by John Snow
THE SLAYER RUNE
John Snow
–– ð ––
DIGITAL STORIES
© John Snow 2013
ISBN 978-82-93162-18-6 (Amazon, 3rd edition, 2018)
First book in The Viking Series
Table of Contents
List of characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
List of Characters
At Vik:
Harald the Chieftain
Ruler and godi at Vik, father of Hakon, Sigurd, and Sigrunn
Tora
Mistress, keeper of the keys at Vik; mother of Hakon, Sigurd, and Sigrunn
Hakon Mute
Oldest son at Vik
Sigurd, later Sigve the Awful
Second son at Vik
Sigrunn Silkyhair
Daughter at Vik
Gisli the Armourer
Captain-of-arms, leader of the warriors at Vik
Odd the Squinter
Warrior, son of Ivar the Cross-Eyed and Finngjerd the Fair
Tore Captain
Helmsman on the Icelandic knorr
Hild
Thrall, "the most beautiful woman at Vik"
Yljali
Hild's daughter or younger sister, "even more beautiful"
Grim
Old sage and rune carver
Neighbours:
Kalv Kolson
Former ruler at Bringsverd, outlawed
Thorstein Baldhead
Ruler at Bringsverd, father of Eigil
Eigil
Oldest son at Bringsverd, killed
Ivar the Cross-Eyed
Farmer at Eskdale, married to Turi; father to Skarphedin, Bjarni, and Odd
Turi
Ivar's wife, mother of Skarphedin and Bjarni
Skarphedin the Second-Sighted
Ivar and Turi's son, brother of Bjarni
Bjarni
Skarphedin's brother
Bork the Old
Sage from Howlinghead, married to Finngjerd, Big Bork and Bork Berserk's father
Finngjerd the Fair
Deceased, mother of the Bork brothers and Odd the Squinter
Big Bork
Oldest son at Howlinghead
Bork Berserk
Second son at Howlinghead
The Witch from Spedale
Sorceress who practised seid
Others:
Helgi Blackbeard
King Godred's armourer and captain-of-arms
Thorkel Godi
Hov-godi from Tunsberg
Historical Persons:
Harald Fairhair
King of Norway. Famous warrior king who united Norway under one ruler. He had a number of wives and many sons and grandsons who relentlessly fought one another over lands and power.
Eirik Bloodaxe
Son of Harald Fairhair and Ragnhild, daughter of a Danish king. He was married to Gunnhild, and was the King of Norway and later parts of Northern England.
Gunnhild
Daughter of Gorm the Old, King of Denmark, and married to Eirik Bloodaxe. Together they had many sons, who after Eirik's death were called "Sons of Gunnhild".
Hakon the Good
King Harald Fairhair's son with a maid, fostered by King Æthelstan of England. Hakon defeated Eirik Bloodaxe and was elected King of Norway.
Harald Greycloak
Mighty son of Eirik Bloodaxe and Queen Gunnhild, grandson of Harald Fairhair. Harald Greycloak fought his uncle Hakon the Good and won the western part of Norway.
Godred
King Godred, grandson of Harald Fairhair and king of the south-eastern part of Norway. He was the sworn enemy of Harald Greycloak, whose father, Eirik Bloodaxe, killed Godred's father, Bjorn the Trader.
Harald Grenske
King Godred's son. Harald Grenske was the father of Olav, King of Norway, who, after his death, became Saint Olav.
1
Sigurd straightened his cloak. Standing under the farm tree, he peered down the sloping fields, watching Grim's house at the edge. He wanted to visit Grim but also make sure the old man was alone. Grim shared his little house with two of the farm girls: Hild and her sister, Yljali.
The morning was clear, a bit chilly, but the sun was already warming up the barley fields. Among the spikes of corn, wisps of mist drifted and dispersed like vettir, the fickle spirits of the land.
Sigurd hoped to catch a glimpse of Yljali on her way to work, but he saw no one along the path. Around Grim's house, there were no signs of life, but further down, along the seashore, the harbour was bustling with activity.
And no wonder, Sigurd thought. Today the king was coming.
Down by the nausts, the boathouses, yet another knorr had arrived. Along the seashore men were busy unloading the ship. Yelling and pointing and wading the water, the crew carried barrels and bales on their shoulders.
Vik, Sigurd's homestead, was a trading centre. The harbour was a shallow beach, and the heavy-loaded knorr was tied to one of the stakes poking up through the water. Outside the vessel, in the bay, a fleet of emptied ships were floating, swirling round their anchors.
Looking out the fjord, Sigurd saw even more boats moving into the bay. The narrow Vikfjord ran south-westwards with farms spreading on the banks. At the outer end, Howlinghead rose, a mountain with watch-guards and a wooden signal fire. Further out: Host Island and the Seal Skerries. Watching the sea road, Sigurd knew the king would not come by way of water. His retinue would arrive on horse and foot.
"Grim is alone, but you had better help your brother."
Tora, Sigurd's mother, came up beside him. She wore fine clothes as usual. Today, with the king coming, she used brooches glittering with meandering snakes wrought in gold.
So, she knew Grim was alone, Sigurd thought, watching the hut down the slope, but he was not surprised. His mother was mistress at Vik; in her belt she carried a large ring with the keys to all the coffers and chests. Even if Hild and Yljali were thralls, they worked as maids under his mother's command. Naturally, she would know where they were.
Sigurd knew, however, that his mother had her own reasons for keeping an eye on the girls.
He turned around and gazed in the direction his mother was pointing. In the yard he saw Hakon, his brother, fly – or flee – towards the weapons stores. His brother had a strange way of walking or loping; with slow strides he was moving amazingly fast.
In opposite direction of Hakon, Harald, their father, came tromping. He had donned his blue chieftain's coat and strapped on his best sword. He was huge and angry, and Sigurd realized his mother's bidding was in fact a warning. To get at his father first, Sigurd started following Hakon.
"Where are you going?" his father asked.
"To the weapons room," Sigurd answered.
"Very good," his father said, taken aback.
"But make sure you change clothes before King Godred arrives!"
Harald pointed at Sigurd's worn cloak and breeches, as if Sigurd cared. He loved his old clothes, and besides, he had recently cut his hair. Sigurd's hair was lo
ng and fair; it was sheared off at the shoulders.
He continued walking, and despite the hint of rebuke, he felt he had got the better of his father. Striding on, he could see that his brother had fared worse, far worse. Hakon was three years his elder, but his brother was mute; he couldn't speak, and their father hated him for it.
The weapons room lay at the end of the hall. It had two doors, one to the hall-room, and one to the yard. Hakon Mute was heading for the outer door, where Gisli was leaning on the frame. Gisli the Armourer was smiling in the door opening. He was one of very few who cared talk to Hakon, even if he never received an answer. Gisli was captain-of-arms at Vik, leader of the fighters, which meant he also took care of the weapons stores. His sword hung by his side.
Gisli greeted Hakon, and when Sigurd arrived, they entered the room.
In the dim light of a torch, leather mail was hanging on the walls and helmets lay stacked on a table. Throwing and stabbing spears stood in rows, along with axes in all shapes. Some of the weapons, like the boarding axes, were intended for fighters manning the war-ship, but most of the gear was kept for the land-troops, summoned in times of war.
No valuable swords were stored in the room; the house-troops kept their own weapons. His father had seven men-at-arms at the farm, strong fellows who loved fighting. On fair days they dressed up in ring-mail and trained in the courtyard, fighting with swords, throwing spears, and practising bow and arrow. The young boys were also taught how to fight, and Sigurd was good at sword. But Hakon Mute was better.
Inside the room, the training gear was lined up near the door. Sigurd and Hakon carried out swords with blunted blades, and they fetched spears and oily coils of rope. They prepared for swordplay and other competitions, and on the outside, in the bright morning light, they sorted out the best weapons. Sigurd was impressed by how well Gisli kept the old tackle.
Only the best warriors used their own weapons at swordplay; they knew how to fight without notching the edges of their blades. All others used blunted swords, and the youngest had to use wooden ones.
Sigurd held up a wooden blade and swung it in the air. It was just as heavy as an ordinary sword; it had a core of iron. He used to like competitions, but during the king's visits he had to fight the king's son, and he always lost.
While picking and trying weapons, Sigurd noticed that more people had arrived at Vik. All around the yard, traders were putting up sale stalls; they were pitching tents and setting up tables. In front of him, women and boys were carrying hides, furs, axe heads, and hammerheads: all kinds of goods.
The Vik farmyard was large. The great hall and the yard-tree lay closest to the fjord, and behind, the rest of the buildings lay in a square. The cook-house was made of stone, and the storehouses were standing on stilts. In a row, at the opposite side, the pig house stood, and the barns, and the hay-sheds. The slaves lived in their own barn behind the pigsty.
Traders were still arriving. The sale stalls were encircling the whole farmyard, and the booths had started to close in on the open area in the middle. Gisli the Armourer saw it, and shook his head.
Gisli was off, and after a while he came back with a bundle of willow twigs. Pointing and directing, he told Sigurd and Hakon to mark out spaces for spear throwing and a running course.
"We don't need stockfishmongers haggling in the middle of the running track," he said.
The brothers hadn't started planting sticks, before Sigurd saw the traders turning their heads. Across the yard Hild and Yljali were heading for the cooking house. The girls were dressed in ordinary short-sleeved maid suits with twined belts. But plain clothes could not hide Hild's voluptuous body, and Sigurd could see why the traders stood gaping.
Hild was the most beautiful woman at Vik. She was tall with long raven hair. She had dark eyes, large lips, and bursting breasts. Her name was Hild, even if her skin was dark. She was an Arab slave and got her name from her Danish captor. Now she was his father's lover.
Behind her sister, and less conspicuous, Yljali followed. She was young, even younger than Sigurd by a few winters. She was lovely too, and even more beautiful. Yljali was not as tall as Hild, but she had long, dark hair and brown, sad eyes. She had rounded breasts, not swaying like Hild's, but firmer. Sigurd felt shy watching her; his breath strained, and his heart started pounding.
While Sigurd was staring at Yljali, he saw that Hakon was glowering at Hild.
Watching the sisters, Sigurd was glad no one had thought of changing Yljali's name. Silently, within, he mouthed her name, when Hild and Yljali stopped their walk. Towards them his mother and father came hurtling, quarrelling loudly. From some of the words, Sigurd could hear they were arguing over Hild – again.
For the king's visit, Sigurd's father had wanted to dress up Hild, obviously to show her off.
His mother wouldn't hear of it. Hild should wear ordinary clothes and attract no attention, she demanded. Hild was a simple thrall, a slave, she reminded his father.
Listening to his mother's voice and watching his father's posture, Sigurd knew who would win the fight.
At first, Sigurd had liked his father's idea. Dressing up Hild would probably mean that Yljali got finer clothes, too. But as he thought it over, he realized his mother was right. Of late, the household fighters – and his father – had been studying Yljali's figure and discovered her growing beauty. With the king's band of warriors, his hird, roaming around, even greater dangers lay ahead. The warriors would never dare to touch Hild, the chieftain's woman, his frille, but that didn't guard Yljali against them.
King Godred would stay for three days on veitsel and travelling with the king were all kinds of people: jugglers, fortune-tellers, and every sort of riff-raff, also seductive women. Excited people would drift in to Vik in great numbers; the courtyard would be packed. In such a throng, you never knew what happened.
It was better Yljali stayed in the background.
In the yard, pretending it didn't matter, that he did not care, his father lost the argument, but he left the row in a rage. With little hope of finer clothes, Hild and Yljali started towards the cookhouse. Sigurd's mother, the undisputed mistress, went into the hall.
The episode was over, and again the traders got busy stacking their wares. Hakon Mute turned his head towards Sigurd and made a quick, throat-cutting gesture with his hand. Believing he meant their father, Sigurd started to laugh, but his laughter choked when he saw the black hatred in Hakon's eyes.
His brother was not joking.
2
"This rune must never be wrongly wrought," Grim said. He pointed at a carved letter.
"It's a slayer rune!"
"A slayer rune?"
"Yes, this rune can kill," Grim said; his gaze was hard.
"Kill?" stammered Sigurd; he tried to hide his hands under the table. Sometimes Grim was frightening. Sigurd knew of no one who could stare the way Grim did – and he had only one eye.
"Yes," Grim said. His finger aimed at a sliver, a kind of wand, a flat piece of wood with runes carved in. The rune had a straight line up and two slanting down from the top. Grim's old finger wasn't quite steady when he touched the rune.
"You know the runes hide strong and dangerous forces; that those who master their names hold great powers."
"Yes," Sigurd replied.
Having finished sorting weapons, Sigurd had managed to slip away from the racket in the yard. He said he was going to change clothes, which he did, but instead of going back, he stole away, down to Grim.
Sigurd was afraid, but he pulled his hands from underneath the board; he ran his fingers through his hair. He was a young and good-looking boy, but here, in the dark, his blue eyes turned grey. The scar down his cheek was hardly visible.
He laid his hands on the coarse surface of the trestle table, watching Grim's finger and the rune wand. The wand was made of beech and bronzed with age; the runes had been carved in ancient times. The dark lines could change into things and to forces. Some runes turned into wild a
nimals, some into flowers, some into love, and maybe some into…
Death, Grim explained, could be three things. First, death could be a corpse-pale woman with a black cloak and a snakeskin hood: a gygre, a troll-maiden.
"No one can see the face of the gygre. Inside her hood is eternal darkness.
"Neither her hands nor the death-gygre's feet are ever to be seen. Hence, she approaches stealthily, without a sound, but she is armed like a man; you can make out her sword, but only just. The sword never shines."
"Just like warriors, who smear ash on their blades?" Sigurd asked. He knew the warriors blackened their swords with soot so they would not shine.
Last autumn, his father and a warrior had left in the evening with soot-blackened swords and dark horses. Leading their horses past the burial mounds, they disappeared into the woods. Left on the farm, the gard, at Vik, Sigurd was sent to bed with his sisters by his mother, but Sigurd refused. "No," he had said.
His father and his man had returned in the night with blood on their swords.
Sigurd remembered the soot-coloured blood dripping from his father's blade, his father smiling. At that moment Sigurd had crumpled within, fearing his father's will to kill. He had looked at his father's sword; it did not shine.
"Yes," said Grim, "when the gygre has thrust her blade into the person to die, she steals its living breath. The only thing left is the body. Lifeless. It remains to rot as an empty corpse.
"The breath, the gygre collects in a bag and pulls it down to Hel, to the blue-faced giantess, ruler of the land of the dead, the coldest place on earth. Hel is both a wanton woman and a barren land.
"In Hel," Grim continued, "there is no light or darkness, no day or night. It is always cold, and everything is shrouded in a veil of grey fog oozing with ice.
"In this fog the breath is set free, and the sál drifts around as a blurry shadow. And the worst of it is," Grim said, "it's quiet in Hel. In the fog there are no sounds. If you try to speak or yell, the sound disappears."
Grim stretched out his hand, and, audibly, the sounds in the room withdrew.
