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

by Jerry Autieri

  “Gudrod suggested Iceland and Audhild fell in love with his description of it. It sounded dreadful to me, though my life in Frankia would be no better. Then I had my dream of the man from the sky. Everything changed that night.

  “I had been so long without a true vision, I’d forgotten the experience. But that night the dreams were real enough to touch. Thor the god of storms spoke in voices of thunder and promised a man to me if I obeyed my sister. Lightning flashed and a man fell from the sky, landing in a field I recognized from the abandoned tower. This man rose from the ground, naked, and lifted me into his arms. Never had I beheld such beauty, but today I cannot even recall his face. Well, I am never blind in my dreams, but with a swipe of his hand he made my eyes whole again. I cried with joy and the man kissed my head. He promised as long as I remained with him all would be well.

  “When I awoke it was early morning. Audhild was still asleep, and had been exhausted from the preparations for leaving. So I ran from the house, eager to tell others of my dream. By the time Audhild awakened, all the women in Gerville knew my dream. Audhild celebrated for me in public, but when the doors closed she knocked me to the floor and drove a blade against my neck. I had prophesied without her consent and told others before her. I won’t describe all she threatened to do to me. I was so certain of my vision that I resisted her.

  “‘The gods intend to send me a gift,’ I said. ‘He will appear out of the sky, wrapped in lightning, and land at the old watchtower. I am as sure of this as I’ve ever been. Let me have my gift, and I will be loyal to you forever.’

  “She considered this for a long time, though the moment I pledged myself I heard the change in her breathing and felt the blade flinch. I knew she would agree.

  “‘If I find this man, then he is a gift from the gods and his blessing will ensure our success as long as he lives.’

  “This was not my dream, but I recognized what Audhild wanted. She twisted the vision to suit her wishes. I agreed. You know the rest. Audhild was genuinely shocked when you were discovered, but still pleased. She needed someone to play off Gudrod, to keep him away but interested in the Iceland journey. Your injuries were a perfect excuse to occupy her time.

  “You proved hard to handle, but Audhild felt you could be controlled if one of us treated you poorly and the other treated you with kindness. Since Audhild tended your wounds, she took the pleasant role and gained your confidence while my torments drove you closer to her. We expected this to make you more open to Audhild’s desires, but you resisted even this ploy. But soon I realized the game was not being played for you, but for me.

  “She never forgave me for going to the villagers with my visions. It was a threat to her power, and she decided I must suffer for it. She will never let me have you. When you challenged her prestige, she grew jealous and wary. It was time for her to remove you and punish me. I’ve been forbidden to speak about you ever again, and you will never be freed from this cave. She believes her version of my vision. But for me, I just wanted my man from the sky who would bring me happiness for the rest of my days. I found you, but you have remained beyond my grasp.

  “Now, there is no hope, and you will die.”

  Chapter 41

  Ulfrik sat mute, back leaning against the cage as Audhild’s voice trailed off. The sun cast long shadows into the cave mouth, cutting squares of brightness into the scattered dirt. He was cupped in the hole he had dug in his bid to escape, feeling the cool of the earth seeping into his hamstrings. The gash over his ear had crusted over, and an errant scratch drew more blood into his dirt-filled nails.

  “That is an amazing story,” he said. “I am without an answer to it.”

  Eldrid snorted a laugh. “What can you answer? I wanted you to know the truth before you died.”

  “You’re going to poison me,” he said. He remained staring into the blackness of the cave. “That will be your vengeance upon your sister.”

  The silence was his confirmation and suddenly his stomach lurched. He scrabbled out of the hole and faced her. “You’ve already done it. The food I ate.”

  She shook her head. During her speech she had removed the blindfold and now sat with her head leaning against the iron grate. Her ruined eye was a brown twist of flesh that twitched, but from the thick-scarred lid of her other eye a line of tears cleared the dirt off her cheek. “I have not dared yet. Maybe the gods will let us be joined still.”

  Ulfrik relaxed, slumping back to his knees. Eldrid remained crying silently, deep lines between her brows filling with shadow. He realized that she was probably no older than twenty-three, yet she wore the countenance of a woman twice that age. While he could not forgive her, he at least now understood the strange madness that ruled her.

  If he had learned anything from Eldrid’s confession it was that people caught between the two sisters ended up dead. He could count his life in days, and once Eldrid regained her composure she would find some way to kill him sooner. Never mind poison, but starvation would work or a blazing fire set at the mouth of the cave would choke him to death. His life was a fragile blade of grass and he was never more helpless in all his life than at this moment.

  “Eldrid, my death is not the answer. Don’t you see your vision has been true all along? I will make your eyes whole again. I will allow you to see the way to a better life. Free me from this place, and join me in my escape. We will be beyond Audhild’s power as long as you stay with me. It is exactly as the gods showed you.”

  She lifted her head from the grate and sat upright. Ulfrik held his breath, unable to read her reaction. When she said nothing, he goaded her. “Don’t let your sister steal the gift. Never has it been more clear what you must do. Take the bolts out of the rock and toss aside this grate.”

  “No!” She shot to her feet, grabbing up her staff. Her voice fell back into the scratchy hiss of her role as mad seidkona. “You are playing me for a fool. You only want to flee back to your family. We will never be together.”

  Eldrid stalked away, stumbling as she went. Her blindfold remained on the rocks, and Ulfrik dragged it into the cave then tucked it into his pants. He might have use for it. He did not ask her to stop. He never believed she would help him.

  She was mad.

  This whole land was mad.

  He returned to digging.

  Chapter 42

  When dawn leaked into the cave mouth, Ulfrik’s hole beneath the grate had not increased over the prior day. Stone after stone had deflected his searching path beneath the grate, and nighttime blinded him. It was as if he had excavated darkness, flinging small handfuls of night behind himself. He scraped like a dog searching for a prized bone, unrelenting until exhaustion had reached like a hand out of the ground and pulled him flat into unconsciousness. Now he lay on his stomach in the hole, the ends of the grate hovering over him.

  The tips of rocks poked up out of the soup of shadow and caught the morning sun. He had felt their round, hard shapes in the night, but seeing them in the day he realized he had spent his effort on the wrong spot. Sitting up with a gasp, he searched for his digging rock then renewed the attack. He had underestimated the effort and time needed to dig free and cursed himself for a fool. Part of him wanted to blame the strain of isolation and hunger for his error, but he knew he had acted too soon. The single resource Audhild had left him had been time, and he squandered it.

  The digging rock cracked against another rock buried in the ground, a sharp sliver snapping off. He cursed and flung the digging rock aside, then pressed his palms into his temple.

  Eldrid was going to finish him off. Why else reveal all that she had? She had all but promised to poison his food, which meant if he would not suffer murder by poison he could choose to starve. But in the end he would be so mad with hunger he would have to eat, then whatever torments she had mixed into her poison would grip him. Maybe he would vomit blood, go blind, or suffocate as his father had. His father had died from poison. Now he would, too. Looks like his brother Grim would suc
ceed after all these years.

  “What are you doing to yourself?” Ulfrik slammed his hands down, palms numb from pounding through rocks and dirt with nothing but another rock. A rush of breath escaped and he sank like a bladder of mead drained of its contents. He sat motionless for several breaths, collecting his thoughts. “Just dig, Ulfrik. You will survive this. You won’t be poisoned. Just. Dig.”

  Fears of poison and starvation banished, he renewed the attack. When he focused on the work of digging, he found his mind blanked and worry disappeared. He slipped into a rhythm much like when he used to pull an oar on his ship. Before he realized it, the sun had already risen fully on a clear day. His stomach grumbled, the only sensation to bring him out of his trance. Then his throat burned in protest as well. A skin of water left over from a few days ago held only a mouthful remaining. Tipping the sour water into his mouth, it relieved the tacky dryness. By the end of the day, he hoped to be free and drinking from a fresh stream.

  He dropped the empty skin, then heard the crunch of rock. Someone was approaching.

  His first instinct was to fall back into the cave, but he took three steps back and realized the futility. If death was approaching, he would not face it like a coward. He grabbed the broken shard of rock that had flaked off his digging tool and hid it in his palm. It would be a poor weapon in any circumstance, so he grabbed a heavy round stone he had gathered to be his main weapon.

  Gudrod appeared over the crest. Ulfrik blinked as if he could clear the image from his vision, but his ugly face broke into a smile as he neared.

  “So it is true,” he said, striding toward the grate. “You’re trying to dig a way out.”

  He laughed and clapped his hands together as if he had heard the funniest joke ever told. Ulfrik paid no mind to him. If Gudrod had learned of his escape plans, then Eldrid or her boy had told him. This would bring Audhild and then he would not live out the day. He studied Gudrod for anything useful. He wore a brown wool shirt and buckskin pants. His sword slapped at his side, revealed when his green cloak fluttered aside. As he arrived at the grate, his eyes flashed with childlike glee.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said. “But the gods seem to have put a few rocks in your way. How bad for you.”

  Gudrod’s knife hung loose at his belt. The hide strap securing it had snapped and the knife held only as long as the strip remained tight under the belt.

  The gods place signs and tests before a man to see how clever he is. The more cunning the man’s response, the more entertainment he provides the gods and, therefore, the more they love him. Ulfrik had long ago recognized this fact, which is why he believed he had survived his ordeals and why he still had years ahead of him. The gods loved the entertainment he crafted from their signs and tests.

  Gudrod’s knife was one such test. As the sheathed blade dangled, asking to be picked like a ripe apple, he understood what the gods wanted.

  They did not want dirt and rocks. They wanted blood.

  “I can’t blame you for wanting to get out of this cave,” Gudrod said, prodding the hole with his foot. “It’s a rat’s life. Come winter, I suppose you’ll freeze to death in here. I’ve seen frozen men. Have you? Not something you can forget. Their noses and cheeks turn black and their beards are full with frost. You can snap their hair like a handful of twigs. See what you’ve got to look forward to?”

  Ulfrik watched the knife jitter as Gudrod carried on about his impending death. It twirled and slipped, but did not release. Gudrod smiled and rubbed his hands together as he described bodies frozen in ice, warming himself against imaginary cold. Ulfrik focused on the knife. He couldn’t grab it, and even if he could Gudrod would know. He needed a distraction.

  “But winter’s a fair time off,” he said, wistfully looking into the distance. “More than likely you’ll starve before you freeze. A starved man is something to behold, all bony and—”

  Ulfrik pushed his face between the square of iron bars and spit into Gudrod’s eyes. The glob of saliva rolled down the bridge of his nose as he stumbled back in disgust. Ulfrik left his face framed in the bars, then fed both arms through the frame. His left hand palmed the round throwing rock.

  Gudrod brushed his face with both hands, and Ulfrik watched his loosened knife slip even more.

  “You little pig-fucker!” Gudrod balled a fist and charged at Ulfrik. He grabbed Ulfrik’s shirt through the grate, but he was so blind with anger he had not noticed the rock Ulfrik held.

  He slammed it on the side of Gudrod’s head. His face crashed against the bars. Ulfrik battered him again and he flattened against the grate with a moan.

  Ulfrik’s left hand swept down Gudrod’s side and caught the knife. It broke free and fell into the hole. Gudrod struggled now, and forced himself out of Ulfrik’s grip.

  He staggered backward, tripped and fell on his back. Ulfrik used the moment to drag the knife into the cave and fit it into the back of his pants. “You had something to say to me?” He teased Gudrod. “Thought I’d help knock it out of your head, since you were so caught up on imagining my death.”

  Gudrod rolled over and touched the back of his head, pulling two fingers away to stare at the blood. He remained on hands and knees for a moment, then struggled up. A trickle of blood had flowed over his ear and now connected with his nose like a red line of paint. His eyes were wide with the dazed expression of disbelief.

  “What’s the matter?” Ulfrik asked. “Afraid you can’t best me even if I’m caged and half-starved? Has anyone explained to you that ship-building and fighting are two different skills? You might not want to confuse the two. I’ll beat you senseless on my worst day.”

  Touching his head again, he blinked until he discovered his words. “This is a joke to you? You think you’re getting out of this cave alive?”

  “I never said that. I was just pointing out that my wife is a better fighter than you and my goat was three-times more clever. You want to stick your hand in my cage? Then find out how the rat bites. Come close again and I’ll break your neck on this grate. But you won’t do that, will you? You’re a raven-starver coward. You couldn’t stand against me alone. You’ll have to bring friends. Go fetch Bresi and bring the two of you here. Bring five more. Let me out of this cage and it will be me and my rock against anyone shameless enough to associate with you.”

  Gudrod frowned, his lip curling. He took a step forward but halted on it. “You’d love for me to pull the bolts out of this grate, wouldn’t you? That’s what this is all about? Getting out and making a run for freedom.”

  “The freedom would come after I killed you and ten of your man-loving friends with a single rock. I wouldn’t need to run.”

  His laughter sounded forced, but Gudrod indulged himself in it, bending back with both hands holding his stomach. “Brave words for a little rat. But I’m not so stupid. You think your curses are killing people? You think the gods are taking revenge for you?”

  Ulfrik stared at him, not understanding his questions. “I think Bresi treats you as his wife every night of the full moon.”

  “Your insults mean nothing to me! You’ll rot inside this cave. From now on, no one comes with food. Let thirst dry out your foul tongue and see if arrogance will fill your stomach. You will be eating mud and rocks just to silence the pain of starvation and you’ll die in that cave. Forgotten.”

  Gudrod spun on his foot and left. Ulfrik watched him go and, once returned over the crest from which he had come, drew out the knife. The sheath was of worn leather and tight against the knife. He tugged the blade out, revealing a bright iron blade with a single cutting edge and point. The edge was sharp and oiled, and the whole weapon was as long as his forearm.

  “Let’s hope your former owner will miss you enough to return for you,” he said, sliding it back into the sheath. He did not know what he would do with this knife.

  But the gods had given him a weapon, and when they granted men such boons they demand blood to follow.

  Chapter 43

/>   Ulfrik sat with his shoulder and head against the iron grate, muddy water all about him, watching the last of a summer shower sprinkle into his water bowl. His stomach clenched with hunger pangs, but he had eaten the day before. A puffin had wandered to the grate, and Ulfrik had grabbed it. Only beak, bones, and a scattering of feathers remained, and the rank taste of its flesh and blood still filled his mouth. Now he gently pulled in his bowl and drank the collected water. It was cold and fresh, and demanded all his control not to guzzle it like fine mead.

  Two days had passed since Gudrod had made his threat, and thus far it held. No one came. Placing the bowl aside he licked the last moisture off his lips, then withdrew Gudrod’s knife from the waist of his pants. He turned the sheathed blade in his fingers, pondering the meaning of it. Maybe the gods had sent it to him so that he might kill himself before he starved. Maybe it was their mercy on him, that he might hold a weapon in hand when he died and join the heroes in Valhalla. He held it up to his nose, eyes crossing to see it. Was that it? This was a promise of escape, but not the kind he had desired. The feasting hall sounded like a much better idea now. More friends awaited him there than any alive in the world, and certainly more than in this evil place.

  He tried to remember the dream that had inspired him to dig. Ghosts were not to be trusted. Their words had been so emphatic, their reasoning so infallible, that he had begun to dig the moment he had awakened. Yet dream logic broke in its collision with reality. At Ulfrik’s feet was the wreck from days of exhausting labor. Beneath the dirt hid an expanse of stones too onerous to dislodge with the tools he had. Pits in the ground shimmered with muddy water running down the sides, washing dirt over the work of days. No hole went deep enough to allow him beneath the bars. Rocks held him at bay and he finally abandoned his plans to dig out. Maybe if he starved he would eventually be frail enough to slip beneath the grate. For now, he remained trapped.