Thorfinn and the Witch's Curse

by Jay Veloso Batista

  “It took them days to cross the wild lands. Each night Bjorn found shelter, a stand of trees or abandoned hutch, and in each place, he treated Aelflaed with respect, keeping her warm, fed and to her surprise, unmolested. While they rode, Bjorn spoke to her of family, his legacy and his dream of life with her. Aelflaed did not know his words but she listened carefully. At the end of the first day, as he helped her from her mare, she asked his name. He came to understand her meaning and they introduced themselves, Bjorn and Aelflaed. On the second day, she spoke to him, fervently imploring for her safe return, and explaining that she would have value, he could ransom her in Eddisbury, if only they would turn back. But Bjorn knew not her words and weakly smiled as he led her farther east. And so they rode, each speaking in cordial conversation with little meaning exchanged. Bjorn sang for her, his voice strong and clear.

  “On the third morn they passed through a land of cultivated fields, the wheat harvest completed, the hay stacked. The folk there eyed them as they passed, but none stepped forward to stop. Aelflaed called for help but the people stood dumb, her words foreign to them. Bjorn hushed her and hurried along.

  “In the afternoon of the third day, they came across the great army camped at Nottingham, and Bjorn covered the maid’s head with a hood and slipped her through the crowds. Once he found some people known, he left his beauty in care of a camp follower and her women. He tied Aelflaed to a tent pole and paid the watchers with bandit coin. Then he passed through the army to find his commander. Bjorn was recognized and called to council with Ivar, Hvitserk, Bjorn Ironside and Ubba, the sons of Ragnar and leaders of the army. Under their tent he shared intelligence, spoke of forces he had witnessed in western Mercian strongholds. He was advised of the forces in Wessex, the count of their men and the fortresses they held. There was much debate, and more reports from spies and scouts, and the discussions ran long into night. The great army had been victorious in campaigns, two kingdoms, Northumbria and East Anglia had fallen, armies defeated and enslaved. Mercia was split, half now governed by Danes. Morale was high among the troops, and it was fair to say the men still spoiled for a brawl,” some of the gathered wedding guests growled agreement at these words, “yet many debated if this good luck could continue. For see, the weather changed, winter was upon them. Some at council believed it was better to accept peace suits from Wessex and the remaining Mercian counties, to claim the land so taken and hold it for the season. Ivar was a smart and careful tactician, he knew it was time to accept the proffered bribes to end this year’s fighting and tighten their grip on a new kingdom. He decided to send a delegation south to Wessex and another west to Mercia to negotiate terms. Bjorn was assigned to the Mercian group and told to muster on the morrow.”

  Yeru gathered the servers and whispered, “The meal is ended. Collect the platters, boards and knives, and carry them out to the well. We will clean them in the morning. Stack them neatly as guests may see them, and we want to keep appearances.” She shooed them off to work, asking Mae to serve the bridal ale to the bride and groom and the closest family, while handing Ursep the leather pitchers of ale to serve everyone else. The guests clearly intended to keep Ursep busy tonight—after one pass round the room, various men held up their bowls and horns for her to pour again. Glancing down the table she saw Hilda already asleep, her head on the tabletop. She told Kara to take her to bed. The musicians were playing softly, letting Cerdic’s voice carry over the tune. Sorven, standing next to Willa, swayed to the music’s beat, his eyes dreamy from the strong ale. Finn still stood behind Cub and their Uncle Karl, listening to their other uncle tell his romantic tale.

  “Bjorn returned to the tent where he had left Aelflaed to find her the center of a crowd, her hood pulled down, her blonde hair free and her brocaded dress torn. Curiosity made the camp girls wonder what hid under her hood, and once they saw her thick yellow hair and unblemished brow, jealousy consumed them. They pinched and slapped her, her Mercian cries raising an alarm and drawing a crowd. Despite her tear stained cheeks and ratty hair, suddenly men were aroused by her beauty. They pressed forward, eager to take her for their own. She kicked and scratched and howled in fear. When she saw him astride his horse, she called out, ‘Bjorn!’ and he jumped to her defense. He pushed the crowd back and took her in his arms. He shouted angry at the mob and elbowed to his horse. Ignoring lewd calls, Bjorn sat Aelflaed on his horse, pulled her hood over her hair and led her away. At the edge of the camp, he paid a boy to return for the mare and their packs.

  “Aelflaed bruised but not badly hurt, Bjorn was miserable. He sent the boy to find fresh clothes and a bathing tent with clean water and paid him to hold his tongue. Bjorn guarded while she bathed, changed clothes and combed and braided her hair. The night was clear and chilly, but the camp held many dangers for a pretty Mercian maid, so he packed the horses and they rode away from the army. Settled under the stars, Bjorn lit a fire and Aelflaed brought the bearskin and sat beside him, wrapping the furry blanket around their shoulders. She sighed his name, ‘Bjorn,’ and he was happy to hold her, there in the cold night.”

  Yeru noticed that both Sorven and Finn found seats, their eyes drooping, unaccustomed to such strong ale. Jormander flirted with Inga’s woman, whispering to her while Inga pretended not to notice. Gurid clung to Agne’s arm, listening to her brother speak while Kara rocked little Neeta. Tormod’s children grew sleepy. Espen stroked Willa’s arm, her cheeks flushed with drink and the hot room.

  “In the morning Bjorn took Aelflaed and met the delegation traveling to confer with the Mercian king. They were surprised he had a Mercian maiden in tow, but they thought she may be handy for a trade. Sticking to the highways, the five warriors carried the banner of Boneless and a flag of truce.

  “The Mercian King resided in Repton, an easy ride from the great army in Nottingham. His own forces barracked behind the fortress walls, scouts appraised him of the delegates’ approach. King’s men rode out to meet the Norsemen and learned the King’s offer of terms was accepted by Ivar. These men were to finalize agreements and collect payments. Upon their safe return, the army would winter in place and return North when the season changed to summer….”

  Yeru took a sip of the weaker beer and only half listened to her cousin finish his contribution to the evening’s entertainment, instead turning her attention back to her duties. Not a typical story told in Agne’s household, it held the gathering’s attention—Cerdic’s story ended with the girl Aelflaed accused as a spy by her own misguided people, and the young scout losing his life in defense of her honor, with one of the Mercian’s translating his last words of love to her, and as the ghost had warned, only upon his death did she realize her lost true love. Everyone applauded his story, especially Willa who had never heard such a romantic tale of doomed love. Lars followed Cerdic’s long recitation with a halting poetry performance, a short account of first night bride stealing attributed to the king of Wessex by Sven Gornson, and a practiced blessing from old Gaute. Err told a ribald story of a young woman who caused a local man to grow ill from elsk, the love longing and how he was cured. Drinking continued during these speeches, and the party grew more spirited. Agne recited the bawdy tale of Thrym who steals Thor’s hammer Mjolnir and demands Freya as ransom but Thor dresses as a woman and fools the lonely Thrym to get it back. As the guests cheered his story, Yeru clapped her hands and had the musicians strike up a merry round, inducing more of the guests to dance and sing along. Willa and Espen joined the dance, Agne and Gurid followed, Tormod and Inga joining and soon everyone who could find a partner stomped and laughed, swaying to the music. The spirited tunes coaxed Mae and Kara out to dance, and Yeru found herself pulled from behind the table by the big sailor Havar, who swept her about like a tiny broom.

  After a few songs, the wedding party returned to their places and Tormod stood and gave a practiced performance of his own creation, part verse and part devout entreaty, naming many gods and invoking their blessing for the new union. Inga proudly watched
as he declaimed, and Espen and Willa sat quietly listening. Polite applause followed his rambling discourse, and then the groom called Jormander forward. The skald recited a long poem on the marriage of Thor and Siv of the golden hair. The tale included the building of his great wooden castle in the land of Trudvang and the birth of his sons, all presented in verse with a practiced meter and rhyme. The wedding party greatly enjoyed his recital, cheering his closing stanza and saluting his great skill. Agne stood and held up his arms to quiet the gathering.

  “We have one last marital ‘burden’ before this party can…really get started,” he nodded to Karl and Cerdic who knew their cue, “It’s time for the bedding!” Err, Sven, Lars and Mono lit torches in the hearth embers and held them high over their heads. Karl and Cerdic led the men in lifting the chairs holding Willa and Espen, carrying them across the room in a parade to the door. Manhandling them both outside, the chairs tipped precariously through the doorway, the entire wedding party clapped and cheered the procession. Yeru followed the rear, surprised to find Ruinda tottering along by her side.

  Carried across the yard and around the barn to the pit house that had been prepared for them, the bride and groom held tight to their chairs hoisted high above everyone’s heads. The trip jostled and shook the pair, most of the wedding party nearly ready to fall down from drink. The jolly crowd laughed and joked, children stumbling along under foot, men and women both teasing the bride and groom about their first night together. Set before the door, the rowdy crowd persuaded Espen to remove Willa’s bridal crown and hand it to his father-in-law, with rambunctious shouts of “She’s deflowered now!” and “No escape now!” from the wedding party. Willa entered the shed first, Espen sheepishly following, the guldgubber on the bed flashing in the torch light.

  “Remember your dreams,” Gurid called out to her daughter. “They foretell the future of your union, your children and their destiny.”

  “Best make some children first!” shouted Err as he pulled the door closed. The wedding party clapped and hooted outside the little building, banging on the walls and purposely raising a noisy ruckus. Laughing, they all turned to wander back to the long hall to continue their party. Yeru, happy and satisfied with the celebration, leaned against the barn and caught her breath. The gate open wide for revelers to come and go freely, the party in the field still continued with a bonfire and singing. Oh, what a happy event.

  As she returned to the festivities, she noted Ruinda Silverhair in the yard, gazing up to the longhouse roof. Yeru stopped next to her—someone perched on the roof. In the flickering torch light, she could discern that Dundle hunched over a domed basket near the chimney.

  “What’s he up to?”

  “I have paid him for a special duty tonight.” Ruinda chuckled, “It came dear, as that boy wanted to join the party and drink all night, but I promised him a reward and plenty of time for ale after we complete tonight’s task.”

  Yeru noted that his basket had a few silver sparkles on its side. “Those silver medallions, you’ve pinned them to that basket…”

  “Yes, tonight is the night. Dundle will capture the other’s familiar and with my magic we will hold it in the trap. Dundle will hold the other there, on the rooftop and I shall engage it and hold it fast.”

  “And what of Finn?”

  “The boy drank much bridal ale…Once he sleeps, his slumber will be deep and hard. His hug shall not be able to wake his lich tonight. He, too, will be held in spirit form, trapped like the other in that enchanted basket. We will have to move fast, once the trap is tripped. We shall capture his hug in the skeins I have prepared, and I have the help I need.”

  “Help?”

  “Yes, my spirit guide has come. For weeks I have called to her, and finally she has found us. My guide shall catch the boy’s hug and help me latch it tight back to his sleeping lich.”

  “A spirit guide, you say? How do you know this ‘guide?’”

  “She is an old, familiar hug, known to me many, many years. She has been of great help in the past, a great help. In Jorvik she came to our aid when we were faced with a curse and many fell ill. For truth be told, we were haunted by a night mare, its attacks killing innocents as they slept in their beds.”

  “A night mare?” Yeru frowned. “We had a night mare here last winter, we caught it feasting on Sorven. Young Agne says he killed it.”

  “I called my spirit guide for this night, and she has agreed to help capture the forerunner. All is in place,” She hobbled forward with her cane, headed to the mead hall.

  “It’s time to catch this vardoger.”

  Finn

  Finn awoke to find himself standing next to his sleeping lich in the mead hall. His body lay sprawled on the table next to his father and Uncle Err who sang along with the band as loud as they could, more shouting than carrying a tune. The song ended in gales of laughter, table pounds and a call for more ale, and Finn wondered how he slept through all the noise, but there he lay, his yawning mouth drooling on the tabletop. Looking around he found he was not the only one sleeping. Sorven leaned against a post, eyes shut and arms crossed over his chest. Hilda had been carted off to her bed a long time ago, and Gisle Tormodsdatter lay with her head on her mother’s lap. Kara still stood by their mother, her eyes closed and swaying to the music. Over his head he could see Raga tucked in the thatch of the chimney hole. He waved at him and the bird ducked his head in greeting.

  Tormod and his man Mono spoke with Uncle Cerdic. His uncle stood a head taller than both of them with his arms around each’s shoulders, talking first to one and turning to talk to the other, all clearly happy with the conversation. Uncle Karl sat with Cub who, his hands on his belly and a sick sweat on his brow, did not appear to be listening closely—Cub looked like he was ready to be sick. Jolly, drunken people stumbled about the hall, some dancing, some whittling away at the remains of the pork roast, and all still toasting the wedding, even though Willa and Espen had been carted off to their bed long ago. The skald cornered a woman Finn did not know in an alcove, and some of his father’s men pressed the Jorvik women, begging for kisses, stroking their arms and teasing them, raising giggles and squeals when a wayward hand got too familiar.

  In the dimly lit back of the long hall, Finn could see that old woman, that Silverhair that he told Raga he had seen in the Realm Between. Raga had laughed it off—he accused him of seeing things, but Finn knew he did see her face hanging in mid-air and she spoke to him. He didn’t trust her and avoided her whenever possible. His father told him to treat her with respect and he did, but he didn’t have to like her. She made him uncomfortable. Raga said he was being childish, but still his worries lingered—just what is she doing here, especially when the wedding is already crowded with so many guests and family?

  The party started early and seemed to be ending. His mother helped Kara find her bed, and the serving girls all flocked around Yeru who pointed them out the door and staved off the advances of drunken men as they took their leave. Finn watched them slip out under her watchful eye, Tima leading them back home. Cub got unsteadily to his feet and stumbled out the door, sounds of his retching echoing and starting a new batch of laughs and jokes to circle the room. Karl stood and stretched, and Agne pointed at Finn sleeping on the table.

  “You promised his mother you would settle him in your berth.”

  “Aye, I did that,” Karl swayed, tipsy with all his drink, then widened his stance and propped himself against the table. “Oh, your ale is good, my brother. We should let the boy sleep on, and we can have another!” That really big man from the boat stepped up to his side.

  “Steady, Captain!” He chuckled and leaned over to Agne. “My thanks, Alfenson, you throw a wedding feast to be remembered,” and he clasped arms with Agne. He straightened and pulled Uncle Karl up by his collar. “Come now, Captain, it’s time we take this wee one to a proper rest,” and as if Finn’s body was a rag, big Havar scooped him up and tossed him over his shoulder. Finn hardly struggled, his
body sleeping soundly. The big man put his free arm around Uncle Karl and led him out the open door. Finn followed his lich as they left the longhouse.

  Outside Finn could see the bonfire had died to embers and the stockade gate swung wide, a few guests still milling about the courtyard. The guards sat with their backs to the wall, spears across their laps. With Finn across his shoulder and carrying Karl with his other arm, Havar led them along the fortress wall, past the barn and the temporary bridal house, down through the compound to the small pit house on the side of the longboat storage. There he used his backside to bump the door wide and pulled Karl through, laid the sleeping Finn on his pallet and pulled a woolen blanket over the boy.

  Finn’s forerunner watched from the doorway. Karl mumbled about not ready for sleep yet, but Havar unrolled his bed roll, gently pushed his captain down on it, and opened the shutter with a prop stick so the moonlight and a cool breeze could enter the room. He bent and undid Uncle Karl’s sword belt, laying the weapon next to him on the floor.

  “I’ll not be pulling your boots, Captain,” he chuckled, “Goodnight, Karl.” And turning he stepped through Finn’s spirit and closed the door behind him. Uncle Karl snorted in his drunken stupor, sat up as if ready to stand, settled back in a sitting position and sighed, his chin falling to his chest. He began to snore. Finn collected his sax from his sleeping body, hooked it to his side and concentrating, he lifted the latch and cracked the door enough to slip the sword hilt through the opening as he left.

  The moon hung low in the sky blocked by trees but torches and the remains of the bonfire still lit the compound fairly well for his night eyes. A few clouds strung across the starry sky. Finn wandered the yard, stopping to listen at the guard post, finding a couple embracing in the shadow of the barn and stepping through the gate to survey the mess left in the field. The plank tables tipped and scattered, a few straggling drinkers still toasting each other under the moonlight or standing about the glowing embers, all that remained of the big fire.