Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  This time, it was not so sure. For one thing, Nils thought, Big Tree had not made his preference apparent. This in turn made the leader appear weak. Even so, Nils had to admire the man’s composure as he presided over the council and faced the challenge to his authority.

  Odin now asked for and received the right to be heard. That was a bit unusual, Nils thought. Usually Odin merely listened in council, and must be somewhat concerned about the direction the discussion was leading, to take this step.

  “My chiefs,” he said calmly, in an almost puzzled tone, “I am ready to cross, if it is so decided.” He turned to face those who were urging such action. “But I have no boat. May I use yours for my family?”

  There was a momentary pause and then general laughter, growing from a chuckle. It was known that there were no boats, except for one or two that the scouts had used to look at the west side of the river.

  “If we are to cross,” Odin went on, “we should not be sitting here talking. We should be building boats.” More laughter, and Odin continued. “We have come a long way, these past seasons. Big Tree has brought us safely here. Now let us help him take us on.”

  Nils could see the satisfaction in the face of Big Tree, the little crow’s-feet of amusement at the corners of his eyes.

  “It is as our brother says,” he noted. “We are arguing whether to use boats that we do not even have.” He turned to Clay. “Holy man, can we build boats before the seeds must be planted?”

  How clever, thought Nils. In his own country, a clash among leaders might have led to violence, and overthrow of one or the other. Here, the diversion of the discussion to a common problem, that of the boats, had avoided it. Once more, he was impressed with Odin’s skill, as well as that of Big Tree. The need for boats would be there, regardless of other decisions. Let that become the primary concern.

  Clay, in his answer, was quite vague. “How quickly,” he asked, “can we build boats? How many do we need?”

  There was a murmur of excited discussion, and it was apparent that the confrontation had been avoided.

  “It is good,” stated Big Tree, without any reference to what might be good. “Let us think on this, these boats, and speak of this again tomorrow.”

  There was some grumbling as the council adjourned, but mostly excitement over the coming adventure, no matter when.

  66

  The day for cooling tempers proved quite successful. When the council reconvened, there was really very little to decide. People were already starting to build boats. This also had another effect, possibly one anticipated by Big Tree. It was apparent that boats could not be built quickly enough. They must cross the river, find an area in which to plant, settle there, and have the seeds in the ground within half a moon. There was simply not enough time.

  This may have been the reason that the discussion was now at a much lower intensity. There was little argument. Even that was limited to how to accomplish the tasks before them, rather than what those tasks should be.

  All of this was satisfying to the Norsemen. There was a sense of accomplishment, to be on the water again, and to be building boats. Nils realized that he had left the lakes behind with regret. Svenson, too, had cast backward glances that held a look of longing when they left the freshwater sea called Erie behind them. They had followed its shoreline for two seasons. It had been then, with the shining water fading behind them in the blue haze of distance, that the Norsemen had stopped discussing their plans for shipbuilding. Nils had not realized it at the time. It was not a conscious thing. There simply was nothing to discuss, with no large body of water at hand. Their conversations turned to other things. The children, the crops, the day-to-day problems of the People.

  It was a land of a different sort that they had crossed after that. Flatter than any they had seen, yet rolling, gently rounded hills, often covered with grass rather than trees. This seemed to be an ideal setting for grazing animals. They now saw herds of humpbacked oxlike creatures, much larger than deer or elk. The local tribes hunted them aggressively, and the People followed their example. The flesh of these creatures, the Norsemen found, was much like beef. It was not long before the People discovered that the skins of these shaggy oxen provided warm robes when tanned with the fur still on. The meat dried well and had good keeping qualities. The Moon of Hunger had not been quite so threatening for the past few seasons. The herds were filling a need.

  There had been less notice, therefore, of the absence of the bodies of water that were so important to the Norsemen. They were preoccupied with the excitement of the hunt. True, the brief contact, the sight of the inland sea at the place called Mishi-ghan, had stirred their seafaring blood. But it, too, had been left behind.

  Now the primary task for a little while was the building of boats. Sven was in his element again. Though not a boatbuilder, he was certainly a boat user. As such, he had a great interest in the proceedings. With this came more discussion between the two Norsemen.

  “Nils,” said Svenson, “have you thought of the danger to the first boats to cross?”

  Nils had, actually, but had said nothing. Still, it made him quite uneasy to think of the first boat as it pulled up to shore. The small round boats would carry no more than three people. Two would be left on the other shore while one boatman returned for more passengers. If any potential enemies were there on the west bank to meet them … Well, the two who were left there alone would be at great risk.

  “But surely we will have contacted whatever people live over there,” Nils suggested.

  “Maybe.”

  There was silence for a little while. It was apparent that even with several boats, there would be danger. Even if several crossed at once, they could not all land at the same place. The warriors who landed first would be scattered up and down the shore, two by two. Nils paused to think of how such a landing would be carried out by a Norse exploring party. The situation would be different, of course. A landing party from one of their ships would consist of perhaps a dozen men. Well armed, they would approach the shore in a longboat, running the prow up on the beach. Warriors in the front of the boat would jump out to face any threat and to protect the others as they moved forward.

  But there were no longboats here, and they lacked the tools as well as the skills, to construct them.

  “I was thinking,” Svenson said. “What if there is treachery? We do not know these people on the other side.”

  The sailor must have been thinking along the same lines as he had, Nils mused. Probably there would be no conflict, but the uncertainty was a matter for concern. And the time to be concerned, obviously, was now, well ahead of time. It would certainly not do to discover treachery with their fighting force divided and part of it marooned on the enemy’s side of the river. If there were to be enemies, of course. Yet safety would lie in preparation.

  “It would be good to have a longboat or two,” Svenson observed.

  “Sven, we cannot build longboats,” Nils retorted irritably.

  “Of planks, no,” the sailor mused. “But Nils, remember the bigger boats that the Downstream Enemy sometimes used? They were shaped like a little ship. A longship.”

  Nils nodded. “And made of bark, were they not?”

  “Yes, I think so. Canoes, they were called. Could we not build one or two of those?”

  “Maybe. Let us ask Odin.”

  Odin was agreeable, and understood the premise immediately.

  “Yes. War canoes … the Downstream Enemy uses them.”

  “Yes,” said Nils. “They were used against us. Did they not carry eight or ten warriors?”

  “Yes,” Svenson agreed. “Two abreast, no?”

  “We will probably not need to fight,” observed Odin, “but it does no harm to appear ready.”

  “Besides,” Nils added, “we can land a party on the other shore, and then carry larger numbers faster, back and forth.”

  “And supplies and baggage, too,” Sven agreed. “Odin, can we build a canoe? Ma
ybe two?”

  Odin nodded. “I have seen it done. It should not be difficult. Two is good, I think. And it seems we are to be here for a season. The bark must be stripped at the right time.”

  So the plan began to take shape. The People would plant, hunt, and construct boats. Attempts would be made to contact the inhabitants on the west side of the river, to reassure them of the peaceful intentions of the newcomers. They decided quite early that there would be no crossing of the stream without the consent of the council. They could not risk another accident like that which had nearly destroyed their initial contact with the Chalagees.

  The initial flurry of boatbuilding subsided, due partly to the necessity to concentrate on planting. The other factor was the scarcity of fresh skins for building the small round boats. But now that there was no hurry, the People settled into their traditional pattern of letting tomorrow take care of itself.

  There were contacts across the river from time to time. A traveling trader, headed west, stopped for a day with the People, exchanged stories and traded. He had come from the north, and was carrying several pieces of a soft red stone. Pipestone, he called it, showing a pipe that had been carved and polished. It was smooth and warm to the touch.

  “Its spirit is good,” Odin noted.

  The trader nodded. “And very powerful!”

  “White Wolf, you should have a pipe of this stone,” Odin insisted. “It would make your gifts even more powerful!”

  They haggled a long while, Nils somewhat reluctant. The main stumbling block was that the trader held his wares in such high regard.

  “Such stone comes from only the one place,” he explained. “The farther from that quarry that we go, the more value it has. No, I do not even want to trade it now. It has greater worth to the west.”

  So the trade was never consummated at that visit. More valuable anyway, perhaps, was that this man had been across the river before.

  “You are preparing to cross?” he asked, noticing boats in various stages of construction.

  “Yes, but not now,” Odin explained. “We will grow crops, winter here, then cross next season. Can you tell us of the people over there?”

  The trader looked surprised. “You have not met them yet?”

  “No. Our scouts crossed, saw that there are people, but we were not ready. …”

  “I see. Well, they are called Hidatsa.”

  “What is the meaning?” Odin inquired. “We have been calling them Minitari, They Who Have Crossed the River.”

  “I do not know,” said the trader. “But they are much like you, who are here on the east bank. How do you call yourselves?”

  Odin shrugged. “The People, like everyone else. Right now, we are the People on the Bank.”

  “Hidatsa,” an old man in the circle recalled. “When I was a child, there was such a town. They moved. … I had forgotten.”

  “It is good!” a woman said. “Those on the other side of the river will be friends!”

  “Maybe not,” said Odin. “We must be careful. They might be much like us, but more warlike.”

  “Look,” offered the trader, “I will take you to them. I have been there. Take us over in one of your boats, and I will help you meet them.”

  There was enthusiastic agreement. It was admittedly a thing for the council, but there was already discussion of who should be included in the party to make the first contact. It was quickly apparent that it would require more than one of the small boats.

  “Two, maybe,” Odin suggested. That would allow a greeting party of four of the People, along with the traveler, his wife, and their goods.

  All subject, of course, to the action of the council. But the council agreed readily.

  It was a tense moment when the two boats grounded on the west bank. They drew the vessels up on the shore to wait.

  It was not long. Suddenly armed warriors rose up out of the grass and from behind bushes. Odin’s heart pounded in alarm. Had the trader betrayed them? Surely not. A trader who would do such a thing would never be trusted again by anyone. He glanced nervously at Big Tree and the two other warriors, Snake and Red Hand. They, too, looked quite anxious, but were trying to maintain their dignity.

  “How are you called?” demanded one of the Hidatsa in hand signs.

  The trader stepped forward, his right hand raised in greeting.

  “I am Trader. Remember? Last season?”

  The other nodded, but very cautiously.

  “And these others?”

  “They are people of the other bank. They mean no harm.”

  “Let them speak for themselves.”

  “It is good,” signed Odin, stepping forward. He used both hand signs and spoken words. “Our people are traveling to the west. We have stopped to plant, and would cross next season. If our brothers across the water do not object, of course.”

  “Your tongue is much like ours,” the Hidatsa responded, ignoring the inquiry. “Where do you come from?”

  “Far to the east. A salty shore.”

  “Ah! We, too. But look! We, too, must grow corn. Will there be enough? Or enough room to plant?”

  Odin was thinking quickly. If that was to be the problem, a fear of how much food, and whether there would be enough.

  “I am made to think,” he began, “of one of our holy men. You may have heard of him—White Wolf?”

  There was no sign of recognition, so he continued.

  “This man has white hair and fur upon his face. Blue eyes, too, though he is young and very powerful.”

  “It is not true.”

  “Yes, yes. He comes from beyond the salty water.”

  “What is this to us?”

  “Nothing … But I am made to think of one of his stories. He tells of a great leader of his tribe, long ago, who fed a great number of people, many hundreds, maybe, with only a few fish and some corn cakes,”

  “That is nothing,” sneered the other. “We once had a sack of meal that was bottomless. It never became empty.”

  “Ah! Where is it?”

  The Hidatsa looked irritated. “We no longer have it,” he admitted. “It is a story, from long-ago times.”

  “It is good,” Odin observed. “But no matter. The stories are much the same, no? It is possible to feed many in one way or another.”

  “That is nothing. I would hear more of your holy man who has blue eyes yet sees.”

  “We can bring him,” Odin offered. “See for yourself. We will have a council, and story fires. And we will bring food.”

  The other man now smiled for the first time. “It is good!”

  A day was set for the meeting, and the four men of the People returned to the boats.

  “If they are to be friendly,” Nils said thoughtfully, “will we need the canoes?”

  The season was not yet right for the stripping of bark, and they had done nothing except begin to look for appropriate trees.

  “I am made to think,” Svenson offered, “that it might be good to have a canoe anyway. Have you wondered, Nils, where this river flows?”

  Nils was startled. The obvious answer lay before them. Rivers flow to the sea. The sea had been the very life of Svenson until the past few years. Now his longing to return to it must be very powerful. Many times Nils himself had felt it, though the urge had become lesser now. But it was there, lying just below the surface. It was an instinct, an inherited urge, like that of the wild geese. No, more like that of the salmon, swimming upstream to return to the place of their birth. Except that, for the Norseman, the return was downstream. Back to the sea.

  “Yes,” agreed Nils. “We need a boat.”

  67

  Two boats would be needed, it was decided. Two of the long canoes, that is. Many families had already started to build the small round skin-covered boats, but they could hold no more than two or three people. Still, they were useful, because they could be constructed and used that summer. This would allow an occasional exploration and more contact with the people on t
he other side of the river.

  They had made that contact with the Hidatsa, with the help of the traveling trader. Not quite the same, their way of speaking, but nearly so. There would be a slightly different inflection, a variant pronunciation, a few words used by one of the groups but not the other. It was apparent to all, however, that they were kinsmen, and it was good. When the planting was finished and the fields had been weeded for the second time, there were no pressing tasks to occupy their days.

  Or their evenings. Often a flotilla of round boats would make its way across the river in the afternoon, to remain for an evening of storytelling. Usually the People would stay the night, rather than cross the river in darkness.

  Nils was glad for this. He still had a dread, perhaps a premonition. It lurked in the half-formed fears among the cobwebbed recesses of his mind, a gnawing suspicion of the dark waters. He could convince himself that the Chalagee story of the giant leech was just that, a story. Still, he could not entirely escape the dread of some evil thing lying in wait. How odd, he thought. Is this part of growing up, of realizing one’s mortality? It was not a thing that weighed heavily on his thoughts, however, or that was with him constantly.

  He participated in the storytelling, at the request of Odin. The two related groups had stories that were quite similar, of course, but the Norse legendry was completely new to the Hidatsa. They listened in rapt wonder at the tales of Sol and Mani racing across the sky, pursued by giant wolves who would devour their light.

  “It is true!” exclaimed an old man of the Hidatsa. “I have seen it myself, as a—boy. Sun nearly went out, swallowed by a great darkness. This was the creature, the giant wolf told of by our guest! Is that not right, holy man?”

  “So say the legends of my people,” Nils agreed. “But the wolf spit it back out, no?”

  “That is true! We all sang and beat the drums and prayed. It has been so always, maybe. It always succeeds.”