Stranger from Another Land

by Hector Miller

  When I thought that it could not possibly get worse, the darkness of night engulfed us.

  That night was akin to a night spent in the realm of Erlok, the dark god of the underworld. Haldr bound himself to the tiller while the rest of the warriors took turns either rowing or bailing. The tether around my neck saved me more than once when a rogue wave wished to take me into the depths.

  When morning came, the warriors were past the point of exhaustion. Or rather, those who remained were. Two men had disappeared during the night, claimed by Ran. Another sat at the prow, his shinbone shattered by an ore.

  There was no sign of the storm abating. The screaming gale whipped up the white water and blasted it against our bodies, making it near impossible to stand. Another gush blasted us, causing Haldr to lose his footing. He grabbed the steering oar with his right hand, the other still lashed to the tiller.

  His hand remained on the oar and he bent over, staring at the runes I had carved into the wood. His face turned dark and he pulled me by the tether so that his mouth nearly touched my ear. “What have you done, boy?” he yelled, his voice almost drowned out by the storm.

  “You have cursed us with the god-markings. I have seen the runes of power. It is you who have caused this. You are the one who brings the wrath of Donor down on us!”

  Haldr grabbed me by the throat. “I will give your blood to Donor to appease him.”

  Behind Haldr, through the pounding rain, I caught a glimpse of land, maybe a hundred paces away. I wished to speak, but he throttled me and drew back his dagger to cut the vein. But as he cut, a wall of water struck the boat, like the hammer of Donor, and rather than opening my vein, the dagger severed the tether and Ran carried me off in her arms.

  I was a good swimmer, but it helped me naught. The giant waves sucked me under. Time and again I struggled to the surface, just to be pounded down again by the waves even before I was able to draw breath.

  Another wave took me, but rather than sucking me under, I felt solid ground under my feet. For a moment I thought that I had been saved, but I was struck by a shipload of water and a searing pain shot up from my bad foot, overwhelming my senses. I swallowed water and hit my head against a rock with such force that I imagined that my skull had burst.

  I saw a bright light and for a while, left the world of men.

  Chapter 13 – Helja

  When I opened my eyes, I was immediately convinced that I had gone to the underworld.

  The ancient face of the goddess Helja, the daughter of Erlok, stared back at me.

  Helja smiled a thin, toothless smile. She turned her head and called out in the language of the Svear: “The boy is awake.”

  Within moments, the face of a girl appeared, so beautiful, I realised that I could not possibly have gone to the Dark Realm.

  “Do you have a name?” the old woman queried.

  I was overwhelmed by the presence of the girl and the realisation that I had not crossed the river. As a result my tongue was unable to form the words in the language of the Svear.

  “It is as I feared, he is a deaf mute!” said the old crone. She stood from the low stool and turned to leave.

  “My name is Ragnar”, I heard myself say, not sounding like the Svear at all.

  “Ah. Ragnar, the stranger from another land”, replied the old woman. I went cold inside as she mouthed the blood-runes I had carved on the ore.

  “By the way, I am Runa”, she said, which only served to reinforce my suspicions.

  I stared at her in wonder, and fear. In that moment I became a believer.

  She lost her smile and pierced me with her green eyes. “Of course you come from far away boy, you do not speak like us.” But in her eyes I could see that she knew all.

  I tried to rise from my wooden sleeping platform, but a stab of pain from my leg forced me to lay back down.

  Runa took hold of a corner of the furs that covered me and flicked it aside to expose my leg.

  What I saw left me speechless.

  My lower leg was wrapped in linen bandages, starting from just under the knee and extending to my toes. I reached out and touched the linen, which seemed to have been dipped in beeswax. On four sides of my leg, on top of the bandages, thick strips of boiled leather had been moulded to act as splints. The same boiled leather had been wrapped around my ankle as reinforcement, and all was held in place by a series of bandages.

  Runa noticed the astonishment in my eyes. “The bone inside the foot is broken badly and the sinews are torn.”

  “Thank you”, I said, “for this”, and I gestured to my leg with my hand.

  The old woman raised her eyebrows and issued a cackle. “Don’t thank me, boy. It is the way we found you. I too know how to splint a leg, but never have I seen anything like this.”

  “Who did this then?” I asked in wonder.

  The old woman shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me”, she said.

  She turned her back on me and walked towards the door with a gait that did not match her age. The girl embraced the old woman and said: “Thank you grandmother, I will see you later.” The old crone nodded and walked through the doorway into the light. The girl followed her outside.

  Alone for the first time since I woke, I studied the room.

  It was similar to a longhouse, constructed with pine, albeit with a different design. The end result was a building, twenty-five paces long and six paces wide. The hall had the appearance of a longhouse without walls, with the steeply sloped roof extending to the ground. The ‘roof’ which acted as the walls as well, were thin logs, held together by crossbeams and covered by bundles of elk sedge, no doubt harvested from local marshes.

  I lay on a wooden platform topped with straw and covered with furs. A few embers were still glowing in the hearth and at the far end of the building I noticed an animal pen, although the inhabitants were probably grazing.

  The girl appeared from outside, picked up a dented copper pot and placed it on the cracked oak table. She took a ladle from where is was hanging from the wall and scooped some of the contents of the pot into two wooden bowls.

  She helped me to sit upright and placed rolled-up furs behind my back. Then she handed me a bowl.

  It was a thin gruel of meat cooked with onions and grain, which appeared to be barley. I slurped the contents from the bowl and realised how hungry I was.

  “They call me Unni”, she said, and touched her chest with her hand.

  I immediately felt ashamed as I had neglected to ask her for her name.

  She noticed my embarrassment and said: “Do not be concerned Ragnar. You have been gravely injured. Runa says that it is a miracle that you are alive.”

  I nodded in acceptance of her words. Unni stood and held out her hand for my empty bowl. She ladled another helping from the pot, handed me the gruel and retook her seat on the low stool.

  The girl patiently waited until I had slurped up my second helping. It is considered rude to ask probing questions of someone to whom you have extended hospitality. The Heruli is the same in that way. But I noticed the anticipation in her eyes. “Unni. Are you curious of my story?”

  She nodded.

  I told her all then, but I left out the part about my cripple foot. Neither did I tell her that I had no father, or that we were a tribe of killers.

  But Unni was no fool and asked: “You have spoken of your grandsire. Tell me about your father.”

  “I cannot. I do not know of him”, I replied. “And yours?” I queried in turn.

  She looked away then, towards the door, as if she expected someone to enter. “I do not remember them, but Runa has told me.” She breathed deeply and continued.

  “Men came by boat; Sea-Danes from the west. They came to trade, or so they said, but soon there were arguments. My father and the other men fought to protect the women and children, but what match is a farmer against a warrior? While they fought, Runa took me and led the women and children deep into the forest. They returned to death and destructio
n. Not long after, my mother died. Runa told me that she did not wish to live without Father.”

  The conversation was fast becoming dark and I changed the subject. “How many days since the storm?” I asked.

  “It has been a handful of days since the storm passed”, she said

  “When did you find me, then?” I asked again.

  “We did not find you, Ragnar”, she said, amazed at my question. “You came to us.”

  I must have looked confused. She added: “There was a knock on the door in the middle of the night, while we were abed. We opened the door and found you lying on the ground.”

  Unni continued: “It may have been the gods, Ragnar. Even Runa does not understand it, but she will speak with the gods. They will tell her all.”

  I nodded. The old woman was a healer of some kind. It is better to not enquire about things concerning the gods, so I refrained from offering a reply.

  Unni took the two bowls. “I need to attend to my duties. I will return. Runa says that you require rest to heal. She is wise.”

  The girl left the room and I soon fell asleep.

  When I woke again it was past sunset. A substantial fire was burning in the hearth, providing light and warmth. Runa was cutting up a large fish on the oak table. She noticed that I was awake. “The gods favoured Leubaz. He came home with many fish today. The fisherman gives us fish in exchange for milk”, she explained. She placed the pieces of fish in the copper pot, added a generous scoop of fresh butter, some herbs and roots that Unni had diced.

  Runa placed the pot on the stones surrounding the hearth and instructed the girl: “I need to rest now, Unni. Turn the pot until it is done.”

  The girl nodded and turned the pot every hundred heartbeats until the mouth-watering smell of fresh fish baked in butter and roots filled the longhouse. With an expert eye, Unni inspected the fish to see whether it was done, then she removed the pot and dished up three bowls.

  Runa tasted the fish and said: “Best skrei I have tasted in a long time. The fat ones are caught after a storm. The wind brings them closer to shore.”

  When we finished our second helping, Runa motioned towards the pot. “Clean the pot, Unni, and boil water. I need to give the boy his potion.”

  As soon as the water was bubbling over the fire, the old woman removed the pot and added fresh and dried leaves and roots to the water, leaving it to steep.

  Runa scooped a mug of the brew and handed it to me. “Drink”, she said, and I complied.

  I was still holding the cup when my eyelids became heavy. My head slumped to my chest and I remember Unni removing the rolled-up furs that kept me upright. Runa took my cup, which was still half-full.

  What followed was arguably the most bewildering experience of my life.

  Chapter 14 – Sight

  Until this day, and probably until I eventually cross the river, I will ponder on the happenings of that evening.

  Was it a dream? Was it real? Was it a message from the gods? I will never know.

  * * *

  I lay on the platform beneath the furs, my body asleep, yet behind my eyes, I was awake.

  “Is he asleep, grandmother?” I heard Unni ask.

  “I have given him herbs to make him sleep. It will help him heal”, the crone replied.

  I heard Unni going about her business of cleaning up after the meal. Next to me, the old woman hummed a tune under her breath.

  I tried to speak, to tell them that I was awake, but my tongue was unable to respond.

  After a while the legs of a stool scraped the clay floor. Unni must have taken a seat next to her grandmother.

  “Where did you go today?” she asked the crone.

  “To the sacred stones, my child”, she said, still humming softly.

  “Did you see?” Unni asked.

  For a while there was silence, except for the eerie tune. I imagined that Runa nodded. Mayhap she shook her head.

  I heard the familiar sound of a dagger drawn from an iron scabbard.

  “Grandmother!” Unni called out, her voice filled with angst.

  I felt a blade press against my exposed throat. Unni sobbed.

  The blade did not waver and I could feel the slight trembling of the hand holding it.

  “It would have been better had he not been born”, the crone said.

  “Better for whom?” Unni asked through the sobs.

  Silence.

  “The gods have given me a glimpse, child. The boy will change the land, the way we live. He will change all of creation. I saw much blood.”

  “And what if he dies?” Unni asked. “Have you seen that future?”

  Silence.

  The pressure of the blade disappeared and sleep took me.

  * * *

  I woke to the smell of eggs frying in butter.

  Runa sat next to me on a stool. “How is your leg this morning, my boy?”

  The happenings of the previous evening was shrouded in fog. I suspected that it had all been a bad dream. “My leg is much better”, I said and added: “What should I call you, lady, I do not know the customs of this land.”

  She took my hand in hers. “Call me grandmother”, she said, squeezed my hand and winked at me.

  * * *

  Runa removed the splints two moons later. My right leg was as thin as a stick. I did not care, as I was ready to open my own veins rather than remain inside the longhouse for another day.

  With the help of a crutch that I had fashioned myself, I ventured outside. I had met most of the twenty odd men and women who resided in the small settlement. All was housed in a cluster of four longhouses built within fifty paces of each other. A low wooden palisade fence, as tall as a man surrounded the town. It would not keep men out, but served to keep the farm animals from straying too far and becoming the next meal of a hungry wolf.

  The village was built on a low cliff overlooking a south facing bay. Outside the walls, to the north, a tract of land was cleared of trees. A thick forest of birch, spruce and pine surrounded it.

  The land was divided in two with rocks cleared from the fields and the stumps of trees. Half of the cleared area was planted with corn, oats, barley and onions. Unni explained it to me. “We plant half of the fields for three seasons, then we allow the grass and the weeds to take it. The animals use it for grazing. After three more seasons we change again. If the soil rests, the gods provide a greater yield.”

  I did not know the way of the land. I knew the way of the warrior. All was very new to me.

  The surrounding woods yielded a rich harvest. It was late in the season, but if one was prepared to venture a bit deeper into the forest, rich pickings of lingonberries and blueberries were still available. If one knew where to look and possessed the skills, honey was available in large quantities. I learned the hard way that I lacked the required skills.

  Slowly my broken leg healed, until one day I was able to discard the crutch. Only then was I able to confirm my suspicion.

  The gods had granted me a miracle: my cripple foot had healed.

  A welted red scar adorned the inside of my foot, in exactly the same place Leodis used to massage it. Somehow, the injury that had so terribly scarred my ankle also healed me on the inside. For days I felt as if the gods had granted me a new life. Even today, years later, I am still grateful.

  I became part of the clan of the Svear. I worked in the fields, tended to the needs of the animals, foraged in the forest, collected firewood and assisted to harvest the crops.

  By the time the harvest had been collected, my right leg was as strong as my left, if not stronger. I still thought about my previous life, but it was a distant memory. Among the Heruli, I had been the odd one out. The cripple without a father or a mother. The Svear accepted me as one of their own. In turn I accepted my new life, my new foot and my new family. The gods favoured me, or so I thought at the time.

  When you grow up in a warrior culture, the seasons matter little. I have learned in later years that the Roman
s do not campaign during the cold season, but start their wars in March, the month named after their war god. The hardy people of the Sea of Grass are not discouraged from war by the appearance of snow.

  Not so with farmers. They live by the seasons.

  And so came my first experience of a seasonal feast, being the festival of the harvest that coincides with the autumn equinox.

  It was at least a double handful of days before the feast. I sat with Runa and Unni while they prepared the pheasant that I had trapped in the woods earlier in the day. From a small earthen pot Unni poured us each a mug of soured milk.

  While the bird was cooking in the copper pot with onions and roots, we talked about the coming feast.

  “Ragnar, I need honey. Lots of honey”, Runa said with a serious expression. I nodded, although after my experience with bees, it was not a task I relished.

  But she was not done. “And I need a red deer.” I stared at her dumbfounded. Runa countered: “Surely where you come from you have been taught to hunt?”

  I nodded, resigned to my fate. “I will try, Runa”, I said.

  She gestured with her chin to Unni. “Unni’s father was a great hunter. He used to get me a deer from the forest every year. The men that remained are not hunters. You need to become a hunter, the sooner you learn, the better.”

  “I will try, Runa”, I repeated.

  The old crone scowled. “We cannot eat ‘try’, we need to eat red deer.”

  Chapter 15 – Hunter

  Unni helped me to find the hives and collect the honey. I was cautious of the bees due to my prior experience, and used sufficient smoke to pacify them before attempting to steal the honey. On the whole it was a roaring success as we raided three enormous hives, yet I was stung only twelve times.

  On our return, Runa was clearly pleased with the result. “Good, good, I will make enough mead for everyone. Tomorrow I will collect fresh herbs in the forest and then I will start brewing it.”

  “Don’t forget the deer”, she added, and handed me a spear with a broad iron blade. “I found this for you.”

  I had ten days to kill a deer.