Fate's Needle

by Jerry Autieri

  “Even if Runa has been caught and has told them we plan to seek Auden’s help, it is no matter. Grim would guess it himself. The way north is closed now.”

  Ulfrik squatted on his haunches and Yngvar sat on a moss-stained rock and scratched roughly at his head. “You’re right about that. But Grim probably can’t speak with that ax you put in his mouth.”

  The two laughed as Yngvar drew a circle in the dirt with his index finger. “Grim doesn’t have a force large enough to surround the forest. We could escape by night through the far side, but we’ve got to get to Auden. It’s an early snow this year, too many nuts on the ground so soon. It always means a hard winter.”

  “The track north will be blocked.” Ulfrik did not want to speak his thoughts, fearing it would make them real. “I think Grim will try to ambush Auden. You say he has more Vestfolders joining him—they’ve always been after Auden’s land. Grim’s plans will be served if we stay trapped here. You said it yourself: hard winter coming and all we have are rain-soaked clothes and mail. We’ve nothing for the overland journey, especially going the long way around.”

  “We can fix that,” Yngvar said. “I think we have a friend among those two other sentries. You saw the third one I pointed out? That was Magnus; you should know him.”

  “I knew there was a man there, but I didn’t recognize him.” Ulfrik sprang to his feet. “Magnus farms the Eastland, right? I think I remember him from years ago. What’s he doing here?”

  “Your brother called up all the freemen before you arrived. Your father was dying anyway, so it made sense,” Yngvar explained. “Magnus beat me in a wrestling match, the cheating bastard. We were friends from then on. He spoke highly of you. He’s the one who convinced me you would be a better leader than Grim.”

  Ulfrik’s thoughts jumped to the plan Yngvar had not yet laid out. “So Magnus will smuggle us the supplies we need and get us out of here. I’ll go down and set it straight with him.”

  “I’ll go,” Yngvar said, standing. “You will stay here. This is a risk without glory, Ulfrik. Let your sworn men handle things like this. If I’m caught, you will know soon enough. I won’t leave a trail back here, and you can get away without me.”

  Ulfrik raised his hands to disagree.

  “All of your army agrees with me, Ulfrik.”

  Ulfrik could only drop his arms and chuckle. “The men win this time, then. I already owe you too much, Yngvar. Why should you risk so much for me when you hardly know me?”

  Ulfrik anticipated a witty rejoinder, but Yngvar’s smile faded. “I will be gone a good while. I’ll have to catch Magnus’s attention. Planning with the others around will be tricky. If I’m not back by dusk, assume I was caught. In the meantime, gather something edible, and find clean water.”

  He said nothing more, just threw his hood over his head. Ulfrik watched him dissolve into the green and brown patchwork of the woods. When Yngvar had vanished, Ulfrik kicked out the circle he had drawn in the ground.

  ***

  By twilight, Ulfrik had returned to the spot after gathering nuts and locating a nearby creek. The nuts were laid out on the ground, his cloak spread beneath them. If he had a spear or a bow, he might have caught a squirrel or a rabbit, but now only one sword remained with Yngvar. A fire would be nice, he thought, though smoke would betray him. So he waited as the evening settled into darkness. Soon, even the birds singing from the branches would fall silent, and only owls would patrol the woods.

  “I spoke with Magnus.” Yngvar appeared like a spirit out of the forest, making Ulfrik leap in surprise. Yngvar spoke as if it had been as easy as sharing a drink at the hall. “Grim survived,” he continued, “but apparently something else is going on. It’s all confusion with your father’s death. Magnus knows nothing more than that Grim is watching the north road, and that they guessed we are hiding here. They’re to search the woods for the next few days until more men can be spared.”

  “So,” Ulfrik began as he stood. “Is Magnus going to help us?”

  Yngvar nodded. “He has agreed to get his companions drunk tonight, steal their gear, and hand it over to us. The other men are young, and new, and he thinks he can out-drink them. I think he can, too.”

  Ulfrik clasped Yngvar’s shoulder. “Then we can be away by dawn. Even the long way around should still leave us time to get ahead of Grim.”

  Their course now decided, they ate the gathered nuts and Yngvar cleaned his face at the creek, as Ulfrik had done earlier. They both took a deep drink before seeking out Magnus.

  It took longer to find their way back in the twilight, but Yngvar was a sure-footed woodsman, navigating the trees without stumbling. Ulfrik let him lead, and his thoughts wandered to Runa. He hoped the girl had not been caught. If she had, she’d probably be raped until her mind was broken and then thrown on his father’s funeral pyre. His father’s pyre—he had not even thought of that! If Grim intended to act the victim, he’d have to give their father a proper funeral. Ulfrik felt his chest tighten at the thought that he would not be there to witness it.

  Distracted, he tripped, bucking Yngvar as he did.

  “Odin’s balls!” Yngvar cursed in a low voice. “Keep your mind on your footing. You’re like a man walking through a dream.”

  Ulfrik apologized, feeling his face grow warm with shame. He shook his head to refocus. Motioning for Ulfrik to stay, Yngvar crawled forward and gave a convincing owl hoot. In reply, a large shadow rose up and began to move toward them. It was Magnus, carrying a cloak full of supplies over his shoulder.

  He was older than Ulfrik remembered, his curly black beard now shot with gray. But at nearly a head taller than Ulfrik, and with heavy shoulders and a face full of furrows, he still resembled a bear. His eyes glittered in the dark, and he smiled.

  “Yngvar and Lord Ulfrik,” Magnus whispered. “There wasn’t enough mead to get them all drunk, but I took the first watch and they’re sleeping now. Here’s everything we will need.”

  Ulfrik thought he misheard. “You are coming with us?”

  “I can think of no reason to stay with these two fools. Besides, I don’t like Vestfolders. Your brother brought Vestfolders in and then Lord Orm dies conveniently, I won’t be part of that evil.”

  “But your family,” Ulfrik put in. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “My son is good with a sword and a bow.” His smile revealed his few remaining teeth. “They are out east. Grim won’t look for them so soon, not now that his face is wrecked. Besides, he’s looking for you two, not me.”

  “We are headed north, to Auden,” Ulfrik said, glad of Magnus’s help. “We cannot go directly, so the trip will take longer.”

  Magnus shrugged. “I’ve already done this much. My family will hold up until I can send for them.”

  Ulfrik nodded. As they slipped back into the trees, Magnus glanced back just once. Then he handed them two swords and two skins of water from his makeshift sack.

  Ulfrik smiled. All they needed to do now was get to Auden. With Magnus’s help they could make the journey without delay. Maybe, he thought, the Fates have spun me a better strand than I imagined.

  Somewhere an owl called in reply.

  Eight

  Runa shivered, remembering the clang of metal as Yngvar had drawn his sword. Every time she heard that sound, it meant disaster. It meant: run. So she had run—first to the shadows between the buildings, and then onward as the rain became fiercer. As she ran, she heard a horn blast and the shouting of men, and then Yngvar’s roar and the collision of swords. She did not look back, instead fleeing to a storage shed that was close enough to allow her to see. Through the rain and wind, a shriek reached her. Her stomach boiled with shame, hoping it was not Ulfrik. Her disguise now useless, Runa wriggled out of the bulky mail and sloughed off the sodden cloak. She fingered the slave collar that chaffed at her neck and a rusty tang filled her nostrils. So close to having it removed, she thought wistfully.

  Pressed up against the shed wall, Run
a closed her eyes to the rain that streamed into her face, having half a mind to add to it with tears. She had nearly escaped, and now she was back. She cursed herself for trusting such a foolish plan. Why did I let Ulfrik dazzle me? He probably never intended to honor his promise. No doubt he would have just raped me and given me to Yngvar as a reward. That’s all I am now: property to be handed out. Booty.

  Horns blasted again and Runa saw torches blooming in clusters around the barracks. She folded herself against the wall and begged the gods to keep her hidden. Men fanned out in all directions, some toward her.

  Her heart thumped and her breath was short, but she knew running would only expose her. The torchlight jogged closer. Two men were approaching.

  “Search that shed,” one called to the other.

  “A waste of time,” the other shouted over the rain. “It’s locked.”

  They hurried to the corner of the shed, the light from their torches casting a yellow ring that almost illuminated her feet. She heard one of them try the door. Locked. Runa held her breath.

  “So is Lord Grim dead? Will we still get paid?” one of them asked.

  “I didn’t see if he died. They dragged him into the barracks too fast. But he was screaming and cursing. So—”

  “Hey, there they go!” the other voice interrupted.

  Runa heard them splash off through the rain, calling to other men. She smiled. Ulfrik had escaped, and Yngvar was still with him. It seemed that Grim might even be dying. The gods are certainly involved, she thought.

  Runa knew where Ulfrik’s room was in the hall. She merely had to grab the sword and escape to the northern track. From there, she could meet up with them and travel to Ulfrik’s uncle’s hall, where he would restore her freedom. If she recovered his precious sword, Ulfrik would have to honor his promise. After all, warriors valued their oaths, even if made to slaves. And Runa was certain Ulfrik was better than most. He reminded her of her brother—the same proud gait, the same stubborn resolve. He had even thanked her when she served him stew a few nights ago. He would grant her freedom, as he had promised.

  Yet still Runa stood rooted to the spot, listening to the men shout through the darkness. A blind run would end in her crashing into one of them. Tentative steps led her away from the shed, toward a lone pine. She shivered as she scuttled beneath it. The main hall was ten paces away, bathed in pale light from behind shuttered windows. Thin smoke fought the gusts as it rose from the smoke hole.

  Crouching as low as she could manage, Runa hurried toward the hall. She pitched against the darkest shadow of its walls, slumped, and caught her breath. The slave pen squatted in the darkness opposite. It was a low, windowless building, huddled against the night like the slaves within it. The door bore a heavy lock and the key always remained with the guard who herded the slaves in at the end of the night. Just last night, she had been locked in with them.

  When Runa had fled earlier, she had simply seized an opportunity—every girl for herself. But now, she could remedy that. She could free them. The hall was in confusion. Even without the key, there had to be a way to free the slaves.

  Runa’s family had owned but one slave. Her father had treated him well, so well that at times Runa thought he was her father’s friend. Only when she became a slave had she realized the horror of slavery. The Svear raped her, barely kept her alive, and sold her like an animal. Orm had found her at market and treated her marginally better than his livestock. None of Orm’s slaves would be mistaken for his friends.

  She shook her head, scattering the memories. First, she had to get inside the hall. Slipping her fingers beneath the unfastened shutters, she cracked one open enough to see within. She saw no movement. Trusting that Ulfrik’s commotion had drained the hall of occupants, she opened the shutters and hauled herself through the window.

  Runa had always been small, but in slavery she had withered further. She flopped through the window easily, if not gracefully, landing on her rump. The thud of her descent was like a peal of thunder to her, but there was no one to hear it. The hall was empty, but for curling smoke, quavering shadows, and the dead jarl’s corpse. Orm lay stretched out on a table in the center of the hall, lit by amber light from a low fire in the hearth. Runa stood and studied his corpse. He was dressed in mail, with a sword over his chest. She half feared he might rise up as she walked around his body, until her nostrils were met with the rank scent of death and she drew a hand to her face to block it.

  Dripping water across the dirt floor as she moved, she headed for the far end of the hall, where Ulfrik had slept in a side room reserved for honored guests. His sword would be there.

  She had reached the doorway when an old woman stepped out. With a scream, Runa fell back, a myriad thoughts in mind. Should she attack? Should she flee? Should she try to beguile the woman?

  The old woman released a startled croak and Runa recognized her as Orm’s healer, Aud.

  “Oh, you frightened me, child! I wondered who could be in here,” said Aud, putting her palm to her chest. “And look at you, sopping wet!”

  “I … I returned too late,” Runa stuttered, choosing guile.

  Aud had never been Runa’s friend, shouting at her and often striking her for being slow, but at least she was not hostile. She peered at Runa through baggy, squinting eyes, holding the look for a long while before remarking, “Why you would return is a mystery, child.” Aud went to Orm’s corpse and adjusted the pall that covered his face. “With your master dead, you should be burned with him.”

  Runa’s eyes snapped to Aud, but the old woman merely continued to prepare Orm’s corpse, seeming uninterested.

  Runa drew a breath before speaking. “I didn’t know he was dead. When I came back it was raining, and all the guards were running about. I feared raiders.”

  Aud only nodded, and then took another peek beneath the shroud, as if ensuring the corpse was not eavesdropping. Then she sat next to the fire and let her hands collapse in her lap.

  “We should gather at the hall if raiders come, right?” Runa said in a rush. She felt her face flush hotter every moment she was under Aud’s rheumy-eyed gaze.

  “Of course, the best way to enter the hall is by throwing yourself through the window,” Aud noted, a smile bisecting the sagging folds of her face.

  Runa opened her mouth but could not speak. Her hands began to tremble.

  “You are a slave.” Aud gestured that she should sit by the fire. “And I’ve no mind for slaves, but you are different from the others. You’re quite a beauty; that’s why this one bought you.” Aud jabbed a thumb toward Orm’s corpse. “But you are also a Dane, and from a good family. I’ve seen it in your manners, child. You are too well bred to be a slave. Now, will you sit here a moment? I think no one will be coming along soon.”

  Runa smiled and sat, relishing the fire’s heat. Now that Aud had casually brushed aside the excuse she had offered, she knew her best hope was in making Aud an ally. She glanced at the old woman, who guarded her thoughts behind crinkled eyelids. For an instant, Runa felt her hands itch. Her brother would have told her to throttle the crone and escape. Now was the time. But Runa doubted herself—doubted she could be so ruthless.

  “So you know the truth,” Runa whispered. “I came back when I heard the commotion. I thought I could steal something of value, something to help buy my freedom.” She did not trust Aud enough to speak the truth.

  Aud merely nodded. “There is little here, child,” she said. “Lord Grim has taken everything of any value. The old jarl will be buried with very little of his wealth.”

  Runa shifted in her seat to face Aud directly. “Then will you let me go? I will take just some food, maybe a cloak. Will you allow me that much? If I ever get back to my family, I can repay you.”

  Again, Aud nodded. Then she struggled up from her chair.

  Runa’s heart pounded. It seemed Aud had assured her freedom. She had not yet retrieved Ulfrik’s belongings, but she would find another way.

  A
ud hobbled a few steps, and then began to walk more steadily. Waddling to one of the tables at the side of the hall, she gathered two cups and filled them in silence as Runa sat.

  “It’s a cold night. You’ll need something to keep you. Here is some mead, and a bit of cheese. It’s not much, but better than what you’ll be eating in the future.” Aud held a wedge of cheese in one shriveled hand and a wooden cup of mead in the other.

  Runa had not eaten since the night before. The scent of cheese stoked her appetite. Only after she drained the mug and stuffed the cheese in her mouth, did embarrassment overcome her. Aud laughed, and Runa’s shame deepened.

  “Thank you, for your kindness.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I did not expect it.”

  Aud laughed again, only harder, her laughter rising to a wicked timbre, and her smile warping into a leer. Immediately, Runa knew she had been duped: either the cheese or mead had been poisoned.

  Now, she would throttle Aud. Her hands shot out, seeking the old woman’s scraggly neck. But she found that her fingers curled before her like a hag’s claw, her sight blurred, and Aud’s laughter became a ringing bell in her head. Somehow she found herself crashing face down toward the dirt floor.

  “You’ll send me a reward, will you?” Aud cackled. “You stupid, bitch! You’ll burn with your master, like the slave you are. Your beautiful face will be ruined, you whore!”

  So this is death, Runa thought, cold and black, and filled with the echoing laughter of a crazed hag. Then, even those sensations fled and she floated in a field of utter numbness.

  Nine

  Grim’s head throbbed and his face burned where the ax had cut. A day had passed since Ulfrik had given him the wound. The cut was not deep, except where the blade had cleft his bottom teeth, but one tooth had been dislodged in the blow and another fell out later. Grim’s tongue groped the bloody space continually, tasting raw flesh.

  He was at rest in his room in the hall, which until yesterday had been his father’s. Soon, dawn would break and Aud would come with fresh bandages and a bitter poultice to stick into the gap of teeth. For now, he listened to the sound of warriors readying for battle: the clack of spear shafts and the crunch of mail, and all around the grumble of stern voices. Grim would have to stand before the men today, no matter how his wounds grieved him. The attack on Auden had already been delayed a day.