Would Father?
Svearna detested our presence in the land that had once belonged to them, of course, and we had fought well with Friednot to keep what is ours.
Father had said Hughnot had strange plans, wide-reaching plans, perhaps.
Our real enemies were the Goths themselves, I decided. We were too tied to keeping what we had. We risked little. Father was cautious. A thinker. He wanted me to be as deep, devious, patient, but it’s hard to think when you hate someone like Maino. And when you honestly think life would be better with your family … or perhaps you? Yes, you, in charge. I looked away, ashamed of my treasonous thoughts and afraid Father could read them, somewhere in his closed, devious mind.
I could leave. Be destitute.
And then Woden whispered to me and I nearly laughed aloud.
There was the woman.
She was a Svea. She was a rich one, an important one, a toy in the games of power, but she had smiled at me.
At me. Not at anyone else. That I knew of, I thought with a frown, but shook the unsettling thought away.
I had said I’d marry her.
I smiled as I thought about it. It had been nothing more than a barb at Father, but what if I did? I’d not be a lost soul in the woods, and I would have, perhaps, a life out there? My home would not be a cave in a hill, where I’d fight with the bears, but a place of warm fires, riches, and most of all, power. I felt like a bastard for pushing such thoughts of power and riches before her smile, but why could not my plan be for both power and love? It could, it would make sense if it were, in fact. And my feelings were real. I had dreamt of her the night before. I had seen her walking through pristine, brilliantly golden wheat fields in my torturous dreams, looking like a spirit of the flower stalks, a beguiling, benevolent thing and she had approved of me, smiling at me, holding out her hand and if that was not a sign of the gods, then what was? The memory of her smile filled me with lingering, deep warmth. There was longing and lust and gods be cursed, I had not looked at a woman like her before. It was the sort of feeling to make you press your palms to your face, leaving you bewildered, feeling reborn, desperate, on the brink of something new, not knowing if you might reach happiness. The memory of the curve of her lips caressed my nerves, and then made them taut as a bowstring, as I thought Maino was putting a claim on her.
Did he have one? A claim?
Perhaps in the eyes of the men of the villages. And if she were a tool for Boat-Lord to destroy us, she would marry one of us.
I could take her, and leave?
And there it was. My plan. I’d take her home.
Home? Did she have a home left, after the Saxons raided the land? She might. She was rich, well to do, it was clear by her haughty disdain, brave loathing of Cuthbert. Her dress spoke of it, even. Such riches don’t go away if a hall burned and slaves died. She was beautiful as the Sunna riding the sky. She was powerful in the lands of the Svea, perhaps, with connections that would be useful. My mind was whirling, as I straightened on the saddle. She—
A hand startled me, slapping on my shoulder. Hulderic had swerved around, waited for me and I had not noticed him. He nodded at me, his fur dripping with dew and there was some snow falling. ‘You looked starry-eyed, Maroboodus. You dreaming of a better place to be? Somewhere far from me?’
I shook my head. ‘No, not far from you. But a better place, perhaps.’
‘You are still a pup, boy,’ he rumbled. ‘Pups should accept their fathers are wise and the pups can barely walk straight. The Pups should pretend even when fathers are fools. We will stay the night at Birmhelm’s hall, and next evening we are at Marka.’
‘I know the way, Father,’ I told him. ‘But thank you for making sure the pup’s not lost.’ He chuckled softly.
Marka. The Boundry, it was Friednot who built it, and now it was Bero’s village by the lands of the Svea and Hughnot, separated by the Long-Lake, a cold swath of sea reaching far to the lands of the Svearna, where salt and sweet water mixed. ‘You do know the way, son, but you should practice the art of civility towards the rest of us while we have to trek so miserably.’
Dubbe grunted in agreement, and if Dubbe agreed with Father so readily, then I had displeased them indeed. I shrugged and straightened my shoulders. ‘I’ll try,’ I said loudly and they said nothing, but I sensed they had accepted my apology. We rode in silence for a while, until a raven flew over, croaking forlornly. Hulderic looked at it and mumbled something about Woden.
I smiled. ‘The god is not watching, Father.’ I cursed myself, for a slayer of two high warriors I now wanted to believe the ancients were hovering above me and begged they didn’t take offence as I dismissed the bird.
He did not smile back, but stroked his braided beard and adjusted the tunic under his pelt. ‘Your grandmother seems to think he is. And you saw the damned birds skimming the shieldwall, didn’t you?’
‘Hugin and Munin are two ravens, Grandfather, what was the third?’ I asked carefully, hoping he’d tell me about the bones. ‘They do look fateful, the birds but Grandfather died because his face caught an ax, not because a bird shat on him. And he died because Osgar was too slow.’
Dubbe chuckled, Sigmundr slapped him and Harmod straightened in his saddle, but Hulderic kept his silence, brooding as he looked at the raven that was circling something in the woods, a carcass, a rabbit or a moose the wolves had killed. ‘You just hate the unknown, boy.’
I nodded with agreement. ‘Sure I do. Who wouldn’t? You practically shat yourself yesterday, when Grandmother went dog-like over the remains of our dinner. What was that all about?’ I asked him. ‘All that unknown nonsense nobody seems willing to speak to me about?
‘The bones?’ he said softly. ‘Bad omen. But you don’t think it was strange, no?’
‘The dogs?’
‘That, and your grandmother’s vision.’
‘She looked like she saw Grandfather or some dead, old vaettir of the stony, deep holes in the woods. Or perhaps an alf in the bones? What is this bear? He mentioned a bear.’
He shook his head and spoke very softly. ‘She saw the Bear,’ Hulderic said and looked saddened. ‘It’s an old family, Maroboodus, ours. We are the first people, the Gothoni who were born in Midgard before all the others and from our blood, stem all the creatures that drag their feet across the misery of this world. Woden crafted Aska and Esla from dry logs to fill the silence of the world, his brother Hodur and Lok helped him and here, in Midgard, and the great god set his table and feasted for the birth of his own race. Us. He sees himself in us, perhaps? Raw, raucous, violent, moral, and then immoral.’ He glanced at me suspiciously. ‘No dry, sarcastic comments on how you already knew this?’
‘I resisted the urge. What has that got to do with bones and grandmothers?’ I asked him.
He grasped my shoulder and pulled me to him so hard I nearly lost my grip on the shield. ‘There is a curse in this family. One the gods, jealous of Woden’s power and Midgard cast on us the moment we were born of driftwood. It’s not clear what the curse is, but it involves members of our family and they say the danger is greatest when such men fail to be noble. When they are selfish, violent, out of control, the Norns stir, and gods rumble. Your grandmother is a seidr-maddened woman, a völva. She was one, at least. She has sacrificed for the gods for decades and quit after a bout of near deadly fever. Her family is related to ours, she met Friednot and fell in love and then she had us, Bero and me, played a dutiful mother, a good wife—and yes, Father had another woman—but she has dreaded the day she would see the Bear roaring. Being a mother doesn’t shut down the gods in her head, and—‘
‘She saw bones,’ I said stiffly and pulled myself from his grasp. ‘Bones. Not even bear bones. Damned cow, I think.’
‘Horse,’ Aldbert whispered near, ‘Saxon horse,’ but we ignored him.
‘You threw the bones, and there was a terrible warning in them,’ Hulderic continued sternly. ‘One you should heed. Your grandmother thinks you are the
Bear, and the Bear is the herald of evil times, my son. She thinks you might be the weak pebble that will cause the boulder to shudder, to move, and finally to roll. She thinks that men Woden created were cursed so that this world, Midgard, the gods, their Nine Worlds will be swallowed should they fail to be as noble as Woden is, and the evil of the vile gods who hated Woden—still do hate him—will come to pass. We shall be no more. And the Bear, it will be there, at the beginning, and that is why she fears. And why I do, as well.’
I stared at him aghast. I swirled to look at Aldbert, who looked sheepish. He had told the poet. Why? I decided it didn’t matter and tried to think about what Hulderic had said. The end? Ragnarok, I thought. End of the Nine Worlds. It would be the final battle, the bane of the gods and their lands. There would be horrible destruction of the Aesir and the Vanir and even the wily Jotuns, and finally, the birth of a new, lesser world.
I quaffed. I had promised myself to believe, but this?
Then I laughed and everyone turned to look at me with astonishment, and then frowns of deep disapproval. I could not stop, and tears ran down my cheeks, until I managed to stifle the roaring, shaking laughter into barely controlled chuckles, now anticipating a slap from Father, which never came. He was shaking his head.
‘You damned fool,’ he said sternly. ‘I don’t see anything funny about that. You live amongst the miracles of the gods, and seek to outdo them in arrogance. You really don’t believe in them, do you?’
I got a full hold of myself and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I want to. I killed two men in the battle, and perhaps they do occasionally help us. But not everything is magic, Father. I was sitting on the hillside the day before yesterday, looking at Maino strutting in his gear, and the dolts,’ I nodded at Dubbe who chortled, knowing somehow I had meant him, ‘and I was thinking how I’d never amount to anything. Now I am “The Bear”, terror of the shaking gods and the Bane of Midgard! And that’s because I kicked a plate of horse bones to the dust and the dogs didn’t want them? Perhaps they were sated. Even dogs can be full.’
He did not see the humor. ‘Well, think about this, then. You are not the first one.’
‘There are other fierce bears in the family, ready to gnaw on the old Midgard’s bones?’
‘Yes,’ he said darkly. ‘There are. Were. Have been. In this cursed damned family, when a völva or a vitka of the blood sees such terrible signs it is no small matter to be ignored and made fun of. Ask Hughnot, if you wish. They had a brother like that, wild, unruly, and he, Maroboodus, was given to Donor and the god took him and now he is dead. Boat-Lord condemned him. There are boys and girls who have been sacrifices all through the ages.’ He frowned at that and waved his hand weakly. ‘Or sent far, far away. And let me say this again. Understand. Listen. Some have been sacrificed to the gods. Laugh at that, Maroboodus.’
‘You … ‘ I began and sputtered. ‘You mean Grandmother wants to kill me? Because of some gnawed gristle?’
‘She loves you,’ he said thinly. ‘I … we do. But there is no denying it. She had a terrible vision in the bones, a terrible one, be they horse bones and greasy gristle or indeed god’s fine lots. She saw Draupnir’s Spawn, she saw you reaching for the ring, and she saw battle and death and you trying to slay kin for power, against my wishes. She saw you roaring in rage, and she thought she saw a Bear roaring in your voice, it’s evil vision over your shoulders. She said if this comes to be, she wanted me to make the … decision. If you will not bow to my wish for obedience—‘
I glowered at him. ‘And all of this damned threatening because I hate Maino more than I’d hate the worst enemy of the Goths and like the girl he stole? And if I decide my honor is more important than giving Maino a humble, girly smile, you’ll listen to Grandmother’s raving mad—’
‘Kingdoms have toppled for less than unruly adelings,’ he said with a pale grin. ‘Remember what I said. Endure. Be patient and heed me. You have been warned.’ Hulderic whipped his horse’s flank and the beast surged ahead with a snort. ‘Pray and obey,’ he called out.
Aldbert rode next to me, his eyes never leaving Father. ‘You should take care, Maroboodus. He is not joking. I know he can laugh at jokes, but he rarely tells them. Keep that in mind, my friend.’
‘I’m his son, I know he is a dour block of ice,’ I said.
‘He is a good father,’ Aldbert said. ‘Wish I had one. Even to warn me of a prophecy that seems very real to me.’
‘Did he tell you about this thing yesterday, when he dragged your skinny ass with him? Did he scheme with you, hoping you would make a lamb out of me?’
He smiled slyly, pulling at his beard. ‘I’d not make a lamb out of you, lord. Who would fight my fights then? And as for him, your father, anyone can see he is utterly serious about this. Do not threaten their plans, Maroboodus. I also think your grandmother is not addled, or an idiot. She really had a vision.’
‘Have you had a vision?’ I asked him, pulling my horse away from his as they tried to nibble each other. ‘Ever? How would you know she had one?’
He smiled wistfully. ‘I’ve had some when I’m too drunk. It’s usually all very confusing, and not very informative to be honest. Your grandmother wasn’t drunk.’ He looked startled. ‘Or was she? No, I don’t think so. She is very sensible. Hulderic would let you go to your death if he thought you a risk.’
‘I’m his only son. I doubt he would,’ I told Aldbert darkly, ignoring his attempts to guide me to calmer, more sensible waters. No, I wanted the storm. ‘The Bear! It’s just a ruse they are trying to use to hammer the girl out of my head.’ And my other plans, I thought, though I was not sure what they were, yet. Rescue the girl? Find a home? What more? Could she be trusted? If not, what could I do to survive both my relatives and her people, if they would not have me?
Aldbert shook his head over dramatically, his thin beard swaying. ‘The three spinners are holding your strings tight, I feel it. I have sense in these matters. Poems and songs do not come to those who do not think deep and listen to omens. I saw her. Your grandmother is a seer. She truly sees these things. And I see them in her. I …’ He hesitated.
‘Yes?’ I asked, amused.
‘I have, sometimes, a glimpse of truth when I sing, do galdr, spell-songs of the higher worlds, my friend. Perhaps I’ll approach the gods for you. I’ll speak to them and sing a spell. I’ll—‘
I cursed him. ‘I have but one friend, and it’s you. You should be on my side and now you pretend to be a vitka. You know I hate them. Perhaps I’ll make new friends,’ I grumbled and he patted my back happily.
‘I’m your friend. Ever since you gave me your last mead when we were six, I’ve been on your side, or at least behind your back, even when you are mulish and stupid. I’ve not been happy these last years, but you have been my friend. I’ll always help you. So I swear.’
I smiled at him thinly and nodded in thanks. I was selfish. ‘Not happy?’
He sighed. ‘I’ve endured Erse’s smiles at—‘
‘You like Erse?’ I asked with a surprised laugh. ‘Does she like you?’
‘She liked my voice,’ he said stiffly. ‘But thinks I’m not really a prospect.’ He looked very unhappy and I clapped a hand on his shoulder.
‘She will,’ I said weakly, not sure she would.
‘She won’t,’ he whispered. ‘I’m no fool. They gave me a shield and a spear, but she is after something else. Perhaps someone high? But I will try.’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve thought about her, but now—‘
‘I know! You’re not that high! She liked them older.’
‘Father?’ I said.
‘Shut up!’ he hissed, too loud and looked down as the others glanced at him. He looked stricken and I felt sorry for him. Perhaps he was right. Erse was a great mystery, but she did like Father.
I decided to humor my miserable friend. ‘So, you know the spell-songs of the gods, then? What galdr do you know, Aldbert?’
‘Woden knows songs against biting�
�‘
‘Biting? I’m not going to fight a horse. Or a woman,’ I told him with a laugh.
‘Fight?’ he said with worry. ‘So, you will make trouble.’
‘Only if trouble finds me,’ I said darkly. ‘I heard Father, but I’ll not budge. I will not kiss his ass. Maino’s. Father’s.’
‘If you need galdr to fight Maino, best not fight at all. I have no guards against spears and swords, though yes, perhaps one against biting. I only know one useful that is not meant for battle, really. Perhaps it’s only good to avoid battle?’
‘What’s that?’
‘I can speak with the dead,’ he said with a pale face.
‘Damned liar,’ I said. ‘You cannot walk straight and you can speak with the dead?’ I laughed, but still felt cold claws of terror rake my back. ‘You shouldn’t speak like that.’
He was silent, then humming uncertainly and I wondered if he was to try to do his galdr-song right there, but then he spoke. ‘Meet me in the woods this night. There is a copse of oak near the hall, holy and ancient, said to be devoted to Freya, the Red Lady, goddess of wisdom and war and from her, I shall find guidance.’
‘On what, exactly?’
He nodded at Hulderic. ‘On if he is right. Let the dead tell you what you should do, friend, and I’ll help you endure.’
I didn’t agree. But I knew I’d not be able to resist.
CHAPTER 4
Hulderic and his men enjoyed a small, intimate feast. There was convivial chatter in the smoky, dark wooded hall of Birmhelm, where a near deaf Goth with two pretty daughters, served us smoked bass with greasy gruel, and famous ale brewed by some secret old recipe, something the old man had been perfecting since he was beardless. It was an excellent drink, with a thick wheat taste, and always left you yearning for more, and Birmhelm was not a rapacious host and shared the drink willingly. The man’s hair was white and long, and it brushed his plate as he leaned forward to hear what Father was telling him in a low voice, apparently scheming and gathering allies for possibility of war as Birmhelm sent a man out with a message. Another man, perhaps Birmhelm’s son, a large, fat man with a savagely scarred face kept nodding at Father’s words. Dubbe was dozing on a bench, Sigmundr and Harmod were sharpening their axes by a small workspace in the corner and mostly it was a very homelike place and strangely comforting.
Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
