‘That looks steady to me,’ he said to Jaki.
The old man shuffled over and prodded the log, then pushed it a couple of times before pronouncing himself satisfied. ‘It’ll do. Get the other two.’
‘Feel free to help,’ Einar told Helga as he collected the next chunk of wood.
She glared at him, then bent down and picked up the last log, willing her face not to show any strain. Instead she inclined her head at Einar and said, smiling, ‘Lead the way, lazy bum.’ She tried not to wince as she dropped it to the ground, but couldn’t stop herself grimacing at the ease with which the old man grabbed it and hefted it into place. Einar took the other, and soon they were both driven deep into the ground, where they formed an evenly spaced line.
‘Done?’ Einar said.
‘Not quite,’ Jaki said. ‘Let’s not forget the bastard stones.’ He walked over to the cart and slid the back panel aside. Three great stones lay on the cart bed. No one could shift those! was Helga’s first thought: the smallest of them was a slab the size and shape of a sheepdog’s body, while the biggest looked more like a ball – one that would reach Helga’s knees.
Einar whistled softly. ‘Is this—? Can we even do this?’
‘Requested by the old man,’ Jaki said. ‘These three specifically.’ There was a hint of a smile on the foreman’s face. ‘No idea why. He said they were in the cart already, so why not use ’em.’
‘Right,’ Einar said with a sigh. ‘Okay, so let’s get to it.’ He leaped up into the cart, bent his knees and, with a grunt, pushed the smallest stone until it started shifting, reluctantly scraping along the cart bed.
‘Careful . . .’ Jaki stood by the edge, callused hands ready to catch the edge of the stone as it approached. ‘Let’s get it right the first time.’
‘Sounds . . . like . . . a good . . . idea,’ Einar grunted between clenched teeth.
The moment the stone hit the edge Jaki’s hands were clawing at it to get purchase, then pulling it forward. ‘There,’ he muttered, ‘come down now . . .’
Einar was off the cart in a flash and standing shoulder to shoulder with his father. Together, they lowered the big stone gently down to the ground next to the first pillar.
‘That one is just about doable, I reckon,’ Einar said after they’d caught their breath.
‘Just about, yes,’ Jaki said.
‘How about this beast?’ Einar said. The second stone looked like someone had lopped the roof off a longhouse: it was almost triangular, but wide and long in the wrong places.
‘Have to be careful of the grip on this ’un,’ Jaki said. ‘Do it wrong and the stone’s five times heavier. I am not as good at this as he is.’
Helga stayed well out of their way as Einar moved in beside him. Grunting and cursing, they managed to inch the huge stone towards the edge of the cart-bed, then jumped down and took the weight in their arms. Breathing hard, they staggered over to the second pillar. They bent their knees, slowly lowering it, but when the stone was still a foot off the ground Jaki winced.
‘Drop it—’ he hissed, red-faced.
Einar was only too happy to comply.
‘—but watch your toes,’ the old man said after the stone landed.
‘Thank you, Father. Very caring,’ Einar said. The two men stood together, chests rising and falling, hands on hips, staring at the stone.
‘That was an absolute bastard,’ Einar eventually said.
‘You’re not wrong,’ his father agreed.
Helga watched as Einar’s shoulders set. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s get the third one off the cart and have it done with.’
‘We’re not touching that thing,’ Jaki said, walking slowly towards the horse.
Helga’s skin tingled. She watched as the animal’s ears perked up; she could only catch the occasional half-heard word, the odd sound of Jaki soothing and coaxing the beast, but the horse snorted and tossed its head, and when Jaki took the bridle it didn’t try to move away.
‘What’s the plan?’ Einar said.
‘Age and wisdom,’ Jaki said, ‘that’s the plan.’ Tugging gently on the reins, he urged the horse into a walk and the cart lurched into movement behind it. Jaki muttered to the horse, which stopped. The old man moved past the animal’s front legs and put a leathery hand on its back leg. Then he reached for the reins and pulled them gently towards him, while pushing on the straining muscle. The horse whinnied in protest but did as it was told, inching towards the old man. The harness shifted, but eventually the cart rolled to the left.
Comprehension dawned on Einar’s face and he took up position behind the cart, yanking to shift it out of the wheel tracks. The rear end swung towards the third pillar. ‘That’s enough,’ he called.
Jaki moved along towards the horse’s head and let go of the reins. ‘Good girl,’ he muttered, ‘good girl.’ His hand went into his pocket and a bright green apple emerged. The horse nudged him; lips peeled back, she went for the treat.
Einar was already at the horse’s side, loosening the straps that held the cart’s shafts in place. ‘Ready,’ he said.
‘Ready,’ Jaki said, reaching for the straps.
The smooth sound of wood on leather as the shafts rose out of their fastenings was joined by the scrape of stone on the cart-bed. A chunk of mountain the size of two full-grown rams tumbled off the cart and hit the ground with a dull thunk, sinking two fingers deep into the ground.
Free of its ballast, the cart rocked wildly on its wheels, then fell jerkily back into place.
Einar stared at the stone. ‘He requested that?’
‘He did,’ Jaki said.
Helga could see Einar thinking, working something out, but then he shook his head as if to get rid of a fly. ‘Is that it?’ he said.
Jaki shook his head. ‘Nope. He wants two seats and a table. Helga, you can sit for this one if you want, and then we’ll all walk back.’
‘Thanks,’ Helga said gratefully, and as Jaki and Einar started debating sizes and angles, she walked over to where they’d left their rations. Hildigunnur had insisted she take a piece of cured deermeat as big as half a fist to gnaw on and right now her stomach was thanking her mother profusely. Since her log had been demolished, she scouted around for something else to sit on and soon found the perfect tree stump with just the right amount of shade. She settled down, smiling at Einar and Jaki. They had the same set of shoulder, the same rolling gait – Einar might not know it yet, but he was turning into his father.
That made her think of her real parents – how one day they’d just been gone. For the first couple of years she’d kept asking Hildigunnur what had happened, but her new foster-mother just got tight-lipped, said that they’d caught ill and had to go. All she’d told Helga was that her father’s name was Finn. She’d remembered their faces for a while, but now she found she struggled to picture anyone who wasn’t Unnthor in her father’s place.
That’s time for you. She reached into her bag. Moping wouldn’t do anyone any good, but food would. The salty, smoky, meaty smell – ‘fee for helping with the guests’, Mother had said – was already making her mouth water. The sky stretched out above her, an infinite blue; the sun warmed her skin just right, and for a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes and just enjoy life.
When she opened her eyes again the old man was right there, somehow, leaning on the fence post by the field gate. In a blink all the advice Hildigunnur had ever dispensed came flooding back to her: make noise; run – and, if necessary, go for the crotch and the throat. For some reason, though, she didn’t feel at all uneasy.
‘Ho there!’ the old man called out.
‘Ho yourself,’ Helga called back. ‘Where are you going, Greybeard?’ She glanced over to Jaki and Einar, just for reassurance, but they must have gone off into the forest somewhere.
‘Oh, just walking,’ he said. There
was a smile in his voice. ‘But I am mighty hungry.’
‘Should have planned ahead and brought a packed lunch,’ Helga shouted back.
‘Didn’t plan on walking this far,’ the old man said.
Something in her softened. ‘Come on then. I’ve a bite to share with you.’
The old man dropped his head respectfully, and Helga got a good look at him as he shuffled towards her, leaning on a thick walking staff. A piece of cloth was strung over his head, doubtless to keep the sun off. His clothes looked grey and faded, and his thick woollen coat dragged on the grass.
‘No wonder you’re needing feeding, Granddad – you’re dressed for winter. You’ll cook yourself weak in all those clothes.’ She laughed as he drew closer.
‘You’re not wrong,’ he said. Despite his frail appearance, his voice was surprisingly strong. ‘I go through some cold places on occasion, and sometimes I forget to dress for summer.’
Helga smiled. ‘So: what are you selling?’
The old man’s eyes twinkled at her. ‘Oh, this and that. Mostly to bored farm wives, and you don’t look like one of them.’
‘Not yet,’ Helga said.
‘Not ever,’ the old man said. ‘You might be a farm wife at some point in your future, but I doubt that you’ll ever be bored.’
Without thinking, Helga stood up from her comfortable place and offered the old man a seat. ‘What makes you say that?’ she said.
‘Oh, the set of your jaw, I reckon,’ the old man said, leaning on his staff to lower himself down to the tree stump. ‘And you’ve got a spark in your eyes as well.’ He looked her up and down once more. ‘Am I wrong?’ he said.
Helga found herself compelled to look at her shoes. ‘I don’t know,’ she muttered. A flash of annoyance struck her and she looked the old man straight in the eyes. ‘And how should I when I’ve not been there yet?’
The old man grinned, teeth pointing this way and that. ‘Good answer!’ he said. ‘Woe betide the thick-necked farmboy who ever tries to tame you.’
Helga snorted. ‘I’d like to see ’em try.’ She tore off a chunk of her meat. ‘Take this for your prophecies,’ she said.
The old man’s bony fingers closed delicately on the chunk and he lifted it gently towards his mouth. He bit down and chewed slowly, savouring the taste. ‘This is delicious,’ he said finally. ‘Fit for a king. You are a generous host, Helga Finnsdottir.’
She frowned and blinked. Something strange had just happened, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Had she told him her name? ‘What did you just say?’
‘I said you were a generous host.’
It scrabbled at her mind, but darted out of sight when she reached for it. The sun felt hotter, and she found herself wishing that she had a cloth like the old man’s.
‘That’s – it’s nothing, I guess,’ she said. ‘You’re welcome. I live down at—’
‘Riverside,’ the old man said. ‘I know. And I would love to stay and talk, but I’ve got places to go. Take this as a token of my appreciation,’ he added, rising quickly from the stump. Helga blinked. For a moment he’d looked downright sprightly, but the man in front of her was just as old and frail as the one who’d sat down. There was one thing different: in his bony hand was a small black stone, shimmering in the sunlight, suspended from a thin leather thong.
‘What’s this?’ she said.
‘Who knows?’ the old man said. ‘Maybe it is your future.’ The tiniest twist of his fingers and the stone spun in his hand. Dark lines formed and disappeared.
‘Is it a rune?’ Helga said.
The old man smiled. ‘It is. You don’t know how to read them yet, do you?’
Helga frowned, feeling drowsy and dim at the same time. ‘No,’ she admitted.
The old man leaned in towards her. She could see his bony hand on her arm, but it felt oddly warm and solid. Then his arms were around her, behind her head, fastening the necklace. It felt light against her skin, but she had no time to think because suddenly the voice was in her ear, whispering,
The Rune of Nauth.
Wants, wishes and needs.
—and the old man seemed to be both in front of her and behind her at the same time. She blinked, shook her head to clear it – and there was nothing.
In the distance, the old man was waving at her from the field gate. ‘Goodbye! And thank you for the food!’ he shouted.
Helga stared at him as he shuffled away. Suddenly dizzy, she sat down on the stump, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, but the gate was just that – a gate. The old man had already disappeared around the bend and Einar and Jaki were back, standing over the log and arguing over measurements . . .
She’d just closed her eyes for a moment. She’d not seen him arrive. She’d not seen him leave.
She must have dreamed it.
‘Stupid girl,’ she muttered, ‘falling asleep in the field. Be thankful Mother didn’t find you.’ She reached for her bag, but when she pulled out her lunch, she froze. Someone had clearly ripped a chunk off it.
‘Bloody mice,’ she muttered. ‘Mice.’ With quick, nervous fingers she ripped off a sliver of meat and shoved it in her mouth. ‘This is delicious,’ she said. ‘Fit for a king.’ Something about the words annoyed her immensely. ‘Get to work,’ she snapped at herself. ‘Get to bloody work.’
She stood up and stomped over to the men, but her first words were drowned in the sound of Einar’s axe biting into the wood. They both glanced at her, but then turned to focus on their work. Neither of them appeared to have noticed her visitor, and if they had, they clearly weren’t in the least interested in talking about him. It felt a lot less important now, anyway. She touched her rune-stone for assurance. A gift from her parents, someone had said, but she couldn’t remember who. It probably didn’t matter anyway.
Chapter 6
Contest
Bjorn rolled his shoulders and looked at the pile of stones by his feet. He reached down, picked one up and weighed it in his hand. Glancing over at the three boulders, each placed by the base of a wooden pillar, and the targeting ranges complete with low barriers to mark distance, he frowned. ‘Is this field smaller than it used to be?’
‘I think it’s your arse that’s got bigger,’ Karl said, leaning on the gate in a studied show of boredom.
‘Save your breath for the challenges, ball-sacks,’ Jorunn said. ‘You’re going down.’
The brothers both laughed. ‘And who’s going to win? You? The squirt?’ Karl hooked his thumb down the path, where Aslak tried in vain to guide his children in a straight line towards the gate.
‘Sigmar will also take part,’ Jorunn announced.
‘Pff—’
Karl glared at Bjorn. ‘Shut up. He’s family.’
‘Thanks to you,’ Bjorn said. He glanced at Jorunn, but their sister didn’t speak. ‘And so what? I’ll have him at stones any day.’ He looked towards the wooden pillars.
‘Maybe you will,’ Jorunn said, ‘but there’s more than one event.’
‘So why don’t we make it interesting?’ Karl said, pushing off the fence and closing the distance to his siblings.
‘What do you mean?’ Bjorn said, eyeing his brother.
‘What I said: we need to make this interesting. The one who wins the most events—’ Karl reached for the purse tied to his belt.
‘—gets to order the others about,’ Jorunn finished. ‘For a day.’
‘About what?’ Aslak said behind her. ‘What did I miss?’
Karl reluctantly let go of his purse. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Just don’t run off crying to Mother when I tell you to fetch my food like a common slave.’ He walked off towards the throwing range.
‘It’s almost comforting to see that after all this time he’s still exactly the sam
e arsehole,’ Aslak said.
Bjorn chortled. ‘You’re not wrong there. Some things do not change.’
Jorunn watched Karl as he stopped by where the hand-axes were lying, picked one up and hurled it with force at the target. The blade thwacked into the wooden plate, three fingerbreadths off-centre. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think our loving brother may be getting worse in his old age. Something is seriously bothering him: he was about to try to take us for money.’
Aslak raised one eyebrow. ‘Hm. Cocky bastard,’ he said.
Bjorn rolled his neck. ‘I’m glad we kept money out of it,’ he said. ‘If – no, when – I win, I will take great pleasure in having Grumpy-tits over there call me your Majesty for a whole day.’
Jorunn nodded. ‘Good. Although you’re not going to win, obviously—’
‘Oho! Says who?’
‘—you’re clearly too old and fat for that—’
Bjorn stared wide-eyed at his sister, then glanced at Aslak. ‘Do you hear the mouth on ’er?’
‘—but if you defeat Karl in anything you do, we’re fine.’
Bjorn leaned over to his younger brother. ‘Never listen to a woman’s advice,’ he whispered loudly. ‘Sometimes they don’t have your best interests at heart.’
Aslak glanced at Jorunn. ‘You’re right,’ he mock-whispered back, ‘it’s probably best to let Karl win. I think that will turn out well for us.’
Jorunn cracked a smile and patted Aslak’s head. ‘You’re a smart-arse, little brother,’ she said, ‘but we’ll let you live.’ She thought for a second, then added, ‘Well, for now.’
*
The muscles in Helga’s arms were taut with tension; the sacks she was carrying were really heavy – but Hildigunnur was walking beside her, carrying twice the amount with no complaint. The line of people walking from Riverside stretched out in front of them, with Volund ahead of her, tagging after Gytha. The little ones had run back to their mother and ahead of the three of them were Agla and Thyri, whispering conspiratorially together. Jaki stood by the cart next to the gate up ahead that marked the entrance to the games field. Einar was standing beside his father, and Sigmar was not far from them. The siblings were already in the field, and as she watched them, Helga saw Karl grab a hand-axe and throw it at a target. Moments later Jorunn patted Aslak’s head, but whatever she was saying to her brother got interrupted by a sharp, clear ringing sound: Unnthor, standing up in the middle of the field, was ringing a large metal bell he’d produced from somewhere. ‘Get a move on!’ he shouted. ‘It’s time for all of you to get beaten by your betters!’
Kin (Helga Finnsdottir) Page 6
