The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5)

by Jerry Autieri

  Today no one came to him and the numbness and stupor induced by Audhild’s brew retreated. His eyes were still clouded and a wailing ring still afflicted his hearing, but his senses lifted out of the fog for the first time since falling from the tower. It was as if a heavy cloth that had wrapped his body uncoiled and fell away. Immediately he was aware of a tremendous soreness in both legs. He raised his head to look at them, but the shifting of his body made both legs feel as if a spear had been driven through each one. Water came to his eyes and he flattened himself again. The wracking pain coursed through his hips and down into his toes. After a few moments it subsided and his breathing normalized. He dared a careful peek at his left shoulder, which was bandaged with a clean white cloth dotted with brown spots. His left hand also throbbed, but he had no desire to see his missing finger.

  Now his consciousness spread. The house was no longer a void that held only a bed, but a lived-in place. Signs of previous lives were everywhere from the square hearth filled with ashes to the table laid with plates and mugs and a flickering fish oil lamp. A child’s toy spear, capped with a leather head, lay forgotten in the dirt floor by the side benches. Hanks of animal hair curled into balls that hid in corners and beneath benches. Daylight registered with him. The smoke hole flap was tied open and yellow light flowed in. He had just noticed, though the opening had been uncovered since he had awoken.

  Taking note of such simple things renewed him. Still too painful to move, he at least realized he was not careening through the darkness alone. His bed was actually a table made more comfortable with a padded down blanket beneath him. His broken legs ensured he would never move enough to fall. A section of table had been broken away between his legs, presumably for him to eliminate waste. Overall, the people caring for him understood exactly what he needed. Once recovered and returned to his family, he would reward them for saving his life.

  Through the log walls, Ulfrik heard voices. Audhild’s brew had dissipated enough for his awareness to extend beyond the tight circle around his body. He relished the sounds of a village about its business. A dog barked, and Ulfrik realized it was just outside his door. Perhaps a guard? Then the door, which was behind his head, opened and he heard a man and woman speaking hurriedly. He decided to feign sleep and learn what he could.

  The first voice was Audhild’s. “You must never speak of this to your masters. Do you understand?”

  “Don’t lecture me on loyalty,” answered a rough, time-worn voice. Not daring to open his eyes, Ulfrik imagined a gruff veteran with a face craggy enough to match his voice. “I came to you, didn’t I?”

  A short silence followed, and Ulfrik felt the two of them come to his side. Audhild eventually spoke, “I’m sorry. You’re right of course. So, this is the one.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Audhild laughed. “He’s asleep. His wounds are horrible. Look at the swelling.” Ulfrik felt Audhild’s cool hands lifting away his blanket to display his legs.

  “Can’t even see where his knees are,” the man said. Ulfrik consoled himself knowing he no longer needed to struggle to see them.

  “This one is broken in two places, but this one the bone cut through his flesh. There are broken ribs on his left side, and his shoulder was dislocated. His left hand is missing a finger. He was riddled with splinters.”

  The man whistled through his teeth. “What’s this supposed to be, his face?”

  Audhild laughed. “Don’t be cruel. The swelling will take time to go down. He might be a handsome man when it does.”

  “I doubt that. He’s old, but tough. Look at the scars. He’s witnessed a fair bit of fighting. Either that or he once fell into a pile of swords.”

  Again they laughed, and Ulfrik calmed himself at the jokes made at his expense. Only now did he realize how puffy and heavy his face felt. He imagined looking like a bruised walrus. They sat quietly until the man spoke softly.

  “Is this really what you want to do?” Ulfrik heard a rustling he took to be Audhild nodding her head. The man sighed. “The Franks have left you alone longer than they’ve wanted. They’re coming tomorrow and taking your menfolk.”

  “We’re not ready. He’s not ready to be moved.”

  “Then leave him.”

  “The gods have decreed otherwise. He must remain with us, and he cannot be moved without risking more injury.”

  Again a silence stretched almost to the point where Ulfrik opened his eyes. Then the man shrugged. “Girl, I’ve done all that I can for you. I’m with the Franks now, like it or not. Your father would’ve been proud of your spirit, but he’d tell you what I’m telling you now. Do not trust the words of the gods, even if you hear those words for yourself. They never give a gift. There is always a price.”

  “Eldrid has foreseen all of this. Right to the very place I found him. The price the gods demand is we take their worship to new lands, out of this place that the Christian god wants for himself. Away from any master but ourselves.”

  “And Eldrid.”

  “Don’t mock me, Uncle.”

  Ulfrik could no longer resist peeking, but found the other man out of his sight. He closed his eyes, hoping to learn more of his situation. Yet their discussion ended abruptly.

  The dog began barking wildly only moments before the door crashed open. Ulfrik opened his eyes out of reflex, in time to see Audhild leap back with her pale hand over her chest. Men were shouting at each other in confusion, all behind Ulfrik’s head. He struggled to turn to the sound, but the pain in his shoulder and legs arrested him.

  “And here is your real leader,” said a familiar voice. “Along with an unexpected visitor.”

  The rough-voiced man grunted. “Visiting my niece, is all.”

  “Strange timing,” said the familiar voice. “I picked the same day to visit.”

  “I tried to stop him,” interrupted another. Ulfrik recognized him as Gudrod. He hissed at the pain and braces preventing him from facing the people behind him. Only Audhild remained in his sight, and her eyes were wide with shock and staring at the others. Voices jumbled together in a loud argument that was finally settled when he heard the rasp of a drawn sword.

  “Enough of this!” the familiar voice shouted. “Your decision to visit your niece,” the words were twisted into a curse, “made me decide to step up my plans. You can help me recruit the men of this village to our forces.”

  “No, you cannot do that,” Audhild said. Ulfrik noticed as she held the speaker’s gaze she surreptitiously guided her hand to the table and grabbed a knife that had been under Ulfrik’s leg. She palmed it flat to her hip in a smooth motion, her eyes never flinching.

  “This sword and my men say that we can. This village has sat on the border for too long, and we need men to fill the ranks. Anyone over the age of fourteen is coming with me. Now.”

  “We will never work for the Franks,” Gudrod said. He heard feet shifting across the dirt floor, and heard two more swords drawn. He had no idea how many men were above his head nor whose side they were on. Again he cursed his immobility.

  “You will work for Throst. He’s no Frank.”

  A fire ignited in Ulfrik’s gut at the name. In the same instant he recognized the voice, the man leaned over him and stared into his face.

  “What happened to this one?”

  “A bear attack,” Audhild said.

  The man staring down at him grimaced in disgust. “Looks more like an anvil was dropped on his face.”

  He turned aside, and the tension drained out of Ulfrik’s body. Standing just inches from him, back turned to Audhild as she began to raise her knife, was Hrut Magnusson: the whoreson who had betrayed Ulfrik to Throst and who deserved an ignominious, painful death.

  “If the broken man lives we’ll come back for him. Otherwise, round up the others. You too, Uncle.”

  Audhild struck with bared teeth. She brought her knife around Hrut’s neck, digging it up to his throat. “Anyone moves and I’ll slit him open.”

  Hr
ut laughed and began to step out of her feeble grip, which he could have done easily. Two more blades suddenly rested on his gut. He had not even worn his mail, such was his arrogance. Hrut stopped and raised his hands.

  “Tell your men to stand down,” Gudrod said. Ulfrik could not see beyond Hrut, but the dark wave of fury on his face was a balm to the fiery anger Ulfrik felt. After a tense pause, Hrut gave a curt nod and he heard two swords drop. Audhild stepped back, but kept the knife at the base of his spine.

  “Uncle, you’ve decided to come with us after all.”

  “Not without my family.”

  “You’ll pay for your betrayal,” Hrut said. Now Gudrod stepped into view and dragged Hrut’s arms behind his back, where Audhild wound bandage cloth around his arms to secure him. All the while, a sword point poised at this throat. Audhild’s uncle said nothing.

  In moments, Hrut and his men were bound. Audhild stood over Ulfrik, as if recognizing him for the first time. She whispered to him. “We must move you now. The pain will be great.”

  “I will be fine,” he said, his voice a hoarse croak that surprised even him.

  Audhild shook her head. “Drink the medicine, if only to easy your pain this final time. There will be no more of it once we leave.”

  Gudrod interrupted, pulling her up. “I can have the ships loaded and launched by midday, but we’ve not gathered everything we’ll need.”

  “No time,” Audhild said. “Why have you not prepared as I asked? We should be ready for this, not scrambling at the last moment.”

  Blushing, Gudrod mumbled something about secrecy making his life too hard. Audhild had no patience for it, and pushed him away.

  “Excuses are worthless to me,” she said. “We leave now, with whatever we can carry. I will ask Eldrid to beg the gods for a favor.”

  “I thought that was his role,” Gudrod stabbed an accusing finger at Ulfrik, but Audhild only glared at him. Hrut climbed out of his purple fury to stare at Ulfrik with a raised brow. Gudrod shook his head and left.

  “Uncle, I’m sorry for this.” Audhild and her uncle bound Hrut and his three men to support beams while fresh guards with spears entered after Gudrod exited. One held a snarling dog by a rope. It snapped at Hrut, who spit in return.

  Once they were secured, Audhild assured Ulfrik she would fetch his medicine. She left him with the guards and Hrut. Ulfrik stared hard at the treacherous bastard and dreamed of cutting out his heart. He could neither speak nor move, but his mind was alive with promises of vengeance. I hope they keep you well, Hrut. Just live long enough for me to cut out our lying tongue before I pop your eyes and open you from crotch to neck.

  Hrut stared blankly back at him, not recognizing the swollen, smashed face of a man he believed he had killed.

  Chapter 14

  True to her promise, Audhild administered a draught of the slimy, bitter medicine that removed all pain but plunged Ulfrik into stupor. While he waited for this medicine, he learned little more than he already understood: a long-standing plan for the villagers to flee had to be stepped up. Hrut had arrogantly arrived with only a handful of men, anticipating a compliant if surly crowd. He had not expected an organized resistance that had been armed and forewarned. “Your ships won’t make it to the open sea,” Hrut said. “We’ll run you aground and cut off your heads before nightfall.”

  “That’s why you’ll be a hostage,” Gudrod had explained. “We’ll drop you ashore once we’re certain no one is following.”

  The consternation etched into Hrut’s face was the last satisfying sight Ulfrik could remember before Audhild coaxed the medicine down his throat.

  A series of bright lights and hard bumps jarred him soon thereafter. A dull ache penetrated the heavy numbness induced by the medicine. Awareness extended to a circle at the edge of his body, and when he finally regained himself after what could have been days or only hours, he was tied down to a litter that had been secured to the decking of a ship. Clouds glided overhead and dark tree branches sped through the periphery of his vision.

  Again he tried to lift his head, but a bolt of pain shot through his legs and he stilled. He decided rushing things was pointless with two broken legs and a wrecked shoulder. Instead he rotated his head slowly to judge the size and condition of the ship. The deck planks were bright and close-fitting. High sides and a wide belly indicated he was on a knarr, a ship built for trade and ocean travel. He heard the splashing of oars and one deep snort of air filled his nose with the wet earth scent of a river.

  Before he could determine more, his stomach lurched and he barely turned away to eject watery vomit on the clean deck. The constant stream of medicine made his guts bloat and gurgle. Judging from the odors in his beard, he had vomited previously but had no memory of it. A rough voice cracked a laugh.

  “So the first stain upon your deck is a swine-herd’s puke. Fits you fools perfectly.”

  Ulfrik spit the last from his mouth, a string hanging from lips to the deck. He grimaced at the ripples of pain washing over him from the stress of vomiting. He grunted, angry that even throwing up was too much of an effort. When recovered, he rolled his head to the other side and saw Hrut seated against the high sides of the ship, both hands bound behind his back. He stared at that pinched face and fat head with its flattened nose and wondered how he had never seen the deceit radiating from it. If the gods had ever chosen to demonstrate the countenance of mistrust, it would be small-faced Hrut. Ulfrik blinked and looked away.

  “You are awake.”Audhild’s voice was thin in the open air. She knelt beside him, and dabbed a rag at the corners of his mouth.

  “How long?” he struggled to ask.

  “Long enough to kill me through boredom,” Hrut answered. “My brothers’ vengeance will be doubly violent for it.”

  “I’ll replace the gag if you don’t still your tongue. Remember our deal.” Audhild met Hrut’s gaze over Ulfrik’s body. He could not see Hrut’s reaction, but silence ensued and Audhild returned to cleaning Ulfrik. A soft murmur of voices came from behind, though the loudest sounds still remained the rowing. He was in the prow of the ship, the crew and passengers all behind his head.

  “How many?” Ulfrik could not complete his question, and she tried to calm him with a hand on his chest. He insisted on asking again.

  “Sixty-two in both ships, plus livestock in the other. For all you don’t know, that’s a strange question. Why?”

  Ulfrik shrugged. He did not know. In truth, it was the shortest question he had strength to ask that provided information. The medicine still clung to him like a bad dream and he was not yet fully in the world. The pain in his legs was only a dull ache and the throbbing of his body was less pronounced. His mind was not yet his own, and random thoughts still blotted out his waking world. He slipped into a momentary daydream of playing in the forest when he was a child. Boughs passing overhead reminded him of it and soon his thoughts were gone. When he came around, Audhild was already stepping away.

  He lay on the deck, enjoying the fugue state between his medicine wearing off and the waking world. When the last of it surrendered its hold over him, the pain from the rocking deck hit him. Such gentle swaying would not bother a normal person, but shattered bones of an old man were like shards of glass in his legs. The stabbing agony cycled in and out, and for a long time he fought to make peace with it. From past experience tending the wounded after battle, he knew a serious break would be months in healing, and at his age might never heal at all.

  Finally a shadow draped him and he opened his eyes to find the blind woman standing over him. She wobbled with the rowing, using her staff for balance. Ulfrik chuckled, knowing if the woman could not handle river travel the sea would send her sprawling. Then the thought of sea travel hit him, and the thought of traveling anywhere by boat concerned him. Where were they taking him and why? That was a better question to ask Audhild.

  The blind woman—Eldrid, he recalled the name out of the fog of recent memories—smirked as if she had read
his thoughts. Ulfrik considered maybe she had.

  She leaned forward, blotting out the sun behind her so that she seemed a giant black shape of wild hair and rags. Her voice was low and rough.

  “You are the one from my visions. Yes, I am blind, but the gods allow me to see all manner of things. Things no small mind like yours could ever understand.” Her arm swept over him as if she were swiping away clutter between them. “They showed me the plan for our people in that vision.”

  A dozen questions crashed behind Ulfrik’s clenched teeth. The cycle of pain hit him again, worse than anything he had felt in days. It was a horrid spike of agony that lanced up his body to coil around his mind. He arched his back in the struggle against it. Eldrid continued, her voice dropping lower.

  “You must obey me as all others obey. You must serve the gods that speak through me. To defy me is to defy them. Ask Audhild if it is not so. Ask your shipmates what curses await those who do not heed me. The gods have decreed that the man from the sky must forever remain with our people. Odin spoke to me through the fishes of the river, and said as long as the sky-man’s heart beats among his people so will prosperity follow in all they undertake. Heed me well, sky-man. The gods demand it of you.”

  The coiling pain released, and Ulfrik realized Eldrid had been leaning her staff on his broken left leg. He wanted to growl in fury and crack the staff over the woman’s head. Instead he flattened against the litter, sweat oozing from his flesh and breath ragged. He felt as if he had pushed a boulder up a mountainside. Once she had shuffled past him, Ulfrik again faced Hrut who stared back at him with eyes wide and mouth closed tight. Their eyes remained locked until Hrut dropped his head and shook it.