The fawns resumed grazing, tails still flipping nervously, ready to signal the need for flight if it became necessary. They were only a stone’s throw away, and Nils was certain that the animals were aware of the presence of the couple. Dove had led him by the hand, moving quietly to their present position, half concealed by leafless bushes.
“Two,” she said, indicating the number with her fingers. “Twins.”
“Twins,” he repeated. “It is good.”
She smiled, pleased, and the light in her eyes, soft yet exciting, made him feel weak-kneed. It was an expression of absolute devotion.
“Yes, it is good,” she said softly. “A good sign, no?”
He understood the words, but it required a moment to understand her meaning.
“Oh. For us?”
She was pleased that he had grasped her meaning. “Yes. A good sign!”
It would be a long time before he fully understood. For the People, twinning among the deer was a predictor of good things to come.
“The deer-people know,” Odin told him much later. “When there are good times ahead, with plenty of food, they will have twins.”
For now, Nils saw this scene only as a sign of a rewarding union for him and Calling Dove. This would be appropriate to the thinking and the ways of the People. Not too different, after all, from the folkways of his own people. Either way, it was good. The morning of shared beauty, the growing closeness of companionship, the touching of their spirits in a way beyond and above the daily need for communication. He saw, understood, and realized that her thoughts were the same. He leaned over and kissed her.
Calling Dove looked startled, and pulled away for a moment. Her tongue delicately touched her lips, and she seemed lost in thought.
“That is not our way,” she said thoughtfully, “but it is good!” She moved toward him, and her kiss was more responsive this time. “I must think more on this,” she said, pulling away gently. “Oh, look!”
The two big fawns had suddenly focused their attention on a thicket a few paces from where they grazed. It was not a matter of alarm, because they now moved toward that thicket. A large, well-formed doe slipped quietly into the clearing. Her color was more reddish than most, and her underparts almost white. She was sleek and fat, a beautiful specimen.
“Their mother,” whispered Calling Dove.
One of the fawns attempted to nurse, and the red doe kicked at him irritably. The girl chuckled. “She is tired of feeding three!” she observed.
“But a good mother,” Nils answered. “She is fat, and so are her children.”
“Yes,” Calling Dove agreed. “That is a good sign, too.”
They smiled at each other and kissed briefly. Activity was increasing around the lodges, and a dog barked in the distance. Instantly the deer were alert, and their tails stood erect in the signal for danger. Even so, there was no undue alarm in her gait as the doe led her fawns in retreat. In a moment, they were gone.
“May you winter well, Mother,” Nils said softly, half to himself.
“What?” Dove inquired.
He realized that he had spoken in his own tongue.
“Oh. I only wished them a good winter.”
The girl smiled approvingly, and clapped her hands like a child.
“It is good! We have a song to the deer: ’… may your children be fat and your women happy…’ It is much the same.”
Yes, it was, thought Nils. He had surprised himself a little. His remark to the doe was like something Odin would have done. He was trying to understand the People, but in so doing, he was slipping into their ways of thought, maybe. He wondered what his grandfather would have thought. Nils had often been frustrated at his grandfather’s endless riddles, conundrums, and stories that forced one to think. Only in retrospect had he become aware of the value of such teaching. He had not even realized that it was teaching until after his grandfather’s death. Then, it was too late to tell him, to thank him again for the pleasure and benefit that had been learned by what had seemed only play. Play is the work of children, grandfather had said. It had taken a long time for Nils to begin to understand the implications of that. Maybe he never would, completely.
By the day of the ceremonies, Nils was thinking of nothing beyond that day. Nights were cool, and the thought of a warm female body next to and intertwined with his was certainly desirable at the very least. That it would be someone whose presence was pleasant and whose company he enjoyed as a friend was an added benefit. And, to have that warm body belong to one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen…Ah, what more could a man ask of life?
The ceremony he had witnessed before in the marriage of Odin and Hawk Woman. This time, he understood more of the words. Not all, but it was a meaningful prayer, he realized, about the lives of a loving couple warming their lodge against the chill of winter and hardships of life. He was touched by the beauty of the words.
In the absence of families for the Norsemen, they were asked to stand in for each other. The ceremony of union for Svenson and Red Fawn was presided over by Nils and Fawn’s children, Odin and Calling Dove. Then the roles changed. Red Fawn and Svenson spread the robe around the shoulders of the younger couple.
The People withdrew from the lodge out of deference to the privacy of the newlyweds. In summer, it had been explained, each couple would have gone out alone for a day or two. At least, for a night. At this time of year, it was not practical, so the other inhabitants of the communal lodge simply went elsewhere for the night. The other lodges could accommodate them for a short time. There were many ribald jokes, of course, about moving out to avoid a sleepless night, but it was all in good spirit.
Nils found it embarrassing to think of making love in the cubicle next to that of his wife’s mother. What if he were not able?…No one else seemed concerned. It was a mildly amusing distraction, no more. Simply another basis for jokes at the expense of the newlyweds. It was the source of much vulgarity from Svenson, and more ribald jokes. Sven suggested, tongue-in-cheek, that a contest was in order.
“Svenson, that is enough,” Nils roared, reverting to the Norse tongue. “You are a dirty old sailor! Now stop it!”
The People stared, wide-eyed, not understanding the apparent anger. Svenson became more serious.
“Of course, Nils. You have to see that this is not easy for Fawn and me, either.”
Nils had not thought of that.
“I am sorry, Sven.”
“And I … I suppose this is easier for the women…they grew up this way.”
“Maybe so.”
It was reassuring to Nils that Svenson seemed to have some dedication to his marital union, too. That had been of some concern to Nils. Sven had a wife at home. Of course a sailor, gone for many months or even years at a time, was expected to seek comfort. It was usually the comfort of a temporary liaison. Nils liked to feel that his relationship with Calling Dove was something better, on a higher plane. It was reassuring, then, to hear Svenson refer to “Fawn and me.” Somehow, it made things seem more right.
It did not, however, remove his anxiety about the merely semiprivate nature of their sleeping cubicles. After all, it was only a thin wall of hanging leather that separated the beds. He was sure that it would inhibit his ability to become aroused.
He need not have been concerned. Soon after they crawled into the darkness of their cubicle, he felt the arms of Calling Dove encircle him.
“Now,” she whispered, “show me more of the mouth-on-face thing.”
He complied, and found that she learned the art of kissing quite rapidly. The noises from the other side of the curtain, which he had feared might inhibit his ability, seemed to have the opposite effect. The sounds of pleasurable union stimulated his own imagination. Through the night, each time there was activity next door, he would wake, or Dove would wake him, and in their newfound excitement with each other…Toward morning he began to wonder if they could keep up with Svenson.
He was drifting back to sle
ep after such an episode near daylight, sleepily thinking of the memory of Sven’s ribald comment about a contest. It had angered him at the time, in the tenseness of the situation. Now, in his present state of complete relaxation, it was mildly amusing.
Calling Dove, also near sleep, threw her knee across his thighs, laid her head on his shoulder, and nuzzled her face into his neck. There was an erotic sensation to the silky feel of her hair across his bare chest, but at the moment, there was absolutely nothing that he could have done about it. He stroked the knee gently, and was asleep in an instant.
40
When Cold Maker finally descended on the People after the prolonged Second Summer it was with a vengeance. There had already been a few heavy frosts, and on many mornings there was a rime of furry white on trees, bushes, and dead grasses. For Nils Thorsson, now White Wolf, it was reminiscent of late autumn among the deep fjords of his coastal homeland.
But, when winter came on in earnest, everything changed. The welcome sunlight that had warmed each day to a comfortable level became shorter in duration each day now. Its quality changed too, from the golden light of autumn to a watery yellow, barely warming the bones by evening. There came a day when they did not see the sun at all. The sky was a leaden blue-gray, and the chill breath of Cold Maker came whistling from the northwest, gaining in intensity through the day. By evening the whistle became a howl, like that of some enormous wild thing. It roared across the rocky headlands, screamed through the pines and the leafless trees, even stripping some of the dead leaves that still cling to the oaks through the winter. The broad surface of the river was whipped to a frothy pattern of whitecaps running before the wind. Nils thought with sympathy of ships trapped at sea, trying frantically to tack into a safe harbor in the face of the mighty gale.
Then suddenly it was still. The People ventured to look outside for a little while. There was a frantic last effort to bring firewood into or near the lodges, and while people still scurried about at these chores, the snow started to fall. At first it was slow and gentle, an occasional puffy flake drifting downward through the trees like the breath-feathers of the great white owl who accompanies Cold Maker from the north. The flakes became thicker, and in a short while it was possible to see only a short distance. The People called warnings to each other, and drew inside the lodges, fastening the hanging double doorskins tightly to hinder the entrance of cold. The temperature was already plummeting.
Now, for the first time, the Norsemen began to appreciate the effectiveness of the half-buried earth-lodge. The houses of their homeland, built of stone or logs, had seemed comfortable enough most of the time. In a storm like this, however, cold always crept in around doors and windows. Nils could remember his mother stuffing rags of cloth around window casings and then drawing a heavy drape for extra warmth. Here, there were no windows to allow the assault of Cold Maker. There was the square smoke hole above the cooking area, which also provided a fire for warmth. There was little chance of Cold Maker’s gaining entry there. The only other means of ingress was by the doorway. There was a heavy leather curtain at the outer end of the short tunnel of descent into the lodge, and another at the inside wall. The dead space between formed an effective barrier to the cold wind. The People settled in to wait out the storm. It would be the first of many.
Days and weeks passed, the progress of time marked by Svenson on his carved stick. The Norsemen fell easily into the lax, easygoing lifestyle of the People. Both had, of course, the advantage of a recent marriage to distract them. Jokes and teasing about that continued. The other inhabitants openly compared the prowess of the newlyweds to that of the noisy couple across the lodge.
But it was impossible to sleep or to make love all of the time. Long gray days, with thin gray light filtering through the smoke hole, needed some distraction. No sooner had Nils realized that, than he also saw that the People did, also. Of course, he thought. They have lived this way for generations. They will know.
Some of the People had pastimes that were obvious. Many of the women spent time in sewing or in perfecting the designs for their intricate quillwork. Stone Breaker, an older man who lived in the southwest portion of the lodge, worked occasionally at his trade. He made knives and arrow points, and complained occasionally that his light was poor. Nils suspected that Stone Breaker’s more intricate pieces were deferred until they could be worked in open daylight.
Between storms, there was always a flurry of activity. The People moved out into the snow, gathering wood, trampling down paths from one lodge to the other, and improving the paths to areas just outside each lodge where they could tend to bodily functions.
It was important to keep the paths open between lodges for social reasons. On most days, except for the very worst, there would be a social gathering of some sort in one of the lodges. Attendance was loose and optional. Usually the men gathered to smoke and gamble with sticks or plum stones, and the women would draw aside to gossip. Children, of course, have few problems in passing time together. They play, spontaneously and joyfully.
Occasionally, though, there would be a story fire. That was more structured. Nearly the entire village would assemble in one of the larger lodges, and the storytellers would hold forth, each in turn. There were three main tellers of stories, the most important of whom seemed to be Singing Moose. The others, both younger men, deferred to his expertise. Sometimes some other person related a tale. Occasionally it was Odin, who of course had many tales to tell of his adventures. Nils recalled the outdoor story fire at the time of their first arrival. Nils had understood very little of that evening’s talk, but now felt that he was able to grasp much of the speakers’ narration. He noticed that it was customary, at any given story fire, for the first speaker, usually Singing Moose, to open the occasion with a recounting of the story of Creation. Then there would be a brief history of the Peoples’ adventures since, before progressing to specific tales.
“Why is this?” he asked Odin.
The Skraeling looked at him with surprise.
“How else would the children learn of their people?” he asked.
Yes, Nils could see a pattern here, and felt that it was good.
“In the beginning,” Singing Moose droned one evening, “the People lived under the ground. All was darkness and cold. There was water, because there was a great lake under the ground there. But few plants grew, because there was no sunlight. A few mushrooms, some fish from the lake. Then one day, one of the young men saw something like a rope hanging from the roof of the great cavern in which they lived. He pulled on it, and found that it was solidly attached, and that there were other branches to it. He tied some of these together, and started to climb up, up toward where the ropes disappeared into the darkness. No one knew, you see, how high the roof might be.”
Nils smiled to himself as he saw small children tip their heads back to study the shadowy rafters above.
“Finally,” Moose continued, “the young man saw light above. He was afraid. …What kept the fire from falling down on him as he climbed?” The children were wide-eyed. “But he kept on, pulling himself toward the light, and at last he saw that it was a hole, leading out into the world above. He peeked out, and saw that he had been climbing the roots of a giant grapevine. In fact, grapes grew everywhere, and there was sunlight, and much game to eat.”
Vinland! thought Nils. This sounds much like the description brought home by the first Norsemen. A land of grapevines!
“Well,” Moose went on, “the young man took some grapes back down, and everyone tasted some, and it was good. They began to climb the grapevine. One after another, they crawled out into the world, and they began to dance and sing and to hunt and pick grapes and to build lodges. That, too, was good. Then, a tragedy … A fat women was climbing the vine, and was nearly at the top, when her great weight broke the vine! She fell back into the darkness, and no one else could come through. But those who had already come through became the People.”
“What happened to th
ose below?” a little girl asked anxiously.
Singing Moose shook his head sadly. “No one knows. No one even remembers now the exact location of the hole. Maybe it crumbled away when the vine fell. But coming outside brought problems, too. Winter, enemies, wild animals like bears and wolves …”
“But my heart is heavy for those below,” the little girl protested.
Moose patted her head. “And so you should be, child. But that is another world. This one is ours.”
Nils was pondering this story, heard for the first time in its entirety and with understanding. It is a sort of reverse Garden of Eden, he thought. How strange!
But Moose continued.
“About half of those first People were left behind. They built a village like this on the shore of the lake below. After death, we rejoin them there. Except, of course, for those who have been very wicked in this life. They find that they cannot cross the lake to get to the village.”
Someone requested that Odin recount the story of the time White Wolf changed himself to an animal to confound the enemy. This was the first time Nils had heard his story retold when he was able to understand the storyteller. It was somewhat startling to him, the mystical, supernatural aura that Odin was able to create. By the time the story reached the point where he had jumped off the ledge and attempted to attack the enemy, he almost believed it himself. Had he changed into a wolf? His memory for the event was faulty, from weakness, fasting, and whatever else it was that had occurred in the berserk episode. After all, no one really knows what happens to give the berserker his superhuman strength. At least, Nils had never heard an explanation. It was a creepy feeling, to hear this description from the viewpoint of Odin, with the strong influence of the mysticism and spiritism of the People. Maybe it had happened that way.
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