by Susan Wright
Lexander was treated with wary respect. Ketil ignored him, and he was not overwarm toward Silveta in his greeting. Apparently his entourage tolerated her presence rather than welcomed her.
When the lawspeaker finished his recitation of the law that allowed a chieftain to reconvene the assembly, he called on Ketil Grimsson. Ketil rose, his reluctance clear. But he stomped forward, as if to show everyone that he had not been weakened by his injury.
With a growl deep in his throat, Ketil declared in a ringing voice, “By debt of honor, I must recall the assembly to hear the plea of Silveta of Markland, my kinswoman.”
He retreated back to his stool, refusing to stand by her side or give weight to her plea by speaking of it himself. Silveta blushed high on her cheeks as she stepped to the fore, aided by a hand from the lawspeaker. Lexander ground his teeth at the insult, but he didn’t dare move closer to her. Because he had bested one of their strongest men, he would become the focus instead of Silveta.
She settled her stained yellow skirts, much bedraggled by our long journey. But I was proud of her splendid bearing. She appeared perfectly at ease, though it must have been odd to address hundreds of people milling about in the bright sunlight. I could not tell which men were the chieftains.
“My request is simple,” she declared, raising her voice high so everyone could hear her above the muted roar of the waterfall. “By right of marriage contract, my estate and my hand are mine to give now that the chieftain is dead. Yet Birgir Barfoot, a brigand who lately passed through Issland, has seized my estate and taken me by force. I have come to you for help, for a warband to put down this butcher.”
The faces turned up to us looked bored at best, skeptical at worst. Loud grumbles rose from the crowd. “What is this babble?” “We’ve missed the tide.” “Give her the boot, Ketil!”
Silveta held up the amber beads that had been twined in her hair that long-ago day for Ejegod’s funeral. The facets sparkled in her fingers. “Markland will pledge tribute to Issland every year in amber such as this! Yes, and fine woods and ivory. Trade will flow freely between our nations.”
“ ’Tis against the law to trade with heathens,” a querulous voice countered.
Similar protests rose. Lexander was right—the western maritime lands held little interest for these people. I kept expecting someone to rise up to quell the riot of sound, but none did. There was no overlord here in this assembly of equals. Even the lawspeaker did not try to stifle the free flow of opinions.
Silveta glanced back at Lexander. He was in front of me so I couldn’t see his face, but he gave a slight shake of his head. He had not believed she could convince the assembly to help her. But Silveta had hoped.
It seemed her plea would be rejected out of hand. A few moments’ work after we had come such a long way, only to accomplish nothing. My worst fears were realized.
But the thin man we had encountered by the Kristna temple climbed up the slope toward us. A hush fell over the crowd at the sight of him. His black garments enshrouded his body, but nothing could mask his long, wattled neck and bony hands.
When he stood next to Silveta, his voice was reedy, caught by the wind over the plain. But everyone listened well. “My fellow Isslandirs, we should consider boons other than worldly gain when we hear this request.”
“What say you, Bishop?” a burly man called out.
“If this woman will take Kristna into her heart and carry his message to the western lands, then I believe it is worth granting her a warband.”
A chieftain I recognized from last night shouted, “A high price to pay for matters of the spirit.”
“Do you so lightly prize the salvation of your immortal souls?” the bishop called. In the silence, he turned to Silveta. “Would you agree to take clerics with you to Markland, to give them land for sanctuaries so they can address your people? If you offer protection, as lady of the land, surely they could spread the word of Kristna in peace.”
I was unnerved by the idea. But Silveta smiled at the bishop. “It is certainly something we could negotiate. As long as the assembly agrees in principle that I will get the warriors I need.”
Ketil finally rose from his stool. “The bishop and I can work out the details with you. Your tithe will be split among the chieftains who send men.”
The lawspeaker called out in a basso voice, “All in favor?”
A chorus of ayes arose.
The lawspeaker chanted a ritual closure to the assembly, but everyone was already milling about discussing their immediate departure. Only a few seemed interested in our venture. Silveta climbed down the steep slope, helped by Lexander.
The bishop joined Silveta and Ketil. “You must come to worship with us, freya. Surely if you let Kristna into your heart, you will understand our purpose. You will be saved for all eternity.”
Silveta was gracious, and as they talked, her pretty laughter lifted over the din. It was the first time I had heard her so happy. She was obviously heartened to have won their support.
But I was afraid. I did not understand the lure of this Kristna worship.
It was arranged for us to stay in Pingvellr to gather supplies and assemble the men. Ketil’s retinue delayed their departure, and he took charge of the arrangements. I was glad to see that he warmed to Silveta immediately after the assembly supported her petition. He kept recounting his amazement at her audacity, seeming to take pleasure in it now. He had never formally ceded the fight, so he made a point of telling Lexander that they should “finish what we started.” It made me quail to hear his challenge, but Lexander refused to take offense at Ketil’s taunting.
Lexander did tell me later, “We must leave soon. I cannot fight him again.”
I, too, feared another battle between the two men. Ketil had underestimated Lexander the first time. He was not likely to do so again. Lexander took the precaution of purchasing a fine ax and broadsword, which he wore on his belt conspicuously. He found a sword sharpener among the merchants and sat patiently while the edges were honed to razor sharpness. I noticed some of Ketil’s bondsmen among the crowd. They were always within sight.
Silveta made it clear she was willing to give whatever the Isslandirs required to obtain her warband. To seal their agreement, Silveta joined Ketil at the evening’s service in the Kristna sanctuary. Lexander insisted we attend, but I needed no coaxing, anxious to find out more about this god.
The sanctuary was bare as we approached. It baffled me that there was no trace of the god in the place that was dedicated to him.
Inside, the narrow room had an uneven black rock floor. It quickly filled with people, who sat on benches and three-legged stools facing the bishop. He stood next to a tall table, holding an open book, with an altar behind him that was clean of any trace of blood. Pale clouds of incense seeped through perforated brass lanterns. The bishop spoke, but I could not understand his words. Since there was no kindly olf around to tell me what he meant, I sat uncomprehending.
Glancing around, I saw that the others held small books in their hands. It was a communal rite with chanting and strange words that they spoke together. I wanted to clasp Lexander’s hand, but I saw no one else touching and feared it might offend their god.
And still I felt no otherworldly spirit. Instead, there was a subtle commingling of the worshipers’ inua. The bishop’s inua led, weaving among the others, but they contributed by focusing solely on him. The spirits of Silveta, Lexander, and I were not drawn in because we did not truly participate in the ritual.
When the words finally ceased and the people left the sanctuary, it was empty again. There was nothing left of the spirits they had woven together. Each person took away a part of it.
That’s when I understood. The Kristna god lived inside of these people instead of maintaining its otherworldly presence. Kristna followers had a desire to share the god inside of them, to give it to another, thus making their worship stronger.
The bishop asked Silveta, “Can you accept Kristna as
your savior?”
She smiled uncertainly. “I did not understand much of your worship.”
He included me in his nod. “It will come to you in time. I will speak to you every day about the love of our lord and savior and the salvation that lies in accepting Kristna into your heart. Soon enough you will be saved.”
“Never,” I breathed, stumbling away in revulsion.
Gods weren’t supposed to dwell inside of people. The only spirits I knew that infested folks were evil ones that encouraged harmful deeds. Though I didn’t feel evil in Kristna, it still seemed wrong to take a god inside myself. Surely the god changed his followers. What vital part of myself would I have to give up in order to accommodate this god? It was a risk too great to take.
Silveta seemed to have escaped unscathed, yet I could tell by the welcoming of the others that she would not long be able to withstand the lure of this communal worship.
After the ritual, I was overcome by my discovery and wandered aimlessly along the river. Everyone else returned to their camps by the lake, so I went the opposite direction, toward the waterfall. The thundering of the water grew louder, echoing off the cliff face. Lexander could see that I was distressed and he followed me silently.
I desperately tried to sense an otherworldly presence, but there was nothing. Not an olf or sprite responded. I had only felt water spirits since coming to this glorious yet benighted land. Now it felt as if the plume of ash and smoke coming from the mountains was an ominous sign.
I went as close as I could to the base of the waterfall. The air was charged and felt more alive here than anywhere else. I knelt on a tumbled square rock, blasted by the spray of mist, plunging my hand into the white stream that poured between the boulders.
The turbulence overpowered everything else as the water tumbled down. But the water spirits were there, connecting this foaming fall with the deep river above, flowing through a long gorge, over gravel flats between grassy banks and into the fiery mountains towering over us.
These water spirits saw few Isslandirs until they emerged on this assembly plain. But they responded to my need to see some olfs. There were several olfs not far away, in the gorge above, dodging around a giant rock that had fallen into the water.
It was such a relief to reach out to touch them. Though we were not close, the water spirits helped carry my call to them.
In a few moments, the olfs appeared at the top of the waterfall. I laughed out loud, beckoning to them. “Yes, come!”
They darted down to circle our heads. Lexander stood very still. “What is it?”
“Finally, some olfs are here.” I gave him a curious look. “I know you don’t see them, but I don’t understand why not with the powers you possess.”
“I’m not of your world,” he reminded me. “Your spirits are tied to this earth in ways I cannot fathom.”
“They are glad to see us,” I explained. “It must be lonely for them here, without others of their kind.”
“Is it so very barren?”
“Their god stifles the worship of other spirits. Kristna fills people, pushing the Otherworld away. This land is in pain.”
He clasped my hand in both of his. “I can hardly believe it, Marja. The meadows are rich and fertile. I’ve heard it said the number of farms continues to grow.”
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “Now I can feel it through these olfs. In truth, this land is being rent in two, split down to the very depths where we stand. The few trees that are left are being cut for houses and ships. The dirt crumbles under the roots as plants try to grow.”
Lexander bent down and touched the soil. It sifted, sandy and poor, through his fingers. “Not like home, to be sure.”
“The olfs are warning me. The same could happen in Markland if Silveta brings Kristna there.” I stared at Lexander in horror. “Surely the olfs did not save Silveta merely to replace Birgir with Kristna. Is Markland’s spirit to be blighted forever?”
Lexander looked into the air, as if wishing he could see the olfs. The shy creatures were overjoyed to be so openly acknowledged. They lived in the fringes somehow, despite the pervading presence of Kristna. Though their numbers were depleted, some of the hearty creatures had survived on the generous gifts of Isslandirs who remembered them. I could not imagine a similar fate for my homeland.
“I must tell Silveta,” I declared, “before it’s too late.”
Silveta gave us an appraising look when we returned to Ketil’s camp. “So you two have mended your quarrel.” She looked at Lexander. “I suppose you’ll go back to ordering her around all the time.”
Her wild expression belied her bitterness. She had not looked so desperate since Ejegod died.
“What’s wrong?” Lexander asked, going to her side. I felt a pang of jealousy, remembering how close they had grown on the voyage.
“The bishop expects me to take clerics as my advisers.” Her voice quavered slightly as she added, “Ketil says I must leave you both here on Issland to guarantee my tithe.”
It was too awful to be true. “No, I can’t bear this place!” I cried. “And Ketil will not let Lexander sleep many nights before fighting him again.” I turned to Lexander. “He wants to kill you for besting him. What will happen if you are forced to slay him?”
“It can’t be borne!” Silveta wailed, her hands at her temples. “It’s too dangerous. Why should I abandon my only friends to satisfy Ketil? But the bishop says that you’re heathens and can’t be trusted.”
I went to Silveta, taking her hands. “You can’t let the Kristna god inside of you. His worship is sucking the life out of Issland. This land is suffering.”
“Am I to let Birgir destroy Markland instead?” she countered.
“You can’t lose the very thing you are fighting for,” I said. “There must be something else we can do.”
Silveta pulled her hands away. “We’ve tried everything! This is my last hope. Would you have me sail all the way to the Auldland on a fool’s quest?”
I shook my head. “We’ve gone too far already.” I could feel it in my bones. The salvation of Markland had never seemed so near as when I was with the ice sprites. Those special imps had tried to tell me something, though I had kept the knowledge at bay.
“Helluland,” I declared. “We can ask the Skraelings for help.”
“Skraelings!” Silveta repeated in disbelief. “A bunch of screaming savages?”
Lexander put in quietly, “Those ‘savages’ wreaked havoc on Markland and Viinland for generations. They are serious warriors indeed.”
“You must jest,” Silveta protested. “I can’t even speak to them.”
“My mother is Skraeling, so I know their ways,” I declared. “I can convince them to help you, to retake Tillfallvik from Birgir and his men.”
“How can you be so sure?” Silveta retorted. “I already have the warband I need here. Why should I take the risk?”
I knew she might not believe me, but I had to try. “The otherworldly creatures told me you should seek help from the Skraelings.”
Lexander and Silveta exchanged a look. “You said yourself that she’s been right so far,” Lexander pointed out.
“So I’m to take Skraelings into Tillfallvik, where they’ve not been seen in living memory?” Silveta asked.
“Skraelings honor the spirits around them,” I pointed out. “They will not blight your land. The olfs will ensure we conquer Birgir, who honors the Kristna god himself.”
Silveta put her hands to her face. “I must think. It is too much to ask that I turn away the help I am offered.”
“But at what price?” Lexander asked. “Marja and I cannot stay here.”
She was terribly upset. “Maybe I can convince him to let you go . . . But no, Ketil is determined to keep you here. He would challenge you the moment I left!”
“Think on it deeply,” I told her. “Your decision means life or death for Markland.”
“If only there were some other way,” she
cried. “But I can’t betray you. Not as my father betrayed me. You’ve both been steadfast.” Silveta turned away, her voice hopeless. “How can I deny you?”
Nineteen
In the end, after many tears and much doubt, Silveta agreed to reject the Isslandirs’ offer. Ketil was enraged when she made one last attempt to reach a compromise and take us with her. He was too eager to fight Lexander again, and the bishop insisted that Kristna clerics alone must accompany her. He was confident that Silveta would accept Kristna under their influence during the long journey together.
Silveta never did tell Ketil that she had changed her mind. Lexander thought it best to avoid a confrontation. We left Ketil in Pingvellr still preparing for the venture, sneaking away at first light with the shipmaster of the Sigurdssons’ knaar. He had sold the spars for a good price and intended to return to Viinland.
The shipmaster was incredulous when Lexander requested our passage back to the western lands. In truth, the man believed we were mad. He had heard of Silveta’s agreement with the assembly, and he thought it was a fair offer. But he allowed us to board his knaar as Gudren had ordered.
Silveta was pensive, as if some part of her had given up hope. Agreeing to appeal to the Skraelings had taken a leap of faith, and she was simply worn out from her efforts. Her eyes were far away, and she often frowned as if mulling over her plight.
Where Silveta was uncertain, I was finally on my true path. I was glad when the plume of smoke from the mountains disappeared over the horizon. I was united with Lexander in every way, and the olf onboard was clearly delighted with our plan to go to Helluland.
Is it little wonder I cared not for the dangers of the sea? The ocean spirits sang through me, and I opened myself up to Lexander so he could feel them as well. Finally united in mind and body with him, I curled in his arms, sheltered by his cloak and snug in his warmth. We were never apart, and I grew to know his body as well as my own. I felt protected, even when we were whipped by gales that sent waves towering over our knaar.
