Runestone (30 page)

The other shrugged. “It is as it should be. Have you seen Hawk Woman yet?”

Odin’s heart jumped. “No … I … I had supposed that she must be married.”

“Yes, yes, of course. She married Old Dog, the year after you left.”

Grief descended over Odin like a thrown robe. Why had he come back at all? He had known that it must be. His thoughts raced, wondering how he could leave. No, he could not, he must care for his mother! The idea of seeing Hawk Woman day after day, and seeing her go each night into the lodge of another…
Old Dog?

Snake was talking, but Odin’s thoughts prevented his hearing. His heart was very heavy. Now Snake was shaking him by the shoulder to get his attention.

“What? I am sorry, Snake. I was not listening.”

“No one has told you, then? Yes, she married Old Dog after you left.”

“You just told me that,” Odin snapped angrily.

“But you did not listen to the rest. Old Dog died last winter, in the Moon of Snows. Hawk Woman’s time of mourning is past and she needs a husband. You have come home at a good time.”

Odin’s heart, as heavy as stone a moment ago, was suddenly as light as the breath-feathers of Kookooskoos, the owl.

N
ils Thorsson sat on the curving slope of the lodge’s domed roof, watching a line of geese high in the blue. The birds were so far above him that he could barely hear their barking cries as they hurried southward.

You had best hurry
, he thought.
Winter comes!

After the first light snow of autumn, experienced as they traveled, the weather had moderated again. Days were warm and nights cool. The stillness of the air and the sights, sounds, and smells of autumn made it a joy to be alive. At home in Norway, this would be called the Second Summer. It did not happen every year, but when it did … ah! was the sky ever so blue, the changing colors of the trees so rich? There was an all-pervasive feeling of well-being now, a sense that all things are in order. A confidence. Yes, that was it. He had not felt so confident since their disastrous expedition had left Straumfjord.

There was a pang of sadness and pain at the thought. The pain of guilt and failure swept over him for a moment, as it always did at the memory. Two lost ships, the dozens of good men…Helge Landsverk, his friend.

But what could I have done?
he asked himself. By the time he, Nils, had assumed command at Helge’s death, the final events were already in motion. It had taken some time to accept this, but he found that now he was more willing. His periods of guilt and regret were shorter. And, as Svenson said, they were lucky to be alive at all. While it is good to die
bravely, as Sven had once noted, one is still dead. And they, at least, were alive. Alive, to relish this uncommonly good weather, this Second Summer, here in a strange land, among strange people.

Odin’s people. The Norsemen had been welcomed, honored, treated with awe and respect.
It would be interesting to know
, Nils pondered,
what Odin had told his people
. Maybe he would know, some day. They were attempting to learn the language. Svenson, who could speak several of the dialects of the Norse coasts, was learning quickly, Nils a bit more slowly.
Some people
, Nils reflected,
have a gift with languages
. He had already decided that Sven had such a skill. Sven could communicate quite well almost anywhere, even in the islands. One of the sailors had once told him that Svenson could even talk to the Welsh.

Odin, too, seemed to have this gift of tongues. The Skraeling could communicate quite well in the language of the Norsemen, with hardly an accent.

Skraeling
. Nils thought for a moment about their use of the term.
The skraelingar, the “lesser people
,” True, some of the natives were shorter in stature than the Norsemen. But some were not. In the first usage, the newcomers had undoubtedly seen some of the shorter natives, and remarked on it. The name had stuck, modified, perhaps, by the tendency of the old Norse raiders to regard anyone else as lesser people.
Yes, that must be it
, Nils thought. The modified meaning, unconsciously classifying all others as lesser humanity…Skraelings, the Lesser People…

Once more, Nils felt the odd embarrassment that had occurred before. It was in essence the admission to himself that he had terribly underestimated the wisdom and cleverness of Odin. A cleverness, he knew, that had saved their lives.

Nils still rankled a bit at their enforced stay here. If he had been able to choose, they would not have made plans to winter here. He was beginning to tolerate the idea more easily now, however. Odin’s explanation made much sense, when one actually looked at the situation. It was practical. Of course he had realized that from the first. It had helped considerably,
though, that Odin’s beautiful sister was present during most of every day since they had arrived. Add to that the beautiful Second Summer…well, being there was, after all, not bad.

It was different. That had become apparent very quickly when they arrived two weeks ago. The very form of the houses seemed strange. Rather than dwellings for individual families, these were large structures that served for several couples, their children, and assorted relatives. In that respect, the lodges were used much as the communal structures at Straumfjord. That, it appeared, was a temporary arrangement by the Norse colonists. This, among Odin’s people, seemed to be a long-established way of life. Nils wondered, with a certain degree of embarrassment, how it would be possible to make love in a big single room with no privacy. That question had occurred to him at Straumfjord, but he had cast it aside in the presence of more urgent activities.

The gentle breeze shifted a little, and smoke from the square hole in the lodge’s dome drifted toward him. Nils blinked, coughed, and moved his position to a better place, upwind from the smoke hole. Below, he could hear the murmur of voices as the women prepared food. He tried to identify the voice of Calling Dove…that was her name, he had learned. He loved the sound of her laughter, and of the melodious syllables. He did not even understand their meaning, but their sound was pleasant to him. As pleasant as her smile, and the way she moved. He must learn more about the customs of courtship here among Odin’s clan. It would not do to push too rapidly.
Go slowly, Thorsson
, he told himself,
until you understand their ways
. In simplest terms, it could be dangerous to do otherwise.

He had asked Odin to tell him of these people, and of their ways. Odin merely gave his characteristic shrug, looking a bit puzzled.

“What did you wish to know?”

“Well…” Nils stammered, “what do you call yourselves?”

Odin responded with a nod and a series of syllables that had absolutely no meaning for Nils.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

“I do not understand, White Wolf. What is it that you want to know?”

“Well, what is its meaning?” Nils paused in thought, then continued. “Ah! Our name, that of the Norse, is from the
direction
. You know, north, the North Star…
Norsemen
.”

Odin nodded. “I see! I did not notice that!
North
,”

“Good. Now, what is the meaning of your name for your people?”

Odin’s puzzled expression was the same as before. “The People,” he said.

“No … I mean…look, Odin. Those who held us captive, before? What are
they
called?”

“Oh. They are called the same.”

“The
same?”

“Yes.” Odin spoke a few more syllables that had no meaning for Nils. “They call themselves that. To them, it means the People…same as ours.”

“But you…what
do you
call
them?”

Odin smiled, and his one eye twinkled. “Many things, sometimes. Mangy dogs … dung eater. Worse. But I know what you mean, Thorsson. They are the Downriver People, to us. But for each, his own are the People, no? Do you not call yourselves that, sometimes?”

Well, yes
, thought Nils, recalling the pride with which his grandfather often referred to “Our People” and their exploits.

“Yes, that is true,” he admitted. “I understand. A little better, anyway. The People.’”

This may have been a turning point for Nils Thorsson. He began to realize the pride with which these people regarded themselves.
The People
. It was a thing that a Norseman could understand. This pride had enabled Odin to survive, to refuse to surrender, to overcome all the misfortune that had befallen him. That was the reason for the man’s joy in his new name…Odin, father of the gods! It was as if he wore the name, originally a cruel joke, as a badge of honor. Yes, that was it. Odin wore the name as he wore his empty eye socket, a symbol of his pride and his survival. From that day on, the realization of a kinship of spirit drew him closer to
this remarkable man of the People, and to the People as a whole.

There were eight of the big lodges in this village, and he estimated about twenty people living in each. Maybe a hundred fighting men. Or hunters, as the case might be. A few men seemed to have more than one wife.

“How is this?” he asked Odin.

“The women are sisters. The man of that one—the fat one, there—was killed by a bear. So her sister’s husband takes her in.”

This seemed logical. Another thought occurred to Nils.

“Odin, are there others of the People? Other towns?”

“Oh, yes. Another, a day upriver, and one across the river.”

“The same size as this town?”

“One a little bigger…maybe ten lodges, when I left the People. The other, six or seven.”

“Their lodges are like these? Yours are much different from the Downriver People.”

Odin’s eye twinkled at the usage.

“Of course,” he said simply.

Nils had never seen houses like these domed structures before. Except for lack of privacy, it seemed an effective way to build. Four stout posts stood near the middle, forming the four corners of the smoke hole. Poles slanted like rafters from a circle that formed the outside wall. Then smaller poles were laid, covered with matting woven of rushes and piled with dried grass for insulation. Dirt dug from the inside was heaped over the roof like a dome, placing the floor a little below ground level. Sod was laid over this dirt to complete the structure. It was actually quite comfortable, Nils found.

Privacy was achieved by separate compartments around the walls. These were made of skins over a framework of sticks, and were just large enough for the beds of three or four people, a family group. Odin, Svenson, and Nils had been provided with such a cubicle for their sleeping robes in the same lodge as Odin’s mother and sister.

That part was not easy for Nils. Through each day he was in constant contact with Calling Dove. At least, with observation
of her graceful form and friendly smile, and the sound of her voice. Then at night he would lie in the darkness, waiting for sleep to come, listening to her breathing, knowing that she was almost within arm’s reach on the other side of that leather curtain. So near, yet so far…

To add to his frustration, there was a young couple whose cubicle was directly across the lodge, who seemed exceptionally inclined to romance. Nils gathered that they had been married only a short while. Every night, it seemed, they retreated to the privacy of their cubicle before anyone else. There were remarks and jokes by the others. Nils could not understand the words, but the meaning was plain. The young couple, only slightly embarrassed, would retort with remarks of their own and then disappear for the night. Sounds of giggling, scuffling, and heavy breathing came from the little skin tent at intervals. All of this was very disconcerting to Nils, who could imagine the rapturous events taking place across the big room.

One night the scuffling and giggling were more active than usual, and more prolonged.
This is more than a man should be forced to endure
, he thought as he lay awake in the darkness.
I must talk to Odin soon
.