The Slayer Rune (The Viking Series Book 1)

by John Snow

  Before they could start fighting, Sigurd spotted Yljali.

  "Yljali!" he nearly exclaimed. He saw her hair flowing; she pulled and tugged at Hild to get closer to the ring. Hild held her back; she probably remembered the mistress's words. They were thralls, after all.

  Helgi Blackbeard lowered his arm, and the fight started, rather fiercely.

  Harald was, as always, surprisingly able with the sword. He struck blow after blow, and Sigurd was fully occupied with defending himself; he stepped back. He was afraid of losing; the other was far better trained, and smarter. Then, in the corner of his eye, he saw that Yljali had pulled closer to the fight, much closer, and Sigurd gained sudden strength. With a furious roar and a massive stroke, he struck the sword out of the other's hand, and the king's son fell to the ground.

  Sigurd put his knee on Harald's chest. He pressed his sword against his throat.

  "Do you yield?" Sigurd asked.

  "Cheat!" Helgi Blackbeard screamed in the same moment. He whacked Sigurd with the flat side of his sword. Sigurd felt a crack in his ear and a blow on his cheek before he soared through the air. Blood trickled from a cut just under the earlobe.

  When Gisli saw this, he grabbed his sword, ready to attack Helgi, but Sigurd's father stepped in; the chieftain had to act. He intervened.

  "Helgi is right," he said; "it is not allowed to scream during play. And you, little rascal, must learn the rules."

  The chieftain pointed at Sigurd, but Sigurd could see that he was hiding a smile inside his beard. His father had not seen Yljali, Sigurd realized; he only saw King Godred's heir.

  The king's son was crawling on the ground.

  4

  Sigurd was dizzy. He was carried into the hall and laid down on a bench. There his mother and his sister took over. They tended his wound, and he could feel how soft their fingers were, especially his mother's. Carefully she washed his blood-soaked hair.

  His mother had hung Sigurd's new cloak on a nearby post. She herself wore a linen shirt, and over the shirt, her golden brooches held up a sea-green dress. His mother rinsed a cloth in a herbal brew and washed the cut under Sigurd's ear. Sigrunn Silkyhair, his sister, made a dressing of a plant she called grow leaf.

  "You will not have a new scar," his mother said. Her hair was collected at the back of her neck; she had a radiant face when tending his wound.

  At other times, when running the gard, his mother was strict. She held the keys to the chests and chambers, and she drove the maids hard; she couldn't stand sloppiness and was seldom merciful. She was mistress of the household, and the keys in her belt were always clanging.

  When his sister came with the grow leaf, Sigurd said no.

  "You have done enough," he said, "more than enough. And the wound has stopped bleeding."

  For some time, Sigurd lay dozing in the hall, but then he awoke with a start.

  "Damned Helgi!" he said, and Sigrunn tried to calm him down. They sat by a loom with a wall hanging showing pictures from a tale of gods. Sigrunn started to tell the story, trying to make Sigurd relax.

  It was something about Frey, god of love, who was deeply in love with Gerd and sent his friend Skirne to propose. Gerd refused at first, but Skirne started to threaten her.

  Sigurd didn't listen; he could still remember the nasty nostrils of the fat and smelly Helgi Blackbeard.

  I will get my revenge, he thought. He was clearly refreshed, relieved by the care he received from the women.

  "When Gerd yielded at last, Frey and Gerd could finally meet, in Barley Grove," Sigrunn explained and gestured to a scene in the tapestry.

  "In Barley Grove?" Sigurd said.

  "What do you think Frey and Gerd did do in Barley Grove?" he asked, laughing.

  "Remember the mighty dwarf?" he continued. "What do you think Frey did to Gerd in the grove?"

  Sigurd howled with laughter, and Sigrunn fell on him, kicking and punching. She still remembered the urge her hand had felt in the dwarf's tent.

  Even their mother, who sat nearby, was laughing. She had also been in the tent.

  No, here he could not stay, Sigurd decided. He glanced at the benches along the walls and looked down between the posts. Three maids swept the floor; they sprinkled juniper around and wiped the fireplaces. The girls were cleaning before the feast. All men were outside.

  Sigurd strapped the belt around his sheep-wool cloak. He walked out of the hall and saw that a cockfight was set up; people crowded round the ring, all quite aroused. Claws first, the roosters jumped and hacked at each other. Both cocks had iron claws tied to their legs.

  Skarphedin the Second-Sighted led the fight; he was from Eskdale, a neighbouring farm. Skarphedin was a stout fellow with light hair and the most amazing sight. He reared dogs and horses for fighting.

  Skarphedin followed the charging roosters with alert eyes; he loved a bet. People said that he could see through people's gear; that he could tell how much silver they wore. He had learned it from his father, Ivar from Eskdale, a miserly geezer. Skarphedin, however, was not stingy; he was wild with his money, like the roosters were wild in the ring. There, the red rooster violently attacked and killed the white rooster.

  Skarphedin sold the dead bird to an old wife.

  "Roosters make nice soup," the old woman squealed.

  Skarphedin made ready for a new battle, between the red rooster and the black. People kept betting, and Sigurd saw Harald, the king-son, was eager; he hung on the ropes. Harald Grenske broke several pieces off a coil of silver and put his bet on the black rooster.

  The red rooster was bleeding, and Skarphedin re-attached a loose iron claw. The cock was hurt, but Sigurd kept looking for Gisli. He wanted to bet on the red rooster.

  Sigurd didn't have any money, and Gisli was not to be seen. The place was crowded, and Gisli was hard to find. Sigurd searched between buildings and throughout the yard, and suddenly he saw Yljali and Helgi Blackbeard standing outside the cookhouse. Yljali screamed and jerked her arm away from Helgi. She ran off wildly.

  What had happened?

  Helgi Blackbeard was left standing, wanting and wondering. He raised and dropped his arms. Then he lumbered away. What was happening?

  "What is it?" Gisli said; he came walking by.

  "Oh, there you are," Sigurd said. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Do you want to bet on the roosters?"

  They put their silver on the red rooster, and the red rooster won; the iron claws held firmly this time. The heir, Harald Grenske, swore regretfully over the black cock's performance, but to Sigurd the bet and the money meant little. He thought of Yljali. What on earth did Helgi want with her?

  The silver Sigurd won on the roosters, he lost on the dogs, but neither that mattered much. What was money anyway?

  After the horse fight, Sigurd could not bear to wonder any more. He slipped away from Gisli and started searching for his sister, Sigrunn. He would ask her about Yljali and Helgi.

  When he found her, Sigrunn couldn't talk. She was busy in the cookhouse where the maids prepared for the feast. Steam and poignant smells rose from huge pots, and sheep were roasted on open fires. Sigrunn was about to ladle mead from a large barrel into smaller vessels. She also oversaw the cooking when her mother was busy elsewhere.

  His mother was working in the hall. The maids put weavings on the benches and decorated the walls. The wall hangings were brightly coloured and had pictures of gods and heroes and combat scenes.

  His mother smeared red paint on the pillars; she walked around and decided everything. The tables in the hall were set up and covered, and bowls and mugs were put in place. Some men brought in a seat of honour for the king. Sigurd noted that Yljali was nowhere around.

  Later in the evening, people were drinking in the hall, and everyone got drunk. Vik had lots of mead and beer; it was a matter of honour.

  Smiling, the king sat on his seat, drinking and farting contentedly. Along the benches his warriors were seated, and between each of the men, a woman.

 
Harald the Chieftain and his warriors sat opposite the king. They also had women between them, and the mood was good, very good.

  Since most people had paid to see him, the dwarf had joined the feast.

  Eventually, a steady stream of men and women was going in and out of the room. Sigurd noticed that several women followed the dwarf each time he sauntered out of the hall.

  Sigurd was not in a good mood; he kept looking for Sigrunn, his sister, but she was still busy. Sigrunn Silkyhair served mead to thirsty warriors, and she brought food – platters loaded with bread and meat.

  The feast was about to peak. People sang and drank; some warriors started to jostle. His sister kept pouring mead for the guests; it took a long time before Sigurd could get her on her own, at last.

  They met outside the door, with people slinking to and fro. In the shadows of the gallery, two neighbouring wives were whispering fiercely, arguing who was next to have the dwarf. Sigurd took a good look around and led Sigrunn past the yard-tree, away from the ears of all the others.

  Straight out, he asked: "Have you seen Yljali?"

  "Yljali?" answered Sigrunn.

  "Yes, Yljali, what did she say?"

  "Yljali said Helgi Blackbeard asked her to marry him."

  "Asked?"

  "Well, Helgi offered to wed Yljali."

  "And?"

  "And Yljali said no."

  "Of course Yljali said no," cried Sigurd, "but can a slave girl deny the king's captain-of-arms? Does she have the right to do so? Never mind the power!"

  Sigrunn turned quiet; she said nothing.

  5

  Next day, Sigurd went down to Grim.

  He got up early and roamed around the farm buildings. He waited for Hild and Yljali to leave Grim's house; he wanted to see them as they went to work. He had not slept much, so he sat down on the barn stairs, watching and waiting.

  Hakon, his brother, was early too, as usual. He sat on a stone by the yard-tree, gazing into thin air; he didn't say a word. Hakon Mute never wandered near the house of Grim, but his eyes followed Hild and Yljali when they came walking up the hill.

  Sigurd could see that Yljali had been crying. Hild held an arm around her, and entering the yard, they went straight for the hall, to the mistress. They would probably ask for help. His mother took good care of Yljali, even if she hated Hild. But what could his mother do?

  "Now, where were we?" Grim said. His eye was rather red; he had been drinking heavily the night before. Now he was tidying up.

  Grim's house was dark inside. The innermost part, where Hild and Yljali lived, was sealed off with heavy curtains. In the outer part Grim slept on a bench along the wall. Just now he set up the table; he was staring at Sigurd who tried to get used to the dimness.

  As always, Grim's room was decorated with parts of dead animals. Wolf-jaws and the skull of a horse hung from the beams, and the rest of the space was filled with hares' feet and old, dried goat teats. Skeleton bones were dangling everywhere.

  Strangely, there was no foul stench; Grim had chased the smell away.

  "Yes, the slayer rune," Grim said, and sat down.

  "As you know, all runes have a name," he said; he started to wake up.

  "The names of the runes are words with great powers. The rune-words can change into different things, into storms, and into howling gales ripping up trees by their roots, into thunder and lightning, into wolves, and even into human beings."

  "Yes." Sigurd knew this, but he did not understand how runes could hold such powers. Grim had said that runes bridled unruly forces, in life as in death. When things go awry, he had said, wise men use runes to put matters right.

  "However, it is not enough to know the name of the rune," Grim continued, watching Sigurd, "or what the rune-word means.

  "You must know how to use it!

  "If you know the word for wolf and use it with folly, the wolf will swallow you and not your enemy. Your girl loses sight of you if the love-rune enters another man."

  Sigurd was squirming on the bench. He didn't like talk of words that could be used for dangerous charms. It reminded him of all the half-hidden things going on at the farm: behind doors, in corners, under coverlets. It reminded him of seid. And seid was for women. He had several times witnessed volvas utter long spells of strange words to bring illness on people or to defeat men possessed with madness. He remembered what his father had said, that Grim made a girl of him.

  In his mind, Sigurd saw the Witch from Spedale; she was a volva of the worst kind with open wounds on her forehead and cracked skin in her palms. Once, with her seid, she had tried to bring Hakon Mute back to the speaking.

  "His anger runs too deep," she had whispered when she failed, her husky voice frightening and defiant.

  "This rune," Grim said and pointed at the slayer rune, "is called Tuul. You must never say its name out loud, unless you know what you're doing. Never! Do you hear me?"

  Grim stared at Sigurd with his one eye, and Sigurd nodded. He knew the rune was Tyr, but now Grim had revealed another name.

  Quickly, Grim turned his eye inwards.

  Sitting on the bench, watching his eye, or eyes, Sigurd could not remember when Grim had come to the farm, to Vik. Sigurd had been very young. One day Grim had wandered into the farmyard; some say it was just after Hild had come as spoils of war, holding her little daughter, or sister, by the hand. Grim had been looking the buildings over and started talking around. After that he had never left.

  Grim was just as poor then as he was now. The only things he owned were a brown-greyish cloak, three worn books, and a small knife. The books had to be worth a bit, Sigurd thought; he knew of no one else who owned books.

  The knife Grim used for cutting runes. He inscribed runes for a good harvest and healthy horses and to ward off illness and evil. The runes were probably why his father never sent Grim away.

  Grim rolled his eye back out. He started to tell a story.

  Which was what Sigurd was waiting for. Grim had a special gift; he could carry Sigurd far away from the farm into other worlds of mighty kings and wars and magnificent gods. Sigurd loved the escape, but today he wasn't sure.

  "Today I will tell you how fate turned for a man who used the slayer rune wrong," Grim began.

  "You have heard of Harald Fairhair, of course. Harald Fairhair was a great king and slayer; he forced the whole country under his rule. He was a valiant warrior, but also a gruesome man. He killed all his enemies.

  "At the time of Harald Fairhair, there lived a man called Tjodolv. He was a young and powerful chieftain, a good-looking man. He owned a large, pleasant gard called Kvini.

  "Tjodolv's neighbour was Olav. He was also an able man, but Olav's farm was small, and he was low born. It is said that he spoke the voice of others, in particular the words of King Harald. ‘Harald Fairhair is right in these matters,’ he used to say."

  Sigurd had heard of Harald Fairhair many times. Harald didn't cut his hair before he had subdued the whole country. He was much admired, a great king, but many of the old families hated Fairhair and his descendants.

  "They stole our ancient rights to the land," his father said.

  Grim continued. "At the battle of Hafrsfjord, Tjodolv fought against King Harald, and even though Tjodolv and the others fought bravely in that battle, Harald Fairhair won.

  "Tjodolv returned to his farm, utterly beaten, and sometime after the battle, King Harald came to Tjodolv's farm. In his company was Olav, the neighbour.

  "King Harald declared that Olav was chieftain, head of Kvini. He would take over the farm, and Tjodolv was given a choice, either to be exiled, or to die.

  "He did it that way, King Harald," Grim said. "His enemies were either killed or chased from the country. In their places, as chieftains, the king installed men of lower rank. Men who would always agree with the king.

  "Soon after, Tjodolv fled the country with his longship. Along with him he took a lot of people, animals, and goods. On Orkney he built a new and large
farm, a great gard, but Tjodolv always thought of vengeance. He hated King Harald, and especially Olav, the thief, and he never let it go unsaid."

  Sigurd watched Grim and his eye. The eye didn't look at anything in particular, not even Sigurd. In his mind Grim recalled what happened to Tjodolv, and Sigurd got a feeling that Grim had met both Tjodolv and Olav. Maybe he saw them with the eye that wasn't there?

  "After some years a man came to Tjodolv, to his farm on Orkney. He knew runes, said the man, and Tjodolv began to learn, and he spoke increasingly about revenge. ‘It takes time to learn runes,’ the man said, but Tjodolv was starting to run out of time.

  "Staying with Tjodolv was a warrior named Wolf. Wolf was a berserk; he could fight and get hurt without feeling pain.

  "Tjodolv had a spear named Gny, a beautiful weapon. One day Tjodolv asked Wolf to fetch Gny, his dearest treasure.

  "‘Now that I know their names, and what the runes mean, I will use them,’ said Tjodolv. Wolf held the spear while Tjodolv carved five runes near the spear point. Among them were two slayer runes.

  "That winter, Tjodolv's warriors prepared for battle. Early in the summer, at the end of spring, they set out from Orkney in a longship, and after several days they came to Tjodolv's old farm in Norway.

  "Here Olav ruled, but he kept constant watch, and a lookout spotted Tjodolv's ship. At once, Olav's guard made ready for battle, and from the ship, Tjodolv's men jumped ashore. There was a violent battle, and warriors fell on both sides; the match was even.

  "They fought fiercely, and after a long while Tjodolv stood in front of Olav. Straight away, Olav ran against Tjodolv with his sword raised to strike. Ill-fatedly, Wolf gave Tjodolv his spear, and Tjodolv stood waiting, ready to thrust it forward as Olav charged."

  6

  Grim stopped in the middle of the story. The door opened and Sigurd's mother came in. Which was strange. His mother never came down to the house of Grim – or Hild.