Blood Eagle: A riveting historical thriller

by Derek, Julia

  Like my practical mother who only believed in what she could see and hear with her own eyes and ears, I had never been one to be overly superstitious nor believe much in the powers of the gods. Until today. The dying man beneath me did have a point. It did seem like this strange bear had come to free me.

  Contemplating him with what I hoped were kind eyes, I said, “It is true that I’m innocent, and that you should have let me go. But you showed bravery till the end and that means that you paid for your sin. Odin is fair and will reward you by letting you inside Valhalla to continue your valiant battle at day and feast with beautiful virgins at night. And Ingun will be there with you.”

  “Ingun…” Olaf tried lifting his head, but the effort was too much for him. “Is he dead already?”

  “Yes. But he fought bravely till the end, just like you did.”

  “And Thorvald behaved cowardly,” Olaf muttered. “As usual… It was because of his cowardice that I got the ugly scar on my face. He left me to fight three men with swords on my own. If he had helped me, maybe we could have taken the bear.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Well,” Olaf continued weakly, “now he will have to go to Nastrond, while Ingun and I go to Valhalla. If you think we deserve entrance…”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  There was a faint smile on Olaf’s lips. Then the light went out in his eyes and he was dead.

  11

  I limped over to Ingun just to make sure that he, too, was really dead before I allowed myself to fully relax. The glass-like quality of his staring eyes told me that I had nothing to worry about. Barring any men hiding in the bushes, it seemed I was on my own at last. I listened carefully for sounds of someone moving around anywhere, but I could hear nothing except for some neighing. I turned my head in the direction of the neighing and discovered that the dead brothers’ horses were eating grass nearby, tied to the trunk of a large birch.

  I moved my hands around as best I could behind my back to get some blood flowing in them. I had to figure out a way to get rid of the rope around my wrists. My eyes went to Olaf’s sword that he had dropped on the ground while fighting the bear. How could I use that to cut the rope? Maybe if I leaned it against a tree trunk somehow, and then filed the rope against the blade edge? Yes, that could work. The hard part was how to get the sword up against a tree and keep it still while I rubbed against it. Looking around the clearing, I picked the pine tree with the biggest trunk, which happened to be the one Thorvald and Ingun had climbed. I limped over to the sword and kicked it toward the pine, using my injured foot. I swallowed the pain that flashed through my lower leg each time I kicked.

  When the sword and I were in front of the tree, I discovered that there were deep scratches in the bark from the bear having climbed it. They would serve me well to keep the sword steady as I rubbed against the blade.

  I had to lie down on my back and use my feet to position the sword, hilt downward and secured in the little hollow I had dug out with the top part of my healthy foot. Getting it in place hurt less than I had feared. When I was done, I got back to my feet, turned my back against the standing sword, and got to work.

  The sun had set when I had finally managed to cut through the rope. I swung my arms in big circles to get the circulation going in them again, which was painful and wonderful at the same time. Now I needed to get some water into my body. Where had Ingun taken the horses to water them? It must be somewhere close by. I pricked my ears, but heard nothing that sounded like water trickling forth. Maybe if I walked in the same direction as he had, I would hear water pour forth somewhere.

  As I limped along in the dusk, I wondered where I could be. I had no idea in which direction the brothers had been riding, but I assumed it was toward the port of Valstad or Karlsby, our community, since they were going to hand me over to Ragnar. We had been riding for a long time, which meant that I must be fairly close to home.

  It didn’t take long before I had elbowed myself through dense bushes and close-growing firs and found a creek trickling forth. I fell down on my knees and, supporting my hands on rocks that peeked out of the water, I bent so deep my entire face got immersed inside the ice cold water.

  I drank greedily until my stomach couldn’t handle any more. Then I removed my cloak, my thick woolen vest and tunic, my trousers and boots, and gave my body and face a quick cleaning. I traced my bearded cheeks and forehead for cuts like those that streaked my hands. The ones I found fortunately seemed small, the blood having congealed on them already. I moved my injured foot around, reassuring myself once more that it wasn’t broken.

  Dressed again, I sat on a rock and thought about what to do next. The continuous stillness around me convinced me that I must be safe, but who knew how long that would last. Besides, I couldn’t stay out in the woods for many more days, for soon it would get very cold, too cold for anyone to sleep under a bare sky even next to a fire. It was already so chilly I could see faint traces of my breath when I exhaled. No, I had to get out of the woods as fast as possible and find people who could help me. My best option was to get down to Scania, part of northern Denmark, where nobody knew of me and my punishment. A village called Flemminge was situated there. I had heard that the Danes were a friendly sort, open and hospitable to strangers.

  I had myself never crossed the woods down to the Danish border, but I knew of others who had. One of the Jarlabanke clan’s old slaves, who had been a hunter in his youth, had made the trip several times. According to him, it was a long and tiresome journey that took at least a week by foot. And that was for somebody who had grown up in the woods and knew it as well as his own hand. Thankfully, I had the horses, which should make the crossing a lot easier and faster—as long as I could figure out exactly where I was. When I had determined exactly where Valstad was located from my current position, I would know better which direction to take to reach Flemminge. If I could find a large hill, I could climb it and hopefully spot the tall roof of the People’s Assembly in Valstad, as, surely, I was only a day trip or two away from it.

  The Valstad Assembly was built with mortared stones. It was the only assembly of its kind in southeastern Sweden and known for having the tallest, most pointed roof in the province. People claimed that, on a clear day, you could see the Valstad Assembly with its sharp black shingle roof all the way from the very north of Oland, an island located 20 day trips off the Swedish East Coast. Danish warriors burnt down the previous assembly building, built from wood, during the Four-Day Valstad Massacre in which the Danes attempted to take over the strategically placed seaport. Many lives were lost then, both Danish and Swedish. In the end, the Swedes persevered, much thanks to Bjorn Jarlabanke’s astute leadership. In memory of all the wasted men—and his oldest son Ingvar in particular—Bjorn financed the new People’s Assembly, one made out of stone so it could never burn down again.

  Thoughts of Ragnar found their way into my head again and I was filled with distress.

  If only I had suspected what he was up to, the depth of his feelings for Thora…

  Of course I had always known that Ragnar liked Thora, but which lad did not? Never did I suspect that he liked her the way I did. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I was so enraptured all I could think of was how lucky I was that she felt the same way about me as I did about her. And being such a womanizer anyway, I had been certain that Ragnar would just move on, like he always did, when it was obvious whom she preferred. He had never been one to hang on to a girl for long, no matter how beautiful, so why would this girl be an exception? Besides, he, Sven, Erik, and I had promised each other never to let any girl come between us, never to let any girl affect our friendship. With all the girls we met during our nightly carousing, there was no reason to make an exception.

  Thinking back to when the four of us discovered Thora at the market in Valstad, I realized that I should have known all along that The Mighty Passion had struck twice that sunny day back in early summer. In fact, I should have known that R
agnar had fallen even harder for Thora than I had. That day, when I was finally able to remove my eyes from her where she stood behind the table loaded with woolen gloves, sweaters, and hats between an older woman and two girls, I turned to Ragnar. Seeing him standing there, his eyes having doubled in size and his mouth having dropped open, I had felt like I was looking at myself. But, unlike him, I had been able to dislodge myself from Thora at last and return to reality, all on my own. Not so with Ragnar. I had to grab his arm and shake him hard before I could get his attention. And when I got it, he still seemed dazed, as though he was drunk or exhausted, not all there. If that wasn’t proof enough, I should have known how he felt as his face went dark when she focused all her attention on me, turning her back on him. He had never looked more upset. I supposed, at the time, I must have thought that something else bothered him. Or maybe I just hadn’t wanted to admit the truth to myself.

  Then I remembered that Hilda was dead and decided that it wasn’t strange at all that I had never suspected Ragnar’s scheme. I still struggled to believe that he thought getting his hands on Thora was worth sacrificing his own sister’s life.

  I could be sure now that the bump at the back of my skull had not been a result of Hilda hitting me in an attempt to defend herself. Instead, Ragnar must have struck me with something to knock me out so he could take care of Hilda undisturbed. I ground my teeth. The fact that I had been knocked out must have been the real reason I couldn’t recall absolutely anything soon after Hilda and I sat down on that trunk. Surely it had a lot less to do with all the mead I had poured into myself at the contest.

  I traced my skull for the bump, but it was gone. At the top of my forehead, though, another bump had sprang forth, the one Olaf had caused when he had slammed me against the forest ground.

  I shuddered at the thought of what those last moments of Hilda’s life must have been like when she realized her own brother was about to kill her. I sincerely hoped he had not felt the need to rape her, too. Or maybe someone else had done the deed, upon Ragnar’s orders. Maybe he hadn’t been the one actually taking her life.

  Well, no matter how he had made it happen, one thing was for sure, I mused, curling my hands into tight fists. Ragnar and whoever else were involved would not get away with what they had done.

  12

  When I woke up the following morning, the thick layer of gray clouds had disappeared and the sky was a dazzling blue instead. I had spent the night close to the creek, hidden under a fir with heavy boughs so that any men out looking for me wouldn’t happen upon me like Ingun had. The sound of a crow talking found my ears as I pushed myself into a sitting position and yawned big. Nearby, a squirrel dashed up the trunk of a birch. A cool breeze caressed my face, giving me a light chill. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and then I rolled up the dead brothers’ reindeer pelts that had kept me warm as I had slept. I attached them to the pale gray Fjording’s back.

  Judging from the sun’s position between the prickly, sparser top branches of the surrounding firs and pines, I concluded that it must be long before noon still. My stomach growled loudly. I had better get something to eat before taking off, while it was still early in the day. I needed my strength. Yesterday, I had taken the edge off my hunger by eating some acorns and blueberries that I found on the forest floor around me. I had been too tired to look for something more substantial to eat, and it had been too dark anyway.

  Looking at the creek that widened as it crept farther up the hill, I was pretty sure eel or pike lurked somewhere in the murmuring water. I went to fetch Olaf’s sword. I would use it to stab a fish that I would eat.

  I soon spotted several eels and pike, but it took me a while until I caught either, for I was not used to catching fish this way. Each time I stabbed at a pike, it slunk away between my legs, and each time I stabbed at an eel, it disappeared under a rock. I was about to give up when I at last nailed an eel against the bottom of the creek. I stared at the wiggling thing in my hand, pretending it was Ragnar. I slammed it hard against the trunk of a pine tree, over and over, until it died. Then I searched for leaves and sticks dry enough to make a small fire. Well rested and in the possession of weapons to defend myself with now, I decided that I would rather run the small risk of someone spotting the smoke and coming to look for me than eat raw fish. By now, most men would have tired looking for me. Besides, I would not let it burn long anyway.

  As I kept searching for sticks and leaves, other moments of Ragnar’s odd behavior in the last weeks returned to me, moments that made sense to me at last. Like when Egin and I went to watch Rolle and Ricko wrestle two of the Knute brothers at the mead house in Valstad one Sunday.

  Ragnar, Loke, and Sven had already been sitting inside the dark longhouse when my brother and I arrived, sipping on cups of mead at a corner table toward the end of the dimly lit space. We walked up to them and exchanged handshakes and forceful pats on the back.

  “How are the bets looking, Ragnar?” I asked, taking a seat next to Egin.

  “Three to one my brothers are making a Store Thor,” he replied with an excited grin. “Are you adding on to the winning pool?”

  “No. I would of course like to see your brothers do a Store Thor, but just for the hell of it, I’m going to bet that one of the Knute brothers does one. I’ve heard Jona is one serious wrestler.”

  Ragnar shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s your money. If you want to throw it away, go right ahead. Clearly, married life has shriveled up your brains.”

  “I’m not so sure my brains are as shriveled as other parts of me… From over usage!” I gave him a playful wink.

  “Well, you better make use of that one before she is all old and shriveled. Those things happen faster than you know it.” Ragnar guffawed, slapping the table.

  I couldn’t help but notice that something about Ragnar’s laugh sounded off. However, since I also filled with an urge to punch him in the face, I soon forgot about it and instead just glared at him, saying, “That one has a name, Ragnar. It is Thora. Use it.”

  “Whatever.” Ragnar snorted and emptied his cup of mead.

  Unable to take my eyes off of him, I wondered what had gotten into him, denigrating my wife like that. He’d better not do it again or I would have to teach him a lesson. Tension spread in the air ever so thinly, but then Sven dispersed it by asking, “Did you hear that Orvar, the slave who knifed his master to death, escaped yesterday?”

  “Really?” Ragnar said, his small eyes opening wide. “Thor’s hammer! How did he manage to do that?”

  “There was something wrong with the lock on the prison door, so he managed to get out.”

  “Something wrong with the…” Ragnar stared at Sven, incredulous. “How could the Thanes not have known this? Besides, even if it was something wrong with it, shouldn’t there be guards watching the door anyway?”

  “Apparently, the guard in place was busy talking to some girl he liked, so Orvar just took off. A couple of the other guards saw him disappear into the woods as fast as his legs could carry him. They tried catching him, but he was too fast for them.”

  Ragnar screwed up his face into a frightful grimace. “That is awful. By Odin, how awful. And he was only days away from being executed… What is becoming of us when we let these kinds of things happen? Here we cannot even deliver a simple punishment properly.”

  “I’m sure we will soon figure out a proper way to teach all those bad slaves a lesson,” Loke said quietly. The powerfully built man with the meticulously trimmed goatee turned to me and gave me a cool smile. I forced myself to return the smile but barely succeeded. Loke, two years older than Ragnar and me, was the only member of the Jarlabanke clan I didn’t care for, but I wasn’t able to figure out why. All I knew was that each time I looked into his eyes, so pale blue and cold they looked like they were made of ice, the smooth skin on my arms turned bumpy and coarse.

  “Yes, I’m sure we will soon find a way to teach all those vile thieves and murderers a lesson,” said Sven. “
Still, until that happens, we will have to watch out for ourselves.”

  “Yes, and especially for Orvar,” Ragnar pointed out. “Who knows where he is hiding and who he is planning to attack next? It was written all over his face how bloodthirsty he was. You could tell from the way he was staring at everyone with those mad eyes during trial.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry much about him killing you or me or anyone else around here,” I said. “Few people survive out in the woods on their own and without weapons to defend themselves. The wolves or a bear will take care of him soon, if they haven’t already. Or some other forest man will.”

  “Well, let’s hope you are right,” Ragnar muttered. “Still, it is not good the way he managed to escape. The system we have to make sure our scoundrels get what they deserve no longer works. Which certainly will not scare other potential thieves and murderers from committing crimes—”

  “If he is still alive, I doubt he is hanging around here,” I interrupted. “In that case I’m sure he is well on his way to Denmark where it is no longer permitted to keep slaves. I mean, looking at him, what with that shaved head and all, it’s obvious he is one. Nobody knows what he did down there. He can just pretend to have escaped from his master. If he has any kind of wits, he’s aiming to reach Flemminge. It wouldn’t take him more than a week or so to get there.”

  “What is Flemminge?” Egin asked, the only person paying attention to me.

  “A village at the Danish border,” I replied. “Right next to the woods.”

  Ragnar turned and looked at me and my brother with a determined look on his face.

  “We simply must overhaul the system. Don’t you agree, Leif?”

  “Nobody has succeeded in running off before, so I doubt we need to worry,” I said.

  “Will you and Thora come to father’s birthday feast next Saturday, Leif?” Loke asked.