by Connie Mason
“Of course,” Hilde said as she led Katla away. “Please, your chamber is this way, sister.”
Brandr would have given a good bit of his portion of the silver he and his friends brought back from Byzantium to follow the women to a cool, dark chamber and a soft bed. But from the sound of things, his brother needed him.
And Arn’s need wouldn’t wait. He squared his shoulders and marched into the great hall.
Chapter 30
“If you’re expecting a hero’s welcome, you’re destined for disappointment, brother,” Arn said from his place of honor between the twin carved pillars that flanked the judgment seat. “We’re a little too busy at present to raise a horn in your honor.”
“My welcome can wait.” Brandr schooled his face into a bland mask to cover the shock he felt.
Arn’s disease had taken a horrible toll on him, destroying the soft tissue of his features so thoroughly, he was forced to wear a silver nose in public. His hands were wrapped with cloths so no one might be able to tell how many digits he had left. All skin that could be covered was shrouded with unbleached muslin. So much of his lips were missing, Brandr wondered that no one had convinced him a full face mask would be in Arn’s best interests.
Now he understood why Hilde’s impassive face was brittle to the point of breaking.
Silence reigned as Brandr traveled the length of the long hall and dropped to one knee before Arn.
“I ask no welcome save that of a brother,” he said.
Arn shifted uncomfortably on the ornate throne. “Everyone else here this day has a claim to press. Am I to believe we’ll hear none from you?”
Brandr stood. “My sword and my life are sworn to the Jarl of Jondal. So long as you live, you are he.” Then he did a slow turn, so he could catch the eye of each of the other chieftains individually. “If anyone disputes that, they will answer to me. Now.”
One by one, the other men dropped their gazes. Relief flooded Brandr’s body. He didn’t relish a fight in his current condition, but he would have done it. Fortunately, his exhaustion must not have been that apparent.
“Very well,” Arn said. “I accept your affirmation of allegiance, but I don’t need you to fight my battles. If any of you feels man enough to issue a challenge, don’t let this nose scare you. Otherwise, I expect and demand that you all honor your oaths.”
The chieftains grumbled, but one by one they reaffirmed their allegiance to Arn.
“Now, you all have crops to plant and houses to build while brief summer bides with us,” Arn said. “Do not let us keep you from it.”
Once they all filed out, Brandr approached closer. “I won’t countermand you in public, but I wonder if it was wise to send them away.”
“Let them get back to their women and their land. If they’re busy doing the will of their wives, they’ll forget they wanted my crown.” Arn struggled to rise to his feet to privately give Brandr the honor he denied him before others. “Welcome home, brother.”
“Sit,” Brandr said, taking a place on the edge of the dais and settling onto it. “Or if you won’t, at least let me. I’m fair done in.”
“But not too blown to burst in and act the part of the conquering hero,” Arn said, a little of the poison-tongued sharpness Brandr remembered so well returning to his brother’s speech as he plopped heavily back onto his throne. “I didn’t ask for your help, you know.”
“No need to thank me,” Brandr said with a sardonic half smile. It was as if he and Arn had stepped right back into the same vicious circle of a sparring match they’d left five years ago. Then his smile faded. “That business with the chieftains was but a shower. I fear there may be a real squall on the horizon.”
“Truth makes the very air shimmer with the light of its candor. And you have spoken truly, Brandr, son of Ulf,” came a quavering feminine voice from across the length of the great gall.
“Dalla.” Brandr rose to his feet despite his fatigue.
Known to others as “Dalla the Deep-Minded,” the woman who’d been old when he was a boy was ancient now. She walked with deliberation across the hall, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane of ash wood. A ponderous bundle of years rode on her frail shoulders, but if Wisdom had a soul, she would look out at the world through Dalla’s calm gray eyes.
Because of the depth of her understanding, the folk of Jondal held her in superstitious awe. But to Brandr, she would always be simply Dalla, the woman who raised him and Arn after their mother died.
Brandr sprinted across the space to meet her, kneeling and pressing one of her fragile hands to his forehead in a gesture of profound respect.
“Stop that,” she complained, jerking her hand away. “How can I get a good look at you if you hide behind my bony fingers?”
She grasped his chin and turned his face up to hers, though she was so bent with age he didn’t have to lift his eyes very far to meet hers. A smile crackled across her face, leaving her as wrinkled as a winter apple.
“Can’t say I like what you’ve done with your hair, but you’ve come to terms with what you are since you left us, boy.” She nodded approvingly. “I see power hung like a mantle about your shoulders.”
“You have always seen more than most.” He rose and offered her his arm. She laid a hand on it lightly, and they walked toward the dais where Arn waited.
“Bah, I see more only because I’m not afraid to see.” Her white brows drew together, and she cocked her head at him, her gaze as bright as a robin’s. “You’re home. You’re safe and with a new wife and child in tow, I hear.”
Brandr started to interrupt, to explain that the child was not his, but Dalla raised a palm to stop him.
“And yet something vexes you,” she said with certitude. “What is it?”
“I could never keep anything from you, Dalla,” he admitted.
“It is well you should remember that and not try.” She stopped walking and turned to him, clearly expecting him to tell her all.
He opened the leather pouch at his waist and drew out the figurine he’d taken from the man who’d abducted Katla. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Dalla’s eyes bulged, and her lips pulled back to reveal a perfect set of long teeth. She lifted her cane and batted the object from Brandr’s hand. Then she brought the wooden tip down on it hard, shattering the statuette into countless shards. Her jaw worked wordlessly for a moment, and then she spat on the fragments.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Brandr said dryly.
“Don’t be disrespectful about that which you do not understand,” Dalla scolded.
“So you’re saying spitting is respectful?”
“Always the quick retort. Some things never change.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “What I did bound the spirit of the thing to stop it from bringing harm to any who were foolish enough to keep it near them.”
“But what is…I mean, was it?”
“Help an old woman sit down first,” she said, grasping his arm. “Your brother needs to hear this as well.”
Brandr escorted her the rest of the way to the dais and helped her into a chair near Arn’s throne.
“Have you ever sailed into a cove and, even though you could see no threat, all the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end?” she asked them.
The brothers nodded in tandem.
“And what did you do?”
“Sailed away to make landfall in another spot,” Arn said.
“Why?” Dalla asked.
“Because”—Brandr struggled to find the right words—“there was no welcome in the place. It was obvious that something didn’t want us there.”
Dalla nodded. “But it wasn’t the place itself. It was the spirit who used to live there. They’re mostly asleep now, so when you sailed into that quiet cove, you blundered into an ancient, unseen
stronghold. You disturbed the spirit’s slumber. No wonder it was surly.”
Brandr frowned. He didn’t want to think his dear Dalla’s mind was wandering, but she was making very little sense. “What are you talking about?”
She folded her hands on her lap and leaned forward toward them to spin her tale. “Long before Odin and Thor and the court of Asgard came to the North, there were Others here. Spirits of the land and trees, the water and air. They claimed their place, and the people gave them their due.”
“When was this?” Arn demanded.
“Not long after the nine worlds were created, I expect,” she said. “What? Did you think it was in my time?”
When he gave a grotesque smirk, she fixed Arn with a defiant scowl, seemingly unaffected by his horrific appearance.
“But then the gods came, and people began to cling to stories of the deeds of Thor and Freya, and learned the secret of runes from the All-Father. Once folk could carve their thoughts on stone and wood so others could think them as well, they couldn’t go back to cowering and offering the blood of infants before rocks and trees,” Dalla explained. “And without worship, a spirit cannot long survive. So little by little, the spirits of the Old Ones went to sleep.”
“The Old Ones,” Brandr repeated. Those were the very words Tryggr had used. “So that figurine you destroyed means someone is trying to wake them now?”
“You always did have a weather eye for a storm, boy,” Dalla said, pleased with his quick grasp of things. Then her smile inverted. “And with the return of the Old Ones comes a return to a brutish time.”
“Does the name Bloodaxe mean anything to you?” Brandr said.
“Ja, and it should to you as well, but you two muttonheads never listened when I tried to teach you history,” Dalla said testily. “The first King of the Norse was Harald Fairhair. He loved many women and sired far more sons than he could provide kingdoms for. When he died, his oldest son, Eric, decided to solve the problem by killing all his brothers.”
“An elegant solution,” Arn said with a sly glance in Brandr’s direction. “There are those who wouldn’t fault him for it.”
“Hush.” Dalla frowned at the jarl as if he were still the ornery boy she’d raised. “Eric’s misdeeds earned him the name Bloodaxe, and he woke the gore-hungry spirits of that older time wherever he bided.”
“He’s not still alive, is he?” Brandr asked.
“No, he didn’t even reign long, there’s a mercy. He was banished, and I think he died somewhere on the Isle of the Angles.”
“Then why would someone say he was coming?”
“Who said that?” Dalla looked at him with alarm. “Tell me all.”
Brandr recounted Katla’s abduction and everything he could remember Tryggr and his cohorts had said and done. “‘Once the Bloodaxe comes,’ one said before his friend could quiet him. Do you think it means someone has taken up the name?”
“I think it means someone was born to it,” Dalla said. “Harald Fairhair wasn’t the only man to lie with more women than he ought. An heir of Eric Bloodaxe has set his eye on Hardanger Fjord.” She turned to look at the shattered remains of the figurine. “And it seems he means to wake the Old Ones as he comes.”
“Then we need to be ready when he gets here,” Brandr said. “I noticed on the way up from the wharf that the fortifications are lax here. We need to rebuild the curtain wall around the village and see that the signal fires are manned and ready to light should we need to summon aid.”
“Summon aid?” Arn curled what was left of his lip. “In case it’s escaped your notice, brother, you do not wear the Iron Crown here. I say what needs doing in Jondal, not you. I won’t have you and an old woman spreading fear among people who should be spreading seeds and working their land.”
Arn rose to his feet, swaying with effort.
“You have a new wife to bed, brother. And I have a jarldom to rule,” he said. “Let us both turn to the occupation we’re best fitted for.”
Arn waved them both away.
Brandr escorted Dalla from the massive audience hall. Once they cleared the carved doors, Dalla stopped him.
“It was well done not to argue with him,” she said. “Arn is tired and wouldn’t respond favorably to more pressure.”
“He’s not the only one,” Brandr said, rubbing the bridge of his nose to massage away the fatigue headache building there.
“And besides, Arn’s right. You do have a lovely new wife to bed, but judging from the looks of you, I advise only sleep for now,” Dalla said. “But when you wake, start building the fortifications and send emissaries to the other jarls in the fjord to warn them of the coming threat. ’Tis time to solidify our alliances.”
“Then you believe a battle is coming.”
“Not a battle,” she said, “a war. I have seen it. Your tale only confirms my vision.”
“Arn will be angry if I act in his stead.”
A dark shadow passed over her features. “Arn will not know. In less than a month, the disease will claim his mind. He will not be able to recall his own name.”
Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Though Arn had been cantankerous, even when he was healthy, and probably hadn’t been improved by his suffering, Dalla loved him with the fierceness of a she wolf.
“There will be a new jarl in Jondal before the season turns.” She patted Brandr’s shoulder and forced a smile. “Just when his people need him most.”
Chapter 31
The jarlhof was the largest dwelling Katla had ever seen. From the outside, the basic structure seemed like a gigantic version of her longhouse, a solid rectangle forming the main portion, but within those outer walls, the great hall occupied the center of the building. It was encompassed by a wide corridor all around, anchored at intervals with massive tree trunks that soared to the thatched roof high overhead. From this torchlit hallway, countless private chambers, all of them spotlessly clean, jutted out to the sides, including, to Katla’s amazement, an indoor latrine with a system of tiled trenches to flush the waste out with water from the adjoining well used exclusively for that purpose.
“There’s so much to tend,” Katla said, amazed at Hilde’s organization and industry. Many women with a sick husband would let other matters slide. Perhaps cleaning had been Hilde’s way of dealing with Arn’s illness. “You must have an army of servants.”
“Less than you might think. Of course, we have fewer courtiers and guests in residence, so there’s not so much work to keeping empty rooms tidy. Now that Arn’s sickness has…” Hilde gave herself a little shake. “It will be good to see these rooms in use. And good to have a bairn under this roof again. It’s been too long since there was life in this hall. You are most welcome, sister.”
“I thank you.” Katla gave her a quick hug, which seemed to surprise her. As Hilde withdrew, the wet nurse she’d summoned to the jarlhof arrived for duty.
Una was a clean, healthy-looking woman who’d birthed twins a month past, but the smallest of the babes had died. Fortunately, the young mother still had milk enough for two.
It was a perfect situation as far as Katla was concerned, because as soon as Linnea finished nursing, Una was happy to relinquish her to Katla and return to her own child. Hilde installed Una in the small chamber adjoining Katla and Brandr’s and the woman seemed more than pleased by the promise of silver for such light duties. She was especially happy about moving into the jarlhof, since her husband had set off on a voyage two months ago and hadn’t been heard from since.
The chamber Hilde assigned to Brandr and Katla was dazzling. Each of the massive pine bed frame’s tall posts was carved with writhing beasts, gripping one another in such a tangle, Katla’s eye couldn’t follow all the curves to their end without getting lost in endless twists and turns. The bed was piled with linens and furs and a rich silk cove
ring. Katla felt the sumptuous layers tugging her toward them the moment she stepped into the room, but if Brandr had no rest, in good conscience, how could she?
A large, empty trunk waited to receive their clothes. Hilde had dispatched a pair of burly servants to fetch their baggage from the coracle, but it would take time for them to haul everything up the steep path. In the meantime, she arranged the old baby clothes and swaddling cloths Hilde had lent her in one corner of the trunk.
It pleased her Hilde didn’t ask any questions about the babe. She wasn’t inquisitive about why they’d arrived with none of the usual provisions one needed to care for a child or why Katla was unable to nurse the child herself. Perhaps Hilde was so bowed down by her own secrets and problems, she had little interest in the details of other’s lives. Despite Hilde’s cool detachment, Katla decided she liked her tall, grave sister-in-law very much.
Katla was playing a silly game of peek-eye with Linnea that had the bairn giggling uncontrollably when Brandr finally joined them in the well-appointed chamber.
“Is all well?” she asked, distressed by the deep marks of exhaustion under his eyes. He seemed to have aged years since she last saw him.
“My brother is dying,” he said, stripping out of his travel-stained clothes. “The chieftains are restive, and to make matters worse, war is on the wind. And Arn wants to do nothing about it.” Naked, he plopped across the bed lengthwise and spoke into the thick bedding. “No, all is not well.”
Katla put the baby down in the cradle Hilde had set up in the corner and knelt beside the bed to stroke Brandr’s head. His hair had grown long enough to lie down now instead of sticking out all over his head like a cankerwort seed. She trailed a fingertip across the back of his neck along his hairline. A lump of tenderness formed in her throat for this good man.
“What will you do?” she asked softly.
He turned his head and drew a deep breath. “Whatever I must.”
Before Katla could ask what that meant, Linnea began fussing from her corner. Brandr made a low growl in the back of his throat and covered his head with a pillow.
