The White Raven

by Robert Low

  Kveldulf was in the prow roaring them on, his wolf-pelt draped on him, a snarling mask on his head and shoulders while the oars dipped and sprayed. He had too few men to both row and fight and I knew that he would back water soon and let the forward motion of the riverboat carry him crashing into us while his men got their weapons ready. It is what I would have done.

  Finn leaped on to the prow alongside me. Fish leaned out from the side, took aim and shot; there was a sharp cry and a rower pitched forward on to the man in front, driven by the smack of the arrow in the back of his head. The oars on that side faltered, the boat slewed sideways and Kveldulf whirled, bellowing with anger and frustration.

  'Another good hooking, Fish,' roared Finnlaith, but Fish scowled.

  'That cost me dear — that was Milka and he owed me money,' he grumbled.

  Kveldulfs ship sorted itself out and Fish fired four of his last five arrows, three of which found targets. He yelled out with each man who fell. 'Leave me behind, would you? Leave me behind . . .'

  I knew then that Kveldulf had no archers with him and told Fish to stop firing and keep an arrow nocked and in view, so they would not realize we only had one left.

  'Good,' growled Finn, bringing his iron nail out of his boot. 'Now it comes to blade edge and arm strength — and we are the Oathsworn.'

  This last he roared out and everyone behind clattered their weapons on the bulwarks or on what shields we had. I hefted, my axe and turned, putting my back carelessly to where Kveldulf bellowed and roared his men back to setting his boat prow on to us. It was a spear-throw away, no more.

  They looked up at me, even Thorgunna, tucked under my feet which I did not think such a safe place and said so, before turning to those savage grins and reminding them what we were and who we were. Then, just in case any were still afraid of the reputation of the Night Wolf, I reminded them that we had never seen any exploits of his.

  'Anyway,' I finished. 'I am Orm, slayer of the White Bear, so a wolf is nothing to me.'

  They roared long and loud at that and, when I turned, I saw Kveldulfs men look uneasily, one to the other. Kveldulf, on the other hand, was in the prow, waving a sword and the sight of it made Finn growl, low and hackle-raising.

  'Kvasir's sword.'

  Once, we had found three north-forged weapons in an Arab pirate hoard. I had kept one and given Finn and Kvasir similar swords, perfect blades, with the story of their making written just below the surface of the metal. Vaegir, they were called — wave swords. Finn had called his The Godi and had it still. I had lost mine long before. Kvasir had died with his in his hand and now we knew who had taken it.

  'Take it back,' said a voice and Thorgunna started to scramble weakly out of her shelter under the prow planks.

  'Move to the other end,' I ordered her, but then Crowbone shoved between us, as he had once before, and distracted both me and Finn.

  'No tales this time, little prince,' Finn declared grimly. 'I do not think the Night Wolf is in the mood to listen.'

  Crowbone nodded, but pointed, out into the black ribbon of river and the trails of milk-mist. 'My uncle is coming,' he said.

  It was true and everyone saw it. A second black shape creamed round the bend behind Kveldulf, the slap-bang of oars like the feet of a running man. Up in the prow, silver nose flaring bright in the sudden early dawn sun, Sigurd was bawling curses on Kveldulf.

  The Night Wolfs men turned and twisted, half-rising from their seats. I remembered Klerkon in the market square of Novgorod, as I came up on one side and Finn on the other. A fronte praeciptium, a tergo lupi he had said — cliffs in front, wolves behind. The wolf himself was now trapped.

  Our prows were closer now, a man and a half apart, no more. Finn clenched his nail between his teeth and howled triumphantly and, like the wolf he claimed to be, Kveldulf bristled.

  He was brave and strong and skilful was Kveldulf. He would have been a fine man to have fight with you if it were not for the fact that you could not trust him at your back. Yet he showed us the wolf-worth he had claimed that day.

  He launched himself, in full mail and with his pelt flying, off his own prow and towards us, stretched out so that the snarling head came alive on his helmet and he seemed to be, just then, a real wolf pouncing on sheep.

  He flew up to the thin pole of our prow, grabbed it with his one free hand and let himself whirl round it on to the little half-deck. One booted foot hit an astonished Finn on the beltline and he flew backwards with a sound like a grass-blown cow being pricked open, scattering men like so many tafl pieces.

  I dropped into a half-crouch, but Crowbone was in the way; then Kveldulfs swordhand was round and I barely managed to get the axe in its path, so that his hilt alone smashed into the side of my helmet. I staggered back, slipped off the planking of the half-deck and crashed down alongside Finn, struggling like a black beetle with all its legs kicking.

  Kveldulf, grinning his savage grin, grabbed Crowbone by the collar and threw back his head to howl out his own triumph. In one smooth, astonishing moment, he had defeated us and his men answered the howl with cries of their own, bending to the task of stroking their ship up to where they could board us before Sigurd got up to them and put a stop to it all.

  I sat up, my head ringing and my mouth full of blood. Beside me, a frantic Finn was scrabbling to recover The Godi; Fish was screaming with fury, for Finn had crashed into him and had smashed his bow.

  Kveldulf leered down at us, Crowbone held in one paw, Kvasir's sword in the other.

  'Stone am I?' he thundered. 'Well, you have seen how I fight now, Finn Horsearse. And you Oathsworn fools — pitch this pair over the side and join me, for I have surrounded the kingpiece in this tafl game.'

  He was right and we were finished, but I would go down with a blade in my hand and not sinking under black river water, bound and helpless . . .

  A hand snaked up and Crowbone looked down and saw it. A pale spider it was, white-gripped round a small pair of scissors that you used to trim hair, or the frayed cuff of a tunic — or the fingernails off your dead husband.

  Thorgunna, with what strength she had left, brought it down, savage as a snarl, driving it deep into the foot that had kicked the new life out of her.

  Kveldulf shrieked and tried to jerk away, but she had rammed it through boot and foot-bones and into the planks, so that he stumbled and had to let go of Crowbone. Thorgunna fell back weakly to the deck and .Crowbone fell into a crouching huddle as Kveldulf, blind with rage and pain, wrenched himself free and brought Kvasir's sword up in a whirling arc, to bring it down on Thorgunna's sprawled and helpless body.

  It came as a shock to the Night Wolf, then, when Crowbone popped back up, his face a shrieking, vengeful mask of hate, leaping salmon-high as he had done once before in the market square of Kiev.

  'For my mother,' he said, just loud enough for those around him to hear.

  It would have sounded like thunder to Kveldulf. Like Klerkon, he suddenly found his worst nightmare staring him in the face, a brief eyeblink of a moment in which the sharp of my adze-axe, plucked by Crowbone from where I had dropped it, must have seemed as big as the edge of the world. Then it split Kveldulfs two faces, wolf and man both, straight across the forehead, side to side.

  For a moment the Night Wolf hung there like a strange, one-horned beast, a look of astonishment freezing in the last moments of his eyes; the sword slipped from his fingers and clattered at my feet and the inside of his head leaked down his face in a wash of yellow-white gleet and black blood. He toppled backwards, hit the water with a splash and vanished.

  After that was chaos; Kveldulf's crew, close enough to leap aboard, saw their leader fall overboard, dead as old mutton. The Oathsworn surged to the freeboard planks, tipping the whole strug dangerously sideways, but bringing it down to a level where spears and edges could cut and stab across the freeboard. All of this quailed Kveldulf's men; they scrambled for the oars and backed water.

  Sigurd came up, his archers open
ed fire with a hiss like rain on the river and men died in that sleet. Some leaped overboard, tried to swim for the bank, but the arrow storm cut them down and, finally, none remained who could make a sound.

  When the screams were done, Sigurd stood in the prow and saluted me with his sword, while his men closed with Kveldulf's stolen boat and clambered aboard to recover it, killing any who still showed signs of life.

  'No work of the prince, this,' Sigurd growled. 'He sticks to his oath and sent me to keep your sky from falling, as you did his.'

  'I see you, Sigurd Axebitten,' I answered and he nodded, then hesitated.

  'Take care of my sister's son. It took a deal of time to find him in the first place.'

  'Since I found him in the first place, I am unlikely to put him in harm's way,' I reminded him. I laid a hand on Crowbone's shoulder, as he trembled in the aftermath of what he had done. Less than before, I noted; killing got easier each time you did it and I had no doubt that, one day, little Crowbone would not tremble at all after a day's slaughter.

  'An adventure in a strange place, some sweet things to eat and then home,' said another voice and I knew who it was before I saw him, remembered the same words, spoken by Short Eldgrim to soothe a boy wounded by an arrow on the shores of Cyprus and near death. Jon Asanes had the white scar of that on his ribs still, but now he was wrapped tight in a blue cloak, standing behind Sigurd.

  'Heya, Goat. Boy,' yelled Short Eldgrim, as Jon Asanes came up to stand alongside Sigurd. 'You are on the wrong boat.'

  'Am I?' asked Jon, but it was Thorgunna who answered, climbing unsteadily to her feet and held there by Thordis. She said nothing, simply spat in the water; Jon's pale face bowed between them and his cry of anguish was sharp.

  'No mercy?' asked Finn softly.

  Thorgunna's black eyes raked him. 'Mercy is between him and his White Christ,' she answered hoarsely. 'My only obligation to Jon Asanes is to arrange the meeting.' She handed me the hilt of Kvasir's sword with a hard, black-eyed look.

  That was bleak enough to stop all conversation and Finn was hurting in his ribs too much to argue, while my head pounded and sickness welled in me.

  I stood watching, all the same, Kvasir's sword dangling limp and accusing from one hand, the other on Crowbone's shoulder as we rowed away from his uncle and Jon Asanes, while Thordis led Finn away to strip off his mail and look at his ribs.

  Left to herself, below us, Thorgunna held on to the prow planking to keep upright and stared at the swirling black water where we had loosed Kvasir to Ran's mercies.

  'At least he has the best of offerings,' I said to her, 'for the enemy who killed him is now at his feet.'

  She looked up, smiling radiantly, but I knew she could not see me through so many tears.

  'There will always be a place for you at Hestreng,' I added, thinking to comfort her and she knuckled her eyes clear with a swift gesture.

  'Ingrid has her feet so far under the high bench that I will never get my keys back, I suspect,' she answered, with a flash of the old fire that made me smile.

  'We could be married. Then you would be mistress and no gainsay.'

  I said it lightly, as a wry jest, but the words tumbled out of my heart and the rightness, the answer to what I would do now, fell in to replace them. I was so stunned by it that I was left blinking as stupidly as she.

  Her mouth opened and closed, then she snorted. 'You can say that, after carrying on with that Aoife like you did?'

  'That was then — besides, she is only a thrall.'

  'Ah, so you had to hold up her bottom with both hands?'

  'No — well, not entirely . . .'

  My tongue stumbled to a dry halt and I was not as sure of matters as I had been a moment ago.

  'Rams rut quieter than you,' she declared softly.

  I stifled a groan. My stomach churned. 'Such matters are expected of a jarl,' I managed.

  'Such honour and duty from a raiding man, even one of account. Anyhow — my mother warned me. Never marry a raiding man, for his heart is in the wind.'

  'Was she a sister to Red Njal's da's ma, I am wondering? Besides — the one time she was right and you did not listen and married Kvasir anyway.'

  'So now you mire the good name of my mother? I should get Thordis and both of us will thrash you.'

  'Is that the same Thordis who let Kvasir sneak in and away again in the morning?'

  She smiled at the memory; we both did. I felt better — then those sheep-dropping eyes hardened and her chin came up.

  'Do not you try and throw mud on my good name,' she growled. 'I never let him stay the night until we were proper wed. And I never will you, either.'

  'As I recall, your sister and Ingrid begged Kvasir and me both, on bended knee to take you off their hands.'

  'They did no such thing!'

  Tickleface, they called you. Thor-fist, too.'

  'Lies. They would not dare slander me . . .'

  'Did you really trap Ingrid in the privy? And left a dead rat in Thordis's bed-space once?'

  'I will kill them both . . .'

  She stopped, caught my eye. The wind blew her hair away from her red-cheeked face, streaming it back and flattening the thick cloak against her prow-built shape. She saw me look her up and down and flushed.

  'Too soon,' she said eventually, staring at the slow-shifting wake in the black water where Kvasir slowly turned and sank. 'But I thank you for the offer.'

  I smiled. She smiled. I pulled her to me and she grunted a little, for I was hard in my nervousness — but she did not shove me away, all the same.

  'Was Odin's gift worth it all, then?' she asked. I had no answer to that.

  We left the crow-black river for the Dark Sea and Odin's gift became perfectly clear on the evening, weeks later, when we slid into an island bay to make camp for the night. Our minds were glass, where the breath of home misted clear thoughts and we all but missed the three ships arrowing out the dim. It was Onund, his great shoulder-hump made bigger where he hung from the prow, who yelled a warning.

  They came sidling up, wary and circling like winter-thin wolves on a fat wether.

  'Heya,' Hauk called out, while bows were unshipped and arrows nocked — we were well armed now. 'Who are you there?'

  'Men from Thrond,' came the reply, floated faintly across the water. 'With three ships to your one and hard men packed in all of them.'

  Thrond was far enough away in the north of Norway for me to realize that these were raiding for preference, though they would claim to be traders if challenged by stronger men. Now they thought they had a fat prize and I could not deny they were right. For all that, I sat with my chin in my hand and tried not to look concerned, which is hard when your knees are knocking.

  'We are the Oathsworn of Orm Bear Slayer,' Hauk called out. 'We want no trouble, but will give it if we get it.'

  There was a long pause and one boat started backing water at once. On the other two, it was clear that arguments had broken out. Eventually, a voice called out — more polite in tone, this time, I was thinking — that they would come closer to see if what we said was true.

  'Come as close as you dare,' bawled Finn, annoyed, 'but Finn Horsehead warns you to keep beyond the length of my blade.'

  They turned then, all three of them, and rowed furiously out of the bay, chased by our laughter. Later, I met one of those who had been on the main boat, a good man who came to Hestreng on a trade knarr selling leather and bone craft. He told me that they knew they had met their worst nightmare when they saw Orm Bear Slayer sitting, unconcerned by them and calm as a windless day, chin in hand and waiting patiently for the Oathsworn to serve supper.

  I did not tell him I was sitting, stunned, for I had just realized Odin's gift.

  Fame.

  The one he gave to himself, for our fame was All-Father's fame. Men gave up their White Christ thoughts when they heard of us and what Odin had given us. As long as the Oathsworn stayed in memories, Odin could keep the White Christ at bay
in one small part of the north, no matter that the blind-weaving Norns warped the line of Yngling kings to an end and brought in the new god of the Christ.

  We were a weapon in One-Eye's hand and had been, as Hild had been and Einar and all the others; the silver hoard was just the goad that had driven us to fame-greatness, the shine on Odin's name.

  Yet the glow of that hoard still smeared the eyes. Later, when we stopped for a brief rising-meal, the insidious glitter slid into men's minds as they laughed about the latest escape they had had and the way the men of Thrond had scattered like starlings off stubble.

  It was, I heard Gizur say as he chivvied men back to their benches, a sure sign that Odin's hand was over us still and the treasure we had was nothing at all to do with Fafnir and surely could not be cursed.

  'On the other hand,' Ospak said, 'it could mean Odin means us still to have all the treasure remaining in Atil's howe.'

  There were groans from some at the thought of doing all this over again — yet nods of agreement from those still silver-hungry enough to consider going back. I thought it time that everyone knew, all the same, and stepped forward in such a way that made them all look round at me.

  Then I told them what I had avoided saying out on the steppe, the day we had run, panting, from Atil's tomb and the warrior women who ringed it.

  I had stayed behind as the others hurried away, watching the slope-headed man-killers who guarded it and the woman who called herself Amacyn. With a runesword in each hand, she had walked to the hole in the tomb roof and straddled it, while all her oathsworn comrades sat their horses on the bank of that frozen lake and bowed their heads.

  I had heard the chopping sounds. If her sabre was like mine, then it could cut an anvil and both together, working on that stone support beam, would slice through it long before her arms started to ache or the edge left those blades. I turned away, then, numb and cold and . . . relieved.

  The others were a long way off when I thought I heard the tomb collapse, but it may just have been the blood rushing in my ears, for I hit a crippling pace to catch them up, especially for a man weakened by hunger and cold.