Freydis is impossible to understand. I’m in her good graces now, and she still looks up to me. But what if I can’t deliver her child into the world, healthy and strong, as promised? Freydis’ hatred is like an unchecked flame, ready to spark into a blaze and destroy without reason.
I’ve lost my purpose in life. When I was a girl in Iceland, following in Halldis’ footsteps, I knew my destiny. I would be the next high volva, loved and feared by the villagers. But when I believed what the monk told me about Christ, I no longer wanted that position or the powers I had to embrace to make it possible. My hatred of my father was misplaced. It was Thor I hated, and all the gods and goddesses that ruined mortals’ lives just for fun.
Thor is real—he’s an evil spirit that whispers into the volva’s ears when they’re in trances. He encourages the powerful to take pride in slaughtering the innocent.
I tried to tell Halldis that only one God was willing to kill himself for humans—the Christian God. But since I didn’t have a book of Holy Writings, I couldn’t explain everything as the monk did. Halldis finally agreed to let me worship on my own and not join her in chants. As she died, I knelt next to her bed, praying over her. I hope she believed in the end, for I can’t imagine heaven without her beautiful red head there.
Snorri Thorbrandsson could be a friend to me here. I believe he would be loyal, because of Finn, but what if he lets his passions take over? He and his brother were outcasts for a reason, offending as many neighbors as Eirik the Red did.
Finn has been out fishing for at least two hours now. I should get up, but instead I stay in bed and try to sleep again. Nerienda wakes me when she comes in, carrying a bowl of porridge for Snorri.
Her warm hazel eyes flicker with surprise, but only for a moment. She stokes the fire for me. It’s a small but much-appreciated gesture on this chilly morning. It seems the fogginess outside hangs in the damp air of our hut. I should hunt for berries, help with the mid-morning meal, and check on Freydis and her baby. Today, though, I really don’t care what I’m supposed to do.
I have my own baby to care for, and I’m doing a poor job of it. As Nerienda takes him out of his cradle, I can’t even remember putting him there after nursing last night. It’s not good for him to sleep so late these mornings, instead of walking to gain strength. What kind of mother plunges into her own homesick thoughts and dreams, neglecting to care for her own son?
Nerienda senses my mood. “You have encouraged Freydis. I felt her baby today—it’s dropped some. She thinks she’s ready to go into the woods and hunt.” She places Snorri on a chair, tying his waist to the back with a linen belt so he won’t topple out.
I smile, but my mouth is stiff, and won’t even curve up. All the bones in my body ache. But I don’t think I’m becoming ill, at least not in my body. My mind struggles with a sadness I can’t pull under my control.
Nerienda loads up the spoon with porridge. Snorri opens his mouth wide, ready to eat. I try to speak, but a cough chokes me.
She turns sharply. “Are you ill? You’re far too pale.”
I nod, not really saying yes or no. “Maybe I’ll just sleep today.”
If she understands why I request this, she doesn’t show it. “I’ll take the boy to my hut. Linnea knows what he likes.”
It seems the very act of feeding my own child would be too much today. Nerienda unbelts Snorri. She wets a cloth and washes his little body with it, then dresses him in his long red woolen tunic. That way, he can relieve himself whenever he needs to. He’s getting old enough to use a pot for this, but I’ve been too busy with my own fears to show him how.
Finn comes in as Nerienda pulls leather boots on Snorri’s feet. He sets down his basket of fish and goes to his son, kissing him on the head. I want to get closer to the fire, but it’s probably warmer staying wrapped in my wool blanket.
Finn hesitates as he sees me, doubtless wondering why I’m not out gathering berries. I’m too tired to make up an excuse, so I roll over and close my eyes.
Nerienda clatters around some more, picking up the bowl and dropping the spoon. Finally, she shuffles out the door.
“Gudrid?” Finn approaches our bed. I roll over and stare at his white woolen trousers, noticing there’s a hole in the knee. A Viking wife maintains her husband’s clothing, and I haven’t even done this much. But Halldis never trained me to do mundane chores, knowing that as a chieftain’s daughter, I would have slaves to do them for me.
Finn’s rough hand traces the slant of my cheek. “Is something wrong?”
Yes, everything. Everything is wrong. I’m living in the wrong place, raising my son in a land I don’t want him to become familiar with. I don’t have family anymore. And I haven’t laughed in a year.
Finn lies down next to me, trying to understand. He touches my forehead. “You’re sick?”
“No.” I smooth my hair around me like a protective hood. I will tell him my fears. “What if Hallstein comes back, Finn? He wanted to attack me. You must have noticed that Linnea looks almost exactly like me—he made a mistake that night, a drunken mistake.”
He pushes the hair off my face. “Yes, I have thought of this.”
He has?
“It’s why I’m also leaving Bjarni with you.” His eyes are dark and serious.
“The old man?” I try not to laugh. “What use is he to a group of helpless women? And wasn’t he close friends with Hallstein?”
“They were friends once, when they used to sail together. But they've fought since Hallstein decided to go north. And Bjarni knows Hallstein’s tactics better than anyone, so he’s useful to your group.”
Bjarni used to sit at Eirik’s table, boasting about how he was the one who’d given Leif the idea of looking for Vinland, because he’d seen it first. I’d always thought he was cowardly for not going ashore when he found it. He’s a proud, useless old man, and the idea of relying on him for protection makes me want to sink deep under my blankets.
Finn’s eyes rest on me, waiting for my response. But I can’t give him one. I can’t even look into his eyes long, for fear he’ll see how desperately I want to keep him near me.
Suddenly, he says the words I’ve been longing to hear. “I won’t go south, if you ask me to stay. I’ll break my promises to Leif, so we can go back earlier.”
I can’t agree to this. The entire trip will be a waste if he goes back empty-handed. We’ve found very little we could give Leif in return for the use of his ships. Still, I know Leif, and he would let us stay on at Brattahlid, because he looks on me as family. But Finn is not family. I don’t know how Leif would deal with Finn’s failure.
Yet it’s so tempting. New strength rushes into me, just thinking of the comforts of Greenland. I prop myself up on my arm, meeting Finn’s eyes. He’s ready to do what I want. I could change our future by manipulating his sympathy for me.
But I can’t. He might despise me later, when we're safe in Greenland. He would wonder if he missed finding self-sown wheat fields in the south, or grapes for rich wine. He would despise me when the men mock him for shortening his trip for his wife. He would become like Freydis’ husband—people would start calling him “Gudrid’s husband.”
“No.” I look away from those steady blue eyes. Then I force myself to repeat it and look directly at him. “No. We stay here.”
He straightens his back, gazing into the fire. When his eyes fix on mine again, they are filled with resolve. I didn’t stand in his way, and he loves me for this freedom.
He leans down and pulls me into a hug. “We’ll leave in a few days. The sooner we travel, the sooner we come back. Summer is almost over and we must return before winter. But there’s enough firewood stored, if we don’t get back in time.” He lowers me to the bed again. “There’s still one more thing the men need to do before our journey. I’ll have them start working on it today.”
Perhaps I should ask what it is. Perhaps I should get out of bed. But when I close my eyes, all I can see is a tangled black tree w
ith feet dangling from it. And a girl, knife in hand, scared to death of being alone.
Chapter Thirteen
It’s dark when I open my eyes again. Finn snores lightly, his arm thrown over my body. Snorri's regular breaths sound from his cradle.
I carefully push Finn’s arm to the bed. Groping around on the floor, I latch my fingers around the oil lamp. I slide out of the blankets, holding steady so I don't spill the oil. I take a twig from the kindling and hold it to a smoldering coal, planning to light the lamp outside.
I’m dirty. I don’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve bathed. At the very least, I’ll be clean for my husband before he leaves me.
Outside, I blow on the twig until it lights the felt touchwood wick. I’m using our precious whale oil for this late-night bath. I hope Finn leaves at least one fisherman with us, so we can collect more oil for winter. Although Deirdre could probably fish, if she had to. And I’m a quick learner, as Eirik loved to tell everyone. He taught me how to ride horses, how to string a bow, even how to cook his favorite carrot soup, because Thjodhild refused to make it for him. She claimed it would turn his red hair an ungodly shade of orange.
The air is chilly and crisp as I walk to the creek—too crisp for summer. Fall will come early this year. I look up at the stars. I’m comforted to recognize Friggjarrokkr—the distaff of Freya—with her three stars, evenly spaced. Since I don’t have to walk by the men’s huts, I take my time stargazing.
Out of nowhere, I feel a low presence next to my side. Without lowering my lamp, I know it’s my wolf. Her rough fur brushes against my hand. The wolf, like Snorri Thorbrandsson, knows exactly where I am at all times. It’s as if she has my scent buried in her nostrils. She must not have young, because she would spend all her time hunting to feed them. Maybe now she looks on me as her pup—or does she know I have a pup of my own?
We walk together until we reach the creek. The water is probably freezing. I take a rag out of my pocket, planning to wash myself without dousing my entire body.
I find a safe place for the lamp, in an open spot between two small trees that loop over one another. This way the wolf can’t easily knock it over, should she start sniffing at the whale oil.
My brooches loosen without incident, and I drop my shift to the ground. I can barely see where the waterline begins, but I step on the moss until I feel the shallow water start to flow over my feet. It’s bracing, but the coldness revives my spirits.
I leave my seax in my leg sheath and wash under it, since I’m never comfortable enough to remove it. The wolf sits on the ground nearby, so I begin to talk to her. Or maybe I’m talking to God.
“Only four months. I’m strong enough for that.” I squeeze the rag over my hair, then rub my face. “Suka or Suki or whoever that Viking-hater is will have to submit to my authority, as Finn’s wife. Snorri Thorbrandsson will back me.” I move the rag in circles over my arms. The wolf hasn’t moved. “And Snorri will be under my authority, too.” Though truly, because Snorri is Finn’s trading partner, he’s as much a leader as I am. I can’t let him take charge, though, because where would that lead?
The wolf jumps up, alert. I slip down into the water as my lamp flickers. A man steps into its light. His long hair is the color of golden flax seeds, pulled back from his face, and he has a ruddy complexion. In fact, he looks like a younger Leif. Why’s he wandering around the camp?
“Someone here?” He even has a deep voice like Leif’s. He’s not very observant, because my wolf sniffs at his boot even as he peers into the darkness of the creek.
If I don’t say something, he’ll doubtless take my lamp. “I am here—Gudrid, wife of Thorfinn Karlsefni. I’m bathing, so don’t come any closer.”
His eyes continue to search the darkness for me, but he has recognized my voice. “Many apologies,” he says. “I’ll leave you. I’m guarding tonight.”
My wolf now crouches in front of him, barring his way. I don’t know how to tell him this without scaring him to death, but if he steps forward, she might bite him.
“You must go back the way you came,” I say. “Don’t take another step toward me or I’ll report you to my husband.”
“Of course.” He turns awkwardly from the creek. He tramps back through the brush, as my lamplight flares. Soon it will be gone.
My skin is covered with gooseflesh and my lips feel locked in place with the cold. I climb out of the water, taking my brooches and dropping them in the pocket of my shift. My stiff fingers couldn’t fasten them now. I pull the thin shift up around me, wishing I had my cape to cover it. My light finally goes out, so I wait until my eyes get used to the faint starlight.
The wolf patiently watches me, then walks over to the creek and drinks from the water, as if she’s been waiting for me to finish using it.
I walk back to camp, watching my footing around the stray rocks and limbs. I’ll go behind the longhouse to get to our hut, so the guard won’t see me. He should be patrolling the shoreline now.
Passing the bench in back of the longhouse, the presence of the huge dead man deepens my chill. I pray out loud.
“Please protect our camp, God in heaven…from Hallstein or the Skraelings or anything seeking to harm us. You are all we have in this hostile land. And thank you for your Son. Amen.”
My prayer seems too simple. I’m not eloquent, like the monk was. If only I could write poetry in runic form to God. Or would that be offensive, since runes are used for pagan magic spells? I’ll never know, unless I have a Holy Book and learn to read it.
Once I’m back in the hut, I pull on a pair of Finn’s woolen trousers and two of his heavier tunics. The fire is dying, so I add pine cones and stir it up. Finn still snores, and Snorri breathes softly under his reindeer skin covering. I curl my body into Finn’s, planning to sleep, but I can’t. Memories of Leif spill into my mind, uninvited.
Eyes closed, I can smell the curious scents of Brattahlid—its damp stone walls, incessant smoke, and the cinnamon sticks Thjodhild always kept on the table. I remember Leif breezing into the longhouse where I’d worked with Thjodhild. He grabbed my hand, saying, “If Gudrid doesn’t come outside on this glorious day, I won’t plant your flowers, Modi.” He loved using his baby name for his mother when he wanted something.
Thjodhild looked up from the coat she was stitching for Thorstein, for our upcoming trip to Vinland that winter. Her eyes were the palest blue I’d ever seen—the color of faded violets.
“But of course, Leif.” She gave in to her charming son, as usual.
As we walked out, Leif's hair tumbled free, full of the scent of outdoors. I’d been married to his red-headed brother for only a few weeks. Leif was married, too, and their son had been born in the winter, right before my father died.
Though Thorstein the Red was many things to me, he was never thoughtful, like Leif. Leif knew the things that pleased me, like running in the fields, or standing under the barley-barn roof during storms. I loved questioning him about the medicinal practices in Norway that were years ahead of our herbal cures. He paid attention to those things each time he traveled, so he could share what he’d learned with me.
All these things he knew, and still knows about me—things I haven’t shared with any of my three husbands.
I can’t even remember what we talked about that day. I only remember the way the sunlight hit Leif’s beard, his hair light as Thorstein’s was red, or Thorvald’s brown. How two people produced such different-looking sons, I never understood. The only things the brothers had in common were their light eyes and ruddy skin.
From his lingering glances and smiles, I realized Leif found me attractive. But that day, he planned to act on his feelings. When we reached the middle of the field, he planted his feet, towering over me. I looked up into his soft gray-blue eyes. Pain filled them, yet desire shone brighter.
His fingers laced under my hair, and he leaned down to my lips. The enticing smell of him nearly overwhelmed me, until I pictured Thorstein's wrathful fa
ce...and Gunna's new baby. I turned my head. We couldn't hurt our family like this.
He raised his eyebrows, but released his hold on me, reaching for my hand instead. We both turned toward the deep blue line of the horizon.
“Don’t let Thorstein stay away too long, Gudrid. You know he’ll do anything for you, just like every other man in this camp.”
I disagreed, because Thorstein was determined to travel to Vinland, even though I’d repeatedly told him that revenge was no reason to risk our lives.
Leif knew my thoughts. “Well, he’ll do what you want sure enough, after this pointless trip. He’ll be begging for your advice.” He chuckled, tightening his long fingers around mine.
I smiled, letting Leif's inner sunlight fill me up one last time. I knew I couldn’t be alone with him again. If anything did happen between us, Thorstein was just hot-headed enough to kill his own brother.
“Thorstein has no idea how to sail properly,” he said. “Father taught us all, but he never learned. My brother wasted all his time preening his hair and bathing, in hopes of garnering attention. I told him women were more attracted to the sweat of hard work.”
He was right, but I knew I shouldn’t let myself laugh at my husband. “Well, he is the baby.”
“And well does my mother know that.” Jealousy charged his voice. It amused me how all three brothers fought for their mother’s approval. Anyone could see she loved each one the same.
We walked on in silence, my hand swallowed up in his grip, his rough fingers caressing my own.
“Come back to me, Gudrid.”
“For what? We’re married. You have a son.”
“Things change.”
It sounded careless, but it was the Viking truth. We had both watched family die that winter, people who should have lived long lives. The illness had spared no one, young or old. Perhaps we clung to each other because we still grieved over our fathers.
“I’ll always come back to my home.” Even as I said this, I turned away from his light, into myself.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 8
