Runestone

by Anna Ciddor

  The sight that met her eyes was worse than she could have imagined. The whole garden was filled with people and Astrid and Edith were sitting in the middle laughing! Thora thought she would explode with anger.

  ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘Get out! All of you, get out of my garden. Now!’

  She charged around, grabbing at people’s clothes and hair and shoving them towards the tunnel.

  At last they were all gone. She flopped down, buried her face in her hands and began to sob. This was the end of all her dreams and plans. Her family had found her secret and now they would tell her father. Runolf would be horrified and angry and forbid her from doing any more digging. Her precious new seeds would never grow into plants. She would never make a whole lot of new cures. She would never become a famous, wonderful healer. She’d go on being the hopeless one, the one who couldn’t do spells, the one who just made a mess of things when Granny tried to show her how to do them.

  After a while she felt a little hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Thora, it’s all right,’ Ketil said. ‘It’s all right. Father knows about your garden – Astrid spied on me and told him – but he’s not angry. At least, not any more. Granny came and looked at the garden and she said, “Runolf, if the Little Folk let her do this then who are you to make a fuss?” She called him a sprat-head!’

  Ketil giggled. No one but Granny would dare to call his father a sprat-head!

  Thora wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘But everyone thinks the garden is silly,’ she sniffled. ‘They were laughing at it. I heard them.’

  ‘They weren’t laughing at your garden. They were just being happy. Everyone loves your garden. It’s pretty. They all want to come here.’

  For the first time Thora looked around her.

  With amazement she saw that the little shoots she’d left behind were growing into real plants. A few of them even had flowers. But some of them were broken and trampled.

  ‘I must have done that when I dashed around in a temper,’ she thought. She picked up a little bean plant, ripped out by its tiny roots. Her heart ached with regret as she eased it back into the ground.

  Meanwhile, back at the boat, Oddo was displaying the things he’d bought at the market, keeping an anxious eye on Bolverk’s face. His father picked up one of the antler combs.

  ‘How much did you give for these?’ he asked.

  ‘I got three combs for one cheese,’ said Oddo warily.

  ‘Hmm.’ Bolverk examined the comb closely, then opened the sack of wheat. He ran his fingers through the grains, bent to sniff at them, and tossed one of the raw kernels into his mouth.

  He chewed it meditatively.

  ‘You did well,’ he pronounced. Then he gestured at the goods piled on the bank, and shook his head wonderingly. ‘I still can’t believe you managed all this!’

  Grinning, Oddo hoisted the wheat sack onto his shoulder, tucked a honey jar under his arm, and led the way proudly up the hill. As he reached the crest, he saw the barley field he’d planted with Thora. All the seeds had sprouted into tiny green barley plants.

  ‘You can be proud of that too!’ said Bolverk, coming up behind him, ‘That’s as grand an acre as I’ve ever seen.’ He gave Oddo’s shoulder a quick, awkward pat. ‘Maybe there’s something in this magic business after all. Your mother tells me Thora helped you sow that field. She must have cast a spell to keep the birds away!’

  Oddo turned to face Bolverk.

  ‘It was my magic, Father,’ he said impulsively. ‘I told the birds to keep away and they did what I said.’

  He waited for Bolverk to explode. But Bolverk just frowned.

  ‘What do you mean, your magic?’ he said.

  Oddo’s words came out in a rush.

  ‘You know how I make the rain come and go? Well, that’s just some of the magic I can do.’

  Bolverk stared at him. ‘Is that how you got to market?’ he asked. ‘Using magic?’

  Oddo nodded.

  Bolverk gave a snort. ‘Well, that explains it!’ He waggled a finger at Oddo. ‘Now don’t you go getting a swollen head about magic,’ he warned. ‘It’s muscles you need on a farm, boy. Magic can’t get the fields dug, the cows milked and the sheep shorn. Well, can it?’

  Oddo looked at the ground and kicked at a clump of dry earth.

  ‘You see, it’s just that the Little Folk . . . They don’t like . . .’

  Bolverk put his hands on his hips and glared at Oddo in his old familiar stance.

  ‘Husband,’ murmured Sigrid, touching his sleeve, ‘don’t be angry today.’

  To Oddo’s amazement, Bolverk stopped frowning and relaxed his arms.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘We should be celebrating!’ he turned to Sigrid. ‘How about cooking up a feast, woman? I bet this boy could use a decent meal. And a bath!’ he added, looking at Oddo’s stained and tattered clothes.

  ‘Father,’ said Oddo anxiously. ‘About my magic . . . If you’d let me use my magic I could do all sorts of things for the farm! I could make it rain when we needed rain. I could tell the animals what to do. They understand me and they do what I say because I’m magic. That’s how I managed the shearing even though I couldn’t lift the sheep!’ Oddo’s voice grew louder and more confident. ‘Magic isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s useful! It’s something to be proud of !’

  There was a long silence as Bolverk stared at his son. At last he spoke.

  ‘Could you make it rain on that acre now?’ he asked, pointing at the field of barley shoots.

  ‘I . . . Yes.’

  ‘It could do with a bit of water,’ said Bolverk. ‘Show me what you can do.’

  Oddo stepped onto the field and looked up at the sky. It was blue and cloudless. He took a shaky breath.

  ‘Rain, could you come and water my barley?’ he whispered.

  An instant later he had to scuttle from the field as rain pelted down from the cloudless sky. Sigrid and Bolverk were standing where he’d left them. Suddenly his father burst out laughing and clapped his hands.

  ‘Ha,’ he chortled. ‘How about that? A farmer who can make his own weather and talk to the animals! What do you think of that, Sigrid?’

  Sigrid beamed. Oddo was too relieved to speak.

  ‘You’re right,’ Bolverk went on.‘Anyone can dig. But making it rain – that’s something special! And talking to animals . . .’ Bolverk slapped his thighs. ‘With my muscles and your magic,’ he crowed,‘we’ll have the best farm in the district!’

  29

  Midsummer’s Eve

  The house-over-the-hill was just as Thora had left it. The door hangings still lay on the floor, half-blocking the doorway. Thora stepped over them into the dim, smoky room. The floor was just as sticky and dirty, and the same pile of burnt and unwashed cauldrons lay by the firepit. Runolf was carving a runestone and Finnhilda was nursing the baby.

  ‘Look who’s here!’ cried Ketil, trotting in after Thora.

  A loud rattle sounded from the loom in the corner.

  ‘Leaping lemmings!’ squawked Granny. ‘Thora’s back!’

  Finnhilda looked up, a beam of greeting on her face. ‘Thora!’

  ‘Ah,’ said Runolf, and nodded his long head. ‘I assured that Sigrid woman your magic cloak and charmed boat would preserve you from harm!’

  Granny bustled forward with a volley of squeaks, and peered inquisitively at Thora’s parcel.

  ‘I bought things at the market,’ said Thora proudly. ‘Look!’ She laid her bundle on the table and began to unwrap the herbs and spices. ‘I made lots of silver by doing cures. People were queuing up for me to heal them, Granny! Can you imagine?’

  ‘About time you got some spellwork right!’ said Astrid, striding into the room. She headed straight for the table and tried to pick up a ginger root. To Thora’s amazement, Granny slapped her fingers.

  ‘Who said you could touch?’ Granny scolded.‘These are Thora’s herbs and spices. Thora went all the way
to market and brought them back. She’s the only one who should use them.’

  ‘Huh,’ snorted Astrid, turning her back and prancing off. ‘That’ll be a waste of good herbs, then!’

  Thora pretended not to hear.

  ‘This herb’s for curing toothache and bellyache,’ she said, ‘and this one’s for staunching wounds and this one’s for fevers and . . .’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Granny, poking her nose at the packets and sniffing loudly. ‘I don’t know how well they’ll work, but they smell so good people will want them anyway!’

  ‘They do work,’ said Thora. ‘And I’m going to grow them in my garden so we have lots and lots.’

  She turned her eyes to Runolf and felt her heart pounding nervously. What would he say about the garden? Runolf blew the rock dust off his runestone and picked up another stone. Then he looked at her, his eyebrows raised and his chin tucked in.

  ‘It seems you’ve cast a charm on the Little Folk!’ he said, and went back to his carving. ‘Was there any person at the market selling runestones?’ he asked.

  Warily, Thora shook her head.

  ‘Ha. Then next time you go, you must take some runes to barter.’

  He wasn’t going to complain about her gardening!

  ‘I think,’ said Thora, speaking slowly and cautiously, ‘I’ll move my garden closer to the house so it’s easier to get to.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Granny.

  Thora felt a blaze of relief and happiness.

  ‘I’m going to make something now!’ she declared.

  Jauntily, she tossed leaves into cauldrons, added spices, sniffed and stirred. Then she fetched a pile of empty soapstone pots and began to fill them. Ketil came to sit by her side.

  ‘Got any sores or pains?’ she asked eagerly. She was dying to see if any of the potions worked.

  Ketil shook his head.

  ‘How about if I prick your finger and make it bleed a little bit?’ suggested Thora.

  Just at that moment, Erik’s chisel slipped on his runestone.

  ‘Ow!’ he yelled.

  Thora rushed to his side and found a drop of blood on his hand.

  ‘Oh good!’ she cried.

  She hurried back to the collection of little soapstone pots she’d spread all over the table. She peered and sniffed, picked one up and carried it to her patient.

  ‘I think this is the right one,’ she said.

  Erik rolled his eyes and held out his hand.

  ‘I think I liked it better when you couldn’t do magic!’ he said. He screwed up his face as Thora dabbed something dark and gooey onto his cut.

  ‘Does that feel better?’ she asked.

  Erik opened his eyes again and looked surprised.

  ‘Actually it does!’ he said. ‘Hey, everyone, Thora’s invented a really good cure!’

  The next moment the whole family seemed to find they had bruised toes or scratched fingers and they all crowded round Thora, demanding to try her new potion.

  ‘Rub some on Granny’s creaky elbows!’ urged Finnhilda.

  ‘What about me?’ cried Harald. ‘I’ve got a sore finger!’

  In the midst of the clamour and excitement, Runolf lifted his head and looked across the heads of his family towards the open doorway.

  ‘They appear to be starting the bonfire,’ he remarked.

  ‘Yes!’ squealed Edith.

  Instantly, the crowd broke up. Granny bustled around the room, creaking and muttering and shoving things into a basket. Finnhilda unpacked her festive feather cloak and draped it round her shoulders.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Thora.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ said Astrid, sploshing angelica essence over her hair and clothes.‘It’s Midsummer’s Eve tonight.’

  Arni rushed across to the firepit, grabbed a big stick and began madly scraping at the logs, breaking them apart and crushing out the flames.

  ‘What are you doing?’ cried Ketil.

  ‘Putting out the fire,’ Finnhilda explained, taking his hand. ‘We’ll bring home a new fire tonight from the Midsummer bonfire.’

  Outside it wasn’t quite dark yet, and from every direction Thora could see farmers and their cows flocking down the valley. In the distance a great bonfire was burning and everyone in the district seemed to be heading towards it. Everyone? Thora searched for that face with the big toothy grin and the hair like bronze, but she couldn’t see it.

  The crowd parted to make a path for Runolf and his family to reach the fire. As they drew close, Thora felt the blast of heat from the leaping flames. It was the biggest bonfire she had ever seen. She looked round the circle – at the farmers trying to calm their nervous cows, at the excited children and the squealing babies.

  ‘Where’s Oddo?’ Ketil asked.

  Thora shrugged.

  ‘Bolverk doesn’t believe in festivals. They won’t come.’

  Granny was tossing things out of her basket onto the fire, saying spells. The crowd began to cheer and shout.

  ‘Make it higher, higher!’ they roared.

  Everyone began to throw things onto the flames. The higher the fire, the better their crops would thrive.

  A small group of people started to sing and the whole crowd took up the tune. They reached out to take each other’s hands, forming circles that spun and danced around the fire.

  Edith came running up, holding out her hands to Thora. The next moment, all their family was together, dancing in a ring. Granny was cackling and kicking up her legs. Runolf was prancing solemnly, his long face bobbing up and down. Thora held on tightly, and beamed round at her family.

  Suddenly, one man bent down to the fire and drew out a burning branch. He raised it high and waved it over the head of his frightened cow.

  ‘What’s he doing that for?’ cried Ketil.

  ‘To stop his cow getting sick,’ yelled Finnhilda. ‘This is a magic fire.’

  The festival was ending now. The dancing had stopped and everyone was reaching into the fire for their burning branches.

  ‘I’m tired,’ said Ketil. He held out his arms and Thora picked him up.

  Suddenly he patted Thora’s cheek.

  ‘Look!’ he cried.

  Thora turned in the direction of his pointing finger. There, elbowing his way through the crowd, and waving madly, was Oddo. His face broke into that huge toothy grin she knew so well.

  ‘Did your father let you come?’ asked Thora in surprise.

  ‘He told me to come,’ said Oddo.‘He’s decided magic isn’t so terrible, and he thought I might pick up something useful.’

  He looked around eagerly to see what everyone was doing.

  ‘You’re supposed to take a stick from the fire,’ Thora told him.

  Before she could explain any further, Ketil dragged at her neck, pulling her face close to his.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he begged. ‘The others are waiting for us.’

  Edith came running up and grabbed Thora’s arm.

  ‘Come on,’ she said.

  Thora looked back at Oddo as she joined her family. He was bending over the fire, carefully selecting a flaming branch.

  ‘Take it home and wave it over your cows,’ Thora called.‘To make them healthy! Then use it to light your cooking fire. It’ll bring you luck!’

  Oddo waved his flaming torch and followed them up the hill. The fire lit up the look of pride on his face.

  At the top of the hill a lone man was standing and waiting, his arms folded across his chest.

  It was Bolverk, waiting for his son.

  The Futhark

  To read or write words written in runes, you have to go by the sound they make. These are the rune sounds:

  Can you work out why the alphabet is called the Futhark?

  Writing your name in runes will give you some magic powers, but the Futhark doesn’t match the English alphabet exactly. Some English words can’t be written in runes.