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

by Jerry Autieri

  “Continue with your work,” Eldrid said, straightening her necklace of bones. “Leave no board wasted. Winter is at hand, and we need shelter. Be quick.”

  Gudrod repeated her orders and the crowd resumed their work. Audhild snarled at Ulfrik as she escorted Eldrid past him.

  He stood watching the crews throwing oars, tackle blocks, benches, and boards over the side. Tears began to slide from his eyes.

  The wood piling in the grass made him think of the funeral pyre that surely awaited him in this horrible land. There was no longer any hope of escape.

  Chapter 22

  Ulfrik hefted the weighted club overhead, holding it at the apex until his shoulders burned, then sliced down. He stopped the club when his arms were perpendicular to the leaf-spangled floor of the woods. Sunlight played along its length and highlighted the sweat coating his forearms. The stone lashed to the end of the club pulled down on his wrists and threatened to break from his grip. He snarled and held it steady until the burn consumed him, then touched the rock to the ground. Blowing sweat from his mustache, he let the club drop from his calloused hands.

  Leaning against a birch, the only kind of tree that grew in these rocky lands, he congratulated himself on his effort. Though his legs were stiff and his form poor, he had done better than yesterday. Yesterday he had done better than the week before, and better by far than he had in the last days of winter when he finally regained mobility. Though the forest air was cool, a V-shape of sweat penetrated his brown wool shirt. With only the merest of responsibilities to perform for his so-called family, he had plenty of time to exercise his muscles and regain his fighting form. With the ships completely stripped down to their last nails, no one seemed to fear his escape and Audhild had even encouraged him to practice his swordsmanship. However, trust did not extend to providing him an actual sword.

  With winter releasing its grip, Ulfrik had expanded his world from Audhild’s hall to the perimeter of the village and now to the outskirts of the birch forest. He hesitated calling it a forest, but given these northern lands held so few trees, this scratchy patch would have to do. He wondered how far he could expand before Eldrid or Audhild pulled his leash. The birch trees were about the limit, since he noticed a young man spying on him from behind a large rock.

  “Hello,” Ulfrik called out, waving to him. “You can see me better if you stand closer.”

  The man ducked back as if Ulfrik had shot an arrow at him.

  Waiting for the man to peek once more, Ulfrik snorted his laughter. Do they imagine themselves unseen like forest elves, he wondered. He had known simple men, but none as dull and superstitious as these folk. Though they had shared the trials of winter, due to their provisions and the sturdiness of their homes, few people had suffered. They attributed it all to the luck the gods had invested in him, and would hear nothing to contradict that belief.

  Hungry for a diversion, Ulfrik decided to test the limits of his minder’s ignorance. If the fool thought hiding behind a rock could make him disappear, what would he do if Ulfrik himself was no longer where he expected once he finally dared to look?

  “Time to challenge these legs,” he said, patting his thighs. As soon as Audhild had removed his braces, he had begun strengthening his legs. They had withered from disuse, but he fought all winter to renew the muscle. Audhild had even helped, bracing him for his first days on his feet. Now he would test how well he had recovered.

  He did not run so much as swiftly pick his way among the trees. The forest floor was rocky and covered in leaves still wet after the melting snow had retreated, so he did not dare speed. His body was fragile and a fall on rocks would be disastrous. Instead, he picked a zigzagging path through the trees. He laughed like a mischievous boy, and felt as wild as one. Flouting authority even in such a mundane way boosted his spirits.

  Coming to where the trees climbed a rocky slope, he wondered if he should stop. The incline seemed treacherous to him given his current state, and he wouldn’t want his minder to fetch someone without a sense of humor—like Gudrod. That evil bastard spent the winter being surly and jealous of Ulfrik for living with Audhild, and Ulfrik did not want to imagine what punishment he would deliver if he could justify it. Yet this incline was the farthest distance he had gotten from the village. Why not try for more? After today, what chance would he have to be let out of sight?

  He heard his name in the distance, and laughed again. Carefully testing his steps, Ulfrik scaled the steep slope. Dark, wet rocks broke away under his feet or gnarled roots shoved up from the ground to catch him, but he still mounted the slope without an accident. Looking down, he now worried for his return journey.

  “That looks a lot worse from up here,” he said. Maybe he would let his minder carry him down. Leaving that worry for later, he turned to where the trees grew thicker. Sunlight flickered among the white trunks, inviting him to explore. Though his left leg grew stiffer, he decided to press on. His name echoed louder now, and it galvanized him to motion.

  No longer running, content to let his minder catch up with him, he ambled from tree to tree, clapping his hand to the trunks and feeling the sturdy strength of them. He wanted to be like that, tall and strong, not feeble and hunched like an old man. If ever he were to escape this island, he needed to stand as straight as these birches.

  Despite everything, he had not abandoned hope for escape. After the ships had been dismantled and their planks carried away to construct houses and halls, he had despaired of escape. Yet over the long winter with nothing more to do than eat and sleep, he had occupied his mind with a dozen possibilities for escape. Some plans were so fanciful a skald would be shamed by his imagination, while other ideas relied on boons of fate so difficult that only the rarest treasures could persuade the gods to grant them. Yet a few were plans he could enact if the right circumstances combined. For those plans, he prepared himself.

  He wasted no time pushing deeper into the woods. The steep incline had dropped him into a flat stretch that led to still higher ground. He could see the rocky slope through the gaps between the trunks and decided to head higher. Surrounding their colony were steep mountains and bald cliffs, and if he could reach even one of these lower points he would have a good view of the area. That would be useful knowledge, and his game now turned serious. When he heard his name called again, he increased his pace. At the foot of the slope he found a less forgiving climb, and decided to search along its length for an easier path. His persistence was rewarded with what almost seemed a man-made path snaking up the side.

  Following the path to the top, he discovered the birch trees still populated the area though lacking enough density to be even called a woods. Sweat rolled off his nose and his leg throbbed, but the excitement of getting a view of their colony surpassed the inconvenience. Audhild’s hall occupied the center of about ten houses all built in the traditional design resembling a boat. Given that the wood mostly came from their ships, the resemblance was apropos. Size varied by function and family, but none were as large as Audhild’s hall nor were any as empty. She kept no company besides Ulfrik and she had one girl attending her whose only relative had died at the onset of winter.

  Scanning the outlying areas, he saw what he guessed to be Eldrid’s hut, a stone building suitable for the witch she was. He wished it would collapse on her one night, but the gods would not be so kind. Men were constructing farms not much farther from her. The place seemed well established for having only been in place for half a year. Behind it was the iron gray sea rolling endlessly away to the edge of the world.

  His legs were trembling and he decided to sit and await the arrival of his minder. He cupped his hands to his mouth as he called, “Up here. I need your help to get down. Hurry.”

  After a moment he saw the dark figure of his minder scurrying toward him. He decided to let him struggle to locate him, and walked farther away from the edge to a fallen birch log sunk into the grass. When he sat down, he nearly fell over in shock.

  This wa
s a campsite. The log had been a seat and in front of him was the ring of a campfire banked with gathered rocks. He leaned forward and touched the ash pile. Cold muddy ash clung to his palm. He batted his hands together to clean them. This campsite had been beneath the snow all winter.

  Someone had been here before Ulfrik and the others had arrived. Certain that if he searched around he would find more evidence, but he had no time to search. If his minder found this and reported back to Eldrid, there would be no guessing what she might do. Ulfrik wanted to find the creators of this campsite first, if that would even be possible. At the moment, he nervously brushed his pants and tossed about for something to cover his discovery. He heard his name called again, this time from the edge of the incline.

  He strode toward the voice, biting back the pain and stiffness in his legs. The man was just scrabbling into view when Ulfrik nearly crashed right into him.

  “And here I am,” he said with a huge smile. “I was beginning to think you’d never catch up. Really, one old man with a bad leg can outrun you?”

  Up close the man was smooth-skinned and dark-haired, with striking blue eyes ringed with dark circles, reminding Ulfrik the man was named Bresi Black-Eyes. His beard marked him for a youth, and his mouth was drawn into a frown. “You shouldn’t have run off. Gudrod says you can’t get out of our sight or you’d be up to no good.”

  “Gudrod is a good sailor, but a terrible judge of character. What trouble have I made up here? See, I’m even willing to follow you back. Let’s go.” Ulfrik took the man’s arm, but he pulled free with a scowl.

  “I’m tired from chasing you. Let me rest a moment before we start back. There’s a log.”

  Ulfrik’s guts burned as his minder started toward the log. To Ulfrik’s eyes, the place now looked so obviously like a campsite he wondered how the man had not realized it at a glance. Yet he seemed not to notice as he removed his fur cap and scratched his head. The moment he sat down, he’d know.

  “If you think I’m in trouble, I expect it will go far worse for you,” Ulfrik said. The man stopped and replaced his hat.

  “Gudrod won’t be happy with your forest walk.”

  “True, but what about the man who let me take it? Look, you’re a young lad and probably have no experience with this sort of thing. I like you, so let me fix this for both of us. Come here.”

  Bresi’s frown deepened, but he returned to Ulfrik and left the campsite undiscovered. Ulfrik placed his arm over the man’s shoulder and began to guide him toward the slope as he leaned in to speak as if they might be overheard. “I know you’d like to see me punished for putting you through this, but Gudrod will have you whipped for failing in your duty. Then he’ll assign another to the job because you’ll be what he’ll call incompetent. You know what that means?” Bresi shook his head as they came to the edge. “Well, it means you’ll be off to a bad start in your new home. You’ll not be trusted with anything important again. So instead, why don’t you and I make an agreement?”

  “What kind of agreement?” Bresi pulled back, but Ulfrik was already seeking a foothold in the slope down.

  “I’ll go back with you and never speak a word of this, nor will you. No one is the wiser, and if anyone did see us we’ll both agree you were with me the whole time. I just need to get out and explore once in a while. Let me come up here and no one has to know what happened. Gudrod will be happy and you’ll not have to wear yourself out chasing me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Bresi said, but Ulfrik guessed he was only covering his pride.

  “That’s all I ask.” He suppressed a smile as he worked his way down the slope with his new friend following. He planned to spend a lot more time here.

  Chapter 23

  Ulfrik checked over his shoulder, certain his minder would be chasing after him. Weeks had passed but the campsite was exactly as he had left it, the only difference being the muddy ash in the remains of the fire had dried to a clump. He kicked through the grass finding old bones from a meal, a stake buried in the ground where a tent had been pitched, and most telling a bent knife blade discarded by the fire. From the little rust on the blade he guessed the last visitors had left within the year. He searched the bright spring sky as if the answers were overhead, but found only the dots of distant birds.

  His minder, Bresi Black-Eyes, called from the woods down the slope. Despite Ulfrik’s intense desire to return and explore this campsite, he had deliberately waited weeks to slip away again. He had hoped Bresi would have forgotten the location, but he was doing an admirable job finding it. He also wanted to avoid eliciting Bresi’s suspicions for this location by returning too soon. As it was, he wanted to lead Bresi away from this place to be caught elsewhere.

  Bresi called again, this time closer, and Ulfrik stepped up his plans. Whether or not anyone would return to this place, he could not guess. He had hoped to discover a midden pit or something to indicate habitual activity. His minder left him no time to discover one, if one existed. However, the place was a natural spot for anyone to make camp in these woods. High ground was mandatory when selecting a location, and in this area the only higher elevations were unsuitable. Fresh water was nearby and a commanding view of the area would be welcomed by any traveler.

  However, travelers would see the village below and either come down to it or remain hidden from it, and Ulfrik did not want either outcome. He wanted the campers to stay away until he could find them first.

  Reaching into a pouch carried at his waist, he produced a flat stone he had procured from Audhild’s hearth. In secret, during his almost limitless idle time, he had scratched a message into the stone. Not everyone could read runes, but most could recognize basic messages. His was simple, “Wait here.” He set this in the center of the campfire remains, then threw a handful of kindling twigs next to the stone. Staring at them, he had the sinking feeling that this message only made sense to him and future travelers would be confused. He wanted them to make a fire and wait. With Fate on his side he would see the smoke before others and escape to this campsite. He would be the only one looking for smoke at this place and he knew how to find it faster than any other.

  He heard his name again, and decided he had to set Bresi on a new trail or risk his discovering this setup. If he ever saw smoke rising here, it would have to be the work of fate. He clapped the dirt from his hands and hobbled off toward the far end of the slope. Once he had clambered down, slipping and scratching his leg on a rock, he yelled a challenge to Bresi. “You can’t keep an eye on one old man? Try to keep up.”

  Waiting until he heard Bresi curse in response, Ulfrik darted toward the west. He had no plan to his route, picking the easiest paths that rolled out between the birches. Even in a mere two weeks his agility and stamina had increased, and he was covering far more ground than he had thought possible. Conversely, Bresi seemed to be fading into the background. Maybe he had given up or had stumbled and hurt himself. Ulfrik didn’t care. He reveled in the motion, the pleasant pain of exerting his legs, and in the freedom of the forest. Though not even at a fraction of his old strength, he still exhilarated in the power of his flight.

  After what felt like an hour, yet was likely not more than minutes, that power fled him and he was doubled over against a birch tree. He gulped his breath, laughing. Here was good enough; let Bresi catch up to him.

  Then he heard the singing.

  It was distant, but high pitched and melodious. His skin tingled and he felt a cold trickle along his back. Had he disturbed the forest spirits or aroused the interest of an elf? In all his years, never had he experienced such a voice from deep in the trees. Yet this was a new world with new wonders. Common sense told him to spit for luck and walk backwards away from the enrapturing evil, but what if the singing was from a more mundane source? What if this singer could aid him?

  “Bresi, I wish you’d find me,” he said as he started toward the singing. His heart beat in both dread and anticipation. Having company would bolster his resolve, but alo
ne he was free to worry.

  As he drew closer, the voice resolved into a woman’s. Her lyrics were indistinct, but some words rose through the distance. It was a mournful tune, but expertly sung and powerfully executed. He slowed his approach, half from fear of discovering a forlorn spirit and half from just wanting to enjoy the song. He had not heard such singing in many years, and it stirred memories he wished to enjoy a while longer. Even a sad song was a joy in this frozen land.

  He came to glade bathed in sunlight and seated upon a low rock was the source of the singing. His mouth dropped open and he leaned against a tree when he recognized the singer.

  Eldrid sat on the rock, staff leaning forgotten by her side, her face toward the sun. Her blindfold was unbound and lay spread across her lap. She smiled as she sang, though Ulfrik’s ears registered nothing from the pure shock. Under this light, swaying to her own singing, hair floating with the breeze, she was nearly beautiful. However, as she turned her head in time with her song, Ulfrik saw the horrid wounds of her eye sockets. The one eyelid was heavily scarred with scabrous red flesh while the other was nothing more than an angry knot of twitching scar tissue.

  When her gaze slid past him, Ulfrik stepped back. A branch cracked beneath his foot and Eldrid’s singing stopped.

  His stomach felt as if it had burst into flame. She shot to her feet, snatching up her staff as she did. Her formerly sweet voice had become shrill.

  “Who’s there?” She shot forward directly toward Ulfrik, her head tipped back as if she could still see out of one eye. He thought he saw a yellowish eyeball seeking him beneath the mangled lid. “I’ll turn you into a frog and dash you on the rocks.”

  Her face was a mass of angry lines and she bared teeth the color of stale cheese and livid gums. Raising her staff overhead she charged him with a hoarse scream.