by J. A. Snow
“And, where is it you call home, Boy?” asked the man.
“Kvenland,” replied Logi. “My father is the jarl there.”
The man raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Then what brings you so far north?” he asked. “Why would you leave your father’s home?”
Logi glanced at Dagstorp, knowing the subject of Odin was distasteful to him, but the troll offered up his own explanation. “The boy swears his god Odin is watching over him and is going to make him the ruler of the Trondelag. I have my doubts on the matter but he seems convinced.”
Logi did not appreciate being the object of jokes. “Just because you don’t believe in the gods doesn’t mean they don’t exist!” he said defensively.
“The Trondelag is already under the rule of Grim of Grimsgard,” said the man. “Do you intend to challenge him?”
Logi wasn’t sure how to answer the man’s question. “I will just have to wait and see what this Grim is made of. Perhaps he will yield to me willingly.”
Dagstorp frowned at Logi. “Perhaps you shouldn’t boast so much until you see what resistance there will be. I don’t fancy getting my head chopped off. It may be a green head but I would like to keep it!”
The man and the woman laughed. Dagstorp laughed. Logi did not find humor in it. He was promised dominion over the Trondelag! This was the first he had heard of this Grim person. Why are there so many obstacles in my way? he wondered silently, helping himself to more cheese.
By morning, they were on their way again; they were finally able to travel quickly over the flat terrain, leaving the towering mountains behind them. Logi’s eagerness grew with each mile they trekked. Eager to collect what was promised him by Odin, his courage blossomed and his old bold nature returned. No longer starving and rummaging for food, for the valley was abundant with nourishment, he became bossy and insolent again, speaking harshly to Dagstorp. The troll grew weary of his rudeness and, when they had finally reached the shore of the Great Sea, Dagstorp stopped abruptly in the middle of the road. “I wish you well, Logi,” he said. “I have gotten you through the mountains alive, but you will be on your own now.”
“Where are you going?” Logi asked.
“Back home,” said Dagstorp. “You won’t be needing my help any longer.”
With that said, the little green man turned around and retreated down the road toward the mountains. “Take care, Logi,” he called out. “There are giants out there stronger and wiser than you!”
Chapter Nineteen “Trial by Sea”
In the far south, Kari and Aegir had managed so far to keep their kite-boat afloat without too much resistance from the sea; the wind remained firm and steady and there were no leaks between the strakes of the boat now that the wood was swollen and seasoned. While the kite did most of the work, it gave the brothers time to talk about things that were on their minds. Knowing they would be most likely on their own, now that they had defied their father’s authority, they needed to plan for their future.
“Finding Moder is most important,” Kari said. “We must consider her wishes in whatever we do.”
“She may not want to return to Papi,” Aegir replied. “Surely she has grown tired of his cruelty.”
It pained Kari to speak of watching his father abuse his mother. “She has spoken many times of returning to her people,” he said. “When we find her we will ask her. As her sons, it is our responsibility to help her now.”
“If we find her,” said Aegir. “There are nei guarantees she will be in Eistland. Snapp says that merchants come from all over the world to trade there. She could be anywhere by now!”
Kari was aware it might be difficult to find her in a strange city, so far from home, but he refused to give up. “We have to get there first,” he said, moving about in the boat and adjusting the kite again. “Trade places with me so I can adjust the kite and we can stay on course.”
When they had finally reached the inlet to the bay, the water became treacherous very quickly. The currents began to shift and toss their little craft from side to side while Kari struggled to keep control. “We must take down the kite as the man said,” he told Aegir. “The wind will surely capsize us if we don’t.”
They began pulling on the ropes to lower the kite from the mast, but before they could get it down completely and safely stow it in the belly of the boat, a great gust of wind took hold of them. The little boat leaned precariously to one side as it spun around and both boys struggled desperately to keep it upright, hanging on tightly as it pitched and swirled in the current. Suddenly it came down on its own. With one great snap, the mast split in two, and dropped into the water, weighing the boat down and leaving a huge gash in the side of the hull.
“Push it overboard!” Kari shouted to his brother. “It will drag the boat under for sure!” The boat still listed far to one side. Together, they managed to untie the ropes and free themselves of the severed mast and the animal skins that were now sodden with sea water. Kari watched as his hours of tedious stitching slipped beneath the surface and disappeared. As the kite was swallowed by the sea, both boys sighed with relief, thinking the worst was over. The damage to the hull was high above the waterline and posed no immediate threat. They had lost sight of the Kvenish shore now. With nothing but sea all around them, they took to the oars and steered as best they could, keeping the sun to their right and watching for land ahead. Aegir grew weary, never having the strength of his brothers; his arms ached from the hard rowing. “Let me row for a while,” Kari told him. “Rest a bit and save your strength.”
As darkness began to overtake them, a thick fog rose off the water, leaving them no points of reference with which to navigate. Kari stopped rowing and they began to drift in an unknown direction. “Looks like we will be sleeping in the boat tonight,” he said. He could not see his brother in the darkness at the opposite end of the boat, but he could hear Aegir snoring softly, and, soon, he fell asleep himself with the oars still resting in his hands.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, they awoke, and found themselves inches deep in water that had leaked through the damaged hull overnight. “We will sink now for sure!” said Aegir, terrified of drowning. He began frantically scooping the water out with his hands.
“That won’t do any good,” said Kari. “Let’s start rowing. Hopefully we can reach land before we go under entirely.”
Soon, Aegir’s side of the boat was half-submerged, tilting over a little more with each swell of the sea, when the boat finally rolled to one side. With half the hull now exposed, he could feel himself slipping slowly under the water too. He was too afraid to speak. Kari had fallen silent also. “Just hold on,” said his older brother, trying to remain calm. “We will use the boat to keep us afloat for as long as we can. Then we may have to swim.”
The sea was cold, so cold Aegir could feel his extremities going numb. They floated for hours in the darkness, rising and falling with the motion of the water, the now kite-less vessel they had spent too many hours to build, slowly slipping away from them. “I don’t want to die,” he said in the darkness.
“Nor I,” replied Kari.
Then, just when they had almost given up, they heard a welcome sound and their ears perked; waves were crashing somewhere in the distance! The fog was still thick and they were enshrouded by it, as they drifted toward the sound of the surf. “I just hope there are not rocks ahead to smash our boat to pieces,” Kari said to Aegir, straining his eyes to see anything through the mist. Eventually a rolling wave took hold of them, lifting the capsized boat up gently; the swell carried them to the shore and deposited them on a sandy beach.
“We’ve made it!” said Aegir happily when he first felt solid ground beneath his feet again. “I am so relieved I want to kiss the sand! Do you think this is Eistland?”
“I certainly hope so,” replied Kari. It was barely daylight. He looked up and down the beach, still shrouded in fog, seeing no one and nothing that resembled a marketplace. “But, it looks as if we may
have to walk awhile.”
“But which way? How do we know?” asked Aegir; he had so many questions, he was beginning to panic again.
Kari studied the shoreline, left and right, rubbing his chin and screwing up his face in thought. “Let’s hide the boat first,” Kari told his brother, as they pulled it ashore, “so nei one will steal it. Then we’ll go that way.” He reached out and pointed in the direction of what he thought was east.
Aegir looked down at the mangled hull of their boat. “Who would want a boat with a hole in its side?” he asked glumly.
“We can repair it,” said Kari. “You aren’t going to give up that easily are you?”
Aegir did not answer. His body was still trembling from fear and cold. “Kari?” he said in a timid voice.
“Ja?”
“I never learned how to swim,” said Aegir.
Kari shrugged and laughed nervously. “Neither did I,” he said.
Chapter Twenty “The Street of Rags”
They concealed the boat behind some dense brush and began walking up the beach, where, after a few miles, they finally got their first glimpse of Eistland. The marketplace was nothing more than a row of crude, wooden stalls that ran along the entrance to the harbor, with vendors just opening for business. Over the hum of voices, the stench of the city greeted them repugnantly. In the dim light of dawn, they walked through the crowd in their wet clothes, beneath a dozen burning horsehair torches, along the thoroughfare known as the street of rags for the cloth merchants who sold there. The search for their mother would not be easy. No longer were they in Kvenland; there were many foreigners from the east, with turbans on their heads and curled-up slippers on their feet, hawking their bolts of cloth and all manner of strange vegetables and fruits. The bittersweet aroma of incense was heavy and thick and the barking of voices in foreign tongues echoed through the morning air. The whoremongers and flesh-peddlers were not hard to find; from a corner stall they were already displaying their living wares shamelessly, women and men scantily clad and shivering, in the open street. The boys searched the faces of the thralls but did not see their mother among them. Aegir stopped and stared at a woman with bare breasts, a sight he had never seen before, until Kari jostled his arm and moved him along.
“Are those the men who took our moder?” he whispered to Kari, when they were a sufficient distance away.
“I don’t know,” replied Kari. “We have to find someone who can speak Kvenish to point us in the right direction.”
The aroma of roasting meat drifted into their nostrils and both boys were immediately reminded they hadn’t eaten in quite a while. At that moment, a vendor accidentally dumped a tray of bread out onto the street at their feet. As he scrambled to retrieve his loaves of bread, the man swore in profanities that were familiar to the boys, words they had heard their father use many times. As the man was dusting off the bread to put it back on the tray, Kari stepped forward boldly. “Do you speak Kvenish?” he asked hopefully.
“Ja,” said the man, narrowing his eyes and staring at the boys intently. “You are the sons of Fornjot, are you not? I thought you looked familiar! I’m Henrik! I used to have a bakery in your village.”
“Ja,” replied Kari. He remembered Henrik. “Your cakes were better than the ones our moder used to bake!”
“Why are you so far away from home?” asked Henrik. “Is your papi with you?”
“Nei,” said Kari. “We are here searching for our moder. Papi sold her to the thrall-traders. We came to bring her home.”
Henrik sat his tray of bread down, and offered a loaf to the boys, which they tore into eagerly. “Your papi is an evil one,” he said. “That’s why I came south. Nothing like old Kaleva, gods rest his soul. I haven’t seen your moder, but a handsome Saami wench like her won’t stay on the auction block for long. Someone will snatch her up right quick, I’ll wager.”
“Can you help us?” pleaded Aegir. “At least, tell us where to go to look for her?”
“I will do better than that,” Henrik replied. “You stay here and mind my stall. I will go ask around and see what I can find out.” He saw the yearning look in the boys’ eyes and laughed. “Help yourself to more bread. Looks like you two haven’t had a proper meal in a long while.”
The man returned several minutes later with good news. “Old Ivar down the way says he sold a woman who fits your moder’s description to the Rus prince who lives in Lindanisse.”
“Where is this Lindanisse?” asked Kari. “How far?”
Henrik scratched his chin thoughtfully. “A good day’s walk from here.” He pointed. “That way.”
“How will we speak to him?” asked Kari, “When we cannot speak the Rus language?”
“I speak a little,” said Henrik. “But right now, I need to make a living. If you have not found her by the end of the day come back and I will help you.”
“We will try it ourselves first,” said Kari. He did not want to wait another day, while their moder was somewhere suffering.
Henrik pointed up the road. “You will find the town of Lindanisse easily enough. The prince has a big house at the top of Toompea Hill. You can see it from afar.”
“Thank you, Henrik,” said Aegir.
“Be careful, though,” warned Henrik. “Prince Gustav was once a great warrior. Let’s hope the years have softened him.”
The boys turned toward the high road leading away from the street of rags, through the strange array of people who traded there. As they passed the last stall, Kari noticed a cloth merchant rolling out bolts of thick material, spreading them across a table. Kari wandered away from his brother for a moment, and reached out to feel the cloth.
“Don’t get your filthy hands on my cloth unless you intend to buy it!” barked the man in broken Kvenish. Kari withdrew his hand quickly and slunk away. “Too delicate for a kite anyway,” he whispered to Aegir when he returned. “We need something stronger, something that won’t tear in the wind.”
Chapter Twenty-One “Prince Gustav”
It was a grand house that stood on the hill overlooking the town of Lindanisse, grander than anything Kari and Aegir had ever seen. The road spiraled around a steep hill of earthworks, finally passing through the rock archway of a military-style fortress with round towers on each end, before the rutted road gave way to worn cobblestones. The main house, behind the wall, was so tall it blotted out the late afternoon sun; its turrets were built with blood-red stone, concealed behind hundreds of dormant vines that were just awakening with the spring. While their father’s longhouse back home was the biggest in Kvenland, this house far surpassed it. “The prince must be very rich,” whispered Aegir.
They approached the outer wall warily and pounded on the massive gate made of black oak timbers and heavy iron hardware. Two armed soldiers came out, staring coldly at them.
“We are looking for Prince Gustav,” said Kari meekly.
The soldiers’ eyes narrowed. One of them shook his head and mumbled something in Rus.
“Gustav!” Kari repeated emphatically. “We must see Prince Gustav! Do you speak Kvenish?”
The soldier shook his head again and started to close the door, but Kari stuck his foot out boldly and held the gate open with one hand. “Please!” he pleaded. “We are searching for our moder. We have been told that Prince Gustav purchased her in the marketplace.”
The soldier pushed against the door and Kari withdrew; had he wanted to show his strength he might have been able to force the issue but he did not want to anger anyone who might know the whereabouts of their mother. The gate slammed and bolted in their faces.
“I guess that is that,” said Aegir sadly.
“Nei,” replied Kari. “We will come back with Henrik. He can speak to them and make them understand why we have come.”
Disappointed and weary, they started back down the long road, hurrying to beat the darkness that was falling. It was very late by the time they had reached the street of rags. The market had closed for the
night and Henrik was nowhere to be found. In a corner of his empty stall, beneath a crude table, they bedded down for the night.
“Too bad he didn’t leave any bread behind,” said Kari who had never known such hunger. He found a dried, crusty heel on the ground and broke it in half to share with his brother. “We will stay here tonight and ask Henrik for his help in the morning.”
The torches along the street of rags were extinguished one by one and the street quickly became cold and dark. There was laughter coming from somewhere in the distance and the rustling of stray dogs searching in the gutters for food. That’s what we are, thought Kari, a couple of stray dogs.
“What do you suppose Papi is thinking right now?” asked Aegir.
“I don’t care about Papi,” Kari replied. “I only want to rescue Moder from the prince.”
“He may not release her willingly,” Aegir countered. “She is his property now, just as Snapp belongs to Papi.”
“We have to make him understand,” said Kari dismally. “Surely, the man has family of his own! He would not wish this to happen to his own moder!”
“All thrall-traders have moders,” said Aegir sadly. “It doesn’t stop them from trading in flesh. Look at what Papi did to his own wife!”
“I am very tired, Aegir,” said Kari. “I don’t want to talk about Papi anymore. I want to sleep and dream about the fresh bread Henrik will bring in the morning.” He pulled his cloak around himself and leaned against his brother’s back for warmth. In truth, he was surprised he and Aegir had made it across the bay alive, even though they were now huddling in a dirty corner of the marketplace, starving and alone in a strange foreign land. Their lives had certainly taken a different path than he had imagined and he was worried, wondering what was to come the next day, wondering what to expect when they returned to Kvenland, if they ever returned to Kvenland.
“Aren’t you afraid?” Aegir whispered in the darkness.
Kari was awake and similar thoughts were roaming in his head. “Of course, I am afraid,” he admitted. “But, we are almost men now and we have to at least try to save our moder.”