, I doubt it." Unn seemed a little surprise, but his son's age was not something he kept careful track of either way, so he brushed it aside.

"Never too young to start." He muttered. The riots seemed louder now. Drunkenly, Unn stumbled to the porch over-looking the main area where they seemed to be gathering. Garther followed hastily; worried his chief may fall over the edge. Unn, in times like this, may be difficult to follow, but he had to stay loyal. Unn was a god-figure; he was the true leader that had brought their once-laughed-at tribe to greatness. Now, no one questioned the savageness of the Lava Louts. They stood strong; the only tribe to refuse to accept dragons as pets. Garther touched his own vest made of a dragon-hide, which had kept him warm and safe on many an occasion. They were pests, like rats, that's what they were. Pfft, those other tribes thinking they could be domesticated. Or loved.

Idiots.

"They look hungry." Unn said, leaning forward.

"Yes, well." Garthar was quite sure that although there was no shortage of food for Unn, he was quite unaware of the droughts and the plague that had claimed the crops and killed the fish, "They have no food."

"So they come to me?" Unn sounded disgusted.

"You are our god-chosen leader." Garther reminded him. Unn scoffed.

"If they whine to me about food, they don't deserve to be here. Women and children, they can go and hunt, can they not? They have arms!" He cried.

"of course they do." Garthar agreed. The crowd was wild now, people were waving weapons around and approaching quickly.