Forged by Iron

by Eric Schumacher

  Olaf nodded tentatively.

  “It is Feilan,” he said, which meant wolf cub. “I found her in the forest when she was a pup and think she might be half wolf.”

  “Lodin has come from my father's hall,” Astrid interjected, “where the snake, Holger, sits this very moment. Lodin informs us that Harald has placed a bounty on my head, and that of my son. A sack of silver the weight of…” She could not finish the sentence, though her eyes shifted briefly to Olaf before returning to my father's face.

  My father hissed a curse.

  Astrid stood rigidly, her chin high, though I could see tears welling in her blue eyes, and I wondered if her insides felt like my own: knotted like a fist. “Lodin is to take me and Olaf to Haakon the Old. None of you need go. This journey is our fate, not yours.”

  My father spat in response, then pointed to me. “My son and I made an oath to your husband and we will keep it. We go with you.”

  This Astrid accepted with a nod of thanks. She turned to her maidservants. “You and Turid should remain here,” she said to Sigrunn more softly. “You are not thralls and can go if you wish. This journey will not be easy and though I would like your company, I do not wish to put you in any more danger than I already have.”

  “My lady,” Sigrunn replied, “we have been with you a long time and are not about to let you run off without us. We belong with you, whatever the danger, and I will not hear another word on the matter.” That was bravely spoken and made me reconsider my assessment of Sigrunn, whom I thought of as soft.

  Lodin passed a small sack to Astrid. “Erik has given you this silver and some supplies for our journey, as well as this ox and cart.”

  Olaf's brows bent over his eyes. “My grandfather would have us walk to Sweden? He has horses to spare. Why has he not given us any?”

  Lodin kept his face mild. “Because you have a bounty on your head and a horse will mark you as wealthy.” He walked to the back of the cart and pulled a pair of simple trousers and a homespun tunic from the bed. These he tossed to Olaf so that they landed at his feet. “You will wear these.”

  Olaf lifted the clothes and gawked. “I am no thrall!”

  My father rounded on Olaf and backhanded him across his cheek. The boy flew backward onto the dirt. The women gasped. “Erik is trying to keep you alive, boy. Be thankful for what he has given us.”

  Olaf rubbed his jaw as Lodin handed a simple shift to his mother. “You, too, will have to conceal yourself, my lady. As will the other two women.”

  Astrid snatched the clothes from Lodin's hand. “What of them?” she nodded to my father and me.

  “They will remain as they are. From this moment forward, Lord Torolv, his son Torgil, and I are traders, heading to Sweden with our goods, which are in this cart. You will all play your parts. If we are stopped and questioned, and you forget your role, we are all dead. Is that clear?”

  We nodded and eyed each other.

  I was beginning to understand that life is never straightforward. Never predictable. It is just a series of random, yet unavoidable, events strung together by the Norns, those weavers of a man's fate who sit at the base of the world tree, Yggdrasil. I wondered as we quickly packed our measly belongings that afternoon whether the Norns cared about our predicament. Whether life was all a giant Hnefatafl board and they wanted to see whether we could overcome the moves of our adversaries. Or whether they wove our fate with the cold indifference of a stone, caring not at all if we lived or if we died. I wanted to believe it was the former, though the suddenness and relentlessness of life's recent trials made me think it was the latter. And that thought made me bitter. I wanted to rage at the Norns for the injustice of our situation, but I knew too that to do so would do no good. That, in my father's words, would be as useful as trying to change the direction of the wind by shouting at it.

  It was not all bad news, at least. Turid would be coming with us and I was thankful merely to be near her. And despite the gold-seekers and fame-coveters who would soon be hunting us, our strange guide and his dog seemed capable enough and gave me some hope that we could survive this next trial.

  “There are several more things I must ask of you, my lady,” Lodin said to Astrid apologetically. He held in his left hand a leather collar and in his right, Gunnar's shears. Astrid, Olaf, and her maidservants wore their thrall clothes and stood in the half-light of the small seter, and even in that light, I could see the tears in Astrid's eyes. “We must hurry, my lady.”

  Astrid took the shears from Lodin's hands and without hesitation, grabbed a handful of her blond locks and snipped. She threw the hair into the hearth fire and snipped again. Olaf clenched his fists and turned his eyes to the ground. My father also turned away, though whether to give her privacy, to save her dignity, or out of shame for his foster daughter's fall from nobility, I cannot say, nor would I ever know.

  When she was finished, she passed the shears to Olaf. “Cut your hair.” He stared at the shears but did not take them. “Take them,” she hissed, “or I will have Torgil cut your hair.”

  He grabbed them and started cutting, and as he did, Lodin tied the thrall collar around Astrid's neck. Meanwhile, Turid and Sigrunn helped each other complete their transformation from maidservants to thralls. My father and I removed any sign of wealth from our bodies and packed them away in the cart with my father's byrnie, our shields, and our extra weapons. Then we fastened cruder traveling cloaks to our shoulders. Mine hung nearly to the ground.

  With our disguises complete, we took a teary leave of Gunhild and Gunnar, who had supplied us with ample amounts of hard cheese, dried venison, bread, water, and ale for our journey. I turned once as we descended the hill to see our hosts watching us. We had spent only a few days with them, but still, I would miss them and hoped one day I could repay them for their kindness.

  Lodin set a comfortable pace from the seter, heading south. He held the ox's lead in one hand and his spear in the other, humming a soft tune. By his side ambled Feilan. My father and I strode behind him, our eyes scanning the forest for trouble. The women and Olaf plodded beside the cart that held our supplies, making a great show of their despair.

  “We are walking south. Why?” I asked.

  “How do you know we are headed south?” he asked.

  “By the position of the sun,” I responded, for I could see the angle of light streaming through the thick canopy of leaves above us.

  “Good,” he said. “It is useful to know such things.”

  I think I straightened my shoulders a bit more at my father's compliment, but Lodin was there to dampen my pride.

  “Actually,” he corrected, “we are traveling southeast, but more south than east. Away from the coast, anyway. Eventually, we will turn more eastward as we venture into Sweden.”

  My father glanced at me and rolled his eyes. I grinned, happier at that small gesture than his earlier compliment, or frankly, at any other gesture he had made toward me since leaving the borg.

  Though the sun rarely sets during Northern summers, that truth does not hold exactly true in the forest. There, all is shadow, and as the night grows later, the gloom deepens. Only the faintest pinpoints of light mark the stars in the azure sky. It would have been pleasant, was it not for the threat of being hunted by men. And, of course, to my young mind, of being hunted also by the creatures of the night. Wolves. Malevolent spirits. The undead draugar. I saw them in every shadow and behind every tree. I lost count of the times I jumped at an unfamiliar sound and reached for my sword.

  At one particularly noticeable flinch, Olaf sniggered. I scowled at him. “Shut up, thrall.”

  He stuck out his tongue at me, and it took all my self-control not to knock him upside his measly skull. I turned back to the road ahead, wondering if he was too young or dim-witted to fear the night as I did.

  “Are you a trader?” My father's question interrupted my annoyance with Olaf.

  There was a long silence as we waited for Lodin to respond. “Aye. Of sorts,
I suppose.”

  “It is best not to ask?” my father surmised.

  The man chuckled at that. “Ask what you wish to know. Whether I answer is another matter.”

  My father grunted softly but did not reply. The guide's responses verged on offense, but I sensed that he did not mean wrong — he was merely direct in his words and unwilling to lie. I think my father sensed the same, which is why he did not press the man.

  When the sky began to brighten, we pulled the cart thirty paces off the track and cut branches to hide it. Lodin pointed Astrid, Olaf, and the maidservants to the space beneath the cart. “You should sleep. You will be safe under there.” He looked at me and my father. “You too.”

  My father shook his head. “I will take first watch.”

  Lodin shrugged. “As you wish, lord. Feilan will sleep near me. Keep your eyes on her. She will sense something long before we do.”

  I did not sleep well that morning. It was warm and the ground hard, and my thoughts were filled with the imaginary men who pursued us — the men who became more vivid in my mind when my eyes closed. Beside me, Olaf slept soundly, but the others tossed and coughed. When Lodin woke to relieve my father, I rose with him.

  “You should rest,” he whispered to me as my father crawled under the cart and closed his eyes.

  I shook my head. “I cannot sleep.”

  He beckoned me away from the cart. Feilan stretched and yawned and padded after us. I liked hounds, but I was wary of this one. I had seen how protective of her master she was and had no doubt she could turn on us too, if Lodin ordered it.

  We sat at the base of a tall pine and Feilan joined us, sitting on her haunches next to Lodin like a sentry. He stroked her back. “You are fearful,” he said, responding to my early comment about sleep. “If I was your age, I would be fearful too. But there are things you can do to help yourself.”

  “There are?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  “To start, learn the sounds of the forest.” He pointed to the branches above us. “Do you not hear the chitter and scurrying of squirrels at play?”

  I heard them but could not discern that there was more than one squirrel or that they were at play.

  “Listen to the leaves. Can you hear them rustle?”

  I heard it.

  “The trick is to learn the normal sounds from the foreign sounds.”

  “How did you learn?” I asked.

  “I was raised in the forest.” He paused, then explained further. “As a boy, people feared me.” He held up his white arms as if to show me why, but I already knew. “I had no childhood friends. So I spent my time in the woods, among the animals. Animals never feared me.” And then, quite suddenly, he added, “We must get rid of the cheese.”

  “What?” I responded, taken by surprise.

  “The cheese. In the cart. It is an unnatural smell and does not belong in the forest. Any tracker looking for us will smell it and find us. Come.” He motioned me up.

  We walked to the cart and located two rounds of cheese among the cargo. He handed them to me. “Take your seax and bury the cheese over there,” he whispered, pointing vaguely into the forest.

  “Do we not need this for food?” I wondered softly.

  “We have plenty of food,” he responded. “Now, go.”

  I did as he requested and buried the cheese, but not before cutting a chunk from the round for myself. I could not remember my last full meal and though I was not fond of cheese, I savored the feeling in my gut as I buried the rounds in the soft earth. Around me, the forest continued its puzzling cacophony, and I endeavored to understand it. I failed, of course, but it gave me a better sense of control to do so, and so I promised myself to continue to learn. I was tired of fear and yearned to master it. Lodin's words gave me a path. It was now up to me to follow it.

  When the group awoke, the women moved to the cart to find some food for our day meal. “Where is the cheese?” Sigrunn wondered.

  “Gone,” Lodin responded indifferently.

  “Gone? Where?” she asked.

  “We buried it.”

  Sigrunn's eyebrows shot up and her mouth sagged open. “You cannot just…that was…it was a gift.” But she clamped her mouth shut when she saw Lodin staring at her.

  “The cheese will get us killed,” he explained. “Any tracker who knows his business will smell it a ways off. The same for hungry animals.”

  “He's right, Sigrunn,” added my father with barely even a glance in her direction.

  “But…should we not eat?” she asked, looking to Astrid for support.

  “Oh, aye,” Lodin responded. “Now is the time. There is bread and venison and fruit. We will leave as the air starts to cool.”

  With our fast broken, we headed back to the trail, only this time Lodin ordered the “thralls” into the cart with the rest of the goods. Olaf, of course, resisted, preferring to walk.

  Lodin rounded on him. “I do not care if your prefer to walk, lad. Today you will do as I say and ride.”

  Olaf frowned, but Astrid managed to coax him into the bed of the wagon, where he sat with his arms crossed in a huff.

  “No words today,” Lodin ordered, then grabbed the lead rope and began walking.

  I looked at my father, who had moved his cloak from his shoulder and walked with his hand on his belt, close to his sword. I did the same. Even Feilan seemed to sense the unease and padded alongside her master with her nose to the ground and her ears moving.

  I know not what they sensed, but thinking back on it now, I am thankful for it, for I believe it is the reason we lived.

  Chapter 9

  The first warning came from Feilan, who uttered a barely perceptible growl as the hair straightened on her back. Lodin slowed his pace and showed his right palm to the wolf-dog's face, which silenced her. My father's hand moved to the grip of his sword, and he hung back until the cart came abreast of him. I glanced at him as he did so and knew from his eyes that there was trouble. I, too, made sure my hand was near my sword.

  A burly man stepped from the forest some twenty paces ahead of us. Two smaller men flanked him. Movement to our rear brought my head around. Two more men stood there. All looked to be in their middle years, well-armed, and dressed in decent clothes. These were not mere forest outlaws come to rob us of our silver and provisions — these were warriors with a purpose. Even I could see that.

  Lodin raised his hand to bring our party to a halt. “Greetings,” he called to the man.

  The corner of the man's mouth rose in a half-grin and he took a few steps toward us. There was a byrnie beneath the man's cloak and the long handle of a sword at his hip. “What brings you this way, traveler?” he asked.

  Lodin shrugged. “Trade. I have thralls and some goods to bring to market. But I am happy to offload them here if you name a fair price.”

  The burly man's grin stretched. “I might consider your offer, but only if you have what I seek. We are on our lord's errand and are searching for someone.”

  Lodin acted surprised. “Whom do you seek?”

  My eyes shifted to the men behind us, for they had taken several steps closer and their hands rested on their sword grips. I noticed another man in the forest to my left and guessed there was another off to the right, on the other side of the cart. Seven well-armed warriors against my father and Lodin, two boys, three women, and a hound. The odds twisted my gut. I did not want to die on that forgotten trail in the middle of that unnamed forest, remembered only by the wolves and ravens who picked the flesh from my bones. This could not be the end of my tale…

  “We seek a woman and a boy. Much like those two you have in your cart,” said the big-chested man, motioning to Astrid and Olaf with his brown-bearded chin.

  Lodin scratched at his jaw. “And why do you seek a woman and a boy, might I ask?”

  The man answered by moving Lodin aside with his arm and stepping toward the cart. His men moved with him and my hand inched closer to my sword. I sensed the men behind us
moving closer too. The big man came to my side of the cart and pushed me aside. My heart thundered in my chest. “What is your name, thrall?” he asked Astrid.

  Her response was not what I expected. She had been sitting dejectedly in the cart, her head down as the man asked his question. But now her face came up and with it came the sword she had taken from my father's hall. It was not a swing, but a powerful thrust, and it tore through the man's neck before he could dodge. Blood splashed across my face as I heard her yell her name.

  The world erupted.

  There was a sharp whistle, then a furious growl, and a man's shriek. I tore my sword from its sheath in time to block the brutal swing from the man coming from my right. That swing knocked me to the ground and away from the cart.

  As I lay there, stunned, my eyes took in the scene. My father fought a man, though I knew not which one. On the ground near the ox, a man struggled to keep Feilan from his throat and howled when the half-wolf tore into his arm. In a flash of metal, Lodin sliced across the back of the man fighting my father, then into the side of the man in Feilan's jaws.

  I turned my eyes to the cart. The man who had knocked me down had also knocked Astrid's sword from her grip and was struggling to pull her to the ground. Olaf had found the second blade and swung it hard at the man. He saw the boy's swing and tried to duck the blade, but it cleaved into the side of his skull, dropping him like a wet sack to the earth.

  Behind Olaf, I saw a second man raise his sword to strike the boy. Just before his blade came down, a knife lodged in his chest and he stumbled backward, then fell.

  I scrambled to my feet.

  Something flashed overhead, so close I could feel the breath of it on my hair. It smacked into the cart. Another missile followed and I heard a cry. Across from me, Lodin whistled and Feilan barked and crashed into the forest. My mind could think of only one thing: evade the arrows. I was in the open and an easy target for a good archer. He had already loosed two missiles and narrowly missed me. A third one would not miss.