CHAPTER 6 – MORE PERILS
Muus returned to the world on gusts of consciousness. Slowly he became aware of the hard floor against his back.
‘Kjelle?’
‘You're awake.’
Blinking his eyes, Muus recognized the theynling’s face.
With Kjelle’s strong arm in his back, Muus sat up. ‘A cave?’ Then he saw Birthe. 'You here? What happened?'
‘Swinne,’ the two said together. Birthe’s reaction was the fiercest and Muus looked at the girl’s bandaged face.
‘You’re the völva’s pupil. Did you leave the lady alone?’
‘She's dead.’ A lament sung from Birthe’s lips. With her arms around the bag on her lap she rocked back and forth, her eyes turned inward.
‘Swinne’s men have killed Asgisla and her people,’ Kjelle said. ‘While they plundered Belisheim, Birthe came to warn me that we had to flee. I couldn’t wake you.’
‘And then?’ Muus clenched his fists.
‘Then I carried you. That meager body of yours doesn’t weigh much.’ Kjelle looked at him obliquely. ‘You’re eating too little.’
‘A hunk of bread, now and then,’ Muus said. Then he grasped Kjelle’s hand. ‘Thank you.’
The theynling snorted. ‘I didn’t want to lose you, Bryt. You're the only one who can confirm whom I am.’
Muus patted Kjelle’s arm. ‘I’ll swear a thousand oaths, theynling.’ A feeling of depression came over him and he looked at the snow outside the cave. 'Now I’ll never know what the völva learned about me.’
‘Of course you will.’ Birthe sat upright, her face expressionless. ‘I too am a völva.’
Muus looked at her. ‘Don’t you have to be old for that?’
‘I’ve been married,’ the girl snapped. ‘Old enough, if you're born with the power.’
‘Muus,’ Kjelle said, and he sounded strained. ‘She has a babe with her.’
Birthe lifted the bundle of furs from her bosom and through its folds a tiny, serious face with blue eyes looked at Muus.
‘He’s called Búi,’ she said. ‘Búi Birthesen. My son, my name. His father almost killed the bear that lived in this cave, but the bear won. Barn was no hunter. He hoped to impress me; instead, he made me a widow. The fool.’ She wiped her tears away. ‘I was three months pregnant, when I went and killed his bear for him. Just as long as we’d been married.’ She cradled the little one in her arms. ‘I could find another man, but I don’t want to. Never again.’ From her belt the girl took a slender metal rod, about as long as her forearm. ‘I’m of the völur now, wand-wed. I don’t need a husband.’ Búi began to cry. She unbuttoned her coat and her vest. Moments later, the newborn’s mouth had found her nipple and sucked his meal down.
‘He’s always hungry,’ she said. ‘Just like his father.’
Muus looked at her. ‘I'm sorry.’
‘So am I.’ The girl sounded bitter. ‘We were too young.’ Almost angrily she gripped her wand. ‘We were talking about you and what the völva knew of you.’
‘All right,’ Muus said. ‘Tell me what the lady discovered.’
Birthe looked at him. ‘You're a Bryt.’
‘I know. I heard her say so.’
‘You were stolen by Skid Largassen, the one named Bearjaw, the Viking of Helmshaven.’
‘I saw him in my dream,’ Muus said. ‘Images of the raid, his longship with the bear on its sail, of Helmshaven and the slave market.’
‘You have the power of magic.’
‘Yes.’
‘But not enough.’
Muus jolted upright. ‘What does that mean? ‘
‘That the skyshard will take over your mind. Unless...’
‘Unless what?’ Kjelle said.
‘Unless your mind is freed from the spell that has been cast upon you.’
‘What spell?’
‘I don’t know.’ Birthe held out her arm. ‘Give me your hand.’
Her grip was harder than he expected, almost masculine. The contact caused a tingling that went through his shoulder. He resisted the urge to scratch and waited.
Birthe nodded. ‘There is a threshold where I cannot cross. Someone has put a spell on your past. Your memories are still there, but unreadable. The power of this spell is different from ours. My lady couldn’t have helped you, so I am not even going to try. I think you can find help only in your own lands.’
Muus jerked his hand away. ‘No!’ For the first time he felt panic rising.
‘You’ve no choice, Shardheld. You must go to Brytanna. ‘
‘But he can’t,’ Kjelle stammered. ‘Muus must help me. He is my ...’ The right word would not come.
Birthe gave a thin smile. ‘He is no slave, theynling. The Shardheld must go through the world freely.’
Kjelle made an impatient gesture. ‘He's from my household. If he says he’s a free man, I won’t contradict him. He deserves that much.’
‘When he returns to Brytanna, he is legally free.’
‘But he must help me,’ Kjelle cried.
‘We’ll go to Eidungruve first.’ Muus hesitated. ‘I too want to know if it still exists.’
‘You can’t stay there,’ Birthe said.
‘I know that.’ Muus looked at Kjelle. ‘Even if your land and your father turn out to have been spared, I must go on. If necessary as a runaway.’
Kjelle’s eyes burned. Then he nodded. ‘Does anyone know where to find that standing stone Muus must seek? Somewhere in the south, the völva said.' His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed his strain.
Birthe stared at her wand. ‘I know what the legends say. The Kalmanir stands in the Cave of the Flaming Well under the ruins of Rom, in Falrom, in the south of the world.’
‘Falrom,’ the theynling whispered, deadly pale.
Muus sat rigid as a sun-touched troll and stared at the sudden vision of a glowing landscape of smoke and fire. ‘I see it,’ he said. ‘With the skyshard in my hand I see it. Orange and red are the rocks. Fiery earthblood flows through the riverbeds and the mountains are vomiting flames. It is hot.' He sighed. ‘I must go there, Kjelle. The skyshard tells me. He knows the way.’
The young theynling stared at Muus with a look of awe, and almost of submission.
Then Muus jumped up. ‘But first we go to Eidungruve.’
Birthe tucked little Búi back in the furs on her back. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Muus saw the shock on Kjelle’s face. ‘With that child? We sleep in the snow, we have to catch our food and we could be dead before Sun’s chariot returns in the sky,’ the theynling said.
‘My father was a hunter,’ Birthe said with pride. ‘Since my fifth winter I lived with him in the woods, so the snow is nothing new for me.’ Her hand went to the bow in its sheath on her hip. ‘This was my father’s. A snow bear caught him from up close, while he was crapping. We’d had no idea that the beast was near. The bow hung from a branch. I grabbed it and ran.’
‘Your father was already dead?’ Kjelle said.
Birthe’s eyes glittered. ‘You think me a coward?’ she snapped. ‘Yes, he was quite dead when I left.’ She clenched her fists. ‘My arms lacked the power to avenge him, so I fled into the forest. Fate had a moment of weakness that time and led my feet to Belisheim, where the völva took me in as her apprentice. I was ten years old. Asgisla saw my power and taught me of her wisdom. A little, enough to set me on the path of Song and Chant. Then Barn came, in search of glory. He had just such blue eyes as Búi. My lady comforted me as a mother when he died. And now ...’
‘Now what?’
‘Now the völva is gone.’ She turned wildly, scattering snow from her cloak. ‘Both my men I lost to a bear, my lady to a beast crueler than that. All I have left is Búi. He lives and dies with me.’ She took a deep breath and calmed. ‘We shan’t be a burden to you, Shardheld.’
Birthe was as good as her word. She led them unerringly through dark woods and snowstorms, until they reached a road.
Kjelle peered
through the slatted wooden snow goggles they’d made. ‘This must be King Hurald’s Way.’
Birthe nodded. ‘The royal road to the south. Be glad it’s winter. In summer it’s a muddy midge-fest.’
‘Well done,’ Muus said, but Birthe stared at a bend in the road and didn’t answer. Instead, she pointed. ‘Something’s amiss over there.’
Through the edge of the forest she led them further, until they came to a large wagon blocking the road, with dead oxen, and the bodies of guards partly covered by snow.
‘There was an ambush.’ Kjelle sounded shaken.
‘A bridal party.’ Birthe voice was hoarse, while her hand went as of itself to the babe on her back. ‘Look.’
Under the wagon lay side by side a young couple, pale and frozen. He in a long, dark red tunic of fine cloth, she in what must have been a wedding gown, with ribbons and sewed-on flowers, blood-drenched from a gaping wound under her breasts.
‘There must have been a survivor. A servant, someone who has taken the trouble to lay out the master and mistress.’ Muus looked around, at the wagon, the fallen soldiers and back to the dead pair, trying to see how it had happened. ‘This wasn’t robbery. Look at those warriors. All their weapons and equipment are still scattered around. What bandit would leave that big guy’s battle ax behind? It must be worth a small fortune.’
‘But who’d do such a thing?’
Birthe swore so bitterly that Kjelle looked at her. ‘Green-and-yellow arrow feathers.’
‘Those are Herigel’s colors.’ Kjelle’s face turned red. ‘Herigel kills in Dalland? Jarl Dettrich should know about this.’
‘Swinne’s bowmen had the same color in their quivers,’ Birthe said.
A dead silence fell.
‘I don’t understand,’ Kjelle said. ‘Swinne is Rannar’s man. Why would he ambush someone in our jarldom, under Herigel’s colors? In Thor's name, why? ‘
Muus threw him a swift glance. ‘To make Jarl Dettrich think Herigel attacks him?’
Kjelle’s mouth fell open. ‘But that would mean war.’
‘Rannar has his eyes on the throne,’ Birthe said.
‘How do you know?’
‘That’s what Swinne came to Belisheim for, a prediction about the success of Jarl Rannar’s rebellion. My lady refused and Swinne killed her.’
Kjelle nodded. ‘So that’s it. Waldrich of Herigel is one of the King's staunchest supporters. With him out of the way, the king would be alone.’
‘My, you have paid attention between bedding the girls,’ Muus said.
Kjelle spat into the snow. ‘I am the theynling, Bryt. Most folks didn’t know it, but my father's health was failing. That groin injury was worse than he’d admit; it was killing him. Of course I had my ears open.’ He looked around. ‘That giant one was no ordinary warrior, his equipment is too expensive. He must have been the headman.’
‘Even so, he died without fighting,’ Muus said. ‘The arrows totally surprised him.’
Kjelle went over to where the big warrior lay. ‘Riddled by twelve shafts. That must have meant instant death.’ He snatched the large, beautifully engraved ax from the snow. ‘I want this one.’
Muus looked at him. ‘You can’t have it. That ax is a masterpiece and far too recognizable. You don’t want someone taking you for one of those murderers.’
Kjelle sighed. ‘You're right. But I must have weapons.’
‘Take them off the soldiers. Half of all Norden uses the same.’
Kjelle muttered something, but grabbed two axes from the frozen ground and stuck them on his belt.
Birthe made a stifled sound. When the other two joined her, they found her staring down at a young girl, thrown spread-legged into the back of the wagon.’
‘She must have been a slave,’ Kjelle said awkwardly.
Birthe turned to him and her eyes glittered. ‘She was nothing but a child. Not a... a thing, to be used and discarded.’
‘You’re right.’ Muus’s voice sounded bitter. ‘Even a slave shouldn’t be raped.’
Kjelle looked confused. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘She’s frozen.’ Birthe tried to move the dead girl, but she stuck to the bottom of the wagon.
‘Better leave her,’ Muus said. ‘When we get to Jarl Dettrich, we’ll tell him about this and he’ll surely make arrangements.’
Birthe stifled a sob and nodded. She sang a few words, almost inaudible and made the sign of Freya over the dead body. ‘May Helheim be kinder to you than the world was, girl.’
‘We need food,’ Kjelle said, still red-faced. ‘Would there be anything left in the wagon?’
Birthe glared at him, but she said nothing.
‘I’ll have a look.’ Muus scrambled into the wagon and searched through the bags and chests. ‘There’s plenty food. And look, here’s a tent. The lord and his lady didn’t sleep in the wagon then.’ Quickly he passed bread, frozen meat, cheese, dried apples and a little bag full of mixed nuts to Kjelle. Finally he dropped the rolled-up tent over the side. ‘We need bindings to carry it.’
Without a word, Kjelle cut some lengths of leather out of the ox’s harness and fastened the tent to Muus’ shoulders. Then he shrugged into the straps of his own, now well-filled backpack.
‘We’ll go cross-country,’ Birthe said. ‘That’s less conspicuous.’
‘You think whoever murdered them is still around?’
The girl glanced at Kjelle. ‘Probably not, but I want to be sure.’
Kjelle nodded and slowly they made their way, weighed down by their load.
Tuuri’s happy expectations had vanished. The longed for meetings with his kin had turned into a disaster. His fingers touched the symbol on his cheek. His mark of shame. Fynni. They’re nothing but animals and murderers. Suddenly he shot upright in the saddle. My father. Was he, too, one of those? The idea made him want to puke. He had never felt so dirty in his life. Was that why mother never spoke of his father? The thought brought tears to his eyes. He had to go home, to confront her with it. And the jarl, who entrusted his great plan to these beasts, was he to be betrayed?’
He felt a need to gallop back to Helmshaven and sail home. But the road was bad here, and anything faster than a stroll was asking for broken legs.
The horse halted and shook her head.
‘What is it, girl?’ said Tuuri, patting the animal’s neck. Then he saw through the bend a large wagon athwart the road. His horse didn’t budge, so he dismounted and led the animal on. He noted the snowy mounds and the two bodies under the wagon. The fresh tracks leading to and from its rear end made his heart beat faster. He froze and listened, but the only sounds were the creaking of branches and the rustle of snow coming down from a tree. His eyes found a green-and-yellow arrow standing in the side of the wagon. The colors Vulf used instead of Jarl Rannar’s blue and black. He saw more arrows and all at once, he understood. It was a trick, using false colors to sow discord between the local jarl and a neighbor. Only they had chosen the wrong victims. Killing a lordling and his retinue was an invitation for civil war. That wouldn’t help Rannar. He cursed Vulf and his brainless followers.
With soft words he led his horse past the snow-covered bodies and continued his way.
A few hours later he came to a sharp bend in the road, with a side-path leading into the mountains. A standing stone pointed to a settlement he’d never heard of, Eidungruve. Tuuri halted. He desperately wanted to see people. Ordinary, living, decent people, to talk with and perhaps to laugh a bit.
After an hour or so, he saw the contours of a palisade in the distance. Again, his horse stopped and he saw the snow-covered heap in the middle of the path, with a green-and-yellow arrow sticking out of it. He looked around, but there was nobody in sight.
Tuuri slid from the saddle and led his unwilling horse into the woods. Out of sight from the road, he bound the animal to a tree. A few steps away he called, ‘Sha’akaii’.
His massive totem bear appeared with as little enthu
siasm as before to be called from its warm world. The animal stared at him and Tuuri spread his hands. There’s trouble brewing, my friend. Lend me your form, oh mighty Sha’akaii. I have need of stealth.
The bear moved up to him, topping him by a good head. Tuuri gripped its rough fur and felt himself change. For a moment he was dizzy. Then, in the shape of an invisible bear, he hurried away to the Hold. Unseen, he slipped through the open gate. Inside the palisade, the snow was blood-soaked. Everywhere were bodies; warriors, slaves, children. Where were the women?
The door to the longhouse was ajar and carefully, he peered inside. He counted over seventy warriors, drinking, sleeping, and … Oh gods! There were the women. He looked away. Beasts, he thought. Dirty fucking Fynni beasts. He saw Vulf lounging in a box chair, legs stretched out in front of him, staring at him with a sarcastic grin on his face. He sees me! Tuuri caught his breath and in a wild panic, he fled from the longhouse, back into the relative safety of the forest. He changed back into his own form and waves of sickness overcame him. He spewed in the snow until his stomach was empty. How could he see me? The thought ran through his head. How? What was Vulf? Tuuri gripped the reins of his horse and hurried back to the king’s way. To Helmshaven. Jarl Rannar must be warned.