The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5)

by Jerry Autieri

  “Getting some night air?” Gudrod stood up from where he had crouched. Covered in his cloak, the moonlight had painted him as little more than a rock. Now his sword gleamed as it scraped across the wood of his scabbard. He pointed the tip at them. “Place Ulfrik on the beach and step away.”

  More noise from the opposite side drew Ulfrik’s attention, and he saw a knot of shadows moving from behind a large rock toward them. Spear points gleamed a milky blue in the moonlit night. Both Bork and Helgi cursed.

  “Be good lads and surrender. You’re trapped between spears and sea, not much of a choice really.” Gudrod stepped closer, his sword threatening Bork.

  Ulfrik’s mind raced, but there was no solution. He cursed his broken body. With a sword and both his legs mended he would cut the heads from all of these snakes in one pass.

  “Don’t trust them,” Ulfrik warned. “They’re all mad. The blind whore has them under a spell. You two have to escape.”

  “I don’t see how,” Bork said, and his brother agreed. The spearmen were now in reach.

  “Throw me in the sea,” Ulfrik said. “Then run. They’ll have to save me.”

  Helgi looked at him as if he were mad, but Bork understood Ulfrik’s plan. He shoved against his brother, but the plan spluttered out like a candle in a wind.

  The litter collapsed sideways and Ulfrik’s weight carried him over. He crashed into the sand, landing on his good shoulder but pain rocked him nonetheless. Bork had turned to flee and Helgi paused to draw a sword.

  The brief fight ended before Ulfrik could shake the sand out of his face. Gudrod lanced his blade through Helgi’s neck and he fell beside Ulfrik, clutching at his throat and bubbling blood erupting from his mouth. Bork made it ten strides before one of the other men threw a spear to pierce his side. He collapsed with a scream, and his pursuers followed on with their weapons. Spears pumped over Bork as his cries died and his body stilled.

  Rough hands flipped over Ulfrik in the sand, and Gudrod’s musky scent clogged Ulfrik’s nose as he bore down over him. “You only have to be breathing for the magic to work. Gods said nothing about you standing up again.”

  “Enough,” screeched Eldrid. Ulfrik could not see her but imagined her holding out her staff as she always did when shouting her pronouncements. “Get him aboard ship.”

  Defeat suffused Ulfrik’s body, flattening him into the sand. Next to him Helgi’s final breath gurgled in bloody foam. At least he died with his hand upon his sword. Gudrod and another hefted Ulfrik back onto his litter, where his legs still remained tied. Pain shot through his body at the rough treatment, particularly in his legs. A filthy rag tasting of stale beer was stuffed into his mouth and tied with a leather strap about his head. Gudrod’s shadowy form playfully slapped his cheek. “Nice try, but you’ve got to stay with us. We need your good luck.”

  “How?” he managed to ask through the stifling gag.

  Eldrid appeared as two other men lifted him. “What I’ve lost in sight, I’ve gained in hearing. Do not plot against me, or I will find out. Even a thought will be enough, for the gods let me hear your evil imaginings.”

  She grasped Ulfrik’s leg at the break and squeezed, sending ice cold pain up into his brain. When he recovered, they were bearing him along to the two ships farther down the beach. Unlike Audhild’s description, these ships were already at sea and a chain of people were relaying goods down a line that ended in Ulfrik’s former prison. When they reached this line, Gudrod ordered Ulfrik placed to the side. “Watch him, and break his legs again if he tries to move.”

  A guard with a bloodied spear stood beside him. His eyes were wide with shock, and even in the darkness Ulfrik could see how pale his face had become. As soon as Gudrod left, the man vomited in the grass. He had probably never killed before, but Eldrid and Gudrod had forced him to it.

  He remained staring up at the moon, trying to remember Bork’s face. The man had sacrificed his life for him, and already his image was fading. Ulfrik squeezed his eyes shut as if to impress the vague memory of the man deeper into his mind. He would not forget the sacrifice. Such loyalty would guarantee Bork a place in the feasting hall, even if he had died fleeing, at least so Ulfrik convinced himself.

  “What’s this?” the voice ringing out in the night was Gunnbjorn’s, and Ulfrik opened his eyes to find the jarl running down the slope with a shield and a drawn sword, but otherwise only wearing gray wool clothes. Men came with torches and spears, all in the same condition as their leader. Gunnbjorn’s ugly wife waddled behind him.

  “Gods curse you,” Eldrid screamed, sweeping forward with her staff overhead. She had remarkable accuracy for a blind woman, and Ulfrik guessed she could strike Gunnbjorn’s head if she desired. Instead, she ratted the staff at him. “You plot to steal our gift? This is your hospitality?”

  Gunnbjorn did not answer, but looked to his men. Their faces were flat in the dancing torchlight.

  “We’ll be taking what we need for winter,” Gudrod said, stepping beside Eldrid. His bloodied sword drew Gunnbjorn’s eyes. “You can collect the bodies of your thieves down the shore.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. These are my winter stores, and you’ll return them or face death.” Gunnbjorn raised his blade as if to signal his men, and they stirred to his command. Yet Gudrod’s line did not hesitate as men and women alike handed sacks, casks, and boxes down the line to the foremost ship.

  “Your daughter might disagree with that choice,” Gudrod said.

  Audhild came forward with a girl of no more than ten years clutched to her side. She held a knife to the girl’s throat. Seeing this made Ulfrik’s gorge rise. Could the woman who had tended his wounds so carefully murder a child?

  “Bastards!” Gunnbjorn searched the crowd until he found Ulfrik lying on the ground. He stalked toward him, sword extended. The guard fumbled with his spear and set it at the oncoming attacker. “This is your doing. You brought these madmen to us.”

  Ulfrik wanted to agree with him, to admit his fault and apologize for the horror visited on this place, but the gag in his mouth turned words to muffled nonsense. Gudrod called Gunnbjorn to heel as Audhild bit the knife deeper into the girl’s throat. He stopped.

  “After we’ve loaded everything we need, we’ll cast off. Your daughter is coming with us, and we’ll let her off on one of these small islands with food and water. You can fetch her there, as long as you don’t follow. Give us one day, and if we see any ship on the horizon behind us—even if it’s not yours—your daughter goes over the side. Understood?”

  Gunnbjorn nodded and his wife sobbed. His men shook their heads in frustration as he waved them back from the line stealing his winter stock. “You are killing all my people with this.”

  “But the gods have chosen us to survive,” Eldrid said, straightening herself with evident pride. “And so we shall prosper this winter.”

  By the time dawn was staining the night sky, Ulfrik had been loaded aboard the ship like another piece of cargo. Audhild dragged the girl hostage with her, and avoided looking at Ulfrik. Without a favorable wind, the men were forced to row and he was glad they had to strain to escape their evil.

  Fearing the worst for the girl, Ulfrik was surprised when Gudrod let her ashore the next day on an empty island. He hoped the tiny girl would survive the ordeal, but if her father hastened she would be rescued.

  Then the two ships sailed for Iceland, replete with ample stocks for the coming winter.

  Ulfrik wished the gods would send both ships to the ocean floor. Yet, after nearly a month of monotonous sailing, a lookout proclaimed land off the starboard side.

  They had arrived in Iceland, Ulfrik’s grave.

  Chapter 21

  Ulfrik hobbled across the uneven ground on his crutches, following Audhild to the gathering of her people. After so long at sea with nothing more to do than accustom his legs to bearing weight, he was glad for the open spaces. Flimsy slave clothing had finally been exchanged for buckskin pants an
d a scratchy, gray wool shirt and cloak. A wet wind sliced through him as he trailed Audhild. She paused now, patiently smiling as he caught up to her.

  “How does it feel to walk on grass again?”

  “As if I’m always about to trip.”

  Her laugh was light and vanishing, but her smile lingered as he came to her side. He continued past, and she matched his pace. Ahead of him nearly sixty people congregated around a tall lichen-spattered stone. Two boys stood atop it, one of them dancing playfully. The rest of the crowd spoke in animated, upbeat voices that echoed off the fat clouds hanging overhead.

  “I can hardly believe we have come so far,” Audhild said. “I’ve dreamed of this day for so long. All the planning, the setbacks, and the fear, it’s all over now.”

  “Winter doesn’t figure into your plans? It will be a blessing if half of these people are alive come springtime.”

  Audhild’s white hand grabbed the silver hammer at her neck. “Eldrid has foreseen success. You will ensure it for us.”

  Ulfrik had tired of asking how exactly he ensured success. Neither Audhild nor Eldrid could answer, and Eldrid became violent if pushed. He snorted and spit, rather than ask again. By spring he planned to have regained his former dexterity and worked out a solution to acquiring one of the two ships for himself. He would row with his own crutches if that guaranteed his escape. These people would have their god’s-gifted winter and then he would be gone.

  As he came among the crowd, it parted for him. A few people applauded and it began a reaction that spread across the circle. Frozen in place, he met their approving faces with wide eyes and a half-opened mouth. Lini and his friends clapped hardest and bowed to him. Even Gudrod, standing in front of the great rock, labored out a few claps. Ulfrik blinked, his mouth quivering with nothing to say. What had he done to deserve their praise?

  “The people are grateful for the sacrifices you’ve made.” Audhild lightly placed her hand upon his shoulder and drew him to face her. “You are the gods’ gift to our people, and we all know you gave up your old life for our sake.”

  He wanted to scream in Audhild’s face that he had done no such thing. He had fallen from a tower during a fight with his mortal enemy. He had depended upon Audhild and these people to aid him, and instead they had enslaved him to their bizarre visions. Yet the applause continued and Audhild’s smile was clear and warm. Instead, he swallowed and faced the crowd.

  Atop the rock, Eldrid now balanced with the aid of the two boys, each one hovering with arms outstretched about her. Despite her blindness she stood as if she was part of the stone. Her thin mouth bent in solemn approval of the crowd, and Ulfrik wondered if she thought the praise was directed at her. She began to butt her staff on the rock, the necklace of bones about her neck rattling. In moments, everyone turned to face her.

  Her blindfolded gaze spread across the gathered families. The wind pressed her plain dress to her body, revealing the thin frame beneath and setting her unkempt hair flying. Behind her the shoulders of snow covered mountains loomed and the start of a sparse woods of birch trees shook their branches. Were it not for the waves rolling onto the beach, the silence would have been perfect.

  Eldrid’s voice broke the quiet like a rock dropped on a pile of shells. “Last night I slept under the birch trees and asked the gods for wisdom. A rabbit came to me and said this is the place the gods have made for us. Our long journey is at an end. My vision has proved true. The man I witnessed falling from the sky in my dreams has carried the gods’ blessing to this land and will carry it with him for our prosperity.”

  More cheering ensued and Ulfrik wished he could slink away. He had never been shy before the admiration of others, but this was wrong. He had done nothing for these people. He feared them for their zealotry, despised them for their ignorance, and wished to escape. He would rather they all die than prosper. Their adulation only added to the sense of madness.

  “What is more, your hope for freedom is fulfilled.” Audhild shouted above their cheers, stepping forward to make herself clear. “Today, all bondsmen are now freemen. Whatever oaths held you to another are dissolved this day. You are free to live as you will.”

  Cheering turned to dancing and shouting. Two-thirds of the people who made the journey were bondsmen or slaves no longer. Freedom, even in this rugged outland at the end of the world, was more precious than gold. Ulfrik knew it only too well.

  “And I suppose that doesn’t apply to me,” he said with a frown. Audhild’s smile did not falter.

  “You must remain married to the people, to fulfill Eldrid’s vision and ensure prosperity.”

  His attempt at whirling away from Audhild to sulk nearly ended with him crashing on his face. The makeshift crutches that supported his weak legs caught on a stone and he barely prevented a fall. Pain radiated from his left shoulder as he recovered, growling away a young woman who had made to catch him had he tripped. That the girl could have borne his weight had he fallen on her was even more humiliating. The muscle and strength that had so long defied the decades were diminished after months of inaction. He left the celebrants behind, and did not turn back to face them.

  Hobbling to the shore, he stared out at the gray ocean. Winter would come and ice would float in to lock them into their homes, which currently consisted of tents for the prepared and lean-tos for the less fortunate. Favoring his left leg, he stood at the edge of the water and tried to ignore the celebration back in the clearing. He fought the memories of his family that invaded his thoughts. Throughout this entire ordeal, he had staved off Runa’s warm smile, the proud deeds of his sons, or the playful laughter of his adopted daughter. He chased away his army shouting in victory, carrying gold and spoils beneath his banner. All of it he pushed down, else he would collapse under their weight. Now standing at the top of the world where ice and snow reigned over all, he began to realize these memories were all he would have for a long time to come.

  Memories were not for banishing, but for holding close and providing strength. Without his memories, he might actually become the weak, broken thing these people wanted him to be—some living token of the gods’ favor forever tied to whatever scrap of land they chose to settle. Without his memories, he might surrender.

  “I will not,” he said, his grip tightening on his crutches. He swallowed hard, throat clicking with the effort. “I will not give up until I am dead. I will not stop seeking a way home. I will not forget who I am.”

  He faced the ocean, gusts of cold spray peppering his face, and studied the sea birds riding the high clouds. Sitting would have been more comfortable, but his legs needed to strengthen. Also, without assistance his attempt at sitting would end up more like a crash, and nor would he be able to stand again without Audhild to hoist him. So much healing yet remained. He shook his head at the thought.

  The celebration had sobered and he recognized both Audhild’s and Gudrod’s voices addressing their audience. Soon ordered crews of men began to descend upon the ships that had been hauled to the edge of the grass. Ulfrik observed them under hooded eyes. Younger boys followed, bearing mallets and axes along with empty barrels that formerly held supplies. Gudrod shouted instructions to both crews, typical encouragements to work fast and not waste anything. The first crew began to straighten their ship, wedging large stones beneath its hull. Curious, Ulfrik approached.

  The younger boys helped carry out the sail, handing it down to women who had arrived behind their men. It seemed everyone had arrived. Next, the men unstepped the mast and dropped it over the side into the grass.

  Audhild now found him, with Eldrid picking her way behind her.

  “What are they doing?” Ulfrik asked. “This is not like any repair I’ve ever seen.”

  Eldrid answered, feebly shoving her sister aside. “We need wood for houses and barns. We sailed in our homes across the great ocean, and now we will remake them in this land.”

  “You’re taking apart the ships?” Ulfrik’s voice did not register any of the
fury welling up inside. He could not believe even these people were crazed enough to cut off any possibility of leaving.

  “We need the wood,” Eldrid said, her voice filled with finality.

  “You just slept under trees last night. There’s your wood.” Ulfrik’s voice cracked as he tried to control himself. “Ships are important to a new colony. Trust me on this. As your contact with the gods, I’m telling you they want the ships intact.”

  Eldrid screeched as if she had been branded with a red-hot iron. She dropped her staff and held her head, wailing in agony. Ulfrik recoiled in surprise as Audhild bent to her sister’s aid. All the people stopped, and those nearby rushed to Eldrid.

  “No one speaks to the gods but me!” She burst out of the small crowd, her face pulled taut with hate and fury. “You do not have the sight! You are a liar!”

  The hostility surrounding him became palpable. Every face grew dark and scowling, and every eye regarded him with suspicion. Even Audhild, normally mild, bared her teeth in undisguised hate. She stabbed a finger at him. “Do not claim to know the gods’ will. Whatever speaks to you is an evil spirit. Never say such a thing again.”

  The crowd was like a great boar ready to charge. Either Eldrid or Audhild only had to give the signal and boar tusks would tear him from crotch to throat. He raised his hand for peace, holding Audhild’s hate-filled glare. Her chest was heaving with anger, as if the challenge to Eldrid’s authority had knocked the air from her.

  “Think about this. These ships are important to us. We will need to find our neighbors and trade with them. Your sons will need wives from other lands. Without ships, we cannot be found nor find anyone else. Use reason; leave at least one.”

  Eldrid stood as if barely recovering from the grievous wound. Ulfrik considered if his words could inflict such suffering on her, he would have spoken them sooner. Audhild whispered soothing words to her, though he could not hear them. She shook her head, then accepted her staff from a woman who had retrieved it for her.