Runestone (34 page)

Odin, meanwhile, had severed the head of the deer, and propped it on the ground before him in a lifelike position. He
began a half-chanting singsong in his own tongue. Nils realized that this was a ritual of some sort.

“What are you doing?” he asked when Odin paused.

The Skraeling looked surprised.

“The thanks and sorrow,” he said.

“I do not understand. This is a ceremony?” Nils asked.

“Of course. You do not do so?”

“I … I am not sure. What did you say? What are the words?”

Odin thought for a moment.

“Well, something like,
We are sorry to kill you, my brothers, but we must eat your meat to live.’
”

Nils had been thinking of something like a prayer of thanksgiving. This was foreign to his experience.

“An
apology!”
he blurted.

“I do not understand,” Odin answered. “What is ‘apology?’”

“It says I am sorry.’”

“Yes, maybe so. It tells the deer-people why we kill them.”

Nils was speechless at an idea so foreign to him. He remembered just now that as a child he had watched Holger, the butcher, cut the throat of a sheep. The animal’s soft gentle eyes had looked startled, then frightened for a moment as the lifeblood began to drain. It had struggled a little, then quieted, and the spark of life-spirit inside had flickered briefly. Then the eyes had become flat and dead, even as he watched. There was nothing left inside, no spirit. And he had felt sadness. Even though he knew that this represented mutton for the table, he felt sorrow. For a long time, an occasional bite of meat would seem to become larger in his mouth as he chewed, when he thought of the eyes of the dying sheep. He had told no one. It would not have been seemly. …

He was pulled back to the present by Odin, who had asked him a question.

“What?”

“I said, do you not have such a custom?”

“No … no … I am sorry, I was thinking of … of something else.”

“Are you all right, Thorsson?”

“Yes, of course. But you asked … no, we have nothing like that. We might say prayers in thanks when we eat.”

“It is good,” said Odin simply.

Nils was not certain what was “good.” The prayer of thanksgiving, or the apology to the spirit of the slain animal? He did not want to ask. But he wondered. Would he have felt better over the dying sheep if he had known of this? If he could have said, “I am sorry, but you provide food for us.” Maybe someday he could talk of this again with Odin. Maybe when he knew the tongue of the People better…

The skinning and butchering progressed. The work was hard, but the occasion was joyful, a celebration. There were jokes and laughter and teasing of each other among the young people. Nils could not help but notice the similarity to the festivities of the marketplace at a harvest day celebration. There was everything but the dancing in the streets.
But probably that, too
, he thought. These natives seemed to celebrate everything with ceremonial dance.

A young man carrying a haunch of venison paused in flirtatious conversation with Calling Dove, and Nils felt his hackles rise. The excitement of the hunt had stimulated him in a romantic way, and must do so to others too. His resentment of the young man rose as Dove smiled and answered his good-natured banter. The youth moved on toward the village, and Calling Dove glanced at Nils.

“What is it, White Wolf? You look angry!” There was concern in her face.

Even his meager knowledge of the tongue of the People let him understand this. Yet how should he answer? He wished that he could tell her how he felt, wished to shout,
No! You must not flirt with the young men. You are mine!
He realized how ridiculous such a thing would be. He did not even have the ability to put together such a tirade in the People’s language, much less the right to do so. He felt very foolish.

“I…” he mumbled. “Nothing. It is nothing.”

She looked at him, puzzled and a little sad, he thought, before she turned back to her work. There was something left dangling unsaid between them, an uncomfortable feeling that there was more. Dove glanced up and their eyes met again. Both started to speak at once, then they laughed together.

“You first,” he indicated clumsily.

The girl looked him full in the face, searching for words. When she did speak, it was slowly and deliberately, so that he would be sure to grasp her meaning.

“White Wolf, the man is a friend. Nothing more … do you understand?”

There was a sympathetic smile on her lips, an entreating look in her eyes. His heart soared like an eagle.

“It is good!” he said.

And it
was
good. Unfortunately, he had very little idea how to push his advantage now. He looked over to where Odin was skinning his own kill, and saw that the other had been aware of the entire episode. Odin was chuckling in amusement. This irritated Nils. Why would a friend treat him so?

Damn!
He
must
learn more of the courtship customs of the People. Nils was pleased for Odin’s good fortune in his reunion with a childhood sweetheart, but there is a limit to the happiness that one may have for someone else. He must approach Odin directly as soon as possible, and demand an answer to some of his pressing questions.
How does one go about a courtship?

Maybe today he could make an opportunity. Yes, he would do just that. As soon as the bulk of the immediate work, the heavy part of the butchering, was in hand, he would approach Odin and demand a conversation.

With the reassurance of this decision, Nils was able to make himself useful. He helped to position the animal for cutting up into more manageable chunks. He carried a haunch back to hang it in a shady spot near the lodge, and returned for another. He paused to talk with Svenson, who appeared to be feeling somewhat better. At least, his color was returning.

It was past midday before the last of the meat and the hides were transported to the village. Now the task of slicing, drying, and curing by smoke was beginning. He could finally seek out Odin for answers to his pressing questions.

He encountered his friend as Odin returned from the scene of the hunt with the skin of the great black bear on his shoulders. He was breathing hard from the heavy load.

“Ah!” grunted Odin, swinging his burden to the ground. “There is nothing as hard to handle as a fresh bearskin, no?”

Nils had little experience with fresh bearskins, but it was easy to see the difficulty. The hide was thick with its layer of prewinter fat. In addition, it was shapeless and slippery, sliding out of one’s grasp, as hard to manage as a large fish. There are no handles. It would be the same with the fresh skin of any large animal.

The women began to spread and stretch the bearskin on a grassy spot, preparing to peg it out for scraping and dressing.

“Odin,” said Nils, “I would talk with you of something.”

“It is good,” agreed Odin. “Let us walk.”

They strolled out from among the lodges and toward the river.

Nils spoke, nervously.

“Odin, I want to ask—”

“Wait, Thorsson. First I want to tell you something.”

“Yes?” Nils inquired, too impatient even to wonder what.

“It is about my sister, Calling Dove. She is much pleased with your ways, and would be proud to have you look upon her with good feelings.”

“But…I…”

“No, no, say nothing now. Think on this. If you wish to do so, I will tell you of our customs.”

Nils Thorsson tried hard to maintain his composure.
Yes, yes!
he wanted to shout.
I do wish it!
As he hesitated, Odin went on.

“Now, what was it you wished to talk about?”

“Oh…that … It is nothing, now. I must think on this!”

Outwardly, he hoped to appear calm and in control, but again, his heart soared like the eagles.

   Three of the leaders of the People drew aside that evening to talk of the events of the day.

“They are brave and strong,” said Big Tree.

“Yes,” agreed Clay, “but would you want your daughter to marry one?”

“I have no daughter old enough, Uncle,” chuckled the
younger chief. “But I see your point. There are things about them that we do not know.”

“That is true,” agreed Singing Moose, keeper of the traditions of the People. “Their ways are very different.”

“I am made to think,” pondered Clay, “that there are two questions here. First, is there danger to the People in the power and strength of their gifts? Especially those of the one called White Wolf? The other, that of our women. I have seen that the daughter of Red Fawn looks with desire on the White Wolf. He is the most powerful, I think. Should this be allowed?”

Big Tree nodded. “I have seen this, too. Maybe we should talk with the girl’s family.”

“Her brother?”

“No … he seems under the spell of the white-haired one. Her mother, maybe. Yes, let us talk to Red Fawn.”

“It is good. But what of the other thing?” asked Clay. “Are they not dangerous in their power?”

“I am made to think not,” said Big Tree quickly. In his position as headman of the village, he welcomed the presence of two such fighting men.

“Well, so be it,” agreed Singing Moose. “If they become dangerous, we can always kill them later.”

“That is true,” agreed Clay, the holy man. “Now, let us talk to Red Fawn about her daughter.”

“We have seen,” said Big Tree carefully, “that your daughter, Calling Dove, looks with desire on the outsider, White Wolf.”

The woman drew herself up proudly.

“And what is that to you?” she demanded.

Big Tree was caught completely off guard, though he should not have been. Red Fawn was about his own age, and he remembered well from their childhood that she spoke her thoughts plainly. There had been a time when…but Fawn had matured earlier, and had married another. She was widowed now, and still quite attractive, but … He brushed such thoughts aside, stammering to answer the question that was really not a question.

“Well, I…we—”

“Why should it concern you,” she went on, “with whom she beds? Or with whom I bed, either, Big Tree?”

She whirled on her heel and strode away, anger showing plainly in the swing of her hips. Big Tree watched her go, trying to ignore the chuckles of the two older men.

“Well,” Big Tree said finally, “it is as Moose says. We can kill them later if we need to.”

E
vents moved so swiftly after the hunt that Nils’s thoughts were a blur of confusion. A blur of ecstasy, actually.

The People were quite matter-of-fact about the marital union. It was simply announced that White Wolf and Calling Dove would wed. The ceremony would be before the chill of winter actually descended, so that the young couple might share the warmth of each others’ bodies. Above all else, the People were practical.

It was frightening, to see the rapid planning and preparation for this major life-change. There were times when he wondered if this step was an act of complete idiocy. When they had first joined the People and he had seen the sheer beauty of Calling Dove, he had been thinking in terms of a temporary liaison. The fact that she was Odin’s sister bothered him a little. One simply does not seduce the sister of a friend, with the full intention of leaving her later. And of course, part of the long-range plan of the two Norsemen was to return home as soon as possible next spring. Still it seemed to Nils that the availability of women in this setting was relatively easy. He did not fully understand the customs, but it was apparent that the women had a great deal to say about their choice of sexual partners.

Following this line of logic, as well as his own instincts, it was only a short step to another conclusion: It should not really matter whether he intended to leave her in a few months or not. Likewise, it did not matter that the girl was the sister of his friend. It was
her
choice.

Reassured by this idea, he was able to wrestle with his conscience more easily. If the girl did not object to the possibility … no, the
probability
of his leaving, why should he worry about it? He thrust the last of his nagging guilt feelings out of sight and resolved to forget them. He was relatively successful, at least for the moment.

Nils still had questions. The most urgent was
when?
Now that the matter was decided, his excitement grew with his passion. He did not want to be too blunt, and it was quite frustrating that every cautious inquiry was met with a casual nonchalance on the part of Odin.

“Later.”

The People seemed to have little concept of time. The sun was in the east for morning, overhead at midday, and sank in the west in the evening. The moon marked the months for them, but one day was much like another. He could get no answers about how many days until anything would transpire. He recalled that it had been so when the expedition started upriver. He had asked Odin how far to the Talking Water, and Odin had answered in “sleeps.” This had been frustrating, and was even more so now. “Sleeps” had taken on a whole new meaning now that they would soon be shared with the lovely Calling Dove. But
when?