Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  “His eyes?” Odin pretended to be puzzled. “No, no, Uncle. These blue eyes are not blind! They have a special vision. White Wolf can see into the souls of men!”

  There was a gasp of surprise around the circle, but the leader remained unconvinced.

  “Can he not talk for himself? And I have still seen none of his powers.”

  “Ah, I had hoped this would not be needed,” Odin signed sadly. “He is a little dangerous sometimes. I am his assistant, and talk for him so that he can think on holier things, but—”

  “Enough talk!” interrupted the Shaved-head. “Show me!”

  “Uncle, it will be as you say. I have, with my own eyes, seen this holy man change himself into a white wolf. That is how he got his name. But he is dangerous, then. These people, the children here … Also, a leader of your wisdom must know the dangers of misuse of such powers?”

  Odin could see that the Shaved-head was growing more impatient. It was time to go on with the plan they had devised. He spoke quietly to Nils. “It is time for the stone.” He turned back to the Shaved-head.

  “Here, Uncle!” he signed, as if a great thought had just come to him. “There is a simple thing that White Wolf can show you. He can change the color of stones by holding them in his hands.”

  Nils stepped forward, drawing the sun-stone from the pouch at his waist. They had done this before, and he now understood much more of the ceremonial effect that was needed. The stone could be aligned to the north very quickly, but more slowly was much more impressive. He held it up for all to see, then high over his head, and began to rotate it.

  “A chant would be good,” Odin said quietly. “I will do it!”

  He raised his voice in a long, quavering singsong melody. He half expected to be stopped, but the Shaved-heads could not know what he was singing.

  “We have come to help you, my sister. Be ready to go when we come. Watch well. We do not know yet how it will go.”

  He continued to chant, mixing nonsense with a repetition of the message.

  Now the stone was nearing the alignment that would give the color change. Nils knew the general direction of north, and was ready. The dull gray of the translucent stone flickered to blue, back again as he manipulated it, and finally steadied to a radiant blue tone. The crowd gasped. Even their leader seemed impressed.

  Nils had followed the lead of Odin so far, but now an idea struck him. He had noticed that when the stone was aligned, it was pointing almost directly toward a tall tree on a distant ridge. Now he raised his voice in a soft ritual chant.

  “Odin, the tree on the ridge to the north … The star will be straight over it. I will tell them that.”

  “It is good …,” chanted the holy man’s assistant.

  Nils lowered the stone, and for the first time turned directly to the Shaved-head leader.

  “The color of a stone means nothing,” he signed. “Its purpose is to let me see the stars in daytime.” He swept an arm in a dramatic gesture. “There!” he went on. “There is the Un-moving Star, the North Star. There above the tree!”

  It was a moment before the onlookers began to realize the importance of this. They were staring northward, straining to see what was obviously not visible. Gradually they began to realize that this strange holy man was right. He had never been here before. He had no other way of knowing that the North Star did indeed hang above that tree on the ridge.

  Their leader could not help but be impressed, but was reluctant to admit it. “It is only a guess,” he signed. “Why should I not kill you and take the pretty stone?”

  Even his own people were shocked. To challenge a holy man of such powers … ah, could this not be dangerous for them all?

  The visiting holy man shrugged and smiled. “My brother knows the danger of trying to use another’s gifts,” he signed. “Would you risk it?”

  “I only asked,” the Shaved-head answered quickly. “It is good … for you to stay here tonight, that is. But we have no woman. That is another thing. Now our young men will show you where to camp. But the day grows later. Let us sit and talk, and our women will bring food.”

  The hand-signed conversation was mostly about the weather and the season, very light talk. They exchanged Creation stories, including Nils’s tales of the Norse frost-giants, and Odin’s of the grapevine. The Shaved-heads were greatly impressed.

  Their own story told of a race of subhuman beings who climbed from underground, up a giant red oak tree, up three more layers of existence, and reached a place in the sky where they were given souls. Then they descended back to earth and divided into two bands, the Peace People and the War People. All Shaved-heads are descended from these two groups, the storyteller said.

  “That is a very good story,” Odin signed. “Tell us … from which of those does your band come?”

  The Shaved-head leader gave a contemptuous grunt. “The War People, of course!”

  It was long after dark now. The people of the village had looked and marveled at the North Star, precisely where the holy man had said. They had discussed and argued, and had now gone to bed.

  The strangers had made their camp outside the perimeter of the lodges, in the place assigned. They were quiet and presumed to be sleeping. A sentry watched them from a little distance.

  White Heron had called a quiet council of a handful of the most respected men in the band. There was a brief ceremonial smoke, and Heron began the discussion.

  “You have seen our problem,” he said simply. “What is to be done with these strangers?”

  No one spoke for a little while.

  “Otter,” said an old man, “you should give them the woman and boy.”

  Black Otter bristled. “No! She belongs to us! These men will travel on in the morning.”

  “But Otter … the holy man sees the stars in the daytime. He knows you have the woman,” said another.

  “He cannot see through the walls of my lodge,” Otter retorted. “We have kept her quiet. My brothers and I found her. She is ours.”

  “I am made to think,” said the elder statesman, “that she is bad luck. You should give them up.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Heron spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then it is your problem. You and your family. We will not let you bring trouble on the whole band.”

  “You would tell the strangers where the woman is?” demanded the enraged Otter.

  “Maybe we should kill the three men,” suggested another.

  “But this holy man appears dangerous,” yet another voice joined in.

  Finally White Heron silenced the discussion. “Let us sleep. See if they move on in the morning. But Otter, you and your family have brought this on us. If there is trouble, it is on your shoulders!”

  86

  Dove sat in the dim corner of the lodge, her eyes fixed on her son and the threat that hovered over him. She was completely helpless to assist him, her hands tied behind her.

  The threat was real. An old woman knelt behind Bright Sky, her left hand grasping his hair as he sat between her knees, pulling his head backward to expose the throat. A flint knife in her right hand rested under Sky’s left ear, ready for the fatal slash.

  One of the men had confronted Dove a few moments before, and had bluntly explained the situation in hand signs. “Any sound from either of you, the woman cuts his throat. Tell the boy.”

  Dove spoke softly but urgently. “Be very quiet, my son. Do not make any sound.”

  There had been a growing sense of expectation in the village since shortly after they arrived. She and Sky had not been harmed, although they were pushed around somewhat roughly. But then had come this change in attitude, the strong impression that they were waiting for something or someone. It did not take her long to realize that whatever it might be, it had a direct connection with her and her son. It must be, then, that their captors had discovered something that presented a threat.

  It could be only one thing: There were other survivors
of the ill-fated party after the accident on the river. The men had followed her trail of broken twigs.

  Her heart had been heavy all during the day, as they traveled farther away from the area where she would have searched. Her main concern was for her husband, but she knew Wolf’s medicine to be strong. Her last glimpse of Odin had shown his canoe being swept on downstream. He and Snake had probably survived.

  She had no idea whether the survivors were being brought in as captives, or just what their status might be. As she thought about it now, however, she began to realize: If they were captives, there would be no reason to keep us quiet! Her heart beat faster with hope, then with dread. The men—whoever might have survived the dreadful river—might be walking into a trap. She must … but she could not warn them, without watching her son die in the hands of a cruel stranger. Tears of anger, frustration, and fear welled up and flowed down her cheeks.

  Excitement outside began to grow, and she realized that the newcomers, or newcomer, must have entered the village. Sky rolled his eyes to look at her, and she shook her head in a warning. He must make no sound.

  She could see nothing. The position in which she had been placed had been selected so that she could not look outside. For the same reason, no one outside could see the captives. She listened to the mutter of talk among the Shaved-heads, and realized that their leaders must be talking in signs with the newcomers.

  Another quick glance at her son … Dove did not want to appear too concerned, both for his sake and for the old woman. The flat, unemotional expression of that one told that she would slit the boy’s throat without hesitation if the situation called for it. Sky’s face, though showing fright and concern, certainly revealed no panic. Dove tried to appear more confident than she felt, nodding to him reassuringly. It was a terrible moment, one which could result in the deaths of her entire family in the space of a few heartbeats if things went wrong.

  Again, the urgency of the situation thrust itself upon her. Who was out there, trying to negotiate with her captors? She fought down panic, and forced herself to think more calmly. Since they were here, at least one of her companions, it must be that they were aware of her capture. Of course, they had followed the trail. Knowing this, they would negotiate cautiously, while they tried to learn where she and Sky were being held. Probably they knew already, because all three of the men were clever and observant.

  She still did not know how many of the three had survived, or whom it might be. Her greatest concern in that respect was for her husband. She had seen him pulled under. But of the three, his was the most powerful medicine. She must hold fast to the faith that he had survived. Whether by his great physical strength or by his spirit-powers, it made no difference. He could change himself into a white wolf. Why not into a fish if he chose, to swim out of the danger?

  Outside, there seemed to be some kind of a decision. Movement, a milling around of the crowd, and then she heard an excited ripple in the crowd. Then a long pause. She heard the crackle of a newly kindled fire. Yes, of course. They would need a fire for council. Probably Odin would start it with the striker, making a great ceremony out of it.

  As if in answer to her thoughts of a ritual, there began a singsong chant outside. Quickly, she recognized the voice of her brother.

  “We have come to help you, my sister. Be ready. …” Odin chanted.

  His song went on, mixing his message with sounds that were pure nonsense, to keep the rhythm of the chant. Now there was a pause in the song, and a gasp from the crowd. The fire? No, that had been already crackling. Something else … She did not know the fate of her husband, but now that question was answered in a wonderfully reassuring way.

  “Odin, the tree on the ridge to the north …”

  Tears of relief flowed freely, and she tried to stifle her joy at the sound of his voice. All three must be alive, then.

  There was more conversation outside, but it was in hand signs, so she could not tell what they said. But her confidence was rising. The others were all alive, and she had faith that they would devise a plan. She must be ready.

  The council outside dragged on. They were probably exchanging stories, and that was good. It gave the men of the People a chance to learn all they could about these Shaved-heads. Her own situation had relaxed now, too. The old woman put her knife away and released young Sky, who crept over to sit beside his mother. There were more signed threats, and Dove nodded agreement. She spoke softly and briefly to Sky, urging on him the need to continue his silence. The old woman stared harshly at them, and finally signed once more a demand for silence. Dove nodded agreement. Now they must wait. For what, she was not quite sure, but when it happened she would know, and she and Sky must be ready.

  The three men of the People readied for the night with a great show of preparation. They spread sleeping robes around their small campfire, gathered a pile of sticks, and appeared to settle in. They even carried a brand from the council fire to light their small one. To use the striker again would be to draw more attention, and they wished to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  They were busily planning, though.

  “You see the lodge where they are held?” Snake asked.

  “Do not look at it,” Odin warned.

  “Of course. But see, it is on the edge of the town. We could come around behind it.”

  “They will be looking for that,” Nils protested. “They are probably watching us now.”

  “That is true. But something to take their attention away. A fire, maybe?” Snake pointed with a toss of his head toward the nearest of the grass-thatched lodges.

  “Yes!” Odin agreed. “But that will make them very angry.”

  “They will want to kill us anyway, when we free Dove,” Nils said.

  “Yes. We must be ready to move all at once,” Odin agreed. “And they may be tied.”

  “Let me see what I can learn,” Snake suggested. “When the fire darkens some, I will go. I am made to think that one man watches us from the trees to the north, there.”

  “Yes, I saw him, too,” Odin said.

  The autumn night was uncomfortably cool, but they made an extra show of preparing beds and bringing firewood. They moved around, changed places, anything to confuse an observer, while pretending that they did not know they were watched. They rolled themselves in their robes and allowed the fire’s light to die. Then one of them rose to replenish it.

  By the new light the observer saw two other sleeping forms on the ground, but was unaware that one of those beds had no occupant. That robe was arranged with sticks and a rawhide pack to appear that someone slept there.

  Snake returned during the next period of darkness, sliding back to his bed and rearranging the robes. Then he sat up, threw a couple of sticks on the embers, and began to tell of his findings.

  “One man watches us, as we thought,” he said. “Another, near the lodge where Dove and the boy are. That one is lazy, half-asleep. This one, more dangerous. I am made to think we must take down both.”

  The planning continued, quiet talk as they openly warmed themselves by the newly rekindled fire. The position of the Seven Hunters told that the night was more than half over.

  “Afterward, we should start back east, the way we came,” Odin suggested. “They will expect that. Then circle, meet at the hill, and go northwest.”

  “But that is not where we want to go!” protested Nils.

  “True. And they know that,” Odin explained. “That is why we go that way. The first thing is to escape these Shaved-heads. Then we decide what is next.”

  Nils had to agree that it made good sense, though it was frustrating to head in a direction away from where he wished to go. But first, they must escape.

  They stretched, yawned, and lay down in their robes again. As soon as it was dark enough, Snake wriggled out. The other two waited, quiet but sleepless, waiting for Snake’s signal, the cry of a night bird. That would signal …

  “There!” Odin exclaimed. “Snake’s signal.
We go!”

  They parted, Odin with the fire-starter and Nils to circle to the rear of the lodge where his wife and son lay. There he would meet Snake, who had disposed of the sentry who watched them, the dangerous one. The night bird’s cry signaled the completion of that grisly task.

  Nils skirted the village and approached the lodge carefully. He did not know where the watcher might be. That clump of trees? There was the sound of a scuffle, and then silence. He knelt, close to the ground, to see in silhouette an approaching figure against the starry sky. He made a slight squeaking noise, like that of a deermouse, and saw the dark figure turn toward him.

  “Snake?” he whispered. “Here!”

  The warrior knelt beside him, breathing a little hard.

  “It is done,” said Snake. “Now we wait for Odin’s fire.”

  Dove lay in the dark, listening, waiting. She could hear the breathing of other people in the lodge, and the soft snores of the old woman with the knife. Bright Sky snuggled against her, twitching nervously in his sleep. Gently, she touched him with her elbow. She did not know whether he would live to see morning, or whether she would see morning herself. She only knew that sometime before the dawn came, there would be an attempt to free them.

  She wished that her hands were free, so that she could defend herself and her son when the time came. Well, Wolf would surely realize that they were helpless. She would stay alert and try to be ready. Meanwhile, she worked quietly at her bonds.

  Now she noticed the square of the doorway, where the doorskin hung. It was fitted loosely, and there seemed to be a crack of light that was growing lighter. Surely it was not yet dawn. No, a fire! Of course! Her heart leaped, and she sat up. Bright Sky came sleepily awake.

  “Ssh, my son,” she whispered. “Hold tightly to my dress, and stay with me. Your father will come soon.”

  Nils watched, waiting for the spark that would begin the events that would lead to their escape or to their deaths. Snake crouched beside him, breathing more calmly now.