The Sword of the Lady c-3

by S. M. Stirling

  One of the Norrheimer proverbs was to trust no ice until you?d walked on it. ?I hight Bjarni Eriksson, godhi -Chieftain-here. Who comes to Eriksgarth on the holy eve?? he said, his voice rumbling deep.

  The stranger inclined his head politely to the master of the hall, and then again a little more deeply to Harberga… or perhaps to her and Heidhveig both, and touched the back of his right fist to his forehead for a moment. She noticed a small white scar between his brows then. ?Rudi Mackenzie am I, of the Clan Mackenzie; the totem of my sept is Raven. In my own land, I am son to our Chief, and our folk have hailed me as Tanist-as heir. These are my sworn men and followers and kin. We have traveled for near two years from the sunset ocean, over mountain and plain, forest and river and lake, and our goal is to find a ship to bear us on the eastern sea.?

  A buzz of wonder rose from the crowd, then died away. Bjarni stepped forward and held out his hand; the two men gripped wrists, each taking the measure of the other, and each gave a very slight nod, as if liking what they saw. ? Come heil to you, Rudi Mackenzie,? the Bjorning chieftain said formally; the phrase meant?come in good health and be welcome.?? Come heil to your followers also.?

  Then he added without looking away:?Bring drink to all our guests!?

  His sister Gudrun came with a great polished ox horn carved with runes and bound and rimmed and tipped with braided silver, rather than the more usual mugs her assistants bore to the others. ?Welc-? she stammered a little, flushing as Rudi looked at her, then took a breath and began again as he smiled encouragingly: ?Welcome I give

  The wanderer here

  With bright and blessed draught

  Greeted art thou

  With grith and frith

  Hail in holy hall!?

  The man who?d called himself Rudi Mackenzie took the horn with a grip that showed he?d held one before, the point kept down and a little to one side. He drew a sign over the hot mead, touched a finger to it and flicked a drop aside, then raised it: ?Slainte chugat!? he said.?To your health! I drink thanks to the high Gods of this land, thanks to the spirits of place which ward hearth and home and field, and thanks to my hosts, the Lord and Lady of this hall. And to all beneath their roof, goodwill and welcome. May there always be peace and guest friendship and never a feud between us.?

  He took another draught, and gave a long appreciative: ? Ahhhhh! And many thanks, Bjarni Eriksson. We?ve come a long cold way from a cold camp this day, and weeks over the ice before that. If ever you journey to our land of Montival in the High West, my house is your house as long as you please to visit. So witness sun-bright Lugh of the Long Spear and Brigid Sheaf-mistress, and the Dagda and the threefold Morrigu and all the Gods of my people.? ?That?s well said, Rudi Mackenzie of the Clan Mackenzie,? Bjarni answered.?So a chieftain speaks. You?re welcome to share our feast, and there?s room for all, and warm beds. Or straw, at least! My carles will see to your beasts and gear.?

  Harberga made a determined sound and levered herself upright, setting her daughter Swanhild down in her chair; for the honor of the house it was her duty to see that her husband?s words about food and beds were true, even when the number of guests suddenly went up by a quarter. The girl-child blinked open eyes cornflower blue and looked around; Rudi Mackenzie smiled at her in an unguarded instant of tender delight, and an answering smile lit the toddler?s chubby face as she waved.

  Then he turned to one of his followers-a thick-armed younger man with a mop of curly hair the brown of old oakwood and a stubborn-looking square face-and took a long bundle handed to him. ?Forgive a stranger?s ignorance of your ways,? he said, facing back to Bjarni.?In our land, the custom is that a visitor at Yuletide brings his host a guesting gift.?

  He unwrapped the coarse cloth from the bundle and presented it across the palms of his hands. ?We Mackenzies are a people of the bow, and Aylward the Archer here is not the least of our master bowyers.?

  Heidhveig?s brows rose, and a man behind Bjarni whistled softly in knowledgeable appreciation. The weapon was six inches over six feet, with a long subtle in-and-out curve to the hickory stave; a central riser of burnished curly maple was worked and slanted to give a sure handgrip, and a cutout through the centerline for the shaft was lined with a tuft of wolf fur. The nocks at either end were polished antler, glittering amber-color in the firelight, and the back was covered in a strip of deer sinew, pale beneath the smooth varnish.

  The whole had an indefinable rightness, a beauty of pure function like the light on the edge of a knife. With it was a baldric and quiver of brown leather tooled with vines; wrought buttons of carved bone sealed little pouches for an arrow hone and spare bowstrings and beeswax. Within the quiver itself were two score of gray-fletched shafts, bodkins and broadheads.

  Bjarni smiled despite himself, holding the weapon out at arm?s-length, running his fingers down its length and then rolling one of the arrows across his thumbnail. Few gifts from all the world?s wealth could have been more welcome. ?This is fine work! Ullr himself would not be ashamed to use it; your man knows his craft!? he said.?My thanks to you, and to him. Come, the feast?s nearly ready, but you?ve time for the steam bath and the rocks are still hot. Then we?ll eat, and talk.?

  He hesitated.?We hold a rite after. A divination. You?re welcome to attend, or not as it pleases you.?

  Heidhveig spoke:?I will sit in the seidhjallr and speak this Yule,? she said.?I think that questions of weight will be asked. But not today. Tomorrow, when Thorlind and I are fully rested and we have sought out the landwights.?

  Rudi Mackenzie inclined his head respectfully; Bjarni murmured in his ear. Heidhveig sometimes wondered if the young man realized her ears hadn?t lost much sharpness, unlike the way it had gone with his own father in the days of his age. She heard clearly, however softly he spoke: ?She does you honor. Heidhveig is the greatest of our wisewomen; my father was her friend from the land-taking and had good redes of her many a time. She came here from someplace far to the west just before the Change and taught us the old magic. She speaks to spirits, journeys between the worlds. We always have a seidh session at Yule-it?s a good time for divination, but Heidhveig doesn?t sit in the seidhjallr herself often these days.? ?My thanks, lady!? Rudi exclaimed.?Wisdom is the greatest of all gifts!?

  He smiled again, and Heidhveig?s mouth turned up in response.

  How this one must charm the women! she thought wryly, looking into the sparkling gaze and hearing a few sighs from around her.

  Then something moved in her mind, uncoiling from the depths.

  Yes, she thought-and knew with a sharp weight of certainty. Yes. This is the one sent to me. ? Par dieu, by Mary Mother and the merciful Saints, I thought I?d never be warm again,? Odard Liu said.

  Rudi grinned at him through the drifting mist of steam. The men of the party were all seated on the pine-board benches that made a half circle around the hearth; occasionally a little door would open, and the attendant would stretch in tongs to drop a new heated rock, clack on the pile. The hot wet scent of the wood was an aromatic blessing in his lungs; he could feel the sweat carrying all impurity out of his body, and the memory of the ice floes? white grinding death with it. ?I?ve noticed, my lord Gervais, that you complain and complain.. . but sure, you keep going just the same!?

  Odard cocked one black brow without opening his eyes, leaning back with his arms along the front of the bench above. The wintertide journey had thinned him down to muscle and gristle and bone, as it had all of them, and he hadn?t had much spare flesh to start with. ?And what else can I do, your Majesty?? he said.? Stop? Around here? If I ever get back, wild horses hitched to triple reduction gearing won?t get me out of Barony Gervais.? ?You?d be bored silly in six months,? Rudi said.

  Odard?s voice grew dreamy:?Bored? I?ll spend my time lying in a hammock under blossoming peach trees or a pergola of roses, looking out over the vineyards, and giving my loyal peasants an encouraging twiddle of my fingers now and then. And eating pineapple pyonnade and composing poetry about my heroic deeds. Pretty girls will
fan me in the summer heat and drop peeled grapes in my mouth and sing for me. When winter comes, I?ll go on a fearless quest-as far as the castle solar, where I will read stories about other people?s adventures and sip real coffee with good brandy in it, as a fire crackles in the hearth and the radiator gurgles.?

  Ingolf took up the bundle of birch twigs, dipped it into the bucket and flicked water onto the stones. Steam billowed up with a sharp hsssssss, and someone on the upper tier groaned in pleasure-Rudi thought it was Father Ignatius, and nobody could say he wasn?t a hardy man. He?d certainly done a full share of the work, and more than his share of scouting on the long rearguard. ?We?ve got saunas like this in Richland, too,? Ingolf said. With a grin at Odard:?After you boil for a while and feel just like a ham, you run out and roll in the snow, or jump into a hole cut in the ice over the river.?

  The baron of Gervais shuddered theatrically.?Saints have mercy! Even the Bearkillers don?t do that.? ?No, really, it feels good,? Ingolf said.?You just don?t stay out long enough for your body to lose the heat that?s soaked in.? ?That?s what you do, perhaps,? Odard said.? I do not. I?m saving up the heat to hoard like a Corvallis moneylender?s gold in a vault.?

  Fred Thurston had been sitting silent, like a statue of old bronze sheen ing with a thin film of oil. Now he stirred: ?These people are Asatruar, aren?t they?? he said

  Mary and Ritva could tell him what they?d learned in their mother?s household, and they?d been able to find him a few books along the way, but he was anxious for the reality of the tales that spoke to his heart. You couldn?t learn much of a faith until you saw how it shaped the souls of those who followed it. ?Yes,? Rudi said.

  Someone sighed; definitely Father Ignatius this time. Since Fred had been a nominal Methodist originally, the Mackenzie didn?t think the priest had much ground for complaint, and went on: ?So I?d judge from what we?ve seen and heard. Probably it spread here the way the Old Religion did from Dun Juniper, because the ones who brought them through the Change followed it.?

  Which to be sure is also why nearly everyone around Mt. Angel is a Christian of the Roman rite, he thought. Or why most are in the lands the Association rules. Sigh as you will, Father, but turn about is fair play. Aloud he went on: ?And hospitality is sacred to them as well, of which I?m glad. I was worried to death about Epona, that I was. She?s a little old for travel like this, which would be hard on a horse of half her years. But they?re treating our beasts right royally, as they are us; nice tight barn, blankets, warm mash, clean water and straw, fodder of the best.?

  Fred nodded agreement.?They seem like… solid people,? he said.?Indeed, the which is what I?d expect. What those Gods they follow value in a man is courage and loyalty, and above all the hardihood of soul to stand and endure and strive, never flinching. Nor would they have come so well through such years-and in a hard place like this-unless they had those things in truth.?

  Odard shuddered.?Oh, the ancestral virtues! Next you?ll say they venerate clean living and hard work.? ?As a matter of fact…? Rudi replied.

  Fred snorted, and said:?How long do you think we?ll stay? I?d like to… learn a bit.? ?A week or two at least. We have to learn the lay of the land here, and the road to the coast, and where we can hope to find a vessel, one willing to carry us in this bleak season. And to tell the truth I?d like to leave our horses and a couple of our wounded here, if we can arrange that. Then a dash to the sea, a dash to Nantucket, and back. Though how by the brazen gates of Anwyn we?re to return through that mess we left behind us…? ?These folk keep the twelve days of Yule, don?t they?? Edain said. ?Twelve days of feasting… after the trip we?ve had, that would be just about what I could use, so! And we?d not lose much time. We were slowing that last week or so because we were worn, ourselves and our beasts both.? ?It?s lucky we ran into someplace that could put us all up in midwinter,? Ingolf said thoughtfully.?As well as being well disposed, I mean. We?ve had to move quick a lot to keep from eating people bare. Of course, we?re supposed to be moving quickly.?

  They all laughed; quickly was for short trips. When you had a three-thousand-mile journey one way and the prospect of three thousand miles back, haste lost all meaning. Even for a small picked band a journey of that distance could only be made at walking speed, fifteen miles a day averaged out over the whole, and you?d count yourself lucky to maintain that. They had been lucky, since their stay at the Valley of the Sun had been the only time they?d been stuck in one spot for many months by illness, wounds or weather.

  Rudi shook his head and poured a dipperful of water over it, enjoying the cool shock. ?Not just luck; it?s little we?ve found on this journey of either good or bad that?s mere chance in the way most use the term. And we?re moving as quickly as we can while doing what we?re supposed to be doing, of which collecting the Sword is an essential part, but only a part. What did Tsewang Dorje say to me, back at Chenrezi Monastery.. .?

  He thought, and the wise wrinkled face appeared in his mind?s eye, amid the pleasant austerity of his chamber: ?Can light exist without shadow?? he quoted.?So, I tell you that when you seek to do the will of the gods, and help men rise through the cycles, your very inmost thoughts awaken hosts of enemies that otherwise had slept. As sound awakens echoes, so the pursuit of Wisdom awakens the devil?s guard.? ?I would not put it in just those words, my son, yet the good Abbot is a very wise man, in his way,? Ignatius said thoughtfully. ?But I would guess that he told you more.? ?That he did. This: But I do say that if you are in league with Gods to learn life and to live it you shall not only find enemies. You shall find help unexpectedly, from strangers who, it may be, know not why.? ?A very wise man indeed,? Ignatius said, swinging his feet down and sitting upright on the bench, his whipcord body dim in the gloom. ?And a holy man, I think. I learned things of great value in the Valley of the Sun; we all did.? ?Even though his is the Way of the Buddha?? Rudi said, his voice slightly teasing.

  The priest spoke with a chuckle in his voice, his narrow dark eyes ironic and a finger tapping the air in mild reproof: ?You know the answer to that, my son; you rolled in enough logic at Mt. Angel for some to rub off. When men differ from the magisterium of Holy Mother Church, they are in error. But when they agree with it

  … why, that simply shows that all truth proceeds from God. We of the Church have it in fullness by revelation in Scripture and from the holy Saints and the Fathers, as well as by reason and moral intuition. But all men can discover some of it, if they truly seek virtue and wisdom, wherever they start the journey. How not? These things come from only one source and it speaks to every heart that listens. So yes, the Rimpoche is a holy man, and so, in my view, was the Buddha-or Plato, for that matter. But how much better would they have been, if only they had the fullness of the Divine Logos to guide them!? ?Well, now, there?s a circular argument, if I ever heard one!?

  The priest laughed aloud.?You can?t win this one, you know… your Majesty. Though I?ll have it with you as often as you please.? ?It?s you Christians who think you can argue your way to truth,? Rudi said, with a grin.?Right now, to be sure, I?d rather eat. Let?s go sluice off!?

  TheSwordoftheLady

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  NORRHEIM, LAND OF THE BJORNINGS NEAR ERIKSGARTH (FORMERLY

  AROOSTOOK COUNTY, MAINE) DECEMBER 23, CHANGE YEAR 24/2022 AD

  Next afternoon Rudi grinned again as he watched Edain collecting his bets after a round of shooting with the bow-and then handing the winnings out as gifts, each to a different man than the one who?d wagered it.

  Sure, and there?s a wisdom of hand and eye, too, he thought.

  There was plenty of room for play in the big enclosure that Eriksgarth made-the hall and house of the godhi, smaller dwellings for his carles and their families and the youngsters fostered here to learn, barns and sheds and workshops, all around a court paved with river-smoothed cobbles mostly hidden beneath hard-packed snow. The sky was bright, with traces of high cloud like a white mare?s tail. The air was no more than cold, without the frigid cutting blast that made your face ache; the
fresh drifts sparkled like soft-curved masses of diamond dust in the light.

  And Epona is looking better, he thought happily. Still a bit of that dry wheeze, but her eyes aren?t as dull. Some quiet and rest and she?ll be fine.

  For shooting with the bow they used the bank of a distant potato barn as a target, a curious structure like a long rectangle three-quarters sunken in the ground and with earth berms heaped up against its walls. There were clear fields beyond that, for a quarter-mile of open fenced pastureland until a holy shaw?s trees stood bare-branched around the steep roof-on-roof height of a stave-hof, a temple. A bright glitter caught his eye there, paint on one of the riot of carvings.

  The locals were good enough archers in their way, but not up to Mackenzie standards, and certainly not to be set against a champion of the Lughnasadh Games like Edain. The young men he?d defeated laughed and slapped him on the back; then three of them looked at each other, nodded, and each picked up one of the plate-sized wooden targets.

  With a shout they threw them high, in a spread that opened like the spines of a fan. Edain?s movements seemed steady, almost leisurely, but the flat snap of the bow sounded three times so quickly that the sound was lost in the hard crack-crack-crack of the points striking home in wood. The last of the targets was still man-height above the ground when the arrow punched it away. ?Fetch, Garbh!? the younger Mackenzie said.

  The big shaggy half mastiff had been sitting in aristocratic indifference, ignoring the stiff-legged wariness of the local beasts as they stalked closer. Now she trotted off, to return and lay the disks at her master?s feet. ?Did you miss?? one of the Bjornings said; no arrows stood in the wooden circles.?I thought I heard the strike!?