On Saturday morning we pulled our throbbing heads out of our beds, or whatever place we'd collapsed in, at Sola or Somme, got some ale inside us to dull the pain, and donned our best togs for the wedding. The day did its duty by bringing out its Sunday weather. The only ill omen I saw was Lemming, watching us motionless as a carrion bird from the roof peak where Enda's gallows was. Erling and his bullyboys and I, singing, trooped down to Somme, where we found Astrid waiting in her veil and bride's crown, and Olaf placed her hand in Erling's.
"With this my sister's hand I make you a jarl, Erling Skjalgsson," said Olaf, "and I make you my man to guard and husband the land of Norway from the mouth of the Sognefjord south to Lindesness."
Everyone gasped, for this was fully half the west coast south of the Trondelag. North of the Trondelag was hardly considered, except for hunting and fishing.
"I thank you with all my heart, and pledge to you my loyalty to the death," said Erling. "But I cannot accept the jarldom."
Everyone stood stock-still. Olaf's face went pale and he clenched his fists. "You despise the honor I offer?"
"Never," said Erling. "I decline with sorrow only. I have promised this as a peace offering to your uncles, the Erikssons."
Olaf turned to Sigurd. "What means this?"
"It is as he says," said Sigurd. "If he remains a hersir he throws no shadow on our house, and it is his mansbot for the death of Aki."
"You made this arrangement behind my back?"
"It was the will of the family."
"So what will I do for a jarl? Shall my sister be wed to a mere hersir?"
"I would have no objection," said Erling, "to being made the highest of that title in the land."
"And so much for my well-planned organization! Well, it seems I've no power in this. Be a hersir then, Erling, and wed my sister and steer all the land I named. It seems the king's will counts for little enough when the lords put their heads together."
"Say not so," said Erling.
And the procession moved back to Sola and to the church, where the Bishop waited outside for us. The vows would be made there, and we would all go inside for the wedding mass after.
Halla moved to my side as we made our way along the road, looking splendid in flower garlands and an overdress of green Chinese silk, though her rich hair had been veiled by the married woman's head cloth.
"You've changed, Father," she said when we'd greeted one another. "Forgive me for saying so, but you used to walk like a thrall, and you never met my eyes when we talked. Now you hold yourself like a jarl, and look me fair in the face. Do you love weddings so much?"
"I'll tell you about it later, daughter," I promised.
We were gathered in the yard before the church and Bishop Sigurd was just saying, "Dearly beloved," when a pile of leaves and dirt I hadn't noticed by the church door stirred of a sudden and rose to become a great, ragged, leathery thing in the shape of a man. With a roar it reached out a long arm and grabbed Astrid, slung her over its shoulder, and ran. It had an uneven, shambling gait, but it was not slow.
The thing had happened so fast, and was so unthinkable, that none of us, even Erling, had time to react. The man-thing was heading towards the gate, Astrid screaming, and although some of the men further back had the presence of mind to pursue, they hadn't the speed to catch the pair.
The creature was well ahead of them going out the gate, and then we could see, sprinting across the home-field and going fast enough to cut off its escape, a man with a sword.
The man was Lemming, and the sword, unless I was much mistaken, was Smith's-Bane, the blade of Thorolf Skjalg, which no one had seen since the night Erling laid the walker-again.
Lemming leaped the wall into the lane and stood full in the thing's path, sword in both hands and cocked over his shoulder.
The thing drew up sharply, looked forward at Lemming and back at the crowd of us coming at it. After a second it turned and came back our way. It was more afraid of Lemming than five hundred men, almost as if it had been
"Soti!" someone shouted. "Soti's walker-again!"
"No!" I said. "Walking in the daylight? It can't be"
And then the thing was among us, throwing men left and right, pushing through the crush of us, one free arm dealing thunder and broken bones left and right.
If we'd had our weapons we'd have been able to hurt it, but we were bare-handed all, and though we crowded round we were afraid to strike it even with our hands because of Astrid. At last it stood in a cleared space in our midst, roaring and baring its ragged teeth, one broad arm around the woman's throat, the threat in its single eye plain.
Then it spoke. "Erling Skjalgsson!" it cried hoarsely, and it was Soti's voice.
"Give me my bride," said Erling, pushing near. "Give me my bride and be gone from here."
"Give me my wife!" said Soti. His eye was large and yellow in his blackened face. "Give my wife back to me!"
"Your wife is dead, and justly so."
"Your bride will die, and justly so!" He flexed his arm, and Astrid cried out.
Then Lemming pushed his way through the press, and stood facing Soti with Smith's-Bane raised.
"I'll kill her!" cried Soti.
Lemming laughed.
"Spare her," said Erling, "and I'll give you anything you ask!"
"Revenge!" roared Soti.
"Take my life then," said Erling.
"Come!" said Soti, beckoning with his free hand.
"Let her go first."
"No!"
"How can I trust you?"
Soti rumbled a laugh.
"Very well," said Erling. "Lemming, put down the sword."
Lemming shook his head.
"Lemming, as you love Freydis, I ask it."
Lemming bared his teeth, but laid the sword on the ground.
Erling walked to Soti, and Soti put a big hand around Erling's neck. Soti smiled broadly, a terrible, lipless smile like a skull's, and as he did so Olaf Trygvesson, who had worked his way behind him, swung a huge fist at his temple.
The blow rang like a whip crack. It would have dropped another man, but Soti only reeled a moment, and in that moment Erling seized Astrid and swung her out of harm's way. A hundred hands reached to Soti, but he swept them aside with a roar and pushed his way through the crowd toward the hall. When he got there he swung himself up onto the roof slope, ignoring clutching hands, and began to climb the turf up to the peak.
Erling pushed through and grasped the eaves to follow, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned and saw Lemming, whose cave-eyes spoke for him. Erling stepped aside, and Lemming began to climb, the sword Smith's-Bane in his belt.
Soti was on the roof peak now, shouting, "Thor! They say you are dead, but while I live you cannot die! Your hammer killed me not; their torment killed me not; their fire killed me not; I have borne the shock of all the world's weight against me, and still I live, and so I know that you live also! Curse my enemies for me! Let Erling Skjalgsson die as I do, alone, one against many, and let him die at the hands of Christians and kinsmen! Let Olaf Trygvesson die far from home, young, betrayed, his work unfinished, his life unlived, and leave him no son to wear his crown! And Aillil the priestlet him never find the one who is lost to him! Grant me this, great Thor!"
Then Lemming was up in reach of him, and Soti kicked at him, and Lemming caught his foot, and twisted it, and Soti nearly fell and had to jump backwards. Lemming gave a hop and landed on the peak. He drew Smith's-Bane and they stood facing each other high above us, dark as shadows against the bright sky.
Lemming took a step, and Soti stepped back.
"And you, my thrall, who works my forge now and dandles my daughter on your knee, what curse shall I lay on you? I curse you with years of wolf-living in the wilderness!"
Lemming stepped forward, and again Soti moved back.
"I curse you with the hatred and fear of your fellow men. You shall become a thing like mea shadow in the night, a bogey to frighten the children. And when you come forth to stand with men again, you will die in hopeless battle, and you will be a traitor to your lord, standing in the shield wall of those who slew him. A fitting death for a thrall, who has no honor. They call you a free man, but I call you a thrall. Thrall born, thrall living, thrall in death. Not a man, even less than I am a man."
Lemming stepped forward again, and again Soti shrank from him. The crowd of us pushed back towards the rear of the hall, to watch their progress.
Soti looked down on us, and he spat. "I curse you all!" he cried. "And I curse all of Norway! This religion you have taken as a gift from the southern lands will be a sickness in you that saps your strength and withers you! You will see the priests grow fat while you grow thin, and as you work to feed them you'll have smaller and smaller strength to go forth and do deeds as your fathers did. And in the end you'll be little men, unaccounted in the world and feared by none!"
Lemming crowded him, and Soti backed up. He was getting near the gable end.
"I would not see the Norway you will build! The Norway you will build is not fit for a man with ribs and a backbone! Heroes will find no place to dwell therethey'll flit from bog to woodland, pursued by all, and hunted down in the end, and their blood will be lost, and all who remain will be thrall stock, with bowed backs and big feet, who'll kiss the backsides of the priests and say thank you when they're smacked in their ugly faces. You've chosen, Norway, and good luck to your choice, but spare me the sight of it!"
And with a shout of "THOR!" he ran along the roof ridge and sprang into space, spreading his arms like a hawk's wings.
And he flew.
I swear on my mother's bonesI was there and I saw it. Instead of arcing earthward, Soti arced skyward, and as long as his cry to his god lasted, he soared like an eagle, into the sun.
Then his voice died, and he dropped like a stone. We felt the jar of his landing in our footsoles.
He lay where he fell, black blood pooling about him, and we gathered around. Olaf Trygvesson stepped near to him and said, "Was this a living man, or a walker-again?"
No one could say for sure. "Bring me that sword!" Olaf cried.
Lemming was there suddenly, and he gave Smith's-Bane to Olaf.
With a blow, Olaf struck the head off Soti, and laid it at his thigh.
"Every man go and get a stone from the fields," said Olaf. "Heap them on him where he lies until he's covered by a cairn that won't be moved till Judgment Day."
And it was done.
As the men moved out to obey, a wailing was heard from the crowd. For one moment I thought Ulvig must have come back also. But when I turned I saw Bishop Sigurd, in his gorgeous vestments, mouth open and tears streaming down his cheeks.
Title: | The Year of the Warrior |
Author: | Lars Walker |
ISBN: | 0-671-57861-8 |
Copyright: | © 2000 by Lars Walker |
Publisher: | Baen Books |