Thorfinn and the Witch's Curse

by Jay Veloso Batista

  Karl pursed his lips. He didn’t trust Baenoth and his ilk, but it seemed they had chased them off. “The sun is still high. Let’s follow this path west and see if we find wolves.”

  Weapons in hand, the warriors followed the path along the brush that lined the edge of the bog, occasionally stooping to check tracks in the path, or at a clearing, pausing to gaze out over the puddles and hillocks that dotted the marsh. The air smelled of the miasma, a scent of rotted wood and dank loam. Mud splashed on their boots and leather leggings. They marched until the trees fell far behind, their tops disappearing from view.

  Nothing, not a mark or a sign.

  They found deer spoor and a few fox prints. Nothing else.

  Karl turned his men back to the village. Once they reached the tree line, he double timed their march to return before dusk. The gate stood open, although Ingulf and Lars relieved Thorvald and Gudrun as guards. As they entered, the men grabbed the heavy cross bar and slid it into place to lock the gate shut for the night. Jormander called everyone to head to the docks—they could smell Marn’s cooking on the evening air.

  MacDonnell waited for Karl. “Did you find Baenoth or his wolves?”

  “Nay, there was no sign. As if they fled...” Karl frowned. “I don’t trust it.”

  “Ah, spoken like a man made battle wise.” The elder placed a hand on Karl’s forearm. “There is no trusting that beast-man. These walls you have set for us, they will mean little if those from the bog return in force. We have three able bodied men, none of which are true fighters, and the rest are old men and women, or children too young to fight. We have no riches to hire warriors to guard as you do….”

  “MacDonnell, when we were in need you took us in,” Karl led the stooped man down the alley to the square, his rug draped over his shoulders. Down by the wharf, his men laughed at some jest, hoots and guffaws and noisy mirth. “The storm that grounded us for this season, we were many mouths to feed.”

  “Aye, many mouths.”

  “This place is encircled now, it is a fortress worthy of a thane.” The old man nodded in agreement. “Yet, I warrant what you say is true, should Baenoth and his clan come seeking blood, they will be hard to stop with your few men and boys.”

  Karl hesitated, for his plan to visit his brother, to convince his nephew young Agne to join his crew—most likely, convince Blue Eyes his sister-in law, to let the boy go!—and return North to adventuring where Tanglehair would welcome his mercenaries’ return with gold and gifts, this plan did not include extra stops. The old man looked at him with rheumy, bloodshot eyes. Karl glanced around at their palisade and the children playing by the shallow wellhead. He made his decision.

  “Rest easy, old Mac, we shall not abandon you, you who have treated us so well these many winter months. We shall draw lots and leave three of my seasoned warriors to guard this place. In the south I shall recruit a handful to replace them, stout men and women of honor who will stand and protect your people. We shall return by midsummer and relieve our watch. This I, Karl, son of Alf Ironfist, promise you.”

  Yeru

  “That boy scares me, I swear it,” Tima whispered hoarsely.

  “I reckon no good will come of him, hmm, hmm,” Ursep nodded in agreement, humming tunelessly to herself after speaking. Ursep usually mumbled or hummed to herself, more so when anxious, sometimes, like now, annoying Yeru.

  “Hush,” Yeru hoisted the pile of wooden platters, her eyes on the boy sitting on the stoop with his younger sister. Even this early in the day, he looked tired, his eyes sunken in his face. “Just hush, we got work to do.”

  “Now, you listen, Yeru. There’s no denying something’s odd…”

  “Something changed in that boy,” Ursep copied Tima’s serious demeanor, earnestly shaking a finger at Yeru. Hum, hum.

  “It’s not just that shock of white hair…”

  “Or that dirty bird he lets live on his shoulder, hmm…”

  “Frigg, it seems to follow him everywhere now, doesn’t it?”

  “And what of that bit of broken sax that he tucks in his belt and carries about all the time?” hum, hum?

  “I tell you, Yeru, what is really frightening are the strange apparitions,” she shivered as she recalled, “…doors swinging open for no reason, benches rocking as if a ghost joined the table or turning about to find a mug or a platter moved while you weren’t watching, not at all where you left it....”

  “No, not at all where you left it!” She added an extra-long “Hummm…” to emphasize Tima’s point. “I am glad you kept the boys sleeping in the shed…”

  It is unnerving, Yeru admitted to herself. And the things he knows, secrets shared in confidence that Finn now seemed to know without a doubt. She set her burden on the table.

  “Remember when he was born? We were midwives to Gurid, and I swear to you, he was born with the caul. You were there, you know the truth of it.” Ursep gasped in surprise. Everyone knew that evil omen, born with a hood of afterbirth wrapped over one’s head.

  “Born with a caul,” Tima repeated, nodding sagely. “Thor’s hammer, we should have known something like this would come of that birth….”

  “Aye, we should have known.” Hum, hum.

  Yeru grumbled at them, “Leave off, you two. Here we are entering Einmanudur, the sixth and last month of this mild Winter, one moon from Harpa and Willa’s wedding. We have so much to do, and now you bring me this foolishness.”

  “It’s a distraction, I warrant.” Hum…?

  “I think,” Tima cleared her throat, “I think…he’s haunted.”

  “What do you mean?” Ursep leaned closer.

  “I think he’s haunted…by a vardoger.”

  Yeru sucked in her breath, “Don’t be spreading gossip…”

  “Truly, a forerunner, here?” Hum?

  “It’s an evil, I am the first to say, but think on it,” she hissed confidentially, “it does make sense of all the facts. Little Hildie swears Finn visits her when we know he is asleep outside with his brothers; doors and shutters open of their own accord; I have seen that very bench move as if sat upon, and Gurid swears she feels him in the room with us. Feels him, she says. There is no denying it, we have a forerunner ghost….”

  “A vardoger…” with a long, drawn out hum, Ursep glanced at Finn playing in the courtyard, the hall doors propped open to clear the air.

  “Now Tima, you keep your crazy guesses to yourself. No gossiping, especially when we have so much to prepare for the wedding,” Yeru warned her. “And that goes double for you, Ursep. Keep your ‘uhm’ thoughts to yourselves, keep your heads down and keep busy. Gods, we have more than enough without wasting our time with this nonsense. Understand?” Tima frowned while Ursep hung her head. Yeru pulled the stack of plates off the table and rested them on a hip, waddling carefully to the door where she intended for Mae to scrape them clean with sand and rinse them in well water. She carefully stepped around Finn and Hildie, scattering their dice and feeding the raven strips of dried meat and crushed chestnut hearts. The bird hopped out of her path.

  “Mae,” she called for her daughter who hung damp laundry on the barn. She had kept her on a tight leash since she had caught her slipping off with Ned. Mae came running. “These platters need scraped and cleaned.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Mae contritely answered, cowed around her elders, keeping to her chores and attempting to be helpful. Her mother knew the threat to tell Agne about her indiscretion and the idea of losing a dowry and the chance for a better life would frighten Mae into obedience. Yeru tipped her head back, pleased with the change in her daughter’s attitude and attentiveness. But, she added to herself, there’s no taking the change of heart for granted, better keep an eye on my young missy at every turn. No letting that silly girl out of my sight… “When you are done with these, bring them back inside and lay them out on the table to dry, then see me. We have a midday meal to prepare.” Mae struggled to take the load of platters from her Mother and quickly set them down
at the side of the well.

  Yeru turned back to the hall, surprised to find Gurid quietly standing behind her, watching the children play in the gravel. Yeru clapped her hands to shake off any dirt from the wooden plates and rubbed them on her apron. Gurid gave her a weak smile—her eyes looked dark, like she had not been sleeping well. Her normally lustrous hair looked unkept, sticking out from under her cap, loose and uneven.

  “Cousin.”

  Yeru knit her brows, concerned, and thought, she only calls me that when she is nostalgic or emotional.

  “Cousin Yeru, please set aside your chores for a bit and come with me. We need to talk.”

  Yeru hurried to follow Gurid through the long house. Gurid ushered Yeru into the private room where she slept with Agne, offering her a three-legged stool by the shuttered window. Agne waited for them in the dim light, filling the corner with his broad frame.

  “Cousin Yeru,” he surprised her—Agne never called her cousin. His face appeared care worn. “I asked Gurid to bring you to me. No doubt you have noticed that Thorfinn is…” he paused, swallowed hard and rubbed his beard. “Well, Thorfinn is not the same as he was, he’s not quite sick, but he seems…”

  “Oh, cousin,” Gurid started to weep, her shoulders shuddering as she tried to hold back tears. “There’s something wrong with him, something different….”

  Yeru stared at the floor and slowly nodded while Agne continued.

  “Of course, when his hair lost its color, we worried he had taken ill, but then he seemed…well, fine. His normal self. He plays like a child, he helps with the household, he practices with his brothers, he seems himself….

  “But, these past few weeks, my men have come to me. One by one they are stepping forward, warning me. Gaute says the horses fear Finn now, the horses! As crazy as that sounds, the horses afraid of a small boy. They fight and bolt to escape when he enters the barn and they won’t let him ride—Wierflyer broke his stall to keep away from him. Kicked and bucked as if terrified. Mog tells me Finn knows things. Mog tells me ‘the boy knew of that brawl last week in Fishergate.’ How would a boy know of happenings late at night and miles away in Jorvik? Two boats of east men arrived and contested the last berth at the wharf, and three hot heads were killed before all was put down. We don’t talk of such things here in my home, yet Finn recounted the story to Mog as if he had been a witness…” He sighed and dropped his hands to his lap, his shoulders slumped forward. “I overheard that hired boy Dundle speaking with our neighbors. I heard they think we are harboring some sort of cursed child, some evil. Even Ned seems to think the boy knows his secrets, although he won’t tell me more, only gets red-faced and stutters and stomps off with that hang dog look he has had for the past month.” Yeru kept her eyes on the floor.

  “Sorven won’t sleep with him anymore,” Gurid choked out between whimpers. “He demands we let him sleep in the men’s lodge. His own brother says he won’t sleep with him! Can’t sleep with him! Finn talks in his sleep and moves and kicks, and, oh, I don’t know what…”

  “Sorven,” Agne stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “is afraid of Finn’s dreams.”

  “And what of Cub? What does his older brother think?”

  “Cub protects his little brother, he says he is fine and it’s only Sorven’s imagination.” Gurid sniffed. “I know something is wrong with Thorfinn, I feel him at night watching over me, and Hilda says he visits her late at night, like a ghost.”

  Agne chose to ignore these comments. “Now, I don’t mind a boy having a pet, every boy should keep an animal—teaches them a farmer’s discipline—but that old raven, even if it were truly Odin’s memory ‘Munin,’ it would still make the clan uncomfortable how familiar Finn has grown to it. It follows him everywhere, it’s uncanny.”

  “Oh sister,” Gurid reached over to grasp Yeru’s hand, “what have you heard?”

  “Mostly gossip, mistress,” Yeru mumbled. “Nothing to worry over…”

  “Yeru, I know some are superstitious, but we can ill afford for gossip to spread. Especially if it is spreading beyond our people and the boundaries of our lands.”

  “We have Willa’s wedding to think of…” Gurid wiped her eyes. “What if Tormod gets a hint of this and asks for the bride price to be returned?”

  “Ha!” Agne scoffed, “Espen is smitten with the girl, he cares not for gossip about a child. I doubt Tormod will jeopardize our alliance, although, we don’t need complications from a word of foolishness getting to Tormod or his clan--that may force us into price negotiations once more. It’s time for us to face facts—Finn is sick, and we must take action to heal him.” Agne softened his tone, “Yeru, we trust you. Tell us what you believe, cousin. We know you are versed in the ways of the old gods, we called you here to seek your counsel.” Agne spoke firmly and held her eyes, Gurid still holding her hand.

  Yeru pulled her hand free, straightened her apron, then spoke in a clear voice, regarding Agne and gauging his reaction carefully. “I too have come to believe that Finn has changed. I believe all you have told, and more. Frankly, I know more of Finn’s odd behavior from my own experience. But he is a good lad and not an evil child. I believe this ‘curse’ can be lifted, it can be cured. We can make this right.” Yeru looked from Agne to Gurid and back.

  “I suspect that young Thorfinn is haunted …haunted by a vardoger,” Yeru said. Gurid looked confused, but Agne set his jaw and nodded. “A forerunner ghost haunts Finn.”

  “A forerunner?” Gurid sniffed.

  “A vardoger, you say…how do we deal with this vardoger?” Agne asked, “Do we trap it and kill it?”

  “I am no expert in these mysteries. I don’t know the best way to deal with a vardoger, but I know one who does.” Yeru leaned closer to Agne, “One Silverhair the Seer. She knows the Aesir and Asynjur, the ways of the Vanir and even old Celtic words of power. She will divine the truth of this haunting. We can have Mog fetch her from Fishergate.”

  Agne stroked his beard and looked at Gurid, “Yes, I hear truth in your words, cousin. A forerunner, yes, that explains a lot. We will call the seer, and you shall steward her. You shall keep her inquiry a secret from the family. Let’s work quietly and destroy this vardoger and put things right with our son.”

  It took a few days to arrange the seer’s visit, and more than a few coins to convince her the need was real.

  Wrapped in a blanket by the longhouse door, Yeru watched as they rode through the gate, Ruinda Silverhair on the back of Whitenose, clasped tight to Mog’s woolen overcoat. Yeru had known Silverhair the Seer since she was a girl and knew her history well: For more than six decades Ruinda had lived in Jorvik, careful with her skills, careful who she helped and careful in futures foretold, careful in her word and deed.

  Mog reined in his mount, hopped down and helped the woman climb to the ground.

  “Ruinda,” Yeru embraced her guest. “Been a few years, hasn’t it?”

  “Too many. I see they’ve been kind to you, Yeru.” Ruinda looked her up and down, “Seems you’ve not missed too many meals.”

  Yeru chuckled, “And you’re a bit more bent, I see. Still carrying the weight of the world, eh? It’s a curse to know everyone’s destiny.”

  Ruinda smiled and patted Yeru’s arm in a familiar way. “How’s that daughter of yours? Old enough to turn a few boys’ heads, I’d wager.”

  “An age of troubles, that’s for sure!”

  “I remember her mother at that age. The boys outdid themselves to be noticed,” Ruinda gave her a penetrating look. “I believe trouble is inherited.”

  “Aye, they all be sniffing round, like hounds at the scent!” They chuckled at their memories. Mog doffed his cap and led the horse to the barn where Gaute stood ready to help him, both of them glancing cautiously at their guest.

  “Help me in, old friend, and warm me by your hearth.”

  Yeru swung the door wide. Ruinda teetered in, leaning heavily on her cane and stepping carefully over the jam, a homespun bag cinched tig
ht and slung over her humped back. Steamy warm, the hall smelled of roast venison and porridge. All eyes turned to watch as they entered, and Gurid and Agne crossed the hall to greet them, Gurid with her youngest asleep in her arms.

  “Welcome, Ruinda,” Agne enveloped the sage in a hug, relieved she had finally arrived. “We are truly glad you can join us.”

  Gurid stood behind him with a weak smile, “Yes, welcome.”

  “Was your journey…?” Agne seemed at a loss for words.

  “All is well, Agne Alfenson, just a bit saddle worn.” She glanced from face to face, “Not that it was far, but it is unusual for me to travel anywhere these days.”

  “Of course, of course. We will seat you here,” Agne waved to Tima, indicating where he wanted her, “Here, by the fire where you can warm your bones while we prepare a meal.”

  “Nothing heavy,” Ruinda cautioned. “I need less than a bird these days.” With a hand on Agne’s offered arm, she tottered slowly to a spot where the bench pulled close to the open fire. Gurid hung back, swaying and rocking little Neeta. Tima set a wooden platter with meat sliced sliver thin and a few spoonfuls of grainy porridge on the side, bowed and slipped away to her spinning wheel across the hall. Agne straddled the bench and leaned on the table next to the old woman.

  “We are glad you have joined us,” he leaned closer, confidentially, “Things grow worse with each passing day. On Tyr’s day my old friend Hrald the Miller refused to enter our gate. Seems he had heard of the forerunner curse and didn’t want to tempt fate.” Agne dropped his head and stared at the table top, “The story spreads, and grows more ridiculous with each telling…and this morning Err rode to tell us that the word of this vardoger curse has reached that fool Olaf, and so frightened was he, the untrustworthy scoundrel has decided to break our agreement to apprentice the boy.” Yeru watched him ball his fists tight as he mentioned the gossip. “At least Err swore to stand by us, an ally to my household, but you know people, always looking for a fault.”