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

by Jerry Autieri

  Then Kelda bashed him with a hammer.

  Chapter 50

  The hammer clipped his shoulder and sent him stumbling back. He crashed into another bench, bounced off it and landed on the floor as a shower of iron bars, files, wood blocks, tongs, and a half dozen other tools landed atop him. Kelda stood staring at him, her face white and mouth agape. Her right hand wore a heavy leather mitt for handling the heated iron, the other gripped the hammer. A lock of hair had fallen from beneath her head cover and hid her left eye.

  Audhild sprang up, hand clamped to her face as blood rushed from her fingers. “Kill him, you stupid bitch!”

  She turned to run, crashed into the bench, then staggered out of the forge. Kelda blinked then raised the hammer.

  Ulfrik jumped up but his left leg buckled, still numb. The wound in his right calf flared with pain as it bore all his weight. Lurching forward, Kelda’s ungainly swing missed but the momentum of the hammer dragged her forward to crash into him. He used her body to steady himself, driving his left leg firmly into the ground and grinding his teeth against the pain. The two of them danced like drunken lovers, Ulfrik grabbing and Kelda vainly swatting with the hammer. When he regained balance, he shoved Kelda back.

  She tripped over the broken table and landed on her rump with a squeal. He was content to leave her, but she discarded the hammer for another knife sticking out of the dirt floor. She blocked his way and he was not nimble enough to leap past. In his moment of hesitation, she scrabbled to her feet and pointed the knife at him, still in her left hand.

  “Out of my way, Kelda. She’s not worth it.”

  “She gave me my freedom.” Kelda slashed but missed, her brows drawn in frustration. Ulfrik licked his lips, stood on the balls of his feet and prepared to rush her. She struck first.

  It was a crazed, overhead strike that all but a crippled man could avoid. She hurtled at him and he sidestepped then shoved her past. He was already at the forge exit when he heard a hiss and scream. Kelda had landed on the forge, her hands and face splayed out on the coals. She fell away with her head and clothes aflame, flapping her arms like a speared seagull. The sweet scent of charred flesh enveloped the forge.

  No time to waste, he left Kelda to burn. She had earned her fate. Outside the forge he expected a hostile crowd, but found nothing other than Audhild lying on her hip in the grass.

  Her hair was tangled with blood from her cheek and stuck on the gaping wound. The front of her white overdress was drenched in gore and she no longer held her face. One hand supported her torso, and another reached for her leg. He loped for her, snarling in anger. Why she remained laid out did not concern him. He was glad Fate had held her down. As he loomed over her, she was sobbing.

  Her other hand rested on the handle of a saw blade that protruded from the back of her thigh. It pinned the heavy blue cloth of her dress to her leg, and a wide dark stain glistened around it. The saw must have impaled her when she crashed into the tool bench. He laughed.

  “Ah, but the gods know justice! The same saw you would use to take my leg has nearly done the job on you.”

  “I can’t move,” she said, then cried out and touched her face. Speaking apparently hurt worse.

  “Perfect, let me help you.”

  She tried to peddle away from Ulfrik, but he scooped her up and clutched her before himself like a shield. One arm held her tight and the other jabbed the knife to her throat. He drove his knee into the back of her leg and she yelped. “Walk. Let’s go meet your people.”

  The villagers had kept at a distance and dared not approach. As Ulfrik closed on them, several fled and the rest shuffled closer together. Audhild whimpered then screamed, finally going limp. Ulfrik surged with strength. At this moment he could have carried Audhild, the forge and anvil, and a horse as well. His moment had come and it would all end now. Either he would bargain for his freedom or die. There would be no half measures.

  Setting himself in place, he shouted for the villagers to approach. Several men answered with spears and swords ready, others prepared to run in the opposite direction. He waited for them to gather, letting the armed men encircle him.

  “Gods, what have you done?” The man who asked was one who had carried him to the forge. He brandished his sword with a measure of competence, and Ulfrik remembered him as Thorvald whose daughter had just died of fever.

  “I am lifting the curse as you asked,” he said over Audhild’s shoulder. Her blood dribbled off her face onto his knife hand.

  “What’s that smell?” A man to his rear asked, and others raised their heads in response.

  “Kelda flung herself on the forge trying to kill me.”

  “No!” Audhild began to struggle, but stopped with a shout of pain. The saw stuck in her leg bent against Ulfrik and she screeched whenever it moved. He had her in perfect control from that alone.

  “What do you care for her?” Ulfrik asked. “You called her a stupid bitch last I remember. It’s just what you think of all people, isn’t it? We’re all fools to dance to your crazed melodies.”

  She protested again, shaking her head. He barely had to force the knife at her throat to stop her. “This is madness. You must let me go.”

  Thorvald stepped closer and raised his sword. “Yes, let her go. You’re a brave fighter but we’ve got you surrounded.”

  “Kill me and the curse remains. You’ve seen how the gods have judged. Think for a change. All who have opposed me are dead. All but Audhild and I say her life won’t last till sunset. Do you think I am here as a gift or a curse? If you want peace, let me go.”

  Villagers shared desperate glances, but Thorvald did not waver. “You killed my daughter.”

  “I was locked in a cave. I killed no one.”

  “It was your curse. I heard you make it. We all did.” He waved the sword at him. Audhild moaned and tugged at his grip, but he forced the knife at her neck and she stilled.

  “Then let me go and the curse will be lifted.”

  Thorvald shook his head. His stance widened in preparation for a strike. Ulfrik nodded in understanding. “You don’t care about lifting the curse. You want revenge.”

  “She was the last of my children.” Thorvald’s voice cracked and his sword trembled in his grip. Ulfrik felt the man behind him draw closer.

  “He should die for what he did,” Audhild said. “Don’t wait. Kill him now!”

  She bit down on Ulfrik’s arm. Already slick with Audhild’s blood, his own bubbled up as her jaws clamped into his flesh.

  The scream exploded from his mouth though he had tried to endure the pain. Audhild still had use as a living hostage, or as a living shield against Thorvald’s attack. She gnawed like a hungry dog, and he had to tear away his arm.

  Before she could flee, he drove his knee into the saw and rammed it through her hamstring until it burst out the top of her thigh. Rather than scream, she gasped, then crumbled between him and Thorvald.

  “You want revenge? She’s the one who forced me to this island and held me prisoner. Kill her!” He pointed with his knife at Audhild’s prostrate form. She lay in a pile, apparently unconscious from the pain. Thorvald wavered, unsure of where to focus his anger.

  “How can we trust that you will lift the curse?”

  “Only the gods can lift the curse. Are you foolish enough to think I command them? You’ve been under Eldrid’s spell for too long. No man commands the gods. We plead and beg them to hear our wishes, nothing more. When I am allowed to go, the gods may see you have repented of your crimes. I was a freeman falsely accused and imprisoned. I saved you from enemies that would’ve overwhelmed you and was repaid with treachery. Who can say what price the gods will demand you to pay? All I can say is if I remain here or you kill me, then an even greater evil is done.”

  The group considered his words in silence. Audhild began to moan and stirred like a pile of bloody rags picked up by a stale wind.

  “Let him go,” said a man behind Thorvald, who had not lowered his sword
nor taken his eyes from Ulfrik.

  “He has never been good luck,” said a woman. “Eldrid lied to us.”

  “Yes, look at all the death. Good riddance, I say!”

  More voices joined and the consensus grew. Thorvald blinked and lowered his sword, nodding in defeat. His voice was a whisper. “Take what supplies you need and be gone. Never return.”

  Ulfrik opened his mouth to thank them, but Audhild let out an ear-splitting scream.

  “You killed my sister! You killed Kelda! Murderer! You talk of injustice. Letting a murderer free is an offense to the gods.” Audhild pulled herself up and attempted to stand, but her leg collapsed and she crashed to her side. She rooted around the ground, finally crawling to claw Ulfrik’s pants and haul herself erect.

  “You speak for the gods now?” Ulfrik grabbed her arm and pried it from his pants, but did not release it. He looked down at her, a pathetic mass of bloodied flesh for her face. Two eyes wide with madness and bright against the dark mask of blood stared up at him.

  She winced with pain and hissed, one hand reflexively reaching for her wounded leg. “When I passed out, the gods showed me a vision of their vengeance. For every day Ulfrik is allowed to live, they will kill one of children. When they are all gone, then our wives and finally our men!”

  “A convenient prophecy,” Ulfrik said. He hauled her up with one hand, and let her dangle before him. “Your determination to kill me is wearying. You saved my life once, and so against everything my heart is begging me to do I will spare your life. I hold it in my hand.” He smiled and prodded her with his knife. He wondered if she would not die of blood loss, but the cruel, crazed light in her eyes told him she would endure.

  “If you love your children, kill him,” Audhild shouted. “The gods have shown me a terrible fate if he lives.”

  Heads shook and Thorvald turned away. Ulfrik smiled, his heart lightened at the denial of Audhild’s false prophecy.

  She screamed for his death as he considered what to do. He had longed to kill her for all her cruelty, but now she was a ruin and her power destroyed. It would be like beating a crippled dog, and such an act was loathsome to him. Yet as she babbled about gods and visions, he thought of Eldrid’s moment of clarity and the story she had told him. Audhild’s life of cruelty demanded justice.

  The gods had been provided their gift of blood, and now to complete their bargain they had placed their instrument of judgment in his hands.

  “Enough!” he shouted over Audhild’s raving. She stopped and the dispersing crowd paused. “You want to assume Eldrid’s place? Who am I to say you should not? You’ll need her staff to walk again. But there is one final touch to complete your transformation. One gift you gave to her long ago.”

  He placed the knife’s edge across her eyes.

  A quick slash across her face laid open her eyeballs and the bridge of her nose. He dropped her into a pile at his feet. She covered her face silently, her horrified scream sounding only after a long pause.

  “Now you share her blindness.” He dropped the knife next to her and shook his head. Eldrid had been avenged and his thirst to hurt her had subsided. If she survived the injuries of the day, then the gods had plans for her yet. If not, justice was done.

  The villagers recoiled from him as if he were a snake. Maybe he was. He felt as cold as one, and no more welcome. He turned and staggered off to clean up and gather provisions for his journey north.

  Valagnar’s home was his only hope now, and whether they welcomed or killed him remained to be discovered.

  Chapter 51

  The storm had delayed Ulfrik’s progress along the coast. To his chagrin, he sheltered in one of the numerous caves that pocked the cliffs on the journey north. Rain had streamed across the cave mouth, spattering with angry snaps on the stone beneath, but he had sat at the back of the cave wrapped in his cloak to watch the lightning flash. The interruption had not been unwelcome. In his relentless drive north he had no plans for rest, though his wounds demanded it of him. At the risk of being whisked into the sea while traversing the thin strip of beach, he had to delay.

  Now only drips of water pattered at the flat rocks of the cave mouth and a jagged cut of blue sky showed beyond. Seagulls landed at the cave entrance, peeked inside, then fled with a shout of protest. Ulfrik slung his pack of provisions over his shoulder, tightened the baldric that held his sword against his left hip, then resumed the final leg of his journey. His calf burned as he sidestepped down the ledges toward the beach, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. “If I never see another cave again, I will be a glad man,” he said upon reaching the thin beach.

  The trudge north continued, and he stopped only long enough to relieve the soreness building in his legs. The damp weather aggravated the old break in his left thigh, along with a dozen other old wounds. Progress remained slow but he did not mind.

  He was free.

  After blinding Audhild, he had been allowed to gather what he could from her home. Men had followed him to ensure he did not linger. He found food but little else of what he wanted. In the end, he claimed Gudrod’s home and took a change of ill-fitting clothes and an old sword spotted with the beginnings of rust. The weapon would only last another week without proper oiling and sharpening. He hoped it would not be needed.

  The morning wore away and his aggressive pace showed him to a natural harbor by midday. He had been following the puffs of smoke he had glimpsed over the cliffs, and now he saw a cluster of buildings huddled together, along with two boats tied to a short pier. Here was Valagnar’s village, Reykjaholt. His heart pounded at the sight of it, and he felt a lump in his throat. The place looked as Nye Grenner had when he ruled it, though on flat ground. Memories flooded him, and he decided to sit for a moment and collect his thoughts.

  He was responsible for the deaths of husbands, sons, and fathers of this community. They would not listen to excuses, nor attempt to understand why he had acted as he had. The slain were still fresh in their graves, and the people might slake a thirst for revenge upon him. Ulfrik had turned over the problem a dozen times in his mind, and in the end a simple and honest appeal for mercy was the best approach.

  At the edge of the village, a woman carrying a basket spotted him. At first she disregarded him, but then paused and stared. In the next instant she was gone, disappeared between the homes. Ulfrik set his pack down and waited, hands relaxed at his side and sword in its sheath. He tugged it forward to make it more prominent, showing he meant peace but would defend himself. The sword would probably bend in the opening blows of a fight, he thought. But it was better than appearing like a beggar, even if he was.

  Five men returned with the woman, who pointed at Ulfrik while holding her chest as if her heart might fall out. The men drew swords and marched along the water’s edge to where Ulfrik waited. Their faces were dark and grim, empty scabbards dancing at their hips and sharp iron glinting in the afternoon sun as they strode to him. The man in the lead stood a head taller than the other four. A mane of black hair shocked with gray and a beard twisted into a point framed a squared head. His dark eyes glared out from expansive, black brows.

  “I know you,” he said in a voice like falling stones. “Ulfrik Somebody’s Son. You took us captive.”

  “I’m flattered you remember my name.” He had rehearsed that remark a dozen times in his head, but it never sounded as false as it did now. The man grunted while the others fanned into a semicircle around him.

  “You’ve made quite a name for yourself here, none of them flattering.” The man studied him up and down, nose wrinkling as if whiffing a stale fish. “Did you walk here? Your boots and pants are cut up.”

  “The rocks are sharper than I’d expect for a coastline. Yes, I walked here to see Valagnar. Would you take me to him, please?”

  “Such manners. Well, as you’ve asked so kindly, I may as well admit you never had a choice in that. He’ll demand to see you. Just need to surrender that weapon.”

  “As soo
n as you sheath yours,” Ulfrik said with a smile.

  The four were slower than their leader, who slid his sword into its leather scabbard without hesitation, but all withdrew their weapons. Ulfrik unhitched his baldric and handed over the sword. He slung it thoughtlessly onto his shoulder, then guided Ulfrik forward with a firm grip on his arm. “Walk between us and keep your hands up.”

  “Am I a prisoner then?”

  “You’re no welcomed guest, if that’s how you expected to be greeted. Let’s go.”

  They formed a box around him as they passed into the village. A dozen people came to follow him along the well-trodden paths that scored the grass between buildings. A clanging noise echoed in the distance where black smoke from a forge rolled into the blue sky. Hens clucked and scratched in pens and a dog barked from inside a home. They passed a wagon loaded with hay and a young boy with a pitchfork who stared expressionless at him. He had lived so long in the strangeness of Audhild and Eldrid’s vision of a community that he had forgotten the quiet and contented scenes of an established village.

  Warriors stood outside Valagnar’s hall, which was a simple building of stone and wood with a bright freshly thatched roof. The support beams leaning against the exterior walls were cream color of newly turned wood, a stark color against the gray of the main building. Two simple doors hung ajar, a stripe of black revealing nothing of the room beyond. One of the guards held a spear and wore a wolf pelt over his shoulders, and he stepped forward. “Who’s this?”

  “Take a good look,” the black-bearded leader said. “Recognize that face?”

  The warrior peered at Ulfrik, who smiled weakly as the warrior’s expression melted into a frown. Without a word he disappeared through the hall doors, leaving one open to let out sounds of clacking plates and a man’s laughter. The other door guards studied Ulfrik with equal disdain and the following crowd converged on him but held a safe distance. In the past he might have worried for their silent accusations, but after his experiences with Audhild, this was a light threat. Had they wanted to tear him apart, nothing would have stopped them. He fixed his eyes on the doors and ignored the staring.