They could not know that it covered an area of over four thousand square miles, for as yet it had no name. Someday this land they had blunderingly found would be called Iceland because of this glacier, which would itself bear the name of the VamajokulL
Toward this menace Thyra unerringly steered, holding a course as steadily as though she sought a well-known destination.
To aid the fitful wind, the weary men took up their oars again with the thought of landing sooner at some inlet where they could fill the small keg with fresh water.
At the nearer edge of the vast ice field they could see a long gentle slope, interrupted by several small hills and intersected by considerable streams. Here they would have turned in to an excellent beach. Thyra refused it and continued coasting, until they reached a spot where the outliers of the field came close down to the water, hardly leaving room for passage ‘between them and the sea.
Here, a tongue of ice ended in a cliff face, a hundred feet in height, where a firth had once run deeply into the land. The lava edges of the walls that formed this inlet could still be seen, once jagged but rounded by time and the action of the slowly moving glacier. Thyra scanned them keenly, as though the seared scars were well-known landmarks.
When she was satisfied, she steered directly for the dan-gerous ice front. The boat grounded upon a tiny scrap of beach.
A stream met them, flowing out of a cavern melted into the glacier. It was murky with glacial flour, ground and re-ground from the rocks crumbled beneath the tremendous moving weight The water was plainly unfit to drink. The men looked at Thyra in surprise that she should seek such a landing.
Her father said, “After Ragnarok, and when Asgard is no more, surely the gods will come to dwell in this land. They may imprison Loki hi those fires, forever. How pleasant would be those flowering meadows to the tread of Freya’s soft feet! I believe Balder, the beautiful, has smiled upon this place hi spring. But, where we stand now, daughter, is fit only for the frost-giants. That rumble in the sky is not the chariot of Thor, coming to welcome us. It is doom to men! We shall be buried beneath the ice. Let us leave at once.”
Thyra cast him one glance as though he were a stranger. There was an imperiousness and a disdain hi it he had never seen. She struck aside the hand with which he had sought to restrain her, turned without a word, and darted into the depths of the tunnel hi the ice.
With a hoarse cry of anguish, Flann, first to realize what she had done, sprang from the boat and plunged out of sight behind her, splashing through the shallow but rapid stream.
The others, disregarding the danger, followed the reckless pair and the cavern re-echoed with their shouts to return.
Hampered by the current, Flann could not catch Thyra with the distance she had attained. As they went deeper beneath the glacier, the sunlight through the clear ice, striped with successive layers of ash from previous eruptions, fell upon them hi deepening shades, from turquoise through amethyst into indigo.
Beneath their feet the ground trembled. A hand against the ice wall on either side detected the almost continuous vibration of the distant earth shocks. Large cracks appeared hi the ice with a sound of thunder, but only tiny crumblings brought particles down upon them, harmless as yet.
It was almost hi darkness that Flann came upon Thyra near the end of the tunnel, flattened against a smooth ex-panse with her body pressed against the ice and her arms outspread as though she would embrace it.
Her eyes were closed and her cheek lay hard against the wall.
As Flann reached her, he put out his hand. He did not touch her, for it was plain to see from her ecstatic expression that she was not aware of him or conscious of any danger.
She pressed harder against the ice as though she would melt her way into it She was much beyond herself and anything whick Flann had ever known. He sank to his knees beside her, bowed his head, and began to pray. Above him, he heard her soft whisper and wept because he knew it was not for him.
“Oh, my darling, my only one! I have come back as I promised I would!”
Facing the ice wall, he saw that it was almost parchment thin. Behind it, with eyes now accustomed to the dim light, he could see an egg-shaped chamber. Within it, encysted there for a length of time which he could not guess, there lay a man, clad in leather, with a short sword and a flint hatchet at his side.
His eyes were closed, his head rested upon his arm as though he were asleep and the expression on his face was one of peaceful waiting and pleasant dreams. He had not lain down in fear.
It was at this moment that the others came upon them. Biarki struck Flann aside, hurling him down in the icy water, and Skeggi leaped over him and seized his daughter to drag her away.
With a strength he had never known she possessed, she maintained her place against the wall. Flann rose dripping, his face contorted in fury, and he was about to leap upon Biarki, but at that moment a crack appeared above them and a torrent of water cascaded down.
The sheet of thin window ice fell in fragments and the strangely dressed man was visible to all of them. The egg-shaped chamber began to change its form to a flatter oval. Its inhabitant would have soon been crushed had not Thyra now crept into the ever-narrowing slit, taken a firm grip on his deerskin shirt, and tugged him out
His rigid body slid easily over the wet ice and into the shallow stream. None too soon, for as he struck the water the chamber collapsed and disappeared as though it had never been.
More ice fell from the tunnel roof. The three men forgot their differences at the instant and obvious peril. As Thyra had her hands wound tightly into the stranger’s garment and refused to let go, they perforce were obliged to carry him along if they would save her.
It was not a difficult return. The water supported the man’s weight and the current of the stream aided them in their mad flight to safety. Above, beneath, and all around them, the ice river groaned and rumbled. Behind them, forcing them on, without an instant of pause, the tunnel walls narrowed and pinched together.
‘A wave of water struck and hurled them out, but not to safety, for although they lay struggling upon the beach, ice blocks fell from the face of the glacier and smashed nearby. Splinters struck and stung like hail, but miraculously no one was injured more than suffering bruises and small cuts.
Thyra still wore her strange, determined expression. She did not need to give an order. At her commanding look, Biarki and Flann picked up her find and not until then did she loose her bloodless hands from the death grip she had maintained.
They hurried him down the black beach into the boat. Thyra’s eyes closed. The color and the strength drained out of her face. Her father caught her up as she staggered and would have fallen. He threw her into Flann’s waiting arms and slammed his burly frame against the knorr’s grounded prow. It slid out among the clashing ice cakes.
Ash and pumice lay as a crust upon the water and ankle deep inside the-boat. The waves came in like oil, without breaking, although they were large and increasing in size. Through and over the rollers, into a safer distance from shore, the gasping men strained at the heavy oars. The glacier itself was all in motion, heaving and sinking with the violent disturbance of the tortured land.
“Loki must be here now!” panted Biarki. “Sigyn is late bringing back the bowl. See how he writhes!”
Flann cast him a disgusted look, which Biarki did not see. Flann did not believe for a moment that the bound god was suffering from snake venom that dripped upon his face when his wife did not catch it to protect him. He did not believe in Loki, either, but he knew that this was no time to say so. He continued rowing.
It was well that they had not lingered. Soon the whole front of the glacier fell away, burying the beach and closing in the tunnel completely. No great bergs were to be seen, but enougk ice fell into the water so that the boat rocked dangerously when the waves struck out at them.
As the sea became littered with grinding floes, they did not continue on in their original direction, but tu
rned back toward the western shore.‘ It was late afternoon, but being summer the sun was yet high.
In this direction they coasted for about two hours, seeing only bare shores. They ran out from under the falling ash and as though the distant mountain knew they had escaped its greatest danger, the violence of its eruption diminished.
Thyra’s eyelids fluttered and opened. She looked around in bewilderment and for a brief time she seemed herself again. But before anyone could speak and ask how she felt, the look came upon her again and made her face unrecognizable to them, though more beautiful than before.
She gave a happy wordless cry, crawled to the man they had rescued, clasped him tightly in her arms, and dropped her head upon his breast Her eyes closed once more. This time she slept. The mystery daunted them and they did not dare to touch her.
So the two lay, until the knorr was beached—the living and he whom they thought dead, for if he breathed they could not see any sign of it and he gave no other indication of life.
They ran the boat up into an inlet and drew it up on the rough shore. The water was quiet there, only stirred by a swift stream that tumbled over a rocky height. A salmon leaped, feeding, and they marked its probable lurking place, but shelter was the first necessity.
Beyond lay hills and farther yet a mountain hid the volcano, which still rumbled fitfully directly north of the inlet. They could see its glow, but the ground was mostly quiet. The sun beat down between the cliffs on either side, but there was a wolf wind blowing and though they were sheltered from it, the warmth of rocks was no comfort to them. Their clothes were too wet
Skeggi gently disengaged the clasp of his sleeping daughter and laid her down upon some grass, between two rocks, and covered her with a robe. It was all that b,e could do. They lifted out the strange man and now had time to examine him more closely.
He wore leggings of deerskin, from ankle to thigh., His tunic, or shirt, had sleeves that were fringed with thrums, as were the leggings. Over the shirt he wore a sleeveless vest of heavy leather, beaded with dyed porcupine quills. When the vest was joined together in front, by its leather points, the two halves pictured an eagle with broad-spread wings. Its beak was opened as though in challenge.
His lean waist was cinctured by a strong belt studded with odd silver and bronze coins, which seemed very old and worn. The dates were undecipherable. From this belt hung his short, heavy sword, by his right hand, and another narrower belt crossed above, from which, on his left hip, a little flint-throwing ax was suspended in a loose loop.
He had a breech-clout of white fawnskin and a pendant-beaded strip of the same material hung down to his knees before and behind. This too was fringed and all seemed the product of much loving labor. Plainly, this man had once been held in great affection or highly respected.
On his feet were beaded moccasins, not much worn. He had no headgear, nor did he need any. A beaded band circled his forehead and his long brown hair hung down behind, clubbed into a single braid, held together at the end by a beaded ring.
His skin was a deep, reddish brown and seemed a natural color, darker than a sun in these latitudes would tinge it. Biarki’s eyes narrowed, noticing this.
“Doubtless, by his swart skin, he is a man of Surt. He lay there waiting to ride out of Muspelheim, with his dark Lord, and fling fire upon the world to destroy it. We were fools to take him out of the ice. We would do well to cut off his head before he comes to life and it is too late.”
Skeggi laughed. “It is you who are simple. The man is dead.”
His partner grunted. “It may be so and it may not be so. Look, his legs and arms are flexible. His head moves from side to side.” He stirred it roughly with his foot against the man’s cheek.
“His face is soft. It should be hard as stone! Let me kill him, for he is not dead.”
He took the sword from its scabbard. It was good steel and still held a fine edge. At the hard looks that were cast at him by both Skeggi and Flann, he pretended to be in jest and tossed the sword idly from hand to hand.
“At least, when we are sure that he is dead, I will keep his sword. Look, there are runes upon it!”
Flann stepped forward quickly and took the sword as one well accustomed to its use. When Biarki reached for it, growling, Flann did not resist, but the point seemed always to be the only part the other could grasp. The thrall examined it closely.
“I am well aware that you hold me of no more account than to cut bait, Biarki. One day you may learn that I have other talents as well. If you could read books as I can and had talked to monks, instead of murdering them, you would be wiser.
“I studied at the Holy Island under the Blessed Aldwith and I tell you now that these marks are not runes—as you would know if you could cut runes yourself.
“This is an inscription writ by a Roman smith upon a Roman sword, for a Roman soldier. I say also, for your further education, Biarki, that against it your ax and buckler would avail you nothing. In its time, it was the most deadly hand weapon on earth! It reads ‘SIXTH LEGION, VICTRDC.’
“I know no more than you how this man came to be here, but I should beware of taunting him as you do me, should you ever face him in battle. Your ignorance and stupidity may yet be your bane!
“If he was a legionary, the Sidhe must have protected him, for in this reign of Harald Fairhair, in dread of whom you fled Norway, we Christians number the year of our Lord to be that of 873.
“Now I know from my reading, at which you sneer, that mighty Rome came to nothing in the year of 516. No Roman soldiers ever went on foray after that, so unless he be of Methuselah’s kin, which meseemeth not, then he has somehow lain frozen here for some three hundred years!”
There is no telling what might have gone awry in Biarki’s unpredictable mood. His slow flush betokened a hideous fury. Although Flann was watching him narrowly, sword at guard, Biarki’s strength would have surely brought the thrall great scathe.
Skeggi eyed them both. He obviously had no intention of interfering, whatever befell. The moment was long and tense. It was, therefore, the more startling to all of the men when a scornful, imperious voice suddenly spoke.
Thyra was standing, but it was not truly Thyra—not as they had known her before today. The strange voice that had directed them still had bell notes in it, but of clanging iron rather than tinkling gold.
“Will you let this girl’s body freeze while you worthless creatures argue? If she dies, he dies with her and he shall not die, if it must mean the lives of all of you. I will warm the bodies of both in your blood before that shall be!
“At once! I require food for this girl. I need shelter for me and mine and a fire so that my man may live again. Bring wood, gather rocks, cut long poles, and dig a pit! I will tell then what else you shall do. See to it without delay!”
Skeggi puffed out his cheeks and jutted his beard at his daughter. Before he could speak, she snatched the sword from Flann’s nerveless hand and took a menacing step toward him.
Skeggi went—the others with him—like a lamb.
Once they had climbed the slope of sharp lava detritus, following upward along the stream, they came out upon a grassy meadow. Here was growing a kind of wild oats and a flight of ptarmigan took the air before them, frightened out of their feeding ground. They saw the tracks of a fox.
Flann motioned the others to move slowly as they neared a quiet pool; he leaned down and passed his hand cautiously under a large trout, whose fins were gently moving only enough to maintain its position against the lazy current. With a quick flirt he threw it up on the bank, barely disturbing the surface. Altogether he caught three more by tickling before others that he could see took fright and darted away into deeper water. He strung his catch on a willow branch and went on, carrying the fish.
The meadow was full of wild flowers, small and delicate, with bright bloom. Wild crowberries and bilberries were plentiful. They picked some as they walked, but did not delay. The days were long, but there was still a
night to come and it would be cold.
On the slope of the nearest hill, from whence came the stream winding down from the distant glacier into the meadow, there were more willows and jumper bushes. There was also a small grove of dwarf birches, none taller than twelve feet.
Crossing the meadow toward the trees, they raised more ptarmigan and Skeggi flung a stick into the thick of them and knocked down a brace. He tied them to his belt. They skirted a bog and saw that the water oozing into their deep footprints was brown with peat.
Biarki looked about. It seemed a good land and empty. He mentally estimated its riches. There was stone for walls and paddocks. Sheep would do well here. There was excellent pasturage for cows and horses. What with fish free for the taking, the flocks of wild fowl constantly wheeling overhead, meat and eggs would be no problem. Eider ducks were nesting. He had seen seal and liked seal meat well. Perhaps there would be deer in the highlands, though as yet he had seen no sign of any.
He would not build a house. Let the others do that! He pursed his lips, considering. His thoughts always moved slowly, not like that quick-witted, insulting thrall. After the house was finished, he would kill Flann. It would be easy to find an excuse. There was never any difficulty in becoming angry enough to want to kill him.
Skeggi would be harder to get out of the way. Perhaps there would be an accident. He might fall off a cliff— be lost out of the boat, somewhere that the girl could not see whatever happened.
Then all this land would be his! Thyra would be his too. He had never been quite sure of her, for it was not her promise that he held, but her father’s.
Oh, Loki take the lot of them! The stranger! He had forgotten the stranger. Well, if he was not dead, he would be. Biarki’s face reddened and his little pig eyes narrowed. The stranger would die as soon as it could be arranged. Perhaps even tonight he would clip off that head as he had proposed. He could say that it was not a man he slew, but a troll who sprang upon him and attacked him. They could never prove different, for he would throw the head into the sea.
Merlin's Ring Page 2