No, arm. Isi taught him this. She had hugged his arm and then brought him the largest fish she could find, a gnarled spotted thing longer than the girl who carried it. He held it up by its hooked lower jaw before swallowing it whole.
He blinked several times. The loop again. He tried to explain it to his good friends but he could hardly make their sounds. His thoughts would run towards humanity for moments, minutes, sometimes entire days until a fish or a scent or his sleep reclaimed him and he became the nameless wild thing that he had always been.
He wanted to tell them. They were wise and would know the magic words to repair his broken mind. They knew more about the world than he thought possible. Whole countries existed across the endless ocean! Jernbjorn thought he had known this once.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.
The distant longship thundered. Jernbjorn bounded on four legs from his perch to follow the ship as it invaded the fjord. He darted over boulders as large as the fort’s small hall, kicking scrim loose to fall from the high cliffs into the waiting inlet. Far below, a little man beat sticks against a barrel. Einhar would want to know. Einhar watched all things. Jernbjorn took a final look at the advancing longship and then raced north to the fort.
◆◆◆
Boom.
“We struck with our swords!”
Boom.
“Our souls are glad for we know!”
Boom.
“That bench of Balder’s father is made ready for our feast!”
Boom.
“We drain our horns of ale!”
Boom.
“From the horns and skulls of those we slay!”
Boom.
“No warrior mourns his own death!”
Boom.
“In the wondrous house of Ongul!”
The procession stopped at the fort’s gate. The singing stopped when Ongul raised his fist. He began to beat the drum, first in rhythm and then as fast as his arms could move. His dark unbraided hair whipped around his head. The sticks snapped. The sound washed over the fort, through the walls, and into the morning air above. The gate swung open.
“Ongul Grimar,” Einhar said. “You have returned.”
“I have, Einhar Nameless. Come, show me the lay of this Valhalla my son built amidst the frozen wastes.”
Ongul forced past into the courtyard. Watchers gathered along the walls. Children stoked their fires. The hall’s great doors were open. Spring was here, after all.
“Einhar Bevakare now, Lord Ongul.”
Einhar was considering the warriors as he spoke. They were hard-salted men. He knew many of them: Freyja Wolfsbane wrapped in the tatters of his ancient wolf hide, Floki Bjorsson as tall and slim and seemingly vacant as ever, the twins Erik whispering among themselves. There were new faces, too. Ongul had been raiding. Had he found these new warriors there at the top of the world where he was looking for passage? No, these were Northmen like him. Each carried knife, sword or ax, spear, and round shield. Their faces were flush from their song. Tattoos covered their necks. These were ravenous raiders but not starving men. True Vikings by profession, unlike the settlers inside the camp. Where had Ongul come from?
“Bevakare! The watcher has earned the name Watcher. A worthy name. I assumed you earned it well. Tell me the story.”
Einhar saw Ongul’s hands slide to the grips of his knife and axe in a motion meant to seem like those fatal hands simply rested on nearby perches. The watcher leaned into his spear. It would be an evil thing to lie. He wondered if he could swirl his words around the truth such that the gods might forgive a watcher for dishonesty.
Ongul’s bright eyes shined as he waited for his answer. Maybe the truth would be enough. Ongul was a harsh man but not a cruel one. He had to understand what his son chose. What the gods chose.
“It was a gift, Lord. This is a wild world full of strange things. Gifts from the World Tree itself. I and Gretta of the Good Sight watched as a, oh there is not a name, as a monst… a bear, it stalked the camp. Truly Gretta spied it first but I understood its intention and... “
“You saved the village from a bear that you and the one-eyed girl child spied? Einhar forgive me, but this is hardly purpose for a name. Especially for a cuckold and a murderer.”
Einhar’s willowy fingers flexed around the spear. He did not need to look to see Ongul’s hands shift from hilt to grip. The chieftain’s eyes darted to the villagers.
“Those are rabbit pelts on your hard shoulders, bear slayer.”
“Bear slayer I am not.” Einhar shrugged. “But the beast is no more.”
“Then I assume my bastard son is no longer the victim of his own arrogance and has taken a name again! The name Bjorn is hardly worth this effort. It must be some bear. Tell me, Einhar Bevakare, where is my son?”
His warriors dispersed among the villagers while they spoke. The Wolfsbane adjusted a watch fire while Floki slurped fresh water from a barrel. Something was wrong.
“When, Einhar, does my son return?”
Grettir stumbled through the open gate. He struggled to catch himself as Isi collided with him. The pair splashed into the cold mud. Isi was on his feet first.
“Lord Ongul! Welcome!”
He wiped mud from his face and flung it at the ground. Brown water stained his blonde beard.
The lord bowed.
“I thank you, Isi. You seem eager to see me. Tell me, how is it you knew I arrived?”
“Why we, uh, have heard your horn.”
Einhar saw Isi’s eyes shake in his head as he struggled not to look at the watcher for help. Grettir managed to stand. He was bent over with both hands on his knees. Clouds rose from his mouth. Mud covered his smooth face. What had they done with the beast?
“Yes, my horn. Valstaff, bring me the horn I used to signal our approach.”
An ogre of a man carrying a huge staff banded in studded iron walked forward and held out his empty hand. He chuckled as he pretended to drop a horn into Ongul’s hand.
“Thank you, Valstaff. You see, Isi the Liar, I blew no horn. Your watcher at the fjord ran ahead to warn you. Then you chose to flee the fort for…” he cast the empty hand out to the wilderness, “for nothing at all, and now you come running back and feign surprise.”
Ongul’s squelching footsteps in the partially frozen mud were deafening in the total silence. Even the wind was still. Einhar saw his lord’s hands fall away from the weapons. This was worse, somehow. He dared not move. Ongul took Isi’s face in his hands.
“Since Einhar Bevakare will not tell me, you will. Nephew, where is my son?”
“He is…”
Isi’s teeth chattered. He drew a deep breath.
“He is slain, Lord Ongul.”
Isi closed his eyes to embrace the sharp twist of his neck. It never came. Ongul spun away to consider the hall.
“No. No. Grettir, tell me the truth.”
Einhar watched Grettir stare down at his own boots. The foolish boy’s fingers twitched near his knife. That would take too long. Ongul’s scarred hands were almost as famous as the man himself. Even then, what good would it do? These warriors would not respect a kin-slayer and usurper. All they had to do was take what goods and women they wanted and leave on their ships. Einhar was mistaken. Only a few familiar faces remained among Ongul’s crew. These were foreign men from other families.
“Isi speaks truth, Lord Ongul. He was slain before winter’s darkest days,” Grettir muttered.
“Slain.” Ongul turned back to the cousins. “Slain. Slain! Tell me then, who is his avenger? Bring me the corpse of the man who killed my son.”
“It was a beast, a bear,” Isi whispered.
“A bear! The same that Einhar the Watcher claims is no more?”
“Aye, the same,” Grettir said.
“And did he slay this beast? Show me its fur that I may rend it to shreds and burn it as an offering to the wretched gods who did this to my child.”
No one moved. Even the raiders wai
ted. They vibrated along a single breath as they waited for Ongul’s fury. His voice was steady, even calm, until now. He slipped the bearded axe from his belt. Einhar saw every line in the oiled handle, every rune and blood channel in the axe head, every chip in the beard where so many iron-rimmed shields were snatched away. All the world was that axe. He swung it around to the muddy men.
“I command you to show me this…”
But Ongul was no longer looking at the shaking men. He was staring through the open gate. Einhar forced his body to breathe again. The monster Jernbjorn waited there.
Ongul walked through Isi and Grettir to stand at the curious creature’s feet. It did not react. Einhar forced another breath. He had tried to teach Jernbjorn to control his frightening strength. Would the beast remember the way?
The raiders were circling again. Several appeared outside the wall with spears ready while others notched but did not draw their arrows. How many blades could the beast take before it raged or died? It was not the same dumb thing it had been on that dark night so many months before. That was his doing, him and Isi and Grettir. They had stripped him of both his bestial nature and his bestial armor.
“This…” Ongul said, “this is the beast by which Einhar-Loki the Deceiver earned his name. Is it not? Is this the beast that denies me my son?”
He let the axe slip through his grip until he held only the butt between his finger and his thumb. It swung back and forth. Ongul meant to punish the thing for the sin of denying him. Einhar’s hand found his sigil as he muttered its name. He hoped that Jernbjorn would remember the sigil’s fresh scar on his own forearm. This was not a time for violence. The beast needed to remember.
“This thing would deny… it denied my son his destiny?”
“Your son’s destiny did not bring us here, Ongul. You did.”
Isi pushed Grettir’s protesting hand away as he stepped between Ongul and the monster.
“You ordered him to earn a new name since he forsake that given by his mother at birth. He had no choice. You ordered him here.”
Einhar saw Isi brace to block the coming axe. It would only take a moment for the chieftain to feint with the axe, free his knife, and ruin Isi’s guts. But Ongul smiled instead and looked like that black wolf made human.
“He forsook his own name. I ordered him to cleanse his sin against his family. You protect this thing.” Ongul’s voice was a flat as the silent night.
“It is a gift from the gods. You must see. It is not… it is not as it was on that night. It speaks, Ongul. It learns. It becomes more like a man each day.”
“You would make human the monster that killed my child?”
The axe stopped swinging.
“Not I. The gods. The Grimarsson, he… I loved him as my own brother. But he attacked Jernbjorn not once but twice, and after Jernbjorn saved us from the wolves.”
“Jernbjorn. So you both name and make human this beast. The iron bear. We will see.”
Ongul flicked the axe behind him in a quick circle, catching it above his shoulder and swinging it at Jernbjorn as his knife flashed from its sheath. Isi lunged forward but Grettir held him back. The raiders drew their bowstrings taut and presented their spears.
Jernbjorn caught the bearded blade between two fingers and yanked it from the chieftain.
“Enough!”
Einhar’s own voice surprised him. This was folly. He had a name again. He had a home. This should be enough. He should not give it all away for some cursed beast in the frozen wilderness. But he knew he would. All things deserved a chance at life.
“Enough, Ongul Grimar. Where have you been all this winter? Tell us. Did you find the passage north across the world? Your men are too fat and too new for all that. Their leather is oiled. Their faces are full. It is nearly summer. The ice broke from the inlet more than a month ago but there was no longship waiting for us. Tell me, did you enjoy your winter at Greenland?”
Ongul’s furious face cracked. His bright eyes darted to the monster. It had hardly moved except to stop the axe that it now examined like a child playing with an unfamiliar toy.
“You would challenge my…”
Einhar leaned farther onto his spear while holding up an empty palm.
“It is only a question, Lord Ongul. Did you find your way north or did the gods ordain that you would not find the path this winter?”
“I… do not question… there is only for man to try and the gods to allow. Of course the gods did not bless me on this trip, else I would have found the way.”
“So you returned to distant Greenland to restock and prepare to evacuate us from this place. The tides changed and you wisely adjusted your sails.”
Ongul stood inches from Einhar’s face. His eyes seemed to vibrate inside his skull as he struggled to contain his rage. The knife still waited in his hand.
“Yes, Einhar.” His lip trembled. “What is your point?”
“As did we, Lord Ongul. The winter was harsher than any I’ve lived through. Your son, he… he took to the drink and became obsessed with hunting Jernbjorn. But the wolves came one night, Lord Ongul. A demon wolf leapt the walls. Jernbjorn saved us from it. In his drunken ardor, the Grimarsson challenged Jernbjorn not once but twice and lost. It was our way of things.”
Einhar tried to relax his gut. Staying tense would do nothing to stop the knife. He felt the muscle spasm as he struggled to breathe. Where did these words come from? He saw many things but could never connect their meanings like this. He was only a watcher.
“This thing, then…” Ongul turned back on the childish beast.
Jernbjorn waited, crouched on its hind legs with arms punched into the earth, looking too much like the great apes brought north from Africa by the Islamic traders as they spread their sacrilege by way of the Rus tribes.
“This thing saved the village. It lives.”
Isi gasped and Grettir laughed. Einhar squinted at them.
“Alone. It lives alone. This is not a man, no matter its name or its deeds.”
The tremble vanished from Ongul’s voice.
“My son was too weak to slay it. This is his folly. He died without a name. I will not slay the gods’ playthings. But it lives alone. We sail for camp in the morning and for home soon after. Enough of this empty land. Let the Skraeling have it. This whole land is not for men like us. As you say, Einhar, I am wise to adjust my sails.”
“But Lord Ongul…” Isi stumbled to him.
Ongul held up a single gnarled hand. His voice was steady now, even pleasant. Einhar saw all his rage vanish with the morning mist. It was over. Jernbjorn would remain here while every person he ever knew sailed west for home. He would become a beast again. Ongul had won, as he always did, in the end.
“What would you ask of me, Isi? Think on this. What sin did this monster commit to be made as such? I have seen men kill their fathers and mothers, their own children. I have seen them rape their slaves and burn the idols of foreign and native gods. Your own watcher prays to both Grimnir and Jesus. They have cursed the names of the stars in the sky and turned away from the wisdom of their families. Yet they either hanged or grew fat and rich. What would this…” he waved a dismissive hand. “This creature do to earn such wrath at this? It is torn between beast and man. Bor himself could not create a torment so harsh. I do not care for your thoughts anymore. This is a thing meant to be alone. Born of hell or not, I care nothing. We set sail tomorrow morning.”
◆◆◆
The ships sailed for Greenland at dawn. Another had arrived during the previous day. Into it were stuffed the fresh salt kegs full of the fish Jernbjorn provided, the meager belongings that had survived the winter, and as many villagers as would fit. Ongul did not want them among his raiders. Only Einhar was invited aboard the lord’s vessel.
Jernbjorn watched from the beach as the old watcher and his good friends Isi and Grettir vanished into the bellies of the wooden dragons. He followed their journey south to the open ocean and sat at his perch as
their sails vanished into the horizon.
The beast held the sigil in his hand. It carried many words that he did not understand. What was a sigil? Einhar had burned his arm with it once. Now it was Jernbjorn’s to keep. He looked at the small metal circle with its many carved lives. A thick line pointed to the four corners of the earth. Isi taught him that with a map of the world. These people could draw maps of the whole world! Many smaller lines jutted at strange angles and curves from the main lines. Isi called it a wayfinder. The strange angles and curves meant something in the runic language Jernbjorn had not yet learned. He still did not understand. He found his way with these people and was becoming something new, something familiar, but they left across the ocean and he was alone again.
He waited until the sun set. The lights flickered in the sky. Their power diminished now as summer neared, but there they were. They would always be there. He looked back at the sigil. He would remember his friends and what he learned. He would not lose himself into the terrible loop from man to animal again. He was a man, after all, or would be soon.
The forest called to Jernbjorn and he rejoined it.
CHAPTER 10 - PEER REVIEW
The fireplace was cold when Charlie stopped speaking. Eliza forced several drowsy blinks. Had she been sleeping? No, she heard the whole insane story from beginning to end. There were so many questions. Too many questions. What time was it? She looked to the windows. The stiff muscles in her neck struggled to function. Her body was asleep even if she wasn’t.
She pulled herself up over the chair, pausing to consider Tim. His large body sprawled over the groaning couch. Was he snoring? His chest rose and fell in rhythm and his eyes were closed… no, he still paid attention to the storyteller atop the pile of furs. How had they stayed awake this long?
The familiar hazy light of early morning filled the deep windows. So it was dawn o’clock. She looked back to Charlie. He was watching the cold fireplace.
The Sin Eaters Page 11