Runestone (48 page)

I
t was a woman-thing, the birthing of the child. Quickly, Red Fawn arrived to assist her daughter. The husband was banished from the lean-to shelter that was the summer dwelling for the couple.

Nervous and at loose ends, Nils wandered a little way and stood looking up at the night sky. What was he supposed to do now? Someone approached, and he was glad to recognize Svenson.

“The time has come, eh?” Sven spoke. It was not really a question, only a greeting.

“It seems so. I was wondering what I am expected to do. You are a father, Sven.”

The old sailor chuckled. “Yes, but I was always at sea when the time came.”

“But surely there is something I could do.”

Now Svenson laughed aloud. “I am made to think,” he said thoughtfully, using the idiom of the People, “that you have already done what was expected of you, several moons ago.”

He slapped his thigh in amusement.

“It is not funny, Sven,” Nils snapped. Somehow the usual ribald jokes did not seem appropriate now.

“I meant nothing, Nils. Calm down. They can handle this. And we could do nothing. Look, let us go and sit on the rocks, there. I will stay with you.”

Sven pointed to a jumble of boulders against the shoulder of a little hillock a bow shot away. The area was only dimly seen in the pale light of a new moon, but it was a familiar place. Nils nodded and moved in that direction. He glanced at the sky and noted the position of the Great Bear. The Seven Hunters, the People called the same constellation. Odin had told them how the Hunters go out each night, to circle their lodge at the Home Star. Once in each day and its night, the Hunters make their circuit, circling the sky forever. It was of interest to Nils that the People recognized the importance of the Polestar, though they did not use it for navigation.

But he was not thinking of that now. His quick glance told him that dawn would be coming soon. Not that it mattered much, in the present situation. He had only looked from habit. Yes, even now the velvety blackness was fading in the east to a leaden gray. He looked back toward the shelter and saw that Red Fawn had built up the fire. A few other people were stirring.

Someone else approached, and Nils felt a bit of resentment. No one had a right to bother him at a time like this. The irritation passed as he recognized Odin, who silently fell in beside them.

“Odin, is there something that I should do?” Nils asked.

“No, you have done your part,” Odin said.

Sven chuckled, and Nils’s irritation flared again.
Mother of God
, he thought,
it is no different anywhere!

Odin seemed to sense his anger, and spoke again.

“It will go well, almost-brother. Our family’s women birth easily. It is in their body to do so.”

Nils wondered at such a curious remark, but Odin continued.

“She is long, from arms to hips, like our mother. This gives easier birthing.”

“I have heard that, Nils,” Svenson said. “A long-waisted woman … easier labor. I do not know, but it looks good. Long waist, long legs …”

“Can we speak of something else?” Nils snapped irritably.

“Of course,” Odin answered. “Of what, Thorsson?”

Nils shrugged uncomfortably. “I do not know. I am sorry.”

“It is all right,” Odin soothed. “We do not need to speak at all. But we will stay with you. A man needs someone.”

“Thank you,” Nils mumbled.

“Let us smoke,” suggested Odin. He brought forth a pipe and his pouch of tobacco mixture.

“Shall I start a fire?” asked Svenson.

“No, I have one,” said Odin.

He was carrying a gourd full of ashes, and now drew out a stick which had been buried in the gourd. He blew on the stick to brighten the fiery coal at its tip, and then held it carefully to his freshly filled pipe. A few long draws produced an answering glow in the pipe’s bowl. He took another puff or two and then handed it to Nils, who in turn puffed and passed the pipe to Svenson.

By the time the pipe had made two or three rounds, the yellowing of the sky in the east was becoming more prominent, and the prospective father more calm. Conversation came easier.

“When is the time to come for your wife?” Svenson asked Odin.

“Who knows?” shrugged Odin. “I had thought by now, but Hawk Woman says no. She says soon, though. She has birthed before, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Her daughter grows quickly this season.”

“That is true! Like the corn, no?” Odin chuckled. “The old ones say that one has babies for only a little while. Then they are grown. You know that we call her Yellow Corn, because of this?”

They all chuckled, Svenson with the most understanding.

Nils appreciated the company and the attempt to distract him, but still he could not keep his mind from the intense scene being played out in the shelter below. He thought of the “wife of Vili Heinesson, a neighbor back in Stadt, when he was a child.
Inge, that was her name
. A beautiful young woman, an object of admiration and one to stir the pulse of a young boy whose maleness was just beginning to make itself felt.

The death of Inge Heinesson had had a profound effect on him. It had troubled him greatly to think of that lithe and handsome female form stilled in death. He missed her, though he barely knew her, and she had probably been completely
unaware of the boy who worshiped her from afar. Of course she
had
smiled at him that once, when they nearly collided in the street. He still remembered that smile, open, fresh, and confident, that of a happy, secure person.

But she had died in childbirth. He did not know the details. His parents and the other adults had spoken in hushed tones, and seemed not to think of the feelings of young Nils. They did not know that he had secretly loved this fine woman, or that he had gone to the barn to cry out his grief alone.

He had felt a tremendous sympathy for the bereaved husband. He had wanted to tell Vili Heinesson that he knew, and understood. It would have been completely inappropriate, of course. Still, he had wondered then and afterward if Vili actually knew how special had been the beautiful young woman who shared his bed.

Nils had held a great deal of resentment a year later, when Vili Heinesson remarried. He was certain that Vili was disloyal to the memory of Inge.

It had been a long time now, since he had thought about that tragedy in his young life. No one else had known his feelings and would ever know. It only came back now because of his concern. Was he being punished for his coveting of Vili Heinesson’s wife so long ago? How severe would the punishment be?

His concern and his dread became greater as time passed. It seemed an eon ago that the three had walked out here in the dark of the predawn morning. It was growing lighter, but the sun was still not showing above the distant hills. The pipe came around again. He took a quick puff and passed it on to Sven. He rose and paced.

What if
—he dared not form the thought—
what if Calling Dove met the fate of young Inge Heinesson? What would he do, if he lost her?

He had never stopped to realize how Dove had become a most important … no,
the
most important part of his life. If anything should happen to her
… I must not think such thoughts!
Tears came to his eyes.
If only I could do this for her!
he thought.

“Nils! Nils! Are you all right, boy?”

Svenson was shaking him by the elbow.

“What? I was thinking of something else, Sven. What is it?”

It was Odin who spoke.

“They are calling to us.” He pointed to the distant camp.

In the growing light, Nils saw a figure outside the lean-to shelter. He thought he recognized the stance as that of his wife’s mother. She was waving her arms at them.

“Deer says to come on down,” Svenson observed.

Could there be trouble? Were his worst fears to be realized?

Nils leaped to his feet and ran, his heart pounding in near panic.
Something is wrong!
He nearly fell from his downslope momentum, but recovered his balance. How frustrating … Like a dream, in which one tries to run but can only move slowly. He was only dimly aware of the others behind him. There was no way for them to understand his dread.

He loped across the level meadow and drew closer. It was with great relief that he saw a smile on the face of Red Fawn.

“Is it … is she? …” he panted.

Red Fawn merely pointed to the shelter.

Calling Dove lay there on the robes. She looked tired, but had never seemed so beautiful to him as she did now. He saw that her abdomen, covered by a sleeping robe, was flatter now. For some reason that thought was the first to make itself felt, even before he saw the smile on Dove’s tired face. More slowly than that, even, he realized that she held a bundle in her arms. Gently, she turned back a corner of the soft robe.

A pair of wide, dark eyes peered out of a face like that of a little old man. Some babies arrive in the world under protest, squinting and yelling at the light of day. Others are born with a knowing look, curious about all that lies before them. This child was of the latter.

“Your son,” said Dove. “He is beautiful, no?”

The child’s dark eyes seemed to look straight through to Nils’s soul, as if it knew and understood all his feelings.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Of course! Tired …”

The other two men came up behind him, and stopped.

“They have a son,” Red Fawn explained.

Nils turned to look at them, not knowing what to say. At
that moment, the rim of the sun peeked over a notch in the distant hills, touching the trees and the brush shelter with a golden glow. It may have been responsible for the tears in the eyes of the new father. Or, maybe not …

“It is good,” he said in the language of the People.

“Yes,” agreed Red Fawn, “it is a good sign.”

T
he harvest came soon. Too soon, it seemed, for there was much happening. White Wolf and Calling Dove were preoccupied with the small man-child who had joined them.

“He is a good baby!” decreed Red Fawn, after the manner of grandmothers everywhere.

But it was true. The infant boy was called Bright Sky after the manner of his birth at sunrise. He might have another name later, Dove explained to her husband. This was merely a baby name. It did seem appropriate, however. Never had Nils seen an infant whose eyes were so intense and inquisitive. He smiled very early, and had a look of perpetual understanding that made him seem an adult who merely lived in a small body. Such infants, though somewhat rare, are a joy, not only to their parents, but to everyone with whom they come in contact.

In addition to this preoccupation with their own child, there was the birth of another, a girl to Odin and Hawk Woman. It was not her first child, but it was a completely new experience for Odin. Nils was able to return the support he had received from Odin on the occasion of Bright Sky’s birth. That was a good feeling.

Seldom if ever was there a new father who was so overcome by the significance of the birth of his child. Odin had
reveled in the experience of being a parent to Hawk Woman’s older daughter by her previous marriage, but this was different. This was his own flesh and blood.

To the People, there was little difference, and to give Odin the credit deserved, in a short while there was none to him either. In a few seasons, few would remember that the two daughters of Odin and Hawk Woman had had different fathers. But today, it was important to Odin. This was his first such experience. He suffered all the anxiety and the joy that he had shared with his almost-brother a short time earlier.

But then came the harvest. Both women were gaining strength and their babies doing well, and both would take part in this, the most triumphant of annual festivals.

It was at this time that Nils first realized that there were several types of corn. He had wondered, when the planting was taking place, why there had been such care to lay out different fields. They were separated by specific distances, paced off carefully by Clay, the holy man. He had not paid much attention, but had assumed that this was to designate the ownership of the different plots. The space between, however, had been planted to beans and squash of several varieties. Even so, he paid little attention.

Now, however, he noticed that the corn from different plots was quite different in size, shape, and color. He asked Dove about it.

“For different uses,” she told him.

“But it is all to eat!”

She laughed at him, but then relented. “You have never seen the harvesting before, have you?”

“No. It was past that time when we joined the People.”

“And that was good,” she laughed. She seemed apologetic that she had not realized, and hurried on to explain. “This kind is best for ground meal … this to cook whole. This one for
hominy
.”

“
Hominy?”

“Yes, you have eaten it. The hard skin is taken off with ashes from the fire!”

He did not remember. He was realizing how little attention he had ever paid to what he was eating. If there was food,
he ate, and asked no questions. When he had become involved in the growing of the crop, his attitude had changed.