Norse Hearts

by Robynn Gabel

  “I have heard that you have many gods, and several of those have died as well,” she countered, cocking her head to one side, a dare of a smile on her lips.

  In the darkness, she couldn’t read his expression. He moved away, and she heard a grating and then a spark, and soon, a small flame flickered in an oil pot. The wavering yellow light created dancing shadows that moved over his face.

  Settling on an ornately carved chest, his back against the gunwale, his legs stretched out in front of him, he stared at her with dark eyes. She sat down on a wooden crate across from him. “So?”

  “Why such curiosity about Nóregr beliefs?”

  “You claimed I must learn to embrace your language and customs.”

  “If I tell you a few stories, will you then sleep?”

  Seraphina grinned. “Like a child.”

  There was a hint of weariness in his deep voice as he told her stories of his gods, like the struggle between two groups of gods, the Vanir and the Aesir. He spoke of Odin and his two raven helpmates, Huginn and Muninn. They flew over Midgard and brought Odin information. Odin traveled and collected knowledge throughout the Nine Worlds and gave humanity the magic of runes. Thor was Odin’s son. He wielded the hammer Mjölnir and protected humans. It was said, Einar told her, when there was lightning in the sky, Thor was fighting his enemies.

  She learned of Loki, the trickster, and Freyja, the worker of sorcery. Freyja also rode into battle to have the first choice of the slain that would join her in her realm. There was Njörðr, who controlled the sea and fire, giving wealth and land as he chose. The beautiful Iðunn had apples that gave eternal youth, and the god Freyr gave the bounty of the harvest.

  There were the wonders of the Nine Worlds and their inhabitants of the gods, giants, elves, dwarves, and man, which were all encompassed by the tree of life, Yggdrasil. He described how the world was created from the body of Ymir, the progenitor of giants. His flesh became the earth; the water came from his blood and the heavens from his skull. He explained how Ask and Embla became the first parents of mankind, yet it would all end with a few of the gods being destroyed in the great battle of Ragnarök, but start all over again in a new creation. She enjoyed watching him tell the stories, eyes lighting with mischief or eyebrows lifting to show surprise or emphasize a point.

  Finally, silence stretched between them, punctuated by the creaking of the ship.

  He broke it with a soft sigh. “Smár hyrr, you deserve a man with more honor than your betrothed.”

  Shrugging her shoulders, she turned to look out over the inky sea. “It matters not. The ‘worm,’ as you call him, will not be marrying anyone. I will make sure of that, one way or another.”

  A low chuckle broke from him. “I suggest now that you go to sleep, as you promised. The last few days have put shadows under your pretty green eyes.”

  She looked at his dark profile. “Humph. Now you act like a gentle man? I can not, in truth, understand your moods.”

  He pointed at the furs Mara had laid out earlier. “Since you are now once again my charge, I would suggest you do as I say, or my mood may change to imposing my will on your backside.”

  She clamped her lips tight and retreated.

  Mara drew an oiled skin from a roll on the gunwale and secured it to the deck. This provided a small covered area, protecting them from sea spray and any inclement weather that might rise during the night. Snuggled in furs, the ship rocked her gently to sleep.

  The next afternoon, Einar brought her to the one-eyed, scarred helmsman. “Smár hyrr, this is Elsjorn, the best warrior on this ship. You complained about having nothing to do to work off your boredom, here is a true master of all weapons.”

  The grizzle-haired man looked her over with one good eye. A thick scar ran from his forehead, across a disfigured eye socket, and down to below his cheek. It gave him a permanent grimace.

  “He will be teaching you the proper use of a sword since you seem so determined to use one.”

  Seraphina looked at Einar, smiling broadly. “Will I be able to practice on you?”

  Einar’s laugh was infectious, and the whole crew joined in, even stoic Mara.

  “You would let me, a woman, learn the way of swords? Are we not supposed to keep to our womanly arts?” Seraphina cocked a slim eyebrow at Einar.

  “Have you never heard of shield-maidens? If a woman wants to hone her skills in defending herself or others, we see nothing wrong with this. You have proven yourself resourceful on more than one occasion.” Deep-arched grooves lifted his cheeks, creating a toothy grin.

  She stepped up, laying her hand on his solid chest. “Thank you, Einar.”

  He was jubilant with boyish charm. Einar’s hand skimmed over her soft mane of hair. “I have waited long to hear you say my name. It is my honor, Seraphina.”

  “I see I will have to teach her the word for ‘heathen’ in our language since that is her favorite name for you,” Dagfinn quipped from where he sat on a wooden chest.

  Einar scowled at the young man. “I swear you are one of Loki’s offspring, sent here to torture me.”

  Seraphina chuckled.

  A routine formed during the days that followed. Seraphina helped Mara with the various chores of food and animal care. She was pleased Odinørindi had become used to the confinement and looked forward to treats. After eating a meal of salted fish and bread, she sat beside Einar in the bow again, full of questions.

  “What do the names of the other ships mean?”

  “Hrafnvængr means ‘raven wing,’ and Ormrvindr means ‘serpent breath,’ ” he answered.

  “How do you choose the names?”

  “By rune magic practiced by a seiðkonur. They feel the spirit of the ship, what it longs to be. Then they give us the name it chooses for itself.” He looked down at her, indulgence in his blue eyes. “Smár hyrr, just a moon ago you thought us heathens and wanted nothing to do with us. What has changed you so?”

  She clenched her teeth, brows drawing together. “Maybe it has to do with being trapped on a boat surrounded by nothing but sea.” She flipped long, red-gold tresses behind her, glaring up at him. Bending over, suddenly his large hands captured her upturned face, and he stole a quick kiss.

  Spluttering, she pushed him away. An eyebrow rose above his wicked grin. “Let Elsjorn entertain you.”

  They cleared out a little space in the bow, and Elsjorn handed her a short staff. Seraphina felt at ease. Everyday back home, Mepern had closed the door to a storage room in the horse croft, and she had been able to practice. Her father had hoped she would outgrow her tomboyish ways, but eventually realized it was a good release for her temper.

  A few minutes later, she balanced squarely on her feet, hips aligned over ankles, knees bent, upper body relaxed, and elbows in. Her hands grasped the staff. Elsjorn struck, and she straightened her arms, blocking, keeping her balance. Seraphina noticed Einar watching from the helm. The ship lifted into a heavier wave, and Elsjorn struck, shoving heavily. Caught off balance, she slid her foot back to catch her equilibrium. The one-eyed warrior moved quickly, lowering his staff, rapping her leg through her skirt.“Oww!” she cried out.

  Elsjorn’s lopsided grin showed two missing teeth. “Be prepared; focus,” he said.

  She could hear Dagfinn’s laughter from where he sat on the railing. She whirled, knocking the staff into his knees. The crews’ laughter covered his huffed, “Ach!”

  Jumping down, Dagfinn grabbed the staff from Elsjorn and took a fighting stance.

  “Let us see what the little Angles woman can do,” he crowed.

  Einar’s voice boomed from the helm, “I bet one mark on smár hyrr!”

  Seraphina snickered. Dagfinn glared at Einar. “You wound me deeply. I bet I will take her. Who will back me?”

  After the bets had been made, Seraphina faced him, balanced once again. She countered easily every strike that Dagfinn made. He wore a face-splitting smile as he came at her quickly, dipping the end of the staff low,
aiming at her legs. She again countered, met the blow, and wrapped the end of her staff around the end of his, flipping it up; then, coming back down in a crouch, she brought the top of the staff down into a low sweep. The staff caught him at the back of his knees, and suddenly, Dagfinn was flat on his back, the end of her staff planted on his chest. With both hands on the stout little pole of wood, she leaned down.

  “The first thing Mepern taught me was how to take the legs out from under a swaggering braggart who imagined himself to be of a stud’s worth.” Seraphina bowed to the loud thumps of praise.

  For once, she noticed Dagfinn was speechless.

  Seraphina had spun all the extra wool there was in the last week. Stretching, she stared at the sea-filled horizon, muscles aching from her daily workouts with Elsjorn. But it still did not shorten the long days. She was missing the daily tasks at home that had seemed so tedious before. The tight quarters of the ship were beginning to make her irritable. She joined Mara in preparing the evening meal.

  Feeling the prick of tears, she thought about her father and how worried he must be. Pain at Cecil’s betrayal was still raw. Images from the life that had been hers just few weeks ago played through her mind. She could see the men coming in from the fields and the women talking about the newest tapestry pattern or who was pregnant. Homesickness settled heavily on her.

  “Ladye, I think that fish you pound is truly dead now,” Dagfinn teased.

  “Fine! If you can not wait a moment more, then you can work it yourself.”

  Einar spoke sharply, “If you keep that up, smár hyrr, I will throw you into the sea and let you swim off some of your sourness.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was serious, so she kept out of his reach until the evening meal. At this point, Seraphina thought she would gladly do the lowest chore of a thrall just to have her feet on land again.

  Handing Einar a bowl of fish stew, she asked, “What will I do when I get to your home?”

  Stirring it, he said, “We are simple farmers, and it will be tilling time and planting, if the snow is gone. I doubt our ways are any different from yours. There is food preparation, cloth to make, animals needing to be fed.”

  “What of my handmaiden and Iohannes? What will Gunnar do with them?”

  A quick shadow crossed his face. Was it regret or pain? she wondered

  “As to Hadley, it is Gunnar’s decision. Iohannes will be working on the farm. Many thralls are needed to bring in a good harvest.”

  Seraphina glanced over at Gunnar’s ship, sending a prayer for a quick arrival of a message from home.

  Two mornings later, Einar released one of the ravens.

  Dagfinn answered the question before she could struggle to say it in their language.

  “If there is land nearby, the bird will not return.”

  By nightfall, there was no sign of it. The next morning, in the predawn light, a voice called out, waking Seraphina.

  “Land!”

  15

  Creating an Ally

  “The counsel of fools is the more misguided the more of them there are.”

  Dagfinn shook his head. “We have come in too far up the coast. That is Körmt’s shore there in the distance, but the sea is filled with strong currents here. So we will have to go through the Karmsund strait. They say that Thor wades through the straits every morning as he travels to Yggdrasil, the tree of life. Unfortunately, this means we will have to stop at Haugesund.”

  “Why is that not good?” Seraphina asked. The last five days had given her plenty of time to practice the language, and it was coming easier now.

  “We have to pay a toll to The Ladies’ Man, Hjörleif Hjorsson, King of Rygjafylke, to pass through there.”

  She looked at him, her eyes growing large. “Why ever would someone have such a name?”

  Dagfinn chuckled. “Some call him Hjörleif the Fornicator as well. It seems he likes to collect wives, concubines, and to sire sons.”

  “I can not believe you would say this openly. Or that he would accept it as a title. Christian men would consider this an insult.” She shook her head.

  “We are honest, Ladye. We call it what it is.”

  The roar of breakers had a defiant sound as the waves surged over the rocks—cobbles and spits impeding their passage. The water drained off the craggy reefs in little rivulets, as if exhausted. The spray soaked everything in the ship. Seraphina watched the roiling water, and it seemed the ships were headed straight for the cluttered waterway. Suddenly turning at the last second, Jarl Roald’s ship skirted a large outcropping of rocks. Over the booming noise, Einar shouted back to the scarred helmsman, Elsjorn, “Starboard, more starboard!”

  After all three ships worked their way through the treacherous passage, the rock slowly spread out, becoming larger islands. Rounded hills, created by a collection of boulders, eventually led to a bay with a lap of land that was green with trees. Seeing land again, she felt homesick. Reminding herself it would soon be over, she took in the strange sights, storing them away in her memory so she could tell her family later.

  The air carried a smell of fresh earth. The wind felt like it was coming straight off an ice field. Even with her tan cloak, she shivered. With a stiff flourish, Einar held out a fur cloak with two dainty brooches to hold it over her shoulders. She looked up, searching for a reason behind the gift.

  His face was impassive as he spoke. “You will need this. It would not look good to return you home sickly.”

  Her hands smoothed over the soft rabbit fur, a flood of gratefulness over Einar’s generosity rising inside her. The hot scald of tears filled her eyes. “It is beautiful, and no matter the reason, I will treasure it.”

  Einar ducked his head and turned his back to her. Seraphina noticed he wore his best tunic with a belt made with squares of finely etched metal and linked with small circlets of silver. Over his shoulders lay a fur, black and shiny. Two large brooches strung together with silver beads were visible against it. Einar looked like a rich merchant instead of the warrior she had first met.

  A frenzy of activity erupted. The men pulled in the sail, rolled it up, and scrambled into place. Einar called out a beat, and the rowers united, the sculls flashing in perfect unison. Hitting the calmer water, the ship slid along gracefully once again, instead of bucking and sinking into the tumultuous sea.

  Seraphina could see a narrow platform of docks and a few poles for tying up. Lying around the shoreline were large chunks of ice that looked as if they had been tossed there by giants. Glistening as they melted, they were leftovers from the ice that had blocked the bay in the long winter. Two other ships bobbed with the rhythm of the lapping waves on the harbor beach. A handful of buildings were scattered about. An elaborate gable on the largest longhouse showed it was inhabited by someone noteworthy.

  As they came closer, a horn sounded, low and harsh. People ran down from the scattered houses to greet them. The doors of the longhouse opened, and a small procession of well-dressed people made their way to the docks.

  The jarl’s ship, Hrafnvængr, slowly came alongside a wooden dock, men jumping out to secure her. Jarl Roald, his wolf cloak bearing several brooches of fine metal and jewels, stepped off, looking as kingly as the man approaching.

  Seraphina had seen a handsome man or two, and thought Roald’s rugged features very attractive, but the man coming toward them was so striking that she could see why he could have any woman he wanted.

  A heavy wave of golden hair fell over his shoulders. A beard, braided and accented with silver beads, was the same blonde hue. A fine woolen robe of dark burgundy fell to the ground, edged with white fur. He flipped one side of the robe over his crooked arm, and she glimpsed one huge bicep covered in arm rings. Over a broad torso, a vest worked in gold thread covered a knee-length tunic. Soft leather trousers hugged his lean thighs.

  Interrupting her stare, Einar caught her about the waist, lifting her from the ship, his breath soft at her ear as he said, “Breathe, smár hyrr; he is
just a man.” She felt her face flaming with a blush as her feet hit the wood of the deck.

  Jarl Roald’s voice boomed, “King Hjörleif, may Thor bless you and the kingdom of Rygjafylke, keeping all forever strong.”

  Robin’s-egg blue eyes caught hers as Seraphina looked up from straightening the fur on her shoulders. Her blush renewed with force. A slow, salacious smile turned up his chiseled lips. Her breath caught, and she would have stumbled if not for the iron-hard grasp Einar had on her elbow.

  Jarl and King grasped each other’s hand, coming together chest to chest, pounding each other on the back with their free hands, and then breaking apart. Hjörleif’s attention immediately came back to Seraphina.

  “What exotic flower have you brought to my shores?” his voice purred out.

  Einar’s grip tightened. “This is Seraphina Forthred, daughter of Landis, and great-niece of Æthelwald Moll, King of Northumbria. She is our hostage until her father pays her ransom.”

  Hjörleif threw his head back, laughing, startling Seraphina. “Roald, this must be quite the story! You fox! Do you not have enough troubles? Would you bring the Angles here as well? I had no idea you had such a longing for Valhalla. Pretty little morsel, Einar. Keep her close.”

  His wicked smile sent a funny little twist to her belly. Without thinking, she stepped closer to Einar, and he glanced down at her, his lips firmly pressed together as if he was displeased at something.

  “So let us decide on what your charge will be this time, Hjörleif. I need to camp on your shores tonight and pass through the straits tomorrow,” Roald said.

  “Just one night, my friend? Surely you have need of more than passage.” The king’s face grew somber. “My spies tell me the Danes have been checking out the area. There are rumors of attack. Possibly in retaliation for you kidnapping Bengtha. Stafangr is too important to lose to those mares.”

  Seraphina saw a shadow of a frown crossed Roald’s face.