by V. Campbell
“We have travelled across the sea to—”
Hiawatha raised his hand for silence.
Running Deer leaned in to listen as her father spoke. When he finished, she looked awkwardly round the circle. “My father,” she said, her accent thicker than before, “wants to know why… a boy … speaks for … men.”
Hiawatha was testing him. “There is no boy here,” Redknee said, glancing at Toki, wondering if he would challenge this.
A half-smile played on Toki’s face. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, evidently unwilling to support or deny Redknee’s statement. From the corner of his eye, Redknee saw Koll quietly draw his dagger. Running Deer’s brothers looked confused, but Hiawatha studied Redknee with narrowed eyes.
Eventually, Toki flicked his hand dismissively. “The lad is right,” he said. “He speaks for us all.”
Redknee heard the breath rush from his lungs. He hadn’t even realised he’d been tense.
Hiawatha smiled as his daughter translated, but Redknee knew from his eyes that he’d understood perfectly.
“Please,” Running Deer said, turning back to Redknee, “continue with your story.”
“We come from a land of mountains far from here. Our enemy destroyed our village and we sailed across the sea to find a new home. We do not want to fight you. We seek an empty land where we can be the first settlers.” Redknee went on to tell Hiawatha of Ragnar, of their journey, of Sven’s death and of their camp by the lagoon. All the while Hiawatha nodded as Running Deer translated.
He’d debated whether to tell them about Saint Brendan’s treasure and the Codex. But the decision was made for him when Running Deer pointed to Sinead’s bag.
“My father wants to know what you carry so carefully.”
Redknee lifted out the Codex and placed it in front of Hiawatha, showing him how to turn the pages. Hiawatha nodded in understanding, so Redknee pointed to the text. “The markings tell a story about a monk – a holy man – who came here many years ago. We used his tale as our guide – to help us find this beautiful island.”
When they came to the page with the giant pine tree, Hiawatha’s eyes lit up and he began tapping his finger on the drawing.
“Do you know this tree?” Redknee asked, his excitement rising. “Do you know where it is?”
Running Deer leaned in to take a closer look at the picture for herself. “It could be the White Pine. It’s three days walk north—”
Hiawatha cut her off. She blushed and bowed her head in silence. Clearly she must have spoken out of turn. Hiawatha turned to Thinking Owl and began prodding him in the side. His son shook his head. They appeared to be disagreeing about whatever Hiawatha had asked him to do. After a few moments of this, Thinking Owl gave in. He rose and disappeared down the longhouse, re-appearing a moment later with a rectangular strip of beads in his hand.
Running Deer took the beads from her brother and placed them beside the Codex. “These are wampum,” she said, glancing awkwardly at her father. He nodded for her to proceed. “They are made from shells. This belt tells the story of my father, but it is not yet finished.”
Redknee ran his fingers over the woven beads. “Do the colours have different meanings?”
“The white shells mean purity of mind, as in forgiveness or understanding. The purple shells represent all the possibilities a person has in their lifetime, which we believe are as numerous as the stars in the night sky.”
“Hiawatha wants to commemorate his great victory over the Bear People,” Hawk interjected dryly.
Redknee frowned. “But, I thought—”
“That’s right. He hasn’t defeated them yet. He’s preparing.”
Running Deer looked uncomfortable as she translated Hawk’s words for her father, but the older man laughed and clapped his hands together. He clearly liked his son-in-law, though his tongue was sharp.
Redknee asked Running Deer if the Bear People's war party would attack the village.
She smiled. “Don’t worry. We have many warriors. We’ll be safe.”
Crouching Bear dragged the youth across the snow to the centre of the village. He was only a year or two older than Redknee. The gathered women and children spat at him, some threw stones. Blood trickled from a gash in his forehead and a purple smear darkened his cheekbone. Crouching Bear tossed him in front of Hiawatha and smiled.
“He’s a Bear People spy,” Running Deer whispered into Redknee’s ear. “My brother caught him prowling outside the village.”
The youth knelt, shivering in the snow. His head was bare, shaved clean, save for a knot of straight black hair that hung down his back in a braid. A band of red paint encircled his eyes.
“Is he alone?” Redknee asked.
Running Deer nodded. “Though he confessed there is a war-party less than a day away.”
The women and children fell silent as Hiawatha studied the youth’s face. Even under the chief’s heavy stare, defiance shone brightly from his eyes. Satisfied, Hiawatha issued a command to Crouching Bear and retreated into the warmth of the longhouse.
Crouching Bear grabbed the youth by his hair, pulled him towards a tree stump and forced him to kneel. He held the youth’s head in place with one hand and pointed to Redknee with the other.
“What does he want?” Redknee asked, reluctant to approach the executioner’s block.
Hawk joined Redknee. “He wants to try your sword. They don’t have iron here. Their axes and spears are headed with stone.”
Crouching Bear jabbed his finger in Redknee’s direction again.
Redknee approached the tree stump slowly. A tear trickled down the youth’s cheek, smearing a trail of red paint in its wake. Redknee drew Flame Weaver. At least his death would be quick.
But the eyes of the crowd were not on the captive. Even Crouching Bear was distracted. Redknee turned to follow his gaze. A small, white-haired man shuffled towards them, testing the ground before him with a stick.
“Who’s that?” Redknee asked.
“It’s Deganawida,” Running Deer said. “He is a sort of holy man – like your monk. His name means ‘Two rivers flowing together.’ He travels between villages, sharing wisdom.”
Redknee looked again at the old man. Despite the cold, his feet were bare and caked in mud, but he didn’t seem to notice. “What does he want?”
Hawk answered first. “He wants to prevent the youth being killed.”
Running Deer eyed her husband sharply. “Actually, he wants us to join his great peace. My father will not be pleased.”
Someone must have notified Hiawatha because he stormed out of the longhouse and glared angrily at Deganawida. The old man had gone over to where the youth lay sprawled across the tree stump. When he saw Hiawatha appear, he raised his eyes skywards and began chanting. Hiawatha stood awkwardly for a moment. Then he turned to Crouching Bear, issued a new order, and disappeared back inside.
“What’s happening?” Redknee asked.
“I’m not sure,” Running Deer said, watching with concern as her brother forced the youth’s mouth open. On seeing this, Deganawida stood back and lowered his chanting until it was barely audible.
Crouching Bear reached into the youth’s mouth, pulled out his tongue, and, with one sharp upward flick of his knife, severed it clean.
Chapter 31
Despite Hiawatha’s confidence in his warriors, Redknee could feel the villagers become increasingly on edge as they readied for the attack. He pulled Flame Weaver from its scabbard and ran his finger along the blade. The steel glimmered in the cold winter light.
Koll grinned. “Best steel in the world, that.”
Redknee nodded and surveyed the village defences from his position on the ramparts. Men, maybe forty or more, armed with bows and arrows, lined the wall. Below, in the village, Sinead and Astrid were helping the women boil pitchers of water. The children, too young to fully realise the coming danger, excitedly gathered brushwood for their fires.
Koll whetted the edge of hi
s axe with a stone. “He’s a shrewd one, that Hiawatha,” he said. “I bet he wanted us to fight the Bear People with him all along. Been watching our camp. Knew about our steel weapons. Wants to see us use them. That whole rescue thing was just a way to put us in his debt—”
Redknee shook his head. “He said he knew nothing about the footprints—”
“Getting cynical in your old age, Koll?” Toki approached along the rampart. He carried something small in the palm of his hand, hidden from view. Silver followed the movement of Toki’s hand with interest.
“Only since I met you,” Koll replied.
Further along the rampart, Olvir looked worried. Redknee went over to him. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “You’re the best archer here.”
Olvir bit his bottom lip. “My fear of blood has returned. I feel sick.”
Redknee placed a hand on Olvir’s shoulder. There was nothing to say. Sensing his distress, Silver sidled over and pressed his body against Olvir’s legs. Olvir reached down and rubbed the pup behind the ears.
“Look at him,” he said, “only a pup, yet he fears nothing. He’ll make you a good fighting dog in time.”
Redknee nodded, but he didn’t want the pup anywhere near the fighting. He was still too small. Redknee pointed to where Sinead was helping the women light a fire and told Silver to go join her. Sinead laughed as Silver leapt into her arms. Redknee smiled. They would keep each other safe.
Redknee went back over to Koll and Toki.
“Look at this,” Toki said, holding up the flint arrowhead he’d been hiding in the palm of his hand.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem with our steel weapons,” Koll said.
Toki shook his head and stared over the wall, into the dark of the forest. “After Hawk’s tale I’m not so sure … I think it’s no bad thing we’re here to see off these Bear People. The experience might come in useful later … if we ever have to face them on our own.”
Although his reasons were different, Redknee agreed with Toki. For his part, he couldn’t stand to see another village destroyed.
Lights flickered in the forest, between the trees, teasing, terrifying. The Flint People fought hard, but eventually, the Bear People, through sheer force of numbers, and the use of long ladders, had breached their defences. Fire engulfed the village, and Hiawatha had ordered the warriors out into the darkness to face their enemy head-on.
Not long after, Redknee had become separated from the others.
He wiped blood from his cheek and looked at the boy lying on the ground. His first win. He raised Flame Weaver. It hovered mid-air. Uncertain.
“You haven’t killed before?”
Redknee looked up to see Hawk standing beside him. He shook his head and dug his foot into the boy’s chest.
“Make it a quick one to the gullet,” Hawk said.
He raised his arms above his head and this time let gravity propel his sword, blade down, towards the boy’s throat. Damp brown eyes stared through a mask of sweat and war paint. Redknee froze, the blade tip a hair’s breadth from the kill.
He couldn’t do it. By Odin’s all seeing eye, this was no time to lose courage.
A steel flash caught the moonlight. The boy’s skull burst open. Redknee stood, Flame Weaver motionless in his hand as blood and brains drenched his face. He spat a piece of bone from his mouth. Koll jerked his axe free and placed a hand on Redknee’s shoulder.
“Never, never, never, look in their eyes,” he said. “and,” smirking, “always close your mouth.”
“The Kanienkehaka say a prayer for the souls of those they kill,” Hawk said.
Koll spat. “No time. There’s more Bear People heading this way. Besides, the lad was a warrior. He’ll go to Valhalla, never mind me trying to make myself feel better.”
A terrible cry pierced the forest. Then, suddenly, a mass of painted warriors emerged from between the trees. Redknee looked round. The three of them were on their own.
“Stick close to me,” Koll said to Redknee.
He didn’t argue.
Still screaming, and beating on their war drums, the Bear People spread out, encircling them.
“If they rush us, we’re dead,” Hawk said, waving his sword about as if it were a torch.
Redknee watched as the warriors began to ease closer. “There must be at least twenty of them.”
Koll grinned. “I took out twelve Saxons on my own once. Think you two can manage four each?”
“Toki was right about you. You’re all bluster,” Hawk said.
“We’ll see who’s hot air!” Koll said, charging at the nearest warrior.
The warrior sped forward to meet Koll, tomahawk raised high. Koll feinted and, at the last moment, ducked, sending the warrior tumbling headfirst onto the grass. A second, younger, brave emerged from the circle carrying a spear. He thrust it at Koll’s stomach, but the big Viking was quicker than he looked, dodging each jab before leaping into the air and slamming his axe down on the youth’s neck.
From the corner of his eye, Redknee saw an archer take aim at Koll. Coward, he thought, rushing to cut the man down. But he was too late. The arrow sliced through the night air, lodging in Koll’s shoulder. The blacksmith dropped to his knees with a bellow. Redknee cried out. He would not lose his friend. He spun round, blind with anger. Flame Weaver light in his palm, twitching for blood.
The archer’s arm came away surprisingly easily. Like removing a chicken leg. Flame Weaver’s hunger was insatiable. It greedily chomped through four fingers, one thigh, two shoulders and an oak sapling, the latter being an unfortunate mistake that cost Redknee vital moments. Gorged but not sated, the blade fell to the ground still cradled in its master’s hand.
Redknee’s head hurt. He tried to massage his temple, but found his hands bound. Pain shot through his shoulders and he realised he was slung beneath a sturdy branch carried by four thickset warriors.
He remembered attacking the archer… and then, nothing.
Why hadn’t they just killed him?
He craned his neck to see if they had Koll and Hawk too. But all he could see in front was a pair of sweaty buttocks, and behind him, two grinning faces. Then he saw the clumps of hair. Not on their heads, but on belts round their waists. Hair clogged with blood and patches of skin. Scalps. And among the black tufts was a streak of yellow.
His head didn’t hurt that much, did it? Panic rising, he twisted his wrists and ankles until they burned. He had to get free. The two warriors at his feet sniggered. He was bound fast.
Blood trickled down his left arm, pooled at his throat. He looked up. He had a deep cut just below his wrist. Damn, but he hurt all over.
“You give up, you die,” that’s what Uncle Sven had told him. So he tried to form a plan. But with no weapon and no idea where he was going, or why, any attempt at planning seemed futile.
One of the warriors stumbled, jolting Redknee forwards. Pain shot through his wrist. He glanced at the cut again. A sliver of white protruded from his skin. He almost passed out with fright. Then his heart quickened, and he sent up a prayer of thanks to Odin, for it was then that he realised, the sharp sliver of bone hanging from his arm … well, it wasn’t his.
The walls of the Bear People village loomed overhead. The light of bonfires cast strange shapes on the walls. The sound of drums echoed in Redknee’s chest. Excitement thrummed through the warriors; some ran ahead, breaking into a war dance as they reached the open gates.
This was it.
He got ready to act; he would have only moments to make his escape.
Inside its walls, the Bear People village looked much the same as the Kanienkehaka one. And, for that matter, Redknee’s village in the Northlands, only larger. Upwards of ten bark-covered longhouses surrounded a huge fire. Women holding babies, small children at their skirts, stared at him with a mixture of fear and confusion. Scraggy dogs scavenged for scraps in the snow. Old men chewed wads of tobacco, the years etched on their wary faces like tree rings.
&nb
sp; He was dropped unceremoniously in front of the central bonfire. The heat from the flames warmed his skin. Curious villagers crowded round. A small boy, no more than four summers old, ran up and prodded his belly before scurrying away to hide behind his mother’s legs. The crowd parted and a pole bearing Hawk was brought into the circle, followed by another bearing a very angry Koll.
“You’re alive!” Redknee said. “Do you know about Toki and Olvir?”
Koll could only snarl through gritted teeth. He was in pain from his arrow wound. A little girl followed the boy in taking a closer look. She approached Koll on tiptoe. Koll opened one eye and growled and the child screamed and kicked him in the shin.
“What are they going to do with us?” Redknee asked.
“No idea,” Hawk said.
Redknee’s head still hurt. “How does my hair look?” he asked.
“By Thor’s hammer,” Koll roared, “this is no time for vanity!”
The crowd parted suddenly and Deganawida shuffled forward.
“That old goat gets about,” Koll said.
But it wasn’t Deganawida who sent shivers through Redknee’s spine, it was the unnatural creature crawling behind him. Skoggcat’s orange skin glistened in the firelight, his face a rictus of unholy pleasure. He slithered up to Redknee, raised a finger in the air, licked it and slid his sharpened nail across Redknee’s throat.
Redknee gagged. How could he have let this abomination live? Skoggcat leaned in. Redknee was about to spit in his face, when a man’s voice boomed from beyond the crowd.
“Show me the prisoners,” it demanded. Skoggcat shrivelled fearfully, then skulked away, between the tan clad legs of the crowd, but not before giving Redknee a conspiratorial wink.
Redknee was still processing Skoggcat’s wink as Ragnar, followed by Mord and half a dozen men-at-arms, marched through the crowd.
“We meet again,” Ragnar said, removing his leather gloves and kneeling by Redknee’s side. “You seem to be leaving a trail of destruction in your wake, young Erik-son. Volcanoes in Iceland, cave-ins in Greenland. What next, I wonder? If I were the Bear People, I shouldn’t like to have you here at all. But as it is, I’m rather pleased to see you again,” he said, placing Redknee’s hard-won ivory-handled dagger against his throat and leaning in. “For you and I are more alike than you realise.”
