Runestone (58 page)

N
ils sat alone, staring at the expanse of scenery before him. The harvest was in, and the People were again preparing for winter. The decision had been no major surprise. It was only that he had been somewhat startled when he realized,
after
the fact, that he had expected such a decision, and had not even questioned it.

What had happened to him? To his determination to return to Straumfjord and eventually to Stadt and home?

They had spent two growing seasons on a sort of aimless migration westward. There was not, had never been, any clear purpose in this move, as far as he could see. It was hard to determine any ultimate goal that the People might have had. He suspected that there was none, except to move from an area that was becoming dangerous to their way of life.

It was not that the People were simplistic, as he had once thought. They were quite complicated, actually. He was not able, even now, to understand all the subtleties of their culture. He had been drawn into it unwittingly, not really understanding that he was being used. He recalled with some degree of amusement how Big Tree had involved the Norsemen in the decisions regarding last season’s planting. There
was a certain degree of doubt involved, and the clever leader had managed to spread the responsibility for possible failure.

As it happened, the resulting success had strengthened the prestige and importance of all those involved, Tree, and the Norsemen, Odin, and Clay, the holy man. Only now he realized that there had been a quiet power struggle in the tribe, a striving for political prestige between the two bands. He wondered what might have happened if the crops had failed. But they had not. It had been a good season, and the prestige of Big Tree had grown. With it, the prestige of White Wolf, the holy man, and of his assistants. Big Tree now called on them for support without hesitation. This was no problem, at least so far, because Big Tree
was
a good leader. All the support that was needed was to say, in effect, “Yes, it is as Big Tree says.” Or, “Clay has given wise counsel.”

It had been amusing to watch the change in Svenson. The sailor had adapted quite rapidly to his new role as Fire Maker. The ritual with which he used the flint and steel was a masterpiece of showmanship. Sven had also seemed to fit easily into his marital relationship with Red Fawn. It was as if the two were a couple of middle age who had been together for many years.

A bigger change in Svenson, however, was one that had occurred slowly, almost unnoticed. During the first season of the migration, the sailor had pointed out all the features of the river and of the great freshwater seas. Sven had suggested ambitious plans for shipbuilding and trading, and had made maps on birch bark. True, Nils admitted himself, he, Nils, had been enthusiastic, also. It was easy for seagoing men to become excited by the great vistas of clear cold water and untouched forests.

Nils was not certain when it had happened. He had been preoccupied with other things, the planting and harvest. He was still surprised that he could have been caught up in that. And the relationship that had been established with the Chalagees this past season, uneasy at first, then quite sociable. He found himself looking forward to a winter of socializing and trading of stories with these Chalagees, so different than any other Skraelings they had encountered.

Whatever had happened, it had changed his own attitude
and that of Svenson. They seldom talked anymore of plans for shipbuilding or trading. He wondered, even, if Sven was still drawing his maps. It did not seem as important as it once had. They had not talked of such things for a long time. This seemed odd, now that he thought about it. When this prolonged journey with the People started, one of his foremost thoughts was that of when he and Svenson could return to Straumfjord. Now their visit to the colony seemed so long ago, so far away. There was a dreamlike quality in his memory of the place. The beautiful blue-eyed woman … It took a moment to recall her name …
Ingrid!
Yes, that was it. Her memory, once the most important thing in his life, had paled to insignificance. What had he seen in her? Possibly only a warm body in his bed.

This in turn brought his thoughts back to Dove. Despite the initial language problem, theirs was an extremely close relationship. At least, he thought so. He had nothing for comparison, but he could not recall ever noticing a marriage like theirs, either among his own people or among Dove’s. The marriages of Odin and yes, that of Svenson and Fawn were good, but surely not as exciting as this. And it was still growing. They now had longer discussions, made easier by more language familiarity, hence better understanding. Nils was pleased to find that Dove was a highly intelligent woman, whose depth of thought often put him to shame. She had, for instance, finally reasoned out why the Chalagee seemed indecisive. She told him about it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Do you know why they always stop the council without a decision? They have to ask their women!”

Nils snorted indignantly. “You are joking!”

“No, I think not. Watch, next time. I am sure that their women have great influence. You know they follow family through the mother’s side?”

“Yes, so it is said. But the People hold women in high regard, too.” He had been pleased to note that. The Norsemen had been in contact with some nations who regarded women as without much value. As property, almost. By contrast, strength and confidence were considered highly desirable among the Norse. “Are you sure of this, Dove?”

She laughed. “No, of course not. It would not be polite to ask. But watch, and see if you think so.”

He had watched, and though it was never proven, Nils was inclined to think that his wife had hit upon a valid theory. They said nothing to anyone else, for there was no purpose in doing so. This remained one of their private secrets, shared only with each other.

They had many things that were shared only between them. The child, Bright Sky, now in his second year … ah, what a feeling to watch him explore the world. Sky was quick to learn, and had an easy, humorous approach to all things. His hair was a few shades lighter than that of any of the People. This seemed quite important to Calling Dove. It was also noted that the eye color of this special child, a strange dark gray-brown at first, had continued to change for a while. After several moons it could be seen that the color was to be one unfamiliar to the People. Brown, yes, but with an odd cast in certain lights that was suggestive of green.

Life was good. He shifted his position in the warm autumn sunshine, enjoying the view of the hills and the lake. Autumn color was painting the hillsides with splashes of bright orange, yellow, and red, in stark contrast to the dark green of spruce, cedar, and pine. Three crows beat their way lazily across a distant clearing to land in a dead tree at the other side.
What does a crow think?
he wondered, and was immediately startled at such a thought.
I am thinking like the People
, he told himself, unsure whether this was good or a cause for alarm. Or whether it mattered. His entire outlook had changed materially, he now realized. It had been some time since he had found a chance to get away by himself, just to think.

He was not certain of when or
how
his thinking had changed, but he knew that it had. There was that time when, listening to the strange tales of the Chalagees’ Sky Dome, he found himself looking forward to exploring toward the unknown west. There had been a slight twinge of guilt. He should have been trying to plan their return to Straumfjord. Of course, Svenson had not mentioned it, so it was easy to postpone any such plans. There were better things to think of and to plan.

He was aware of someone approaching up the slope, and he turned to look. It was Dove.

“Ah!” she greeted. “Here you are.”

She seated herself beside him, pausing a moment to catch her breath. “May I watch the sun with you?” she asked. “Ah, it is beautiful here, no?”

Shadows were lengthening, and the western sky was blossoming into brilliant color, its hues rivaling even those of the oaks and maples on the hillsides.

“It is good,” he said softly, slipping an arm around her trim waist.

To himself, he was thinking along another line. Why bother to think of trying to return to Straumfjord right now? Winter was coming, precluding travel. Anyway, Svenson had not mentioned it for a long time. Maybe he would not bring up the subject until Sven did.

He snuggled Dove’s firm body against his, stroking the soft buckskin over her thigh, feeling the firmness of her muscles.

Another thought struck him, which might have caused him concern if it had been more than a fleeting idea. It was there for a heartbeat or two and then lost in the urgency of the moment.
Why
, he thought,
would I want to go back to Straumfjord?

T
he sight of the river stirred powerfully within the very depths of his being. Nils glanced at those around him, wondering if his reaction would be noticed. He saw no indication that anyone even cared. Each was preoccupied with his or her own reaction to the sight.

The arrival of the People at the river was not unexpected, of course. They had known of the location of the Big River, the Missi-sepee, for a year now. The scouts had even traveled there to evaluate the route. They returned, greatly impressed. The river, they reported, was not as wide as that where they had lived before, or as swift. Surely, not as clear and cold. In fact, this river seemed sluggish by comparison. And muddy. Maybe that gave the impression of dark secrets and shadowy depths. No, that was not quite it. … Majesty, maybe. But a certain threat, too, a doubt about what things might lurk in the dim hiding places at the bottom of this great stream.

Nils, though a veteran sailor, now found himself shuddering a little. What was the story of the Chalagees that had so impressed the children a few years ago when the People had spent a season there? A giant leech, big enough to kill a man, lying on the bottom of the lake, waiting for unsuspecting prey … Some of the children would not go near the water for weeks. He understood that dread now.

It was not that the river appeared threatening. Actually, it looked quite calm. Yet there was a hint of power, the merest suggestion that here was a sleeping giant that when roused
has a ponderous feel to its spirit, like that of a sleeping winter bear. Or like that of unknown things lurking in the depths …

He shook his head to try to rid himself of such thoughts. After all, he had crossed the entire ocean, had he not? A mere river … He tried to shrug off the dark thoughts. Maybe he had been ashore too long. How many seasons had they traveled now, since leaving the sea? Five … no, six! It seemed a way of life, now. Travel, find a place to plant, raise a crop, spend the winter, move on. One place, they had spent two seasons. It had looked as if the People might stay there. There had even been a start on building permanent lodges. That had drawn the attention of their neighbors, and the situation had become tense. The People certainly would have been strong enough to stay by force, but it hardly seemed worthwhile. They had held a council and decided to move on.

It had been a hard thing when they left the last of the big lakes behind. The feeling of loss at the separation was left unspoken, but it was there. Mishighan, that place had been called. Nils recalled still the last look over his shoulder at the great expanse of water behind them, growing smaller in the distance as they traveled. It had been hard to leave the water behind.
A man without a boat
… He said nothing to Svenson but wondered whether Sven, too, had felt the loss.

There were many things to take the place of his love for the sea. His family, for instance. He could hardly believe how rapidly Bright Sky had grown. Nils felt a warm glow of pride when he watched the children at play, saw the confidence with which the boy carried himself, his growing skill with the bow … ah, it was good. Best of all, maybe, was the shared joy with Calling Dove, as together they watched the development of this child that was a part of themselves and a product of their love.