“Yes.” My voice is muffled by his chest.
“That Skraeling should have been left out to die...and he would have been, in Greenland.” Bitterness sounds in his voice, because he had chosen this man to protect us.
“Is he a true Skraeling? Greenlandic?” I ask.
“Yes, Vikings that settled above Brattahlid raided his tribal land. Many Skraelings were killed, their women and children taken. I should have known he wouldn’t be loyal to us, even though Leif owns him.”
“He came to this land to be free." I'm startled to understand Suka's motivation.
Finn tightens his arms. “Well, he will be free to stay here, because we’re leaving.”
I pull back, meeting his eyes. Today, they're deep blue, like the lapis lazuli arm-band he gave me when we married.
So we’re sailing for Vinland now, before winter.
He strokes my cheek, answering my questioning gaze. “Yes, we’re leaving. I won’t endanger our child any longer. Or you. I know you miss Brattahlid terribly.”
Brattahlid? What does that have to do with settling in Vinland? Maybe he thinks I’ll feel closer to Leif at his camp?
Finn looks to the sea, a faraway smile on his lips. “I miss sailing, Gudrid. I miss trading. I miss trips to Norway and into the mainland. I want to take you there with me, someday, when Snorri’s older and stronger. You wouldn’t believe the beauty of their palaces and churches.”
“That is also my heart’s desire, Finn. But how can we do this if we live in Vinland? Could you trade with the Skraelings there?”
“You misunderstand me. We’re sailing for Greenland, back to Brattahlid. I’ve plundered enough of Vinland to fill both ships. Grape vines, wheat…Leif will be pleased. Maybe he’ll make me a chieftain.” Finn gives a short laugh, knowing Leif doesn’t share power.
I grip his arms so tightly, he winces. He’s said the words I’ve longed to hear, and yet, I don’t want him to forfeit his dreams. Not because of me.
“You want this?” I ask.
I wonder if Suka woke and knocked me unconscious when I was stitching his arm. But no. Finn stands before me, smiling and happy. I reach into his sleeve, finding the tattoo. The serpent—representing the ocean—defeats Thor in the end. And the ocean always wins with my sailor husband. I wonder if baby Snorri will be a sailor, too. But for now, I’m content Finn wants to sail from this new land I loathe.
“Home...we finally return home." I’ve finally found a reason to smile. Finn snatches me into a hug and swirls me around.
A familiar form approaches from the camp. Features come into view: tight leather pants, sturdy chest, shining bald head, and rusty beard. As he draws near, it’s plain to see his smile doesn’t extend to his eyes. Perhaps he will miss being my defender.
“Thorfinn.” Snorri inclines his head toward Finn. I remind myself that Snorri Thorbrandsson is my husband’s closest friend, not mine. He only acknowledges me with a quick glance out of the corner of his eyes. “The men want to discuss our departure plans.”
So he already knows we’re sailing for home. Or maybe more than that—maybe Snorri pushed Finn this direction. Snorri alone knows all the trials I’ve been through in this land, and the bone-deep weariness I feel because of them. Not only that, he knows my homesickness for Brattahlid, and how close I am to Eirik’s family.
Finn sighs. “Of course. We’ll talk tomorrow. Today I must sleep, and my sailors should too. And so will my wife.” My husband winks and gives me a meaningful grin.
Snorri squints, like he’s keeping the sun out of his eyes, even though the sun’s barely up yet. He acts like an animal that’s been kicked. Finn doesn’t notice, as he wraps an arm around my shoulder and walks me back to camp.
Part of me wants to run back to Snorri, to hug him and thank him for being there for me every time I’ve needed him. He’s seen the deeper things in me, my weaknesses and my strengths, and he still seems to love me.
And I love him. But it’s a brother-love. I feel sorry for his loneliness. I want to comfort him. I’m thankful he protected me when Finn sailed. But I don’t share his feelings. He’ll only be happy when he’s married; when someone can return his love. And he can’t marry me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Days come and go, and Finn and I stay in our hut for the most part, snug against the dusting of snow and increasingly bitter winds. Finn does go out to talk with the men, and I keep up with my chores, which are minimal, now that Inger seems to have taken over my milking. She has a good touch with the cows. Rumors fly that she has a special power with animals. Vikings want spiritual explanations for any ability, linking it to the gods or trolls or valkyries or whatever seems to fit.
We all need something to believe in. Thor, Odin, and Freyja are fickle gods who revel in death and fighting. If I owned a book of Holy Writings, and if I could read it, I’d be able to tell others how different the Christian God is. Right now, all I can do is pray and try to be a good example. But I determine to get one of those books someday, perhaps when Finn is trading in the European mainland again.
Baby Snorri continues growing and changing, not even a baby anymore. His hair has grown in curly and thick, like Finn’s. He walks around, climbing anything, whether stable or not.
Freydis recovers. She goes into the woods for long stretches of time. I think she sits on a tree limb overhanging her boy’s grave.
Suka’s arm has almost healed. The stitching wasn’t perfect, and he’ll have a large scar. But he’s alive. He stays mostly in his hut, since he’s forbidden to be anywhere near Freydis. This is enforced by Tyr, who’s voluntarily assumed his bodyguard duty again, sticking to Suka like a shadow.
When I go into Suka’s hut the next week to remove his stitches, he greets me warmly. I suppose saving his life counts for something. He’s very thoughtful, and even asks me questions. He has combed his glossy black hair and his emerald-green tunic looks clean.
“You’ve been married how many times?” From his intense look, I know he’s not being disrespectful with his question.
“Three. My first two husbands died. You knew Thorstein the Red, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” His slanted eyes are like pools of dark light as they fix on mine. “He was a proud one.” He gives a dry cough.
“He was the most sought-after man on the island.” For some reason, I still defend my selfish, dead husband.
“Of course. All Eirik’s sons were. But at least Thorvald was kind to the slaves who worked for him. And Leif is, sometimes.”
I notice his sometimes, but don’t remark on it. Instead, I continue cutting and pulling out the stitches. I have small metal pincers that work perfectly for pulling the thread out.
“You know we’re leaving?” I ask.
“Yes, and I’m not going. I can survive here on my own. Perhaps some others will want to stay, as well. I’ve been talking to that brute outside my door about it. He’d be good protection from the Skraelings, don’t you think?” He says Skraelings disdainfully. He probably knows everyone in camp thinks of him as a Skraeling, too.
“Indeed.” I continue working.
“I could have died, thanks to your wolf.” He looks at the doorway.
“Or thanks to me, had I taken up my seax.” I yank a bit too hard at a thread.
He smiles at me, his smooth, deeply tan skin striking. His face seems ageless. “Perhaps so.”
The next stitch is partially embedded in his skin, so I have to tug on it. I suppose he realizes I was only joking about being able to kill him.
His eyes show pain, but he doesn’t complain of my tugging. “You know, if I had died, I couldn’t even get into your Valhalla.”
“It’s not mine.” I hold his gaze. “And I wouldn’t get in either. I’m a woman, remember? But there is a heaven, and it belongs to the God of the Christians. It’s for everyone.”
I tell him the story of Jesus Christ and his Father in heaven, and how we only need to believe and ask Him to forgive us. Then we can talk wit
h a God who hears us, unlike Thor.
“So he died on a tree?” He sets his jaw, trying to understand. But his words hit me like arrows—I had never thought about the cross that way. Yes, He died on a tree.
The perfect sacrifice.
“Gudrid?” He reaches for me with his good arm. As soon as he touches me, Tyr appears in the doorframe, blocking all the light with his huge form.
“Problem?” He looks at me, hand on his axe.
“No—nothing, Tyr. Thank you. I’m fine.”
My heart is full as I finally see why I’m drawn to the story of Jesus Christ. He died like my mother, on a tree, only He came to life. If only she could have done the same.
I finish pulling out the stitches in silence. I want Suka to understand my faith, but I don’t know how to put it into words for him.
“I heard you were a volva?” He whispers, probably afraid of another appearance by Tyr.
“Yes, my foster-mother taught me the old ways. But I gave it up—wrong sort of power.”
“Ah, but you do have powers! I remember how your wolf came—only too well.” He groans deeply.
“She likes me, for some reason,” I say. “And it’s not my power that brings her. It’s God’s.”
He leans closer as I take out the last stitch. “What will happen to Freydis?”
Why does Suka care, after he took advantage of her madness? So far, Ref hasn’t asked me about their relationship. And I don’t want to know anything about it. Maybe they just shared that leafy mat for warmth. Surely her uncleanness would have kept him from getting too close?
“Do you love her?” I rub salve over the closed wound.
“She is my fire.” Suka clenches his fists. No wonder Freydis liked him. He’s the exact opposite of her gentle, quiet Ref. But Ref has his own strength—more like a mountain, while Suka reminds me of the crushing ocean.
“If you love her at all, you must forget her.” I fix my gaze on his. “Don’t doubt that Leif will kill you if you ever return to Greenland. You threatened my life, and, in so doing, hers. Just as you’ll always remember my wolf’s attack, I’ll always remember yours.”
I don’t add that if Ref and Finn discovered Suka had shared a bed with Freydis, they would put his head on a stick.
He sits straighter and looks to the door again. “I’ll think on this.” He frowns.
Much as I dislike Suka for what he’s done, I see he longs for something more than a woman. Something like faith.
“Life everlasting is the one thing no one can take from you.” I know how he chafes to be a slave. “So belief brings freedom.”
He says nothing, his dark eyes cloaking his feelings as I pack up my herb box. He stays at the table as I leave, lost in his thoughts.
Out in the camp, preparations for the voyage are underway. Finn’s men have mostly recovered from their journey. In fact, Bjarni is the only sick person in camp now, and I fear it’s the effect of mushrooms. He ate far too many when he attacked the Skraelings with his unfettered violence.
We feel the loss of the ship Hallstein took. Finn will guide one of the remaining ships, but the other ship will have to be steered by Bjarni. He is the only one who’s made this trip to the new lands before. If either ship goes off-course, it could be broken to bits, or come ashore in another land entirely. Of course, both ships could use Magnus on board, with his gift of direction, but I’m hoping Finn has found someone else who can help Bjarni. I selfishly want Deirdre and Magnus on our ship. And I want Snorri Thorbrandsson aboard, for reasons I can’t fully understand.
Deirdre has worked like a busy bee this entire week. From grinding fresh grain all day to packing the cured bull meat, she hasn’t sat down once.
We will only have room for a few sheep on board, so we'll butcher the rest and use our remaining salt to preserve the meat. Since the cows are still plump and healthy from the lush summer, we’ll take them along. One will be calving soon, a final gift from the dead bull.
Deirdre, much as I love her, starts to bother me with her endless references to Inger’s gift with animals. She even goes so far as to say I should train Inger as a volva. I bite my tongue. I know Deirdre admires me as a spiritual leader here, since I know the chants and rune songs. She knows I’ve believed in the Christian God of Leif and his mother, but she doesn't understand how the pagan ways clash with that belief.
Inger herself doesn’t mention her talents with the animals. I suspect she sees nothing out of the ordinary in her abilities, as I see nothing strange in my friendship with my wolf. I think what sets us apart from the others is that we spend time with animals and try to understand their ways.
Perhaps this would also explain why some are better healers than others. Good healers watch people closely, ask questions, and try to understand how the body works, because it interests us.
Deirdre has her own gift of insight into human nature. Usually, she has a good eye for romantic entanglements of any kind in the camp.
One day as Deirdre slices the mutton for salting, I ask about Inger and her golden-haired Geisli.
“Planning to marry once we are in Greenland, I shouldn’t wonder. Geisli comes from Norway, same as her, so they might go back there one day.” She carefully presses salt into the thin slices, then packs them in a small keg.
“Isn’t she Leif’s slave, though?” How would a slave have the freedom to travel to Norway?
“Why—she is your slave!” Deirdre knocks the salt bowl over.
I jump from the bench. “She is not!”
“We all are.” She rakes the salt to the edge of the table, then puts it back into the bowl.
What is she thinking?
“You’re not!” My voice fills the longhouse.
“M’lady, we were all Leif’s gifts to you, not only for the trip, but for life.”
I clench my shift in both hands. “Don’t call me ‘m’lady’ again, Deirdre. Do not. You’re my friend.”
“You thought we were Leif’s?” She continues packing the meat, not looking at me.
“Of course. I don’t have slaves.”
“I am afraid you do. I thought perhaps that is why you concerned yourself with the girls’ futures.”
I sit down heavily on the bench, not caring that I’m doing nothing to help. Leif did this, without my consent. Years ago, when I moved to Brattahlid with my father, I told Leif I’d never have slaves. Now I’m saddled with plenty of them. It was one thing to think they obeyed me because of Leif’s orders, but quite another to realize they're obliged to me as thralls.
Did Finn know of this arrangement? Did he help Leif pick the most skilled women from the farm? Or even the most beautiful?
Everything shifts. I don’t know who to talk to about this. I want to understand my position here. Until today, I thought I was only the expedition leader's wife, not owner of all the women in the camp. Or do I own Suka, too? Magnus? And Tyr and Bjarni?
I’ll talk to the one person who knows Leif as well as I do, if not better.
I’ll go to Freydis.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Freydis has packed up most of her hut, including all her sumptuous goods from Leif. Eirik’s helmet still hangs on the wall, though. It’s some kind of protective talisman for her, I suspect. Eirik was one of the most comforting people I’ve ever known, so I understand her attachment to it.
She has lost too much weight. Ref is probably the only reason she’s eaten anything. I feel such pity for this devoted man Freydis married, as he tries to keep up with her emotional swings.
Her freckles seem to have faded into her paleness, causing her hair to stand out even more. I sigh. Eirik would be furious if he could see how his daughter has become a shadow of her fearless, exuberant self.
She gets off her bed and comes close to me, shifting from one foot to the other, like an old woman. I know where her concern lies before she speaks.
“Suka?”
I can’t believe she still thinks of him, even after he tried to kill us. “He
will live, but he’ll have a scar to remind him of his foolishness.” I know Freydis used to relish shocking conversations, so I dive right in. “Freydis, did Leif give me the slaves here?”
Freydis laughs. It’s a little wobbly and weak at first, but it turns into a belly laugh that reminds me of her father. I’m grateful to pull her out of her sadness, if only for a moment.
“So, Gudrid, who’ve you been talking to? No doubt that loose-lipped Scotswoman. She had her orders to be silent about it. I should hunt her down with a horsewhip.”
I know these are idle threats, especially since we have no horses or whips here. “Who do I own here? And why did Leif do this to me?”
“You were with…child.” She can barely say the word. “He wanted to make sure you had a healthy birth. I’ve wondered about his concern myself. But perhaps he cared so much because the child was his?” Her cat-eyes glow as she throws out the question.
I can’t stop myself. I smack her face.
She sucks at her lower lip, which starts bleeding. “My, you are quite the Viking.” She clasps my hand in her long fingers. “I meant nothing by it. I wish your Snorri was my blood-relation, my true nephew.”
I hold her hand tighter. “You might as well be his auntie, Freydis. And my sister. That’s why I want you to take care of yourself. If Leif was so concerned about me, how much more will he care if his own sister returns ill?”
“Perhaps you are right.” She pulls her hand away. “Is Suka coming home with us?” Her mind is fixed on her lover.
Ref comes in, carrying a heaping platter of steamed fish and leeks. His smile for his wife melts me.
“Inger prepared this meal,” he says. “You must have some, Gudrid.”
I shake my head, knowing I can’t talk freely now. “Come and see me soon, Freydis.” It is not a request.
I stop outside the door, distracted by a beautiful stand of trees nearby. The trees have stark white bark and are covered with yellow leaves, unlike any I’ve seen in Greenland or Iceland. I have been trapped indoors lately. My wolf hasn't appeared for days, since her attack on Suka.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 15
