by J. A. Snow
“She is built to give you healthy sons,” countered Dagstorp. “You said yourself your papi killed his mother coming into the world! A giant needs a giantess for a wife!”
Logi was used to having his own way and he had been looking forward to battling for the Trondelag only to find out now that all he had to do was lie with one of Grim’s daughters and become the stallion in the old man’s herd of broodmares! He pounded on the rock they sat upon with his fists, watching as the blood trickled from his split knuckles.
“Fret over it all you want, Logi,” said Dagstorp. “But don’t let Grim hear you belittle his daughters. He will most likely run us off with the sharpened end of his axe swinging at our backsides!”
“Ahhh, let him try!” boasted Logi. “He will be sorry he tangled with the giant of Kvenland!”
“Haven’t you noticed, Logi, that Grim is even bigger than you are?” asked Dagstorp. “Where did you ever come up with the notion that you were a giant? All the men in the north are giants! The blood is pure up here, not diluted and mixed with the lowlanders. The sons you father with Glod will be perfect specimens!”
Logi finally acquiesced, after much debate. He would agree to marry the pretty one, Glod. He would marry her and then demand the old man give him them their own land. “I won’t live under his roof and have him lording over me like my papi! That is too much to ask of the giant of Kvenland!”
“You are so full of yourself!” lamented Dagstorp. “And stupid too! Now, are you coming back inside or are you going to sit out here and freeze your knottrs off? I am going inside to get some sleep.”
Inside the longhouse, they tiptoed over the sleeping bodies around the fire and Logi wedged himself between Dagstorp and the wall. “I want nei more women creeping into my bed while I am asleep!” he whispered to the troll who was already snoring.
Breakfast was a steaming pile of sausages and potatoes, and warm mead in wooden cups. Grim sat at the head of the long table, with Logi at his right and Dagstorp on his left as they ate their fill; with each plate-full they devoured, the women promptly brought another to replace it. Logi hadn’t gorged himself to such a degree since he was a boy in Kvenland.
“Well, then,” said Grim. “Have you decided yet?”
He stared at Logi with a grin while the others fell silent.
“Decided?” he asked. “Decided on what?”
“On which of these ripe wenches you will marry!” said Grim. “And, you’d better make up your mind quickly! When Alf arrives with his army, I expect I won’t have a virgin left in the bunch. At least, now you can have your pick!”
Logi sighed as all the women leaned in to hear what he had to say.
“I suppose…” he began.
The ugly daughter who had appeared in his bed on their first night there brought him another plate of sausages and leaned far over him to serve him, rubbing her ample bosom up against his arm. “Just for you,” she twittered.
Logi cleared his throat and took a long drink from his cup. “I suppose I would like to marry Glod,” he said finally. “If that is agreeable to you.”
Grim knew Glod was the prime wench of his brood, being the prettiest and the youngest. He knew she would be spoken for quickly when Alf’s army arrived. But, he couldn’t turn down any offer to marry off one of his daughters. “Very well, then,” he replied. “Glod, my dear, did you hear that? You are to be wed! As soon as Alf and his men arrive, I suspect we will have many weddings!”
Glod, who had been sitting quietly at the other end of the table, rose from her seat on the long wooden bench and made her way around the table toward Logi. The others made room for her to sit next to him. Her face showed no emotion and she looked at him directly in the eye as she was equal to him in height. She said nothing, as if silently sizing her betrothed up and down. Logi couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking; she did not seem at all impressed. She disappeared after breakfast without ever uttering a single word to him.
The army arrived that afternoon, with a hundred or more soldiers on horseback, galloping up the hill toward the longhouse, stirring up dust for a mile, before turning the beasts out in the fenced paddock behind the house. Logi watched the horses, remembering the odd creature that Odin had ridden, Sleipnir. Odin had been right; the horses in the north were much larger than the short, woolly beasts back in Kvenland. These big animals were suitable for giants to ride! The men dismounted and several ran to assist an old man getting down from the back of a huge black stallion.
“Alf!” shouted Grim, hobbling out to greet his dead wife’s brother. “It has been too long since we have visited! Come inside and we’ll inebriate ourselves. I want you to meet Logi from Kvenland! He is going to be my new son-in-law!”
Alf was a giant too, lumbering toward them with stiff legs after hours on horseback. His body was solid and his skin looked like he had been carved from leather. He took Logi’s hand and clasped it tightly in his. “Welcome to the Trondelag!” he said cordially. “I fought in the wars with Kaleva, but I have not seen him in many years. Is he well?”
Logi shook his head. “Nei,” he said. “He died when I was small.”
“Ah, but you have his look! A fine warrior, he was! And nei one had more honor than he! You come from a dynasty of giants, did you know that, Boy?”
Grim stole the old man away then and ushered him off to the longhouse, chattering old-man gibberish and slapping each other’s shoulders while Logi acquainted himself with the soldiers and their horses. “I should like to acquire one of these magnificent beasts,” he told a soldier.
“Grim has a fine herd,” said the man. “Perhaps he will give you one as a wedding gift!” He leaned in and whispered in Logi’s ear. “By the way, which daughter have you spoken for?”
Logi was surprised at the question. “Glod,” he replied.
“Ah,” said the soldier, “Good choice. I would have chosen her myself if I had gotten here earlier! She’ll make a fine wife!”
“Ja,” said Logi, as they all migrated back toward the longhouse. “I certainly hope so!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight “A Welcome Funeral”
The funeral for Fornjot was brief and hurried. While the men obligingly dug a modest pit near where they had buried old Kaleva, it was not nearly with the pomp and circumstance they had bestowed on their original jarl. There was no heartfelt emotion among them. Kari and Aegir stood by as the body was covered with a respectable mound of earth; there was almost a sigh of relief that shuddered through the crowd as the last of the spades were set aside and they started back for the village.
“I am a bit surprised there wasn’t a resounding cheer to be rid of him,” whispered Aegir to his brother.
“You needn’t whisper, Aegir,” replied Kari. “We don’t tremble in fear at the hands of our papi any longer! Shout it from the top of the palisade if you want! He can’t hear you!” He stopped as he realized that Hildi had left before Fornjot’s sudden death. “It’s too bad about Moder, though,” he said. “She could have stayed here with us after all.”
Aegir shook his head. “Nei, I think she will be happier out there with the herd. It was her life before she married Papi. I think she has missed it greatly.”
Weyland, the town smithja, approached them on the road. “We will be holding a thing tonight at my house,” he said, looking at Kari. “You are welcome to come. I expect you will be the subject of discussion there.”
Aegir cast a curious glance at his brother; he could see a solemn look in Kari’s eyes.
“Surely you realize we will be choosing another jarl to take your papi’s place!” said Weyland. “Since your older brother and Fornjot are gone, it will be you, Kari! It was surely the gods’ will bringing you home at just the right time!”
He waved them off. Kari and Aegir retreated into the longhouse they had been raised in. The place was in a state of filth and disrepair; obviously, their father had not cleaned up the mess since he had sold their mother off to the thrall-traders. The stench
of an unemptied chamber pot and the droppings of the birds who had been nesting in the rafters was most disgusting. The odor of rancid meat and sour milk permeated the air.
“We shall have to air this place out,” said Aegir, “before the snows come.”
“Ja,” replied Kari. “You fetch some fresh straw from the animal barn while I get to sweeping. Leave the doors open wide to let in the breeze. What a pigsty he has made of it!”
“Do you suppose he would have died if we had not left him?” Aegir asked.
Kari nodded. “Ja, Aegir,” he replied. “So, you mustn’t feel guilty about it. Papi drank himself to death, probably because he grieved over Logi’s death. Maybe he realized what he did to Moder was unforgivable.”
“I don’t really care why he died,” said Aegir. “I am only glad he is gone. And, Logi too.”
The boys labored all afternoon until it was time to attend the thing in the village. There was little to eat in the kitchen, only some dried fish and lentils. Kari pulled one of the fish down and began to chew thoughtfully.
“Are you ready to be elected jarl? asked Aegir.
“Nei,” replied Kari. “But, I expect I will not have a choice. It seems as if manhood has come upon us rather quickly.”
Aegir agreed. “You will make a good jarl,” he said. “You have a good head and a kind heart.”
“I am afraid it takes more than that to be the jarl of Kvenland!” said Kari. “It is a big responsibility!”
“I would have faith in you,” said Aegir. “Even if you were not my brother.”
Kari discovered the villagers felt the same; when they arrived at Weyland’s longhouse, everyone was there and the sons of Fornjot were welcomed warmly.
“Let’s get the obvious out of the way early!” announced Weyland. “I think we all agree young Kari here will make a fine jarl! Is there anyone opposed?”
There wasn’t a single nei-sayer in the crowd.
“Then let’s drink mead until it runs out our ears or the sun comes up!” He held up his horn to toast Kari. “Welcome home, Jarl Kari of Kvenland!”
Part Two
“Brothers to the Death”
Chapter Twenty-Nine “The New Jarl”
It was Kari’s first accomplishment since being elected the new jarl of Kvenland; the building of a new thingstead in the village gave the people hope that positive changes were coming. He had immediately dismissed his father’s practice of collecting tributes. “We are all Kvenlanders,” he told the group who had assembled at the home of Weyland. “I always thought my papi’s ways were distasteful.” The crowd was so large that the house of the smithja nearly burst at its seams and many had to stand outside and perk their ears toward the conversations inside. The village needed a permanent place to gather. “My brother and I want only to work alongside you and protect our village from the outsiders who would do us harm.” He clasped arms with the men and shared mead with them until the wee hours, when he and Aegir made their way home to the longhouse and fell asleep on their boyhood mats by the fire.
With Snapp and the others, they went to work the next day on the new thingstead at the north end of the yard. It was a fine structure, the walls built of wood, round with a ring of bench-seats and a great fire-pit in the center. They finished putting a fine thatch roof on it just as the first snows began to fall.
But, the snow did not stop the boat-building. Ever since Snapp had gotten his first look at the new Kaleva, he complimented the boys on their excellent craftsmanship. “You two have outdone me!” he told them. “I expect we shall sell many in the spring!”
“We’ve already orders for at least a dozen,” Aegir told him proudly. “We will be busy all winter!”
And busy they were; from the first frost to the spring thaw, the work in the boathouse never ceased. Weyland agreed to supply the iron spikes. His wife, Rolleka, brought food and drink for the workers. A group of men offered to bring in the lumber they would need so Kari and Aegir could concentrate on the boats. Finally, the high gates in the palisade were opened wide and it was agreed that they would remain that way always, unless the village was under attack. There was laughter and comradery in the boathouse again. Kari released Snapp and the other thralls who had labored for his father, but they stayed on, working as freemen. For the first time since Kaleva died, the villagers felt like they were a community.
Happily, there was also to be a wedding in the spring; Kari had proposed marriage to Weyland’s daughter, Dansa. The new jarl needed a wife and both Kari and Aegir were eager to have a woman’s presence in the longhouse again while they looked forward to the return of the herd and the Saami, for it had been months since they had said goodbye to their mother. One thing was for sure; no one missed the late jarl, Fornjot. His grave-mound was now a muddy heap of melting snow; his memory was fading quickly from the hearts and minds of the villagers.
The first boat was coming along famously. With Snapp working at their side, Kari and Aegir expanded on the original plan; they built a scaffolding long enough for boats twice as long, taking up all the available space in the boathouse and hired more men from the village. With twice as many men they could build twice as many boats. The fire in the corner of the boathouse burned brightly night and day, over the long months while the snow fell and the winds whistled outside, and, now, spring had come again and it was time to test the first of their new boats on the waters of the Gandvik!
Chapter Thirty “A Beast Awakened”
News was very slow to arrive in the far northern reaches of Halogaland, the name Logi picked for his new home, and only came by way of the nomadic Saami wanderers. Many of Alf’s soldiers had also taken to wife the daughters of Grim and had accompanied Logi and his new bride to settle in the land on the northern border of the Trondelag, gifted to Logi on the day of his nuptials. In the early spring, they built their homes on the banks of a great fjord and handsome houses they were, too, fit for a jarl, each with huge rock fire pits and cozy cots of sheepskin. The Great Sea offered up a potpourri of fish and mollusks while the dense forests supplied them with elk and caribou meat so there was always a bounty on every table. But, it was cold and isolated for most of the year and, inwardly, Logi hated it. Still, in his mind, he believed that his blessings and curses alike were somehow coming from Odin, who had not made another appearance since the night under the blankets in Grim’s house. Dagstorp stayed by his side, having taken one of Grim’s older daughters to wife for himself, and it was the faithful troll who brought the surprising announcement to Logi.
Grim had, as expected, also gifted his new son-in-law with a fine pair of horses and the soldiers brought their own mounts; they built a large paddock for them and a barn to shelter them in winter. Logi was still fascinated by the animals, although he had only just learned to ride them. The soldiers laughed heartily at his first clumsy attempts in the saddle, when he ended up each time catapulting through the air, his huge hulk landing headfirst in the dirt. Infuriated and embarrassed, Logi was determined he would master the horse. He was at it again that day, struggling with the reins trying desperately to keep his balance, when the small group of Saami herders appeared on the road, asking permission to camp awhile and rest themselves.
“I have nei problem with the Saamis,” Logi told Dagstorp, when the troll came to him with their request. “My own moder was Saami. Tell them they are welcome to stay as long as they wish.”
Dagstorp was a bit surprised at his master’s invitation. Logi was not inclined to be hospitable to anyone, let alone needy strangers. Perhaps marriage has smoothed out some of his rough edges, thought Dagstorp hopefully, for Glod took none of his nonsense and frequently put the arrogant boy in his place. Logi had performed his husbandly duties, because it pleased him, but there was no love between them. Now, Dagstorp knew Logi would not be pleased with the news the herders had to share.
“My papi is dead?” asked Logi incredulously. “That can’t be true! Take me to the man who told you this!”
Logi got
down from his horse, for he still feared riding very far, and followed Dagstorp on foot up the road to the Saami camp. “Who is bringing this news from Kvenland?” he asked loudly.
“It is true,” said one herder. “We passed through there a few months ago. They said he dropped dead from too much drink! Right there on the beach with the whole village watching!”
Logi reeled. His papi was dead? It couldn’t be! His papi was the strongest man alive! The giant of Kvenland! “Who told you this? Were you there? Did you witness it?”
The Saami man shook his head. “Nei,” he said. “But I know it to be true. They have a new jarl now! The whole town’s talking about it!”
“Who?” Logi demanded. “Who has taken the place of Fornjot?”
“Why, young Kari!” said the man. “His eldest son, who else?”
Dagstorp’s mouth dropped open as he watched the transformation in Logi. He watched as his master’s eyes narrowed to barely a slit and his nostrils flared. He had never seen Logi angry, cross and rude, yes, many times, but never truly angry. Now, he shuddered as Logi rose up to his full height and glared down on the Saami man, with an expression that suggested he might murder the man on the spot.
“I am the eldest son of Fornjot!” he said in a strange voice that was not his own. It was a roar, almost like that of a wild beast, coming from somewhere deep inside him and it caused goose-bumps to rise on Dagstorp’s green skin.
The man took a step backward, afraid that Logi would strike him down. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I am only telling you what I heard.”
Logi turned abruptly and stomped off toward the longhouse. Glod was sitting near the fire, suckling their daughter, Eisa, who had been born exactly nine months after their wedding. It was a sour subject between them, the birth of another girl when they were supposed to produce sons for Grim. Now, they spoke very little of it. “The next child had better be a boy,” Logi had told her. “I don’t want to end up like your papi, with a longhouse full of ugly girls.”