A Pound of Flesh

by Susan Wright

  I marveled at the force it took to destroy the haushold . Lexander’s people truly wielded power far beyond our own.

  "So it is done." Lexander watched his home burn, his face lit eerily by the orange glow.

  2

  As the haushold burned, I followed Lexander like a shadow. He settled the slaves in the crude sentry tower. The freeman who had been asleep on his watch had fled in the face of the fire.

  Nerriviq returned from the umiaks where they had taken Qamaniq. "My granddaughter lives, though we have no assurance her spirit is intact. That is for the shaman to determine."

  "Don’t leave yet," Lexander urged. "Help me raze Vidaris so this place can’t be used to enslave your people again."

  We were joined by half a dozen Thule carrying their spears and bows. I was concerned about the slaves, so I asked a few olfs to stay behind in the tower to alert me if they needed me.

  The blood on Lexander’s sleeve was beginning to brown, but he shrugged me off, refusing to allow me to tend to the cut. I had seen the terrible wound Ketil Grimsson had given him when he won Silveta’s right to speak to the chieftains in Issland. That blow would have maimed another man, but Lexander had healed in one night. His people had powers greater than ours; they were godlings in their own right.

  Lexander went to each of the longhouses on his estate, ordering his people to abandon Vidaris. An outcry went up as the servants were told they must leave their homes. The freemen stared in shock at the burning haushold while their wives and children wept. They had always had a prosperous life on the estate, with everything they needed at hand. They implored Lexander to have mercy and let them stay in Vidaris.

  Lexander simply repeated, "Gather your belongings, and take the grain and livestock with you. You’ll have plenty to make homes for yourselves elsewhere."

  Even stout Hallgerd, for so long in absolute charge of the kitchen, could not disobey his command. The scullery maid who had taunted me during my training was reduced to a shivering, broken child. It was not what I would have wished on them, but surely it was better than living in the maw of evil.

  Lexander relented only with a handful of field hands who had also served as oarsmen. He quietly directed them to take their possessions to the longship and wait for him there.

  The protests of the others were cut short by the presence of the Thule, their weapons held ready. Lexander’s people had been raised on tales of Skraeling attacks that had destroyed entire settlements, and the sight of them was too much. Tears flowing freely, they hastily packed their carts and barrows full of their belongings. Casks of wine, baskets of ripe fruit, and bags of grain were piled up high. They tethered the fat cattle to their carts while youngsters herded the sheep and geese with sticks. The dogs barked joyfully, adding to the commotion.

  They set off into the rising sun, which cast a pallid light through the oily black smoke that hung over the estate. As each longhouse was emptied, Lexander set fire to it, letting the thatch blaze brightly. The former inhabitants hurried away, glancing over their shoulders at the mad-man who used to be their master. I wondered what tales they would spread about the fall of Vidaris.

  Lexander didn’t speak to me throughout the exodus. It was a brutal contrast—the stark destruction he wrought on land that was flush with late-summer abundance. The trees hung heavy with fruit and the thick grass waved in the meadows. It seemed a place destined to prosper. But I could feel how the life was seeping away day by day as the benevolent spirits were kept at bay by the demons.

  After the servants and freemen were gone, Lexander walked the edge of the fields, setting fire to the crops that were ready to be harvested. The wind picked up the blaze and spread it rapidly. He also burned the rows of vines hung with clusters of grapes that were made into fine Vidaris wine. The plume of smoke that went up could likely be seen as far as Brianda on the other side of Fjardemano Island.

  Nerriviq was finally appeased by Lexander’s all-consuming wrath. They were united in their desire to destroy Vidaris, and the Thule could have done it no more thoroughly than Lexander.

  My only relief came from watching the olfs dancing in the flames. Fire was the best way to banish the evil spirits. With nothing to cling to, the demons drifted off with the smoke right before my eyes. I knew that soon the trees would retake the fields and grass would cover the scars left by the burned homes. The land would become whole again.

  When there was nothing left to set ablaze, Lexander returned to the haushold. The smoldering rubble sent streamers of smoke into the sky. Lexander wandered around the broken walls as if searching for something.

  Only one fragment of a wall still stood, reaching not quite to my chin. It had once supported the storage platform. My mistress had delighted in using the hook high in the wall to string up the slaves by our wrists, leaving us with our heels scraping against these bricks, trying to find purchase. I had come closest to dying here, despite everything else since, when Helanas had tied me around the neck and forced me to stand on my toes. As my feet gradually gave out, I couldn’t breathe and blackness hovered over me. Lexander had released me, as he so often had, though he had never tried to stop Helanas from hurting us . . .

  I jerked my hand away from the rough brick—he had never tried to stop her.

  Warily I glanced over at Lexander, pacing through the rubble. He bent down to pick up something, then let it drop again.

  I went over to the white bit of stone. It was a tiny figure of the Norogod Baldr, the god of light, from the hneftaf game. Lexander had taught me to play hneftaf last winter, and we had spent many an evening moving the figurines about the board as he told me about all the places he had been. I clutched the tiny sculpture in my fist, not wanting to let it go. In the midst of the wretchedness, there had been some good in Vidaris.

  Finally, I asked, "How did you set fire to the haushold?"

  He looked at me as if he had forgotten I was following him. His face and smooth head were sooty, reminding me of my da, the village smithy, who had sold me to him.

  "I released the fire by killing Helanas," he finally said. "It’s a protection my people place within our houses. We’ve gained a reputation of being difficult to kill, and those who try usually perish with us."

  Now I knew where Lexander had learned his ruthlessness. It must have shown on my face.

  "For nearly twenty years," Lexander said, "Helanas was my consort."

  "Do you regret killing her?" I had to ask.

  Lexander frowned. "Never. I only wish I had done it the night I saved you."

  I was sure there was more to be said, but he turned and walked off.

  When we returned to the tower where the slaves had been left, they were wrapped in the blankets left behind. Niels had been crying again. They hastily got to their feet, watching Lexander warily.

  "You’ll be fine now," I assured them. They looked wrung to near exhaustion, but none had been tainted by the evil spirits.

  "I hereby free you all," Lexander said heavily.

  The slaves looked dazed. I wasn’t sure the Skraelings understood, so I explained it to them in my mam’s tongue.

  "I should never have brought you here," Lexander admitted stiffly. It was as close to an apology as he could give them.

  "Is it true?" one of the brothers asked. "We can go home now?"

  "Yes," Lexander assured him. "We’ll sail to Tillfallvik first. From there I’ll send you to Hop."

  Niels asked faintly, "Tillfallvik is in Markland, where you’re from, Marja?"

  "Yes, and ’tis the best of lands," I assured him. "You will be safe there."

  The Skraeling sisters were even more frightened at the thought of going to another Noroland. But Torngasoak kept his arms around them, holding them firmly.

  The six former slaves followed us down the long flight of steps to the beach at the base of the red cliff. Lexander carried his casket under one arm, and the others kept the blankets around their shoulders to ward off the chill wind. I still clutched the figurin
e of Baldr in my fist.

  The stench of smoke filled the air even with the ocean breeze in my face. The sun was lowering, casting long shadows across the beach. I was eager to leave Vidaris before darkness fell. The vicious spirits that roamed the woods at night, bloodsucking adlets and packs of qiqirn, would be drawn by the void left by the demons.

  Farther down the beach, the Thule were dragging their umiaks into the surf. It was a daunting task to row across the Nauga Sea. They had not slept since we left Tillfallvik, but they would not linger here. Their wounded were being tended carefully to make sure that no evil could seep into them while they were weakened.

  Without a word, Lexander and I went over to the Thule, the slaves trailing behind us. I didn’t see Qamaniq until we drew nigh. She was wrapped in furs, lying prone on the red sand. Nerriviq sat next to her, murmuring a healing chant.

  Lexander went straight to her side, kneeling down. "Is she . . . well?"

  Nerriviq glared at him. "She will recover if the gods are good to us."

  I stood where I could see Lexander’s face. I had been sorely jealous of Qamaniq from the moment Lexander had acquired her. Her regal bearing and sumptuous figure had enchanted him.

  "Qamaniq," he said tenderly, "it’s me, Lexander."

  My hands tightened into fists at the way he said her name.

  "Lexander?" Qamaniq murmured, turning toward him.

  I drew in my breath at her ravaged face, worn with weariness and sorrow. Helanas must have tried to grind her into dust to bring about such a transformation. Probably because Qamaniq was a favorite of Lexander’s, as I had been.

  "Master," Qamaniq said more strongly, "it’s you."

  "Forgive me, Qamaniq," Lexander said stiffly. "I should never have convinced you to leave the Thule. They are far more merciful than I."

  For a moment I thought Lexander would atone by offering to take care of her, as he had cared for me.

  But Qamaniq’s face crumpled. "The gods themselves could not forgive one such as you."

  Lexander drew back. "No, indeed," he quietly agreed. "The gods themselves could not."

  Nerriviq tried to soothe Qamaniq. "Go, Vidaris. I’ve got what I demanded, but do not risk my anger a moment longer."

  I tugged at Lexander’s arm, seeing the truth in Nerriviq’s words as his kin began to gather closer. Their fury was clear. Lexander hesitated, as if willing to endure whatever sacrifice they required.

  I gestured to the Skraelings on the sand behind us. "Lexander, the other slaves are waiting. We must get them to safety."

  But Torngasoak stepped forward to address Nerriviq. "Honored Elder, please take us home. The sisters will come to my clan, where they will be safe. They have agreed to join me."

  Lexander had brought the Skraeling sisters to Vidaris shortly before me, and they would have gone to Stanbulin in the winged ship when it next arrived. Though Torngasoak was little more than a youth, the terror he had endured had made a man of him. He would be able to care for the sisters as they deserved.

  "Yes, join us," Nerriviq agreed. It would make their journey longer to go to the Beothuk lands, but he could not refuse the young Skraeling’s plea.

  Nerriviq picked up his granddaughter still wrapped in the furs. Torngasoak put an arm around each of the Skraeling sisters and followed the Thule to the umiaks. The sisters were still hunched over as if they would forever be afraid.

  A crease appeared between Lexander’s eyes. Perhaps the others took it for anger, but I knew he was distressed. Niels and the brothers from Hop waited for us.

  "It’s not enough," he said roughly. "There are other masters like Helanas, some even worse. I must stop them."

  He had spoken of the other pleasure houses from time to time. Before Vidaris, Lexander had been master of the house in Veneto, in the Auldland. "How many houses are there?" I asked.

  "I don’t know. We are ordered to maintain secrecy, even amongst ourselves. But there must be dozens."

  My eyes widened in horror. Lexander gently took my hand. "This is nothing we need to speak of now." We headed back to the three young men waiting for us. "We’ll set sail immediately. ’Tis the last you shall have to see of this accursed place."

  3

  With only five men to row, Lexander had to take an oar while I leaned into the tiller to steer the longship. The last time I had manned the tiller, we were fleeing from Birgir after he had killed the old chieftain and seized Silveta’s estate.

  The cliffs behind us were lit up by the burning of the palisade. Lexander was determined that nothing remain of his estate, so he had set fire to the fence and hastily built sentry tower. The flames formed a line along the top of the cliffs, and even the steps down to the beach were burning. There would be nothing left of Vidaris but ashes when the winged ship arrived.

  Soon enough the lurid blaze disappeared into the fog. The water was a darker version of the gray sky, with the lowering clouds touching the sea around us.

  The wind had died with nightfall, forcing the oarsmen to row incessantly. The two brothers were useless, though they tried to take an oar. They kept tangling with the others and Lexander impatiently told them to desist. Niels huddled near me, too frail to even try to help.

  I couldn’t touch the water, so I used the feel of the currents pushing against the rudder to reach out to the sea spirits. In their slow, watery way, they responded to my plea for help in reaching Tillfallvik. In exchange, they wanted to know what had happened in Vidaris.

  But I could not satisfy them. I was a mass of confusion. I had never seen Lexander so fierce, so heartless. I could not forget the sight of him slashing the sword across Helanas’ slender, elegant neck, yet I could not face it either. The sea spirits disliked my uncertainty and withdrew from my touch.

  I slumped over the tiller, appreciating the warmth of Niels against my legs.

  We finally reached Tillfallvik as the sun began to rise, casting a feeble light through the intermittent drizzle. Lexander’s forehead was creased thoughtfully, though he seemed not at all tired. The oarsmen were fatigued to the breaking point, and had been taking breaks in pairs, flinging themselves down on a bench and gasping for breath.

  I helped Niels and the brothers onto the dock while Lexander spoke to the oarsmen, cautioning them not to mention Vidaris. He donned a fur cap to disguise his smooth head, to keep others from recognizing him as the notorious slave master.

  Niels held my hand tightly. He had never seen the hilly town of Tillfallvik and he must have thought it was a crude place compared to his beloved city in Viinland.

  I bent to pick up a broken bit of arrow lying on the dock—the chipped stone was bound to a broken-off shaft. It was a remnant of the fierce fighting that had taken place only a few days ago. I clutched it as a talisman of my beloved Thule. Before we had left Vidaris, I had buried the figurine of Baldr from the hneftaf game at the base of the cliff, covering it with rocks. I would have liked to keep it to remind me of pleasant evenings with Lexander, but my sacrifice would help heal the land.

  When we reached the end of the dock, we were accosted by a few women bundled in knitted shawls. They cried and pleaded on their knees, holding up their hands in supplication for any coins we could spare. Bedraggled children crouched alongside them, reaching out their tiny hands.

  "What’s this?" I exclaimed in surprise. I had never seen beggars in Tillfallvik before. "Does Silveta know you are in need?"

  "That she-devil!" A woman with gray stringy hair and a dirt-caked face spat onto the docks. "Silveta threw us into the streets. Birgir Barfoot was slain by her paramour and now we have no homes, no food, nothing!"

  I took a step backward. "You are mistaken," I breathed. "Birgir was destroying our land—"

  "He was our savior! Without him we are doomed," the old woman wailed.

  Lexander appeared by my side, his hand going to the heavy sword on his belt. The huddled women backed away, their cries growing louder. "Come, Marja," he told me. "We must be out of here."

&nbs
p; These women didn’t know that we were responsible for Birgir’s downfall. If they knew, they would probably descend on us, scratching with their ragged fingernails and screeching like crows. I hurried away, pulling Niels and the brothers along.

  "All they knew was the everlasting fighting in Danelaw until Birgir brought them here," Lexander explained. "Markland must have seemed like a paradise until he was slain."

  Tillfallvik was not the same town as I remembered, when the streets had been crowded by working men and every woman carried a full basket on her hip. Donkeys, goats, and chickens had thronged in the open yards, while pigs rooted in the mud near each house. But those animals had been seized by Birgir’s men to feed his warriors, and the gardens had been picked down to stubs.

  There were some signs of renewed life. We made our way through the marketplace, where a dozen carts and makeshift stands sold produce, bread, and ale mainly to the mercenaries who had arrived with Jens to help vanquish Birgir. The first time I had come to Tillfallvik, the merry noise and smells of the market had overwhelmed me. Now the loudest voices were those of the castoff remnants of Birgir’s rule: women and children clustered near the stalls begging for food.

  As we climbed up to the estate, some mercenaries were busy removing the boards from the windows and doors of houses, taking possession. Too many of the men in Tillfallvik had died fighting Birgir before Silveta and I could return with our Skraeling warband. Silveta had asked twoscore of Jens’ mercenaries to remain as her own bondsmen, and likely she was gifting these houses to them to seal their bond.

  When we arrived at the estate, repairs were well under way. The main gates were standing once again, constructed of fresh yellow pine and smelling of sticky sap. There were two crossbars in place where once there had been one.

  After what I had seen on the docks, I feared opposition would rise against Silveta’s rule. My slave-mates also looked concerned—this war-torn place was not what they had expected.