Runestone (65 page)

Nils smiled inwardly at such thoughts. The man was a
Skraeling!
There had been a time when he would have thought that it was ludicrous to think of a Skraeling, an ignorant savage, approaching the throne in Odin’s hall to be welcomed as a hero.

Now, thanks to his almost-brother who had been named Odin as a cruel joke, Nils had accepted many things. Things that he did not understand, maybe, but that he had to accept because he had seen them happen.
Maybe
, he thought,
it is like the
solarstein,
the sun-stone
. He did not understand how the crystal knew north, either, but he was willing to use it.

The People had other gifts, he was sure. Gifts that could not be described, even. Like those who could die when they chose. Was this simply
because
they chose to will it at that time? And he was sure that Clay had been able to foretell the future.
How?

One other thing was a puzzle to him. As he thought of Clay, and his courageous challenge to Cold Maker, Nils wondered at his own reaction. He had thought of Clay approaching the Hall of Heroes.
Why not the throne of God?
He, Nils, had been raised a Christian. Why, now, did he find himself thinking in terms of the Norse religion of his grandfather?
More and more, he was becoming convinced that Grandfather had been reluctant to give up certain of the old beliefs. The old man must have had a hard time not to inflict more of his own philosophy on his young grandson. Only now was Nils realizing it.

What would his mother think, for instance, of Nils’s theory that the People could welcome death by willing it so? Or what would the priest have said? Nils had the uncomfortable feeling that such an idea would have been branded as heresy. He would have been accused of blasphemy and would have said many Hail Marys before it was over.

And the visions and dreams that seemed to play such a part in the lives of the People … These seemed quite useful sometimes. His feeling about this was colored with a tinge of guilt, because he knew what the priest would say about that. It was demonism, pagan worship, and the work of Satan, at the very least. The immortal souls of the People (if indeed Skraelings
have
souls) were doomed to hellfire and damnation. They must undergo the transformation that would bring salvation.

Again, that pang of guilt. He did not feel that he was qualified to bring Christianity to the Skraelings, and would not want to try. That was the job of the priests. His feeling of guilt, however, was not over that. It was that he wondered whether anyone
should
try to bring them salvation. From what he could see, the People were doing quite well. He and Svenson had adopted their ways in large measure, rather than vice versa. It had been easier.

He thought of the Creation stories around the fires of the past few seasons. Why had he chosen the Norse mythology to relate to them, instead of the Christian legends? He was not sure. Maybe because the Norse tales had seemed more appropriate at the time, for a primitive people in a harsh northern clime. No matter. His tales of ice-giants and gnomes had been accepted eagerly. He had considered, a time or two, telling the one about the Garden of Eden, Adam’s rib, the apple and the snake. Maybe sometime.

The sudden thought came to him that the sometime must be
now
. As soon as the ice on the river was open, they would be gone. Possibly to return later, though that was a bit vague
as he thought of the future. Well, there might not even be an opportunity to tell that story. Some day he would share it with Dove.

As he thought about the immediate future, though, another doubt struck him. It had been some time since he had the dream, but it had occurred several times since the People had reached the great river. He shuddered a little as he thought of it. Especially since he had been thinking of the importance of dreams to the People. Were they more attuned to such things, and to the possible meanings?

It was always the same, or quite similar. There was water, and he was in a boat or canoe. Sometimes, even, he seemed to be
in
the water itself. There was a dread, a fear of an undefined Something, an evil presence in the dark depths. The first time he had experienced the dream, he had thought that it was connected to the Chalagee story he had just heard. The giant leech that lies in wait in the dark waters was a gripping tale, guaranteed to make the listener shudder with dread of the unknown. It had been puzzling to him, and humorous in a wry manner, that such fear was worse than the dread of sea monsters in the ocean’s depths. The risk of an encounter with a whale as long as the
Norsemaiden
was nothing compared to thoughts of a slimy Something of unknown size and shape. …

The dream itself had been vague and poorly defined, too. Some visions are starkly real, as clear as any seen in reality. Even more so, maybe. Others are shrouded in a misty nothingness that shifts and shimmers, ebbing and flowing, while the mind of a mere mortal tries to cope with its mysteries.

Nils’s dream was of that ethereal quality. The action in it was slow, painfully slow, each and every time. He sat on or in the water, watching wisps of fog or mist curl lazily along the surface. It was warm, damp, and sticky. He held something in his hands, it was never clear to him exactly what. A weapon? A pole or a canoe paddle, maybe. There was always the feeling that whatever its purpose, the object was useless in the present situation.

He was never certain in the dream where the creature came from. … Out of the mist and fog, or rising from the depths of the dark water. It did grow larger as it grew nearer.
A giant armlike projection tipped with jagged claws thrust up from the water’s surface, towering over his head and descending on him to drag him under. There was a vague feeling that in the water around him were other similar appendages, all grasping at him, hungry for his life.

He had awakened with a little cry of fright, to find himself in familiar surroundings, with Dove sleeping quietly at his side. She stirred sleepily and rolled over to open her arms to him.

He had lain there in the darkness for a long time, puzzling over the dream. It had been so real, so terrifying. Dove’s warm body next to him was a great comfort. Dove …
She
had been at risk in his dream, too!

Nils had told no one of that dream. The People had some taboos about the sharing of such things and he was not quite certain how they might apply here.

The dream had recurred several times since that first frightening experience. It was always a fearful thing, but he recovered more quickly now. Sometimes there would be many moons without it followed by recurrences almost every night for a while.

There were a number of unique things about it. Perhaps the most puzzling was his perception of the appendages that reached for him out of the water and the mist. He had begun with the assumption that his dream dealt with the giant leech. Such a creature, slimy and dreadful, could suck blood from an unsuspecting victim painlessly, without his knowledge. It could be as round as a ball, or long and slender, changing shape at will from one moment to the next. And how big would such a creature be? The largest leech that he had ever encountered was smaller than his fingertip. It was firmly fastened between his toes after a swim in a muddy pond, back in his childhood. He had felt nothing at all. He had seen larger ones, years later, in a jar in Stadt. Even these were smaller than a man’s little finger. Maybe the fear of the unknown extended to size. … Would the giant leech be larger than a man?

There was another puzzle about it, though, that seemed even more troublesome to him. It dealt with the quality of the terror that reached at him in the dream. A leech could, he
conceded, assume almost any shape that might suit its purpose. Any of the shapes, though, would be limited by the texture of the creature. With no bones or shell, its shape would always be soft and slithery … slime. Though the thought of being dragged beneath the water by such a creature made him shudder, he could not quite reconcile it to the dream. An arm or tentacle of the leech, no matter how big, would be soft, slimy, and elastic, even though it might be powerful and sinewy.

That did not fit the impression he had of the creature in the dream. The arms that thrust at him, seeking to drag him under, were not of such a texture. They were hard and horny, with jagged claws and irregular projections. It was an inconsistency that bothered him almost as much as the dream itself.

Now, as the time neared to begin the trip downriver, the dream was recurring frequently. Nils decided that there was something about it that he was missing. He must look for advice. But where? Clay would have given good council, but Clay was gone, having given his life in the battle with Cold Maker. There was a holy man in the other clan, but Nils was reluctant to speak of such things to someone he hardly knew.

He often discussed things that related to the customs of the People with Calling Dove. Somehow, that did not seem appropriate in this case. Even less so, the thought of discussing the dream with Svenson. But he must. … Then it came to him.
Odin!

Of course! Nils wished now that he had considered this before. Odin would take him seriously, could tell him of the Peoples’ customs, and might have a very good feel for the meaning of the visions.

Nils went immediately in search of his friend, and found him sitting on a rock, watching the river. Great chunks of ice were floating down the middle of the channel. It would be necessary to wait until the current cleared somewhat.

“Ah! How is it, almost-brother?” Odin greeted.

“It is good,” Nils responded easily. “How is the river?”

“Still rising a little. See, the ice is in the middle.”

The flotsam of ice, fragmenting and grinding itself smaller as it melted, would seek the banks of the river when its level
started to drop, Nils knew. There must still be much melting upstream.

“We will see,” Odin said philosophically. “When it is time …”

He trailed off in word and thought.

“Odin, I would speak with you of something else,” Nils began.

The Skraeling glanced up, but said nothing. Nils began to blurt out the story of his dreams of the giant leech, pouring it out, cleansing his soul of the torment. At last he paused, exhausted from the emotion of the effort.

Odin stared at him for a long time, and finally spoke.

“My brother, why did you not … No, I understand. … Ah, I wish Clay could help us.”

“What could this mean?” Nils demanded. “And I did not know whether I should tell anyone such a dream.”

“Dove?” asked Odin.

“No, I have not told her.”

“My friend,” Odin began thoughtfully, “I do not know. This seems to be … But you say the creature does not
look
like the leech of the Chalagees?”

“No, it does not,” Nils stated positively. “This is …” He paused as the importance of his words sank into his mind. “Odin, this must be
something else!”

Odin nodded. “I am made to think so. Could it be just the dangers of a journey?”

Nils thought about it for a moment. “Maybe.” That must be it. Any journey might be fraught with danger of some sort. Unknown dangers. Yes, that must be it. He had misunderstood the dream, confusing it in his mind with the story of the giant leech. Yes, it was much clearer, now. He wished that he had spoken to Odin before.

“It is good!” he said with a smile. He felt better than he had for many moons. Maybe, now that he had acknowledged the warning vision for what it was, it would cease tormenting him. Maybe …

P
lanning now became easier, with the concern behind him that had been brought about by the weather. He looked forward with an eagerness that he had thought he possessed, but which had obviously fallen short until now.

Specific needs for the journey came to the attention of the party, and with this, Nils was in his own element. Supplies were prepared and stowed in the rawhide carrying packs that were characteristic of the People. A herd of buffalo, migrating slowly northward with the greening of the season, provided a good spring hunt. Packs of dried meat and pemmican were prepared and set aside for the journey.

Nils began to think about specific decisions. Who of the party would travel in which canoe? He mentally evaluated the group, and began to divide and assign positions in the two canoes. All, of course, would be subject to Odin’s approval. He was far more skilled in this sort of travel than any of the others.

The canoes could carry as many as six people, one in the prow and one astern. Four could sit in the middle, by twos, side by side. That, of course, with no baggage, but they would have a considerable amount. He paused to count the people involved. Dove, Bright Sky, himself, three. Odin and Hawk Woman and their two daughters would make seven. Sven and Red Fawn, nine.
Yes, it is good
, he thought, and smiled to himself. He was thinking like his wife’s people. But it was true. There should be adequate carrying space for the nine people who would go, and the baggage they required.