Berserker Series, Book 1

by Emmy Laybourne

  * * *

  THEY HEADED NORTH, following a road for a few miles. When the road branched in two directions, they took the narrower one, which led up into the foothills of a mountain range. The tufts of spiky prairie grass were dead and brown; that didn’t stop the gelding Hanne was riding from swiping at mouthfuls as they passed. The horse was dun colored, actually the same color as the grass, and had the improbable name of Joyful. It was sullen and stubborn, and seemed about as far from joyful as an animal could be.

  Owen rode at the head, and because there was enough space on the road, Sissel rode right next to him. Hanne came next, and Knut and Stieg rode side by side behind her. Daisy ranged ahead and fell back, always staying within eyesight, and keeping well out of the way of the horses’ hooves.

  Sissel remained fearful of Owen’s black-and-white dog. This seemed silly to Hanne. There wasn’t a more pleasant or gentle dog than Daisy. She took obvious delight in the trip, frisking around like a puppy.

  Hanne looked behind them every so often, worried the man from the train might be coming after them. Once, Stieg caught her turning and shook his head subtly. He nodded for her to keep her eyes on the road ahead. Hanne supposed that Stieg didn’t want Owen clued in that being trailed was a concern.

  Was it right to keep the danger from Owen Bennett? Maybe not, but how could they possibly explain their predicament to him? No, best to mention nothing.

  From time to time they met other travelers headed to town. There were several wagons loaded with goods to sell. And they overtook one man carrying a bleating yearling lamb on his shoulders, apparently heading home with his prize. He was whistling a jaunty tune and looked very pleased with his new charge.

  As they rode, Sissel pestered the cowboy with chatter nonstop. Her sister kept up a steady stream of questions in halting English, and he kept answering, to be polite.

  So far, Sissel had pried out of him that he was born and raised in Montana. He had three brothers, no sisters. He had raised Daisy from a pup.

  “Is it good to be a cowboy?” she asked him now. “You like to cowboy?”

  “Yep,” Owen said. “It’s always changing—that’s something I like about it. In the spring, you’re rounding up the horses, branding the colts. There’s horse breaking to do then. Once the ranch boss decides how many head of cattle he wants to send to market in the fall, then there’s rounding up and driving to market.”

  Sissel nodded and said, “yes,” and “I see,” as if she could understand his cowboy English. Hanne was certain she could not.

  “Your brothers are cowboys?”

  “Two of them are. One’s still too young. He’s in school. We all had to go to school till we were sixteen. Then my father made us each give two years to the ranch. But once we reach eighteen, we’re free to go and that’s what I did.”

  “And your brothers? They leave with you?”

  The cowboy shook his head.

  “No.”

  “No?” Sissel repeated.

  “No. My brothers, well, they all want the ranch so they have to stay on and try to outdo each other. Me, it was better for me to head out.”

  “Goodness, Sissel,” Hanne said in Norwegian. “Don’t be a busybody!”

  “My sister says I ask too much,” Sissel told Owen.

  “Well, maybe you can tell me something about you all,” he said. “How did you all come to be in America?”

  Now Sissel fell silent.

  “We came to start a new life,” Hanne offered. “Our brother Stieg—”

  “Our father died,” Sissel interrupted her. “He was killed, so we came away.”

  Hanne sat back, as if stung. It was the truth, but the way her sister said it was so frank.

  Joyful gave a snort.

  Owen glanced over his shoulder at Hanne. She looked down to the reins balled in her fist.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Owen said. “Must have been real rough.”

  “Yes,” Sissel said. “It was frightful. And now we are going to find our uncle Håkon. We will live with him now.”

  “What can you tell me about these meadow grasses, Owen?” Stieg called up from the rear. “Do they make good feed for horses?”

  Hanne wasn’t sure if Stieg was trying to cut off Sissel’s conversation, or if he was just jealous that Sissel was getting such a good chance to practice her English, but she was glad he broke in. Hanne was so irritated with her sister she half wished Sissel’s horse would spook and gallop off into the wilderness.

  * * *

  THEY HAD FOLLOWED the wagon-wheel road through the low rocky hills for most of the morning, stopping at a small stream to water the horses at noon and to eat their own lunch—some sandwiches that Loveland had thrown in for free when it came time to settle their bill.

  Stieg had made small talk about the weather and the vegetation during lunch. Owen answered politely enough, asking questions in return about the climate of Norway.

  Hanne was shy of speaking in front of the cowboy now. It was not a pleasure trip—they were not there to tour the sights of Montana. She wished everyone would just stop talking and eat.

  Owen made time at lunch to try to get Sissel used to Daisy. After the meal was over, he asked Sissel if she’d like to give Daisy her meal. He had saved a half a sandwich for the dog. Sissel refused, eyeing the dog from behind Hanne.

  Owen then set Daisy through some drills and tricks. He finished by having Daisy jump up and take the sandwich from his own mouth.

  Sissel laughed and clapped at that.

  Hanne smiled at Owen, trying to make her gratitude known. He ducked his head and called out it was time to start up again.

  The road became more and more rutted and bumpy the farther they got from town. Slowly, they were climbing up, into the low mountains. Above them, there was more and more snow, banked in drifts against the hillside.

  Hanne’s afternoon steed was a black mare who seemed indifferent to the journey. She neither tried to sneak grass, nor did she show any interest in Hanne, nor the scents in the air, but kept her head down and walked patiently after Pal.

  Hanne was looking down at the rose color of her coat and thinking of not much at all, when Daisy barked ahead frantically and Owen urged his horse into a sudden gallop. He reached for his rifle and had it out of the scabbard in seconds.

  There was a voice. She heard it now, coming from over the next rise in the road. “Oh dear Lord! Help!” came a man’s voice.

  Owen’s horse, Pal, galloped ahead as Hanne and her siblings tried to get their horses to speed up. The horses responded with no more than a lazy canter, but after a moment they came up and over the hilltop. At the bottom of the valley below, they saw an overturned wagon. An ox stood some distance off, uninjured.

  A man was trying to lift the wagon—another man was trapped underneath! Owen jumped off Pal and ran over to the wagon. He got his hands under it and strained, trying to budge it.

  “Can you help us?” Owen shouted to Knut and Stieg as they rode up and dismounted.

  “Stand back!” Stieg shouted as Knut bent and lifted the wagon clear off the ground. Beneath the layers of clothing, Knut’s vast muscles strained and pulled.

  Owen exclaimed with surprise, but Stieg tugged him forward. Stieg and Owen ducked under the wagon and pulled the injured man free. He screamed with pain, then passed out.

  Instead of setting the wagon down, as they all expected him to do, Knut shifted its weight in his hands, lifting it and turning it in the air, so that it fell back to earth righted.

  The wagon jounced on its iron springs, the metal jangling as it came to rest.

  The man who’d been calling for help stared up at Knut, his mouth agape.

  “Lord Almighty,” he said. “Is you part giant?”

  Knut was staring at his hands with an odd expression of wonder on his face. He looked up and beamed at them all.

  “My brother is uncommonly strong,” Stieg said. Then, trying to distract them, “Is your friend well?”
r />   Now all attention turned to the wounded man. He lay on the frozen ground, his skin gray and clammy.

  Blood soaked through the leg of his pants, and the bone, snapped cleanly, was jutting through the fabric.

  “Aw jeez,” the other man moaned. “Hal! Oh Lord. Look at that leg! Oh God, what am I going to do?” He pulled at his hair, looking down at his fallen partner. “Lookit the blood! Oh Lord! That’s bone!”

  “It’s all right. Calm down,” Owen said. “If we can set the leg, he’ll be all right.”

  “He’s my younger cousin, and I promised his mother no harm would befall him! Oh Lord, what am I gonna do?” He paused to vomit into some scrub.

  “Do you know how to do this kind of thing?” Owen asked Stieg. “I’ve seen it done, but I’ve never done it.”

  Stieg looked a bit pale, and so did Owen, truth be told. Hanne stepped forward.

  “Knut, come,” she directed. “You hold his shoulders, and I’ll set the bone.”

  “You?” Owen asked.

  “Yes. Me.” She shrugged. “I’m not afraid of blood.”

  She wanted to explain that she and Knut butchered livestock back home, but at the same time, she did not want him to know about her expertise in this area, it was so unladylike. But she did not have time to waste on such niceties—the man was passed out, and she should set his leg before he woke up.

  Knut sat behind the injured man, and shifted back and forth on his haunches until he drew up right behind him. He wrapped his arms around the man’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides. Hanne knelt down beside them.

  “He may wake up, so hold him well,” Hanne told Knut. She put her hands on the man’s lower leg, feeling around until she was satisfied with the grip.

  “I’ll hold tight,” Knut said.

  “On three,” she said. Then she counted it out and pulled.

  The man’s eyes flew open. He screamed and thrashed. He kicked at her, landing a good blow to her upper arm. Her Nytte flared to life, but faintly.

  Owen darted forward and grabbed the man’s good leg so he would not kick her again.

  She pulled hard and gently rotated the leg. There was an audible click as the pieces of bone lined up. The man shrieked.

  Hanne released the leg, and the man fainted away again.

  She exhaled and sat back. Owen was next to her, his thigh pressed into hers. She was breathing hard, sweat prickling her brow.

  She glanced up and found Owen studying her face. He quickly looked away, down to the man sprawled on the ground.

  “We ought to splint the leg,” Owen said.

  Hanne nodded. She pushed back from the man and stood up, shaky on her feet. Her new skirt was dirty with mud and dead grass. Never mind, she told herself, it had to get soiled eventually.

  Stieg cut some strips of canvas out of a sack that had been in the wagon. They bound the leg, loosely, to a plank that had broken off in the accident. Sissel remained on her horse the whole time. Hanne wasn’t sure if it was because she was afraid to dismount without help or was still shy of the dog.

  The wounded man’s partner had recovered his wits enough to be thankful for the help that Providence had brought him. He kept up a steady stream of thanks, to them and mostly to the Lord. Knut loaded up the goods that had fallen from the wagon while Owen jerry-rigged the broken harness and got the ox hooked up. When the wagon was ready again, Hanne held the wounded man’s leg steady as Knut carefully lifted him into the wagon bed.

  The men would reach Livingston by evening, and they could see the doctor there. Hanne wondered what tales the men might tell. Would they speak of a great Norse boy who could lift a wagon by himself? Might one of their countrymen overhear and become interested? Or the man from the train?

  Hanne was impatient to be on the way again. Soon enough, they returned to the road.

  Owen became silent and pensive as they rode, pulling out ahead a bit. Hanne turned her mind from the men who might be following them to the one leading them.

  Surely he must be glad they were able to be helpful. That man would have died had they not come along. Or was he wondering about Knut’s strength and Hanne’s ability to set a limb so easily?

  She could not tell what he was thinking by his posture, and she could not summon the courage to ride up, so she simply watched his back sway in the saddle and wondered.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mr. Erlich was not amused by his visitors.

  “It’s dark and I’m tired. I already told you what I know. Time for you to git!”

  The old man had finished checking the doors on the paddocks of his livery stable and was shutting down for the night. The horses were quiet, munching on hay inside the stalls. The only light came from a smoky oil lantern that he held in his hand.

  Rolf stood near him, Ketil at the door.

  “Are you sure they didn’t mention the name of the town?” Rolf asked again.

  “They offered a young cowboy with a busted-up face some money to take them up north. That’s all I know.”

  “Was it one of the Norwegians who hurt the cowboy?” Ketil asked. “Did you see it happen?”

  “I don’t know who busted him up! He was already busted up when I met him!”

  He hung the lantern ring over a nail and tugged on one of the stall doors to make sure it was closed firmly.

  From the shopkeeper at one of the general stores they had learned that the Nytteson were now outfitted for a major trip. They might have learned more if Ketil had not frightened the shopkeeper’s thirteen-year-old girl by trying to flirt with her. After that, the shopkeeper, who seemed a decent man, had all but escorted them to the door.

  “It’s time for you all to go on, now!” Erlich said.

  Ketil grabbed his arm and squeezed.

  “I told you what I know!” the old man whined.

  “Has anyone else been asking for them?” Rolf asked.

  “No! They’re just a bunch of kids, for God’s sake. Why are you two looking for them, anyway?”

  “Never you mind that,” Ketil said, releasing the man.

  Rolf walked toward the door and Ketil followed him.

  Behind them, a gob of brown tobacco-juice spit smacked the planks and splashed onto the back of Ketil’s trouser leg.

  “Good riddance,” Erlich said.

  Ketil was across the room in two strides.

  “No!” Rolf shouted, but Ketil kicked up a shovel and caught it neatly.

  He hit a glancing blow to the old man’s head. A measured blow, just enough to fell him. Then he chopped with the blade of the shovel, and with one fast, savage slash, he severed the man’s head.

  For a moment, no blood erupted.

  “See!” Ketil called. “I’ve been working on this. It’s a crimping blow.”

  Then the flesh parted, and the blood gushed out onto the floorboards.

  “It doesn’t last long, but it’s getting there.” Ketil looked very pleased. The blood seeped into the sawdust. “And to think it even works with a dull old shovel!”

  Ketil turned back to Rolf, his eyes shining.

  “He was no risk to us!” Rolf exclaimed.

  “He could have told someone we’d been here, asking for the Nytteson. And he could have told someone else what he knew about them. With that article in Morgenbladet, Norwegians will be searching them out.”

  “It was an unnecessary death!” Rolf protested. He felt sick to his stomach. The blood was gushing all over the floor.

  “He was an old, ugly man. And I needed the practice. This is boring work.”

  Ketil looked like a child, a petulant pout twisting his mustache. Inside the stalls, the horses made sounds of distress. They smelled the blood.

  Rolf tried to swallow his anger, but his weariness and frustration got the better of him.

  “The last thing we need is a posse on our trail! Do you not think?” He slammed his palm onto a post. “Why in the name of Odin All-Father did I allow the Baron to saddle me with a Berserker?”

&nb
sp; Ketil went deadly still.

  “Come now, Rolfy. You don’t mean to insult me, do you?” Ketil said.

  Ketil stared at him across the dim stable, menace glimmering in his eyes.

  Rolf lowered his gaze. He could not afford to antagonize this young man. “It’s just that … you can control your gift. I know you can. And you must. You must work at it.”

  “Yes, yes. You’ve told me before all about your ideas of how I should control the Nytte. Use it to honor the Gods. Surrender to the Gods. But your ideas amount to very little, since you, Rolf Tjossem, are not a Nytteson,” Ketil said.

  Rolf rubbed the back of his neck. He moved toward the front window and looked outside. “What do we do about the body? Do you think the local authorities will not care about a murder in their town?”

  “Relax. There are hogs out back. They’ll dispose of the body for us.”

  Rolf looked across the dimly lit barn at his partner. Ketil was studying the corpse, pleased with the kill. He looked up, grinning. “It was an awfully dull shovel.”

  Rolf gritted his teeth in irritation.

  “You have to admit it was a pretty blow,” Ketil said, trying for a bit of praise, perhaps.

  Someone pounded on the front door. Ketil reached for the shovel. Rolf held his arm.

  “Erlich, you in there, you old, deaf bastard?”

  The voice outside sounded weak and drunk. After a moment, shuffling steps retreated outside the door.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, and quietly,” Rolf said.

  “What about the body?” Ketil asked.

  “Leave it. We cannot hide the blood. It was dark when we came in. We will have to hope no one saw us enter.”

  They had not been able to find a coach or stage the evening before, so had spent the night in Bozeman. After the long ride in the morning and a day of questioning the storekeepers in town, and now this pointless murder, Rolf was exhausted and disheartened. Barely able to keep his eyes open.

  “My friend, you look worn out,” Ketil said. He sighed theatrically. “I look forward to a hot meal and a soft bed. And maybe a soft lady, too. If they keep some in stock here.”

  “Keep your wits about you,” Rolf snapped. “This is no time to be womanizing.”