Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  “Nils,” Sven went on, “you are young and strong. You should go home. Ah, what tales you can tell! But tell them I died bravely, they will mourn, but they will be happy. Gudred will probably be pleased that she does not have two husbands!”

  Sven chuckled now, and Nils could see how this course of action would simplify the old sailor’s last years. Probably quite a few of them. Though, as he thought of it, Sven had been to sea before Nils could remember. He must be how old? Possibly fifty?

  As if in answer to these thoughts, Sven spoke again, very seriously. “I told your father, before your first voyage to the Isles, that I would look after you,” Svenson admitted. “He was my friend, as well as my employer. But now I am made to think that you can take care of yourself. I will help you get started, if you are set on going, but I see no need for either of us to go.”

  “Sven, I have to. I can let our people know much about this new world, no?”

  Svenson nodded. “Of course. I thought you would feel so. Besides, it is an adventure. Ah, you are as bad as the Ericksons,” he teased. “But I will help you when you start.”

  Nils nodded, lost in thought. This put an entirely different light on the makeup of the party. Four adults, three children. It would be a more dangerous combination. Not insurmountable, but something to think on. He would talk to Odin about it, and soon.

  “It is good, Sven,” he said.

  “Remember, though,” Svenson said, “when you tell them of my death, make it good!”

  “How would you like it?” asked Nils, laughing. “Overrun by hordes of enemy warriors?”

  “Maybe,” agreed Svenson good-naturedly. “Weapon in hand, like a Viking, fighting till his last breath.” His face lighted. “I know! Tell them I died, ax in hand, against the giant bloodsucker of the Chalagees!”

  Sven doubled over, chuckling in amusement at his own cleverness.

  Nils sat unnoticed, in shocked silence. Of all the stories that they had heard over the years, how had Svenson happened to think of that one? A chill crept up the back of his neck, and his skin fairly crawled in dread.

  “What is the matter?” asked Sven.

  “It is nothing,” Nils lied. “That is good. How did you choose that story?”

  Svenson shrugged. “Who knows? It is a good story. I dream about it sometimes.”

  Sven said it casually, but Nils wondered. Was there more concern in the old sailor’s eyes than in his voice? Was this the reason, or one of the reasons, for Svenson not to start the long journey downriver?

  Was Svenson’s dream as terrifying as his own?

  74

  Now Nils faced a dilemma. The decision of Svenson not to try to return to civilization was a complete surprise and shock. As he began to think about it, however, Nils could see Sven’s position.

  It was not a matter of abandoning his family at home in Stadt. Not entirely anyway. That family had been without its husband and father for a long time. Legally, he was dead, lost on a voyage to the unknown. A sailor’s wife, it was assumed, would remarry after a decent time of mourning. That time could vary, but in this case there was the additional weight of the news that must have reached home. The expedition on which Svenson had sailed had been destroyed by Skraelings during the exploration of Vinland. There were no known survivors.

  This news would have reached Stadt by way of Straumfjord within a year, probably. Gudred Svenson would have been free to marry six years ago, now, and undoubtedly would have done so. For Sven to return now would create more problems than it solved. What would Gudred do with two husbands? There were many pitfalls, both emotional and legal, here. The woman would probably have to choose between them. … Maybe Svenson’s way was best, to spare her that torture, and himself the pain of possible rejection.

  There was another factor, too. Sven’s marriage to Red Fawn appeared to be a happy one. To go back to Stadt, Sven would have to leave Fawn. He could not take a wife home to where another wife waited. But, by leaving Fawn behind, he would make her eligible to remarry. And what if Gudred elected to stay with her present husband? Sven would have nothing at all. If he could avoid all this potential hurt to so many people, why not? It seemed the wisest choice.

  All of this reasoning, however, made Nils’s choices no easier. He did not relish the idea of an expedition with only two men, and five women and children. Not that the women would be any burden. They were both as capable as any man. Still, their primary concern would be protection of the children. This was as it should be. But that would leave only himself and Odin for defense if necessary. It was not an insurmountable situation, but it made him uneasy. This was a far different scenario than when Sven and Fawn would have provided two more unfettered warriors for defense of the party. He must think carefully on this, and discuss it with Odin.

  As it happened, Odin approached him first.

  “My almost-brother,” the Skraeling began, concern showing in his face, “I would speak with you.”

  Nils nodded. “You have talked to Fire Man.”

  “Yes … But that is not it.”

  Nils experienced a moment of panic. There was worse news?

  “What?” Nils demanded. “How bad?”

  “Not really bad,” Odin said. “But bad just now. Hawk Woman is with child.”

  Nils felt his plans crumbling, his world falling apart under him. There was a rush of anger for an instant. The actions and desires of others were taking from him all the power of decision that he thought he had. It had been hard enough to justify a journey into the unknown with the children, but with a pregnant woman?

  “How far?” he asked numbly.

  Odin gave his characteristic shrug. “Two, three moons, maybe.”

  Nils calculated quickly. That would put the time of birthing in the autumn. In the Moon of Falling Leaves, maybe. Or in the Moon of Madness.

  The whole thing was madness. A twinge of resentment made him wonder if Hawk Woman had intentionally accomplished this to defeat the expedition. She would be at her largest and most unwieldly shape just at the critical part of the voyage on the lower river. It would be possible for her to go. The women of the People often did hard work and even travel during a pregnancy. But it would limit her effectiveness in defense, in handling the canoe.

  “Hawk’s heart is glad,” Odin said. “But she knows that is not what you would wish. For that part, she has sorrow.”

  Nils was embarrassed that he had suspected her of duplicity in the timing of this pregnancy.

  “Tell her it is nothing,” he mumbled.

  Odin nodded, and both were fully aware that such a statement was ludicrous under the circumstances.

  “I am made to think,” Nils said slowly, “that this ends the journey down the river. Shall we use the canoes to help the People across and then leave them behind?”

  “Maybe not,” Odin said thoughtfully. “You and I …”

  “You would leave your family?” Nils asked, shocked at the idea.

  “No, no, only a little while,” Odin said. “You and Dove go on, I come back.”

  “But we could not handle two canoes.”

  Odin nodded. “That is true. And we would need two. One to go on, one to go back.”

  “This cannot be, my brother.”

  “Yes, I know. Unless … maybe another man or two … maybe Fire Man would go, and come back with me.”

  “Maybe. Let us ask him.”

  Svenson was thoughtful about it, but it was apparent that his heart was not really in it.

  “Nils,” he explained, “I can still do what is needed, but my joints tell me that they have seen many winters.”

  Nils was amused at the manner in which the old sailor used the way of the People to explain his position.

  “There are many snows in my hair,” Sven went on. “See? If I am needed, I will try, but on cold mornings, I am moving very slowly. Could you find another man?”

  “Sven, there is none like you,” Nils assured him. “But I understand. Do not worry over it.
We will find someone.”

  Sven seemed greatly relieved.

  The search progressed without much success. They did not want to attract too much attention, but word spread quickly. There were several young men who approached them, eager for adventure but lacking the responsibility and maturity that was needed.

  Conversely, anyone reliable enough to be considered was also responsible enough not to be interested. Nils was dejected, ready to give up on the entire plan, abandoning all hope of returning home.

  Then he was approached by a man who might prove to be just what was needed.

  “You remember me? I am Snake, friend of your friend, Odin.”

  “Of course. How is it with you, friend of my friend?”

  Nils did not know the man well. Snake was quiet and thoughtful, one easily overlooked in the everyday activities of the People. He belonged to a different lodge than that of Odin and his family, and consequently their contact had been irregular. Still, he knew that Snake was well respected, especially by Odin, and that the two had been boyhood friends.

  “I have been told,” Snake began carefully, “that you look for someone to go downriver with you.”

  “You know someone?”

  “Myself.”

  Nils had been curious as to this man’s interest, but this was a surprise. He tried to think … did Snake have a family? Yes, surely. A wife, anyway.

  “You have talked to Odin?”

  Even as he asked, Nils knew somehow that Snake had not. He would not presume on friendship to accomplish a purpose such as this.

  “No.”

  “What of your family?” Nils asked bluntly. This would tell him more without revealing his own lack of memory. There was something …

  “My wife was taken by Cold Maker this past winter, you know,” Snake said, his face drawn with emotion.

  That was it! Nils told himself. I knew there was something! At the same time he was embarrassed that he had been so thoughtless.

  “Yes,” he said sympathetically, trying to salvage a bad mistake as best he could. “My heart is heavy for you. But your children?”

  He devoutly hoped that he remembered correctly, that there were children.

  “They are with their mother’s family,” said Snake. “They are well cared for.”

  “It is good,” said Nils, happy to have survived the treacherous moments of this conversation. “Now, about our journey. I must talk with Odin, but … do you know the canoe?”

  “Some. I have used the round boats.”

  “Good. I will talk to Odin.”

  Odin was delighted at the prospect of having his boyhood friend as a companion on the downriver journey.

  “Yes! Thorsson, I could choose no better man!” Odin said excitedly.

  They began again to plan the details of loading the two canoes. There would be plenty of room now, with only four adults and young Bright Sky. One canoe would have been enough, except that Odin must have a means to return upriver.

  “You would not need to go,” Nils suggested. “Dove and I can handle our canoe.”

  Odin was quite definite on this, however. “No!” He smiled the mischievous little smile that had become familiar to the Norsemen. “Someone must look after you. Dove cannot do it alone.”

  “How far will you go?”

  Odin shrugged. “Who knows? When the time comes, we will all know. Then Snake and I will go back.”

  It seemed a good plan. Preparations went forward, both for the river crossing by the People, and for the downriver trip. Svenson helped with the planning of the latter. He hovered and helped and gave advice, fussing around like a mother hen. Nils knew that Sven must have mixed feelings about this parting. He had such feelings himself. Nils could not remember a time when he had not known Sven. To part with him now would not be easy. He could imagine, too, the old sailor’s emotions. Sven must refuse the call of the sea that had been his life, and that must be difficult for him. But with the help of such a woman as Red Fawn … Probably, Nils reflected, a good woman would be the only thing that could tear Svenson from the arms of his mistress, the sea.

  Finally came the day when Odin approached with a gleam in his one eye.

  “I am made to think,” he said simply, “that our time to leave is near. There is only a little ice in the river this morning.”

  They had noticed that the river’s level was falling. Ice and debris no longer rode the main current in the center of the stream, but floated lazily out toward the banks.

  “When?” asked Nils.

  Odin shrugged. “The holy men will decide. Big Tree may ask you, too, since Clay is gone.”

  Nils nodded. “What should I say?”

  “Whatever seems good. Three days, maybe. That will let you change it if you need to.”

  “Good. I will talk to Fire Man, too. But Tree may not ask me.”

  Odin nodded. “That is true. Listen to your guide.”

  Nils recalled that from time to time Odin had made such a remark. He was aware that the People had a high respect for things of the spirit, for dreams, and for the protection of one’s personal guide. Many signs were interpreted as warnings, others as omens of good luck. He had not taken these seriously at first, but they were so much a way of life for the People.

  He must talk at greater length with Odin about this. Maybe during their time together on the river there would be an opportunity. Just now, however, such ethereal musings were overshadowed by the one at hand. In a few days they would start the greatest journey of his Life. He was going home.

  75

  That night the dream returned to haunt him. This time it was even more frightening than before. He did not waken as quickly, and it seemed that he could not waken at all. It was the sort of dream where the dreamer knows that he is dreaming, but can do nothing about it. This makes the fear even worse, because of the helpless feeling that he has lost all control.

  The dream was much the same as it began. Dark water, glowering sky, a foggy mist over the water. He could not tell whether this was ocean or river. Odd, he thought, I have never wondered before. A light drizzle was falling, it seemed. More properly, hanging in the air. Fat droplets of mist seemed suspended permanently, soaking everything, making a sodden world even wetter.

  He was being carried along, and seemed to have no control. His paddle … yes, it must be a canoe paddle in the hand … was useless against the mighty pull of the current. A current … It must be the river, then. Just as he realized this, still in his odd dual role as observer and participant, it happened. Dark tentacles thrust up out of dark water, reaching, writhing. …

  This was the part where he had always wakened. The conscious part of his mind, the part that knew it was a dream, waited, but it did not happen. In a panic, he felt that he was trapped in the dream. The reaching, grasping thing from the river’s depths thrust up, searching. This tentacle had risen from the left side and behind him. Now it reached over him, grasping at the figure in front of him.

  This was the first time that he had been aware of another person in his dream, but he could see her dimly through the mist … a woman. The reaching Thing grasped at her, and he tried to scream a warning, but it was too late. The woman turned her head and the terror in her eyes was horrible to see.

  “Dove!” he screamed.

  Just then something reaching from behind struck him, grasped, and pulled him under. The dark chill of the waters closed over him, and he was drowning. He struggled, kicking and fighting his way, trying to reach the surface. But he was being pulled deeper, tangled by the clutching fingers of the creature below. He fought, even as consciousness was slipping away. …

  “Wolf! Wake up!”

  Dove was shaking him, holding him in her arms now, and the darkness around him was the dark of the lodge, not that of the water. Gratefully, he drew a deep breath.

  “Dove … I …”

  She held him tightly. “What is it, my husband?”

  Someone tossed fuel on the embers of the fire in
the center of the longhouse, and a flicker of yellow began to light the area. It was a great relief to see the familiar surroundings.

  “What is it?” called Red Fawn from their curtained cubicle nearby.

  “A night-vision, maybe,” Dove answered. “I do not know.”

  “Yes … yes, it is good now,” Nils mumbled, embarrassed at the commotion. “It was only a night-vision.”

  People were settling back into the arms of slumber. There was some grumbling, but not much. The seriousness of a night-vision was well recognized. Above all, it was a very private thing. If the dreamer chose to tell it, so be it, but if not, it would be a serious breach of custom to inquire.

  “A dream? A night-vision?” Dove whispered.

  “Yes … I will tell you. …”

  “Ssh … you do not need to.”

  “Yes, I want to. You are in it.”

  “Later, then. Now, rest.”

  She lay beside him and snuggled him in her arms, and it was good.

  He lay in the darkness a long time, staring at the dim flicker of firelight on the ceiling around the blackened smoke hole. Dove’s muscles relaxed, her breathing became regular, and he knew that she had fallen asleep again. He would tell her of his recurring dream in the morning. Meanwhile, it seemed unlikely that he would be able to sleep. The dream … What could it mean?

  “You had a bad night?” Odin asked casually as they rose for the day and began to move around.

  Both men had gone outside to empty their bladders. No one else was within hearing. Nils realized that Odin’s comment was not really a question, but a statement, to open a conversation about the incident that had roused the whole lodge.

  “Yes,” Nils answered. “Odin, I would speak with you of this … the night-vision again. The People see them as very important.”

  Odin looked startled. “Your people do not?”

  “Not the same, maybe. This is a thing that Clay would have known about.”