Thorfinn and the Witch's Curse

by Jay Veloso Batista

  “How do we know that there is game here?” Hamdir asked.

  Goorm answered, “There’s game, saw tracks the first day.”

  “The bog is swampy and only partially frozen beyond,” Karl waved at the thicket behind them. “Take care as you enter the marsh—MacDonnell warned me of its treachery. Stay on the hummocks, stick to game paths and you should be fine. Go around open water.”

  “Let’s go,” Havar grinned. “With luck, we will be sharing venison in MacDonnell’s warm hall by evening!”

  As Jormander and Erik began to tie the rope to prepare their crude snare, Karl and Goorm turned and retraced their steps to the east, back to the edge of the forest. Ducking down, they crawled through the thicket as they had two days previously, climbing out on the edge of the peat bog. The stench was no better, the mist burning off in the morning sun. Carefully following game pressed grass path through the mire, they moved forward gingerly, checking each step before putting their weight down. Clumps of reeds and dead, dried thistle lined the way, green and slippery with slime. Standing water pooled, rimmed with ice and floating brown leaves, reflected the clear sky in sparkles and unexpected glints, forcing the two men to squint as they marched silently. Birdsong and the squish of their boots in the spongy turf made the only sounds. Karl kept his eye on the sun as it crept toward its zenith.

  “This is a good place to part company,” he pointed to the east where the trees grew thicker as the land lifted in elevation. “Goorm, you work this wood, and take care to drive the beasts back to the center.” He shaded his eyes with his hand, “I will cut straight across here, until I am nearly out of sight.” Goorm held up two fingers to pause Karl, and then pointed out into the swamp—there, partially hidden in the grass and scrub stood a buck with twelve pronged antlers, less than a bow shot away, watching the men. Karl nodded and indicated with a hand sign that he intended to circle behind the animal, and Goorm should stay in his position. Goorm held up one finger, then shrugged and held up two more…. They nodded in mutual understanding: A buck that size would have does nearby. Goorm slowly pulled his axe from his belt while Karl bent lower to hide in the brush and began to circle to the north, deeper into the bog.

  In his attempt to move quietly through the difficult terrain, his stooped, half-crawl smeared mud and slime from his boots to his belt as Karl worked his way through the swamp around the deer. The sharp, stagnant smell clogged his nose. Weeds with sharp edges sliced his hands and cheeks as he pushed through them. Tendrils of mist wafted around his path. No longer able to see the buck, he reached a spot he felt passed the game, with Goorm to his left and the breach in the thicket straight ahead to the south. The sun reached toward its apex. Pulling himself up onto a relatively dry hummock, he crouched by a swath of winter blanched cattails, reeds and a tangle of last season’s morning glory vines. He didn’t have long to wait…

  To his right he heard a man hoot, then Goorm gave a shout to his left. Leaping to his feet, he saw the buck and three does bolt in his direction, to head deeper into the bog. Waving his arms, he shouted, turning the deer south. On his right he heard Sven and Hamdir calling, and faintly he heard Havar start to sing. “Hey, hey!” Goorm came splashing towards the deer, clumsy in the swamp muck waving his big axe over his head. White tails high, the deer zig-zagged away, the buck confused and seeking a way around the men. Karl shouted and clapped his hands. Splashing through the puddles in his drive, Karl noted other movement to the west—he could see Sven, mud splattered and laughing as he stumbled in pursuit, and before him the brush shaking, glimpses of white-tailed haunches leaping over the hummocks.

  Karl shouted and hooted as he chased the deer across the bog. The big buck cut to the left, outpacing Goorm and leapt through the willows and brush to escape into the trees, but Goorm dashed ahead to cut off the three does, who hesitated momentarily, circled in confusion, and hearing Karl’s approach, turned again to the south. Making as much noise as it is possible for five men to make, the hunters drove the deer towards the break in the thicket and their waiting ambush. The animals, familiar with the swampy land, quickly rushed ahead, diving pell-mell into the scrub, reeds and tall grasses.

  Sven joined Karl first, smiling like a child and out of breath from slogging through the mud. Both could see Goorm closing in from the left and Hamdir approaching from the right, and they could hear Havar, still singing off tune at the top of his lungs. All of their boots caked and heavy with muck, Sven had mud smeared on his face and in his hair. Behind them they left new courses trampled through the swamp and vegetation, tracks filling with water like tiny canals traced through the landscape. They could see the fallen tree and they corrected their course to head for it.

  Ahead, the hart had reached the breach in the thicket and sensing a trap, two larger does turned back to charge Karl and Sven, mad with fear. The men shouted at the crazed beasts, waved their hands and Karl drew his sword and swung as they passed, a wide miss as the animal dodged out of his reach and dashed into the brush.

  “Well, I hope those weren’t the only ones!” Hamdir called. Havar strode into view and waved. They pressed forward and joined up a ship’s length from the break in the thicket. Havar swaggered up, took one look at his mates and started to laugh—infectious, everyone joined in the mirth, clapping each other on the shoulders and backs, each covered in mud and slime, Goorm the least splattered while Sven almost unrecognizably covered with grimy sludge. Linked arm in arms, they marched straight through the remaining bog and climbed over the fallen tree into their own trap.

  Carcasses sprouting arrows lay tangled in the ropes, Erik standing among them with his blade unsheathed. Jormander waved from up the hillside by another fallen doe. Ver smiled at the muddy faces as they appeared, climbing over the dead tree fall. The smell of blood hung in the air.

  “Ho, what a sight!” Ver laughed.

  “And…what a smell!” Erik pinched his nose dramatically.

  “How did we do?” Goorm asked as he scrambled over the brush.

  “Two got away,” Ver admitted. “We captured two in the ropes and I tagged a third as it jumped over—it took another three arrows to bring it down. See there, Jormander has finished it off.”

  “The first two were easy,” Erik crossed to Karl and Havar. “They came through the breach one at a time, and we pulled up the rope and tripped them. Old eagle eye Vermund put a few darts in their hearts.”

  “Then three came at once,” Ver continued, “That one up the hill is the only one I hit. Slowed it down. The smell of blood must have spooked them. I heard more on the other side of the thicket, but no more jumped into our trap.”

  “Three?” Sven laughed. “That’s fantastic!”

  “Fresh meat tonight,” Erik held a small slice he had cut from one of the bodies, and he carried it to his falcon, hooded and impatient on a branch in the thicket—the deer weren’t the only ones to smell blood on the air.

  Jormander came down the hill, the carcass over his shoulder, arrows still stuck in its side.

  “Careful with my fletches,” Ver jumped to help him lay the animal down with the others.

  “Captain,” Erik pointed at the mud covering his companions, “You’re all too dirty to handle venison. Let us gut them. You go back to the bog and try to wash some of that odor off….”

  “Don’t like our new smell?” Sven laughed and tried to grab Erik, who nimbly jumped aside. “We brought it just for you!” Flushed with excitement from the chase and delirious with the results, the crewmen laughed in unison. Karl called for his men and climbed back over the deadfall, looking for a deeper pool where they could wash. To the west a wide gully seemed fairly clean, and they waded through the icy sludge at its edges into the deeper water. Bitter cold but clear and fresh, they splashed and dipped until most of the muddy slime rinsed away. The afternoon had warmed enough that the air felt good after the chilly water, and while not able to get fully cleaned, they scraped most of the mud from their clothes. Karl told Goorm and Sven to head back
to the camp and build a roaring fire for drying. Hamdir followed them back over the fallen tree.

  Havar quietly looked to the north. “Are you ready?” Karl asked, standing on the upended stump.

  “Wait,” he answered. He lifted his arm. “There. Do you see what I see?”

  Standing above Havar on the back of the fallen tree, Karl looked where he pointed. He had a good view and could see quite a distance…across the swamp in the same direction that he and Goorm had seen a slight trail of smoke two days ago, there stood a large hummock with two shaggy pines on its apex. Under the trees, Karl could see the unmistakable shape of a big, broad shouldered man. Beside him stood big, black dogs.

  “I see him.”

  “I came from over there, I passed that place. That man there, he is as big as me. Maybe bigger.”

  “You think?” Karl asked, squinting and shading his eyes to gain a better view.

  “Could be a giant,” Havar mumbled. “Those dogs at his side…Those are too big to be dogs. I think…”

  Havar looked at Karl.

  “I think those are wolves.”

  Yeru

  “This is not what we need now!”

  Yeru scowled at Mae and Tima. “They’ll be here any minute!” Mae hung her head and Tima shrugged. Yeru turned, the hall decked in spruce boughs, the pine scent mingling with the odor of roast lamb, aromatic herbs and the sharp tang of cheeses from the neighboring farms arrayed on trays. The two large chairs at the head of the table draped in furs as she specified, with smaller stools to each side, one each for Gurid and Inga, and benches for the children. Agne set his chest to the right of his seat, and at Gurid’s insistence, left to go bathe in the ramshackle tub the men had rigged in the barn. Gurid dressed behind the curtain with Willa and her girls, and Yeru could hear their soft voices and giggles.

  “What do you mean, he’s sick?” Yeru frowned at Mae. “Sorven is to keep young Heigl amused, and Thorfinn is to watch over Gisle, keep her entertained and out from under foot.” Untying her apron strings, Yeru waved her apron like a flag. “Well…?”

  “He’s a bed with fever,” Mae glanced up at her angry mother. “He has been flushed since the night we moved the boys to the shed. Now, he says he’s weak, and won’t get out of bed….”

  “Oh, roots of Ygdrasil!” She exclaimed. “It’s time I get ready! Gurid expects me to declaim at the banquet tonight and I need to prepare my thoughts. Must I do everything?”

  “What if he’s catching?” Mae asked.

  “Catching?” Yeru snapped, “Catching? Odin preserve me!” She stomped her foot. “Tima, go get the bread and set it at each right hand, then go get Gyn and Mog to carry in the ale casks and the drinking bowls. Mae, you go lay out my linen gown, the one with the violets embroidered around the neck, and get dressed yourself, pin your hair back where it won’t fall in your face!” She balled up her apron and pressed it into her daughter’s hands. “Take this and put it away. I will get that boy out of bed!” And she huffed as she marched out of the hall.

  They put the boys in the pit house on the far side of the barn, near the stockade wall. Inside the barn she heard men cavorting—she could hear water splashing and laughter. That’s right, she thought, that’s right, leave it all to old Yeru! Nothing will go right if I don’t own it! She rounded the building corner and spied that ragged raven perched on the shed roof. She clapped her hands and clucked her tongue, but it only stared at her with a single black eye and stretched a wing, fanning its feathers and flicking them at her. She hissed at it. Reaching the door to the small outlying building, she hesitated, hearing the boys arguing inside. Thorfinn’s voice sounded upset.

  “…I saw it, I’m telling you. We should tell father. Cub, didn’t you…”

  “There was nothing there,” Cub interrupted. “Don’t go to father. Leave it alone, Finn. It was a trick of the setting sun, or a shadow or something, that’s all. I didn’t see nothing.”

  “No, you saw it, I saw it, too. It was a ghost! It was touching Sorven,” Finn sounded close to tears.

  Sorven mumbled something hard to hear. Ghost? she thought, what nonsense is this? Puffing up her chest, Yeru slid the door latch and burst into the small room.

  “What is going on here?” She began, “What are you boys up to? And what’s this nonsense that Sorven is hiding in bed?” Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a smoky brazier in the middle of the room adding heat and a confusing haze. Cub leaned against a rough-hewn table, beside him little Finn, eyes red and face streaked from tears. And in the back corner against the slat wall a bundle of sleeping mat and tangled blankets, that must be Sorven. She stepped directly to the pile of bedding and reached down to pull Sorven out by his ear. To her surprise, Sorven didn’t attempt escape, only held up his pale face. His eyes seemed swollen unnaturally and his cheeks sunken.

  “By Frigg’s hands!” She felt the boy’s forehead, “Ochs! You are burning with fever.” When had she last seen him, a day past? Had this sickness moved that quickly? She turned to the brothers, “Tell me, you two, how did he come to be this way?” Cub coughed quietly, and Finn started to whimper.

  “I got a cut, here…” Sorven croaked from his bed and held up his hand, his palm swollen, his flesh gray around the wound.

  “Gods, child, did you clean that?” Sorven pulled his hand back into the bedding. This is no faked attempt to skip banquet duties, she realized and softened her tone, “It’s all right, little Sorling boy, I’ll be back to clean that wound and bring you some food.

  “You two,” she turned on Cub and Finn, “You go in the barn and clean up with the men. Cub, in addition to welcoming the witnesses, now that Sorven’s sick you will take responsibility for the boy Heigl. Play Hnefetafl, King and attacker, or any board game he likes. Finn, you are to sit with the girl as I told you.” She put her hands on her hips and commanded, “Finn, wipe that look off your face, like you’re about to cry. All will be fine. Yeru will take care of it. Not a word of this to your father and mother. I will tell them. Later. After Tormod and family are happy in their beds. For now, I will explain that Sorven is feeling poorly and cannot attend.” She wiped her brow. The boys stood staring at her.

  “Did you hear me?” Cub and Finn nodded. “Ok, then get to the barn and clean up, there is no time to waste. They will be here any minute!” The boys dashed out of the shed and out of sight.

  She bent to place her cool hands against Sorven’s cheeks and forehead. The poor thing, she thought, he looks like he is wasting away, and so quickly. He seemed fine only a day past. I pray to the gods this isn’t catching. She wrapped Sorven tighter in the blankets, cracked the shutters a bit to clear the haze from the air, and quietly closed the door behind her. Rushing back to the hall, Yeru grabbed a bowl of the watery ale, the bucket of fresh well water, some lye soap which she tucked in an apron pocket and a handful of bread dipped in some gravy and carried it back to where Sorven lay. She helped him sit up and drink some liquid, placing the bread within reach. Gently, she took his wounded hand and tipping the bucket to stick his hand under the water, washed it with the soap. With the damp rag she washed his face and neck, blowing on him to cool his fever. She assured him she would send his brothers to check on him during the evening’s festivities. “Is your belly sore? No, then you need to drink all of this, you are sweating too much and need to drink. Eat this bread if you can...” Sorven mumbled and sipped from the bowl, leaning against the wall.

  “We will check on you, little one,” she slipped quietly back to her duties, closing the shed door behind her and tossing the dirty water into the yard.

  Back in the great hall, she checked the girls followed her instructions, the table set with fresh bread and bowls filled to the brim with sea salt every few places, a subtle sign of wealth and accomplishment. They even had peppercorns to serve with the pork roast, Mog had traded for them with a sailor in Jorvik market. Sad there are no flowers, she thought, not right for a betrothal dinner. She bustled into her sleeping alcove, wiggling out
of her brown homespun dress, Mae drawing the curtain closed and turning to help her disrobe. Having no mirrors, they relied on each other to prepare their hair and inspect their faces. Yeru pinched Mae’s cheeks to make them pink and re-tied her hair with a thong, teasing a single handful of hair from the clasp.

  “Hold still girl,” Working deftly, she wove a thin braid and tied its end with a single red glass bead, allowing it to dangle by Mae’s ear like an ornament. Using a bucket of cold water, Yeru ran a wet rag under her arms and under her breasts, holding her arms up to dry as Mae rubbed some rose scented oil into her hair and down her back. Mae held the white linen dress over Yeru’s head and pulled it down over her ample shape, twisting and tugging to straighten it on her mother’s form. Taking an indigo dyed scarf, she wrapped her hair, around and around, until Mae tied the ends in place. They looked closely at each other’s face, looking for stray hairs or dirt. Mae dressed in sky blue, the gown a bit faded, the hem now clearly showing her ankles and the amount she grew since since they originally sewed it. Pretty girl, it certainly brings out the blue in her eyes, thought Yeru and she gave her a little embrace.

  Mae drew back the curtain and stepped into the hall. Gurid, already there, fussed over Hilda’s tangled locks, her towhead a mass of untamable curls. Tima held the cooing baby in her arms. From outside, someone raised a call…the guards spotted Tormod’s entourage down the lane.

  “Not a moment to rest,” Yeru sighed and gathered the wraps from the wall pegs to help Gurid and the girls get ready to meet their guests. She swaddled the babe as Tima held her, then wrapped Gurid’s fox and ermine wrap around her shoulders as Gurid lifted little Neeta from Tima. Pulling a woolen hat over Hilda’s head, she poked the little girl’s arms in an overcoat, quickly tying a bow to close it. Willa and Kara stepped from behind their curtain, Willa resplendent in a pale green gown gathered under her bosom and hair combed down to her waist. A leather clasp pulled Kara’s auburn hair back, and, as advised, not too plain yet not too fancy, she dressed in a high chested bodice of worked leather over a simple blouse and a brown homespun skirt. Yeru carried each a fur wrap, buckling Willa in a plush black bear fur with a silver clasp and a stiffer brown deerskin cape for her younger sister. As the girls made their way to the yard, Yeru grabbed her woolen wrap from the wall peg and slipped each foot into her wooden clogs, rushing out to line up with the family. Cub and Finn came from the barn with the men, hair damp and clothes straightened. She took a deep breath.