by J. A. Snow
“I know that,” Aegir answered. “It’s just that I never imagined us being here. I am not sure I am ready for such responsibility.”
Kari laughed. “I don’t think we have much choice in the matter,” he said. “We are here and we have Henrik to help us. And, we have fared much better than our big brother! At least, we are still alive!”
Aegir shivered at the thought of Logi. “Do you think he is at the bottom of the lake? If he is, I don’t think I ever want to go there again and have his body wash ashore at my feet, all black and bloated.”
“The fish will have him for supper first,” said Kari. “I wouldn’t worry about anything being left.”
Aegir felt sad but he wasn’t sure exactly why. Logi had tormented him all his life and he had no part in his drowning. His father had demeaned him for as long as he could remember. He had loyalty to neither. He would just never understand how the members of his own family could be so cruel.
“Go to sleep, Aegir,” Kari said. “Leave the worrying to me.”
No sooner had they closed their eyes, it seemed, it was morning again and Henrik arrived with a tray of warm bread. He jostled the boys awake, laughing. “Nei luck with the prince?” he asked.
“Nei,” said Kari, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “The soldiers at the gate could not understand what we wanted.”
“I will go with you tonight,” Henrik told them. “We will get to the bottom of it!”
The filled their stomachs with Henrik’s bread and then lingered in the marketplace until noon, wandering among the traders, seeing new and exciting things from the world outside their village. As soon as Henrik had sold all his bread, the three started up the road toward the prince’s house for a second time. By the time they finally got there, it was dark and the house on the hill looked even more intimidating than it had in the sunlight. The spiral road was lit by dozens of lanterns, guiding their uphill steps. Henrik was just as impressed with the imposing fortress as they had been. When the same two soldiers answered their knock, they frowned when they recognized Kari and Aegir.
“Hello,” said Henrik, slipping into the few Rus words he knew while Kari and Aegir stood listening hopefully.
No sooner had Henrik said the words, the gate opened and the soldiers stood aside, allowing them entrance to the courtyard. They followed one of the guards to the door of the house, where a servant led them down a long hall and into a large room. A white-haired man dressed in a silk dressing-robe was sitting in front of a window. His back was obviously hunched with age and across his face were what appeared to be the scars of battle. He looked up and greeted Henrik in his native language and then he turned toward the boys and began speaking fluently in Kvenish. “You are the sons of Fornjot?” he asked, studying their faces as if looking for something familiar in them.
Kari stepped forward. “Ja, we are Kari and Aegir, the sons of Fornjot, the jarl of Kvenland.”
“I never met your papi,” said the white-haired prince. “But I remember Kaleva well. Is he still alive?”
Kari shook his head. “Nei,” he said sadly. “He died when we were quite young. He is buried at the foot of the mountains back home.”
The prince looked sad. “That’s a shame,” he said. “We fought together, you know. It was because of him that I kept my land.”
Kari and Aegir’s hearts were surprised and gladdened at the mention of their grandfather. They sat for an hour listening to the prince tell tales of Kaleva’s valor on the battlefield. “You don’t have his facial features,” he said finally. “But you have his size. You will be great warriors one day.”
“We are not warriors,” said Kari. “Our only desire is to find our moder and to take her home.”
Listening to the prince tell his stories about their grandfather, the boys had almost forgotten why they had come to Eistland! When Kari had explained their plight to Gustav, the prince immediately summoned his servant and spoke to him in Rus. The man left the room and returned with a woman following him.
“Moder!” exclaimed Kari happily. He and Aegir ran to her and threw their arms around her.
“How did you ever find me?” she asked them with tears streaming down her face.
“Had I known she was the mother of Kaleva’s grandchildren, I would not have purchased her from old Ivar,” said the prince. “But, perhaps it was a blessing that I did. She could have been sold to far worse men than I.”
Hildi’s face took on a worried expression. “Does your papi know where you are? Did he give you permission to find me?”
Kari shook his head. “Nei, Moder,” he said. “We came alone in the kite-boat that we built.”
The prince was impressed. “You came down the Gandvik and crossed the bay? Two boys alone? You must be true men of the sea! That must be quite a boat, this kite-boat you speak of. I should like to see it one day.”
“I am afraid the kite is nei more,” said Kari sadly. “We lost it in the bay. And the hull of our boat has been badly damaged.”
Hildi turned to her boys. “You must return home,” she said. “Your papi will be very angry that you have run away. He will surely take the lash to you!”
“Papi has done nothing but drink and sleep since Logi died,” Aegir said. “He has nei use for any of us. He doesn’t care whether we return or not.”
Prince Gustav frowned. “Apparently, you all have suffered at the hands of this man, Fornjot, but if he is half as cruel as you say, it is probably better you stay here in Eistland. I am sure I can find work for you boys in my stables. Your moder here is a fine cook and I would like to keep her in the kitchen.”
Hildi’s face looked apprehensive as Kari asked the question she dared not ask. “We appreciate that,” he said quite politely. “But our only desire was to find our moder and bring her home to Kvenland. Will you allow us to do that?”
“We will have to work to earn passage home on another vessel,” Aegir reminded his brother. “Not only did we lose our kite and mast, but our boat is very small. Even if we can repair it, it will only carry two people in it.”
“And, just what materials would you need to build another kite-boat?” asked the prince. “What can I do to help?”
“I made the old kite of animal skins,” Kari told him. “But, it was too heavy and slowed us down. If I could just find afabric that was lighter but just as strong.”
Prince Gustav smiled. “Perhaps flax or hemp,” he said thoughtfully.
“That might do,” Kari told him. “I know I could make a better kite.”
“And I could build a bigger boat,” Aegir added hopefully. “If we only had the materials.”
They both fell silent, wondering if they expected too much from a man they hardly knew. There was a moment of suspense.
“Go down to the street of rags, then,” said Gustav. “I will help you purchase whatever you need. It is the least I can do for the grandsons of Kaleva!”
Chapter Twenty-Two “Grim of Grimsgard”
Logi stared after Dagstorp, watching his green-skinned companion walk away down the eastern road that led back to the mountains. Suddenly, the realization dawned on him that he was losing the only friend he had in the world.
“I say!” he called out. “Why are you deserting me now? I promise you good fortune if you stay with me! Once I am the jarl of the Trondelag, you will have a position of honor!”
Dagstorp stopped in the middle of the road and turned back. This giant boy was so changeable; one minute he would be rude and insulting and the next he would be friendly and eager to please. The uncertainty of Logi’s shifting moods made him quite dizzy. “You will have nei use of me once you have defeated Grim,” he said.
“But of course, I will!” said Logi. “I will need you to translate for me and advise me. Besides, you are familiar with this place and I do not know which way to go!”
The troll put his hands on his hips defiantly. “Then you must treat me with more respect! I tire of your insults.”
Apologies were forei
gn to Logi’s nature, but he was wise enough to know his plan might not end up well without Dagstorp to guide him. Where in Asgard was Odin anyway? he wondered. Had the old god forgotten his promise?
“I know my demeanor is sometimes harsh,” he said. The pain of admitting any fault at all was distasteful to him. “I need you to help me take control of the Trondelag, now that it seems Odin has forsaken me! Won’t you stay and see me through?”
Dagstorp sighed loudly. He was not looking forward to trekking back over the mountain pass alone without anyone to talk to. He thought about staying with his friends in the Namdalen Valley, who were always kind to him. He missed his home back in Kvenland and he realized he could be caught in the middle if war broke out between Logi and Grim. Yet, for some reason, he felt a vague sense of loyalty to the boy. “Very well,” he said finally. “I will stay with you if you promise to listen to my advice! You may be a giant and all, but I have far more wisdom than you do!”
“I promise to heed your council from now on,” replied Logi. “Come, let’s get started! I am anxious to meet this person, Grim of Grimsgard!”
They began their long walk south along the coastline, over beaches of crystal-white sand and sheer rocky cliffs. To the east, the mountains of Kjolen towered above a thin ring of clouds and to the west, for as far as they could see, was the Great Sea, peppered with tiny green islands and flat, sandy shoals. Logi had never seen a sea so wide; it was larger even than the Gandvik back home. “I wonder how far it stretches,” he said to Dagstorp. “I should like to find out someday.”
“You are nei sailor,” said Dagstorp. “Let us see if you can handle the Trondelag first, before you take on the Great Sea!”
They came to the inlets of many wide fjords, through which they had to swim, and were joined in their journey by flocks of curious wild goats and sheep, feeding off the lichen-covered rocks. Finally, in the late afternoon, they saw in the distance a great longhouse sitting atop a hill. It was much different than Fornjot’s house back in the village; this one was even longer, with a curved roof that resembled the overturned hull of a great boat, covered with green sod. The smoke of a fire spiraled above the house and there appeared to be several people working in the terraced gardens that surrounded it. When one of them caught sight of Logi and Dagstorp, there was excited conversation between them and they came running down the road to greet their visitors. Dagstorp cautioned Logi, grabbing him by the crook of his arm. “Be careful,” he said. “They may be hostile.”
But hostile they were not, just a group of big country women with pale skin and yellow hair. Logi looked around for any men in the group but found none. In a language very similar to Kvenish, and close enough for them to understand most of the words, they welcomed Logi and Dagstorp heartily, inviting them up the hill to the longhouse.
“Is this the home of Grim of Grimsgard?” Logi asked boldly. “I should like to meet him!”
“Ja,” said one woman, an older matronly-shaped hulk with freckled cheeks and a toothless smile. “We don’t get many visitors up this way. Grim will be glad to break bread and share news with you. Where did you say you were from?”
The women were ogling Logi’s stature, circling him and reaching out to feel the muscles in his arms. Logi pulled away from them at first, uncomfortable with strangers, especially women, touching him in such a manner. “I am from Kvenland,” he replied, keeping his cloak wrapped tightly around himself for protection.
“They are just admiring your manly stature,” Dagstorp told him. “They are quite friendly, I assure you.” He leaned in and whispered, “Just keep your britches on. Trondelag women are quite lustful in the spring!” Logi was shocked at such a suggestion but then he remembered Odin’s words, about marrying young and siring children while still a boy. Perhaps it was the way things were done in the north. Logi was not sure he was quite ready for that just yet!
The women led Logi and Dagstorp into the big house where a man was sitting by the fire. He was a bit bigger than Logi, but still hardly the man of giant proportions that Logi had expected. This man will pose no threat to me, he thought to himself confidently. He has many years on me and cannot be nearly as quick and agile! They were invited to join him and the room was suddenly full of voluptuous, blond-haired women of varying ages and shapes.
“Welcome to my home!” said the man, motioning for them to sit with him by the fire. “I am Grim of Grimsgard and these are my daughters.”
Logi moved among them, trying to avoid the eager hands that reached out to touch him. He and Dagstorp took a seat on a crude bench facing the man. “I am Logi, son of Fornjot, of Kvenland,” he said. “This is my friend, Dagstorp.”
“What brings you to the Trondelag?” Grim asked, while the women brought cups of mead and loaves of hard-crusted bread for the men.
Logi was not sure now was the time to reveal his intentions. Before he could speak, Dagstorp spoke in his place. “Logi, here, is on a mission to see as much of the world as he can! He heard that the Trondelag was a beautiful place with beautiful women!”
The daughters of Grim giggled and a few pressed even closer to Logi.
“Ja,” said Grim. “I have many beautiful daughters, that is true. What I lack are sons. It is difficult to build an army of women! But, they do the best they can. They work as hard as any man would!” He paused and gulped down a drink from his cup. “Tell me, Logi of Kvenland, do you plan to return home after your travels? Are you here to find a suitable wife to take back with you? As you can see, I have a large selection.”
“Perhaps, in time, I will be looking for a wife,” said Logi, a bit sheepishly. He looked around the room, at all of Grim’s daughters and realized that all their eyes were on him. One of the women, far prettier than the others, turned her head away as if uninterested but Logi continued to stare at her and Grim followed his glance.
“That is my youngest daughter, Glod,” the old man said. “A beauty, isn’t she? But, I warn you, she is very stubborn and difficult.”
It was obvious that Logi was smitten by the girl. He could not take his eyes away for even an instant. She stood out from the others, taller and broad-shouldered like a man, her face was hard, as if chiseled from granite, but smooth and feminine at the same time. She did not smile. She ignored her father’s words and suddenly stood up to leave the room with Logi’s eyes following her. Beside him, Dagstorp sighed and rolled his eyes. What trouble was this arrogant boy getting himself into now?
Chapter Twenty-Three “The Kaleva”
Hildi remained on, working in the kitchens of the prince, while the boys began work on the new boat. Gustav had sent a wagon to retrieve the old, damaged kite-boat and hauled it back from its hiding place on the shore. The old man was fascinated at the vessel once he got a closer look at it.
“Wherever did you come up with such an idea?” he asked them, as he watched them work in the courtyard of the great house.
“My brother has always built boats,” Kari told him. “And I loved to fly kites. We thought we would try to combine the two. We hoped to cross the Gandvik one day.”
Prince Gustav laughed. “Well, you made it down the coast and across the bay all the way to Eistland! That is nei small feat for such a small craft and two inexperienced sailors.”
Luckily for Kari and Aegir, the land surrounding Eistland was heavily forested; the supply of good, hard wood was abundant and the boys began that day hauling back logs of durable spruce. The prince purchased crates of heavy iron spikes and dozens of bolts of hemp material for the kite and then he came out to sit under an umbrella, sipping his warm mead, to watch the boys as they worked every day. He marveled at the boys’ skills, at Aegir’s hands deftly shaving and shaping the keel and Kari’s nimble fingers stitching ferociously away on the kite. Hildi would come from the kitchen to replenish his mead and she would smile with pride, seeing her sons at work, sweating, with sawdust in their nostrils and clinging to their eyelashes. At night, for many weeks, they slept on the floor at the foot of G
ustav’s great hearth.
“I will forever be grateful to you,” she said to him one morning when the boat was almost finished. “You have given my boys the chance to become men with purpose. That was something Fornjot would never have given them.” Her eyes misted slightly, remembering the boys’ grandfather, remembering how much he loved her sons.
“They have Kaleva’s blood pulsing in their veins,” said the prince. “They would have discovered that eventually.”
Kari and Aegir were racing the weather now, desperately wanting to finish the boat and sail it back across the bay before the winter would freeze the water solid. The air was turning colder already and the boys hardly slept; night and day they labored until the final day when the last nail was hammered on the top strake and it was ready for the sea.
On that very morning, Gustav joined them in the courtyard as usual; this time he was carrying a small bundle wrapped in cloth, which he handed to Kari. “Don’t put your hammers down just yet,” he said. “There is one more thing your boat needs! A name!”
Kari began to unwrap the bundle as Aegir watched over his shoulder anxiously to see what the mysterious package contained. There, underneath the folds of linen, was a placard, a fine wooden sign, carved in runic lettering. Kari immediately translated it in his mind, for he had seen that very word carved on a stone near his grandfather’s grave-mound. Kaleva.
“That is the perfect name for it,” he said. “Thank you, Prince Gustav!”
With humble hands, the brothers placed the nameplate high on the bow of the boat, in a place of honor. Now their grandfather could guide them on their journeys. It gave Kari a strange sense of comfort and confidence he had never known before. With the help of Gustav’s soldiers, they loaded the boat on the prince’s wagon for the journey back to Eistland. Hildi sat in the wagon beside the Kaleva while her sons walked behind.