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

by Jerry Autieri

  “Do I seem a slave to you?” Ulfrik shouted, then remembered himself and dropped his voice. “Is my head shaved or a collar about my neck? Do I seem starved?”

  “Not every slave is mistreated,” Lang said. Finn shifted his pack from one shoulder to the next, and gave him an apologetic shrug.

  “Think you can tell my lies from the truth? Then hear this. These madmen captured me when both my legs were broken. They put me on a ship bound for this wretched place because they believe the gods have commanded them to do so. Now they won’t free me for fear the gods will punish them. Do you know who I am? I am a jarl in Frankia, where hundreds of hirdmen knelt before me and gold flowed from my hall to my champions. I’m not meant to die on this frozen turd at the edge of the world. What part of that was a lie, my friend?”

  Lang and Finn both stepped back at his tirade and Ulfrik chastened himself. Again he had overpowered a potential ally, and his shoulders sagged. “Never mind your answer, I know what you think. Truly, you had best leave before you’re found. Think on what I’ve told you and consider helping me one day. Hurry, before you’re caught.”

  “I believe you,” said Finn. The boy stood straighter, as if challenging his father to deny him. Ulfrik shrugged and gave a weak smile. The boy’s opinions mattered little.

  “As do I,” said Lang. His eyes glittered in the shadow of the woods. “The truth is in your voice. It has command and power, like a jarl’s.”

  “Then you’ll help me?”

  “No. Who’s to say these people are wrong? The gods have their own plans and I’m not one to cross them. Life’s hard enough.”

  “They are wrong. People still get sick and die. The winter was still perilous. A baby was stillborn only a month ago. What am I doing that aids them?” Ulfrik’s hands itched to grab Lang’s shirt, but he mustered all his restraint to not destroy the burgeoning promise he felt.

  “I don’t know, but they store value in your life. That’s enough for me.” Lang hoisted the pack again, and Ulfrik’s hand raised as if to grab him. He guided Finn away.

  “You’re leaving me to die.”

  “We’re leaving you to fate.” Lang turned to face him again. “Listen, I will discuss your story with my jarl. We’ll see what can be done.”

  Ulfrik straightened and squared his shoulders. He extended his hand to Lang and they grasped forearms. “You will have my gratitude.”

  An ear-piercing screech came from behind, and Ulfrik whirled to face it, still clasping arms with Lang.

  Four men had emerged from the woods, and Eldrid stood among them—blindfolded but her staff unerringly pointed at Ulfrik’s heart. She bared her teeth and hissed like a snake.

  The four men drew their swords and started forward.

  Chapter 29

  Ulfrik watched Lang forfeit his life and could do nothing to prevent it. Lang released Ulfrik’s arm at the sudden appearance of Eldrid and her underlings. Despite the warning he just received and the obvious hostility of drawn weapons, he stepped forward with arms raised in a sign of peace. Eldrid’s lead henchman was Bresi Black-Eyes, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword and his pasty flesh glistening with sweat.

  His dull blade flashed a wan blue as it raised. Lang’s hand reached for his own weapon. Finn shouted for his father.

  Then Bresi’s sword slashed up beneath Lang’s neck, a poor cut that any prepared warrior could have stopped. Yet Lang had nursed his doubts for Ulfrik’s warning and it had cost him. His hand flexed back from his hilt to this throat and he crashed down with both hands stanching bright blood that arced into the dead leaves on the ground, the jets of red in time with his heartbeat.

  Another followed up Bresi’s cut, stabbing Lang uselessly in the shoulder. Bresi stood over the body in bewilderment.

  “Run,” Ulfrik shouted as he grabbed Finn and shoved him away. The boy instead leapt for his father’s corpse. Eldrid’s underlings hovered over Lang’s writhing body, swords shaking in their hands. Eldrid stumbled after them, screaming. “Is that Ulfrik’s voice? Stop him! Kill the raiders!”

  Ulfrik caught Finn by his collar and whirled him around, sending his pack flying. “I’ll cover you. Just get back to your boat. Your father’s dead.”

  Finn stumbled forward and Ulfrik shoved him again, not allowing Finn the chance to return to his father. “Live to have revenge for him. Run!”

  Now they were sprinting through the clumps of birches, following the natural trails between them. Finn shot ahead, and Ulfrik realized he could not keep pace and would not reach Lang’s boat. Eldrid’s insane screaming followed and a glance back revealed four black shapes charging toward him. He had a slight lead, but it would not last.

  “Don’t stop,” he called to Finn, who was already fading into the shadows. Whether Finn heard, he still shouted. “Remember who saved you this day.”

  Then he ducked into underbrush that crowded a stand of three birches, dead leaves shaking into his hair. His hand swept the wet muck until his fingers curled around a palm-sized rock. He began to pry it out of the dirt. Heavy footfalls and panting breath drew closer.

  When the first shape passed him, he leapt up and hurled the rock into the man’s back. His forward momentum carried him to the ground with a thud. The next man was close on his friend’s heels and Ulfrik whirled to smash his elbow into the man’s face.

  He heard bone crack, smelled the rank beer breath, and shoved the man onto the one following. Only Bresi managed to avoid entangling himself in the crash. As he skirted it, Ulfrik wasted no time.

  Snatching the sword from Bresi’s grip was no more difficult than taking it from a boy. Many of Gudrod’s men were practiced with swords, but Bresi was not one. He rapped Bresi on the head with the hilt, then kneed him in the crotch before shoving him away like a broken barrel. The other two had regained themselves, one with blood flowing out his nose onto his beard and shirt. The injured man staggered aside and slumped to the dirt, surrendering. The other straightened from his fighting crouch, staring at the bloodied sword in Ulfrik’s hand.

  “Care to find out if I still have what it takes to kill four men at once? I’ve done it before, against better men. Come on. Have a lesson in using those swords you’re so proud of. Be ready to lose a nose or eye in the bargain.” Ulfrik ranged his sword at the pathetic group. Bresi was still holding his crotch while the broken-nosed man pinched his bridge to stop the blood flow. The other two lowered their weapons.

  “Stop them!” The shrill, distant voice drew the eyes of the final two. Ulfrik did not fear Eldrid, not now with a sword in hand. In fact, he seized on the idea of taking her hostage. He would take her north, turn her over to the people there for justice and earn freedom for himself. This was yet another chance the gods placed before him. Only four men stood in his path, and two were already defeated.

  His sword lanced out at the distracted men. He caught the closest one in the sword arm, slicing to the bone. The man dropped his sword and screamed in pain, his free hand clamping to the bloody wound.

  As the enemy toppled, he revealed Eldrid stomping through the woods and navigating with her staff. She moved with surprising speed for a blind woman on uneven ground. Ulfrik ignored her continued screaming and did not waver in his attack. The final opponent raised his sword as if it were an extension of his arm. Ulfrik swept aside the awkward block with his sword and slammed a fist into the man’s kidney. Fighting inexperienced and unarmored opponents provided a multitude of ways to eliminate the enemy. Ulfrik went with expedience, dropping the final man with a follow-up strike to his temple.

  Four men now were laid out in the refuse of the woods, and Ulfrik confidently turned his sword toward Eldrid. She had homed in on his fight, cursing the entire way. She was going to charge straight onto the point of his sword if he wasn’t careful.

  “You’ve gone too far now,” he said, his heart light with joy. He felt like dancing.

  She did not pause but instead swept the earth before her with her staff and plodded ahead. Th
e edge of her blindfold had darkened with sweat, and her teeth were bared in a hateful grimace.

  “You are my prisoner now,” he said, and raised the point of his sword to touch her body.

  But rather than yield, she raised a fist to her lips. She slipped around his sword, glided up to an arm’s length away. A small reed protruded from her fist.

  “Shit!” Ulfrik realized too late, and Eldrid blew hard on the reed.

  A red colored cloud exploded into his face, lashing it with itching fire. His eyes slammed shut, but it felt as if a fistful of sand had been ground beneath his lids. Snot rushed from his nose as he coughed and choked. He dropped his sword and scrubbed his face, only inflaming the itch to a crescendo. He doubled over with a furious scream, mucus and tears streaming over his hands. He felt as if he had inhaled fire through his nose. Something slammed across his back and he staggered. His eyes would not open and he could only cough and gag.

  Another strike to his head sprawled him, and several hands dragged him a short distance before releasing him. He lay on the ground, heedless of anything but the fire in his eyes and nose. The feeling of sand in his eyes did not abate, but the burn wore off as he continued to rub. Someone grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up.

  “You’re a long way from the village.” Though Ulfrik could not open his eyes, the voice was unmistakably Gudrod’s. “Time to explain yourself.”

  Blinded, Ulfrik stumbled back through the woods as Gudrod yanked him along by his shirt like a child being dragged to a whipping post.

  Chapter 30

  Ulfrik’s face still burned and his eyes watered for hours after Eldrid’s powder had subdued him. He perched on the edge of his bed and stared at the shirt he had torn off. Red blooms of the powder clung to its collar still; the sight of it made his skin burn anew. Now he swathed himself in a wool blanket, blinking incessantly as tears leaked over his cheeks. A bowl of water left for him had only spread the burning when he had washed his face. The only solution was to wait out the poison.

  “I’ve a dozen more powders, each one worse than the last,” Eldrid had said after Gudrod shoved Ulfrik into his house. “If you test me again, I’ll hit you with something harder. Behave while we decide what to do with you.”

  She had left with a cackle that continued to echo in his head. Now that he had recovered enough from the debilitating itch, his thoughts returned to Lang’s death and Finn’s narrow escape. He rubbed his face out of habit, but the burn flared and ignited his anger. Like a trapped bear he shot off his bed and kicked over the small table where the water bowl sat. It crashed to the dirt floor, and he kicked at the upturned table until the legs broke. He had been so close to escape, yet Eldrid’s trickery had defeated him. How many more times will that conniving hag stand in his way? Picking up a broken table leg, he flung it at the door. It had been barred shut from the outside, but someone standing guard shouted.

  “Be still in there!” The voice was familiar, perhaps Bresi’s. Ulfrik didn’t care. He flung another leg after the first.

  “Come in here and quiet me, if you’ve got any balls!”

  When no answer came, he snorted and returned to the edge of the bed. Smashing his meager possessions would not benefit him. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to focus on where the new situation would go. He had saved Finn’s life; whether the boy had understood it was another question. He would lead men back to take revenge. There was no question on that point. Audhild and Eldrid would resist; another point without doubt. A battle with these northerners might be advantageous if Ulfrik could appeal to Finn. However, the boy was young enough that he might not accompany a war party. Ulfrik shook his head, realizing whoever sought revenge would not likely name him an ally. He would have to win them over to his side or find a way to compel their aid.

  Yet before any of those concerns, he had to deal with Eldrid’s vague statements about his fate. He had laid out four men, one with broken bones and the other with a harsh sword wound. In most places common law dictated a man was entitled to compensation for injuries from the offender, but Ulfrik could not guess what laws governed this strange group. They might forgive him owing to his status as the storm god’s gift, or they may set him on fire and throw him off a cliff. Anything was possible from these madmen.

  With a sigh he decided his only option was to see how things developed and to not antagonize anyone. He had to stay alive and intact while remaining alert for the chances the gods would set before him.

  As if in answer to the thought, he heard the bar slide off the door and it opened. Audhild’s slender shadow filled the door frame against the sun behind. Another man hovered behind her, but she warned him off with an upraised hand.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Like I washed my face with hot coals.”

  “Despite her blindness, my sister has crafted a dozen or more hideous poisons. The gods guide her hands in that work.”

  “Too bad the gods did not send a wind to blow that red poison back into her face. Blind or not, her lungs would be set aflame.”

  Audhild smiled, then closed the door behind her. The guard protested as the wooden door thumped into the frame, but Audhild folded both hands at her lap as if she was on a social visit.

  “I could grab you now,” Ulfrik said. “Take you hostage and demand my way out.”

  “That has always been possible.” She paused at the broken table, absently touching her chest, then faced him. “But you have nowhere to go with me. You think you’ve made friends with the village from the north? I doubt they will welcome you, even if that boy you let escape speaks for you. At best, you can expect to be turned away unharmed. Do you imagine scratching out a life in the caves along the shore, trapped between here and those enemies to the north?”

  Ulfrik turned aside from her, remembering his decision to be contrite no matter how much he yearned to lash out. “Such a life has no appeal. But what of my life here? I put a sword to Eldrid’s neck and I’d do it again if I could.”

  He bit his lip, silently cursing his threat. She gave a tired laugh, pulled up the single stool Ulfrik owned, then sat.

  “No one other than the people involved know the details of what happened. Eldrid and I feel it is best no one else know your role in the boy’s escape. No sense in creating conflict over your actions.”

  “What of the men I injured?”

  “I’ve spoken to them. All will be laid at the feet of the spy we killed. Right now, I fear the boy will tell a story that leads his fellow villagers back to us. I want everyone focused on dealing with that threat and not arguing over what you did. I expect you to support the same story.”

  Ulfrik tightened the blanket around his neck and frowned. “No one talks to me anyway. When I speak it’s as if only the wind blew across their ears. Do not fret for my story.”

  “All the same, that is the price for my speaking on your behalf. Eldrid and Gudrod both are in a rage at your actions and had I not calmed them you might be in trouble.”

  A smile tightened his face, and she stared levelly at him. The scar in her brow raised as she awaited his answer.

  “I will say what you want,” he said at last. “You are right to worry for revenge. They will seek it and you must be prepared.”

  “Eldrid will beg guidance from the gods tonight. The whole community will be gathered to witness. Remain close, support what I say, and all will be well. We are in treacherous waters now that outsiders have found us. I fear they will undo all we have created here.”

  Ulfrik nodded. Whatever chance for escape remained was with these outsiders. He feared what Audhild hoped: that outsiders could not do enough to unmake the madness that trapped him.

  Chapter 31

  Eldrid sat on a high seat, blindfolded head tilted back and swaying as if to unheard music. Her bone necklace clattered from side to side in time with her intensifying motions. Behind her, stars fought through the orange haze of the bonfire that lit the circle of villagers. Their faces were either r
apt or turned aside in horror. Ulfrik sat in the grass as part of the circle, arms folded and face bent in a frown. The pile of driftwood and branches used in the bonfire could have built a bridge back to Ravndal. His face sweated, from the fire as well as the lingering effects of Eldrid’s poison, but his back was cold against the night.

  Audhild sat next to him, her eyes so wide he expected to have to catch them when they popped. In the wavering light, her smile and upturned nose made her a child held in the spell of a master storyteller. Seeing her so delighted eased his foul mood. Yet he only had to glance across the circle where Gudrod sat and glowered at him. Despite the exhibition of dark magic before him, he was more intent on grinding his hatred for Ulfrik.

  Eldrid swaying more violently now, a young girl stood up from where she sat at the foot of the tall chair. She carried a skin of wine, and apparently Eldrid’s increased activity had been her cue. Her gray skirt and white overdress were stained bright yellow from the blazing fire. Shouldering the skin, she placed her bare foot on the bottom rung of Eldrid’s chair and began to climb. The chair rocked, and Ulfrik silently begged the gods to fling her from her high seat, but the girl made it to the top where Eldrid sat over the tallest man’s head. Though blindfolded, one searching hand grabbed the skin and upended the skin to her lips.

  The girl leapt down as Eldrid’s cheeks bulged with ale. Discarding the skin, she stood on the chair, again rocking it but managing to stay balanced. She leaned out to the fire and sprayed the ale from her mouth as if having heard shocking news. The ale mist settled on the fire with no effect, but Ulfrik saw her left hand flick before a brighter flash erupted from the flames.

  The circle recoiled and shocked cries went up. Audhild’s hands flew to her chest and she squealed. Ulfrik flinched, his face warming in embarrassment. “She threw something into the fire to make that flash. How could you not see it?”