by Joyce Holt
"Would you say ja to such a man, dear sister?" Steinarr asked with a grin.
"If he were the ugliest, it would mean he had not achieved the goal I set him. So nei, I would not take him, the greasy lank-hair he must surely be by now." She tossed her head, but Jorunn could see a tremble in her fingers.
Steinarr laid out for Solve the stalled debate Gyda had kindled, the costs and consequences of hauling all the Nord Way into one realm, the doubtful benefits. The menfolk united in clamor to keep to the old ways. "Give up the renowned freedom of the North?" Steinarr rumbled.
Gyda found herself outnumbered. "For the greater good of all," she insisted.
"The greater good of some few only, and all lesser folk must pay."
"Safety from wolves like Erik Weatherhat." Gyda turned her piercing gaze on Solve, trying to win one ally to her side.
"What kind of safety?" Steinarr scoffed on her other side. "The safety of chains around our ankles!"
Solve leaned forward, drinking in Gyda's radiance, but his words ran with Steinarr's. "As allies we can unite against such wolves, without losing our own voices."
"He would steal from us our hereditary rights," Gunnarr said with a growl. "He would take away the land handed down father to son for generations without count."
Eirikr sat back. "I will not lightly give up Hordaland. Not at such cost."
Gyda gave a tight shake of the head, and no rebuttal. She soon excused herself, with one commanding glance at Jorunn. In her chamber, she snarled about her kin's lack of vision, which trapped the Northfolk in their narrow, trivial paths of life.
Jorunn chafed to be trapped in service here, so far from her sister's aid. What did it matter, these doings of kings, when Svana dwelt under a worse tyrant than all the mighty men of the world combined?
Brynja burst in through the chamber door, her eyes wide, cheeks tear-streaked, chest heaving.
Gyda halted mid-rant, stepped to her cousin and took her hands. "What is it, dear one? What has upset you so?"
The young woman gulped, shaking her head, and at last found her voice. "Beste-Papa brought other tidings. From Telemark. My dear Olde-Papa, Prince Dond – he's dead!"
Gyda wrapped Brynja in her arms, let her weep on a shoulder, murmured nonsense in her ear, settled her on the bed cushions.
Later when Brynja had fallen asleep, worn out from grief, Gyda crooked a finger at Jorunn and strode out of the chamber.
Jorunn followed her to a spot halfway down the hall, out of earshot of anyone else.
"How did you know?" Gyda demanded.
"About what, Mistress?" Jorunn asked, her voice shaky.
"Prince Dond's death. And Harald heading north."
"A dream, and a guess."
"Do you often have such dreams?"
Jorunn shook her head. "That was the first such a one, so life-like, so startling."
Gyda studied her with narrow gaze. "Drifa calls you a skald-maid. Do you have other powers besides word-craft?"
"Nei! I'm just a cotter's daughter who knows the old sayings and sagas and how words ring together! I'm no skald, truly I'm not!"
Gyda pressed lips together and pulled back. "You will tell me any more such dreams and hunches," she ordered at last.
Jorunn gulped. "Ja, Mistress. I will tell you dreams and hunches." But I will not tell you what I see and hear through the key, she vowed, unless it suits my needs.
34 – Proverbs and Wits
The next morning while Jorunn folded the gowns Gyda had picked through, Drifa combed out her mistress' hair and set to braiding. Brynja spoke with a quaver to her voice. "Mundi promised we'd go visit Olde-Papa after we wed. Olde-Papa would have loved him! Now they'll never meet."
Gyda hummed a small note of comfort. She seemed subdued by Brynja's sorrow, but Jorunn saw a glint in her eye, a defiant set to her jaw. Once more she brimmed with purpose, thrummed with fervor. Her braid had come undone in the night, what with all her tossing about – so wakeful Jorunn hadn't dared use the key.
Brynja went on, "I must beg Mundi to name our second son Anund. We'll call him Dond." She dabbed at her eyes.
"He is a handsome fellow, your bonde," Gyda said. Her gaze rested upon her cousin, but there was a distance in her eyes. Her lips turned at the corners, the barest hint of a smile. "And little Dond," she said as an afterthought, "will be a handsome little fellow as well."
Jorunn narrowed her eyes. She remembered that first night when the air had spun a strand of glory between Gyda and Harald. The "handsome fellow" Gyda had in mind might not be the one her mouth made mention of.
"Are you coming?" Steinarr's wife asked from the doorway. "There's fried trout for firstfare."
Brynja shook herself, blinked several times and rose with a glance at Gyda.
"I'll be along in a moment." After her cousin had left, Gyda told Jorunn, "Find that basket with my embroidery. I don't remember how far I got on the sleeves." She drew out the gown she meant to gift Brynja, examined the hems, and pursed her lips. "Will it cheer her to see me working on it, I wonder? I may not have as much time to finish it as I thought. Is the needle case in there, as well? What drudgery, but must be done." She sighed and strode off to join the household at the morning meal.
Solve's gaze kept straying to Gyda while they ate. She gave him a polite nod and excused herself from the gathering as soon as she could. Jorunn snatched the leftovers from her plate, grabbed a charred bit of flatbread, and scurried after her mistress.
Gyda sat at her table with embroidery spread out, but her glance kept straying to her treasured new book. "Aren't you done yet?" she asked as Jorunn licked crumbs from her fingers. "You finish this sleeve while I read."
"Ah, Mistress, I've no good hand with such fine needlework."
"Nonsense. It's not a complicated design. Sit close. Work in my lamplight."
Jorunn took up the needle, already threaded, and studied the pattern of tiny stitches. Her heart sank. She could see how the design should repeat, but with her callused fingers she couldn't work the sliver of a needle as deftly as needed. She grimaced and did her best.
After a silent stretch of time, their heads close together near the flickering lamp, Jorunn dared to ask, "What is it you read?"
Gyda huffed. "Nothing but a seaman's account of sailing down the coast of Frankerike. The weather, the landmarks, the perils. Nothing heroic, no quest except trying to survive the voyage. You see, my father knows no letters save for a few runes. He did not know what he was buying for me." She sighed. "Still, it's better than sitting idle, listening to the same old drivel at table by folk who can't see past the tip of their own noses. There might be an adventure buried somewhere in here." She fingered the pages, then glanced at Jorunn's work.
"Øy, for Frigg's sake, you call that needlework? Shameful! Give it to me." Gyda snatched the sleeve, took the needle, began pricking out all Jorunn's irregular stitches. She threw Jorunn a scowl. "You say you know the sagas, girl. Vel then, entertain my idle mind while I work. Tell me the tale of Balder and Loki and the mistletoe shaft."
Jorunn sat back and blinked, then settled herself. She'd told the tale often enough to Oddleif and Svana. She launched into the cadence of saga-wording that had filled many dark evenings in a drafty hut. She only faltered a moment when she came to Loki's speech, remembering that thundering voice behind the byre at Dondstad when legend had sprung to life.
* * *
That evening, as Jorunn took her turn to empty the chamberpot, there came another reminder of events at Dondstad. The rain still poured and no one ventured outside unless they must, so there was nobody to see when Toothgnasher plunked himself in Jorunn's path. She squawked in surprise, nearly dropping the chamberpot, gasping for breath. "A good day to you," she managed to say.
"Good, good it is indeed!" he blatted in rollicking fine humor. "In spite of the fa-a-act that you won't stay in one place. Once more I had to go to the Norns for a clue where in this world you'd gone." He pranced about in high spirits with not a h
int of the anger that had blazed the last time he made such a charge against her. "A good, good day indeed. Do you know the reason?"
She shook her head, noticing his fleece stayed dry, while her own nose dripped with rainwater.
The pony-sized goat danced a circle around her. "Ninety-and-nine proverbs Thor had laid upon me. Today I give the la-a-ast! The curse will be lifted. Back to my herd I'll go!"
"You are to be praised," Jorunn said, flattered he would want to share the tidings with her, but wishing he would hurry. Her fingers felt like ice.
"Since you were the skald-maid to free me from Loki, only fitting it is that you-ou-ou should be the one to hear my last proverb. What do you say to that?"
"I thank you most kindly."
Toothgnasher planted his hooves and arched his neck. His horns glinted golden as if sparked by noonday sun, though rain still sheeted all around. "Rough, the billows," he blatted. "Rolling, the waves. Like the seas are the minds of mankind. Wise folk, for crests; cretins, for troughs. Ever un-e-e-even, the seascape of man. What do you think of that?"
"I think it is very wise in-d-deed. You know my k-kind too well. I wish you well with your herd, and your return to Th-thor's service."
"There's one other matter. Before I may gallop o'er the bridge to Asgard," Toothgnasher gabbled on, "there's a saying for you, a message from the Norns."
"What? Why?"
He tossed his heavy horns, waggled his beard. "Me? Never one to ask. I do my humble best to bear tidings for them." He nosed at a scrap of fabric trampled in the mud. "Tidings and tidbits, but what morsel have we here?"
Jorunn shifted feet, hugged one leg tight to the other for warmth while he snuffled and lipped at the thing. "Vel?" she said at last.
The goat gulped down the rag, then belched. "The wit to watch, the wit to wonder, the wit to weave odd stra-a-ands together."
"Ah," Jorunn hesitated. "That is it?"
"Indee-ee-eed!"
"Whose wit do you speak of?"
"I don't know, Sparrow Maid. You'll have to ask the Norns. For now, I bid farewell!" He stomped. Water splashed in a spray from his hooves, and when it cleared, he was gone.
Jorunn paused only a moment in confusion, then dashed for the mead-hall and stood dripping by the hearth, puzzling over the Norns' words.
* * *
Other folk of the west coast sailed to Bergvin, paying call on the king of Hordaland. Gyda always sat at table to hear tidings, soaking up the spoken word as well as any written word she could purchase. Jorunn could see how vexed she was that merchants rarely brought anything scribed on parchment besides their lists of lading.
Since Gyda could find no one who shared her views on the forging of a nation, she held her tongue. Jorunn still saw that new spark in her eyes, and twice heard her ask Gunnarr how soon they might leave for home.
Steinarr and Solve Cleft-Chin drank and diced and dithered with schemes for the summer viking, but Jorunn could see the waning of Solve's interest in raiding plans. The tall, square-shouldered heir of Møre found any occasion he could to speak with Gyda and linger in her presence. At one meal he didn't even notice when Steinarr shook his head in disgust and left the table.
Not that Gyda meant to entice the young man. She often stayed in the women's chamber for the greater part of the day, sending Jorunn on errands or to scout for lurking admirers before venturing out.
News came for Solve Cleft-Chin from his father Hunthiof. Harald of Vestfold had arrived in Trondelag, a region of petty kingdoms to the north, armed and demanding submission. He waged battle against one king, then against two others arrayed together against him. Harald came off the victor each time, and began building a fleet of warships from his spoils.
"Now only five kings stand between Harald's front and our own borders," said the messenger. "Your father bids you return to North Møre for war council. Gather our allies as you come."
"He sweeps Trondelag before him?" Eirikr cried. "That upstart? Not possible!"
Gyda's chin jutted. "I knew he had it in him," she hissed to Brynja. Jorunn saw that fierceness flare even brighter in her piercing blue eyes.
Solve Cleft-Chin stood and faced his host. "What think you, Eirikr King? Will you bow before Harald?"
Gyda's father also rose. "Nei, I will not. But neither is this the time for me to sail north. I will take the Way south instead, to garner support at courts further down the coast. If you have need of me, you will have need of them, as well. Send word how it fares with the other rulers in Trondelag. We will make ready."
Solve turned his gaze to Gyda for as long as it took to draw breath, then whirled and strode from the hall. Steinarr and others of Eirikr's following went to the dock to see off the heir of North Møre.
Gyda's father stroked his beard, then turned to Gunnarr. "You have a son-in-law in Telemark, do you not?"
"Ja, Hadd the Hard."
"Do you know which way he might lean in this matter?"
"If it's an alliance you seek, you'll need to approach the king, not Hadd. Hadd's business is in his own district, far from court."
"But he's a man of power and wealth, so you've said, and linked through his mother to the king. Surely his word would carry weight at court."
"True. I will send my son to learn his will."
Gyda leaned toward Brynja. "Now they wish to drag your father Hadd into the matter, on the side that cannot win. Don't they see the landslide breaking from the mountainside? No alliance will stop the avalanche I have set in motion."
Brynja paled, but Gyda plowed on.
"Send them word for my cause. Warn Hadd and your uncle Roald there will be no stopping Harald. Show them the one path that will lead them to triumph – with him, not against!"
"Avalanche?" Brynja cried. "Landslide? Worse, worse, so much worse! Calamity, war, death on all sides – and you're gloating in the prospect of our ruin!" She rose, shaking, and stepped to a brazier nearby to warm her hands. "My shawl," she told Drifa. "I'm chilled to the bone. Dire tidings and doom and the world crashing all apart—" She choked and turned her back. "And it's all your doing!"
"Brynja, stop gabbling. Listen! This day was surely coming with or without me."
"Gabbling?" Brynja whirled, her face stricken and tears welling. "You're the one pronouncing the fate of the world. Who do you think you are, one of the Norns?" She gathered her skirts and ran from the hall.
35 – Marauding Trolls
Gyda chafed at the furor rising against Harald. At night, Jorunn felt her mistress trembling with passion for her cause – a passion which, by day, she reined tight and silent. She spared few words for her father, uncle or grandfather.
The cousins did not speak to one another. Brynja looked ill at heart. Her hopes for an idyllic summer wedding faded with each shred of news, for Harald triumphed at every turn. Everyone but Gyda fell as dour and grim as the unrelenting storm clouds.
The day they left Bergvin to head home to Kvien, the sky cleared at last and the low winter sun shone brilliant on the seven bergs looming above Eirikr's mead-hall. Snow capped the heights. A lace of naked birch branches lightened the cloak of dark spruce garbing the mountain flanks, all shimmering with misty streamers and the glint of waterfalls.
Jorunn gazed about in wonder, then shook herself. A delightful sight after unending shrouds of rain, but too late to enjoy. No amount of sunshine would lighten the spirits of Gunnarr's company.
Their voyage through the island passageway and into the fjord passed swiftly, with the wind filling their sail in the journey's first leg. Then an incoming tide swept them east past the maelstrom, which churned again as if some great nykk down below still gulped at the waters above. The longship plowed east along the great fjord, plunging deep among crags and towering cliffs.
When after two days they beached at the fjord-head vik, Dagmær looked none too happy to see them, though relief flared on the face of her host. Their horses had rested long and fed well, and set out on the first leg of their overland trek with
much mane-shaking and high-stepping. They toiled for five days up the immense spine of land which had taken but one day to descend.
Gunnarr rode for a stretch in Gyda's sleigh and teased her out of silence with rambling talk of home during her absence. When his spies had reported Harald leaving for the north, and none of his men setting foot on the road toward Kvien, he had come down from the high refuge and reclaimed his steading.
In the storerooms, cleared out before his trek up to the borg, they now found the missing cheeses standing on their proper shelves. Unpacking the barley brought back from the heights, they found less spoilage by mice than had appeared at first. Hay from the bottom of the fodder stacks came out as fragrant and sweet as the fine spring day they'd been laid in. Swirling gusts and eddies kept the hall's smokeholes clear, even in the heaviest snowfall.
"All set to rights once my womenfolk had departed," Gunnarr said, stroking his beard. His eyes twinkled. "Now who might we blame for that long string of ill luck? Not you, my dears, was it?"
Gyda recounted about Sverri stealing the nisse's porridge, and setting it to rights – though she did not mention where she got the idea that the pig-keeper was to blame. At the end of her tale she arched a brow and shot a glance at Jorunn.
A tally of three now, for Gyda's suspicions, Jorunn thought with a gulp.
"And the trolls," Brynja asked. "Have they gone away as well? They must have been part of the curse, wouldn't you think?"
Gunnarr's smile vanished. "Nei. Indeed, when we came down from the borg, we found all the more troll tracks. In our forests. Across pastures and fields. Right into the houseyard itself. They must have milled around, who knows how many nights. They beat down the door of the goatshed, of all places."
Jorunn gnawed her lip. Why would marauding trolls be after one of their own kind? Valka could easily trounce that pot-bellied pigkeeper, but how would she fare against a troop of looming, lumbering jotuns?
* * *
During that grueling trek up the Keel, Jorunn kept her distance from troll-like Dagmær, who thrashed with complaint from dawn to dusk, growling at her own housegirl's shortcomings, the smell of the horses, the direction of the biting wind.
