Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  “There are probably more who watch from hiding,” said the other scout. “They will meet with us when they are ready.”

  The whole experience was unsettling to Odin. He could not forget his capture and servitude by the Downstream Enemy, and all of his troubles since. To walk calmly, knowing that they were watched by the eyes of unseen warriors, was quite difficult for him. These strangers, of a powerful and unknown nation, could be very dangerous. Now his fear of the unknown made his palms sweat and his stride unsteady. Irritated at himself, he squared his shoulders and trudged on. He had chosen this, and would see it through.

  They approached a place where the trail passed along the base of a rocky slope that rose sharply on their left. The way narrowed to pass between this hill and a rough, brushy gully on the right.

  “Look!” said one of the scouts. “On the left,”

  At the crest of the hill, where a flat ledge formed the rim of the slope, stood a man. He was completely exposed, pointedly watching them. He carried a bow, and a knife or short ax at his waist. He was naked except for a breechclout. The warrior made no move to raise his bow, or to make any other threatening gesture. There seemed nothing about him that would arouse suspicion. He continued to watch.

  “He seems friendly,” said one of the scouts.

  “Yes, but he is farther away than a bow shot,” the other answered sarcastically. “That makes him look friendlier. But he wants us to watch him.”

  “Should we stop and wait?” asked Odin.

  “Maybe. But let us keep moving as we have been a little longer.”

  “I am made to think,” said Odin, palms still damp, “that the rocks on the slope below him are a size to hide men.”

  “That is true. Let us be careful.”

  They were approaching the point where the trail squeezed narrow at the base of the slope. It would actually be necessary to step to the right around one of the great stones to continue. This block was a little less than the height of a man. It appeared to have broken away from the ledge near where the warrior stood, to roll all the way down to where it now rested. It had been there for a long time, possibly for generations, as indicated by the beaten path that curved around it. Other stones were scattered all the way up the slope, furnishing hiding places, a perfect place for ambush.

  Nervously, Odin tried to estimate how many warriors might be hidden on the hillside. Could it be that these Chalagee made a routine practice of waylaying travelers at this point? It was natural to watch the man who stood in plain view at the top, distracting suspicion from the hiding places where warriors might be concealed.

  Odin was about to speak a warning when the attack came. The warrior above suddenly raised his hand in a signal, and there was a rush of activity. Not from the obvious hiding places on the slope, but from behind the travelers. Men rose from the brushy draw to the right of the trail, weapons at ready. At least ten, Odin saw quickly, some armed with bows and others with spears. It was hard not to stare at the sharp flint points that now approached them in a half circle, penning them against the steep slope. A clever ambush, leaving no place to retreat. He tried to keep his composure, lifting his right palm in the hand-signed greeting.

  The scout on his left suddenly seemed to panic. There had been no confrontation of this serious a nature before, and the young man apparently found the tension intolerable. He tried to run, only to find his way blocked by a large Chalagee with a spear. He turned, frantic now, with the warriors closing quickly, and tried to slip between two of them. His retreat was blocked again, and the scout rushed desperately at one of the attackers.

  “No!” yelled Odin. “Stand still!”

  But it was too late. The young man was beyond! reason, irrational with fear. As he raised his hand to wield his knife, the more experienced Chalagee calmly stepped aside and swung a war club. The heavy hardwood ball at the end struck the scout full in the face with a sickening sound, and he fell, to lie twitching in the dust of the trail.

  The full attention of the attackers was now turned to the other two. Odin still stood, his palm raised. The other scout quickly followed his example. There was a tense moment while no one moved, and then Odin began to sign, very slowly and carefully.

  “We come as friends.”

  There were a couple of grunts of amusement, and one of the Chalagee pointed to the still form in the dust.

  “That one was not a friend. He tried to kill me.”

  “He was afraid,” signed Odin.

  “And you are not?”

  There was general laughter.

  “I would be foolish not to be,” Odin signed carefully.

  More laughter.

  “But reasonable men will talk,” Odin went on. “May we talk?”

  “Drop your weapons,” ordered an older warrior who appeared to be a leader.

  Odin did so, and his companion laid down his bow, also. The weapons were quickly retrieved by the warriors, and one stepped forward with a thong, motioning as if to tie their hands.

  “Wait,” signed Odin. “I cannot talk with my hands tied.”

  There was a chuckle, and the leader nodded. “That is true,” he signed. “But you can talk later. For now, quickly: How are you called, and who are your people?”

  “I am called Father of the Gods,” signed Odin proudly. “Our nation is sometimes called River People, in the country where we lived.”

  There was a nervous giggle from one of the young warriors, which brought a stern glance from the leader.

  “Why Father of the Gods?” he signed.

  “It was given me by our holy man,” Odin signed. “I am his assistant.”

  “You are a priest?”

  “Yes,” Odin signed simply.

  “We would hear more of this,” said the Chalagee leader, “but later. Now we tie you.”

  “Wait,” signed Odin. “Let this young man go. He will tell our people not to enter the land of the Chalagee until we have permission. Our people mean no harm, my chief. We came ahead only to ask. You still hold me, no?”

  The leader thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “No!” he signed. “We tie you both. After we have talked, we will see.”

  “But—” Odin had no desire to be tied. That was not a good part of his past experience.

  “Silence!” the Chalagee signed firmly. “The question is not whether you are to be tied, but whether you will be allowed to live!”

  Odin fought down the temptation to run or to attack their captors. He glanced down at the still form in the dust, whose face was crushed to a bloody pulp.

  “It is as you say, my chief. But we have nothing to hide. Our hearts—”

  The other interrupted with an impatient motion, and Odin quickly held his wrists forward to be tied.

  “No,” signed the Chalagee. “Behind your back.”

  60

  There was some concern among the People when the expected scout did not return to report what lay ahead. Big Tree consulted quietly with other leaders. Even though there was a concerted effort to avoid alarm, rumors spread like a forest fire through the camp, growing as they spread.

  What was known as fact was simply that the usual messenger had not arrived last evening. Sometimes the runner was late, but this time he had not arrived at all. A late-night council had been held, it was said, among a handful of the leaders. This led to the announcement that there would be no travel today.

  It was then that the wildfire rumors roared into a flame of speculation and fantasy. It was discovered that Odin had accompanied the scouts, and that none had been heard from since. There was a general feeling that something was known by the leaders that was being withheld.

  “Why did this Odin go with them?” demanded a man from one of the other towns. “What concern is it of his?”

  No one seemed to know. With no activity to occupy them, the People grew more restless. By noon there was still no word, and a move was under way to demand a council.

  Hawk Woman approached the little camp
fire where Nils and Calling Dove sat.

  “You have heard nothing either?”

  Dove shook her head. It was really a useless question. If either family had heard, the whole camp would have known. Hawk Woman sat down, and placed her baby to play with Dove’s child nearby.

  “Did my brother say when he might return?” asked Dove.

  “Two or three days, maybe.” Hawk Woman tried to sound confident.

  It was not so much that Odin had not returned. He was not really expected. But the messenger …

  “I am sure he is all right,” Hawk Woman went on. “I do not expect him yet.”

  There was an uneasy silence, finally broken by Dove.

  “Do you think something has happened to the runner?”

  They glanced uneasily from one to the other.

  “Maybe,” said Hawk Woman. “Maybe he decided to stay over at one of the towns along the trail.”

  They all knew that this was wishful thinking. Something was wrong.

  “There are bears here, no?” asked Hawk Woman.

  “Not many,” said Dove. “Too many people live here.”

  “That is true,” Nils joined in the conversation. “We have to think that people are the cause of this.”

  “But the danger to my brother,” Dove said carefully. “Is there not more danger to the runner than to those who go to talk?”

  They exchanged glances, all of them hesitant to answer.

  “There is no way to know,” Nils said finally.

  Hawk Woman drew herself up in an expression of confidence.

  “My heart is good for this,” she insisted. “My husband is strong and clever. He has been in worse places and his guide was strong.”

  “Will the leaders send someone to see?” asked Nils.

  “Maybe,” Dove told him. “They will decide at the council tonight.”

  As it happened, there was no council. Events happened too quickly. The weary runner, battered and scratched and reeling from exhaustion, stumbled into the camp a while before sunset, the appointed time for the council. He was taken directly to the campfire of Big Tree, and a crowd began to gather.

  “Catbird is dead,” the runner rasped hoarsely. “Odin and I were captives.” He displayed raw friction burns where the thongs had tied his wrists. There were excited murmurs.

  “You escaped?” asked Big Tree.

  “No, they let me go.”

  “What about my husband?” demanded Hawk Woman fearfully.

  “He is alive. He talked to them.” There was a look of wonder on his face. “Odin made them to think that it was good to let me go and keep him.”

  “But why?”

  “I do not know. He said to me — Wait! Where is White Wolf?”

  All eyes turned to the Norseman.

  “He said to tell you that this is as before.”

  Nils was puzzled. “As before?” What could that mean?

  Big Tree interrupted. “Did he tell you what we should do? Send a war party?”

  There was a ripple of approval.

  “Yes, a war party!”

  “They cannot treat the People so!”

  Big Tree held up a hand for silence.

  “Wait!” he demanded. “Let him talk.”

  “Odin did not say that,” the scout went on. “I am made to think it would be a mistake. These Chalagee are very powerful. Their town is enclosed by a wall of logs.”

  “Logs burn!” shouted someone.

  “Yes, and they will kill our brother Odin if we attack them,” said Big Tree indignantly. “Now, let Black Hornet tell us. What did Odin send us, what message?”

  The scout shrugged. “Very little, my chief. They did not want us to talk to each other. We were separated.”

  “But you said he spoke of White Wolf?”

  “Yes. I did not understand that. Odin told them much of White Wolf, our holy man. I could tell that from watching his hand signs. Then as he passed me, he said in our own tongue to tell Wolf. They hit him then, and me, too, for trying to talk.”

  “Tell Wolf what?” demanded Big Tree.

  “As I said. This is as before.’ I did not understand. They were captured before, maybe.”

  Big Tree turned to Nils. “Does this have meaning for you?”

  Nils racked his brain. Odin must be trying to get a message to him.

  “I am not sure, my chief. We were captured before, but—”

  “But you escaped.”

  “Yes. They let us go, really.”

  “You used your powers?” asked the scout. “I was made to think he meant something like that.”

  “Like what?” asked Big Tree.

  “Well, he was telling them … I could see the signs, though I was tied a few paces away. He told them of Wolf’s powerful medicine, and that he was the holy man’s helper.”

  “And he said to tell Wolf that this is as before?”

  Understanding was beginning to dawn to Nils. It was not the most comfortable of realizations, but he could see no other interpretation. Odin had convinced their captors, after the fight where the ships were lost, that it was dangerous to threaten the white-haired stranger. It must be now that Odin was attempting to create a similar setting, one to impress the Chalagee.

  The more he considered this, the more the puzzle seemed to come together. Odin, finding himself a captive in a threatening situation, would do his best to think his way out. It had happened by accident before, the berserk incident. Odin had seized on that and turned it to their advantage. There were things about that which Nils still did not understand, but no matter.

  What did Odin expect him to do now? Surely not the berserk thing. Yet he must do something. Odin had indicated that to the scout, or had tried to do so, even at the price of a beating. But what? This is as before. He reached back in his mind, trying to remember the events following their capture. He had been confused and numb after fasting and working himself into the berserker rage. Odin had established the mood before Nils was actually rational again. And how had he accomplished it? There was the suggestion that to kill a madman would loose a dangerous spirit, searching for a new abode. No, that did not seem to fit. Later, a little at a time, Odin had suggested demonstrations of the power carried by the “holy man,” White Wolf. They had made a solemn ceremony of the sun-stone, and later of Sven’s fire making.

  Suddenly it came to him. Odin was laying a foundation for a similar demonstration. Captured, questioned, and mistreated, Odin had played for time. As he did so, he had begun to drop hints that would excite the curiosity of his captors. Nils turned to young Black Hornet.

  “Tell us,” he said, “what Odin was saying to the Chalagee. You saw his hand signs?”

  “Yes, some. He was tied, much of the time. But what I saw, he was telling of you, White Wolf.”

  “But what, of me?”

  “Of your powers … the blue stone.”

  “Did he also tell of Fire Man?”

  “Yes! Yes, I am made to think he did. How Fire Man uses no rubbing sticks, but brings fire from his hands!”

  Big Tree interrupted. “Does this have meaning for you, Wolf?”

  Nils nodded. “I am made to think so. Our brother wants us to … to use our gifts, as we did once before.”

  “How is this done?”

  There was a pause as Big Tree realized that he had come close to asking about another’s spirit-gifts. That would be quite rude, even in the urgency of the present situation.

  “I mean,” the headman went on, “what is needed now?”

  “I am made to think,” said Nils with great dignity, “that I must go to him.”

  “It is good!” announced Big Tree. “We will send a party of warriors with you.”

  Now a plan was forming, one that would create the greatest impression on Odin’s captors.

  “No, my chief. This is a thing of spirit, not of weapons. I will take Fire Man. Hornet can show us where to go. Maybe one warrior.”

  There was an instant reaction from o
ne of the men in the circle.

  “I will go,” said Snake, boyhood companion of Odin and Hawk Woman. “Odin is my friend.”

  “When will you go?” asked Big Tree.

  “Tonight,” Nils answered. “There will be a moon later. Let Hornet rest while we make ready.”

  Svenson approached and spoke to Nils in their own tongue.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked.

  Nils looked at him, and noticed a gleam in the eyes of the old sailor. Sven, too, had realized what Odin intended, and was actually enjoying the excitement.

  “We can plan the details as we travel,” Nils said. “This has to be a good show, Fire Man.”

  Svenson nodded.

  A day’s travel to the west, Odin shifted his position, trying to ease the strain on his muscles. The abnormal angle that was imposed by his fetters was uncomfortable at best. After long periods of time it became almost unbearable.

  All in all, he had not been treated badly, he reflected. He had been subjected to much worse in his previous captivity. These people had beaten him only a little, and then not with weapons, but only their hands. They had given him food, and had even untied him to allow him to eat and to make hand signs for a little while. There had been two episodes of questioning.

  He had a strong impression that these people were primarily curious about the nature of the newcomers into their territory. That was as it should be. They would need to determine the purpose of this nation of people on the move. Would the People represent a threat to the Chalagee? And if so, what sort of threat? One of war, or merely an occupation of territory that was needed for crops? Yes, it was easy to see their concern.

  The frustrating thing was that he could have answered their concerns if they had allowed him. Their meeting had started in a very unfortunate way, with the death of young Catbird. Odin regretted that, but he saw no way that it could have been avoided. He had the idea that their captors regretted the killing, too. But after all, Catbird had attacked the man, driven by panic. That was no way to begin diplomatic negotiations.

  Odin had felt from the beginning that his questioners were so impressed by that event that they were not listening to him. It was some time before an idea began to form in his mind. If he could arouse the curiosity of their captors, impress them, somehow. From that point, his plan fell rapidly into place.