Brandewyne, Rebecca (5 page)

Although
tall, broad of shoulder, long of limb, and powerfully muscled, there was
nothing slow or ponderous about Ivar. He moved with such suppleness and grace
that he had on his first raid earned his sobriquet, the Boneless, when, blessed
with the ability to contort his body in ways that were uncanny, he had
effortlessly evaded enemy weapons and dealt his foes many a death blow. Now he
was in his prime, and his lithe figure and superior skill with a broadsword
were such that his very name struck terror into the hearts of men. But
Wulfgar's own heart held jealousy and hatred for Ivar, as well as a grudging
respect and admiration for his prowess as a warrior. Only now and again, when
Ivar turned those pitiless blue eyes on him, did Wulfgar scent a mortal danger.
Someday, Ivar would slay him, he thought,
or he would be forced to kill Ivar.
This, Yelkei had told Wulfgar once, long ago, insisting that his destiny and
Ivar's were forever intertwined, like the interlaced branches of the pine and
spruce trees that stood close and thick in the woods. But young and frightened
by Yelkei's eerie prophesying, Wulfgar had flung away from her angrily, crying
out that she was an old fool and a fraud and a spiteful-tongued witch. Since
then, hurt and offended by his rejection, she had held her peace and had not
spoken to him again of what she saw in the fires and mists, and in her castings
of the rune stones.

Still,
Yelkei had done a strange thing this dawn as Wulfgar was tightly strapping the
last of his father's and half brothers' gear and provisions onto the sledge:
She had glided up beside him, as dark as a raven of ill omen in her old, worn
fur cloak, and laying one yellow, bony, clawlike hand upon his arm, she had
muttered:

"Have
a care, Wulfgar. This day, you will decide your destiny."

To
Wulfgar's deep frustration, there had been no time to ask what she meant by her
cryptic words; for just then, talking and laughing boisterously, Ragnar and his
sons had exited the great mead hall of Ragnar's
hof
a large
longhouse, and Yelkei had slipped
away as silently as she had come,
leaving Wulfgar standing there, staring after her, a chill in his bones that
had had naught to do with the biting wind. Now, as he thought once more of her
low, enigmatic pronouncement, he was unable to repress a shudder. Although
Wulfgar professed scorn for Yelkei's unworldly power, this was because he did
not understand it, and so it frightened him— as all things not understood by
men are frightening. Much of her knowledge, he judged, came from nothing more
than an innate shrewdness about human nature, and from her keeping her eyes and
ears open in such places as Ragnar's great mead hall and the marketsquare. Yet
there were times, Wulfgar was forced to admit, when Yelkei's slanted black eyes
took on a blank, farseeing gaze in her wrinkled moon face, and she spoke in a
voice that did not seem to come from her own throat, foretelling what could
have been known to no man, unless he were told it by the gods. Even mighty
Ragnar feared her at those times, and although she was naught but a yellow
slave from the vast grassy steppes of the Eastlands, did not dare to lift a
hand against her. Only Ivar was brave enough to deride her; but his laughter
too died away uneasily when she stared at him steadily, her small, stooped
figure suddenly looming large and forbidding in the face of his mockery.
Because of this, Wulfgar deep down inside thought that Yelkei was a true
spaewife, and he could not deny that her words earlier this morn haunted and
troubled him. With all his heart, he wished he knew what her warning had meant.

He
was so lost in contemplation of this that he did not hear Ragnar's terse
command to halt, and only Ivar's drawled taunt, inquiring whether Wulfgar were
bent on going
a-víking
in
a heavily laden sledge, and the laughter of the rest of the hunting party in
response to the gibe, brought him to his senses. At that, flushing a dull red
with anger and embarrassment, Wulfgar drew the oxen up sharply. Then, springing
lightly from the seat, he moved to untie the thongs that secured the provisions
and to unwrap the hides that contained generous quantities of salted bear meat,
smoked fish, dried fruit, and hard bread; for the gelid air and riding both
quickened a man's hunger, especially during the long, dark winter months, the
mørketiden,
the murky time.
The stout barrels of mead and
bjórr
were opened and cups filled. When
all had been served, the hunters, Wulfgar, and the other freedmen and slaves
who accompanied the hunting party were permitted to take their own shares.
Hunkered down beside
the sledge to block the worst of the wind, Wulfgar tore off with his fingers
chunks of the tough meat and coarse bread, chewing slowly to savor each bite
and washing the food down with long swallows of mead. Gradually, his belly grew
replete, his body warmed from the strong drink. For a moment, he closed his
eyes, longing to curl up by a fire somewhere and to sleep until the summer sun
woke the earth from its winter slumber. But too quickly the small meal was
finished; the short break was ended; and at Ragnar's order, the hunting party
was already mounting up.

Yelkei
was just a fool, a spiteful old fool, Wulfgar told himself again darkly as he
repacked the sledge, clambered back onto the seat, and once more took up the
reins. She had spoken so to him merely to frighten him, to put him on his guard
against perfidy this day; for she feared that Ragnar and his sons would slay
him, given the chance to do the deed without fear of blame or reprisal— and
more than one man had failed to return from a hunt. The bears, wolves, lynx,
badgers, wolverines, and elk that stalked the long-shadowed forests were
dangerous creatures, not so easy to kill as the foxes, reindeer, roe deer,
lemmings, beaver, martens, and hares that also abided there. Accidents
happened, just as they did upon the seas, whether the
prey was whales
or sea lions— or the towns of the kingdoms of the Eastlands and the Southlands.
Still, Wulfgar did not think it likely that Ragnar and his sons would seek to
be rid of him when there were others to bear witness against them,
jarlar
like
Björn Ironside and Hasting, who bore Wulfgar no grudge and, indeed, found no
small amusement and satisfaction in his being a thorn in his father's and half
brothers' sides. There were those who had as great a desire as Wulfgar to see
Ragnar and his sons laid low, and who, if the opportunity arose, would be quick
and glad to speak against them before the
Thing.
Although he had carved
out his own kingdom in the Northland, Ragnar was still subject to the Jutish
king across the Skagerrak, and he was no fool, besides. Yelkei was the fool,
Wulfgar thought again, with her fires and mists and rune stones, meddling in
what was the business of the gods, not of men. Like as not, she would cause the
wrath of the gods to fall upon
him,
and he would wind up accursed,
doomed to wander Náströnd, the Shore of Corpses, along Hel's river Gyoll until
Ragnarök, the twilight of the gods.

Then,
as he remembered how Yelkei loved him and had cared for him after his mother's
death, Wulfgar's heart softened and he felt
ashamed of his uncharitable thoughts.
She only sought to protect him, as she always had. It was not her fault if her
powers disturbed and unnerved him— and if he, being too proud and stubborn to
admit that fact, grew angry in order to hide his fear. That was the way of a
man; as a woman, Yelkei should understand that— and perhaps she did, for she
never reproached him for his harsh words, but quieted like a small, nesting
bird and bent her head and hands to her tasks. Later, she would see to it that
he had a second bowl of broth or stew to ease his hunger, or an extra cup of
mead or
bjórr
to warm him against the winter wind that crept through the
chinks and cracks of the tiny, wattle-and-daub hut he had, as a freedman, been
allotted within Ragnar's palisade. The hut had only one room, heated solely by
a small stone hearth set in the center of the hard earth floor; but resting
there was better than sleeping in the crowded slave pens or bedding down
outside in the snow. Yelkei slept curled up in a corner by the door of the hut,
and saw to Wulfgar's needs in her spare time, cooking or preserving whatever
small game he killed or fish he caught in his own free moments, and cleaning,
washing, and sewing for him late into the night, by the dim glow of the fire
and the rushlights.

As
he thought now of these things, Wulfgar knew in his heart that whatever Yelkei
had meant by her words, she wished only to protect him from harm. It would be
wise to be wary of treachery in the dark forest, he thought, unconsciously
laying one hand upon the scramasax he carried in a leather sheath at his belted
waist. He had forged the single-edged knife himself, of iron, setting the blade
into a fine, well-polished handle he had fashioned from the strong bone of an
elk.

Except
for Ivar, Wulfgar feared no mortal man, only the elves who stalked the woods,
and the dwarves, giants, and trolls who lurked in the caves of the hills and
the mountains alike. He had never forsaken his dream of becoming a warrior, and
every chance he found, he practiced in secret with the weapons he had made from
materials foraged or filched here and there: a case-hardened spear, its smooth
shaft of ash, its sharp head of iron; a longbow, and arrows tipped with iron
barbs and fletched with feathers stolen from the gyrfalcons in Ragnar's mews; a
round, leather-covered, lime-wood shield with an iron boss and rimmed with
strips of gilt-bronze; and his most prized possession, a battle-ax formed of a
keenly honed blade he had engraved with battle scenes and Odinn's runes, and
mounted to a stout, thong-
wrapped ash haft long and heavy enough that
wielding it required two hands. He called the weapon Blood-Drinker.

He
had no broadsword, for without formal training in its use, he could not have
hoped realistically to prevail over those experienced in its maneuvers. But
although wielding the battle-ax, too, required a certain amount of skill, its
effectiveness relied more upon its user's strength, of which Wulfgar had no
mean measure. More than one bush, branch, or young tree had met its demise at
the hands of Wulfgar and the blade of his battle-ax; and although it was not
meant for hunting, he had, some years back, blooded the weapon on the throat of
a great red stag. He had first wounded the animal with his spear, bringing the
mighty beast to its knees before setting its soul free, inhaling its last,
dying breath, and, afterward, marking his face with its warm, thick blood in
his own initiation rite as a man, a hunter, and a warrior. He and Yelkei had
eaten well for many long weeks after that.

As
most
thegns
did,
Wulfgar carried his favored weapon at his back, in a wide leather scabbard; and
the feel of it beneath his fur cloak reassured him, just as his scramasax did,
that if trouble came this winter's day, he would be prepared for it. If he must
die and
spend nine days and nights wandering Náströnd, the Shore of Corpses, to the
barred gates of Hel (for being no true warrior, Wulfgar had no thought of being
claimed by a golden Valkyrie and borne as a hero over the rainbow bridge,
Bifröst, unto Valhöll, Odinn's great mead Hall of the Slain, in Asgard), he
would not go without taking his enemies with him.

Yet,
curiously, Yelkei had not warned of his death, only of his destiny. At the
thought, Wulfgar sighed heavily. There was no point in his dwelling further on
her words; he could not fathom their meaning, and he was not an old dog to
worry a bone long after its meat had been picked clean and its marrow sucked
dry. He would trust to the gods and to his battle-ax to protect him. A man
could do no more than that.

The
hunting party had reached the edge of the forest now. There, Wulfgar drew the
sledge to a halt and jumped down from the seat, for from here, he must go on
afoot; the oxen and sledge were unable to keep pace with the horses on the
narrow, winding trails in the woods. As did the other freedmen, he filled
flasks with mead and
bjórr
for
his masters and wrapped some of the food, as well, into a pack he hefted onto
his back. Then he strapped on his snowshoes and, gathering
up the spears
of his father and half brothers, set out at an easy trot behind the hunters and
mounted men, leaving only the slaves behind to guard the oxen and the sledge.

Upon
the heath, the winter's day had been twilight-dim, and the forest was duskier
yet, long with shadows and deep with silence, so it seemed a place not of man
and beast, but of the gods and mythical creatures, and the hunting party
intruders, daring to trespass where it was not meet or safe to tread. He was
not alone in this feeling, Wulfgar thought. Even the
jarlar
and the
thegns
talked more
softly as they entered the woods— although it might have been because sounds
carried in the forest hush and would alert the herds of elk and deer to the
presence of men— and there was awe and not a little fear upon the faces of the
freedmen, who came seldom to the woods, which was a place not only of elves,
but also of other beings not human and of fantastic beasts, as well. It was
said that not only dwarves, giants, and trolls, but also dragons lived in the
caves of the forested hills and breathed a fire as deadly as the thunderbolts
that flew from Thor's great hammer, Mjöllnir, during a thunderstorm. Wulfgar
himself had never seen an elf, a dwarf, a giant, a troll, or a dragon; but as
the
skálds,
the
bards, sang of them, they must exist, he
thought, and he was glad the hunting
party moved so quietly, almost furtively through the woods.