by L. E. Waters
That goose had six fluffy goslings that hatched the other day. I run to the barn with Thora and see five little yellow balls of fluff spilled out on the hay.
“One is missing,” I tell Thora.
She nods and looks around. A high-pitched peeping begins, and the three of us move every lump of hay in the barn trying to locate where it’s coming from. I turn over a bucket and see the little frantic puff run out and into a clump of hay. I reach in and pull it out as it squirms in my hand, calling for its far-away mother.
“What will we do with it?” I say to Thora as the workman walks away with the shovel full of the rest of its sleeping brood.
She smiles at me. “Now you will have something to follow you around everywhere.”
I name my new little friend Borga: saved one. After spending half the morning chasing her as she runs away from me squeaking for her mother, she finally stops and begins to stay close to me. I take her to the water bowl to drink and watch as she snaps along the bottom of the bowl with her orange beak, lifts her head up to drink as she watches me with her golden eyes. I hold grain in my hands for her to eat and enjoy how she follows with her tiny yellow wings out when she runs. At night, Borga snuggles in with her head on my neck and makes little peeps that lull me to sleep.
One month later, Borga goes through an odd stage where her plumage is coming in and all her parts seem too big for her. Her peeps are cracking into more of a honking sound. She’s becoming braver and braver, leaving my side only to come running back when she realizes I’m away. She’ll come flip-flopping back with her head low, honking away in a punishing but reunited tone.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
It’s a crisp spring day when Thora comes out dressed in a lovely white goatskin dress. She shoos Borga away from nipping at her fringe and says, “Time to go, Liam.”
“You are getting married today?” I know the answer; I don’t know why I asked.
Her mother comes out and commands the workmen to load up the wagon. “Fetch her loom, chests, and featherbed.” She takes off one of her keys and, with a wide smile, hands Thora the key on her own silver chain to clasp around her waist. “For your new farm.”
Thora thanks her as she wraps it around her waist, and after all of the things are secure in the wagon, I go to sit up on the wagon bench, but her mother points to the back.
Thora nods with a smile. “You will have to keep Borga company.”
I bend over and grab the spiky-feathered gosling around her middle, then hold her close to my chest, feeling her downy sponginess. She honks a bit and flaps her giant, orange feet in the air but calms when I settle in between the chests. Thora says good-bye to her mother as a workman drives the wagon nine farms up the common road. It looks identical in size and shape to Thora’s old farm, except it’s on the right side of the road. There are similar out buildings in slightly different placement. A tall man steps out of the central hall with two other men. I recognize him as one of the warriors who stormed my village and laughed at me hanging at the hand of my abductor. Before even helping Thora down from the wagon, he takes inventory of the contents of her dowry. He grimaces when he sees me holding Borga. One of the men comes to record on dried goatskin exactly what Thora brings with her, and the tall man finally puts a hand up to help her down. He looks at her like food, tasting her with his single-dimpled grin.
A red-haired woman comes out from the house with two children near my age. With her chin up in the air, she leans on the side of the house, watching, as her children lose interest and begin hopping around, playing games on the path, completely disregarding me. The pagan holy man says the prayers for their marriage and all are invited inside for the feast to the fertility god Frey. I put Borga on the ground and attempt to go in for the feast, but Rolf, the groom, sticks his foot out as I step up to go into the house last. “All thralls eat and sleep in the dugouts.”
The door shuts and I wonder what “thrall” means. Thora has never taught me that word. I take my small linen sack, filled with my blanket and some clothes Thora made, then walk over to the five dugouts behind the large barn. I notice smoke coming from one. Borga keeps honking in parade behind me, and the noise brings out a young girl. She’s a few years older than me, with dark hair, dark skin, and eyes like a stormy grey-blue ocean. She smiles a brilliant white smile when she sees Borga’s humorous greeting. I wish I were in the house with Thora but know I must make friends before night falls and the wolves descend in hopes of wayward animals.
“My name is Liam.”
The girl scrunches her face up and says, “Liam,” like it tastes bad.
I wait, not sure what to say next, and she says, “Una” while pointing at her bony chest. She motions inside the dugout. “Hela has made a soup, and I’m sure we have enough for you too.”
I go inside the small, warm space with a fire lit in the center lifting up through a hole in the roof. The space glows orange from the flames and makes the white woman appear magical. I stop at the sight of her, focusing on her elfish-pointed ears as Una makes her way to the mat by her side. The wrinkled woman gives me a warm, though toothless, grin.
Una whispers to her, and Hela turns to me. “Liam, would you like some soup?”
I nod and move to the farthest corner on a straw pile, and Borga quickly waddles in, chiding me for leaving her. The old woman laughs heartily and instantly puts me at ease. The soup, savory and salty, tastes wonderful with the torn pieces of stale bread. I thank them and watch Una tucking herself up in a ball on a mat near the fire to sleep.
I ask Hela, “What does thrall mean?”
She looks down at the fire and takes a moment. “When someone owns your body but not your soul.”
“Why did Rolf call me a thrall?”
“Rolf is our master. We have all ended up here by chance, and we must do what we can to survive.”
I go to take my sack and goose out to find my own place to sleep when Hela makes a shushing sound and puts her hands down to the straw. “You will sleep with us.”
I’m happy to stay here, since it’s already dark out. The old, hunched woman helps lay my blanket on the straw and pats my back reassuringly when I settle down with Borga.
Chapter 4
In the morning, I wait by the house for Thora to appear and make a face instantly when I see she steps out with Rolf heavy around her shoulders, dragging her down awkwardly.
He notices me and yells, “Get to the shovels, boy!”
I take off toward the barn, hearing the flip-flopping of Borga’s graceless feet. I shut the door behind me, and Borga goes wild, pecking on the other side of the door frantically.
Thora says behind the door, “Liam, let us in.”
I wait and almost laugh at the noise Borga is making. I open the door, and she comes flying in, honking at me with her neck overstretched.
Once she calms down, Thora says, “I’m sorry, Liam. Rolf doesn’t allow any workmen in the house.”
“You mean thralls.”
She looks surprised I know that word but nods. “I don’t like being here either. I’m forced to do whatever my parents choose for me. We are both thralls.”
I soften a bit and say, “I met the oldest woman I’ve ever seen. I think she is an elf.”
Thora laughs. “Hopefully she is a good elf.”
“I think she is. She made me supper and let me sleep with her and Una.”
“I’m glad you and Borga found a nice place to stay, then. I worried about you all night.” She opens up the door to the barn. “Things will be better for both of us when Rolf leaves for the sea.” She pulls her reindeer comb out from her pocket, secures her hair up with the comb, and starts to run. “Come on! Let’s explore this place!”
I run after her with my goose flapping behind.
Rolf does go away eventually, and Thora jests about finding his hoards he’d buried all over the farm. We take shovels and dig in all of the places someone would pick to bury a fortune. One day we’re shocked to unearth one below
a tall fir. We find metal pieces all wrapped in linen: jewelry and coins from countries Thora can barely pronounce. Thora puts on a few of the necklaces as I wrap a gold armband around my skinny arm. I see dark red paint all over the side of Thora’s necklaces, and when I point to it, Thora yanks them off. We hurry to put it all back and try to cover it all like it has never been disturbed.
When Rolf comes home and Thora can’t spend time with me, I play with Una after her chores are done. She has to feed the animals, collect the eggs, milk the cows and goat, and make the butter and cheese. I help her get through them, and toward the end of the day, we have time to run off into the horse fields. Borga grows so large that she’s the fattest goose on the farm. She catches the attention of Rolf one day as he watches her waddle her large rump behind me.
He calls out, “I’m going to butcher that goose before she gets too tough.”
I spin around, not knowing what I can say to him. “She’s a fine egg layer, Master. This morning, she laid one of the largest eggs we’ve ever seen.”
He shakes his head. “We have got plenty of eggs from the hens. No, I will see to her tonight.”
The door opens, and Thora flies out. She must have overheard through the open gables in the roof.
She yells out, “That is my goose. She is part of my dowry and I will say what we do with her. Borga is an egg layer!”
She draws both hands out flat, turns, and goes back inside. Rolf sneers at me and rubs the bottom of his whitening beard but says nothing. I grab Borga’s fat body up and run away with her to tell Hela and Una what happened.
Months later, Rolf leaves again, and since his red-haired sister, Inga, goes away to visit her dead husband’s family, Thora lets me in to have supper with her and sleep on her featherbed. I’m careful to watch Borga’s warning tail-wagging closely, in fear of an accident that will give Rolf reason to butcher her. Even with all the darting outside with Borga throughout the night, it’s worth it to be back with Thora. I notice Thora’s stomach is getting large when she tucks her body around me, and we fall asleep with my arm across Borga.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
When Rolf returns, he carries a dirty sack behind his back and yells for Thora to come out. Inga is home by then, and she comes out wondering why he didn’t say her name as well. Rolf bares an oversized grin, opens the sack wide, puts his long arms in, and pulls out the strangest bird I’ve ever seen. It’s a shiny shade of purple-blue, delicate, with a tiny, undersized head. The strangest part is the trailing, thick tail it has, twice its body length. He puts the scared thing on his hand, holds it up like a falcon, and cries, “A gift for the wife of my first child!”
Inga goes back inside as Thora walks unsure, toward the strange creature. She holds her hand out to touch him and laughs. “What am I to do with it?”
“This fine creature will grace our farm with its beauty and provide you with the richest feathers for your decorations.”
She thanks him as he lifts the creature in the air; it flaps down to the ground and steps away like a chicken but meows like a cat. Borga immediately dislikes the intruder. She puts her beak flat on the ground, runs as fast as she can after it, sending it flapping off into a paddock.
Rolf turns to me. “If that goose gets that peacock, she’ll be turning on my spit.”
Thora motions to me to take her away. Borga isn’t the only one who doesn’t like the peacock. Inga seems to do all she can to drive the bird away. When Rolf isn’t around, she throws water and plates at it, and once she tries to catch it in a blanket. I don’t blame her; the eerie thing sneaks up and appears like a ghost in a tree beside you.
The baby’s born at the end of the winter. Thora lets me come in to see her one morning, and there, lying on her featherbed is a little honey-eyed girl. I smile, and Thora says, “Her name is Erna.”
I go to touch the dark fuzz on the top of her head and see a little white mark on her forehead. Thora sees me touch it with my thumb and says, “I think that’s a sign that she will be special.”
I nod and hope that Thora will still have some time for me. Thora pulls me to her and whispers in my ear, “We are now a family.”
Chapter 5
Rolf is away for harvest time, which means that Thora has to take the goods to market. She asks one of the older thralls to take her into the village. Erna stays with Una and Hela while we venture in. I haven’t been to Hedeby since that warrior pulled me by my scruff out of the chest. We take Army Road that leads right into town but have to pay a good sum in order to use the new bridge over the Eider River. I can’t remember what the village looked like, and I’m surprised when I see the huge hills surrounding the village in a perfect half-circle.
“Those are the ramparts built to protect the trade center,” Thora explains.
I see the break at the end of the road where two narrow towers stand menacingly, protecting a massive, wooden gate. On top of the towers lay two giant shields of iron, horizontal to the sky.
Thora points. “They light those and all of the others on the shore and across the hilltops to warn us of an attack.”
When we draw closer, I see the towers are carved with pictures of horses, hawks, and warriors fighting a dragon. Guards stand on the towers with their weapons, inspecting our wagon, and studying us as we pass through. The road changes from gravel to wooden-planked streets, and the noise of the wheels and horseshoes on it sound musical. The village is vast, stretching from the towers all the way to the sea. We pass houses with small fenced yards and trading posts with wide windows to prop up to sell one’s goods. I stare at the different-looking people; all sorts of people come here to trade from around the world. We ride by the largest building, the Great Hall, where the chieftain resides, his bodyguard army meets, and the festivals take place. It has the most amazing woodcarvings on all of the posts, every animal you can imagine. Runestones carved with exquisite words and pictures ornament the streets. I wish we could’ve stopped at each one so that Thora could’ve told me what they said.
There are people of every class—rich noblemen and women in bright shimmering silks with gold embroidery, and others dressed like Thora, with silver brooches on their pinafores over colorful soft linen shift dresses. Then there are those who look like me, in dreary, coarse wool. We ride down near the shore, where the man driving our wagon stops to unload the goods and Thora has to go negotiate payment. I stand gazing out on the dark blue water to the different-sized ships bobbing at anchor. Past the warships and cargo ships, I see the pilings and stakes sticking up at the end of the long jetties, ever defending us from a water invasion.
High-pitched horns sound, and all eyes go to the longest jetty, where a warship is approaching to unload. Men place long planks of wood across to walk off the ship onto the jetty. About ten men step off, each dragging two huge sacks of loot. The last four are struggling, carrying a man tied at his hands and feet with a sack over his head. I immediately feel sorry for this kidnapped individual. Everyone, except the thralls, cheers for the return of the warriors. Rolf, unfortunately, is one of the first off, and as soon as he sees Thora, he rushes over to pick her up in a suffocating embrace. She looks like it hurts her, and when he puts her down, he opens his sack, showing her all he plundered.
I lose interest in this scene and focus on the four bringing the unhappy person up to Chieftain Toke’s house. A crowd gathers, curious to see what they brought back, and someone calls for Toke. He comes out, looking annoyed by this disturbance, and fixes his belt around his embroidered tunic.
He says, “I was in the middle of enjoying my finest mistress.”
A woman steps out beside him, closing the front of her silk gown. She has cascading blonde hair down to her ribs and glowing amber eyes.
I whisper to Thora, “His wife looks like a goddess.”
“Dalla’s no wife and certainly no goddess. Dalla’s the town’s mistress: a thrall that’s saved for man’s enjoyment.”
“But she wears silk and jewels?
” She looks like no thrall I’d seen.
“Men give her gifts for her beauty.”
“Chieftain,” a warrior with ice blue eyes says, “we’ve been to Iona and have brought back a gift for you.”
They remove the linen sack, and the crowd gasps when they see the tall muscular person is in fact—a woman. She’s dressed in loose pants and long tunic that hides her femininity, but her face, with its small features, lack of beard, and long hair, is in fact female.
The chieftain laughs. “And what am I to do with the she-man, Konr?”
“It took six warriors to capture her alive. She fought like a berserker! Held us all off for more than an hour with only her shovel and axe. All we could do was take a large piece of linen, corner her, and wrap her up in it. But she still ripped right through, but not before Orm here tied her legs.”
He points to a large and dirty warrior beside him. Orm nods, happy to be mentioned to the chief.
The chieftain quiets and looks at the prisoner. “Well then, Orm shall win her. I have no use for her.”
Orm’s face brightens as Konr says, “Chief, she’s a fighter. No man will tame her.”
Orm jumps in. “I can tame this he-woman! Poke her until she gives way to her sex!” The warriors cheer him on as he grunts. “Just need to loosen her leg ropes a bit to get the job done.” He begins to untie his belt and lets out a reverberating belch.
The warriors laugh, and the chieftain nods in approval, his slate eyes twinkling at such unexpected entertainment. Orm motions for the men to drop her, then grabs her tunic from behind and drags the strong girl on the ground. Straining with each pull, he tries to look every bit of the man he boasted about. He takes her into a small trading store. Once inside, he gives a snide smile to the warriors, then knocks the stick holding up the window, shutting it with a slam.
