“Seems like you’re a special man. Not that I envy you being that crazed bitch’s pet.” Hrut laughed, which turned to a phlegm-thickened cough.
Ulfrik looked back at the sky sliding past him. A black dot of a bird fluttered in a lazy circle before leaving his field of vision. These people had more than kindness in their hearts when they rescued him. Audhild, Gudrod, and all the others were helping Eldrid fulfill her vision, whatever that entailed. He closed his eyes and listened to the creak of the new deck and the splash of the oars. The rowing was too slow for pursuit. He wondered where they planned to take him and why the gods had decided he must live with them. Whatever Eldrid had envisioned, the gods had not shared with him. Never one to offend the gods, he had no plans of forever remaining with these people no matter what they had done for him.
He had to escape. Until his legs healed he would be at their mercy, and he could go along with their illusions. When his strength returned, he would leave for Ravndal. The simplicity of the idea calmed the tension of Eldrid’s visit, though it was short-lived. They had faked his death, and judging from Hrut’s reaction, he seemed to believe Ulfrik was dead. Now he frantically tried to recall what they had done. A slave of roughly his size and age had been killed and his face demolished, yet he would not have his scars. Runa would certainly know the body for a poor replacement. Then he thought of Throst and of Einar and all his men burned alive.
Facing Hrut again, he found him working against his bonds. Ulfrik called to him, making Hrut’s face flush red with anger.
“All right, I’ll be good. Don’t call your friends over.” He shrugged. “I’ll be getting off this damn boat soon enough.”
“Ulfrik Ormsson?” he strained to ask. Hrut stilled at the name, face suddenly cold and wary. “Dead?”
“What do you know of him?”
Ulfrik shook his head, and Hrut continued to stare at him as if seeing him for the first time. His small face displayed a swift range of thoughts, from wrinkled brows, distant eyes, and finally a satisfied smile. He leaned back against the gunwales. “Ulfrik’s dead. Saw it myself. Was he a friend of yours? Didn’t think he mixed with scum like you.”
Being called scum made Ulfrik narrow his eyes at Hrut, but then he realized his slave’s clothing and battered face did little to mark him otherwise.
“Not a friend,” Ulfrik managed to say. Words were coming easier as he spoke, the pain and the vestiges of medicine receding in equal measure.
Hrut grunted and laughed. “Wasn’t one to me either. Good man, really, but has powerful enemies.”
“Who? Throst?”
“Look, just because I’m tied up here doesn’t mean I’m answering all your questions. Piss off.” Unable to stomp off in anger, Hrut did his best with a violent sigh and looking up at the clouds. After a while, Hrut’s face softened into something more pensive and his brows pulled down in consternation. Ulfrik waited until he lifted his eyes back to him.
“What do you know about Throst? I thought a bear ripped you up. You’ve been keeping up on Gunnolfsvik while hanging onto your life?”
Ulfrik smiled wanly. He had to get his name out, even if only to his enemies. Eventually his allies would hear it and know the reports of his death were false. Hrut was the only one capable of carrying away the message. The rest of these people seemed intent on keeping him prisoner long after his legs healed.
“Not a bear attack. A fall from a tower.” Ulfrik’s voice trailed off as Hrut leaned forward against his bonds. “Trapped there with Throst. I fell.”
“I saw Ulfrik’s body, found it in the mud. He’s dead.”
Shaking his head with a hateful smirk, Ulfrik cut in. “Not me. A slave’s body in my clothes. Look at my eyes. I’m not lying.”
Hrut’s mouth hung open, and suddenly he was wrestling with his bonds like a rabid guard dog. “We hung your body from the walls. Sent your head and helmet back to Hrolf. They’re celebrating your death in Paris, you prick. I’ll kill you myself!”
Ulfrik closed his eyes, imagining the grief and horror Runa and his children would experience thinking he was dead. He might still die if his legs remained broken when Hrut returned with a warband. He had to take the chance.
Gudrod and two other men now ringed Hrut, and when he refused to calm they pounded him down with the butts of short oars they had carried for that purpose. Soon, Hrut was collapsed against the gunwales. Gudrod gave Ulfrik a cursory examination and returned to his duties.
“I will kill you.” Ulfrik hissed across the deck to the piled up form huddled in the gunwales. “Be sure to tell Throst we have a fight to finish.”
Hrut did not stir, and Ulfrik closed his eyes and waited for time to pass.
Chapter 15
Crickets chirped along the river banks, and dark shoulders of forests rose out of the night-blue landscape farther upland. Ulfrik was no longer tied to the litter on the deck. The cool damp of the night air was a welcomed relief though mosquitoes tormented him through the gaps in his shabby clothes. He stared up at the full moon, where the god Mani’s face was lost in its brightness. Ulfrik considered the god’s face was only visible in the crescent, but hidden in all other forms. It was like his situation, visible to all yet unseen. No one had paid Ulfrik any mind despite his supposed importance. Like the god Mani, his face was lost in plain sight.
He propped himself on his right elbow, a flash of pain in his opposite shoulder protesting. Hrut remained tied to the gunwales and two men flanked him, leaning on the rails. One man was hardly grown into full beard, and neither seemed confident in themselves. If Hrut were ever freed, he would break them like dry branches. They were not warriors, and few on these ships besides Gudrod were.
Flattening himself again, he heard the oars splashing in the night. Shifts of rowers had taken the ship far down the Seine without stopping. The blind woman Eldrid was preaching to them, shouting about gods and visions and great destinies. Ulfrik struggled to ignore it. The people paid her great respect and seemed to believe her visions. Certainly, they believed what she had said about him. People had avoided him, restricting themselves to whatever was necessary for his care and nothing else.
Burping up the broth he had been fed earlier, a sour taste of river eel filled his mouth and he frowned.
“Is your stomach settled?” Audhild asked as she sat next to him. Moonlight ringed her head in silver and filled in the stern contours of her face. He admired the clear, youthful power of the lines drawn by the play of light and shadow.
“It growls for more than broth and beer. I need real food to heal properly, woman.”
“Call me Audhild. I’m not your woman.”
“I wouldn’t have you for one, either.” Ulfrik narrowed his eyes at her and scowled. “You made a great show of helping me, but you want to keep me weak and dependent. You’re no friend.”
Expecting her to protest, she shrugged at his accusation. “Neither are you.”
“But I’m your gift from the gods, am I not? I’ll keep your people safe in their new homes.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make you a friend. It makes you a vessel for the will of the gods.”
“Odin’s balls, woman. The gods let me live a good thirty-nine winters without telling me about it. I’d say your blind hag has been sipping from the medicine cup you’ve been feeding me.”
Audhild pulled back, her face disappearing into shadow. Her hands pulled into her body, and Ulfrik reflexively reached for a sword he no longer possessed. In any case, he was too weak to threaten to anyone. Yet Audhild did not draw any weapon, merely hovering in a silver-lined shroud of night. Even without her face visible, Ulfrik imagined the angry expression. He turned aside with a grunt.
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You insult the gods with your clumsy words. Don’t apologize to me.”
The silence grew between them, and as Eldrid finished her speech with a mad howl, those not occupied with rowing applauded. Ulfrik shuddered.
“Who leads
these people? It’s not her, but Gudrod doesn’t seem to either.”
Audhild paused and began to rub her arms.
“I lead them.”
Ulfrik blinked in the darkness, his mouth open. This woman was a healer, not a leader. Yet, what did he know of her? Only recently had the hazy stupor muzzling his senses released. Until now, he had no sense of her as anything but a smooth, cool hand on his face or a strong arm to brace him as others changed his bandages.
“We are a village of farmers, not a band of noble warriors,” she said. “My family owned most of the land and so the community looked to us for decisions. After my father died, I continued on. It comes naturally to me.”
“What of Jarl Gunnolf and Stein Half-Leg?”
“We gave whatever they demanded,” Audhild said, then faced Hrut and lowered her voice into a harsh whisper. “But Gunnolfsvik never cared about us. Only ever saw them when they came to take.”
“And so you built ships in secret, and planned to break with them.”
“I see the fog is lifted from your mind,” she said. “We would’ve departed earlier but the encroachment of the Franks delayed us. I suppose I can thank Throst for settling with them and giving us this chance.”
“Any friend of Throst’s is an enemy of mine. So be careful who you thank.” Audhild laughed and Ulfrik’s body tensed at her reaction. “You think I joke with you? Do you know who I am?”
“I see what you have become. It will be a long time before you can stand again, and longer still before you are independent. You are in my care, Ulfrik Ormsson. So, yes, I’ve learned who you are. Your wargear and gold alone marked you for a great lord. Yet one more sign that the gods have gifted us with you. Anyway, you’ve told me enough about yourself while in your fevered state. Runa must be your wife, yes? You’ve called me that name enough times that Gudrod even calls me it.”
Ulfrik went limp at the mention of Runa’s name. He had avoided thinking of her and his family, knowing it would bring him only suffering. Now his eyes saw a different place, a warm bed with his wife laying beside him in peaceful slumber. “No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I would never mistake you for my wife.”
Audhild remained hidden in darkness, and placed her hand on his chest. “I am sorry it has to be this way. Fate is cruel and unknowable, but you belong to us now. Take solace knowing that as your wife mourns your passing, your very life ensures the safety of scores of people. One life for the lives of many, a fair exchange.”
“Madness!” Ulfrik shouted. He jerked up, but the sudden rush made him dizzy and he collapsed just as fast. Audhild’s hand snapped back and she recoiled as if from a snapping dog. “What possible good can I do? I am a burden in this condition, not a savior. The gods laugh at your foolishness.”
“Be quiet. They can hear you clear to the other ship.”
“Do I care? Everyone should know what you are doing.” He raised himself again, and began to shout to the rowers and the people sleeping on the deck. “I am a great jarl, and any who help me escape will be rewarded with more gold than you’ll see in a lifetime. Name your ransom and it will be paid.”
Heads turned to face him and the rowers looked at him with blank expressions. Audhild stood, pulling her cloak tight against her body. In the same moment he saw two men approaching from the stern, Gudrod and another. As they loomed over him, in his weakened condition Ulfrik suddenly felt like a mouse under a falcon’s talon.
“Told you to gag him until we’re at sea,” Gudrod said as he gestured to the other man.
“Then do it,” Audhild said, voice rich with scorn. “I had only hoped he’d accept his duty to the people who’ve rescued him from his enemies and spared his life.”
The man pinned Ulfrik to his litter, and his feeble effort to fight back drew derisive laughter from Gudrod. He forced a strip of leather into his mouth and tied it at the back of his head. The pain of being jostled set his legs and shoulder aflame and he surrendered to the attack. Once secured, Gudrod stepped back and admired his work. He gave a satisfied nod to the other man.
Hrut began laughing, then called for Gudrod. “Put him ashore with me. I promise you won’t be pursued. Throst will pay good gold for the chance to kill him a second time.”
Gudrod shook his head. “He stays with us. If your friends are following, then they’ve lingered well enough behind for us to not see them. We’ll be at sea by tomorrow morning, and we’ll let you ashore then. It’s a long walk home for you now.”
The jab silenced Hrut, and Ulfrik glared at him. The small-faced man smirked, then turned away. Suddenly a cold hand grabbed his chin and yanked his head over. Audhild frowned, her moon-bright locks of hair fluttering in the night breeze.
“Take a look at yourself and ask if anyone will believe your promises. A broken, old man in rags is what they see. The gods say you are our savior, but outside of us you are nothing. Be grateful to me and my folk, and to Eldrid for finding you. Otherwise, the head Throst sent back to your family would’ve truly been your own.”
She shoved his head back, and a jolt of pain lanced his shoulder. Stalking away, she revealed Eldrid standing behind her and leaning with both hands wrapped around her staff. Her blindfolded eyes stared straight over him, but a wicked smile shined in the night. She too turned away.
For a long time even the splashing of the oars plying the ship through the night seemed dampened. The leather gag was tight around his head, and spit began to leak into his beard. He considered Audhild’s words, and the awareness of his impoverished clothing made his whole body itch. His racing heart settled only after he had counted a hundred strokes of the oars.
Hrut hissed for his attention, and Ulfrik ignored it. Persisting until Ulfrik turned to him, Hrut leaned forward to whisper. His guards had both sunk down to the deck and were asleep. “You had better find a way to delay these fools or your end will be miserable. If you come with me, at least I can give you a warrior’s death. I’ve heard where these people are going. Do you know?”
Ulfrik shook his head. His stomach tightened as Hrut’s smile widened. “If you think to slip them after your legs heal, forget getting back to Ravndal. You’re going too far for that.”
He paused and checked the guards beside him, as if his next words might startle them from their sleep. Satisfied he could continue, he licked his lips then raised his voice.
“They’re headed to the top of the world. Iceland.”
Chapter 16
The salt air awakened Ulfrik. Not only from fitful sleep but also from a land-bound torpor. The sounds of ocean waves slapping the hull echoed through the deck. Above him clear blue sky stretched out, disrupted only by the billowing sail snapping into his view. Gulls screamed in the distance, and their melody lifted Ulfrik up from his litter. His heart lightened knowing he was once again on the ocean.
Drawing a deep breath, even if his ribs ached from it, filled him with joy. The leather gag had been removed to feed him the night before, and Audhild had not bothered to replace it. He was grateful for the taste of the air on his tongue, and it flooded his memory with a hundred youthful adventures. The world fell away and he saw himself at the tiller, Toki at his side and sea spray in his face. A fierce crew sat upon sea chests filled with plunder and rowed for foggy shores, singing bawdy songs in time with their stokes. His eyes dampened at the memories, for all the years gone, and for all the days locked into ceaseless land wars. Even as a prisoner, the flavor of the sea was good.
Memories shattered with the shrill screech of Eldrid. She strode into the prow as confident as any sighted woman and raised her arms above her head, one hand holding her staff. She screeched again, but now addressed the waves.
“Gods above, we are freed! No more jarls to tax us or steal our children. No more wars to bleed us. Freedom! Rejoice!”
Ulfrik estimated more than thirty people filled this ship, and guessed the second ship held as many again. The vastness of the sea weakened Eldrid’s voice, but sixty people shouting to the sk
y made an impression. Everyone stopped and threw their arms wide and stretched out to the heavens. He had never seen such an act. Audhild and Gudrod, the two most familiar faces, both imitated Eldrid and closed their eyes as if savoring the moment.
Hrut, still tied to the gunwales, spit on the deck. Ulfrik shared a confused shrug with him. These people believed in gods Ulfrik did not recognize, nor understand. The ship rocked and Eldrid wavered. Ulfrik hoped she would pitch into the water and drown, but she merely stumbled back and nearly tripped over him. Her staff whisked around to get her bearings, colliding with his head and drawing a protest from him. Eldrid laughed and struck him again, leaving no doubt she intended it.
As she exited the prow, everyone returned to their duties. Ulfrik remained alone with Hrut for a moment.
Ulfrik wasted no time. He had plenty of idle time to perfect his offer. Catching Hrut’s eye, he nodded him closer.
“It’s not like I can take a quick walk over,” he said, arms pulling at the cords lacing him to the gunwales. “At least they roll you over and move you. My ass is killing me.”
“We’re at sea now, so they’ll be letting you ashore. Looks like no one followed you after all.” Ulfrik smiled. The strain of sitting upright drew sweat to his brow, but he fought to appear unperturbed. Hrut frowned and turned away. For a moment, Ulfrik saw a spoiled and jealous child sitting in Hrut’s clothing. He wondered if Hrut had sought Stein’s seat but lost it to Throst. He let the consideration pass.
“You have a long walk home after all. Realize you’re in Hrolf the Strider’s lands now. The Franks here love him; gods know he’s done much to make their lives easy. Don’t suppose you’re going to find many friends here.”
“You got something to say, dead man? I’ll get back fine, but you’ll be rotting at the bottom of the ocean before Yule. These fools don’t know what they’re doing. Put all their trust in the gods, and we both know what that gets a man.” Hrut squeezed out a twisted smile.
“It gets him whatever the gods are giving out,” Ulfrik said, scanning for the approach of others. Eldrid braced herself against the mast and shouted at a boy working the back-stay. Gudrod and Audhild were in the stern and all others were preoccupied. “Throst has abandoned you, and for good cause. You betrayed Stein Half-Leg easily enough, so can’t be trusted. You’ll be the next body flying off that tower if you go back to Throst. He was going to kill you anyway, but your disappearance suited him just as well. You’re not so stupid to believe otherwise.”
The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5) Page 8
