Erling was furious with Ulvig and threatened to bring suit at the next Thing, but she told him to wait and see what harm had been done; and, God help us, in time it became plain that Halla was with child. I thought no good could come of such a conception, but the lass was happy; and what could I have done anyway? I made Erling promise to let me christen it in its birth hour though.
"Why did she do it?" he asked me in private.
"I'm not free to answer that," I said.
"Then just tell me if I'm wrong. Does she think I'll marry her if she has my child?"
I said nothing.
"I see. I never knew she took it so much to heart. I must think on this."
The rains came and washed away the snow, and then it snowed again, and then the rains returned. We had thunderstorms in February, which is a pleasureless thing. I took a wild guess on when Lent should begin, and proclaimed the fast.
In mid-March the thralls began carrying manure out of the byres in baskets on their backs to spread on the fields with seaweed. And in April the cranes and wild geese came back, and the heathens made sacrifices in secret places, and the thralls put on wooden clogs and began spading late in April (or early in Cuckoo Month, by the Norse reckoning), and then I had my hands full setting up the freedom plan. Those thralls who had no crafts got plots of land to work, and there was a lot of grumbling and comparing, and I had to knock a few heads together before everybody was happy.
A ship sailed in one day from Hordaland with a summons from Olmod and the Horder lords for Erling to meet them and discuss Olaf Trygvesson. He sailed off in Fishhawk, leaving a strong guard (strengthened by conscripted bonders) under Eystein, and plenty of watchmen along the coast. Along with Erling went Halvard Thorfinsson, to be dropped off near his home and join the feud. No one saw Sigrid weep, but she went about with reddened eyes. I said a special mass before they left, but Erling and I did not bid each other goodbye.
The following day one of the thralls came to me and said, "I can't work that plot you set me on."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing wrong with the land. The land's fine. But a man can't go out in the countryside these evenings. The troll'll get him."
"Troll? What troll?"
"Haven't you heard? He's been seen by many after dark. Sometimes skulking around Ulvig's house; sometimes out in the fields or the hills. I can't go out and work that land in the evenings with him around. What use is freedom when you're eaten by a troll? And if it's not the troll, it's the underground-woman."
My ears pricked up. "You've seen an elf-woman?"
"You mustn't use that word. They don't like it. I haven't seen her myself, no. But she's been seen. And there's nothing more dangerous than an underground-woman. I'd rather face a troll than an underground-woman."
"What does she look like?"
"What do you expect? She's beautiful. She'show do you sayripe. A man looks at her and hears her voice, and he forgets who he is. The next thing he knows it's forty years later, and he thinks it's been but a night, and he's shaking all over and his hair's white."
I said, "I'll tell you what. You get some sticks and carve yourself a crucifix. Then come to me and I'll bless it, and that should protect you from trolls and . . . undergrounders."
"Will it really, Father?"
"Without a doubt."
It was worth a try. I went to the hall for supper mulling over the fact that someone else had seen my elf-woman. This was good from the standpoint that I might not be mad; it was bad from the standpoint that she might really be around, and would have to be dealt with. I had no illusions regarding my strength in spirit. I believed in God again, but I did not love Him, and if He'd done things through me it was only for want of a proper tool.
And there was a part of me that thought, "It might be worth forty years and white hair to put hands on that creature."
I crossed myself and said the Pater Noster.
The mood in the hall was cheerless, as most of the bodyguard would have liked to have gone with Erling, and the bonders wanted to be home for planting. This was worsened by the knowledge that there would be red meat to eat in Hordaland and most of their homes, while we made do with fish because of Lent. Lent was my fault, and some of them let me know it.
"The trouble with your god, god-man," said Bergthor, "is that he acts like any other king. He comes along and does something that he says is for you, and you're expected to thank him for it and pay him back for it, even though you never asked for it in the first place. I'd just as soon face the Devil myself, man to man, and make a fight of it without any meddling from priests or kings."
"It would be no fair fight," said I. "The powers that oppose us are not so great as God, but you and I are less than fleas in their sight."
"Well, size and strength aren't everything," Bergthor replied. "A man can kill a bear or an aurochs because he's smarter than they."
"Devils are also smarter than we."
"I don't believe it."
"It's true," said another man further down the bench. "I know a thing that happenedit happened to a man I knewwell, I didn't actually know him, but my cousin knew him. He lived up on Kormt Island, and was a fisherman."
"Not a fishing story!" said Bergthor.
"It proves how much shrewder the spirits are than we. This fisherman went out in his boat one day and set his lines, and when he tried to pull one line up, he felt a heavy weight at the end. He thought he'd caught a fine big fish, but when he pulled it up, what did he see but a man's face! He pulled further, and saw he'd caught a merman. Of course he knew that a merman can tell you anything you want to know, so he caught him fast and bound him with the fishing line. `Now, tell me how I can be sure I'll always make good catches,' he told the merman, but the merman wouldn't answer. So he rowed home as fast as he could and carried the creature, struggling, on shore.
"As he climbed up from the strand his young wife came down from the house to greet him, and she said, `What have you caught, husband?' and he said, `I've caught a merman, and I'll force him to tell me how to make good catches, and we'll be wealthy folk,' and his wife kissed him and made much of him. The farmer liked this, and when his dog came up and began jumping about them he kicked the beast so it ran away howling.
"And the merman laughed.
"As they made their way to their house, the husband carrying the merman, he had trouble watching his step because his prisoner struggled so, and he tripped over a tussock of earth and almost lost his grip.
" `Curse you, you stupid tussock!' he cried. `I don't know why a thing like you was put there to trip up honest men!'
"And the merman laughed.
"When the fisherman got home, he set the merman in a corner of his house and told him, `There you'll sit, my good fellow, and neither food nor drink will you get until you answer me every question I wish to ask you.' But the merman said nothing.
"A little later the fisherman's thrall came in, and the fisherman told him he needed him to make him a new pair of boots. `And do it right this time,' he said. `The last pair you made had soles much too thin. I don't want these wearing out in a season, like the last pair.'
"And the merman laughed.
"The merman said not a word for a full week. At the end of that time, he said to the fisherman, `Row me out to the spot where you caught me, set me free, and I'll squat on your oarblade and tell you all you wish to know.'
"The fisherman knew the merman would not lie, so he carried him down to the boat and rowed out to the very spot where he'd caught him, and cut the cords that bound him. The merman leaped out onto the oarblade and squatted there, saying, `Ask now.'
"The farmer said, `How can I be always sure to catch all the fish I want?'
"The merman said, `Use a three-barbed hook, forged from new iron and tempered in blood. Bait one barb with fish, one with pork, and the third with human flesh. Use a fishing line made of a man's gut, and you will always catch all you can row off with.'
" `Good. Now explain to me. Why did you laugh when I kissed my wife and kicked my dog?'
" `Because you're a fool. Your dog loves you, and would die for you, while your wife hates you and has a lover, and wishes you were dead.'
" `And why did you laugh when I cursed the tussock?'
" `Because you're a fool. There's a Viking treasure buried under that tussock, and it's destined for you. You cursed your own fortune.'
" `And why did you laugh when I told my thrall I wanted thick soles on my boots?'
" `Because you're a fool. Those boots will last you the rest of your life.' And with that the merman leaped off the oar and down into the sea, and was seen no more.
"Well, the farmer rowed home as fast as he could, and ran and got a spade, and he dug up that tussock, and there was a heavy chest buried there, just as the merman had said. He carried it home, and his wife said, `What's this, husband?' and the fisherman said, `This is our fortune, my dear,' and they broke it open and it was filled with gold and silver. And the fisherman was so happy he forgot all the rest the merman had told him, and he and his wife drank and were merry till early morning.
"And when he had passed out drunk, his wife stole away to her lover's house and she said, `The old man has found a treasure, and no one knows it but I and you. Let's kill him now, and flee with the money.'
"They crept up to the house, and as they came near the fisherman's dog began to bark, and the lover killed him with his axe. And at the sound of the barking the fisherman awoke, but was too drunk to get out of bed, and the last thing he ever saw was his wife's lover coming towards him with his bloody axe.
"And they buried him in his new boots.
"So you see, it's no use thinking we're smarter than the devils. They always laugh last."
"That's an uncheery story," said Bergthor.
As we sat thinking about it, Ulvig came down the hearthway.
"You are all prisoners," she said. She said it to all of us but her eye was on me.
"What rot is this?" demanded Eystein.
"The kinsmen of Soti have come for revenge. There are more than a hundred of them, and those not stronger than he are greater magicians than he. We have the wardens, we have the balefires, we have the thralls, we have the children, we have the armory."
"Codswallop," said Eystein. "No hundred men could come on Sola unseen."
"Soti's kinsmen can. They can cross new snow without leaving a mark. They can steal upon a rabbit in broad daylight and seize it with their hands. When you think you see them, it's only the shadow of a cloud, or a wolf prowling. When you see them not, then they are surely there."
"Why do you come to us like this," I asked, "instead of just firing the hall?"
"We want only one man's deathyours, god-man. But your death is not enough. You will sacrifice to the old gods first."
"Never," said I.
"We have Steinbjorg. We can cut her child from her belly and offer it."
I reeled. Eystein said to me, "Don't listen to her. We'll fight our way out and kill these heathen."
"Not before the woman and child die," said Ulvig.
"I'll sacrifice," I said.
"It's not worth itnot for a thrall!" said Eystein.
"Before God she's my wife, and the child is my flesh!" I said.
"Let's be clear," said Ulvig. "Let's see that all is understood. Your holy ones who died in Romaborg, they let their wives and children be tortured and killed rather than sacrifice to other gods, did they not?"
"Aye," said I.
"But you will sacrifice to save your woman and child?"
"I will."
"And your god will surely send you to Hel for it?"
"Without a doubt."
She beamed at me. "Good. Very, very good. All you men, and you women too, leave the weapons behind and follow us."
She led the way out into the night. Enough, God. You've asked of me all I can give. There is an end to endurance. I said to Ulvig, "Do I have your sworn word you'll spare Steinbjorg and the child, and kill none but me?"
"Unless they threaten us, all may live."
I knew she'd keep her word. I'd have done this for Maeve, given the chance. At least I could do it for Steinbjorg and the babe. Then to Hell with me. What did I matter anyway?
The men who ringed the hall bore torches, and some of them were tall and broad, like Soti, dressed all in furs, and others were small and dark, with odd tasseled caps and shoes whose toes curled up. The big ones carried spears and shields, and the small ones had bows and arrows.
Ulvig led the way, never looking back, sure of her power. We took a path I knew well. It led to the Melhaugs.
We had a full moon for it. We could make out Big and Little Melhaug far offjust humps of earth, grown with heather. The same good earth that feeds us, and will cover us someday, only this earth was not good. Drums were beating, a rhythm like the thumping of a coward's heart.
As we drew near, someone lit a fire near the bigger mound, and I saw what looked like a huge, long-legged insect rise up in its light. I had a brief terror that I'd be fed to this thing like a fly to a spider; then I saw that it was a platform, twenty feet high, and the small men from the north were raising it on six poles and lashing its supports tight. And they had built an altar of stones nearby.
They ranged us, men and women, in a wide circle about the mound and the platform, and Soti's kin stood armed behind us. Ulvig took a place near the fire, and this is what she said:
"This night belongs to Frey, and to Freya his sister. On this night the gods say to us, `Men, be as we are.' The laws were made by the gods for men to obey, and it is good that we should submit to them; but the laws do not apply to the gods. The gods are in the earth, and the earth is cruel, miring men in bogs, breaking them in rockslides, bringing forth poisonous plants. The gods are in the air, and the air is cruel, bearing sicknesses, sending hails and snows and lightnings. The gods are in the water, and the water is cruel, withholding its fish when men starve, and drowning them far from home. The gods may lie, as Tyr lied to Fenris. The gods may murder in secret, as indeed they do each day. The gods may couple, parent with child and brother with sister, as Frey and Freya do.
"The gods will be with us tonight. What does it mean when the gods are with us?"
Soti's kin cried out together, "ALL IS PERMITTED!"
I shuddered. Bergthor, beside me, said, "I'd heard of it, but I'd never seen it. This wasn't our custom here, even under Skjalg. In the old days yes, but it'd gone out of use before my father was born."
"What are you talking about?"
"The great summer sacrifice."
The little men from the north piped on pipes in time with the drums, and Ulvig began a dance around the fire, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She wore a heavy black robe with fur trim I'd never seen on her before, and soon her face glowed with sweat and her eyes glowed with joy. There was a kettle cooking over the fire, and one of the little men brought her a dipper of whatever was in it, and when she'd had it she cast off her headcloth and let her long red hair fly free, and it spun out a rain that looked like blood in the firelight.
And then a man came from somewhere, and I'd have sworn it was Soti if Soti weren't dead, but I couldn't see his face as he wore a woolen mask, and on his head was a ridiculous bronze helmet with horns, and he too wore black, and they danced together in the moonlight, and the dance was shameful.
And the little men piped and drummed, and they sang a song in a strange tongue, and danced in place with small steps.
And one of them brought the dipper to me, and I saw and smelled that it was some kind of meat stew, and I thought of Erling's martyred priest as I drank it.
Then Ulvig staggered to the platform, and she began to climb, unsteady as if drunk. When she had gone up a few feet, she stopped and cried, "I see all the Northland! Everywhere the gods walk unseen, and they mark who keep the sacrifices, and who have set them aside for the White Christ. And they send pestilence and bad seasons and unpeace to their enemies!"
She climbed a little further and cried, "I see all the world! The gods are everywherecalled by other names, but remembered, and honored, and fed. I say to you, men of Jaeder, the great world is not Christian as you think! Our gods are mighty, and they remember their friends!"
And she climbed yet again, and came at last to the top, and she stood on the swaying platform and spread her arms in the moonlight and shouted, "I see the heavens and the nine worlds! I see Asgard, where faithful warriors go when they die, and there they battle by day, and at night their wounds are healed, and they feast on pork and drink sweet mead, and listen to brave songs, and lie with the fairest virgins! But the followers of the White Christ go down to Hel, and there the trencher is called Hunger and the knife Famine, and they lie down at night on a bed called Sickness."
And the little men piped and drummed, and sang their song, and there was a company of folk dancing in the firelight, men and women.
Ulvig cried, "Bring now the god's gifts!" And there were brought a ram, and a boar, and a hound, and a stallion, and last of all Freydis Sotisdatter, wrapped in a white bearskin and carried on a pallet, seeming half asleep. They laid the child on the altar.
And the beasts began to roar and bay and rear and kick, so that those who led them had to hold tight to the ropes. And then I saw what had panicked them, for dancing with the dancers was my elf-woman.
"As was done with me, and with my mother, so it will be with my daughter!" cried Ulvig. "She is twelve summers old, and she will be made one with Freya by coupling with a thrall, and a ram, and a boar, and a hound, and a stallion, and so she will be mother and wife to all things in the earth! Then the thrall, and the ram, and the boar, and the hound, and the stallion will be sacrificed! Bring the thrall!"
Then came the elf-woman, smooth as water, to take my hand and lead me forward.
And as she came to me, soft and silken and rosy and filling my nostrils with a scent like flowers and rain and moldy wheat, I thought, What could be more right? The horse is happy because he's a horse, and does not try to be an angel, and he runs and he eats and rolls in the grass and he fornicates with any mare who'll have him. He is not good or evilhe's just a horse. But a man chokes his head with a thousand puzzles of right and wrong, and for all his trouble he never feels right. Except for these heathensthey're happy, like beasts. They don't wage war on the world they live in. Why have I wasted all these years wrestling myself? I could be happy right now, this moment . . .
And God help me, I went willingly. I'd forgotten right and wrong like a tale heard years since, and a dull one. I think not one man of Erling's knew shame at that moment, or would have done otherwise.
I've never been so ready. I was ready as any beast who smells the female in heat. The hand of the elf-woman felt hot on my arm. I almost ran to the altar where Freydis lay, fumbling to pull my robe up. My own sacrifice meant nothing to me if only I could plant my sacred seed.
And then Halla was before me, and I swear I didn't recognize her at first as she screamed in my face, "NO! THIS IS EVIL!" and struck me.
And I blinked, and suddenly I knew her, and I remembered who I was, and I looked at Freydis and saw a little girl with tears on her cheeks. And I shouted, "NO!"
The elf-woman clutched at Halla, and Halla slapped her face. The elf-woman swung her arm, and Halla flew ten feet backward, landing against a man of the bodyguard and bowling him over.
Then the music faltered, and everyone looked up, and we saw the platform sway, and under was Lemming, lifting one of its legs, every sinew straining, and we watched in silence as the whole structure toppled, and Ulvig fell with it, screaming, to land in a heap that did not move.
And I turned and tore an axe from the hand of one of Soti's kinsmen, too stunned to resist me, and I brained him with it. And Lemming killed another with his bare hands, and then Erling's men came to their senses and followed our lead. Then there was bloody work, and many dead on both sides, but the heart was out of our enemies, and we slew every last one we found. If any of the little men got away we could not know.
But before it was over I found Halla lying in the grass, and I held her in my arms and asked her if she was all right, and she wept and said, "Father, I think I'm losing the baby."
I sat crouched in the furrows of my patch, weeping over my lost children. As my sobs died, stifled in mere exhaustion, I looked up and saw the abbot there again, leaning on his stick.
"Gone are they, all your pretties?" he asked. "You've found the work harder than you expected? Your strong arm and your clever brain aren't quite up to the work?"
"No man could save my crop," I sobbed. "The ravens are too many, and too strong; and the crop so precious . . . I can't bear to plant another."
"Are you ready to pay the toll then?"
"My head? What good would that do, you bloodthirsty bastard?"
"And is it thus you speak to your betters who mean naught but your welfare?" His face twisted in anger and he raised his stick to strike me. I awaited the blow unmoving; I was past caring. The moment hung suspended like a water drop at an icicle's tip, but the smiting never came. At last I looked up to see him standing above me, stick hanging from his hand, face turned to the sky. He seemed to listen to words I could not hear. At last he shook his head, crossed himself, and lowered his gaze to me.
"Very well then," he said. "My advice to you, and it is the advice of a man both old and wise, is to dig."
"Wait a moment," said I. "What's happened now? Who spoke to you? Did they tell you not to beat me?"
"You ask too many questions."
" 'Twas Himself, wasn't it? He took my side! He took my side and you've not the guts to tell me!" It was as if a small, pale light had been struck in my heart. Much as I'd pitied myself through the years, and deeply as I'd felt my grievances, I'd never before been able to believe that God might truly side with me even once.
"What of it?" the abbot cried. "A blind hog finds an acorn now and again, and even such as you can't be wrong all the time. It doesn't change the fact that I'm your superior, and your digging remains to be done!"
He was right of course. A just God would not punish me more than I deserved, but my deserving was plenty enough. "Dig, you say?" I asked.
"Dig. Take your spade and dig. There is a treasure hidden in the field. Dig and find."
I stood and picked up the spade. "Where shall I dig?" I asked.
"Where you stand will do as well as anywhere."
I set my foot to the spade, dug it in and levered up a bladeful of stony earth, then another. "How deep do I dig?" I asked.
"As deep as necessary."
I dug and dug, until I had dug myself down waist-deep. "I'm not finding anything," I complained.
"Then I suppose you must not have dug far enough."
I dug and dug until my head was below ground, and yet I found nothing. I asked no more questions, but kept digging. With each spadeful I had farther to pitch the dirt over my head and out of the hole; often the clods and stones came back down on me. But I dug on. My hands grew blistered, my arms and legs cramped and aching, but on I dug.
I looked up at last, forced by weariness to rest myself. The sky was a small blue eye looking back at me, the abbot's head its pupil.
"Find anything?" he asked.
"Nothing," I panted.
"Then carry on."
Stifling a curse I stamped the spade once more into the earth, put all my weight on it, and with a sudden shudder and uprush of air the ground beneath me gave way, and I fell for the time it takes to pray three Pater Nosters (and believe me, I prayed them) before I came down with a splash into water.
I plunged deep and came up again floundering, gasping for air. I swam for shore, dragged myself onto sand, and looked about me.
It was Jaeder again; I stood on the sands of Sola Bay. I was puzzled for a moment, but one never troubles much over such things in a dream. The light might have been stronger than a real Jaeder day, the colors somewhat brighter; otherwise the only difference from the land I knew was the presence of one huge fir tree on Sola's high ground. "I'll go see this marvel," I said, and took the path to the farm.
I stopped outside the steading to stare. The farmstead was deserted. No warrior, free man or woman or thrall was there, no pig, no horse, no hound. In the center of the steading the fir tree grew, its boughs filling the yard.
"There's a hawk's nest at the top of the tree," said a voice behind me, and I turned to see the abbot.
"Is there indeed?"
"In the nest is an egg of gold. Inside the egg is a hawk who can protect your crop from the ravens. But you must find the hardest thing in the world to break the egg, else the hawk can never come forth."
"It's a very tall tree," I observed, cocking my eye at the top.
"Better get started then."
So I pushed my way in among the fir boughs, rough and resinous and cool in the shade, and set my foot on one of the lowest limbs, and began to make my way up, scaling as if on a ladder. It was easy climbing, but it never seemed to come to an end. Climbing inside the tree, as it were, behind the sun-loving needles, I couldn't well make out how far I'd come. Hourseven daysmight have passed; the light never seemed to change. Only very gradually did the limbs grow smaller and shorter, and a moment came when my head emerged into the sunlight. The day seemed no further advanced than when I'd started. So either I hadn't climbed near as long as I'd thought, or I'd climbed a full day. Or two or more.
I turned my gaze upward, and now I could see the nest above me, still a long way up, where the tree seemed dangerously narrow and whippy. But I climbed on, and the further I climbed the further the crown bowed out under me, so that we were bent almost flush with the horizon when at last I reached the hawk's nest.
And there, just hanging under the nest's brim, was my golden egg. I took it in my hand with a shout, and as I shouted I lost my grip and fell toward the earth.
I fell in a strange calm. If I'm to break the egg, I thought to myself, I might as well fall on top of it; perhaps one of the stones on the ground will do the job.
And then I struck the ground, face down. I felt nothing, but knew my body had been shattered. I heard the abbot's voice above me. "A bad fall," he said. "Very poorly done." I felt his hand on my shoulder as he turned me over.
"The egg," I croaked when I could see his face. "Did it break?"
For an answer he held the thing up, shining and unmarred.
"You've got to heed the instructions," he said. "Only the hardest thing in the world may break this egg."
"What's harder than this cruel northern land?"
"Your heart, of course." And he reached his hand into my crushed chest and drew forth my living heart. Only it didn't look like a heart, it was only a rounded gray stone, like thousands you could find along the sea strand.
He took my stony heart and struck the egg with it, and the shell shattered like a sunburst, and a beautiful white hawk with red wings shot forth and soared into the bright bosom of the sky.
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |