“What do you have to say?” Gudrod asked. He folded his arms before him, a snide smile on his face. Dried blood and snot was still in his beard from when Ulfrik had broken Gudrod’s nose the day before.
“Audhild invited me to her bed, spread her legs, and it was all set up to shame me. She is threatened by my success, as are you, and so you both plotted to bring me down. Nothing I say is going to stop whatever you planned.”
“How expected,” Gudrod said, throwing his hands in the air. “Rather than answer for his crimes, he would distract us with his own accusations. Do you deny being atop Audhild, even with four witnesses to say otherwise?”
Ulfrik stared off at the distant storm clouds. He imagined a bolt of lightning splitting Gudrod in half.
“And Audhild, do you say Ulfrik was not welcomed to your bed?”
“I do.”
“Then the crime is rape, and the punishment for that has always been death.”
Before Ulfrik could gouge Gudrod’s eyes and strangle him, Eldrid screamed. It was no ordinary screech, but a piercing spear of ice that slid into the ear and stabbed the brain. Her back arched as she threw her arms wide. Hands clamped over ears. Audhild jumped in shock. Ulfrik let his arms drop and waited for her scream to wind out.
When done, she pointed her staff at Gudrod. “What fool words did I hear? You speak with the tongue of a snake. I have foretold Ulfrik must live for the gods’ continued blessings. Do not oppose me in this. You have no sight. You lack any wisdom. All must remember my words, for the gods speak through me. Ulfrik lives.”
“But …he has to pay for his crimes.” Gudrod’s demeanor was like a child who had his toy sword snatched away.
“There is another way,” Audhild said, raising her hands between Eldrid and Gudrod as if separating them. Eldrid withdrew her staff, her part in the drama completed. Ulfrik narrowed his eyes at Audhild. She was playing both him and Gudrod, but he could not guess her final scheme.
The pause had drawn every eye to her, and she scanned the faces of the gathering before continuing. “I agree with Eldrid. Ulfrik is the living vessel of the gods’ fortune. She dreamed of a man from the sky promised by the gods to bring us a new life and great success. Ulfrik is that man, and to kill him is to spit in the face of the gods’ generosity. He must live, but does not need to be free.”
A few nods came from the crowd. Ulfrik stepped toward Audhild, but paused when he felt a blade point into his back. Bresi had come up behind, now carrying a spear he leveled at Ulfrik’s spine. She continued.
“There are caves all over this land, and one is close. We will build a grate of iron to contain him within it. He will be fed and cared for by all of us. But we will be safe from his rabid lust and violence.”
Bresi’s spear point pressed Ulfrik’s back as he flexed toward Audhild. Gudrod drew his sword, and Ulfrik had to stop. He glared at her over Gudrod’s shoulder. Her face had no expression. She had dispatched him as a challenge to her power. How had he not seen this? He had looked to Eldrid all along as the true ruler, but she was evidently jumping to Audhild’s commands.
“You ungrateful bastards!” he shouted at the crowd. “I saved your miserable lives only to have you treat me worse than a slave.”
“A slave’d be killed for rape,” called one voice. A few others agreed.
“Shut up!” Ulfrik’s voice boomed like it did over the battlefield. Even Gudrod’s sword quaked in his grip. His father had been Orm the Bellower, and Ulfrik had inherited his vocal prowess. He blasted them with it now.
“I demand a trial by combat. Let the gods decide if I am truthful when I say I did not rape Audhild.”
The stunned faces had no answer. Gudrod paled, and Ulfrik flashed a venomous smile at him. For an instant, Ulfrik thought his demand might bear fruit.
Then he noticed Audhild tap her thigh twice, and Eldrid launched into her scream once more. It was not as piercing this time, but no less arresting.
“The decision is made,” she said, stretching her staff toward him. “For all the times you’ve threatened us with violence or tried to abandon your sacred duties, you must be imprisoned. There is no other way.”
Gudrod straightened, his smile returning, and nodded at someone behind Ulfrik. Bresi’s spear dug into him as another man retied his bonds. Any attempt a flight would end with the spear head through his back.
Thunder grumbled louder in the distance and the sky darkened. All looked nervously to the sky. Eldrid’s pronouncements did not ease their tense postures. “The gods witness this and agree. It is the sound of them banging their tables in approval.”
Lightning flashed and wind picked up. Ulfrik did not see approval, but instead heard his opportunity. If the gods needed a voice, then he would provide it. As his hands were again bound behind his back, he lashed out at the crowd.
“You think Eldrid alone knows the gods? I am their vessel. She told you herself. They are not pleased, and neither am I. I curse you in the names of all the gods. By Odin’s one eye and Thor’s hammer, I curse this rotten village to death. Each day I am imprisoned the stronger my curse grows. The pox take all of you to the grave!”
“Silence him!” Eldrid screamed. Gudrod was as still as the rest of the crowd. Before he could act, lightning flashed and thunder shook the ground. A few of the women cried out.
“The gods hear me,” Ulfrik said, a smile on his face. “Audhild, may your cunt fall out and your tongue turn black.”
Gudrod’s spear butted him in the gut, driving the wind out of him. Bresi forced a rag into Ulfrik’s mouth, a smoky and gritty taste to it. He did not resist, for the thunder pealed again and people scattered.
The gods had heard him.
But he was still a captive and doomed to die in a cave.
Chapter 37
Ulfrik leaned against the cold iron grate that sealed the cave entrance. Each square was large enough for him to put an arm through, though nothing beyond was worth grabbing. He looked out on ground that rolled like an ocean frozen in black rock, patches of grass its sea foam. The corrugated landscape prevented him from seeing too far, though he could smell the salt air and hear the faint purr of the sea. The sky was a match for the gray iron that held him inside the cave. He hung one arm outside of it.
When he was a child, his father had taken him to the summer trading bazaars in Kaupang where he had once seen a black bear in a cage offered for sale. The beast’s eyes were sad and confused and it leaned against the cage so square patches of its fur pressed out. Ulfrik had stroked the fur and the bear did not flinch. It had been a broken animal, no better than a skin to be thrown over a bed. The man selling it proclaimed it a mighty beast worthy of a mighty master, but Ulfrik remembered how his father had snorted in disgust and left it without a second glance.
Ulfrik imagined he was that bear now, pressed against the side of his own cage.
He withdrew his arm and pulled over the lice-infested blanket he had carried since the night Audhild had betrayed him. In the cave, he was not allowed fire and his sole warmth came from his clothing. For now, only the night was chill but he dreaded the coming of winter.
The thought gave him pause. Winter was months away. When had he resigned himself to living so long in this cave? After he had cursed everyone he set eyes upon, Gudrod and his thugs beat him senseless. They threw him into this cave within a day of the iron grate being forged from Valagnar’s melted-down weapons. No thought had been given to his conditions. Over the days or weeks—he no longer knew how long had passed—villagers supplemented his living conditions with bare necessities: blankets and furs for bedding, a bucket for his waste, a bowl for collecting rain water. They came with food and ale once a day, leaving it in bowls outside the grate. If he tried to talk to them, they fled.
He lay on his fur bed, the lumps of stone beneath digging into his back. Above him roots hung between the rocks. He wondered if the cave would collapse or if a dwarf would crawl out of a crack in the floor and kill him. He had been pouring hi
s waste bucket into a deep crack at the back of the tube-shaped cave. The smells of excrement and urine had drawn enough flies to the crack that the cave hummed with their buzzing.
This was it. All the grand victories, the glorious battles, the piles of gold and silver had led him to a cave and a shit bucket.
He regretted Throst had failed to kill him. He used to hate Throst for attempting murder; now he hated Throst for not finishing the kill.
He rolled on his side atop the furs and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again all was dark, though he could see clearly. Moonlight shined into his cave and filled the rough black walls with silvery highlights. He was still on his side, facing the wall, and decided to sit up. When he did, he discovered Runa sat beside him.
She was dressed in the gray wool dress she favored for sleeping, hugging her legs and leaning her head on her knees in an expression of loving patience. She smiled at him as he awakened. Her hair was full of tight curls and her skin was apple-smooth and radiant even in the dark, like she had been when they first met so many years ago.
Seeing her brought tears to his eyes, and he grabbed for her. Her giggle was the clink of silver chains and her scent was fresh lavender. She laced her arms around him as he rocked with her in his arms. “I feared I’d never see you again,” he said, running his hands through her hair.
“Yet I am here. Have you forsaken me so soon?”
He shook his head, burying his face in her shoulder. “Let me hold you again. I’ve missed you so much.”
“You must do better,” she said, her voice a warm whisper that tickled his neck. “You are better than this. If you wish to hold me again, prove it.”
When he pulled back to look at her, the darkness muddled her face. He sat back, peering against the gloom until he realized he was not looking at Runa.
“Toki?”
“Who else?” With those words Ulfrik saw him clearly. His eyes flashed with the youthful mischief of the first years they sailed together as brothers and raiders. The last time Ulfrik had seen him blood had poured from his mouth and his eyes rolled in death with Throst’s treacherous arrow piercing his head. Yet now he was whole, strong-jawed and full-bodied, sitting cross-legged next to him. A silver cloak pin flashed in the night.
“How are you not dead?”
“A question I must ask you. Or rather do you seek it? Were you not hoping for it?”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“But you did.” Toki smiled, a wicked twist to his lips that he shared with his sister, Runa, and had passed on to Ulfrik’s son, Gunnar. The simple gesture made Ulfrik burn with shame.
“Why can’t I open the grate and walk out of here?”
“Some gates are closed and some are open and some are neither. All need men to travel under them. Have you wondered how Throst knew you were coming? He ambushed you in the tower. But how had he known to be there?”
“I … he … Hrut told him. Yes, I remember Hrut and his treachery.”
“How is it you were invited to the place where Throst dwelt? When you return home, think about that. We are brothers, you and I. But not all brothers are as true and not all brothers hold each other dear. Some brothers would betray each other for trifles.”
Ulfrik stood, Toki’s words hammering at him. Something about them troubled him, yet he could not grasp it. The thoughts made his head hurt, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled. Then he understood, and clapped his hands.
“Ah, you said I will return home. How …”
Toki no longer sat across from him. The rock floor was barren, filled only with a pool of moonlight. Then a shadow stirred at the grate. A figure leaned against it, regarding him from a drape of darkness.
The vague shape of the man did not stir and seemed to be staring at him; his head was so lost in shadow Ulfrik could not tell where he faced.
“Who are you? What have you done to my brother?”
“Don’t you know me anymore?”
Ulfrik puzzled at the words and the figure pushed away from the grate. Moonlight caught him, revealing the strong lines of a smiling face. His straight teeth were as white as the moonlight. For a moment Ulfrik did not recognize him.
“Yngvar Bright-Tooth?”
“Your old eyes still see some things. I saved you once, in the forest. You were a boy then.”
“How could I forget? Yngvar, open the grate and free me.”
Yngvar shook his head, his smile vanished. “I already saved your life once. Some tricks are not so fair a second time.”
Ulfrik grabbed the cold iron grate and shook it. The moon-brightened fields beyond rolled away to nothing. “I am trapped here with no way out.”
“You fool,” Yngvar said. He pulled him around by the shoulder. “Your eyes seek the wrong things. You know the way out, but have decided it is easier to die instead.”
“That’s not true. I’m tired and weak. Would you have me break iron bars?”
Yngvar’s face crumpled in a frown. “Shame me no more. We who have shed blood for you are disgraced. Why are you behind these bars?”
“I was outwitted. I have no talent for these deceitful games and have paid the price for my ignorance.”
“Don’t play games you lack the talent to win.” Yngvar suddenly held a sheathed sword in his both hands. His eyes blazed as brightly as his teeth, like two stars above a tipped over crescent moon. “You gave this to me to hold in the sea grave. Do you know it still?”
Yngvar held up the sword in its leather sheath. A grip in sharkskin wrap was topped in a pommel that held a glittering green jewel. Ulfrik’s heart leapt in his chest.
“My sword, Fate’s Needle!”
“Yes, when you grasp it once more, a king will find his crown and your fate reclaimed. Return to your hearth, take up Fate’s Needle again. Make my death worth something.”
“I don’t know how,” Ulfrik said, his voice cracking with desperation. Yngvar closed his eyes and clasped the sword over his chest, just as Ulfrik had placed it before dropping him into the cold bosom of the sea.
“You do know,” Yngvar’s voice echoed in his head as he faded. It was as if he were sinking beneath waves of night, growing fainter each moment. “Seek the way beneath. Find your path home again.”
Ulfrik was again facing the wall and light filled his cave. He was not certain how long he had been sleeping, but once he realized he had dreamed he shot upright. His head was heavy with sleep and the room spun. Yngvar’s voice still echoed as the vestiges of sleep fell away. He rubbed his face vigorously, then slumped forward.
“Now only ghosts speak with me. I am going mad.”
He stared at the bucket at the back of the hall, a dance of flies leaping along its rim. Something about a gate came to mind.
Then he remembered his dreams.
He tore away his blanket and fell before the grate. The ground was stony but the dirt was pliable. He cast around until he found a rock he was able to prize out of the earth. With this tool, he began scrapping the dirt at the base of the grate.
“All gates need men to travel under them,” he repeated. “Of course they do.”
The simplicity of the scheme would have embarrassed him had he not been so excited to have a plan. It all came together now. Like a dog digging under a fence, he only had to excavate enough dirt to slip through. He could dump the dirt into the crack at the back of the cave where no visitor would see it. The hole itself could be disguised with any of the flat rocks scavenged from the cave floor. Time was not a factor. He had nothing else to do but dig. Then he would head north and take his chances with Valagnar.
The tiny scrapings weren’t large enough to fit a mouse yet. However, he would work this hole until his entire body could slide beneath the grate.
A tear streaked down his cheek as he gouged his makeshift stone shovel into the dirt.
Chapter 38
Ulfrik scooped the dirt into his waste bucket, patting off his hands over it, then carried it to the
rear of the cave. Light did not reach the back and even in the noon sun he had to take care not to break a toe on a hidden rock. However, he had been traversing the same path dozens of times each day and knew every dip and rise. He dumped the dirt into the corner. He had no need to hide the pile when others could not see it. The air at the back of the cave was rank with fresh earth and waste, and flies landed on his face as he shook out the last of the dirt.
Back at the grate, the slight breeze was a welcome caress compared to the humid stench to the rear. He set the bucket down and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He had been digging for three days, being careful and methodically excavating the area next to the grate. So many promising starts ended in stones he could not dig out without removing the grate. Those he had filled in again and picked a new area for exploration. He stared down at the most promising dig yet, a wide but shallow area he had cleared out the prior day. Another stone prevented further progress, but he judged the day to only be slightly past noon. He had ample time to trench around the rock and prize it out. The resultant hole would probably allow all the room needed to shimmy beneath the grate.
His stomach growled and he patted it. A single daily meal had been enough to sustain him when all he had done was lie on his back. With real work, the food was barely enough to keep him. Pausing too long brought a weak tremor to his arms and legs along with a faintness. If he concentrated only on digging, he fell into a waking dream where his motions seemed to come from another place.
Now he had rested enough and began to feel the weakness. He tested the gap, getting on his belly and feeling the sharp grit sliding beneath him. He could fit his arm up to his neck and then the iron bars caught his head. He needed to redouble his efforts, for the width and depth of the hole had gone beyond his ability to hide with rocks or bedding. Today was the day for escape. His meal would not come until just before twilight. That gave him several hours alone.
The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5) Page 22