Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves

by M. D. Boncher

  At last the karvi’s hull crunched on the gravel of the beach and Declan jumped over the side. He landed clumsily and scrambled ashore shaking the clawing pieces of corpses from his body. He beached the boat at the mouth of a bright yellow stream. He splashed through the stinking flow and chased after the vikings.

  The few remaining draugr pursued but fell behind and lost track of him in the forest. Night would be the foe that ultimately defeated Declan. There was little time before darkness blinded him, leaving no choice but to hide. The draugr would be sure to find him if he continued to blindly stumble around in the dark. With the last hints of light, Declan found a split in a nearby cliff wall, wedged himself high up in it and waited for dawn.

  38. Conditions, Restrictions & Honor

  "As you can guess,” Declan said with a sigh, “I did not sleep much, setting out to look for the vikings at first light. Unfortunately, the draugr fumbled around so much I lost the viking’s trail. Following sign is not among my best skills.” He threw a pebble down the slope of the hill.

  "All this occurred yesterday?" Inge exclaimed. "God's tender little toes, you must be tired."

  Declan nodded, unable to keep the exhaustion out of his face, and

  showed the first hint that he feared the worst. "Beyond measure, but I cannot stop now," he groaned. "I need to find the Kronadottirs and bring them back to the ship. I pray that my Tign will still be alive." He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand wishing it could push the dull burning ache away.

  "We all pray that," Finn agreed. "How did you find yourself all the way up here? We must be miles away from Eitrfjord."

  "A false trail. I found a draugr body down there," Declan said pointing to a steep slope inland from where Finn and Inge were walking. "Since I am not a man of God, I dismembered the body so it could not move and buried the pieces. You two may have been able to do better by the man. He may have been a viking, but no one needs to be the Devil's puppet, greithr?"

  "Absolutely," Inge said. "I will go take care of it. Finn, you stay here."

  "Why not both of you?" Declan asked surprised.

  Both Finn and Inge looked at each other cautiously. A silent conversation passed in that glance.

  "I cannot go there," Finn offered.

  "What? Why not?" Declan questioned, openly confused.

  "I am niding... an exile. The restrictions of skoggang keep me tied within sight of the shore of Lake Wanashiabinoogi for the rest of my life." Brother Finn's words were hard and inflexible but held a hint of pride.

  Declan's jaw dropped. He looked to Inge who only nodded, his mouth a sympathetic frown.

  "Of all the... insolent... basest... stupid... you coward!" Declan exploded, leaping up. Seething, he began to pace. Could these monks not see that this was different? The daughters of their Visekonge were in danger, and this priest refused to bend the letter of the law to help?

  Finn stood up and cut off the young man's pacing, going at him nose to nose.

  "Heed me well, Berserker. I am not a coward," his voice was so soft Declan strained to hear it. "I am bound by law. For my own sake, I will obey these strictures, no matter what any man may think. If you had given us a moment, we would have told you of our desire to help. I can only provide so much assistance though, for I will not violate my skoggang."

  "Sunder your law! This is more important than-" Declan blustered.

  "I was accused of perverting tradition and scripture for my own agenda. They convicted me for insubordination against the Kyrkja because they could not make the charges of heresy or rebellion stick. That conviction is as comical as it is political, but I refuse to become guilty of the sin for which they are punishing me. I will obey the conviction and punishment, for what better proof have I to show they are unjust?"

  Finn's voice was deadly. "My first partner, with whom I was to walk the shore, was niding as well, kept to the same strictures. He vanished the night we reached Fjellporten. Now he is a fredlause and every hand is turned against him. I pray for his life every day, and I will be damned before I suffer his fate."

  "These are the daughters of your Tign! The Visekonge! Surely that matters more than angering the cardinal over a petty difference in opinion," Declan declared.

  "This is Kyrkja law! Not the temporal law of the Visekonge!” Finn roared, causing Declan to take a small step back. “This was not some minor disagreement with a man on a point of honor. It is about salvation! The nature of faith and leading men's souls to Christ." Finn’s fury was palpable.

  "He is right, meistari," Friar Inge added. "They wanted to burn him for what he championed, as a warning to not think or speak as he does. Brother Finn, here, is considered a very dangerous man by many bishops and even the cardinal himself for he believes that the Skaerslinger are men just like you and me."

  "Among other reasons," Finn finished, shooting an irritated glance at Inge. “And when this misadventure of walking the shore is over, I plan to go back to Kynligrspiel and return to my captivity of prayer and contemplation, more thankful than ever for the solitude.”

  “Well true... about the other reasons, I mean,” Inge stammered. “I just thought that particular reason, erm... being the one that boiled the most blood-”

  “Oj!” barked Finn.

  “Enough!” screamed Declan. “I have heard enough! For the love of God, shut up!”

  Inge’s mouth snapped, and Bergamot gave a low warning growl.

  Declan’s mouth was dry. He scrubbed his face briskly, turned and shouted a long string of epithets at the lake that could curl the hair on most men’s heads. When finished, he turned to face the two priests.

  "Greithr,” Declan sniffed, much calmer now. “You are willing to help?"

  "Jah. We will help as much as possible,” Finn said crossing his arms. “I will do all I can. The rest depends on where we must go and what must be done."

  "Are either of you two native to this land?” Declan asked.

  "No," Inge said, "but I have walked this shore twice in the past. I know most farmholds and villages here, but the mining and lumber camps not as well."

  "Do you know anything about Eitrfjord? Is there another place the vikings could be hiding?” Declan asked.

  Friar Inge scratched his head as he thought.

  "I do not think I stopped at any mines around here in the past. If there is one, it must have shut down before I came through," he gestured to a smaller crooked valley that led into Eitrfjord. "Although, I remember tailing piles somewhere around here. Those could have poisoned the fjord. We could follow the stream and see what we find."

  "If the mine is there, I cannot come inside with you, of course, but could be a lookout and cover any retreat if necessary," Finn said. “If there are any draugr lingering about, I can deal with them," Brother Finn added.

  "Then it is settled," Declan said and held out his hand to Finn. "We shall go save Solveig and Mirjam and visit justice upon those who dared take them."

  Finn gave a wry smile and grasped his hand, shaking it firmly.

  "Excellent," Inge said. "Now, let us pray."

  39. Out of the Darkness

  The stale air smelled of metal and dust with a hint of brimstone. Both Kronadottirs huddled around the fire that lit a small chamber and shivered from fear, not cold. Nothing lived this deep into the mountain. Not even the insects dared to venture here. There was no need to set a guard, for the dark maze of tunnels would keep them prisoner. Any light needed to escape would get them caught by the vikings, and without light, there was no chance of them wandering anywhere. Mirjam tried at one point, but made it a few dozen yards to a corner before she could go no farther, and with draugr about, neither girl knew what might lay waiting in the dark.

  "What are they going to do with us?" Solveig asked, voice trembling.

  "Ransom, maybe?" Mirjam suggested.

  "What about-?"

  "Do not even think that," Mirjam growled through clenched teeth. "It will not happen. We are Kronadottirs. They would not da
re."

  "But they are vikings," Solveig warned, unable to let go of the thought.

  "Then we shall fight them as best as we are able," Mirjam snapped.

  "With what?" Solveig griped.

  "We have rocks," Mirjam said gesturing around at the loose chunks scattered about the chamber. "We have fire. What more do we need? Even vikings do not wish to be burned or bludgeoned."

  Solveig nodded, and took some hope in that.

  "Do you think they are looking for us?" Solveig asked.

  Mirjam glared at her sister. It was impossible to come up with a way to escape back to the Silfryxen with Solveig’s constant distractions.

  "I do not know, but it stands to reason they would be,” Mirjam groaned, exasperated.

  Solveig swallowed hard, and Mirjam knew what she was about to ask.

  "Jah, he would search for you even if all the rest of them are dead. You saw him chasing us. He tried as hard as he could to come to our rescue."

  "The draugr did not get him?"

  "What do you think? He chopped them into stew meat!” Mirjam shouted, then fought to regain control of her temper as Solveig’s eyes filled with tears. Mirjam went silent, waiting for her sister to calm down before going on.

  “Not from what I saw,” Mirjam said softly. “Then again, by the time we reached the shore, I was more concerned about being killed by the vikings than what was happening with him."

  Mirjam was sick of Solveig obsessing, but in her heart, she understood. It was Solveig's way.

  "Look," Solveig exclaimed as she spied a glow round a corner.

  Three vikings came into the girl's chamber. They were filthy. The dust had caked onto the blood from the battle and turned them into horrifying visions of human cruelty. Their faces were tight with pain coming from their red inflamed fingers. It was clear they had been digging in the rocks barehanded, trying to find the occasional nugget of gold among the rough tailings.

  "Here," a viking growled, and threw a small bag of pemmican and hardtack at their feet. The other threw down an armful of sticks for the girls to keep their fire going.

  "Eat up. We will have to leave soon enough, and he does not want you slowing us down,” said the leader with the lantern.

  "Who says that," Mirjam demanded, standing up and trying to sound as regal as possible.

  "The priest says so,” ‘Sticks’ said and looked at his two fellows with a cunning gleam. “He also says you better be nice to us or else things could get... rough for you," ‘Food’ chortled at the insinuation.

  Solveig cringed at the sound of that. The vikings leered at her fear. ‘Lantern’ kept his eyes locked on Mirjam and sneered. There must have been something in the jut of her chin and her fearless address.

  "You are not scared of us, are you?" Lantern taunted.

  "Why should I be scared of you tambakkji?" Mirjam demanded as bravely as she could.

  The three men laughed at the insult. She was a pup trying to frighten a wolf.

  "A lot of things can happen to a pretty young girl in the dark with three men," Lantern said.

  "I think she needs to thank us properly for the presents we brought. That is what I think," Food suggested getting into their leader's spirit.

  Mirjam took a step back realizing these men would not be intimidated by her status or manner.

  "You going to thank us willingly, my Tign," Lantern mocked, "or do we have to force it out of you?"

  Food gave another nasty chuckle.

  "Shut it," Lantern growled.

  "You would not dare!" Mirjam snarled.

  "Ooh!" all three vikings said and laughed loudly.

  "Tough one, she is!" Sticks scoffed.

  "She is a fiery one!" Food exclaimed.

  Mirjam backed up a little farther, arms behind her back, eyes blazing with anger.

  "Good,” said Lantern. "You girls are so much sweeter when forced."

  He lunged at Mirjam and attempted to grab her about the waist while Food and Sticks flanked her, leaving no chance for escape. Mirjam's arm wheeled out from behind her back in a sidearm slash. Lantern could not dodge the apple-sized rock Mirjam had palmed. It crashed into his temple. Lantern crumpled with a whoof of surprise. The other two took hold of Mirjam's arms confining her.

  "Let her go!" Solveig screamed.

  Sticks looked around and saw a flash of light as a flaming hunk of wood smashed into his face. The branch was too light and brittle for it to be a strong blow, but it dazzled the brute and caught his hair on fire.

  Sticks let go of Mirjam and turned to face Solveig. She swung at the viking again. This time the wood shattered on his shoulder. A spray of sparks and flaming coals rained over Mirjam and Food.

  Mirjam’s hand with the rock was free, and she tried to club her attacker with it. Food blocked the blow with ease and punched her in the stomach. Mirjam went to the ground unable to breathe.

  Solveig was knocked down by Sticks. He quickly climbed on top of her, hair still burning unnoticed. As he fought to gain leverage, the first warm tingles of heat caught his attention. Sticks let out a shriek and swatted out his burning locks before the fire spread to his clothes. The stink of burnt hair was cloying. Solveig crawled to pick up a bigger rock while the viking snuffed the last of the flames. With a growl, he grabbed Solveig by the ankles and yanked her flat, only a hand’s breadth from her goal of another fist-sized hunk of glittering rock.

  Sticks and Food subdued the girls with little trouble as Lantern slowly regained consciousness. A thin trickle of blood, the result of Mirjam’s blow, dripped down his temple.

  “I think that is enough with the sweet nothings, greithr, lads? Time to taste our little morsels,” Lantern said while the other two laughed as Solveig and Mirjam struggled against their captor’s grips.

  The dozens of small flaming coals from scattered fire filled the room with strange wavering shadows. Lantern reached down to disrobe Mirjam as Sticks held her tight.

  "Angelus Mortis, suscipe spiritum," a voice echoed from the dark. There was a sound like an apple being crushed underfoot, and Lantern’s tunic jumped in a small red explosion from his breastbone. Mirjam screamed in surprise.

  The viking fell to the ground and behind him stood a man dressed in charcoal colored robes, a large dog at his side whose growl filled the mine with a rumble that could frighten manitou.

  "I warned you not to molest or harm these girls," the man said softly, his voice a singsong of regret, but Mirjam detected a hint of joy in the murder he had just committed.

  "Thyrnir, drepte han," commanded the man who must be the priest that Lantern had mentioned. He inclined his head to Sticks. The large dog slammed into the viking, knocking the girl free, and tore into the man like a terrier on a rat. His dying screams echoed in the stony black shafts of the mine.

  Food shoved Mirjam into the priest and ran toward the lamp in an attempt to escape. He managed only three steps before a flurry of punches that sounded like a slaughterhouse mallet crushing bone dropped him to the ground, dead.

  The two amazed girls stared at their savior. The dog came to heel at his side, dripping a patter of blood from his muzzle. The priest affixed a warm smile and bowed deeply to the pair.

  "My Tign, I fear for your lives. Let us leave while we have a chance. I doubt their sjef will look kindly upon what I have done for your sake. Your questions for me can wait till we are safe. Know only this, I have pledged my life to ensure your return to your family, alive and well."

  Solveig and Mirjam nodded, picked up the lamp and followed the strange priest to freedom.

  40. A Hasty Retreat

  “If only the clouds would give us some shade,” Friar Inge complained looking at the hazy afternoon sky, sweat dripping down his face.

  Dry sticks and yellow grass were all that was left of the forest. Like abandoned grave markers, sparse dead tree trunks remained. Sharp branch nubs like spear tips. The dry baking heat made the exposed waste smell like a sauna dipped in brimstone. Dust stirred everywhere
that Declan, Inge and Finn walked. What had once been lush and green was gone.

  The stream gurgled by in a poisonous yellow rush that grew brighter the higher they climbed, indicating how close the mine must be. Behind them Lake Wanishinabinoogi sparkled, the Silfryxen a dark spot just off shore from where Declan had landed. There was no sign of any viking karvi or the steamtug and its raft of logs. Ahead they could see the old retention pond and the bright gold tinged tailings.

  “At least night will not stop me this time,” Declan said.

  “Do not dwell on what cannot change, meistari,” Finn admonished. “This is all in God’s timing, not yours. Consider what He may have intended for all that has happened to you.”

  “That,” Declan said, his voice bitter, “is what I am afraid of.”

  Inge gave Finn a look that older men reserve for when they confront the impatience of youth. Finn smiled.

  “Have some faith in the Lord!” Inge said in a honeyed goad. Declan snorted and shook his head.

  Bergamot huffed and puffed along with them, struggling to navigate the large rocks under the weight of her heavy packs.

  “Is that the entrance?” Finn asked, pointing to an alcove on the other side of the valley. Large slides of boulders were piled at the mouth, leaving a narrow opening between them.

  “Looks like,” Inge said. “I seem to recall this dam. The forest was not quite so dead back then.”

  A few hundred yards beyond the murky yellow water, a wall of green still grew filling the rest of the fjord’s basin to its high crest.

  “I suppose we could escape into that once we have rescued the Kronadottirs,” Declan observed. “Lose the vikings in there.”