Thorfinn and the Witch's Curse

by Jay Veloso Batista

  “The Saarlased is a solid sailor and has proven himself many times in battle,” Karl answered, “Tell your people not to worry about him. I vouchsafe for him.”

  “No doubt, no doubt, you vouchsafe for them all.” MacDonnell continued, “I hear late last eve that the big man in his cups, that Goorm fellow, tried to wrestle with your poet. They broke that rack there,” he gestured to the tangle of nets and broken lathing across the square.

  “Ah,” Karl looked past the square to the dock extending into a sloshy, leaden bay. “I suspected something like that.... They are getting bored. The moon has turned. It is Morsugur now.” We should have made for a bigger port, he continued to himself, with more to do, they would have less chance for mischief.

  “Winter idles us all…the time of suckling marrow from the bones has more than one meaning,” the old Scot wiggled under his rug. “Perhaps you could take a few of the most in need of diversion for a hunt…?”

  “Erik’s falcon returns with a few hares,” Karl answered. “We have found no other spoor.”

  “Too close to the coast,” MacDonnell turned and pointed up the hill where the stream trickled into town. “If you head west you should find hart, boar. We could all do with a venison steak to break the dreary routine of fish soup and seedcakes we share.”

  Karl pondered the idea. Yes, after a few weeks snowbound, my more boisterous crew grow anxious for something to break the tedium. MacDonnell is a smart old fellow himself.

  “Erik is already about,” MacDonnell continued. “He left before dawn with his bird. You can see his footprints in the snow there,” and he indicated a line leaving the square to the northwest. MacDonnell’s front door opened, Jormander stepping out accompanied by a blast of warm air from inside. His seal-fur gloves and coat with its carved bone buttons, as well as the rabbit fur cap pulled down over his ears, all gained in trade for nights of story-telling to the locals gathered around MacDonnell’s hearth.

  “Morning, captain.”

  Karl noted his bruised eye but made no comment.

  “Like a lark in the morn ready to sing, I thought I would trek the forest, maybe find Erik and watch his hawk hunt,” Jormander pulled up his collar.

  “You can see his tracks there,” MacDonnell pointed. “head into the hills. To the west are the moors, but to the northwest are the peat bogs—don’t get caught there. Even in daylight, the land is treacherous without a guide, and at night…” He paused. “We don’t go there at night.”

  Karl shook the rug from his lap, “No, Jormander, we’ll go together and hunt. MacDonnell tells me hart abound to the west. Let’s pack enough water and hardtack to last a few days. Go get Havar, Sven, Hamdir, and I will go wake Goorm…I suspect he will be in his usual foul morning mood. We will take Vermund, his bow and quiver. I will put Budli, Lars and Ingulf in charge while we are gone.” He turned to the old man seated next to him. “They are steady sailors, calm in crisis and reliable. I will explain that you hold sway while we are your guests. Need be, they will honor your commands. We will be gone a few days, nothing more,” he said, and pointed at his poet’s head, “Although I may trouble you to borrow a fur cap.”

  Minor disappointment spread through his crew as the selected men quickly gathered supplies and prepared for a few days bivouac. Karl overheard grumbles and assured his men that they would all be taking hunting trips, each in his turn. No one really noticed that this first hunting party collected Karl’s most aggressive warriors including his berserker Goorm, quick to anger over the slightest offense, and Havar, big as a bear. Athletic Sven’s cabin fever affected his bunk mates and it would do him good to work up fatigue through a forced march and rough camp. He also needed to bring along Jormander: too clever for his own good, his boredom often led to baiting his duller companions. A black eye is the least he will earn by taunting his fellows, Karl thought. Too often my old friend prattles on with insults until a big Dane realizes who is the butt of the joke, and then I am pulling a drunken sailor off our poet, dodging angry fists, boots and an occasional flailing blade. Astutely, MacDonnell recognized the situation, they need a diversion from winter doldrums.

  The chilly leaden weather lifted by midmorning, the sky clearing cool blue streaked with high, wispy clouds, the day warming enough to make snow heavy and slushy. Trudging in a line led by Sven, the hunting party waved farewell to the villagers gathered around the well and followed Erik’s clear path up into the hills away from the sea. Stunted pines and brush pressed around them, guiding them to a simple path through the wood. As they walked, the trees, less stunted by constant ocean winds, grew taller and the undergrowth sparser, the pine needle bedding more apparent, peeking through the snow drifts. The village scent of fish and cook fires faded to an odor of spruce and loam. Small birds flitted in the branches over their heads. Practiced hunters, the men fell silent as they hiked.

  Walking until mid-day, they found the forest ended facing a rolling field, the hills humped with heather and drifts of snow. As expected, they met Erik there, swinging his lure and calling his falcon. A successful morning, three hares already dangled from his belt.

  “Hail, Erik,” Sven called.

  The big bird flew to his master’s hand. Erik hooded his hawk and greeted the party, his shirt opened, and his face flushed with exertion.

  “Have you seen deer tracks?” Goorm asked.

  Erik shook his head, “These moors seem to go for miles in all directions save back to the shore.”

  Karl nodded, “MacDonnell said we can find game to the west. Let’s break into pairs and spend the afternoon looking for signs. When we find them, we will set a drive and send them to Vermund, so he can bring down them with his bow.” He broke out the hardtack, tore off some chunks and passed it around. “Jormander and Erik, stay here, set our camp at the edge of this wood and build a fire so we can follow the smoke back.” He pointed at the rabbits on Erik’s belt. “We can eat those tonight when we return.”

  He paired up his party, keeping Goorm with himself, and pointing to the mid-day sun high in the sky, “See the sun? When it reaches this point,” he lowered his arm to indicate the position in the sky, “it’s time to turn back. Listen to me closely. We do not know this country, their words are difficult even when they speak our tongue and stranded as we are until the weather breaks, we don’t need new enemies, so no fights. If you see a party of strangers, head back here and report. We are looking for game signs, spoor, tracks. Everyone understand?” Chewing their dry cake, the men nodded.

  Goorm and Karl turned to the north and walked along the pine forest, treading with care and watching the ground for tracks. They quickly lost sight of the other pairs in the dips and hillocks. Despite the cold air, the sun warmed them. Karl took off his borrowed hat and tucked it in his belt.

  A good hunt companion, Goorm tread quietly, observant and surprisingly agile despite his great size. He spoke in hoarse whispers.

  “Look at this, Cap,” Goorm squatted by a shallow, muddy puddle, a clear print pressed in the mud. “That’s wolf.” Karl looked closely. Only a single print, no tracks led away from the spot.

  “Probably went to the trees,” Goorm peered into the thicket under the black pine boles. “Don’t see nothing…”

  Karl surveyed the area. A light breeze rustled the pine branches. Ahead, the brush and grasses parted in a narrow game path.

  “Let’s move on.” He motioned Goorm to follow.

  For most of their afternoon the path coursed up and down the moors and rolling hills, but late in the day the hills flattened and trended downhill. As the sun neared the point of return, the path ducked low under a stand of shrub willows and vines. They pushed through the thicket and found the landscape before them changed, the slope ending in a stand of drowned, rotted trees, and the brush beyond sparse and dotted with pools of icy water. Clumps of cattails and saw grass blocked their view—The forest and the moors ended here, a few stunted trees in the field ahead, most with white trunks and pale dead branches. Snow me
lted away. Karl noted the spongy ground—stepping off the game path, mud sucked at their boots. Mist pooled in low spots and obscured the distance.

  Goorm grumbled, “It smells a death here.”

  Karl assessed the swamp—This is the bog that old Mac warned us to avoid. He lifted his hand, “Look, there.”

  In the distance to the northwest, far off in the bog a thin line of smoke lifted from the horizon.

  “And here,” Goorm pointed to their feet. Along the path were clear game tracks, the pronged impressions of deer and some smaller animal with toes, each filled with water. Their fresh boot marks flooded as they watched.

  “We’ve found our game,” Goorm gazed out into the misty swamp.

  Karl smiled at his big companion.

  “Aye, I think we have.”

  Yeru

  “Sister, we need to plan.”

  Late in the afternoon, the winter sun settled fast and filled the hall with gloom. Mae sat poking the cook fire, stirring the coals under a black cauldron, the smell of roasting lamb and vegetables filling the hall. Gurid pulled Yeru aside into one of the alcoves separated from the great hall by a curtain, the girl’s sleeping room, three pallets rolled against the wall, the slats in the window cracked to let in fresh air, and two small carved wood stools next to her daughters’ clothes chest. Yeru straightened the curtain closed behind them.

  “Soon we will host Tormod, Son of Tormod, his wife Inge, and their son Tormod who they call Espen,” She emphasized the boy’s name, looking directly into Yeru’s eyes. “Espen is of age and has returned from a successful raid south, in Wessex and across the sea in Gaul. He has made a name for himself, brought home fine gifts, enriched his family holdings and will one day inherit his father’s lands, a day’s ride to the northwest of Jorvik. Do you remember? He met our Willa at last mid-summer’s eve fair.”

  “I remember,” Yeru nodded. “Tall young man, good teeth, danced with her… more than once, if I remember correctly.” She closed her eyes and pictured him, standing at the edge of the pasture, a happy laughing smile on his face.

  “Yes, that’s the one.” Gurid leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Willa was in her hand embroidered vest and a short dress with high boots. We had braided her hair with tiny flowers. She looked lovely that day.”

  “That I know only too well. I had to keep my eye on her all afternoon. She was like honey to the bees, the boys swarming around her.” They both giggled.

  “Well, dear heart, Tormod has sent an emissary to Agne, asking for Willa’s hand for Espen! Evidently, he is smitten with her and dedicated his Viking voyage to her name. Who knew, eh? Agne has given it thought and decided that it could be a good match, if the children agree. He told me so last night.”

  “Does Willa know of this proposal?”

  “I have told her Agne has received … inquiries,” Gurid brushed some loose hairs away from her face. “They seemed happy together last summer at the festival. But who knows what children think?” She shrugged. “This is why I need your help,” she confided.

  Yeru gave her an impromptu hug. “Of course, of course, whatever is needed.”

  Gurid explained, “Frankly, this proposed meeting is almost as important as the bride price and the wedding itself. We only have a little time to get everything arranged.”

  “We will need to spread fine meals during the entire visit,” Yeru nodded seriously.

  “Yes, I believe they will stay for a week or a fortnight. We will need to plan at least one banquet, but the small meals will truly tell of our wealth and standing. We can expect Inge to be watching everything we do, she is a bit judgmental. Tormod will bring his other children and at least two men at arms. And his witnesses, of course.”

  “Other children?”

  “There is a boy near Sorven’s age named Heigl, and a daughter Thorfinn’s age named Gisle.”

  “We will be tight for quarters, here in the hall.”

  “I was thinking we would move little Agne, Sorven and Thorfinn to the pit house on the back of the barn, only while Tormod is here. We can give Tormod the boy’s alcove. His men can stay in the men’s dormitory. If it gets too cold in the shed, we can let the boys sleep in the back of the hall or in the men’s dormitory as well, although that would be cramped….”

  “Leave that to me,” Yeru said. “We can get them some heavy blankets and a small brazier for coals to heat the shed—They will be fine next to the barn.” She wrinkled her nose, foreseeing some complaints, especially from Cub who loved his comforts.

  “Baths. We will need to bathe Willa, of course, and we will need to convince Agne to get clean.”

  “Ha! That’s your chore!” Yeru chuckled, “he hates water enough in the warmer months, let alone now in the cold.” The two women sniggered together. “We can bring buckets in from the well and heat the water over the hearth. Do you still have that rose water?”

  “Yes, and better, I saved some lilac, hung to dry and crumbled in a pouch to scent my clothes. We can use that in the bath.”

  “Good. How shall we dress Willa, and just as important, what shall you wear?”

  “I can manage, it’s Willa that’s our concern. She only has the one embroidered vest, and Espen has already seen it—we can use it for one night as a reminder of the first time they met, but we will need a few changes of clothes and…”

  “And a beautiful gown for the main banquet,” Yeru finished.

  “Ah, you know my heart.”

  “I can prepare a gown, using my Mae as a guide,” Yeru raised an eyebrow. “How much time do we have to prepare?”

  “The emissary told Agne Espen pines for Willa. I expect they will arrive in a few days.”

  “What?” Yeru sputtered, “A few days? Doesn’t Agne know we need time to prepare? Men, I swear they never think!”

  “Yes, we are pressed into the corner,” Gurid agreed.

  “Well, no time to waste! First, see if you can get Agne to delay for a week or more. I will get Mae and Tima started on Willa’s attire immediately.” Yeru began to count on her fingers. “As for the meals, I think we were holding back that sow for when the weather breaks, but this is more important. Can you see if we can get a calf from the neighboring farm?”

  Gurid nodded. “Yes, I will get Agne to buy us a calf and we can send the men hunting, they can bring hart and hare and we can set a feast of wild meats and candied roots from our cellar. The turnips and carrots are all still good.”

  “As for the porridge, we have plenty of barley and oats, but we are low on salt…”

  Gurid agreed, “We can send Mog to the Jorvik market to fetch salt and any spices he can find.”

  “Most important, we need to contrive for the children to be alone together—if Espen is already ‘smitten,’ then it is only Willa’s heart that needs moving…”

  “Yes, I have thought of that,” Gurid answered. “Willa does not know her heart.”

  “What maid of sixteen summers does?”

  “We will need to help her by giving her time alone with the boy,” Gurid agreed. “But not too alone…I think that Espen will press his case with her if we give him the space to woo.”

  “If he’s not too shy!” The two giggled together.

  “Ah, there is too much to do!” Yeru shook her head and pulled open the curtains. “No time to waste. I will make a count of our stores and plan the meals, and we shall meet tomorrow to agree on the details.”

  “Ah Yeru, you are better than all Agne’s men at arms, better than a sister and my constant companion,” Gurid sighed and gave her a hug, which Yeru brushed off.

  “Time to get started!” and pushing aside the curtain, she called to Mae and Tima, waving for them to drop their current errands and come to her. There was so much to do!

  Finn

  The wagon came to a fork in the roadway, and Dundle pointed to the narrower, muddy track. Cub steered Whitenose down the path, ducking low branches. The brush on the side of the road scraped the wagon as it trundled past
and the gelding slowed its pace. Birds and squirrels chattered in the trees. Sitting close, Finn noticed that Dundle smelled of curdled milk, and he slipped back into the wagon bed. Sorven hung at Cub’s side, draped precariously over the wheel so he could watch his brother’s face.

  “Do you think the tower still stands?” Cub shrugged. “Do you think we can find the witch’s bones?” Cub snorted at this question, and Sorven continued, “Well, what about treasure? Do you think the witch left treasures?” At the mention of treasure, Dundle sat up straighter and leaned forward to look at the younger boy.

  “What mean you, ‘treasure?’”

  “Well, Granddad got that silver plate that father hangs on the center post behind his chair. Don’t you think there might be more where that came from?”

  “We can look,” Cub answered.

  “Must be a fair cut,” Dundle insisted.

  “If we find any treasure,” Cub clarified, “and I am not sure there is any, but if we do, each will get his fair share.” He shook the reins and prompted the horse forward. The stormy sky and thicker forest darkened the road. Finn watched as the cart rolled past a few solitary houses, small shacks set back in the woods, probably hidden by the leaves in summer but visible now through the twigs and branches. The afternoon grew chilly—he pulled his hat lower over his ears.

  Sorven jumped back to Finn, hung over the back of the wagon to watch the leaves stirred by their passing, pulled on the branches that came within his grasp, and drummed his hands on the side of the cart. Dundle told him to sit still, then he turned and pulled out a small blade that he used to clean horse hooves and offered to teach the younger boys a game. Sorven climbed closer to Dundle and watched him balance the short knife on the back of his hand, flip it and catch it before it fell.

  “Try to not get cut,” he told Sorven. More often than not, the knife fell to clatter on the wagon bed, where Dundle quickly grabbed it. After a few flips, Sorven asked to try, and tossed the blade a few times, never catching it once. Cub called, “Stop fooling around and tell me where to go.” The lane reached another fork.