Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  Svenson waved him to silence. “Nils, at this time a woman is like this. You say ‘Good morning,’ she cries. You ask what is wrong, she says ‘Nothing.’ Well, not always. Sometimes she says ‘If you do not know, I will not tell you!’ Then you tell her you love her. That has always worked before. But now, she says ‘Don’t touch me!’ That is the way women are.”

  “That is it, Sven? It lasts for nine months?”

  “Oh, no. Three or four, maybe. Then things are better. I am not sure when.”

  “Not sure? What do you mean?”

  “Usually I was not there. Why do you think a sailor goes to sea at that time, Nils?”

  Svenson slapped his knee and roared aloud, as if at an old joke. Then he paused in thought.

  “You know, I was there once, Nils, when my wife was carrying Tomlin … no, maybe it was Johann. About the fourth month, I think, she decided I had been wronged and tried to make it up to me. Ah, she was hungry. I could hardly keep up with her. But it was very nice, trying.”

  Sven had stopped laughing and seemed lost in thought. Here was a side to the old sailor that Nils had not seen.

  “They are in Stadt?” Nils asked.

  “Yes. The boys are grown, almost. They will take care of their mother.”

  An odd statement, Nils thought. Does he not expect to get home?

  Suddenly, the sailor’s mood changed.

  “Well, do not worry, Nils. It will be better. Do not argue, do not try to understand. It is a woman-thing.”

  Nevertheless, it was a puzzling thing. Why are men not warned of this? Nils thought. Immediately he realized the answer. There is no way to tell of some things in life. They must be experienced. He had not expected to experience this particular phenomenon in a far country in a strange and primitive culture. Another thought occurred.

  “Why are all the other women angry at me, Sven?”

  Svenson smiled wryly. “That is part of it…the woman-thing. They follow her moods. Soon, when she treats you kindly again, they will, too.”

  Nils was not certain about this. Just to be sure, he decided to talk to Odin.

  “Odin, I had thought to talk with you about leaving. Traveling back to Straumfjord.”

  Odin said nothing, but there was a look of concern on his face.

  “Now, that seems not to be a good thing to do,” Nils went on. “You know that Dove—”

  “I know, Wolf.” Odin seemed to brighten.

  “I had thought to take her back with me. I have never had a chance to speak of it to her.”

  “You have troubles too?” Odin asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My wife…Hawk Woman is with child, too. I did not think the journey a good thing. I feared you would want to go.”

  “But you spoke of troubles?”

  “Yes. She is not the same, Wolf. I am told by the old men…”

  “Yes, I have talked to Sven. Fire Man. He says it is so. …That is why sailors go to sea.”

  Both men chuckled. It was a comfort to have their fears accounted for.

  “Fire Man says it is soon past. It is the same with the People?”

  “Yes. We just wait, are very quiet, and things get better.”

  “It is good. I am ready!”

  “I, too.”

  Both men felt considerably relieved, from reassurance, and because the clumsy topic of a possible journey back down the dangerous river to the sound had been postponed. Not indefinitely, of course. When the time was right they would consider again. Maybe it would still be possible to reach Straumfjord this season. After all, it was completely downstream. Then on home the next season, Nils thought.

  All such thoughts became of very little consequence when the enemy attacked.

  The enemy had never come this early. The river was still frozen, though there were signs of melting. Great cracks were beginning to form a pattern across the windswept surface. Deer, bear, and moose, which had frequently been seen crossing the river on the ice, now avoided it. There were ominous crackling sounds from time to time, starting at one particular point and running an irregular jagged course across or up and down the stream.

  Still, the ice was solid and thick except for the holes that the People kept open for water. There would come a day soon when the ice bridge across the river would go out, breaking into blocks and pieces to be swept downstream in a grinding roar toward the sea. Nils knew what to expect, having seen it each season in his homeland. He estimated that it would be a few days yet.

  It was after the breakup of the ice that the enemy might be expected to attack. That was almost an annual ritual. When boats could be used, their old enemy downstream would almost eagerly take to the water to raid their neighbors in a celebration of the season. For now, it was considered that only a token watch be posted on the river. The ice was a barrier that adequately protected the People from the threat of attack by warriors in boats.

  And it was, but the attack this time was not by water. Later, it was discovered that the raiding party had traveled from downstream on foot along the ice pack, probably coming ashore in areas of questionable stability. When they neared the village they then split up, moving through the woods to surround the lodges. Some had used snowshoes.

  It had always seemed to Nils that the heavily domed earth-lodges were quite defensible in case of attack. Only one enemy could enter a lodge at a time. On the other hand, no one could see out, either. Or come out to fight, except one at a time. Nils had taken little note of that.

  It was just at dawn. Thin gray light was beginning to filter through the smoke hole above, and the People were stirring. Someone threw a couple of sticks on the embers of last night’s fire, and firelight began to pervade the lodge. A man rose to go outside and empty his bladder. Nils, after a restless night with less than satisfactory snuggling, was rolling out of the cubicle. In his mouth was a bitter taste that is the result of such a night, and his eyes were dry and scratchy.

  Then came the scream. It started as a warning cry, and ended in a death-scream. Almost at the same time, someone threw a robe or skin of some sort over the smoke hole. The newly kindled fire was producing quite a bit of smoke, which began to layer out at the top of the lodge. Still, it took a moment for Nils, in his sleep-fuddled condition, to realize fully what was happening. Almost as he grasped the truth, Odin was shouting the warning.

  “Attack! We are attacked. The enemy is here!”

  Odin was grasping a spear, and an emotion something like terror gripped Nils. He felt that the thick earthen walls and roof that warmed and protected were now closing in. The lodge was becoming a death trap. They must fight their way outside, even knowing that an armed enemy would be waiting.

  “Sven!” he yelled, but Svenson had already grasped his battle-ax and headed for the doorway. Odin was at his side.

  “Wait!” called Nils. “All at once!”

  Hawk Woman joined them, to draw the skins aside. The four huddled for a moment in the short tunnel inside the outer door. Nils shivered, not only from the outside cold, but from the surge of excitement that swept over him. He gripped the sword.

  “Now!” yelled Odin.

  Hawk Woman yanked the skin curtain aside and the three burst into the open. An arrow whispered past Nils’s ear and thunked into the doorskin. Sven roared a challenge and waded into a tightly crowding cluster of enemy warriors with his ax, taking great sweeping swings that wrought havoc. Nils was only dimly aware of this, and of Odin’s use of the spear, because he was hard-pressed. The first man to come at him was too close to swing the sword. Nils thrust instead, and the momentum of the man’s rush made the withdrawal slow. Almost too slow. A man rushed at him from the right, swinging an ax or war club. The enemy was almost upon him before he managed to free the heavy broadsword for a backhand swing. The man fell, and Nils advanced a step, hacking right and left in the dim light. Another arrow whizzed past. Some of the enemy were shooting from a little distance away, but must be hampered by fear of hitting their
own warriors.

  Apparently the counterattack had been completely unexpected in its ferocity. The cluster of warriors who had waited outside the door had expected something less dangerous. Men and women coughing and choking, blinded by smoke, perhaps. This was not to their liking. Those still able began to fall back.

  Another man, with a bow in hand, joined them through the tunnel and began to shoot at the retreating enemy. There were shouts by the invaders that could mean nothing except a warning to each other to retreat.

  Now for the first time Nils could look around to see how the other lodges were faring. One of them had the smoke hole covered, and a woman was climbing the dome to remove it. He turned to look at their own, to see Red Fawn jerking the skin aside. A column of smoke rose heavily in the still morning air.

  “Look!” said Fawn, pointing to one of the lodges. Flames were shooting out of the smoke hole in a roaring inferno. People were running to help, but were waved off by Big Tree.

  “It is too late! Let it burn!”

  The inhabitants were stumbling out, clutching what possessions they had managed to grab. The enemy had been able to enter that lodge and subdue most of the inhabitants who were still inside. They had thrown a quantity of wood on the fire, and as it blazed up, tossed on everything at hand. It was apparent that the four support posts of dry cedar were burning fiercely. The lodge was gone.

  Even so, it was nearly midday before the domed roof collapsed, sending a shower of sparks skyward in the fat column of greasy smoke. The People were still trying to determine the extent of their losses; but the plaintive wail of the Song of Mourning was heard everywhere.

  44

  But why, Odin?” Nils was unable to understand the attack and the carnage.

  Odin shrugged in his familiar gesture.

  “Who knows? They attack us sometimes. Not this early. Sometimes they steal girls. Ours are prettier than theirs. Sometimes in autumn, for crops.”

  “Do you attack them?”

  “Not much. We are more peaceful.”

  It was still a confusing situation. Norsemen, in these modern times, were rapidly replacing attack and pillaging with more peaceful trading. Even so, the tradition was there. Nils had grown up hearing stories of surprise raids along the British coasts, of unexpectedly fabulous looting. And occasionally, the empty sack at the end of a bloody fight. That was always told as a huge joke on the attackers. In his mind, though, was the tradition of raiding for booty. Even though he personally did not condone it, he could understand it. But to raid someone as these enemies had done, knowing that there was little to steal…The whole thing was repulsive to him. What could be the gain?

  “Are these the ones who held us captive?” he asked.

  “Yes. Our name for them means the Downstream Enemy,” Odin explained.

  “Could it be that they are angry that we escaped them in the way we did?”

  “Maybe. Yet they are warlike anyway, Thorsson. You saw how they attacked your people.”

  “Yes. But they had reason for that.”

  “That is true.” Odin nodded thoughtfully. “Yet I am made to think there is more.”

  He remained in thought for a moment, and then his eyes widened.

  “Maybe…maybe, Thorsson, they are worried about your power. The power of White Wolf. Maybe they wanted to keep it from growing.”

  “You mean … to kill me?”

  “Maybe. You and Fire Man. That would give them great honor.”

  Nils thought about that for a moment. It was a chilling thought, one that was decidedly uncomfortable. It would help to explain, though, why one main portion of the attack was centered on the lodge where the Norsemen lived. There could have been spies, watching. Yes, it would be a matter of saving face, perhaps, for the enemy to track down and try to kill the “holy men” who had bested them.

  Odin was laughing now. “That is funny. You and Fire Man helped lead the defense. The Enemy lost again. That tells them your power is greater than they thought, even.”

  Svenson had joined them, and now shook his head ruefully.

  “If that is true, they will want to kill us even more now.”

  Odin sobered. “That is true. We must be on guard.”

  “Odin, it is not good to bring this danger on your people,” Nils said. “Maybe we should leave.”

  It was an impulsive statement, and Odin’s responding glance was almost indignant.

  “Why? They would still seek to hurt us, and we would have two fewer warriors. Besides, your families…”

  “Forgive me, Odin. It was a stupid idea.”

  Odin diplomatically refrained from agreeing, at least not aloud.

  The rising and falling wail of the Song of Mourning was still sounding through the village as the evening shadows lengthened. Every lodge, and nearly every family, had been affected. It was fortunate, most agreed, that the killing was not worse, considering the timing and the nature of the attack.

  The bodies of the fallen had been wrapped for burial and tied securely. Then they were hoisted into the trees outside the village, and tied to crude scaffolds in the branches.

  “The earth is frozen,” Odin explained.

  “They will be buried later?” Nils asked.

  “Yes. Much later, maybe.”

  The one lodge that had been destroyed completely was still burning inside. Even now, a day later, smoke and flame belched up through openings in the dirt of the collapsed dome. The homeless ones had been taken in by friends and relatives. They had lost everything.

  A young man approached the Norsemen and Odin as they talked.

  “There will be a council tonight at the lodge of Big Tree,” he stated. “I was asked to tell you.” He turned and hurried on to finish spreading the word.

  The lodge was crowded. It was the largest in the village, but everyone would want to be present for this most important council.

  “They will decide nothing,” one old woman complained. “They never do.”

  Still, she moved along with the others, packing closely into the dim lodge. The air was heavy with the smell of winter’s smoky fires and unwashed bodies. One cannot bathe often when the river is frozen.

  “Leave the doorskin open!” someone called. It was done, and the fire began to blaze up for better light, as well as a better movement of air up through the square smoke hole.

  Nils and Svenson joined Odin just inside the door, but the headman motioned the three forward. They found places near the fire, between Clay and Singing Moose.

  Odin saw immediately from the seating and the expressions on the faces of those leaders that serious discussion would happen tonight. He was apprehensive, at least a little bit. The more he had thought about it during the day, the more seriously he was taking the idea that this had been a vengeance raid.

  The Enemy had been engaged in a war of extermination with the Norse outsiders. There had been few survivors, possibly only these two. He, Odin, had helped them escape, partly by trickery. He did think that there were powerful spirit-forces at work here, but that was a different matter. The three had survived, but now, in thinking back, would not the Enemy be wanting to complete the unfinished war? They must have spent the winter convincing each other that they had been tricked. To finish the war of extermination against the invaders, the Enemy must track down and kill these two. And of course, Odin himself. They would blame him for any trickery that was involved. Yes, his position was almost as perilous as that of the two Norsemen.

  Odin was not certain that he saw any reasonable solution. Well, he would wait and see how the discussion would go in the council. Maybe he would gain some ideas.

  Finally Big Tree rose and held a hand up for quiet. His pipe bearer filled and handed him the council pipe, and Tree lighted it with a stick from the fire. Then he blew a puff to the four winds, to the sky and the earth, and handed it to Clay, who repeated the ritual.

  “You know the reason for this council,” Tree stated after the pipe had made its circuit around th
e front row.

  There was a brief murmur, which subsided spontaneously.

  “We have been attacked, and hurt,” he went on. “Now, what is to be done?”

  “Were the other towns attacked?” someone asked.

  “Other towns?” whispered Nils to Odin as a buzz of conversation circled the lodge.

  “Yes,” Odin answered, also in a whisper. “You know, the People have two other towns. …”

  “We think maybe not,” Big Tree answered to the assembly. “We have sent runners…one has returned, from the western town. They have seen nothing.”

  “But what of the other town?” a woman asked. “The Enemy would have to pass there to come here!”

  “She has relatives there,” Odin whispered.

  Big Tree shrugged. “We will have to wait,” he said. “Let us go on with the talk.”

  “But it makes a difference,” a man protested. “Is this a war, or only a raid?”

  “Only a raid?” snapped Big Tree, obviously irritated. “They can come again!”

  There was silence for a moment and then an old woman spoke.

  “All my life I have seen these raids. They steal our crops…our children … my own sister was stolen by these Downstream Enemies when we were children. Is there nothing we can do?”

  “Attack them!” shouted a young man. “Give them a taste!”

  “Let us go slowly,” said Clay, speaking for the first time. “The other towns must be willing to join us if we choose that.”

  It was a gentle reminder that the Enemy was far more numerous and more powerful than the People. All of the People must be in agreement, even the other towns, because they would quickly be involved.

  Now a young man rose to speak, and received the nod of recognition from the headman.

  “My heart is heavy to speak of this,” he said, “but maybe they were after White Wolf and Fire Man.”

  Bedlam broke loose after a brief moment of shocked silence. There were shouts of agreement and of protest. Odin was startled that there appeared to be others who had considered this possibility.

  Big Tree, to his credit, handled it well. Maybe, thought Odin, I have underestimated him. Tree spread his palms and spoke quietly as the noise died.