The hours never seemed to pass until at last he heard male voices beyond the door. Gudrod was among them, but in Ulfrik’s state he avoided confrontation. He waited for Audhild to summon him, which she did by opening his door then leaving. Beyond it her hall was lit with the hearth but otherwise empty. The front door hung open and merry voices laughed beyond. He followed them outside, his steps still uncertain from Eldrid’s poison.
A simple feast had been prepared with long tables set out for Heidrek and his crews. Ulfrik located Gudrod seated at the head of a table with Heidrek, both leaning into each other like old friends. Ulfrik counted that a good sign for his plans. Other traders were sprinkled among the villagers, the younger women entertaining more than one trader hoping for an amorous send-off before the night finished. Eldrid was not present, a great relief but a surprise. She usually overawed any gathering of more than two people.
Avoiding his own people was impossible, but he eschewed eye contact with them and they reciprocated. Audhild saw him and motioned him closer. She walked the line of benches to mingle with her guests and Ulfrik fell in beside her.
Keeping her voice low, she pulled him gently by his shirt. “Remember your promise to me. Their ships are guarded. So if you think to hide yourself in one, you will be disappointed to say the least.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.” It has been his first impulse but it was too obvious and likely to end with his capture. Eventually Heidrek would find him and either return him or throw him overboard. He had resigned himself to finding another way to use the trader’s presence.
Audhild smiled and patted his chest. “Find a spot at any table, but do not drink heavily. Your stomach is not ready for it.”
Looking past her, he saw Gudrod scowling at him as Heidrek offered a toast. Ulfrik fell back into the crowd, seeking the company of the trading crew. He located an opening on a bench with two men on the outside edge of the women. They had not witnessed his outburst and likely had not even heard of it.
“A fine night for celebrating your last days ashore. Can I share a drink with you lads?”
The older of the two, red-nosed and rosy-cheeked, gestured with his mug. “Was hoping for someone with tits, but you can warm the spot till she finds us.”
They all laughed and Ulfrik sat. He then set about ingratiating himself. All he required was information from them, and after a half dozen toasts, a round of riddles, and teaching them a rowing song neither had heard before, he had their attention. Their faces glowed from the ale they had guzzled, but Ulfrik had been careful to spill his into the grass.
Amid the laughter and off-tune singing, Ulfrik pressed them for what he hoped to learn. “Well, lads, the night is growing late and my old bones can only handle so much. You boys have to find a girl before you leave.”
The red-nosed man, who had given his name as Folkmar, scanned the scene and waved a disgusted hand. “Bah, they’re all taken. Better luck at our next call.”
“And where’s that?” Ulfrik asked.
The two grew quiet and glanced at each other. Folkmar answered for them. “We can’t tell you. It’s bad luck.”
“Yeah, no trader will say where he travels next. Brings ambushers and worse,” said the second man, who called himself Geir.
“I didn’t realize,” Ulfrik lied. He did not expect them to divulge their next destination even after they had become drunk. “Still, now you’ve got me curious. We don’t have ships, so we can’t chase you or set an ambush. What’s the harm in telling me?”
“Heidrek’ll whip the skin off our backs,” said Folkmar.
“All right, I won’t bother you about it.” Ulfrik sat back and they watched others at their merriment. Two men danced with a girl to pipe music by the bonfire, then one nearly stumbled into the flames. The ensuing laughter reopened Ulfrik’s opportunity.
“This is really bothering me, now. I have to know where you’re going next. Let’s make it a bet. If I win, you tell me what I want to know. If I lose, I’ll get the two of you a girl for the night.”
They now leaned forward, Folkmar raising his brow to Ulfrik’s proposal. “What’s the bet, and can you deliver on the girl?”
“Yeah, and not a cow. A real woman,” added Geir and they all laughed.
“The woman is none other than my own, Audhild. See her over there? She’s a tough lass, but listens to me. I’ll share her with you if I lose.” The two craned their necks, Folkmar frowning in disbelief. Ulfrik continued. “The bet is simple. I can throw my knife in the air and make it land on its cutting edge right on this table.”
The two stared at each other then at Ulfrik. Folkmar eyed him. “She’s quite a woman. She’s really yours?”
“As sure as the sun rises. What have you to lose but a little bit of information?”
“Let me see your knife first.” Ulfrik handed Folkmar the blade. It was a miserable thing, dull-edged and pitted but useful enough for common chores. Satisfied, Folkmar handed it back. “We’ll take the bet. This thing’s not sharp enough to stick in the snow, never mind stick on its cutting edge.”
Smiling, Ulfrik took the knife, grabbed the blade with his shirt, and bent it into a V shape. The poorly crafted blade had bent on him so many times he had to be careful not to snap it. He then tossed it loosely into the air and it landed on the table, edge side to the wood. Of course there were two cutting edges and the V shape ensured a careful toss would land it correctly. He sat back in triumph.
“So where are you headed next?”
The two stared incredulously, then burst out laughing. Folkmar picked up the bent knife and repeated the toss, getting the same result with even less care. “But I must remember this one. Such a bet is worth losing to learn it.” Geir repeated the toss until Ulfrik reminded them they had lost.
“All right,” said Folkmar. He put his arm around Ulfrik and whispered to him. “There’s another settlement north of here. A day’s sailing in the worst weather. Part of our regular trade route. That’s our next call. Happy now?”
Ulfrik smiled, “A terrible itch has been scratched. Now that you’ve told me, you wouldn’t mind giving a few other details? Do they have ocean-going ships of their own?”
Folkmar and Geir nodded at each other, as if confirming their understanding. “Last year they had two ships, one knarr if I remember.”
“Thanks for satisfying my curiosity.”
Ulfrik’s smile broadened. He had found his way home.
Chapter 28
Ulfrik slid along the roof of Audhild’s hall, tying the newly laid straw thatch to the supporting slats. The leak in the thatch roof had grown into a hole by the time snow had melted, and being over Ulfrik’s room he had to fix it. A cool spring breeze carried the ocean scents to his nose, and he relished clear days like this one. He paused to rest, shoulders sore from the repetitive work. He checked the row of thatch behind him, much of it still needing to be trimmed into line. That was the hardest work; his shears were not large enough for the job. He would be at this the rest of the day, but did not mind. After another restless winter, he was glad to be outside working.
“How much longer will you be up there?” Audhild called to him from below.
He crawled to the edge to answer. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand and braced a basket of wool against her hip with the other.
“If I had proper tools, I’d be faster.”
“I asked how long, not if you liked your tools.”
“The rest of the day. Would be nice of you to get me help. Running up and down the ladder wastes time and makes me hungrier.”
“I’ll be back before the evening meal,” she said, ignoring his request, then turned and headed inland.
Ulfrik crawled back to his spot and stretched his legs. From the roof he could survey the entire village and beyond. Homes were scattered like feed thrown to hens, settlers having grabbed whatever plots they liked. Behind them the land jumped into rough hills of black rock. In the gray distance brooded mountains
shrouded in snow. Ulfrik did not like the looks of them, for their conical shapes were unnatural and once during the winter everyone heard a rumble from them that shook the earth. Horrible frost giants must dwell there, and all eyes avoided the peaks for fear of what they might see.
Now that winter snow had released its grip, people were outdoors more often. In another life it marked a happy time for him, but now it meant encountering Eldrid and Gudrod more often. Both had made their rounds during the milder days of winter and had treated him as if he did not exist. However, with summer and the midnight sun a few months away they would become far more active. Ulfrik flung a handful of loose straw from the roof and frowned.
Children laughed in the distance and reminded him of a time when his own children had nothing better to do than play. A group of boys chased each other with leather-capped spears and enacted their mock battles. The comical death-throes of the boys that had fallen removed his frown. “A shame you are children of madmen,” he said.
He glanced at the flat, gray sea and imagined the warm lands of Frankia. How had their winter been? Had the Franks united as Hrolf had feared, and did they threaten Ravndal? What did Throst’s alliance to the Franks in the south mean for their safety? A year and a half had passed since those questions were pertinent. Still he had mulled them all winter and each time the answer was the same. It did not matter to a dead man. Until he returned home, there was no point in fretting for any of it.
With the arrival of spring he could enact his escape north to search for the village the traders had mentioned. Most of the coastline leading north was cave-pocked cliffs and mountains of jagged rock with ample places to hide from pursuit. He did not need to know the village’s exact location, for the people owned ships and so their dwellings would be along the coast. Whether they would accept him or drive him off was his greatest danger and sole hesitation. Through the winter Ulfrik had rehearsed his pleas to the village of strangers. He had to be perceived as a freeman or else he would be sent back as an escaped slave. Worse still, they could take him as a slave of their own. Charity from strangers was a rare thing, and a land as rugged as this either sharpened a man’s mercy or his ruthlessness. At the least he would be free of Eldrid’s madmen and their determination to keep him prisoner. From guarded conversation with Audhild, he had determined no one knew of the other village. The traders had kept their routes secret. Had Audhild or Eldrid suspected help was only a week’s overland journey distant, Ulfrik supposed he would not be left alone to repair this roof.
He picked up the next bundle of straw and turned to his work.
Then something caught his eye in the distance and he whirled so that he nearly fell off the roof. Grabbing a slat to steady himself, he stared hard to the northeast.
Above the thin line of new birch leaves a twist of white smoke climbed into the air.
The campfire was lit. Someone was up there, maybe woodsmen from the other village to the north.
He was down the ladder before caution caught up to him. What if those were Eldrid’s people? If he answered the signal, he would incriminate himself and that would be a poor start to the summer he planned to make his last in this land. If they were outsiders, he not only had to avoid being caught on the way up but also not frighten them as he had with the traders.
The campsite had so long been out of mind that he had no plans for it. At best it had been a desperate hope, but now it was reality. He needed to get to the visitors before others saw the smoke. He thought of the children playing outside. Children were always gazing at the skies for shapes in the clouds or birds circling, whereas adults had no such idle moments. Would they report it to an adult? Habit alone still dragged his eyes toward the hill several times each day. He hoped others spent less time scanning the horizon for signs of outsiders.
He ducked into the hall and pulled on one of Audhild’s rust-colored cloaks. At the height of his strength his shoulders would have never been covered, but now to his shame the cloak managed to disguise him well enough. He only needed to look like anyone else in order to slip out of the village. Pulling on the cloak and drawing it tight, he hunched over like walking into the rain and made it to the edge of the village. From there, he checked for followers, and finding none he jogged toward the woods.
Footing was treacherous but he had scant time to waste. He stumbled, but kept the smoke in sight through the trees. It was a thin, weak column, yet still plain against the light blue of the morning sky. He cursed the beacon, now certain others must have spotted it.
By the time he mounted the steep rise, following the path he had discovered earlier, his heart was pounding and his thighs aching. Recovery had progressed all winter, but still his legs pained him under exertion. At the top, he leaned on his knees to catch his breath. Nothing could look more desperate than his bursting in on a camp while red-faced and winded. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, then approached the campsite.
Moving from tree to tree, the loose white bark cool against his skin, he peered out at the campers. A man and a boy of perhaps fifteen years stood by the edge of the rise, hands on hips and looking out at the village below. They were dressed in green-dyed wool shirts and hide pants. The man carried a sword, but otherwise was unarmed. Behind them a tent billowed in the wind and a campfire sputtered smoke into the air. Ulfrik straightened his back and decided to approach. He picked a branch from the ground and snapped it. The two visitors whirled to face him, the man’s hand flexing to his sword.
“Friends,” Ulfrik called. He emerged from behind the tree with both palms open. “I saw the smoke and came with all haste. Did you find my message?”
The older man halted as if expecting a wild boar to charge him. The boy jumped but relaxed the moment he noted Ulfrik’s upturned hands. Freckles splattered over his nose and cheeks and rust-colored hair blew over his eyes. The two exchanged glances, and the boy produced the rune-inscribed rock Ulfrik had left by the old campsite. The boy offered a hopeful smile. “You wanted us to wait?”
“It was the only way for me to communicate my message,” Ulfrik said, approaching with his hands still extended. “You’ve seen the village below. They’re madmen, every one of them. They came to this place to be alone and would see you as intruders. I did not want you to stumble into this village unprepared. Please, you should douse the fire before others come.”
“Too late for that,” the man said. “We’ve seen people pointing up this way.”
Ulfrik lowered his hands and cursed. The man drew his sword half from his sheath to warn him. “No threat from me. Still, put out the fire. Let’s not make it easier for them. Only I know this exact location. We have time yet, but you should leave.”
The father and son exchanged confused glances. “Then we’ll go immediately. Thanks for the warning.”
“Wait,” Ulfrik cringed at the desperate note in his voice. “Now that we have met, let us introduce ourselves. I am Ulfrik Ormsson. Are you two from the village north of here?”
The father nodded, then gestured they should head to the campsite. “How did you know? We’ve seen no ships besides traders, nor any scouts. At least none we’ve spotted.” He stopped suddenly and eyed Ulfrik.
“I’m no scout. In fact, none of the people below are interested in discovering neighbors. They want to be left alone.”
“Something I understand,” the father said. Now at the camp, he set his son to covering the fire with earth. “Anyway, you can put your hands down. I’m Lang Seven-Fingers and that’s my boy, Finn.”
Lang waggled his left hand, revealing the stumps of his ring and little fingers. Ulfrik raised his own left hand to display his missing little finger. “Between us we make a complete hand.”
Finn flashed a smile, accepting and simple. Ulfrik felt an immediate kinship with the boy and hoped no harm would befall the lad from this encounter.
“So now we are introduced,” Lang said as he pulled up tent stakes. Their gear was already packed as if they were prepared for fligh
t. “I’ll not travel this way again, now that you’ve warned me of the danger. I’ll warn the rest of my kin to stay away. No reason we can’t both have peace.”
“No reason at all,” Ulfrik said. “This will be a hasty request, but may I travel with you? I came to these lands expecting peace for me and my woman, but these people are mad. A hard winter has made them worse. If there’s room for a farmhand where you’re from, I’d be grateful for the opportunity.”
Lang had pulled up the stakes and now rolled up the tent. Finn had doused the fire and was carrying two packs, watching his father along with Ulfrik. Lang rubbed his chin. “I’m not a farmer, but a trapper and hunter. Can’t say if others would take you on. But you’re a freeman, and if you want to follow me back then you’ll have to settle for what you can get, which might be nothing. Your people won’t follow?”
Ulfrik restrained his excitement, but immediately offered to take a pack from Finn. “They will not care for my disappearance. Let’s not delay. You’ve got a boat nearby?”
Lang nodded. “What about your wife?”
“Died in winter. Let’s be off.”
Lang gave him an appraising look from head to toe, then scooped the rolled tent underarm. “Nothing at all to take?”
“I bring only the strength of my back and willingness to earn my way. Quickly now, the others must be closing in.”
Finn smiled at him, as he shouldered the other pack. Lang grunted then headed toward the same path Ulfrik had climbed to get to this spot. “You’re that crazy slave Heidrek told us about, aren’t you?”
A coal fell into Ulfrik’s gut. He winced at the tremor in his voice. “Who’s Heidrek? I’ve no idea what you mean.”
They continued down the path, leaning back as they slid downslope. Lang stopped against a cluster of birch trees, gathered Finn to his side. “You’re not much of a liar. We’re going to start a war with your masters if we take you north. Sorry, Ulfrik or whatever your true name is, but you’re staying here.”
The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5) Page 16
