Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  “But we are not to stay here,” a man protested. “It is useless to build a town.”

  This was, admittedly, a valid point. The construction of the massive earth-lodges, sheltering as many as fifty people of an extended family group, was a major undertaking. It required heavy digging and moving of earth, not to mention the felling of sizable trees for the central posts and roof beams. This was not to be the answer, Odin realized. The problem, as he finally identified it, was that the People had no ready alternative. In his methodical way of thinking, a problem must have a solution. Hence, an alternative shelter of some sort, to be used for a season.

  He considered the dwellings of the Downstream Enemy, which were adequate. Not as good as the lodges of the People. They had a tendency to be cold and drafty. Not as warm, even, as the structures built by the Norsemen at Straumfjord.

  The thought had come to him unexpectedly as he pondered the situation. Now it had ail his attention. There were things about that construction that he could not quite remember. … Four posts, at the corners rather than the center. More along the long walls. … Most importantly, these were structures that the colonists had built for exactly the same purpose that the People needed now: shelter for the winter. The Norse were building more permanent dwellings now, but the big longhouses had housed the entire colony at first. He must speak with Thorsson.

  “I am not sure,” Nils mused in answer to the question. “I am not a builder of lodges, you know.”

  “But you have lived in them.”

  “Yes. I see the need for this, Odin. Let us ask Fire Man.”

  Between the three of them, they began to piece together the general idea for a longhouse. It would be above the ground, to avoid the heavy digging. A row of posts to form each side wall, poles for the peaked roof. There would be an almost solid wall of poles, tied in place to form the sides and the flat slope of the roof. The cracks would be chinked together with dry grass and plastered outside with mud.

  “The walls would be of stone in a place where we would stay longer,” Nils commented.

  Odin nodded. “I am made to think we can do this, Thorsson.”

  Svenson’s battle-ax now came into a more peaceful use, that of felling and trimming trees for poles. Others of the extended family lodge watched for a little while, and then began to join in the construction. The longhouse rose quickly. Big Tree came to observe, and in another day or two another structure was rising a few paces away. The people working on this one were the relatives of the headman and his family.

  People from the other towns came, saw, and started their own shelters for the winter. There need not be so many lodges, or so large as the permanent earth-lodges. These were for one winter, it was already understood.

  Odin had some concern about the project. Not about the longhouse shelters. That was working well. His concern was twofold. First, that this construction might prove too successful, leading some to avoid the building of proper lodges later.

  His other concern was about the two Norsemen who were now part of the People. He had seen the doubt in the face of Thorsson, now White Wolf, his sister’s husband. Not doubt about the winter shelters, but about the original move. He, Odin, had deliberately been quite vague about the long-range goals of the People. He had implied in talking to the Norsemen that it was likely that the People would move back to a place near the coast in a year or two. That, he knew, was unlikely. He must, without seeming to do so, try to bring the outsiders into the ways of the People so completely that they would not want to go back.

  He was not certain that he could do this. It was a great help, of course, that both had now married into the People. He was pleased at that for a number of reasons, and doubly so that White Wolf and Dove had been blessed with the child. That would make the ties stronger. So far, so good. Odin dreaded, however, the coming of spring after this winter in the new semipermanent houses. What would be the reaction of White Wolf and Fire Man when they learned that they had been misled? He did not relish the thought of their anger, which would surely be directed at him. He thought many times about how he would meet their accusations. Injured innocence? A protest that he had not known the general plan? Maybe he could convince the two that the entire move was for their protection. No, they would hardly believe that.

  Well, there was nothing to be done, really, until after winter, and the People were ready for winter.

  The longhouses were finished none too soon. Cold Maker’s first probing thrust was not severe, but was a reminder of what lay ahead. It lasted only two days, a hard freeze and a light dusting of snow, followed by crisp nights and sunny days. The reminder served to bring about the final preparations for winter, and a last hunt or two.

  One of the interesting developments before Cold Maker settled in for good was that of contact with those who lived in the area. Their initial contact had been cautious, but when the locals found that the People did exactly as they said, some degree of trust had developed. There were frequent visitations back and forth, and much trading. Interest in the others’ crops was strong on both sides. They exchanged the seeds of corn and beans, and compared their various types of squash. They compared tools and weapons, and traded for arrow points, furs, and ornaments. They smoked together, and exchanged pipefuls of smoking mixture, and sometimes pipes or pipestone for carving.

  They engaged in games and contests, shooting arrows at a target, throwing spears, running, wrestling. One of the games that was demonstrated by the hosts was played with a ball made of rawhide, thrown with sticks that were looped on the end and laced with thongs to form a sort of net. Some of the men of the People tried it, but the rules seemed quite intricate and the skills were totally unfamiliar.

  More popular were the gambling games. Some were familiar to both groups. The stick game was popular, in which one player conceals several sticks in his fists, with only the tips showing. The other players attempt to choose the longest stick.

  The plum-stone game, too, was seen often. Seven of the seeds were chosen, and each marked on one side with a dot of red, to contrast to the yellow of the natural color. The seeds were tossed on a flat surface by each player in turn, and the yellow or red surfaces showing were counted accordingly.

  Virtually all communication was by hand signs and obvious motions. The two groups seemed to have no words at all in common. Even the tongue of the Downstream Enemy was closer to that of the People. But it seemed to make little difference. Odin wondered whether, if they had summered here in a season of poor harvest or scarce game, their hosts would have proved as friendly.

  One thing was certain. The children had no problems between them. Like children everywhere, they became friends instantly, with the universal communication without words that is known to the very young and is usually lost with the coming of age. They skipped in circles, learning the playtime songs of the others, whose words had no meaning to them, but whose pleasure was apparent.

  “This is my friend,” one small boy proudly introduced another to his parents.

  “It is good,” smiled his mother. “What is his name?”

  “I do not know,” the child answered, “but he is my friend.”

  The decision to winter here and move on at the first opportunity in the Moon of Awakening was explained as soon as possible to the other group. This was undoubtedly a great help in avoiding friction. There were, of course, some misunderstandings, but it was in the best interests of both groups to avoid conflict. So cooler heads would prevail and the angered parties were separated and placated.

  As the weather worsened, it was more unpleasant to undertake the trek across the ridge to the homes of the other group, so contact had a natural tendency to lessen. In fact, when Cold Maker howled, it was far easier to stay inside except for necessities. On better days a supply of wood was gathered, so that on worse ones, with wind-driven snow, sleet, and ice, it was possible to stay inside.

  Days were growing shorter. It was the Moon of Madness, when everyone is uneasy. Grouse flew wil
dly into obstacles that they would avoid at other times. Deer were rutting, the bucks fighting for the favors of the females, oblivious to any outside danger. The bugling call of the great bull elk and the even larger moose were heard often.

  Humans, too, became irritable. The migrating geese had virtually all passed overhead. The realization that it was really time to brace for the onslaught of winter hung heavily over the People. Svenson said it was late November.

  “What do the people call our December?” asked Nils.

  “I do not know,” Sven answered. “Let us ask.”

  Odin chuckled. “Ah, yes, the Moon of Long Nights. It is not a good thing to think of. The sun is dying. … Maybe this time it will really go out, no?”

  How like the feeling at home, Nils thought. Maybe this is the time that the frost-giants win after all

  55

  Tell us more of your stories, White Wolf!” Odin requested.

  It was a cold and snowy evening, but some of the families from one of the other longhouses had come over to smoke, gamble, and socialize. There were even a few men of the local tribe who had come over to visit. The snow had begun, and they had elected to stay over, rather than risk the trek back over the ridge in the increasing storm.

  Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, and another answered. The wind, too, seemed to answer the wild cry as it moaned around the square smoke hole in the roof. Nils thought of the Wild Huntsman of his homeland, with his pack of wolflike hounds, flying on the winds of the storm, hunting for lost souls. It would be on just such a night that his grandfather would have retold that story, while the children huddled closer to the big fireplace with the boar’s head mounted over the mantel. The baying of a hound before the storm was still considered a bad omen. He had promised to tell Odin more fully of the Wild Hunt, but the right occasion had not yet happened. Maybe this would be the time.

  He used both the language of the People and the hand signs, to try to allow the visitors to participate, too.

  “In my homeland,” he began, “a night such as this would bring back this story. You hear the howling of the wolves, no?”

  There were nods of agreement, and the listeners stared in rapt attention. Now, how to explain about the horse. …

  “There are ways in our homeland, mine and Fire Man’s, that are not found here. This you know already.”

  More nods.

  “One of these is a creature, much like an elk without antlers.”

  “Like the female elk?” a listener asked.

  “Yes, much like that. But the males have none, either.”

  “Aiee! How do they fight?”

  “They do not fight much. They bite, and strike with their feet. But let me tell you … our people ride on the backs of these animals.”

  There was a murmur of disbelief, and some low chuckles.

  “For what purpose?” a listener challenged.

  “To go from one place to another. Or to hunt … this creature can run very fast. A hunter can chase the game, instead of driving it.”

  He saw that this was a difficult concept for the People, that of a hunt on horseback. Even the idea of a beast that can be ridden was apparently difficult for them to imagine. He glanced at Svenson, who was greatly amused by his predicament. He would be no help, here.

  It was Odin who came to his rescue.

  “Wait!” Odin called out. “My brothers, I have seen some things myself. White Wolf’s people do have several kinds of animals, which they keep as we keep dogs. Now let him tell the story. It is not good to doubt before he begins!”

  The listeners quieted a little.

  “Thank you, my almost-brother,” Nils began again. “Where was I? Ah, yes … our people sometimes hunt while riding on these creatures. This is one of our old stories, of a great holy man, a god-spirit, almost. He rides a beast that instead of four legs, has eight, so it can run twice as fast. He and his wife, with their pack of wolf-dogs, ride the wind in their hunt on a night like this. That is why we hear the howls of the wind and of the wolves. … Hear them?”

  As if to punctuate the story, a distant howl drifted through the smoke hole. There was complete silence now from the listeners. Once they had gotten past the initial premise of a beast that can be ridden, there was no problem. It was a story, and even a creature with eight legs presented no reason for disbelief.

  “Now you wonder, what would they hunt on this stormy night, and why? This is the answer. … They hunt not for game, but for the lost spirits of the dead. …”

  There was a gasp from the listeners.

  “Spirits?”

  “Yes … they gather the lost, and take them away.”

  “To where?”

  Nils was at a loss for a moment. For one thing, he was not certain how the original story ran at this point. The Huntsman was Odin, but he did not want to confuse the listeners by using the name of his wife’s brother. But where did Odin take the souls as he gathered them? He could not remember that he had ever heard. To Asgard, home of the gods? To Valhalla? No, that was only for heroes fallen in battle, not for lost souls. How could he resolve this? The listeners waited.

  Again, it was Odin who came to his aid.

  “To the Other Side?” he asked.

  Nils thought for a moment. He was aware of some of the customs of the People, and had seen how they cared for their dead. “Crossing over” was the expression they used. Yes, to the Other Side, the spirit world. This would help with the understanding of his story.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “He gathers spirits who have trouble finding their way, maybe, and helps them cross over.”

  Somehow, there was a big difference here, in the two cultures. Here, death was mourned, but as a loss for the living. The spirit would cross over to the Other Side. The dark chill of the Huntsman was a thing to be dreaded, which was somewhat different in tone. Nils had not realized this difference until now. The god Odin, though the patron of disembodied souls, was seen as dark and foreboding in his role as the Wild Huntsman.

  Whatever the differences, his story had had a profound effect on the listeners. They huddled around the lire, and drew closer as the wind howled.

  Then Odin spoke. “My almost-brother,” he began, “tell us how this holy man of yours received such powers. Surely that is in your story.”

  Nils paused to think. It had been a long time since he had sat at his grandfather’s feet to listen to the old Norse tales. Surely there must be one that would fit … the early stories around the events of Creation … Odin … Well, it would be necessary to explain the connection with his wife’s brother to use it, but …

  “You know,” he began, “that my almost-brother here is called Odin because of his one eye. That is because the god-man in this story, who had the same name, Odin, had but one eye. This story is of how he lost the eye, but gained some of his gifts.

  “One day he was walking, and came to a famous spring called Mimir, whose waters held the secrets of all wisdom. No one had ever taken a drink of this water, because it was guarded by a kobold.” He paused, searching … had he told them about the idea of gnomes? “A small man with great powers. Had I told of them?”

  “Of course, Wolf. One of the Little People,” Odin prompted.

  “Ah, yes, that is true. You have them, too.”

  There were nods of interested agreement. A distracting thought flitted through his head. Does everyone, all cultures, have Little People? The Irish have their leprechauns. Maybe the Little People are real. He drew himself back to his story. He must think more on that theory later.

  “This little man guarded the spring, letting no one drink. Odin asked for a taste, and the kobold offered a drink in exchange for one of his eyes!”

  There were gasps of surprise.

  “Now, Odin, knowing that the waters would give him all the wisdom in the world, thought this was a good trade. He popped out one of his eyeballs and handed it to the kobold, who dropped it into the spring. It is still there.

  “Now, wit
h all the wisdom, this Odin was able to see that he still did not understand,”

  There was a pause while the latter-day Odin helped to translate for the listeners the fine points of knowing, seeing, and understanding. Then the story continued.

  “To give him more understanding, then, the holy man decided to fast and pray. He went to a great ash tree that shaded all of the world, and hung himself by ropes over the great canyon called Nifl-heim. He had wounded himself with his spear, to show that his heart was right for this. For nine days he swung there in the wind, without food or drink, praying, thinking, fasting, asking for help.

  “When he finally cut himself down, he had been given great gifts. He now knew that he did not need to understand, only to trust.”

  “It was a vision-quest, then!” exclaimed Odin. “A young person goes out alone, fasting, to do this!”

  Nils had never thought of it in that way. He was aware of the quest, as practiced by the People, but had never realized the similarity.

  “Maybe so!” he agreed. “But this other Odin was also given other gifts, too. He came down from the tree with a set of magic signs, to be painted or carved. They were called runes. They could be used to cast spells, to tell the future, and they had great power.”

  It was apparent that the People were quite impressed.

  “These are the source of your powers, White Wolf?” asked someone.

  Nils thought for a moment before answering. It would be wise to maintain the aura of mystery that had come to surround his “powers.”

  “Partly,” he said casually. “Those old runes and their meanings were partly forgotten. Some have been handed down through many lifetimes. I was taught their use by my father’s father.”

  Nils had not expected for this casual storytelling to become so impressive to his listeners. They seemed fascinated by the idea of signs and symbols with magical powers. He was unprepared for a reaction of this sort, and rather puzzled by it.

  Slowly, he began to reason it out. The People had no written language, though a few of their traditional symbols apparently had meaning. He thought of explaining that the runes had changed, over a long period of time, from magic and mystery to a means of expressing messages. The “new” runes, primarily for communication … No, he decided. It would be far too complicated to explain. He felt that he was already in over his head. But there was really no need, anyway. Why should he answer questions that were unasked?