I hold my breath, silently unlatching the fence.
As the gate falls open, the bull snorts and runs. Its intimidating bulk moves past me, straight down the hill. I jump the fence and run as if my feet had wings. I scramble up a tree, panting and watching the attack.
The Skraelings yell at each other in their guttural tongue, but not fast enough to save the ones in the crazed bull’s path. It gouges at the crowd. Many men fall to the ground, like grain cut with a sickle. Finally, one of the Skraelings stabs the bull with a spear, and others join him.
While they are distracted, I climb down and run toward the woods. If I die, I’ll die protecting my son. I scramble over the edge of the rocks, just in time to see a small group of Skraelings approaching the forest edge. The tall leader walks behind his men.
Sindri charges from the dark trees, wielding his axe. One of the nearby Skraelings grips a long rock slab, and he quickly turns, ramming it against Sindri’s head. Our huge warrior thuds to the ground, blood pouring from his wound.
The Skraeling looks at Sindri’s axe, curiously touches the sharp blade, then aims it at one of his friends. It strikes him in the forehead. He gives a muffled cry before dropping to the ground. The Skraeling who threw it starts wailing.
Their leader, shocked as I am, runs and pulls the bloody axe from his man’s head, letting it dangle from his hand as if it’s poisonous. He turns and walks straight toward our overhang. I duck below the rocks, clinging to a lower ledge. I pray he didn’t see me in his distraction.
The tall, scarcely-clad man murmurs some kind of chant, then the axe goes flying into the ocean. He stands on the rocks directly above us. Linnea, watching me from below, holds Snorri tight to her bosom. He might not be able to breathe properly, but she has to keep him silent to save us all.
Greenlandic words fly through the air, shouted by a woman. Freydis. She calls to our men, deeper in the woods. “You cowards! These fools are easy to kill as sheep! Watch how it’s done!”
The leader turns, running toward her. I hope Freydis has strength to do whatever she’s planning. Killing two men would be easy for her, but I hope it’s only two.
I don’t hear any shouting from the Skraelings, just scuffling sounds in the leaves. When it becomes silent, I climb up again. I must check on her. As I begin to see over the outcropping, my breath leaves me and I lose my footing for a moment.
Our men stand in a circle, gathered around Sindri’s body. And on the ground near him, I see a familiar shock of red, curly hair.
Chapter Twenty-One
Freydis isn’t dead, but her baby is coming. It’s still too early. She groans regularly, lying on the forest floor near Sindri’s body. Ref stands above her, not knowing what to do next.
I start to shake when I realize Snorri Thorbrandsson isn’t standing among the men.
“Snorri?” I ask.
Tyr, kneeling next to Sindri, turns to me. Unfettered tears course down his cheeks. He shakes his head, making me even more fearful that Snorri is among the dead today.
I turn to Bjarni. “Where are the Skraelings?” Surprisingly, he seems to be the only one calm right now. His berserker powers must have burned out.
“Ran—every last one of them. But not from us. They ran from Eirik’s daughter. She stripped her breast and slapped it with her sword, right in front of us. She didn’t have to fight. She was terrifying and powerful as the goddess Freyja herself.” He gives her a tender look, as if she were his own daughter.
It’s hard to believe the sight of a half-bare pregnant woman would frighten the Skraelings so much. Still, Freydis’ fearlessness was plain to see—and her intent to kill. And perhaps they thought her a magic woman.
From the regularity of her moans, Freydis is close to giving birth. “Bjarni, find the women and bring them to me." I stand. “Men, take Sindri’s body and protect the camp. This woman has saved your lives today. Leave me alone so I can save hers.”
The men obey, thankful to have something to occupy them. I have no time to wonder about Snorri Thorbrandsson. I cut off Freydis’ shift with her own knife, only to see that she has fluid leaking out.
Suka stays behind, watching from behind a tree as if entranced. “Did you run from the Skraelings, too?” I shout at him. “Run, then, and get me some warm water!” There’s a flash of brown as he flies to the camp. At least he followed this one command.
“Gudrid!”
Snorri Thorbrandsson’s voice reaches me before he does.
“Here.” My voice cracks. Relief floods me as I turn to see his familiar bald head and red beard.
As Snorri walks up behind me, fresh strength fills me. It’s enough to know he’s alive and nearby. I couldn’t lead these men alone, if something happened to him.
“The women?” I ask.
“Coming. Bjarni found us. What should I do?”
“I need your cloak.”
He hands it to me, and I barely have time to shove it under Freydis before she begins pushing. It’ll be almost impossible to clean the golden wool after this, but she must have something cleaner than the forest floor under her.
The cord comes out first, twisted and dark. The babe isn’t upside down, as he should be after Nerienda turned him. Suka places a bucket of warm water and clean cloths at my side. I’m glad for Suka’s speed—he found hot water faster than I thought possible.
Nerienda and Deirdre approach, panting. Nerienda takes one look at the cord, then lowers to her knees in front of me. She’s seen more births than I have, and I can only watch and pray she knows what to do. She takes my hand and puts the cord in it. “Push it up,” she says, still out of breath.
I pour warm water over my hand and the cord, then try to push it in. Freydis screams. I can’t imagine how this hurts, although it’s almost as if I can feel the pain myself. My stomach cramps. Some part of the babe will come out soon.
Sure enough, the feet are first. I continue holding the cord, while Nerienda tries to grab the baby. I motion to her, and we switch positions, since I’m stronger.
After several pushes, the baby seems stuck. The head won’t come out, because an arm blocks it. Nerienda says, “Move the arm.” I hook my smallest finger and pull the arm down as much as I can. Finally, after more pushing, and much screaming by Freydis, the head emerges.
The eyes are closed, which is normal. But that's the only normal thing about this birth.
The boy is blue, and his skin is loose and wet. He’s far too small, not fully developed yet. He’s bruised all over. And he hasn’t been alive for some time.
Freydis shouts like a wild animal. “Give me my child, woman!”
I overlook her disrespect, wondering how to tell her. But Nerienda does it for me.
The old woman crawls up to Freydis’ face, putting her hand on her forehead. It’s a calming gesture, but one strong enough to hold her down, should she have to.
She pulls Freydis’ wet red hair aside and speaks into her ear, very low. I’ve cut the cord with Snorri’s knife, and I continue holding the babe. We don’t breathe, waiting for Freydis.
But she’s quiet.
And then, she asks for the babe again. I hand him to her. When her long white fingers trace his slack jaw, I can’t hold my tears back. Everyone is crying, except Freydis. She carefully places her baby on the cloak. Though she's just given birth, and shouldn't have the strength to stand, she staggers off into the forest. From the waist down, her clothing is cut off. She hasn’t even lost the afterbirth. She could die if it isn’t removed.
But Nerienda says, “Let her go.”
And so we do.
Deirdre helps me up. She says my boy and Linnea are safely back at camp, guarded by our men. My wolf should be guarding the camp, too. I don’t know where she was during the attack. She could have kept the Skraelings out of the forest, away from Freydis.
Freydis should have stayed in her tree. Why did she risk her life, and the babe’s? To show the men’s cowardice? To keep the Skraelings from going further int
o the woods?
I think of the Skraeling leader, throwing the axe so close to the outcropping, and I know the answer to my questions. Freydis revealed herself for me and my boy. When the leader went toward our rocks, she tried to distract him, knowing we were hidden there.
She was ready to give two lives for ours. It’s too much. I stumble over a root, not watching where I’m walking. Deirdre grips my arm tighter and continues leading me toward camp. Snorri and Suka are gone. They must have left us soon after the birth. I hope Snorri Thorbrandsson will tell Ref, because I can’t watch his face when he discovers his anticipated child is dead.
I have nowhere to go but to my own child, who still lives. My son, born without too much trouble, even after our difficult sea-voyage to Straumsfjord.
I long to feel strong arms around me. Not even human arms—God’s arms. If only God could tell me this will somehow work out for good. But whatever foresight I’m blessed with tells me otherwise. Freydis will never recover. She had a wild look in her eyes, more crazed than any berserker, as she looked at her dead child.
If only Finn were here, he’d know what to do. He wouldn’t have run from the Skraelings in the first place. Anger replaces my thankfulness for Snorri Thorbrandsson. Why did he let the men go into the forest? He knew the women were hiding there. He could have released the bull, instead of letting me do it. He could have stood and fought, despite the fireballs raining down. Maybe he is a coward, like Freydis shouted.
Deirdre has probably been talking to me the entire time we’ve been walking, and I haven’t heard the first word. She must notice my anger, because she drops her arm. “Gudrid?” Her eyes are wide.
I’m torn. I need to be with my son, to touch him and know he’s safe. But I need to find Freydis, before she hurts herself.
Snorri Thorbrandsson walks from the camp to meet us. He’ll regret this day, the day I lost respect for him. I run at him, beating his broad chest with my fists.
“You did this!” I shout over and over, until exhaustion makes me drop my hands.
He pulls me into his coarse blue tunic, stained with sweat and blood. My fists haven’t hurt him, and my words haven’t either. This is the second time he’s seen me after an unfair death. And he’s ready to protect me again, even from myself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
During the next few days, I cling to the promise of protection I felt in Snorri Thorbrandsson’s arms. But I’m very aware of Freydis’ inability to escape madness after such a loss.
Suka stays with her in the forest, reporting on her when he comes in for meals at the longhouse. Ref admits he can’t bear to be with her, since he can’t calm her ceaseless ranting after the birth. She speaks of nothing but how good it’ll be to have her firstborn in her arms, as if the stillbirth hasn’t even happened. As if she hasn’t touched her dead son’s face.
I'm of two minds about Suka. He seems devoted to Freydis, accepting her in this maddened state. But at the same time, he does nothing but glare at me, and even at Snorri Thorbrandsson. He’s said nothing to us directly, but I know he despises our authority. He’s not the best person to influence Freydis right now.
But I can’t complain—I can barely look after my own son as we try to handle the grief in our camp. Sindri and the red-haired man I barely knew were slain by the Skraelings. We burned our men that night, on two pyres near the shore. Tyr was crying the entire time I chanted. Those two were more like brothers than friends. I fear he may not overcome this grief, to guard as he once did. Later, Ref carved runes into their memorial stones.
The women whisper of future attacks, while the men plot at the longhouse table. But I think the Skraelings won’t return. Freydis’ boldness frightened them, but they also lost many in the battle.
We wonder what to do with the Skraeling bodies, mangled and bloodied from the Viking weapons and the bull's horns. I didn’t realize how many had been killed until I walked along the beach that day, after the battle. Fifteen of their men lay dead. If we put the bodies out to sea, they might wash up ashore. Burning them would use too much valuable wood, since the fires have to be hot enough to incinerate a body. So our men finally decide to run carts far into the woods, digging a deep hole for them. They leave it unmarked.
Freydis’ boy has a special grave in the clearing in the woods. His runestone is larger than the others, since he’s a chieftain’s grandson. I wish we could bring his body to the burial ground at Brattahlid so the family could weep over him.
Days go by, and Freydis keeps to the forest. I finally decide I must go to her. When Suka visits the longhouse for an evening meal, I ask him where she is. He doesn’t want to answer me, but Snorri Thorbrandsson stares at him so pointedly, knife poised over his fish and beets, Suka finally speaks.
She is living in a cave toward the outer rim of the forest. Suka challenges Ref with a look and declares Freydis has no interest in seeing any of us. Ref pushes on his beet so hard with his spoon, the dark red juice leaks onto the table, but he has the good sense not to respond. Even in his silence, he simmers like a pot right before it boils over. Suka is a walking dead man. His life is worth next to nothing now, because he’s a slave trying to steal a freeman’s wife.
The next day, during the mid-morning meal, I go out while Suka talks with the men. Linnea is only too happy to watch over my Snorri. He takes endless delight in her, jabbering and grabbing at her hair. Sometimes I wonder if he likes her face better than my own. I scold myself for not spending more time with him, but how can I? Snorri Thorbrandsson and I are now the backbone of this camp.
I wear my soft gray shawl, one of my favorites, spun from long-haired rabbit fur. Its warmth shields me from the damp chill in the air. The ocean smells especially briny today. I close my eyes and imagine where Finn could be. Perhaps he’s found Leif’s settlement and has set up camp there. But perhaps he’s drifting in the sea. I bring my attention back to my surroundings.
I can’t enjoy the red leaves on the few maples in the forest. The seasons have changed, and Finn is still away. Once all the leaves are on the ground, the animals will have to go into their small barn. Or perhaps we will have to butcher them, since the bull is dead and there will be no more milk.
The trail gives out as I keep walking, but I can see where ferns have been crushed underfoot. They’re not completely mashed down, which tells me Suka probably runs to and from camp this way.
I wonder how Suka will react if he finds me with Freydis. He’s far too possessive of her. I walk faster, determined to get to her first.
Mushrooms abound in this part of the forest. I should have checked on Bjarni since the end of the battle. Every time I see him at meals, he looks off into space instead of eating. He’s getting thinner all the time. The men talk reverently about the way Bjarni attacked the Skraelings, like a youth. They say he killed three men with his shield alone.
When I get to the creek, I realize it’s too wide to jump. Groups of smaller fish swim in its clear water. Perhaps I should catch some for Freydis. A true Viking’s daughter, she loves any kind of fish.
But I don’t stop. I pull up my skirts and tuck them into my belt. I take off my shawl, which confines my arms, and tie it around my waist. Finn marvels at my small waist and always comments on it. “You’ve had a child, and yet my arms could wrap around you twice!” I know he lies, but I’m pleased he likes me so well. I blush to think of his praise.
I slide down the steep muddy bank, then step into the creek. The shallow water only comes up to my knees. I cross quickly, pulling myself up the other side with exposed roots. My wolf stands at the top, her head cocked to the side, as if waiting for me to speak to her.
“Good day, my friend.” I try to be friendly, but still regret her absence the day of the battle.
She seems to sense my false good wishes, and lanks off toward the edge of the forest bordering the ocean. I pull out my skirts, which drape over my cold, muddy legs, and wrap my shawl about me as I walk. Ahead, the land drops off, large rocks replacing th
e leafy forest floor. I’ve reached the caves.
I hear Freydis before I see her. She makes a high, keening sound, like the wind through the trees when the weather changes. I walk along the top of the caves so I can talk to her. Leaf pieces litter her hair, as if she’s been sleeping on them. The caves encircle the clearing where she stands, arms in the air.
It’s no accident my wolf patrols this area now. She has positioned herself here. Does she sense my connection with Freydis? Or does she sense the madness that’s overtaken her?
I steel myself against images of the blue baby that push into my thoughts. If Freydis doesn’t come back to camp soon, we could lose her forever.
“Freydis!” I try to keep desperation out of my voice as I shout.
She stops her noise and looks up at me, recognition brightening her eyes—a good sign.
“Gudrid? My baby. I need my baby!” As she says this, she runs to me in an alarming way, staggering like she can’t remember how to use her legs. She could be sick, especially if the afterbirth didn’t come out. She’s still under-dressed, but she wears men’s trousers under her cut-off skirts. Just how familiar has Suka been with her? If he’s taken advantage of her in this state, I’ll make sure he’s dead by morning.
I climb down, determined not to lie about her child. She must remember. She must accept the truth. Suka has probably been feeding her lies, given the way she still asks for the baby. He keeps her to himself by pacifying her, like a small child. I won’t treat her that way.
“Freydis, the babe is gone. A boy. Think back. Look at yourself. The babe’s gone, my sister.”
The wild look blazes in her eyes. “Neinn!”
“Ja.” I get closer and take her arms in mine. She’s so thin, she almost slips from my grip.
Her body shakes with sorrow. She cries out—a horrifying sound because we’re face to face—then goes limp in my arms. I hold her, praying against the lies and illness that have caged her mind.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 13