Ulfrik paused, then turned to the rest of the assembly. "Only one man gets the glory of hosting these festivals, and it is always Hardar. Does that sit with you? Only one man speaks to the gods for you? And you bring gifts each year to the same man?"
"Enough!" Hardar checked himself as he stepped forward. Ulfrik whirled, a wicked smile on his face. "Hosting the festival is a terrible burden and expense. I do it each year as I have the means others lack. It is for their benefit."
"And your glory, and your sly way of placing yourself over others."
"No more slander on my lands! You are a poor guest." Hardar's hands shook, and Ulfrik noted he seemed to want to reach for his sword.
"Let the assembly decide," Ulfrik said. "The jarls vote, and if a majority choose Nye Grenner, then you live with it."
Hardar's eyes drew to slits and he folded his arms over his belly. The two stood locked in a stare until Hardar nodded consent. "A vote then. All in favor of Nye Grenner hosting the summer festival, give your sign."
Ulfrik watched Ragnvald and his allies raise their hands. Hermind the Fat raised also raised his. "Jarl Ulfrik has some good points. I'd like to see what he has done with the southern pastures."
Others followed, raising hands and nodding until Hardar waved his arms overhead in defeat. "Very well, then Nye Grenner hosts the festival. But don't look to me, lad, when you've spent all your silver and all your food."
"I am aware of the costs, old man." Ulfrik had not wanted to rise to the bait, but he could not resist. Hardar flashed a brief smile at Ulfrik's lapse.
"Old man? Perhaps we should wrestle at the games, eh lad?" Approving grunts and lusty laughter greeted Hardar's suggestion.
"Most certainly, we will. It will be the best moment of the entire festival."
The last blow staggered Ulfrik, and then he collapsed to his knees. Bloody spit hung from his lips, globules pattering on the long grass beneath him. Screaming voices echoed from every direction. His head felt stuffed with wool. He braced himself longer than he thought prudent. Two booted feet appeared wide-set at the edge of his vision. Words started to become clearer now.
"Get on your feet!" someone yelled.
"You've got him, Lord Ulfrik! Up now!" another voice trumped the others.
The two feet remained planted before him. Ulfrik touched his aching ribs, then shoved up. He sat on his haunches and regarded Hardar. The big man was resolute, waiting with fists balled at his sides. Hardar smiled, a crack beneath a pug nose that drizzled blood over his thin lips and beard.
"Do you yield, Ulfrik? I think you're done for, lad." Hardar kept his tone congenial, but his fighting stance did not shift.
"Not yet. Not if I'm still talking."
The men's cheering overpowered Ulfrik's words. The ring of on-lookers flexed with the combatants. Now they crowded the small space, eager to see their favorite win. Ulfrik staggered to his feet and Hardar backed off, wiping the blood from his mouth. They nodded to each other and dropped to a circling crouch.
Ulfrik ignored the crowd, focusing on his opponent's next move. Hardar's hair may have been silvered and thin, his gut bulging and soft, but his reflexes were keen. Ulfrik silently vowed to not allow the same feint to dupe him again. Hardar smiled, his left eye blinking closed from where Ulfrik had jabbed it.
Hardar burst into motion. His massive body sprang as if he weighed nothing. Ulfrik scrambled aside, on-lookers dancing away as he did. He slipped out his foot and pushed Hardar over it. He crashed face-down into the grass. Cheers and curses mingled together in reaction. Ulfrik leapt upon Hardar's back, seeking to finally pin his opponent and end a match he thought had lasted too long.
Hardar expelled a gust of breath. Ulfrik drove his knee into the small of his back, then seized his arm to wrench it behind.
"Yield, Hardar," he hissed into his ear. "You are subdued."
Hardar shook his head and flipped over. Ulfrik lost grip on his arm.
"They look like lovers!"someone shouted. The crowd laughed and jeered as Ulfrik squirmed over Hardar's body while trying to pin his arms.
Ulfrik looked into Hardar's face for a moment. Then his vision turned white and he sloughed to the ground. He vaguely realized Hardar had head-butted him. Again sounds dulled as he lay dazed for the second time. He was limp and ready to vomit. Hardar's arms worked roughly about his trunk, flipping him over. His sight melted from white to brown, and the crowd around him appeared smudgy and indistinct. A tang of copper filled his mouth.
He realized Hardar had clamped his neck in the crook of his arm and his other arm squeezed Ulfrik's windpipe shut from behind. Instinctively Ulfrik's arms flailed, grasping desperately at the hold on his throat. His vision again faded. He tried to turn into the hold to break it, but was too weak.
Ulfrik wanted to concede. He stopped resisting to demonstrate it. Yet Hardar maintained his lock. His head pounded as his sight collapsed to a small circle. Through that hole in the veil of gray, Ulfrik spotted Runa. Her face was tight in horror, and her hands hovered over her mouth. Hardar was strangling him and Runa knew it.
She's watching me die, he thought. My wife. She can't see me like this.
He knew the thoughts were foolish, but it gave him power. He took control of his flailing arms, a difficult feat under such duress. He lashed back over his head. Ulfrik grabbed a handful of sweaty hair and yanked as if pulling the tiller of a ship. Hardar rewarded him with a scream. Ulfrik's other hand found Hardar's face, and he worked his thumb into the eye socket.
He thrust with enough strength to touch the back of Hardar's skull. The gouge had its effect, and his arms snapped free.
Ulfrik fell forward, swooning from the rush of air and blood returning to his head. The crowd clamored for him, many chanting his name. But he ignored whatever praise broke into his deadened hearing. He got to his feet and turned to face Hardar.
Now Hardar knelt in the grass with his hand clamped over his eye. Blood ran from beneath his hand. Ulfrik knew he should demand him to yield. But he was no longer inclined to courtesy. Hardar had nearly killed him.
He took a running kick that landed on Hardar's side. The thud elicited sympathetic moans from his supporters. The old jarl toppled and remained flat. Ulfrik turned to the crowd to roar his victory. But when he opened his mouth a stream of vomit ejected instead.
Ulfrik collapsed beside Hardar and he heaved again, the world growing dimmer. The crowd's cheering poured over him and men rushed to his side. Hardar's men did the same. He felt hands trying to raise him. He thought he heard Toki proclaiming the match a draw. Ulfrik wanted to protest. Then he sunk down and knew no more.
CHAPTER TWO
"Is everyone having a good time?" Ulfrik sat up suddenly, his stomach churned and head spun; he fell back onto his bed. He didn't remember how he had got in bed.
He panicked when he awoke to silence and the murkiness of his bedroom. A cool and delicate hand touched a damp cloth to his face.
"Everyone is having fun. Don't move." Runa wiped the cloth over a cut on his cheek and the sting made Ulfrik wince. "Now, you need to rest, but stay awake. Many men don't wake after getting hit in the head like you did."
Runa plopped the cloth into a wooden bowl, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He smiled, and gently held her arm. A pale column of light from the lone window broke the darkness. Blue light bounced off the gentle curves of Runa's face. She wore a concerned smile, and Ulfrik felt the bloom of gratitude for her care. His eyes drifted across to where his mail and helmet glinted in the low light, hung on a rack. Beyond the walls of his room, he could hear the occasional shouts of his guests at play.
"I'm like a boy being tended by a nursemaid. I can't be stuck in here, not with Hardar out there."
Runa frowned, withdrawing her arm from Ulfrik's hand to place it across his chest. "You need to recover from that so-called wrestling match. Besides, Hardar is not out there. You nearly blinded him."
"But the bastard was choking me to death."
"So I
noticed."
Ulfrik faced his wife. Her smile had vanished and her eyes glittered with concern. His stomach clenched, knowing he had subjected her to her greatest fear. "I am sorry, wife. We jarls are a competitive lot. We just got carried away."
Runa didn't reply. She held his gaze then leaned out of her stool to lie over his chest. "You mustn't ever come to harm, Ulfrik. I need you. Your son needs you. Nye Grenner needs you. Please don't get carried away again."
"I promise." He had learned that a few simple words meant more to Runa than long explanations. He stroked her hair, so lustrous and full that she did not wear a head cover like other married women. He let her rest in silence a moment, the dampness from her tears penetrating his shirt.
At last she sat up and laughed. "Now I'm being foolish. It's just that I'm always worried."
"Do not worry," Ulfrik said as he struggled to his elbows. Dizziness still plagued him, but he determined to shove it aside. "Fate has not seen us this far to kill me in a friendly wrestling competition. I have survived worse. We have survived worse. Take heart, wife."
"Strangulation is hardly friendly. Don't take me for a fool. Five years ago you wanted to kill each other, so why would he have changed?"
"Much has changed in five years." Ulfrik's throat pulsed and he absently rubbed his throbbing temple. The match had gotten out of hand, he knew. Runa clucked her tongue at Ulfrik's words. But he spoke over whatever she wanted to say. "And so where is my boy?"
"Gerdie took him to watch Snorri at the ax-throwing contest. He was scared to death seeing you carried in here covered in blood and vomit. I sent him out to distract him."
Ulfrik nodded silently, ashamed for needlessly frightening his son on what should be a time of happy memories. Ulfrik's own father would not have cared. He wanted to be different, though he often caught himself speaking his father's words.
"You are going to lie down." Runa stood and pressed both of his shoulders back. Ulfrik resisted.
"I am going to the contest. Thank you for cleaning me. Now fetch my cloak while I prepare."
Runa stared at him, her mouth bent into a half-smile. She finally shrugged and turned to get a new cloak. Ulfrik placed his feet on the hard-packed dirt floor, stood off the bed, and wobbled. By the time Runa offered his cloak, he was steady and smirking. She threw it over his shoulders then fished a silver pin from her skirt pocket. "Take it slowly and don't hit your head anymore."
Ulfrik laughed and let Runa pin his cloak. She kissed him again. "Avoid Hardar for now. You've worked too long and hard to waste this festival on your arguments with him."
"Of course, you are right." Ulfrik took a few staggering steps, then exited his bedroom into the main hall. Women and children fussed and scurried in preparation for the feast. Ulfrik paused and reflected on how far he had come since arriving here five years ago. Runa appeared behind him as he stood in the doorway.
"I'll prove to everyone that I am a better man than Hardar Hammerhand. Let the others see what he's really like."
From behind, Runa sighed. Ulfrik didn't think much of it, and left to rejoin the games.
Within moments of Ulfrik reappearing to the crowds, Hardar also rushed from his tent. His eye had swollen shut and his face was puffy. Ulfrik turned away to mask his laugh. Hardar had fought well. But he wore his beating far worse than Ulfrik. Men from all the different islands cheered and applauded them equally, though some favored one over the other. Ulfrik, keen to show himself the gracious host, went straight to Hardar with an outstretched hand.
"You are a skilled wrestler, Lord Hardar. You put me to the test." Ulfrik's arm dangled in the air as Hardar, with two hirdmen flanking him, ignored it.
"I won that match." His expression spoke no pleasantries. His swollen eye and face made Ulfrik think of something dredged from a fisherman's net. He pushed ahead without another word, the two hirdmen giving Ulfrik blank looks as they passed.
Ulfrik's face grew hot, but he was still weak and unsteady. He watched in irritation as Hardar strolled over to a knot of men who welcomed him to their conversation. The he glanced around to find others turning away in embarrassment.
"Forget about him." Ulfrik startled at the closeness of the speaker, then turned to find Toki approaching. "He's used to wrestling men who roll over on command."
Ulfrik shook his head. "Then he misjudged when he challenged me to the match. How's Gunnar doing?"
"He's being a boy. Gerdie is herding him while he finds as much mischief as he can. He nearly ran out into the ax throwing contest, if Gerdie didn't cuff him good. He wanted to throw."
They both laughed and Ulfrik leaned on Toki, both in greeting and to steady himself. Together they walked to join the other of the visitors. The gods had provided clear skies, dramatically framing the blue-green mountains of the western ridge of his island domain. Spread out in the knee-high grass fields were clusters of simple tents. Men from all about the Faereyjar Islands had gathered on his land to celebrate the start of summer. Finally emerging from the long night of winter, the summer of never-ending sunlight was celebrated with games and feasting. Hardar had traditionally hosted this, being the richest and most powerful jarl in the southern islands. But this year, citing his age, Hardar offered Ulfrik the honor of doing it for him. For the first time in most men's memories, the summer festivals were held elsewhere.
Gunnar ran screaming toward Ulfrik, delighted. Ulfrik swept up his son, then wobbled with dizziness. "Are you making trouble again, boy?"
"No," Gunnar said as he threw his small arms about Ulfrik's neck.
"You say, No, Father," Ulfrik corrected, and Gunnar nodded solemnly. Still feeling his weakness, he passed Gunnar into Toki's arms. "Go with Uncle Toki now. I have important business. Be good."
Gunnar again nodded as Toki accepted him with a mock expression of pain. "How heavy you've become. You should carry me instead."
Ulfrik laughed. "Thanks for watching Gunnar. He looks more like his mother every day. Looks more like your brother than nephew."
He left Toki to entertain Gunnar, and he sought the company of the other jarls. Runa had been right, he realized. He had not used the festival to mingle and risked losing the real opportunity of hosting the festival: to become another key player in the informal politics of the islands.
So as men raced, threw spears, hurled rocks, wrestled, and dueled, Ulfrik moved among the groups of on-lookers. Hardar walled himself behind a clique of men from the northern islands. While not hostile, their faces were closed to Ulfrik. He realized they could not be won over, so ignored them.
As the day drew on, he noted that Hardar finally regained his jovial manner. But Ulfrik also noted that Hardar followed up wherever Ulfrik had visited. At first he thought it was coincidence. Yet soon it was obvious. Is he following behind to check what I said or to smear my name, he wondered.
Though the sun would not set for many hours, the evening feast was soon. Ulfrik cast an eye down the gentle slope to where the buildings of Nye Grenner clustered. Without a single tree on any of the Faereyjar Islands, timber was an expensive import. The locals had shown him how to build with stone and turf roofs. It made for solid homes, if strange ones to Ulfrik's mind. He had built his hall with imported birch wood and stone. It chugged hearth smoke, scents of roasting meats making him hunger. Beyond the rectangles of green roofs the ocean glittered.
Snorri found him staring at his hall. He stood next to Ulfrik and shared a smile with him, then turned to face the hall. "You've done well. In just five years, you've built a thriving home."
"Still can't believe it. I never thought I'd own two sticks, never minds ships, a hall, and a forge. Fate has been kind to me."
"Your father would've been proud to see this place."
Ulfrik nodded silently. Suddenly he felt an unmanly lump in his throat. Snorri was an old man now, over forty years of age. He was the last link Ulfrik had to anyone from his youth. Snorri had stood beside him in his first shield wall. He was the last of what Ulfrik considered t
o be the heroic, old breed of warriors. His thoughts and opinions counted heavy in Ulfrik's heart.
"We should gather in the guests for the feast. It's going to be the best thing these men have seen, better than anything before."
"Aye, my wife Gerdie and Runa have got to be the best cooks in the world. The poor fools haven't really tasted good food until they've eaten from our table."
They laughed together, and started for the hall. "Let's make sure all is prepared. I can't wait to see Hardar's expression once he tastes my hospitality."
The hall reverberated with carousing and merriment. Ulfrik had built his hall large, but tonight it filled with so many men it seemed a hermit's cottage. The hearth pit glowed orange, casting laughing faces in a golden hue. Two women fed it dried juniper branches to keep it burning. Smoke from the roasting lamb whorled at the ceiling as it sought the hole in the roof. The doors were thrown wide, allowing a sea breeze to freshen the room. So many had come to sample Ulfrik's hospitality that they had to sit outside the hall. The women of Nye Grenner squeezed between the revelers, bringing them mead and food, laughing at jokes, fending off wandering hands, and settling friendly debates.
Ulfrik beamed from the high table. Runa sat at his side, radiant in a fine dress and a jeweled pin at her shoulder. Gunnar squirmed on her lap, equally confused and excited by the crowds in his normally quiet home. More tables had been set upon the stage of pounded earth to accommodate the other jarls and their families. Ulfrik wanted to ensure his guests felt respect for their status. They had spent half the night toasting each other, and Ulfrik began to grow dizzy.
"Your mead is the best I've ever tasted, and I've tasted much!" Jarl Hermind the Fat patted his belly, drawing laughter around the tables. "Do you keep your own bees?"
"We do. Only started a few years ago. One of my men comes from a line of beekeepers."
Islands in the Fog Page 2
