The Slayer Rune (The Viking Series Book 1)

by John Snow

  Sigurd thought perhaps he understood, a little; he remembered Gisli's severed head. When the king had lifted his head up, it seemed as if Gisli could still see, that he tried to speak. Had Gisli been trying to foretell the future?

  "But what is the prophecy of the crone?" Sigurd wanted to know.

  Grim shook his head.

  "Another time," he said. He took hold of a book; he wanted to read. He started to search for more light.

  Sigurd sat on the bench. He didn't want to leave just yet. On the table the tallow light flickered; the candle had almost burned down. Sigurd wanted to know more. He let his finger run over his scar; he felt a rune had been written in his face.

  "What day is it tomorrow?" Sigurd asked. Grim knew everything about the days. On the morrow, Sigurd would get Gisli's sword.

  "Tomorrow," Grim said, "is Njord's day."

  "In earlier times, Njord was the most powerful god, and he still is. Some call him Nerthus.

  "Njord is a beautiful man with wonderful hair and a long curly beard. In the past, sacrifices were held for Njord on this day, because Njord is the god of all that grows, of all life; he makes the seeds sprout.

  "Njord is mightier than both Frey and Freya. He is their father. They are all vanir. Love gods. They belong to another family than Odin and Thor and the rest of the gods. Odin and Thor are aesir. Njord is related to Gullveig, the elf maiden who smells so good.

  "Njord is also the god of hunting and fishing," Grim said, "and he is the god for those who want silver and wealth. But Njord is just as greedy as Odin; he gives nothing for free."

  "I see," Sigurd said. He understood that Grim would say no more. Grim lit a new candle and turned his eye away, into one of his books.

  15

  On the day of the sacrifice, the weather was cold and nasty.

  The priest-chieftain from King Godred's court had come to the farm; Sigurd's father had sent a message to Tunsberg. Thorkel Godi was a tall and handsome man with blue eyes and very long and exceptionally blond hair. Thorkel, the godi, was young, yet the holiest man in King Godred's kingdom. He was from Sweden, of high rank, raised near the gallows at Uppsala.

  On the evening before the sacrifice, Thorkel said prayers in the hall, and everyone was gathered to listen.

  Vik had no beer, but Thorkel was given a specially blessed meal, and Sigrunn Silkyhair served him. Thorkel Godi remembered all the legends of gods and heroes. From his seat, he told stories of Njord to the hall, and Sigrunn stood listening. The godi sat in the middle of the bench in a place of honour.

  "She wants to sit next to him," Sigurd thought when he saw his sister; she was looking at Thorkel with obvious delight. Once, when his sister had been out to fetch more food, she had put the green headband on.

  "The band is beautiful," Thorkel said, "the silver thread shines." But the godi did not invite Sigrunn to sit.

  Everyone talked about the storm, about hunger.

  "There will be famine everywhere in Godred's kingdom," Thorkel said, "and also throughout the kingdom of Harald Greycloak."

  The godi spoke about the chieftains. They were all without stockpiles of food, he said; there was a great hunger for grain. He counted the chiefs, one after the other. King Godred ruled over many chieftains.

  "Thorstein Baldhead," Sigurd's father said, when Thorkel had finished his tallying, "have you heard from him?"

  "The thane from Bringsverd?" Thorkel Godi asked. "No, he has not been heard from. Isn't he Harald Greycloak's man?"

  "Yes, of course," his father said and put the subject to rest. Sigurd saw that his father loosened up and hid a smile.

  They had no beer, so people went early to bed.

  Next morning was chilly, but everyone was gathered. Thorkel Godi slaughtered twelve sheep and collected the blood in a large barrel in the yard. He decorated a handcart with colourful stripes of cloth, and, eventually, Sigrunn, Sigurd's sister, was dressed and painted and set up in the wagon.

  The godi, dressed in a red, and Harald the Chieftain, in blue, took hold of the cart and pulled it into the field. Sigrunn Silkyhair sat in the wagon; she held the edges with red-painted hands.

  Using specially made yokes, four warriors carried the barrel of blood, and behind the cart and the barrel, the rest of the people followed in a long chain, with Sigurd and his mother in the lead. Even Hakon came along.

  Neither Hild nor Yljali, nor any of the other thralls were present.

  Thorkel Godi used a ladle to sprinkle the field with sheep blood, giving the offering to Njord. He sang and prayed and walked around and blooded the whole field, except for the spot where the cart was standing.

  When the barrel of blood was empty, Sigrunn Silkyhair took off her clothes. The holy wagon was wheeled aside, and Sigrunn was laid down in the field. Thorkel Godi undressed; he knelt in front of Sigrunn. He spread her legs. The godi was large. He had to press hard to enter her, but Sigrunn didn't scream.

  Afterwards, all went to see that the earth had received Sigrunn's blood.

  Finally, as an addition, Sigurd got Gisli's sword. He stood by the handcart in a green ceremonial robe. His hair was cut at the shoulders. He looked handsome in the field, even with the scar running down his cheek.

  Thorkel Godi prayed to Njord and gave the sword to Sigurd. When accepting the sword, he could see the runes were still etched along the hilt. As Sigurd was staring, the sun broke through, and the blade shimmered and flashed in yellow and red.

  "Njord has accepted the sacrifice!" Thorkel Godi cheered, stretching his hands in the air.

  When people saw the sun, they broke out in wild cries.

  When they left the field, everyone was satisfied.

  After the day in the field, the weather let up and the warmth came back. Some believed the corn would rise, but people knew it was too late.

  "We must rely on hunting and fishing," his father said. He put boats on the water and sent warriors out hunting.

  The women were busy; they gathered edibles in the woods and found lots of berries and nuts. They picked wild apples and cut them into thin slices to be slowly dried on hot stones. People were outdoors and in a good mood, but it would still be a severe winter. Without grain, there would be no beer or porridge.

  People were talking about the miracle in the field. Especially Sigrunn Silkyhair was excited by what had happened; she thought she deserved a little credit.

  Sigrunn was happy; she strolled around smelling of juniper from morning to evening. She worked in the cookhouse, smoking meat and fish. A couple of thralls carried loads of juniper to the kitchen, where it was burned on the fire. Over the smouldering wood, meat hung from rows of drying-racks.

  "Juniper gives life," Sigrunn said when she had to escape the smoke to breathe some fresh air.

  The thralls also brought yew saplings from the outlying woods. The saplings were bow materials and set aside to dry. When winter came, the warriors would carve bows and whittle arrows, sitting inside in the hall near the fireplaces. The arrows might also be needed this winter, they said, with hungry outlaws at the door.

  Among the houses, three slave women were walking around; the skin on their arms was cracked. They cut nettle around the barns and stables. The nettles were dried as hay for the cows; nettle-fed cows gave milk that made delicious cheese.

  Some of the nettles were laid down in the yard, where the fibres were separated from the rest of the plant. The flax fields had been destroyed by the storm, but nettle made nice thread. The thread was used to make tablecloth and clothing, and it was used as fishing lines. Yljali spun the lines; she had such nimble fingers.

  Men and boys were fishing early and late, and Sigurd was often in the boat. They rowed out to the fjord entrance, where they caught cod and saithe, but they were waiting for the yearly shoals of mackerel to enter the fjord.

  The fishhooks were carved from bone, and the men used sea snails as bait. Sigurd enjoyed fishing. Carefully he pulled the line up and down to lure the fish. When a cold wind was nipping, h
e only had to feel the fishing line; it was always evenly thin and strong. He knew that Yljali had made the line, and when he touched it, he could feel her fingertips right there, in the thread.

  They never lost fish because of bad lines.

  Out at sea, Odd was in charge of the fishing, but he was cross-eyed and ill looking.

  The hunt was led by others, mostly by Sigurd's father, and this Odd disliked; he cursed and swore. Game hunting was his job, he argued. He was often grouchy.

  "And the worst of it is," Odd said, "that Skarphedin is in on the hunt."

  Skarphedin the Second-Sighted had very good vision; he could see game and birds at incredible distances. He also had the best hunting dogs; he was breeding hounds.

  "I need Skarphedin more than Odd," Sigurd's father had said.

  So Odd was sent fishing.

  Odd had received the gifts from Ivar at Eskdale, his real father. The judgement of King Godred was clear, and Ivar, who also was Skarphedin's father, had been forced to pay. Odd was given a heavy silver bracelet and a variety of clothes, but one of the smiths broke the bracelet in two when he looked it over.

  "This is low-grade silver," he said.

  After that, Odd brought the clothes to the mistress of the house, to Sigurd's mother, and showed the clothing to her. His mother looked at the wool and demanded the clothes to be burned. Odd had to carry the clothes out of the hall and burn them in the yard. The gifts from Eskdale were full of vermin and moths.

  "And now Skarphedin is hunting again, while I am stuck out here," Odd said in the boat. He was angry, and he couldn't shake his feelings off.

  Otherwise, people were happy.

  Sigurd's father was also in a good mood, or at least in a better state of mind, but he had not been down at Hild's place.

  Sigurd himself was in doubt. Sometimes he forgot that Gisli was drifting around in Hel, especially after Yljali had stopped working with the slaves. When she spun fishing lines, she could even smile. Yljali knew that Sigurd carved the hooks, and that he always used her lines.

  Sigurd walked about the farm with his new blade, and he was lighter at heart after all. He took very good care of Gisli's sword; it had marked him as its owner.

  Sigurd's mother was not altogether happy, and neither was Hakon. He muttered dark forebodings about Vik, mostly concerning the chieftain. Often Hakon stood talking with his mother when she was weaving in the hall. She still wove Ragnarok.

  One day a bustle spread on the farm.

  A ship was on its way up the fjord. It was a knorr, a merchant ship, and it was heavily loaded. People let fall what they had in hand; they ran down to the shoreline.

  "I hear death in its wake," Hakon said. He said so many dark things. He was still called Hakon Mute. Hakon Dumb, said evil tongues.

  People on the beach saw the ship's crew let the sail fall. The men took hold of the oars and rowed the last part up to the poles and the pier. With thick hawsers the ship was moored and the gangplank put ashore.

  The sailors were Icelandic traders; the knorr was loaded with goods and grain. They came from Denmark, they said. The bad weather had forced them to give up sailing to Iceland this year. They asked for Harald, the chieftain.

  "Can we stay for the winter?" Tore, the captain, asked.

  "With pleasure," Sigurd's father answered; he had come down to the ship. "But sell me your grain!"

  This was to the liking of the traders, and they agreed on a good price. Now Harald had enough grain to last throughout the winter, and even much to spare.

  "Now Baldhead will have to pay!" he said and laughed out loud.

  "Thorstein Baldhead owes me twenty marks of silver!"

  His father still thought of the fine he had paid for the murder of Eigil, and he knew that Thorstein Baldhead needed grain. At Bringsverd people had cried all night during the storm. They had called to White Christ and begged him to calm the storm, but their cries had been to no avail.

  "The gods are on my side!" cried Harald the Chieftain.

  "Start brewing beer," he shouted to Sigurd's mother.

  "When the beer is brewed, we shall have a thanksgiving to Njord, the god who brings grain from the sea!"

  His father was excited, and on the spot he chose Tore, the helmsman, as his new captain-of-arms. Tore stood in the aft by the steering oar.

  "He is a great fighter," the men on the ship declared. "Tore uses his axe as Thor uses his hammer."

  Tore's hair was raven-black, but his skin was fair. He was a strong man. Tore had bushy black eyebrows and his gaze was piercing; he had the looks of a captain.

  "And the crew will be warriors on equal terms to the others," Harald called; he was all worked up. He threw off his cloak and jumped on board the ship; he wanted to meet the men. With bursting eyebrows, Tore Captain greeted the chieftain.

  Despite their eager chief, the Vik warriors remained ashore. They didn't like the events, especially not Odd the Squinter. He was immediately jealous of Tore, the new armourer and captain-of-arms. Odd stared at Harald Chieftain with evil eyes.

  Sigurd's father was not about to be stopped; he gave orders east and west. They began to unload the ship, and his father pointed and shouted. He decided where everything should stand and where the ship should be pulled ashore when the knorr was emptied of wares.

  Sigurd was smitten by the eagerness. He helped the men heave the goods ashore; they rolled barrel after barrel of grain down the gangplank.

  Only Hakon Mute did not lend a hand. He stood at a distance and glared, black-minded.

  When the ship was emptied of goods, and the knorr dragged ashore, they all went up to the yard. Sigurd's father was very pleased. He joked and laughed and had a fair comment for everyone. He took the girls on his lap, also Yljali.

  Yljali was reluctant to sit on the chieftain's lap, but she dared not say no. When his father began to smell her hair, Yljali started to squirm and writhe on his lap. She wanted to get away, and now she proved to be a real weasel.

  His father let go of Yljali, but he was smiling and laughing.

  "Ai, ai!" he said and slapped his knee.

  Soon after he left the yard and went down to the house of Hild.

  Harald the Chieftain was a long time with Hild, and when he came out, he was very cocky, strutting around and laughing.

  Later in the day, Hild was found dead. Murdered. She had been stabbed to death with a knife. Hild was naked when they found her, and the dagger was used in a gruesome way.

  When Sigurd's father saw Hild, his lover, he went completely berserk. Screaming wildly, he rushed out of the house. He roared to the sky and swore a most cruel revenge.

  "By all holy gods and Odin's most sacred oath, I swear to slaughter the sick killer of Hild!" his father cried, shaking his fist in the air.

  He wanted everyone to hear his oath – both people and gods.

  16

  For the next couple of days, Sigurd's talking with Grim was thwarted; the murder of Hild led to changes at the farm. Yljali was moved into the hall and given a place by the door. His father wanted to move Grim into the thrall barn; for some reason he was furious with Grim.

  Grim refused. He would rather live with the animals than with the slaves, he said, and moved into the stables. Among the horses he found a place to sleep on some hay in a corner.

  Hild's body was burned without ceremony. She was put on a fire, wrapped in a shroud. Her face was bloodless, yet beautiful, her long hair flowing down the firewood. No stab wounds could be seen; they were hidden by the shroud. But Sigurd couldn't help remembering the pitiless words from the women who had tended the corpse. She was all naked, they had said; her legs spread apart. They said Hild had been repeatedly stabbed, that one of her breasts was nearly sliced off, a nipple found missing, and her nether parts "neatly cut open, leaving a yawning gash."

  Sigurd's father lit the fire. Shortly after, the flames engulfed Hild's body.

  Life returned to normal. There was certainly talk about the killing; it was terr
ible, people said, but they had other things on their mind. She had been a simple thrall, after all.

  The women continued gathering nuts, and the men kept on fishing and hunting. Now they had grain, but they needed meat.

  The men chased birds and deer, and if lucky, an elk. They also slaughtered sheep and lambs. Sigrunn Silkyhair had lots of work in the cooking house. The slaves carried a steady supply of juniper.

  A couple of times, the warriors went seal hunting, and Sigurd went along. The men dressed in old, worn hunting clothes, and put out to Host Island, an isle by the open sea where the seals crawled up on the outlying skerries, on the Seal Reefs. Seal blubber gave oil for the lamps and tar for the boats. Sealskin gave warm clothes, and the tasty meat was eaten.

  After the hunt, entering the yard, Sigurd and the hunters were covered in blood. The seals had been killed with clubs and cut open with knives. It was messy work.

  The days passed, and even Sigurd's father was not too bad. He was often angry; he walked around cursing and beating the thralls. He enquired about the killing of Hild, but he did sometimes smile; at such times he cast his eyes on Yljali.

  Nobody knew anything about the murder of Hild.

  Hakon Mute was much the same as he had been before. He gadded about, talking incoherently to himself and to all that he met. He muttered bloody-black things about fate and revenge. The hatred of his father was obvious.

  Hakon talked a lot with his mother when she was weaving in the hall. His mother was still working on Ragnarok. She worked more eagerly now that Hild was gone. She had put her coloured clothes on and rattled more freely with her keys, but she never smiled.

  Finally, after much asking about, his father went to Spedale, to the old witch – to the crone. He brought costly gifts and asked the crone if she could enter the Web of Norns and see who had murdered Hild.

  The witch made preparations inside her cabin. She crawled up onto a shelf, a loft of hazel poles and yew. There she sat with her warts and chapped hands; on her head she had very little hair. The witch chanted and sang her spells; she ate dried mushrooms and drank lots of blood and toad juice. She barked and whined and finally slid into the otherworld. With her hands stretched out, she cried out and fell over, as if dead.