Runestone (21 page)

“That is true. Let him do something else.”

“What would that be, my chief?”

Now Thorsson interrupted. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“He is asking that you show your power. He wants you to change into a wolf. I told him no, it is too dangerous.”

“What? I cannot—”

“Yes, yes, Thorsson, I know. I am trying to think. Can you do the thing with the sun-stone?”

“Of course not!” Nils snapped. “It needs daylight. That is why it is called that, the ‘sun-stone.’”

Now a new idea occurred to Odin. He turned back to Flying Squirrel.

“My chief, I have discussed this matter with the holy man. He says that to become a wolf is too dangerous to others. The children, here.” He paused and gestured around the circle.
There were nods of agreement, and a few looks of apprehension.

“So,” Odin went on, “White Wolf thinks that you are right. It is best not to do that.”

He hurried on, having planted the idea in the minds of the listeners that their leader had made such a choice in the interests of their safety. There was no way that Flying Squirrel could react except with thanks. The chieftain nodded.
He knows
, thought Odin.
He knows that I left him no choice but to agree. Very careful now
.

“We spoke of the changing of the colors of stones,” Odin went on. “His power is of—” He had started to say “of the sunlight,” but stopped himself in time. That might imply that White Wolf was powerless at night. That could be a dangerous idea.

Then the answer occurred to him, itself like a gift from above. He cleared his throat.

“His power is the greatest of gifts,” he went on with confidence. “He will use it for the good of your people when he can. But, my chief, you know the dangers of
misuse
of such a gift. As your own holy men will tell you, to misuse such a gift is bad. He would not only lose it, but might sicken, or die.”

He paused, hoping that the thought would occur to the chief that on White Wolf’s dying, the evil spirit might be released to look for another body in which to dwell. That had worked once.

“Do you not think, my chief, that to change the color of stones for amusement of the crowd here might be questionable?”

He saw that he was reaching the chief. Flying Squirrel did not seem happy about it, but realized that Odin had left him with the decision-making power.

“That is true,” the chief said crisply. “Let us not ask anything that is unsafe. Now, we go on with the council.”

T
he Norsemen settled uneasily into the routine of their captors. It was exceedingly frustrating to go about the day-to-day living, not knowing what might come. Mainly, it was a boring existence. Their needs were cared for, they were respected, even honored to an extent, but their captors did not seem to have a plan beyond this.

Nils was picking up a few words of the Skraeling tongue, which helped some. Odin shrugged it off with a gesture that said it was a waste of time. Nils still did not completely understand why. He had the vague idea that Odin expected at any time to leave the hospitality of these Skraelings, if it could be called that. Yet nothing was happening, and that fact did not seem to bother Odin. Nils tried to question him about it. What did he expect, and when? He received no answers at all, which was even more frustrating than trying to learn the Skraelings’ language without help.

“What happens will happen,” Odin said, “when it is time.”

There was a certain degree of hostility toward them, mostly from a few individuals. The woman with the stone knife still made him quite uneasy. She eyed his groin suggestively at every opportunity.

“She lost a son,” Odin explained in answer to his questions.

Her attitude was understandable, then, Nils realized. He could even feel a certain compassion for her. This, however, was far overshadowed by his concern for the threat to his own private parts. He resolved to watch her closely, and to maintain his guard. He began to think of her as the Knife Woman, though he did not know her name.

Once, when the woman had been especially aggressive
toward him, at least by suggestion, she was reprimanded by Flying Squirrel. She backed down, sullen and with a glance over her shoulder that was unrepentant. The point was clear. She waited only for an opportunity to act, to accomplish her vengeance.

Svenson was amused by all of this, much to the discomfiture of Nils.

“She wants you, White Wolf,” Sven leered.

“It is not funny, Sven,” Nils snapped at him. “You see how she looks at me.”

“That is true,” the sailor agreed. “I have seen women look at you there before, but they did not carry a knife!”

He slapped his knee and roared with laughter.

“You would not think it so amusing if your parts were the ones in danger,” flared Nils.

“Do not talk so,” cautioned Odin. “They must not think you are quarreling. Anyway, this woman will not be allowed to harm you, Thorsson. Just do not be alone with her.”

Ah, so there is danger!
thought Nils.

“Why me?” he asked Odin. “Why not you, or Svenson?”

Odin gave his shrug. “You are our leader, maybe. The one with power. She would cut off your power.”

Nils’s groin tightened defensively at the mere thought. Svenson chuckled to himself, but then quieted as both Odin and Nils turned a stern glance at him.

“Just be careful,” Odin cautioned.

It was a warning that was not really needed. Nils’s concern was already an active, constant thing.

Even so, their stay in the village of Flying Squirrel was not unpleasant. The wives of the chieftain were skilled in the preparation of food. Nils found some of the new tastes quite pleasant, and of variety that had not been available at Straumfjord. Or, he now realized, at home in Stadt. There were vegetables that he had never seen or tasted. One such item appeared to be a basic food for the Skraelings. It was a large gourdlike globe, yellowish in color, which was seen to grow on vines. The women were in the process of harvesting and drying fleshy slices of this vegetable for winter storage. Pumpkin, it was called. The seeds were also saved and dried. They, too, would provide food.

In and among the pumpkin vines were large numbers of another plant that seemed an important crop. Each stalk was as tall as a man’s head, and along its sides were from two to four ears of grain, of a kind Nils had never seen. The large corns reminded him of teeth in shape and size. Maize, Odin called it. This grain was sometimes ground to a meal, but the women also cooked it as whole grains, mixed with yet another seed that was unfamiliar to the Norsemen. This was another vine, bearing pods much like those of peas or lentils. The seeds inside were larger, however, oval in shape and flattened. The mix of these beans with the maize provided a colorful and quite pleasant eating experience.

By contrast to these new vegetables and grains, the Skraelings seemed to have no source of meat except from hunting. It seemed strange that there were no cattle or sheep or poultry. The only domestic animals at all, in fact, were the few wolflike dogs that skulked around the huts.

Even so, there was abundant game. Deer were plentiful, as well as waterfowl. There was a large bird that was prized for its flesh and its feathers, larger than a goose but a creature of the forest. It was the same bird, he finally realized, whose feathers were used by the Skraelings to fletch their arrows.

   The long days of late summer now began to grow shorter. Lines of high-flying geese trumpeted their way across the sky. Squirrels busied themselves with gathering and storing nuts. There was a restlessness in the air. The Skraelings accelerated their process of gathering, preparing, and storing food supplies for winter. Even the Knife Woman was too preoccupied to present a major threat to Nils.

There was at the same time an easing of the curiosity toward the Norsemen. Partly it was because everyone was busy with the harvest and its tasks. But it must have been also that familiarity, while breeding not necessarily contempt, certainly led to tolerance. The strangers were accepted for what they were. Outsiders, whose ways were strange and whose powers were great, were dwelling among them. Yet these men seemed harmless enough. White Wolf and the Fire Maker even took part in a hunt or two, which made their differences seem less.

As that change took place, there was another. Flying Squirrel recognized it, but was unsure what to do about it. He said nothing, for a leader does not admit that he is unsure. At least, not publicly. Most people still seemed unaware that a decision was needed. Thus it was easy to postpone such a step.

People will forgive many things in a leader. They will even forgive a mistake. One thing that is difficult to forgive, though, is the absence of decision. Even a wrong decision is better than none, because inaction gives the appearance of weakness. Flying Squirrel, being a wise leader, was aware of this, but was not certain what he wished to do. It was easier to let the days pass, and to see the calm acceptance of the strangers, than to face his dilemma. Sooner or later, he must decide what to do with them, but each day he told himself,
maybe tomorrow
.

All of this came abruptly to a halt one summer afternoon when he was approached by his head wife. Flying Squirrel was seated comfortably, smoking, when he saw her approaching. There was something about the way she walked that told him much. He wondered again at the many things a woman can express merely by the way she swings her hips. In the present case, Turtle Woman expressed stolid determination as she marched up to where he sat and planted her feet firmly before him.
What is it?
he wondered.

“Squirrel,” she began, hands on her hips, “what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“About these strangers. They are a bother to have in the lodge. They eat a lot, and we have none too much room.”

Ah
, he thought,
so that is it!

“And winter is coming,” she went on. “Are we to plan for them, too, this season?”

Well, it was out in the open. Now he must face it, though he realized that he had been avoiding the obvious. He took a long pull on his pipe and tried to look thoughtful.

“Yes, I have thought much on this,” he said thoughtfully. That much was true, at least. He still had no real idea what he would do. Maybe he could distract her. “I thought you liked having the handsome White Wolf around,” he teased.

“
Huh!
Much good it does me!” she retorted. “When I was younger, maybe.” She tossed her head flirtatiously. Two could play at this game!

Flying Squirrel smiled. The outsiders had been with them nearly a moon, and had not been much trouble. From the first, he had seen this as a temporary situation, but he was not certain how he had expected it to resolve. Normally, they could have killed the intruders and it would have been over. He could have kept them as slaves, even, selling or trading them later. It was very fortunate that they had
not
tried either of those courses of action. He still shuddered sometimes as he thought of the narrow escape. How close they had come to attempting harm to the holy man, White Wolf, and his two assistants!

“What do you think I should do, Turtle?” he asked.

His wife shrugged. “I do not care,” she answered. “But I must
know
. If they are to be with us for the winter, we must store more food.”

She turned on her heel and strode away.

“I will talk to them of it!” he called after her.

Turtle Woman said nothing, and did not turn, but merely waved a hand. But the brief conversation had had its effect. There was still determination expressed in the retreating feminine behind.
It still looks pretty good, though
, he told himself with amusement. Well, he would do something.

He rose and sought out the one-eyed interpreter. That was a clever one! Squirrel realized now that they had badly underestimated him when they held him prisoner before. Too bad about the eye.

“I would speak with you,” he greeted, halting before the tree where Odin sat.

“Yes, my chief?”

“It is about what you are going to do.”

“I?” asked Odin innocently.

“Yes…you three.”

“Oh. We are doing well, thank you.”

“No, no. What will you do now?”

“Oh. I thought I might sleep in the sun a little while. Maybe smoke a little.”

Anger rose in Flying Squirrel for a moment. Surely this man was not so stupid.
No, he is teasing me
, he thought.
He knows
.

“It is good,” Squirrel said casually, holding himself in check. “And what, later?”

“Maybe a walk along the river.”

“I mean…what of next moon?”

“Oh. I had not thought of that. Sleep some more, maybe.”

It was more than Flying Squirrel could tolerate. He bit his lip for a moment, until he could retain his composure.

“Had you decided when you wish to leave?” Squirrel asked casually.

“You wish us to go?” Odin asked in surprise. “Ah, my chief, we would not wish to abuse your hospitality. My apologies, for myself and for my holy man. He did not know.”