He was readily dismissed, and Gudrod was already strapping on a sword in preparation. No matter how peaceful intentions were, men were expected to bear swords but leave them sheathed. As he fastened the buckle around his waist, he asked Ulfrik, “What’s the leader’s name again?”
“Gunnbjorn Red-Hand, last I was here. He should still lead, or his kin. He was the son of Frida Styrdottir, a respected name here. Mention any one and you should get their leader. You’re taking me along, of course.”
Gudrod laughed until he choked, then left without answering. Audhild gave a smile reserved for young children. “What possible good will you do us? You’d have to be carried. How would that look?”
“Like we come in peace, that’s how. What’s less threatening than a wounded man?”
“Stay on the ship,” she said. Her hand brushed his cheek and her smile was more sincere. Ulfrik leaned away, absently touching the spot she had. “You are too important to risk moving around unnecessarily.”
She joined Gudrod and two other men who bracketed Eldrid as they led her down the gangplank. Ulfrik had wanted to protest, but the surprising tenderness had stunned him. Audhild had been moody and cold since he had stood on his own. By the time he had recovered his senses, she was already halfway up the slope with the others. Figures had emerged from the hall to greet them, a knot of hesitant dark shapes that clung to the walls.
Watching alongside his shipmates, he could not determine who had come to greet them. They were all men, about six of them, and they moved cautiously down to Gudrod. Ulfrik shook his head at the fear he saw in the people of Nye Grenner. Had they forgotten how well he had positioned their hall against raiders from the sea? He had held off armies from that slope and littered it with corpses. What was wrong with these people?
The exchange seemed friendly enough, though his sight was no longer as sharp as it had been years ago. He could not see expressions, but the postures seemed open and less guarded. Eventually, his red-bearded, wild-haired friend Lini sought him out. The young man was the only one brave enough to speak with him, and that was only for fleeting moments when neither Eldrid nor Audhild watched.
“I hope they agree to let us winter here.” Lini stood beside Ulfrik and leaned on the tiller, idly toying with the loose handle. “I’ve never seen the likes of those cliffs. You could see to the end of the world from there.”
“Not so far as that, but other islands are in view when not smothered in fog.”
“You know a lot about this place.” Lini continued to play with the tiller, as if he were imagining steering the ship through a gale.
Ulfrik nodded in answer to his question. All eyes were turned toward the meeting on the shore, and Ulfrik decided he had to make good use of his time with Lini. “Audhild is a tremendous healer. I wonder how she learned such arts?”
Lini shrugged, more interested in the tiller and the cliffs.
“Only someone acquainted with battlefield injuries should be able to dress wounds like that. Did she serve Gunnolf at some point?”
“Never, her father was Jarl Gunnolf’s ship-builder. Maybe they hurt themselves a lot while building ships.”
Ulfrik smiled. Of all the people on this boat, the simpleton had to befriend him.
“I suppose so. I thought since her father had died from fighting the Franks, she might’ve had such experience.”
“Her father died in a fight with a relative. Something about honor. I don’t know the details and it does not matter. Eldrid foretold her father’s death. That I remember.” Lini stopped playing with the tiller and stared as if looking into the past. “Eldrid’s words always come true.”
Blinking at the revelation, Ulfrik stole a glance toward Eldrid in the distance. It was ludicrous to think she could hear him, but somehow she had unnaturally sharp hearing. “Eldrid said Audhild’s father would die? Why?”
“He was her father, too. Eldrid and Audhild are sisters. I don’t remember why she said it would happen. The gods show her things, like how she said you’d come from the sky to lead us to safety in a new land.”
Questions stacked up on each other, but Ulfrik had to stop with the return of Gudrod and the others. Lini left him before they boarded the deck. When Eldrid stumbled the final steps over the railing, suddenly she did not seem as old as he had thought. Her bony arms and fine, fair hair made her look older, and her ragged voice was that of a hag’s. She was a strong counterpoint to Audhild.
“We’ve been invited to their hall, and are free to make our repairs and trade,” Gudrod announced. Cheers came up from the rest of the people. “I haven’t mentioned anything about wintering here, so not a word from any of you.”
Gudrod stared at Ulfrik as he made his request. A slight smile played on his lips. He did not care at all, for as soon as he could he would meet with Gunnbjorn and arrange for his freedom.
The process of disembarking took longer than Ulfrik would have liked. He was eager to see a familiar face, but the men who came to help were unfamiliar. He felt useless and forgotten, having been laid flat again like a piece of cargo. Not until the last moments did Audhild come with bearers to fetch him. In light of Lini’s information, Ulfrik now saw the similarities in the shape of Audhild’s and Eldrid’s faces and the severity of their mouths. Eldrid was irredeemable, but Audhild need only smile to cure the meanness of her features. As the men bore him over the side, she spoke to him. “You were right about these people. They are friendly and willing to trade. I’m so glad that I convinced Eldrid to listen to you. Imagine if we tried to finish this crossing without stopping here?”
Her unusually animated talk further confused Ulfrik to silence. As bearers carried him down the gangplank, and then up the slope toward his old hall, her words faded off. Such a strange way to return home, and to a hall filled with unfamiliar faces. He had nearly given his life for this patch of land, and he prayed the people who remained would remember it.
Most of Audhild’s people were gathered outside, now sharing news with the bewildered inhabitants of Nye Grenner. Curious children came to stare at and poke Ulfrik, and one asked if he was dead. Rather than leave him under the sun, Audhild asked to place him in the shade of the hall. A dark-skinned man with a coppery beard twisted to a braid answered her. “You will all be welcomed to my hall, but I fear I lead a humble life and it is a poor place for guests. Still, we will welcome you as friends and are eager for news.”
This was Gunnbjorn, who had been a much younger man when Ulfrik had seen him last. Now the sun had cooked his skin and time had bent his back. Though he was a decade younger than Ulfrik, he appeared older than Snorri who was the oldest man Ulfrik had ever known. He had forgotten how bitter life could be this far to the edge of the world. How much worse would Iceland be if it lay even closer to the edge?
As he rested in the cool darkness of his old hall, his mind filled with a dozen memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He began to think of his family and his closest friends left behind in Frankia. He wished someone would interrupt him, but he was nothing more than a totem to Eldrid and her people and no more than a broken slave to Nye Grenner. No one sought him, and so memories were his only companionship. It was not long before he felt the wet chill of tears leaking down the sides of his face and into his ears. The familiarity of the hall made it feel as if his family was near, but they were far away and believed him dead.
Hours passed and people came and left the hall. Voices were mostly happy and bouts of laughter punctuated the exchanges. However, as the day drew on, silence grew and then shouting began. Ulfrik raised his head, as if expecting his broken legs to be healed. They were not. Gunnbjorn stormed inside with several others following.
Audhild followed, hand on her chest and her eyes bright with fear. Gunnbjorn charged directly to Ulfrik’s litter, hanging over him with a disgusted scowl upon his face.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Ulfrik swallowed, then smiled weakly. “You’re not happy to see me, old friend?”
> Gunnbjorn straightened and the men at his side looked expectantly at him. A woman with cratered, red cheeks clung behind Gunnbjorn and hissed.
“I don’t understand,” said Audhild, forcing herself to the front of the crowd. “I thought he and Hrolf were friends of yours?”
“Actually, I am jarl here,” Ulfrik said, daring to name his title when obviously he could not enforce the claim. It was the truth, as he had never relinquished the title.
Gunnbjorn’s laugh was like the bark of a dog. “Jarls left these lands years ago, and none are welcomed back. I can scarcely believe what I see before me, but it is true. I recognize your eyes, like the wolf of your namesake. You are Ulfrik the Unlucky, and I see the title still fits.”
“I was thrown from a tower. A story for another time. I was hoping for a better welcome, and that you of all people would remember the sacrifices I made for this land and its people.”
Gunnbjorn’s scowl deepened and he curled his lip. He turned to Audhild, who now had Gudrod at her side. Both stared slack-jawed at Gunnjorn, who pointed his gnarled finger at them. “You may repair your ships and trade. But you must leave immediately. This broken man you placed in my hall is cursed. He brought us war and death and all for his own vanity. I’ll not have him back.”
He faced Ulfrik and squinted. “Never call yourself jarl here again, or I will have the grievances of the people brought against you, then you’ll find out what it’s like to be thrown from a cliff.”
Chapter 20
The door to the abandoned barracks wheezed opened, bright moonlight sliding through the crack. Ulfrik roused from half-sleep, barely lifting his head. “If that is you, Eldrid, you’re too early. Audhild has not visited yet. You can torment me later.”
The door closed as someone entered, returning the room to darkness. Ulfrik was awake now, hand searching for anything to use in defense. Nothing but old straw filled his hand. A spark flared in the blackness, then the pungent scent of burning touchwood hit his nose a moment before a candle flared. The sudden brightness was like a bonfire to his eyes, though in reality the shadow of a man husbanded the weak flame as he slipped past the stacked bags and crates.
Half the barracks had been converted to a storehouse, and Gunnbjorn had staged trade goods here along with Ulfrik. The shadowy man placed the candle beside Ulfrik’s pallet, then searched around as if just realizing the crowded conditions.
“It used to house thirty men,” Ulfrik said, his voice rough from disuse. “The crew of one ship.”
“I know it, Lord Ulfrik. I was a boy then,” the shadow said. He leaned over the weak candle flame; a smiling but unfamiliar face wavered in the orange light.
Ulfrik returned the smile. “Then your beard must be what throws off my memory.”
“I am Bork Borgarson. I was a lad of twelve when you sailed away. You might remember my brother better than me, Helgi. He was supposed to sail with you and my Da, but he was too sick.”
The tale knocked loose more memories, but Ulfrik could not place the brothers. “Borg was a good man. Did you get his blood price?”
Bork nodded. “When Toki returned, he made good for all the families of the dead. Did it in your name. People here seem to have forgotten that part of your legacy.”
Ulfrik closed his eyes at the mention of Toki. His ghost haunted this place, and with days to idle he thought about him more than he wanted. “Toki lost all the gold I sent with him. He must have got it from his wife’s family.”
They sat in silence a moment, then Bork spoke. “These people you’re with, they’re strange. They’ve made you a slave.”
“Not a slave, but not free. I don’t know what I mean to these people, and their claims about me are stranger still. The blind woman, Eldrid, she’s their seidkona, but she’s more than a witch or a seer. She has them under her control.”
“A spell.” Bork’s eyes widened as he whispered the words.
“A spell anyone can weave. Most of these folk are bondsmen to her family. The blind seidkona is sister to Audhild, and she has promised these people land and freedom as long as they accompany her to Iceland. She had a vision of me being a gift sent to them from the gods, and as long as I live with them they will prosper.”
Bork’s eyebrows drew together, causing shadow to flood his eyes. “Is it true?”
“True or not, I’ve no intention of dying in Iceland—if we even reach it. You see my condition and you’ve heard Gunnbjorn’s scorn for me. I need help. Someone must get word back to my family in Frankia. They think I’m dead.”
“That’s a long way off.” Bork reclined deeper into shadow, rubbing his chin. “But I’ve come to help. My brother, Helgi, feels the same as I do. You were a good leader to our family, and your wife cared for us when you left. It’s not right for you to be stacked in this room like a bale of hay to be traded. Everyone else may choose to forget their oaths, but not us. My father raised us better.”
A smile stretched across Ulfrik’s face. “I feared I’d never find another honorable man again. Your courage warms my heart.”
“Helgi and I will sneak you out. We own a fishing boat sturdy enough to deliver you to the Irish monks living north of here. Once they see your injuries and understand the injustice, they will admit you to their care.”
“Don’t underestimate the people keeping me prisoner. They will pursue us, and I don’t doubt they’ll kill the monks to get me back.”
Shaking his head, Bork waved away Ulfrik’s concern. “The monks are protected now. Jarl Hrapp the Cross has become a Christian, even if his people have not. He won’t abide an attack and we’ll alert him to the possibility. Gunnbjorn won’t stand for it either. The battles you and my father fought against the northern families ended the time for wars in these lands. We will stand together to drive out any enemy.”
They shared the silence while Ulfrik mulled the plan. This was the best he could hope to achieve. “When I am finally returned home, I will send such riches back to you and Helgi that you’ll become jarls yourselves.”
“It’s not more than what I should do. Perhaps I will remain with you. There’s nothing here for me. Stole my wife from a farm in Scotland and she’s no prize. Hasn’t given me children either. I can leave her behind.”
“I’d be glad for the company. Now you must leave, for neither Audhild nor Eldrid have visited me yet. Audhild tends my injuries, and Eldrid later comes to demonstrate she’s the stronger one. Once they’ve visited, then I will be prepared to enact your plans.”
“Good, we’ve readied everything for tonight. The sky is clear and moon shining. No better time to do it.”
Bork collected his candle and extinguished it before he opened the door to slip out. He whispered a promise to return, then disappeared. Ulfrik lay in the dark and imagined escape. Audhild interrupted his planning when she came to check on him. By candlelight she examined all his wounds, brought him scraps of the evening meal, and shared minor details of the day. Repairs on the ships were complete and Gudrod was going to float them the next morning to test for leaks. Everyone was optimistic for the last stretch of the trip.
For his part, Ulfrik attempted to act as calm as possible though his heart raced. At one point while checking his shoulder, Audhild noticed the fast throb in his neck. She had given him a quizzical look, but Ulfrik dismissed it with the only excuse he could muster. “I’m lonely in this room. Your touch is … welcomed.”
Audhild had laughed and continued with her ministrations. After placing a skin of water in easy reach, she left him. Now he awaited Eldrid’s arrival, where she would inflict her minor torments. She never did anything overtly damaging. One night she had forced him to drink the entire water skin and then refastened his pants so that he urinated on himself all night. Most other times she rambled about visions and purpose, and intermittently prodded his broken bones until he cried out. He had learned to express his pain more vociferously than he felt it. That satisfied Eldrid’s purposes while keeping the pain manageable.
&
nbsp; Time stretched on and Ulfrik’s pulse quickened again. Eldrid did not arrive and he wondered what would cause her to forget. She seldom missed a night to toy with him, though it had happened. However, tonight was made for desperate plans and her absence was troubling. At last the door opened again, but the lack of anything besides moonlight informed him it was Bork and not Eldrid.
Two forms flitted past the door to disappear in the shadows of the stacked boxes. Reemerging by his side, Bork crouched with a finger over his lips. Ulfrik nodded understanding. The other man, assumed to be his brother Helgi, merely patted Ulfrik’s good arm in greeting. The two then spared no time in securing the ropes that held him to the litter before lifting him between themselves. They began to guide him through the former barracks with great care, but they knocked a stack of empty crates. Though none fell, they both cringed as if an anvil had crashed in the silence.
Passing beneath the door, the air was instantly fresher and cooler on Ulfrik’s face. The salty smell of the ocean mingled with the warm, earthy notes of the grass that swished in the breeze. He had not been outside his prison for a week and it felt liberating to see the sprawl of stars above. Only scattered clouds glowed silver in the moonlight. The two brothers wasted no time, but jogged in a crouch across the field behind the main hall. Ulfrik had hosted games and feasts here, and had won a battle against his neighbor, Hardar, in this same place. Now it was painted in ghost-white strokes and empty of anything but grass and stones. They stumbled and tripped at points, and one would outpace the other and jumble up the litter. Yet they managed to transport him down to the sea, where a wide and low fishing boat leaned sideways on the thin strip of rocky beach.
Lifting his head up, he saw the lumpy outline of bags stacked in the hull.
Eldrid sat on a bench in the boat, arms folded over her staff and her blindfolded eyes seeming to meet his own.
Helgi stopped short with a gasp and Bork cursed as he stumbled. Gentle waves lapped the rocks, hissing when the water retreated back to sea. A rough voice came from the left, and all three turned to face it.
The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5) Page 11
