God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga)

by Heather Day Gilbert

  Although I know my boy is safe in our hut with Linnea, I want to check on him before I take a walk. A pretty picture meets my eyes when I pull back the door’s deerskin.

  Inside, a fire blazes to keep out the chill. Linnea sits near Snorri’s cradle, humming. And Snorri Thorbrandsson picks up more kindling for the fire, his eyes on Linnea.

  As the wind snatches at the deer hide, I see glimpses of a new relationship in the camp. Baby Snorri stirs, and Linnea quickly tucks the blanket tighter to him. Snorri Thorbrandsson’s eyes, reflecting the firelight, stare unashamedly at her long, fair hair. It truly could be my hair. It’s the same texture, color, and almost the same length. Linnea is hard to ignore, with those wide-set, mesmerizing eyes. Though she is shorter than I am, she is still curvy in a way men can’t help but notice, even in her loose overdresses. She’s also good with my child—a natural mother. Surprised by this new direction for Snorri’s affections, I turn toward the forest, an unexpected emptiness filling me.

  Finn is likely fitting Leif’s ships for the journey. He won’t notice if I slip into the forest to see my wolf again, or perhaps to gather some of Bjarni’s mushrooms. I think we have to wean him off them, much as I weaned my baby. Nerienda thinks otherwise—that we should take them all away with no warning. It seems to me Bjarni needs to come back to himself slowly, after all these years of deliberately warping his mind and afflicting his body.

  Doubtless, anyone would say that the sky is perfect today—deep blue with no clouds in it. A pang of longing hits me as I remember growing up in Iceland, with its dolphin and ice-colored skies that rushed to meet the rounded mountains.

  The wind whips at my hair and I begin to twist it into a knot. Another hand touches my head and I turn, expecting Finn. It is not.

  Snorri Thorbrandsson. Here, on the edge of the woods, where everyone can see.

  “Golden.” He smooths my hair, looking into my eyes. His hand goes down and traces my chin.

  “Snorri!” I must wake him from this stupor. If Finn sees this…if anyone sees this….

  The sun lights his beard and eyes aflame. “Were you going into the forest?”

  If I say yes, he’ll want to come with me. But I’m not a liar. “I was thinking of it, yes.”

  “Will you let me walk with you?” His hand, which was resting on my shoulder, drops to his side.

  I’ve never in my life felt unsafe with Snorri. I know he wouldn’t hurt or force me. But right now, I feel unsafe with myself. I’ve had many days to lie in Finn’s arms since his return. But when Finn left me, Snorri Thorbrandsson was there. Not only for me, but for my son. This makes me weak when I’m around him. I doubt he knows this, though, and I don’t want to offend him.

  “Of course,” I say.

  His arm brushes mine as we step on fresh-fallen leaves. As we pass the baby’s grave, I feel a chill. How long will I be tormented by visions of that little body? Snorri seems to have similar thoughts, and he reaches for my hand. I cross my arms.

  “I must find more of Bjarni’s mushrooms.” Like a deer, I bolt forward.

  He stops short. I go just a few steps farther before respect makes me stop.

  “How long are you going to pretend, and deny yourself?” He stands astride a fallen log, his foot propped up on it.

  “I don’t pretend, for you or for anyone.” I put my hands on my hips, challenging him.

  Snorri’s light blue tunic is dirty from the work he’s been doing. A heavy silver cross hangs from a cord on his neck, though it could easily be mistaken for Thor’s hammer. Snorri Thorbrandsson was another of the monk’s Icelandic converts to Christianity.

  He nods, thoughtful.

  Memories of our recent battle flood me, and my simmering anger rises. “How many Skraelings did you kill in the attack?” What coward would let an expecting woman defend us?

  “Bjarni himself killed five men, near the stockade. Then the Skraelings started hurling flaming balls of whale blubber over our walls. You saw it—we had to fall back to move the attack from their catapults’ reach. It’s a wonder the huts didn’t burn to the ground.”

  Surely that was God’s hand of protection. “But how many did you kill?” I want to be proud of him, not embarrassed by his retreat.

  “Six.” It is not his nature to brag, though he killed more than any other Viking did that day.

  “Thank you.” I step closer.

  He takes his foot off the log, then catches my hand in his, looking into my eyes. His eyes shine bright as the volcanoes in Iceland.

  “I can’t stop thinking of you, Gudrid. Even as I watch Linnea, I see you. But you belong to another man—I’m not even sure which.”

  Those are the wrong words to say, since I’m already loaded with guilt over my feelings for Leif. It is time for Snorri Thorbrandsson to find another woman. “I belong to my husband. This has to be our goodbye, Snorri. Just think of me as your sister.”

  “What about Leif? Is he only a brother, too?” Jealousy charges his voice.

  “Yes, he is. He has to be.” I stare at the perfect blue sky, wishing it would open and take me anywhere but here. I’m weary of being pulled in all directions by these men who think they love me.

  He cocks his head, his beard shining like copper, even in the darkness of the forest. “Very well.”

  He seems to mean it. But the emptiness rushes in immediately. Will we talk anymore? Will he smile at me again? And what of the next time Finn travels? Who will protect me? Part of me knows God will, but I need human arms around me, human eyes watching over me. Why do I have to be so weak?

  I breathe in, then release a sigh that seems to take all the air in my body with it.

  Snorri still watches me. “Will you let me stay with you now?”

  My insides feel as if they’ve been ripped open. I’m out of strength to resist, so I tell him to stay. I worry about my wolf, because no one has seen her all week. A chill passes over me even in the warm breeze, and I know we need to look for her, not the mushrooms.

  We walk in the damp sweetness of dying ferns, up to the deep creek bed. We must keep going, even as far as the caves, to find my wolf. As I tuck my skirts into my belt, I blush under Snorri’s intent gaze. He hasn’t seen my legs before. I try to pull away from him, to show his attentions don’t bother me. If only he’d stop watching my every move.

  He waits at the creek bed until I shin down the bank. “I’ll carry you across. No need for you to drench yourself.”

  I shake my head.

  “You don’t have to do it yourself, and you know it. Come here, Gudrid.”

  I suppose he’s right. Besides, he’s only doing what a brother would do. I put an arm around his neck, and his hand slides under my legs as I jump into his arms. My blush deepens. He looks at me, chuckles, then plunges into the water.

  Once on the other side of the creek bed, he tries to put me down, but my dress hooks over his sword hilt. We both struggle to pull it off, hands touching again. Finally he unhooks it and places me on the ground, as carefully as if I were a glass bead on a necklace.

  Grabbing at the tree roots, I pull myself up the bank before Snorri has a chance to help. I’ve been embarrassed enough for one day. I plunge ahead, not waiting for him. The clean sea air will be a welcome relief. The trees seem to push me down into the ground, like the sides of one of those heavy European caskets in Finn’s storehouse. These forests are too thick, not like our sparse forests in Greenland. I can’t wait until we ship out for home.

  Snorri Thorbrandsson walks several paces behind me, giving me space. His thoughtfulness of my feelings always disarms me.

  When we reach the bowl of rocks, I walk around it, toward the sea on the opposite side. The air’s growing colder. I should have worn my cape.

  I start to run, jumping small felled trees. The overturned dirt for the mass Skraeling grave lies in a loose pile on the ground. Our men didn’t even bother to tamp down the dirt. Snorri’s footsteps are never far away, so I don’t bother to look behind me. F
inally, we reach the edge of the forest, with its small beach opening onto the sea. I stumble over the small rocks on the beach, finally reaching the dark sand near the shore. My wolf lies there, water lapping at her feet. Her wild golden eyes stare at me. She has a Skraeling arrow through her middle. My wolf is dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Snorri’s arms wrap around me before my knees hit the rocks. I huddle next to my wolf, feeling for the breath I know isn’t there. The arrow has penetrated all the way through her thin body. My tears cover my hands as I stroke the soft fur, a pleasure I never had while she was alive. I close her eyes as best I can.

  The ocean that barely touched her feet quickly drenches her stomach. I try with no success to pick her up or pull her back. Snorri reaches down and throws her over his shoulder, making sure the arrow points out. The sight of her hanging there reminds me of a fresh rabbit kill, but it’s the only way to move her quickly.

  Snorri carries her back into the forest, where he places her on the ground and waits. I realize I don’t even know where her den is. But her home is with me.

  Burying an animal in the camp isn’t allowed. However, this wolf has saved our lives, several times over. I won’t leave her out here to rot. But I can’t think of what to do with her.

  Snorri rubs his chin. “Thorfinn needs to see this arrow. You know this means the Skraelings have found this shoreline? We’d thought it was hidden.”

  He’s right. All it takes is a long and determined walk through the woods, and then invading Skraelings could be in the camp. And we have no wolf to protect our borders now.

  “She goes to the camp, then,” I say. Snorri graciously picks her up again. I wonder, selfishly, if there’s anything he wouldn’t do for me.

  It’s getting dark when we finally get back. I didn’t realize so much time had passed on the beach. Geisli’s on guard, startling me, yet again, with his long, butter-colored hair. He meets us at the treeline with his lantern.

  “Karlsefni’s been worried,” he says.

  His words have a double meaning for me. Is Finn upset I went walking in the woods? Or that I was walking with Snorri Thorbrandsson?

  Geisli stares at the wolf. “And just what is that?”

  Snorri Thorbrandsson doesn’t take kindly to disrespect, so he deflects that comment with a glare that could curdle milk.

  “We’re taking the wolf to Karlsefni.” He fingers his own sword for good measure.

  Geisli’s eyes travel to Snorri’s strong left hand, then back to his blazing eyes.

  “I’ll take you.” He is like a small boy in the face of Snorri’s power.

  “Thank you,” I whisper to Snorri. It is all I can say. It’s enough to receive his familiar smile and nod in return. I won’t let myself cry here. Viking women control when and where they cry, or they’re weak forever. Halldis taught me this much.

  Finn meets us at the door of the longhouse, a hot flatbread in one hand, and a candle in the other. He holds the candle over the wolf, then touches the arrow tip. He looks at me, eyes dark. “Skraelings?”

  “Yes—on the outer shoreline.” Snorri answers for me. When he looks to me for instructions, instead of Finn, he seals our friendship.

  “Please put her in back of my hut, away from the heap.” I can’t bear for her to be anywhere else right now.

  Finn gives Snorri a questioning look. But he says, “You two eat. I’ll take her, Gudrid.” He hands me the candle, then takes the wolf from Snorri.

  When I go inside, I sit right on the bench at the long table, not caring that I’m surrounded by men. They stop talking about the plentiful wheat in Vinland and continue eating in silence.

  Deirdre is soon next to me, offering beef and flatbread. Linnea has already served Snorri Thorbrandsson, and he sprawls at the end of the table, eating with his wide, left-handed sweeps.

  The men watch me. They probably heard us talking about the Skraeling arrow, and are anxious for explanations. I don’t plan to give any. Snorri knows this, so he begins describing where we found my wolf.

  Once Snorri stops talking, men discuss laying traps along the whole shoreline. Volunteers offer to patrol it. They’re out for blood, after the last attack took two of our own. But it’s useless.

  Finn’s voice, warm and low, carries over the longhouse. “No traps. We leave tomorrow. This land is done for us.”

  He has made this decision without even asking me. I want the same thing, of course—to leave here as soon as we can, especially now my wolf is dead. But his haste reminds me of The Eastman and Thorstein the Red. Why don’t my husbands realize I can offer advice and wisdom, having traveled far and wide myself?

  I have lost two protectors in one night. Will Finn be there for me, like my wolf and Snorri Thorbrandsson?

  I stand, ignoring the curious looks I’m given. I brush past Finn, frantic to be alone in our hut. Inside, Inger rocks Snorri in his cradle. But after one look at my face, she jumps up, dropping a curtsy. “Good night to you, m’lady. Your boy sleeps so soundly.”

  As she leaves, I collapse onto my bed, pulling blankets over me. Later, Finn pulls me to him, waking me from my dream that Leif was yelling at me for more carrot soup. It must be early morning.

  Need—not friendship or love—drives our passions. Though we are married, two seen as one, a hollowness fills my heart, even in my husband's arms. Finn goes to sleep quickly, as he probably stayed up so late planning our hasty departure with his men.

  “And so we leave today.” My breath comes out in a cloud as I speak to myself. The fire has died. My boy stirs, barely awake. I stoke the fire, then wake him for nursing, so he can warm up and go back to sleep. I need to bury my wolf.

  I put on my warmest woolen cloak and a pair of Finn’s trousers. I don’t expect to meet anyone at this hour, with the sun barely on the horizon.

  The shovel is propped against the wall near the midden heap. I’ll bury my wolf in the empty bull pasture. It’s still green and surrounded by colorful trees. It will be a reminder of how she patrolled the fenceline, watching over our camp.

  The arrow remains stuck in her side. I try to get it out, but it’s a difficult process. The stiffness of her body, combined with the width of the arrowhead, make it nearly impossible without some kind of tool.

  Someone walks up behind me, and I’m afraid it’s Snorri Thorbrandsson again. Instead, I turn to see Finn standing shirtless, wearing only his trousers and slippers. He comes up to my wolf, easily removes the arrowhead, and pulls out the stick. Then he takes the shovel.

  “Where?” he asks. Gratitude floods me.

  I take him to the fence and show him the spot. He starts to dig. “What has changed between us?” He focuses on the shovel, not me. His tight muscles move dirt so quickly, he’ll surely dig a deep hole in just a few moments.

  “Nothing.” I try to believe that. I can’t put into words all the disappointment and sadness I went through when Finn left me. I have been abandoned three times before in my life. Once when Mother died and Father didn’t want me, again when Father died and left me in Eirik’s care with no decent inheritance, and yet again when Thorstein the Red died and left me alone with the farmer. I haven’t talked with Finn about those things, because I hate thinking about them.

  “I’ve had Ref work on a surprise for you, for our trip.” He sounds excited, like a boy with a new wooden sword.

  “What is it?” I try to mirror his happiness.

  “You’ll see.” As he smiles, weak sunshine hits his face. I know every line of it, from the strength of his jaw to the way his nose slopes. I’m suddenly proud of my knowledge of this man, this brave leader, and the father of my child. He’s leaving this land for me, I tell myself. He loves me.

  He finishes the hole, picks up the wolf, and brings her to me. I run my fingers over her fur, placing my whole hand on her muzzle. It’s my goodbye not only to her, but to Straumsfjord. Once we get to Greenland, I won’t think of this sea, this camp, or this forest, any more than I have to. But I’l
l always remember her.

  I press my other hand on her forehead, then turn my back. I can’t watch. Finn lowers her into the grave and covers her with dirt.

  “You should sleep; you were up late.” I touch Finn’s tattoo when he comes up next to me.

  “The day has begun.” He pushes his curls from his eyes.

  I feel the heaviness of those words. Our last day has arrived, and his plundering of this land is done.

  He touches my hair, even with dirt on his hands. He twists a piece. “How I’ve missed you.”

  It may not be what I longed to hear. But it’s all he knows to say, and it is enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  And, just like that, we are leaving. The two ships are packed; the food divided between them. I wait to see how our men and women will be divided. I’ve told Finn the people I want with us, but I don’t know if he listened.

  I could take a last walk in the forest, but my wolf isn’t there anymore, and I don’t want to see the child’s grave again. We asked Freydis if she wanted to bring the bones back to Brattahlid, perhaps in one of Ref’s carved boxes, but she said her child belonged here. Then she declared she’d be returning here anyway. I imagine Ref may have something to say about that. Leif will, too.

  When she discovers she's not on my ship, Inger bids me a teary farewell. She looks very Norwegian with her dark hair pulled back off her face, her eyes blue as the skies. Both she and Geisli are on Bjarni’s ship, since Geisli will help determine directions, and Inger will care for the animals. Magnus will be directing our ship.

  As we hug, I encourage Inger to watch not only animals, but people as well, so she can learn to be a healer. Nerienda is on her ship too, and can teach her about herbal cures.

  “But I want to learn from you.” Inger sobs, momentarily forgetting she’s my slave. I hope she will always forget it.