Runestone (17 page)

Nils would have had great difficulty in describing his feelings. He could not have said when it happened, or
what
had happened. He was standing on the very edge of the rocky shelf, screaming at those below. Screaming nonsense syllables that seemed meaningful though he did not know what they meant. As he had chanted, the words of challenge had become less and less coherent, replaced with nonsense. Some were completely foreign, gutturals and falsettos, growls and howls and screams.

Now his companions and enemies alike stared at him in
wonder. The sounds issuing from his mouth seemed not to come from any human throat. They were animal sounds, and were now more like the howl of a wolf as the pursuit draws to a close and the kill is near.

The Skraelings below stood openmouthed in awe at the transformation. They could see the vacant look in the eyes of the white-haired stranger. His pale skin shone white in the morning sun.

Nils’s reflexes were still functioning at their best, or perhaps better, even. By sheer instinct, his right hand gripped the sword and his left clutched the belt knife. Now, with hardly a glance below, he jumped from the ledge with a final roar of challenge.

The slope was perhaps the height of two men below the ledge. He struck the grass and rolled once, which brought him to a more level spot. He crouched for a moment on all fours to regain his balance, while yet another animal howl issued from his lungs. Then he stood erect, weapons ready, to meet the charge of the enemy.

And nothing happened. The Skraelings stood, watching, making no effort to attack. The white-haired figure rushed at them, and they fell away, hurrying out of his path. He tried again to attack, but the Skraelings dissolved again before his rush. He howled again, a frustrated challenge.

On the ledge above, Odin had watched with fascination. He had not expected the Norseman to be capable of such a ceremony. He did not know what he had expected. But surely, by all reason, the light-haired Thorsson should have been lying dead and dismembered almost before he struck the slope. He realized, of course, what held the enemy back. They had not expected, any more than Odin had, such a ceremony of the spirit.

Now Odin was thinking rapidly. The situation was critical, and could turn to disaster in the space of a heartbeat. They must do something. He glanced at Svenson, who was staring in openmouthed amazement. There was no time to communicate to him. Odin stepped to the very edge.

“Now hear me, below,” he shouted in the tongue of the
Skraelings’ tribe. “It is well that you have not harmed this holy man.”

He looked at their upturned faces.
Good
, he thought.
Now, if they will continue to listen
. The naked Norseman was standing there, swaying a little as he stood, exhausted from the spirit-visit that had just occurred. His howls were less pronounced, and he looked a bit confused.

“It is good that you have not harmed him,” Odin continued. “Of course, you had no way of knowing his powers, so maybe he will forgive you this time.”

There was a little nervous laughter, but many doubtful looks.

“This is a most powerful holy man,” Odin went on. “You saw him turn himself into a wolf, almost, and begin his challenge on all fours?”

There were nods of amazement.

“What have you to do with this man?” asked their leader.

“I am his helper,” Odin shouted dramatically. “So is this other, the Fire Hair, here.” He pointed to Svenson. “He carries fire for our holy man.”

There was a pause, and finally the Skraeling leader answered.

“I do not believe you. We only let him live on account of the spirit. Maybe we will kill him when it quiets down.”

“Go ahead, if you want to take the risk,” Odin shrugged. “But, to loose such a dangerous spirit … ah, you must be as crazy as he is!”

Again, nervous laughter.

“Look,” Odin continued, “we all know how dangerous are the spirits that possess madmen. I am safe up here, but you would not expose yourself to this one by killing the body where it lives.”

The looks below said that the Skraelings respected this line of reasoning, and Odin pushed on.

“You have no idea of this man’s powers. We have seen him change the color of stones just by holding them in his hands. And Fire Hair, by the powers of his leader, can start a fire without even any rubbing-sticks.”

There was a snort of derision, but most of those below seemed to take the whole thing quite seriously.

“What is happening?” asked the confused Svenson.

“I will tell you later. Do nothing until I ask it, and then do what I ask. You have your fire-maker?”

“Yes.”

“Keep it ready.”

He turned again to speak to those below.

“We will come down now,” he said confidently, “but by the trail. We cannot fly like our holy man.”

The Skraelings below nodded in acceptance, and the two gathered the cast-aside clothing of their comrade and made their way down the narrow path to the grassy slope below. The others kept their distance.

“It is good,” said Odin, “that you did not try to harm him. I shudder to think what he might have done to you.”

The leader of the Skraelings was staring, and now spoke.

“I … I
know
you!” he said. “You were our prisoner…the eye…you escaped!”

“Yes,” Odin answered casually, “that is true. I have decided to forgive you for that.”

An expression of rage came across the face of the other.

“
You
forgive
us?
Why should we not kill you right now?”

“If you think you want the risk. But I forget. …You have not yet seen the powers of my leader here. I am under his protection, and so is Fire Hair. He even changed my name! I am Odin, father of the gods!”

Odin felt that he was making an impression, but that he needed an example of some sort. This could still go either way.

“Let me dress White Wolf, the holy man,” he suggested. “Sometimes he is dangerous for a little while after one of these spirit-visits. You have seen him act like a madman.”

There were vigorous nods of agreement. Odin stepped very cautiously toward where the naked man stood. Nils stared numbly, exhausted from his strenuous effort.

“Here, Thorsson,” Odin said gently. “Put on your clothes. You may have saved us. Now move very slowly…here, let me take your long knife.”

He took the sword, though Nils held it tightly for a little while, not wanting to give it up.

“I will hold it for you, Thorsson, it is good,” Odin continued.
“Here, your shirt…” He turned to the leader of the Skraelings. “I need some water for the holy man,” he said with authority. “He is always thirsty after one of these ceremonies.”

The leader nodded and sent a man for a waterskin. Odin was pleased.

“It is good,” he told Nils again.

“What? What happened, here?” asked Nils, bewildered.

“Yes, what?” Svenson added, still gripping his ax tightly.

“They think Thorsson is a holy man,” Odin related quickly. “We are his helpers, so act so. I will tell you what we must do, and tell more later. Thorsson, are you all right?”

“I think so … a little dizzy…tired.”

“You can rest soon. We need one ceremony. Can you show them the sun-stone?”

“Where is it?” asked Nils.

“I have it here. When I hand it to you, do the thing to make it blue.”

The warrior returned with a waterskin, and Odin ceremoniously handed it to Nils. Nils sipped slowly, cautioned by Odin.

“It will hurt your stomach to drink too fast, Thorsson.”

“It is good,” Nils mumbled.

“The holy man says his helpers must have some, too,” proclaimed Odin, taking the skin when Nils had finished. He sipped and handed it to Svenson.

“Now, after the White Wolf ceremony he likes to sleep a little, it takes much out of him. But he will give you a small demonstration of his power before he takes rest.”

He took the leather pouch and made a ceremony of opening its drawstrings to slide the sun-stone into his palm. Then he handed it to Nils.

“Hold it high, Thorsson, so all can see,” he suggested. Then he resumed the tongue of the Skraelings. “As you can see, this is a thin gray stone,” he narrated. “Now watch it closely.”

Nils rotated the object slowly, and as it neared the north-south alignment, there was a gasp from the warriors.

“It is
blue!”

“Yes, it is as I told you,” said Odin haughtily. “He changes
stones with his hands. Now I must ask him to rest. It is enough for now.”

The Skraeling leader nodded. “We will stand watch,” he said. “Tell your holy man not to worry. We will protect him.”

Odin stifled a smile. This had worked out much better than he could have foreseen. Already there was running through his head ideas of other ceremonies. Even the name, Thorsson, could be used. The son of Thor, god of thunder … Of course, White Wolf was good, too. But it was good to know the Norseman’s name among his own people. That might be used later. And Fire Hair … he would work on that, too. For the immediate future, it would be enough to have Svenson make a fire with his striker and flint.

But for now, some water, food, and rest. A great weight was lifting from them.

That thought was somewhat nullified through an offhanded remark by the Skraeling leader as they settled down to rest.

“You are still our captives, of course.”

I
t was late afternoon now. Looking back on the events of the day, Nils Thorsson found that he could recall very little of how it happened. He remembered the decision to go berserk, and the excitement that began to generate as he prepared himself. Then it all became a half-forgotten blur, a dreamlike memory of howling and trying to fight. But his adversaries kept falling away, retreating out of reach as he attacked. …Like a dream.

Dimly, he remembered Odin, standing beside him and exhorting the Skraelings in their own tongue. He had not understood
the strange power that his companion held over the enemy. It was even more confusing when he learned that this power belonged not to Odin, but to himself, Nils Thorsson.

“It is not mine, Thorsson,” Odin explained. “Yours is the power. I am only your helper, as Svenson is.”

Nils was uncertain. Was their one-eyed companion serious, or was this some bizarre trick to ridicule him? Odin seemed serious, and certainly the Skraelings seemed to treat Nils with a great deal of respect. A little fear, even. This sudden shift, from the surety of being killed by these people to being
honored
by them, was more than he could grasp.

They were captives. Odin made certain that he understood that, as soon as he was able. But prisoners who were allowed to keep their weapons?

“We are honored captives, Thorsson,” Odin explained. “We will be treated well if we do not become dangerous to them. So be careful.”

Nils had difficulty understanding their status. He himself seemed to be honored and feared, but to a degree, so were Svenson and Odin. The Skraeling tried to explain.

“You are regarded as a holy man, Thorsson.”

“But
why?”

Odin shrugged. “It happened that way. We were able to make it seem so.”

“You mean, you told them this?”

“Well, maybe. Partly, anyway. But it is true, is it not, if they think it to be so?”

It was a puzzling question that had no answer.

“But what about you and Sven?”

“Oh, we are your helpers. I help you carry the things of your power … the sun-stone…your garments.”

“Yes, I remember, now. You asked me to use the stone. But we knew north…and why did we
need
to know then?”

Odin chuckled. “We did not. I did not tell them of that power of the stone. Only that you could make it change color. We will save the north-finding power for later.”

This man, Nils realized, had had a much greater part in their survival than he had realized.

“And what is Svenson’s part in this?”

“He carries fire.”

“Fire?”

“Yes. He had the little fire-striker, as your people use, with a flint stone.”

“Yes, but—”

“These, whom you call Skraelings, start fire only with fire-sticks.”

Odin gestured with his hands, showing the motion of a spindle in the socket of a fire-board.

“I do not understand, Odin.”

“Well, I have told them that the Fire Hair can bring fire from a stone.”

“Fire Hair?”

“Yes. I thought it would be good to have them think that this is why his hair is red … he is the fire carrier.”

Nils smiled in amusement.

“Does Svenson know this?”

Odin glanced at Svenson, who was drowsing nearby. The entire experience of the past days had been a severe physical demand on them all.

“Yes, partly. I told him to take special care of the fire-maker.”

“The Skraelings have not seen it yet?”

He hesitated a moment at the use of the term Skraeling to a Skraeling. Did that make sense? Could it be an offensive thing to Odin?

Odin seemed not to notice. “Not yet,” he said. “I was saving that, too.”

There was a mischievous twinkle in Odin’s one eye.
He is enjoying this!
thought Nils.