Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  What had happened to him? To his determination to return to Straumfjord and eventually to Stadt and home?

  They had spent two growing seasons on a sort of aimless migration westward. There was not, had never been, any clear purpose in this move, as far as he could see. It was hard to determine any ultimate goal that the People might have had. He suspected that there was none, except to move from an area that was becoming dangerous to their way of life.

  It was not that the People were simplistic, as he had once thought. They were quite complicated, actually. He was not able, even now, to understand all the subtleties of their culture. He had been drawn into it unwittingly, not really understanding that he was being used. He recalled with some degree of amusement how Big Tree had involved the Norsemen in the decisions regarding last season’s planting. There was a certain degree of doubt involved, and the clever leader had managed to spread the responsibility for possible failure.

  As it happened, the resulting success had strengthened the prestige and importance of all those involved, Tree, and the Norsemen, Odin, and Clay, the holy man. Only now he realized that there had been a quiet power struggle in the tribe, a striving for political prestige between the two bands. He wondered what might have happened if the crops had failed. But they had not. It had been a good season, and the prestige of Big Tree had grown. With it, the prestige of White Wolf, the holy man, and of his assistants. Big Tree now called on them for support without hesitation. This was no problem, at least so far, because Big Tree was a good leader. All the support that was needed was to say, in effect, “Yes, it is as Big Tree says.” Or, “Clay has given wise counsel.”

  It had been amusing to watch the change in Svenson. The sailor had adapted quite rapidly to his new role as Fire Maker. The ritual with which he used the flint and steel was a masterpiece of showmanship. Sven had also seemed to fit easily into his marital relationship with Red Fawn. It was as if the two were a couple of middle age who had been together for many years.

  A bigger change in Svenson, however, was one that had occurred slowly, almost unnoticed. During the first season of the migration, the sailor had pointed out all the features of the river and of the great freshwater seas. Sven had suggested ambitious plans for shipbuilding and trading, and had made maps on birch bark. True, Nils admitted himself, he, Nils, had been enthusiastic, also. It was easy for seagoing men to become excited by the great vistas of clear cold water and untouched forests.

  Nils was not certain when it had happened. He had been preoccupied with other things, the planting and harvest. He was still surprised that he could have been caught up in that. And the relationship that had been established with the Chalagees this past season, uneasy at first, then quite sociable. He found himself looking forward to a winter of socializing and trading of stories with these Chalagees, so different than any other Skraelings they had encountered.

  Whatever had happened, it had changed his own attitude and that of Svenson. They seldom talked anymore of plans for shipbuilding or trading. He wondered, even, if Sven was still drawing his maps. It did not seem as important as it once had. They had not talked of such things for a long time. This seemed odd, now that he thought about it. When this prolonged journey with the People started, one of his foremost thoughts was that of when he and Svenson could return to Straumfjord. Now their visit to the colony seemed so long ago, so far away. There was a dreamlike quality in his memory of the place. The beautiful blue-eyed woman … It took a moment to recall her name … Ingrid! Yes, that was it. Her memory, once the most important thing in his life, had paled to insignificance. What had he seen in her? Possibly only a warm body in his bed.

  This in turn brought his thoughts back to Dove. Despite the initial language problem, theirs was an extremely close relationship. At least, he thought so. He had nothing for comparison, but he could not recall ever noticing a marriage like theirs, either among his own people or among Dove’s. The marriages of Odin and yes, that of Svenson and Fawn were good, but surely not as exciting as this. And it was still growing. They now had longer discussions, made easier by more language familiarity, hence better understanding. Nils was pleased to find that Dove was a highly intelligent woman, whose depth of thought often put him to shame. She had, for instance, finally reasoned out why the Chalagee seemed indecisive. She told him about it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Do you know why they always stop the council without a decision? They have to ask their women!”

  Nils snorted indignantly. “You are joking!”

  “No, I think not. Watch, next time. I am sure that their women have great influence. You know they follow family through the mother’s side?”

  “Yes, so it is said. But the People hold women in high regard, too.” He had been pleased to note that. The Norsemen had been in contact with some nations who regarded women as without much value. As property, almost. By contrast, strength and confidence were considered highly desirable among the Norse. “Are you sure of this, Dove?”

  She laughed. “No, of course not. It would not be polite to ask. But watch, and see if you think so.”

  He had watched, and though it was never proven, Nils was inclined to think that his wife had hit upon a valid theory. They said nothing to anyone else, for there was no purpose in doing so. This remained one of their private secrets, shared only with each other.

  They had many things that were shared only between them. The child, Bright Sky, now in his second year … ah, what a feeling to watch him explore the world. Sky was quick to learn, and had an easy, humorous approach to all things. His hair was a few shades lighter than that of any of the People. This seemed quite important to Calling Dove. It was also noted that the eye color of this special child, a strange dark gray-brown at first, had continued to change for a while. After several moons it could be seen that the color was to be one unfamiliar to the People. Brown, yes, but with an odd cast in certain lights that was suggestive of green.

  Life was good. He shifted his position in the warm autumn sunshine, enjoying the view of the hills and the lake. Autumn color was painting the hillsides with splashes of bright orange, yellow, and red, in stark contrast to the dark green of spruce, cedar, and pine. Three crows beat their way lazily across a distant clearing to land in a dead tree at the other side. What does a crow think? he wondered, and was immediately startled at such a thought. I am thinking like the People, he told himself, unsure whether this was good or a cause for alarm. Or whether it mattered. His entire outlook had changed materially, he now realized. It had been some time since he had found a chance to get away by himself, just to think.

  He was not certain of when or how his thinking had changed, but he knew that it had. There was that time when, listening to the strange tales of the Chalagees’ Sky Dome, he found himself looking forward to exploring toward the unknown west. There had been a slight twinge of guilt. He should have been trying to plan their return to Straumfjord. Of course, Svenson had not mentioned it, so it was easy to postpone any such plans. There were better things to think of and to plan.

  He was aware of someone approaching up the slope, and he turned to look. It was Dove.

  “Ah!” she greeted. “Here you are.”

  She seated herself beside him, pausing a moment to catch her breath. “May I watch the sun with you?” she asked. “Ah, it is beautiful here, no?”

  Shadows were lengthening, and the western sky was blossoming into brilliant color, its hues rivaling even those of the oaks and maples on the hillsides.

  “It is good,” he said softly, slipping an arm around her trim waist.

  To himself, he was thinking along another line. Why bother to think of trying to return to Straumfjord right now? Winter was coming, precluding travel. Anyway, Svenson had not mentioned it for a long time. Maybe he would not bring up the subject until Sven did.

  He snuggled Dove’s firm body against his, stroking the soft buckskin over her thigh, feeling the firmness of her muscles.

  Another thought s
truck him, which might have caused him concern if it had been more than a fleeting idea. It was there for a heartbeat or two and then lost in the urgency of the moment. Why, he thought, would I want to go back to Straumfjord?

  65

  The sight of the river stirred powerfully within the very depths of his being. Nils glanced at those around him, wondering if his reaction would be noticed. He saw no indication that anyone even cared. Each was preoccupied with his or her own reaction to the sight.

  The arrival of the People at the river was not unexpected, of course. They had known of the location of the Big River, the Missi-sepee, for a year now. The scouts had even traveled there to evaluate the route. They returned, greatly impressed. The river, they reported, was not as wide as that where they had lived before, or as swift. Surely, not as clear and cold. In fact, this river seemed sluggish by comparison. And muddy. Maybe that gave the impression of dark secrets and shadowy depths. No, that was not quite it. … Majesty, maybe. But a certain threat, too, a doubt about what things might lurk in the dim hiding places at the bottom of this great stream.

  Nils, though a veteran sailor, now found himself shuddering a little. What was the story of the Chalagees that had so impressed the children a few years ago when the People had spent a season there? A giant leech, big enough to kill a man, lying on the bottom of the lake, waiting for unsuspecting prey … Some of the children would not go near the water for weeks. He understood that dread now.

  It was not that the river appeared threatening. Actually, it looked quite calm. Yet there was a hint of power, the merest suggestion that here was a sleeping giant that when roused has a ponderous feel to its spirit, like that of a sleeping winter bear. Or like that of unknown things lurking in the depths …

  He shook his head to try to rid himself of such thoughts. After all, he had crossed the entire ocean, had he not? A mere river … He tried to shrug off the dark thoughts. Maybe he had been ashore too long. How many seasons had they traveled now, since leaving the sea? Five … no, six! It seemed a way of life, now. Travel, find a place to plant, raise a crop, spend the winter, move on. One place, they had spent two seasons. It had looked as if the People might stay there. There had even been a start on building permanent lodges. That had drawn the attention of their neighbors, and the situation had become tense. The People certainly would have been strong enough to stay by force, but it hardly seemed worthwhile. They had held a council and decided to move on.

  It had been a hard thing when they left the last of the big lakes behind. The feeling of loss at the separation was left unspoken, but it was there. Mishighan, that place had been called. Nils recalled still the last look over his shoulder at the great expanse of water behind them, growing smaller in the distance as they traveled. It had been hard to leave the water behind. A man without a boat … He said nothing to Svenson but wondered whether Sven, too, had felt the loss.

  There were many things to take the place of his love for the sea. His family, for instance. He could hardly believe how rapidly Bright Sky had grown. Nils felt a warm glow of pride when he watched the children at play, saw the confidence with which the boy carried himself, his growing skill with the bow … ah, it was good. Best of all, maybe, was the shared joy with Calling Dove, as together they watched the development of this child that was a part of themselves and a product of their love.

  Yes, there were many things to offset the loss that he had felt at leaving the sea. The actual ocean was far behind, of course. Still, until they left the place called Mishi-ghan, they had never been out of sight of the water. At least, not for long. There was the continuum of the gulf, the river, the chain of freshwater seas … but when they left the last of those behind, there had been a landlocked feeling that was new. He had quickly overcome it, or at least, he had thought so. He had felt no special affinity for the rivers and streams that they had encountered. Maybe they were not large enough, he thought to himself. This one was. If not in size, certainly in spirit.

  Nils had, a little at a time and without realizing it, accepted one of the basic premises of the People: Everything has a spirit. Every person, animal, every tree and rock, every place. If he had been asked, he might have denied it, because this was not a part of his childhood learning. Yet he had no hesitation in thinking of a glowering sky, an angry sea, or a place whose mood or feeling was joyful and comforting. Or sometimes, maybe, foreboding. He had not actually reasoned out all of his feelings on this, but he was dimly aware that his tendency was to go along with the thinking of his wife and her people. It was easier than questioning.

  Thus, when they talked of the annual war between Sun and Cold Maker, he understood. They watched the shifting weight of advantage in each individual battle, and he could relate this to his grandfather’s stories of the Norse gods and their battles with the ice-giants. Was it not much the same story? Each season the forces of cold and evil attempted to push down into the area where the People were. Sun would retreat to the south, the rays of his torch becoming weaker with each confrontation. Sometimes it seemed that the pale and watery yellow rays of Sun’s fire would go out entirely.

  But by the Moon of Hunger, when supplies were growing painfully short, it usually could be seen that there was hope. With the coming of the Moon of Awakening each season, it could be seen that Sun was growing stronger. Cold Maker began to retreat toward his ice caves in the frozen north. He did not go willingly, of course, but snarling and snapping vindictively as he went, like a wolf driven from his kill. There would be intense confrontations as Cold Maker retreated, but they were usually short, for the Moon of Awakening was the beginning of the new growing season, the new year.

  That was when they had begun to travel this year, as usual. They had reached this, the Big River, in the Moon of Greening, and it was apparent that there were some decisions to make. Nils was waiting, like everyone else, watching the children at play. It was midday, and it would be late afternoon by the time the last of the stragglers rejoined the main column. Probably there would be a council.

  As if in answer to that thought, Odin joined him.

  “There is to be a council tonight,” the newcomer stated. “How is it with you, Wolf?”

  “Good. I was looking at the river. I thought it might be bigger.”

  “I, too. Its spirit is powerful, though.”

  Nils nodded. “I wondered if others felt that, too. It speaks to me in a strange way. You feel it, too, no?”

  “Yes,” Odin said thoughtfully. “It speaks, but I cannot hear what it says. That is why we have the council tonight.”

  “What will be decided, Odin?”

  “Who knows?” Odin shrugged, with a wry smile. ’Maybe nothing. But they will talk of whether to stay and plant on this side of the river, or to cross first. Big Tree will ask what your medicine says, maybe.”

  Nils nodded again. That had become an expected thing. Usually it was no problem, merely to agree with what seemed the most logical course of action. That would have been discussed in advance between Big Tree and Clay, the holy man. Sometimes, it was not so apparent.

  “What is your thought on this, Odin? Do you know what Big Tree wants?”

  “No. I am made to think that he wants to hear how the People are thinking.”

  Nils nodded agreement. Big Tree, a good leader, was certainly capable of using that approach.

  “We have half a moon,” Odin went on, “maybe a moon, before we must plant. To cross, we would need to build boats. And we do not know how welcome we would be on the other side.”

  That was a big question. Would the first few of the People on the other shore be in danger from the local natives? There would be a little time before they could land in force to protect those who followed.

  “Could the People build boats in half a moon?” asked Nils.

  “Maybe. Yes, I think so. But we still have to find a place to plant.”

  “Have the scouts crossed?”

  “Yes. Two of them, I think, in a skin boat. They did not tal
k to any one.”

  “You have heard that?”

  Odin smiled. “No, but if they had talked to anyone, we would have heard, no?”

  The council was one of dissent and argument. Very quickly, three factions emerged. One group wished to stay on the east side of the Big River for the season. Plant crops, harvest, and then move across the stream to winter on the west side.

  An equally vocal group argued for an immediate crossing, to plant for the season on the other side.

  A third faction, represented largely by the other clan, was highly critical of the leadership of Big Tree.

  “There has been no planning,” one of their leaders observed.

  It was a calmly stated accusation, but guaranteed to strike fire among the loyal followers of Big Tree. It was apparent that a political power struggle was under way. Big Tree, trying hard to maintain his composure, reacted calmly, asking for comment, nodding in answer to statements made with emotional fervor. He seemed to remain calm, but if one looked closely, his seething anger could be seen. His teeth were clenched, indicated by a bunching of muscle along the jaw and in front of the ear.

  Nils was quite aware of this, and watched Odin closely for a reaction. He was certain that Odin’s loyalties lay with his own, in support of Big Tree. However, he was unsure as to the headman’s preference. Although Big Tree was a strong and clever leader, he sometimes had a tendency to give too much leeway in decision making to the crowd. At least, that was Nils’s opinion.

  There comes a time when a leader must lead. A decision made by a good leader is usually respected, even if it is wrong. The thing that will not be tolerated is a lack of decisiveness. The leader must act. Nils had, several times over the years, thought that Big Tree had come perilously close to that point. Yet, each time, there had been subtle maneuvering in the council, and by various means, Big Tree usually achieved his preferred goal.