by V. Campbell
“Double-crossing liar,” Sinead said, jumping from her seat.
“How so?” Toki shot back. “His promise was merely to allow them to live.”
“It’s true,” Redknee whispered to her.
Sinead harrumphed and sat down.
Toki continued. “When Einnear returned from Kaupangen, he said no one would buy it, as they could not read the Irish runes.”
“Pigfarts,” Koll said. “That’s a pigfart of a story.”
“Yes,” Harold said grinding his eating knife into a piece of venison. “Nothing’s happened. Where’s the betrayal?”
“They betrayed their friend,” Sinead said.
Toki smiled. “That’s just the background. I’m getting to the good bit now.”
“I need more food,” Koll said, rising and stumbling towards the table. “Who are these brothers anyway? This book they found – it’s not the Codex, is it?”
“It matters not.” Toki said. “The point of the story lies elsewhere.”
Olaf shifted uneasily, one hand on the hilt of his dagger. “Come now Toki,” he said, “you’ve gone far enough with this nonsense.”
Toki shook his head. “This is a good story. They need to hear it. Now,” he cleared his throat,“ it so happened that, in a way, the abbot’s prophecy came true. Einnear became obsessed with the book. Just like the monks before him, he would stay up late every night pouring over the strange Irish runes, neglecting his duties as jarl. One day Einnear said he wanted to take the book to Dublin. Sigurd was hesitant. Einnear had a new wife and responsibilities at home. Besides, the old monk could have been lying. But Einnear was determined. Early in the summer, he left his wife in his brother’s keeping and sailed for Dublin.”
“Did Einnear learn about the book in Dublin?” Sinead asked.
Toki frowned. “I’m coming to that. On his return from Dublin, Einnear called in on his old friend to make a peace offering. Einnear was surprised to see his new wife and brother there. He greeted Sigurd warmly and told him he had learned the book was written, not in Irish runes, as first thought, but in Latin, and that it did recount a monk’s voyage to the Promised Land in great detail.”
“You are basing this on the Codex,” Sinead said, disappointment deadening her voice.
“Wait,” Toki said, “we’re getting to the crux.”
Olaf stood. “I think you should finish it here.”
Toki stared at him. “Nervous?” he asked. “You needn’t be.”
Redknee thought Olaf was going to pounce on Toki. Then, as suddenly as he had stood, he turned and headed for the door.
Toki shrugged and continued. “Sigurd considered what his brother had said about the book containing directions to the Promised Land. Desire grew in him as he listened to his brother’s talk of going to find it. As I said, Sigurd had never felt jealous of Einnear before—”
Koll snorted.
Toki’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. “As I said. But now he realised his brother had everything he didn’t – a beautiful wife, men to lead, and the key to this vast treasure.”
“What did Sigurd do?” Magnus asked, leaning forward.
A gust of icy air filled the hall. Everyone turned to see Olaf had opened the door. “You’ll regret it, Toki,” Olaf said. “Sometimes it’s best to leave things as they are.” Then he disappeared into the night, slamming the door behind him.
“What did he mean?” Redknee asked, suddenly concerned. “What will you regret?”
“Nothing. Ignore him. Do you want to hear the rest of this or not?” Everyone nodded, so Toki went on. “Sigurd waited until the three of them: Einnear, their friend Rurik, and himself were up late discussing how to raise the funds for their quest. A lot of mead had been drunk. Rurik was going to help by supplying another ship: on a dangerous voyage, two longships are better than one. Now, Sigurd did not want to share the treasure with anyone. Not his brother, and especially not Rurik. Einnear’s wife, Inge, was still up, pouring their mead. Sigurd saw the way Rurik looked at her. For Inge was a comely woman, untouched by hardships of childbirth or the ravages of illness. Suddenly Sigurd saw a way to get exactly what he wanted.
“When Rurik went outside to relieve himself, Sigurd leaned over to his brother and whispered in his ear. Quietly, so Inge, who had then gone to bed, wouldn’t hear.”
“What did he say?” Redknee asked.
“He asked Einnear if he’d seen how Rurik looked at his wife. Einnear shook his head. He had not. Sigurd contorted his face into a pained expression. “I hate to have to tell you this, my dear brother,” he said, “but we cannot allow Rurik to come with us to the Promised Land, for only yesterday I saw him lying with Inge in the long grass behind the weaving hut.”
“No!” Sinead’s hand darted over her mouth.
Toki laughed. “Just the response Sigurd was hoping for from his brother. And indeed, Einnear jumped from his seat by the fire and ran outside. He saw Rurik in the yard, feeding one of his favourite dogs. Einnear charged at him, dagger drawn. For a moment, Rurik stared, confused, at the image of Einnear running towards him. When he realised it was no joke, that Einnear wasn’t going to stop, he moved quickly, grabbing an axe wedged in a nearby tree stump.”
“Who won?” Redknee asked.
“Well, it wasn’t really a fair fight. For although Einnear had the advantage of surprise, Rurik was the better armed, and frankly, the superior warrior. Einnear had let himself go to seed, reading the monk’s book late into the night, neglecting his training.”
“Was Einnear killed?” Harold asked, delight warping his face. “Was it bloody?”
“His anger carried him some of the way. He cut a slice down the side of Rurik’s face. Almost took his eye. But anger must be channelled, or it works against you. Rurik stayed calm. Got in a good few swings. Clipped Einnear’s thigh. Took a chunk from his forearm. Terrified at Rurik’s superior skill, a quickly sobered Einnear decided to retreat. It was as he ran away, that Rurik threw his axe into the air. It shattered Einnear’s left shoulder.”
Sinead looked as if she was going to be sick. Redknee gave her hand a squeeze. She felt warm. “Did Sigurd help his brother?” he asked.
“In a way. Sigurd couldn’t quite bring himself to be the cause of his brother’s death. Frightened Rurik really would kill Einnear, Sigurd carried him to a cave high in the mountains where he tended Einnear’s wounds.”
“What about his wife?” Astrid asked. “Wives don’t just forget about their husbands.”
“Ah, yes. Penelope’s famed loyalty for Odysseus. I’m afraid this maiden wasn’t as honourable. Sigurd told her Rurik had attacked Einnear in a fit of revenge, but with one crucial difference from the real events – that Einnear was dead.”
“And she believed him?” Sinead asked.
Toki smiled. “Why wouldn’t she? Though perhaps she grew to have her doubts.”
Sinead shrugged. “What happened next then?”
Redknee sighed. “Sigurd assumed Einnear’s position as jarl … and found the treasure for himself?”
Toki nodded. “The first, certainly.”
Sinead frowned. “And what about Einnear? Did he live?”
“No one knows.”
Later, when the fire had near spluttered out, and most were half-asleep, Olaf burst through the door. Icy air leached the hall of warmth.
“Has anyone been out?” he shouted, striding across the floor.
“No,” Redknee said. “We’ve all been together since you left.”
Olaf stopped. Sweat trickled down his brow despite the cold. “Footprints,” he said, “hundreds of them in the snow.”
Chapter 29
Redknee listened carefully, certain they were being followed. Last night’s snow was slowly melting and the going on the hillside was soft … quiet. Yet Redknee fancied he heard every sound – every bird, every insect, every drop of melt water.
… the crack of footsteps.
Surrendering to his fears, he spun round. Stared pas
t Koll’s bewildered face to the tangle of bare branches beyond. Silver’s ears pricked up. Redknee followed the pup’s gaze, but still, he saw nothing. He gave Silver a quick pat on the head and trudged on.
After the discovery of the footprints in the snow there had been arguments about what to do. Olaf wanted everyone to stay at the longhouse where he thought they were safest. Such an obvious trail, he said, was likely a trap. The others, Redknee included, wanted to search the forest. Without a finished wall, they were sitting ducks. Their visitors hadn’t attacked this time, but it was likely they’d be back. Redknee insisted they had to know who, or what, they were dealing with.
Eventually it was decided that Olaf and Magnus would stay at Svensbyan to finish the wall with the help of Brother Alfred, Harold and the girls.
Redknee, together with Toki, Olvir and Koll were nominated to form a scouting party. They had set out early that morning, following the footprints as the sun rose. The thaw, however, meant the footsteps were disappearing fast.
They marched on in silence. With Silver at his side, Redknee allowed his mind to wander. Toki’s story about Sigurd and Einnear bothered him. It was clearly a thinly veiled attempt to tell of how Sven and Erik found the Codex. Had Toki been there? Why had Olaf walked out halfway through? Redknee shook his head. He couldn’t believe Sven had incited Ragnar to kill his own brother. Wouldn’t believe it. That’s why Olaf had become so angry – he didn’t believe a word of it either. But Toki’s story suggested Erik might still be alive. Could it be true? Was that the origin of his mother’s dying request? Could Sven … could his mother … have known Erik was alive all along? And if Sven had lied about Erik not being his father …
He resolved to ask Toki about it as soon as he got the chance.
They arrived at a mighty river as the sun reached its summit. The last of the snow petered out at the water’s edge. Redknee strained to see if there were footprints on the far side of the river, but there was even less snow there. Only a few daubs of white shone among the brown of dead and dying leaves. The opposite bank rose sharply to form a ridge beyond which all Redknee could see was the tops of yet more bare trees. The river marked the end of their trail.
“We’ll rest here,” Toki said.
“When did he become jarl?” Koll whispered in Redknee’s ear.
Redknee moved a half-step away from his friend and addressed Toki. “It’s too dangerous. I think we’re being followed.”
“I’ve seen no-one,” Toki replied. “And that river forms a barrier between us and whoever might be on the other side of that bluff.”
Redknee shook his head. “I feel it in my gut.”
Toki smirked. “Let’s hope that’s all you feel in your gut today,” he said, turning from Redknee and unrolling his sleeping fur on an area of dry grass.
Redknee went over to where Koll was unfurling his own bedroll in the lee of a big rock. The smithy’s usually smiling face was set in a frown. “What’s wrong?” Redknee asked.
Koll’s eyes flicked over to Toki. “I don’t trust him. He’s Ragnar’s man, remember. And he tried to challenge you that day in the forest.”
“He saved my life in Iceland.”
“Only after you saved his.”
Realising he couldn’t convince Koll, Redknee bedded down a few paces away and tried to sleep. The mid-day sun pierced his lids. Unable to settle, he raised himself onto his elbows and looked round. Toki was asleep under a nearby bush. Olvir sat about twenty paces away, on watch. He turned back to Koll.
“You awake?” he whispered.
“The best mead,” Koll muttered, “is all about the bees …”
Redknee lay down and closed his eyes. Koll was already dreaming.
“You spoke?”
Redknee turned back. Koll stared at him, bleary-eyed, his eating knife in his hand.
“Everything’s fine,” Redknee said.
Koll looked disappointed.
“I just wanted to ask about when you first arrived in my father’s village. Was it before my father died?”
“After.”
“So my uncle was already jarl?”
Koll nodded. “I heard they needed a blacksmith. So I went. Offered my services. I never met your father.”
“What happened to the previous blacksmith?”
“No idea. Died, I suppose. He’d left his tools. Great stuff – bellows, tongs, beaters. All well made.”
Redknee’s body felt like a series of angles pressed into the hard ground. Still unable to sleep, he got up, and motioned to Olvir that he was going for a walk along the riverbank. Silver followed at his heels. The forest looked different to when they’d first arrived. Gone were the streets of gold; instead, dead and blackened trunks twisted against an empty sky.
He followed the river downstream. Silver bounced in front of him, sniffing the wet ground, tail wagging. The water sped past: a chortling foam that tumbled over glassy rocks, eddied in clear pools and then raced on, leaping boulders and fallen logs. He looked for a place to cross, using his sword to test the footing. Some rocks were spaced close enough to—
The water rushed towards him, smacked into his face. The fierce chill ripped the air from his lungs. He heard barking, grasped for the bank, but the current was strong. Trees and rocks shot past. He fought to keep his head above the water, tried to swim, to keep his balance, but everything was a blur …
His head struck a rock and he screamed in pain. Water filled his mouth as the current dragged him on, tugging at his feet, pulling him along, pulling him under …
Redknee coughed. Spewed water. He blinked to find a pair of hard, flint-coloured eyes staring down at him. Seeing Redknee conscious, the man stretched to his full height. He was tall, and broad as a bear.
Redknee shivered in his wet clothes. He was on the far bank. A small fire near his feet was giving off blueish smoke. The man turned away. A large, patch-worked bag lay next to his feet. He rooted about in it.
Wary of the stranger, Redknee felt for his sword. But he must have dropped it when he fell. His heart jumped when the big man turned back and thrust out his hand, so much so that he nearly fainted with relief when he realised that it wasn’t a weapon in the stranger’s outstretched fingers, but a brightly coloured blanket.
Redknee gratefully wrapped the blanket round his shoulders. Then he cried out. For behind the stranger, axe raised, ready to sever the man’s neck, stood a grinning Koll. Before Redknee had drawn breath, the stranger whipped round. His foot sliced through the air, crashing into the side of Koll’s skull. Koll stumbled backwards, his axe thumping harmlessly to the ground. Redknee leapt up and helped Koll to his feet.
“This man saved my life,” he said. “Pulled me from the river.”
Redknee followed Koll’s bewildered gaze. The stranger wore a leather tunic with fringes, breeches to his ankles and soft boots. His skull shone like an eggshell, clean of hair save for a corn-coloured tail wound with red and black feathers that hung in a rope down his back. Redknee pointed to the river.
“Thank you,” he said slowly. “Thank you for saving my life.”
The man nodded with the same scarcity of movement he’d shown when disarming Koll, then turned to leave.
“Wait,” Redknee said. “Are there others like you?”
The man looked confused and Redknee wiggled his fingers to show people walking.
“Ah, just leave it,” Koll said. “He doesn’t understand.”
The stranger froze. Then he spoke in Norse. “This land is no place for you,” he said. “No good will come of your being here. Death will hound you until you leave.”
“What?” Redknee frowned. “This island is vast … and rich. A thousand men, more even, could live here. Each one fat as a jarl.”
“Don’t you see?” the stranger said, his stony eyes fixed on Redknee’s face. “That is exactly what will happen. Once the world knows about this place, they will all come in their longships. It will be made in the image of the Northlands, and everything
will be as it was before.” The stranger lifted his bag and began to walk away.
“But,” Redknee said, scurrying after him, “we aren’t going to tell anyone. We just want somewhere to live, free from tyrants and taxes.”
“Really? Is that how you think it will come to pass? Not one of you has thought about getting rich from all this timber? From the furs?”
Redknee remembered the conversation about selling logs to the Greenlanders and the Icelanders who had no trees of their own.
“I thought as much,” the stranger nodded, lifting his pace.
“But you are a Northman,” Redknee shouted at the stranger’s retreating figure. “And you are here.”
“Leave it,” Koll said, tugging on his arm. “There’s nothing he can do to stop us. He’s only one man.”
“But he got here first. Don’t you see? This is his land. And he might know about my father …” Redknee left Koll looking bewildered and ran after the stranger. “Wait!” he shouted as the stranger started up the grassy embankment. “I owe you for saving my life.”
“It is no matter. You ought to stay by the fire.”
Redknee drew level with the stranger. “What’s your name?”
“I’m not getting rid of you, am I? Should have left you to enjoy your swim.”
Redknee shrugged. “You know, getting here was hard. We lost a lot of good people.”
“And you will lose many more if you stay.” The stranger sighed. “They call me Dreaming Hawk.”
“Who’s ‘they?’”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Are they like trolls?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“You know … things people are scared of, but no one has actually seen. Least, no one sober.”
