The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (19 page)

While
he did not begrudge giving Seta his knife, he felt exceedingly vulnerable
without it.

His
preparations complete, he got up and left his gear behind, aside from his new
spear and the sharpest stake, which he tucked into his belt. He planned to walk
lightly along the ridgetop, marching for half the night if need be, as he
searched the vales below for any flickering sign of campfires.

It
would be a long night.

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S
eta
knew that, out in the woods by herself, she dared not light a fire. That meant
she was in for a cold and long night, one of nerves and drowsing, as she tried
to stay as alert as she could, while hoping for a safe time to sleep. The idea
weighed on her already-flagging spirits, because she had not seen any of her
people. She told herself tomorrow would be different.

During
the last part of the day, she had seen some empty campsites as she made her way
to a rock outcrop in which she now camped. Unlike the others, the last one seen
held a fresh grave. By the sombre light of dusk, as she had looked upon the
turned soil, she realised this was as close as she had been to her people since
leaving Frae and their children. The realisation planted a seed of doubt in her
mind.

Where
were her people?

The
question haunted her for much of the evening.

Some
of her doubts were soothed later when she caught the faint scent of smoke from
a distant campfire.

She
simply had to keep going; she would find them tomorrow.

At
least, that is what she hoped.

Seta
chewed on some fish, the meal reminding her of Torrador, as he had packed the
dried food for her before leaving Godsland.

She
wondered where he was, if he had cheered up at all, and what he was eating.

But
under it all she wondered; was he thinking of her?

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T
orrador
had been able to smell smoke on and off through part of the night, and at one
stage thought he saw the flicker of distant flames, but the light had been
brief and white, possibly the reflection of the moon on water before the
scattered clouds above again stole it away. With no clear sign of where another
camp or Seta herself might be, he instead turned back to his own camp, hoping
to get some sleep.

Getting
back to his campsite was easy enough, and once there, he worked at staking the
few ways in, between the stones and trees. Then he lay where he had a good view
down into the vale, wrapped himself in his furs and watched the dark wood until
he fell asleep.

Eskil
stood next to Faraldr, having second thoughts, while the longship cut through
the water and a light fog as they headed towards the beach. Ahead, under a
midmorning sun, that spent more time hidden behind drifting clouds than not, a
path climbed up the slope and into the small and narrow vale of Lakeland.

He had not
been back since they had first seen the hall’s smoke. Softly, so as not to be
overheard by anyone but Faraldr, he said, “I should not be here.”

Faraldr
put a hand to his shoulder, taking his eyes from the shoreline. “Of course you
should. Without you, none of your people or Lakeland’s would be in Markland.”

Pursing
his lips as he frowned, Eskil then answered, “That may be true, and I am not
afraid to come, but if he has survived, my presence will only taint your
visit.”

Faraldr
shook his head. “Eskil, I saw the wounds. He could not have survived.”

“Perhaps.”

“If he
has, then it is because the gods have willed it. Regardless, we already know
whom Asgard favors; you were gifted with the drive to come forever west, until
you reached this place. All of this was meant to be.”

“I would
not want my presence to sour your relations with Thoromr.”

“He was
destined for a slow death, falling to madness, as the wound went bad–and that
is if he was not taken by one of his other injuries.”

“A painful
death.”

“Yes.
Regardless, if he has survived his wounds, you are here as my guest. Remember –
this is my hall and vale.”

Eskil
looked to the Greenlander, thinking on his words. Arching an eyebrow, he said,
“I am here in case Thoromr lives, am I not?”

The trace
of a smile came to Faraldr’s face. “You are my guest; my people and I guarantee
your safety.” He glanced to his sister, Aldis, who stood nearby, peering with
an intense gaze as she studied the land coming into view. He added, “You will
also be a witness to any deals made.”

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T
hey
landed on the beach, the expanse empty, but the path up the slope to the vale
showing plenty of wear. They left the livestock on the ship for now, along with
a few men and women to hold it, but the rest of them assembled before Faraldr.

He called
out to them as they gathered. “The winter has been long, and the hall housing
our fellows is crude. Know that our people will have had a hard time, but we
are here now, with spring, and we will build new halls and bring better times
to this vale. Follow me and my doings, and also those of our Godsland host.” He
gestured to Eskil, though they already knew who he was. “Be wary of Thoromr and
Trion, if they remain, as they are not of our own people and have already
stained this vale with too much blood.”

The
gathered group, numbering twenty, nodded that they understood.

Faraldr
added, “Do not show your blades, but do have them within reach.” And then he
turned, and with a nod to Eskil, headed up the shore towards the path.

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T
hey got
as far as half way into the vale before they saw someone, a Norseman, appearing
from a thicket of trees, with an armful of firewood. The man had seen them and
waved, as though he recognized Faraldr. He put the wood under his arm and began
jogging towards them, the rising bluff of Lakeland looming at his back, and
with it, hidden from view, the hall.

Faraldr
said to those about him, “Well, it looks as though Young Raf has survived the
winter.”

Aldis
walked just behind her brother and Eskil, but was not slow in offering, “Look
at him and his tattered clothes and furs. He looks like he has been living with
pigs!”

A chorus
of murmurs showed agreement, prompting Eskil to look down at his own clothes.
What he wore was of Norse cuts, but mostly made of furs and skins sewn
together, if quite good compared to Raf’s, but still rougher than the shirts
and such of those with him.

Raf ran
on, his pace steady and not so fast that it indicated anything other than an
eager greeting.

Eskil
looked back to the man and got a better sense of what Aldis meant. Raf’s
clothes, or what remained of his usual garb, hung worn, torn and stained. Some
of what he wore bore patches made of animal skins or were covered by a
rough-cut, hole-bearing fur he wore over his back, slits cut in at the
shoulders for his arms. In addition to that, everything looked to be caked in
mud and dirt.

Faraldr
spoke softly as the man neared, “Remember that they have had a long winter
alone, and one not planned. Ten men with Thoromr and Trion and one skraeling
thrall is not an ideal hall to winter in.”

Raf called
out as he closed, “Faraldr, it is great to see you!”

Faraldr
smiled. “And better for us to see you well!”

Raf
laughed as he slowed, covering the last of the distance.

“How have
you fared?”

“Come and
see. We all have lasted out the ice and snow, but it was not an easy time.”
Eager, he turned to lead them on.

As they
walked, Faraldr asked questions, the first coming easily, the rest prodded by
Aldis. “Raf, tell us of how you all fared, including wounded Thoromr?”

“We are
well, although Bersi sickened with a burning fever not long after the first
snows. He recovered, but remained sluggish for a time. The sickness did not
touch any of us, but some of our thralls came down with it, two of them
dying...”

Faraldr
interrupted, “Thralls, I thought there was only one?”

“There was
when you left, but we have had some run-ins with the skraelings in the deeper
vales. We killed over a dozen in fights and also took some into thralldom.”

Faraldr
gave a nod of understanding as he considered this. “And the sickness has
passed?”

“Yes, a
full season ago, before the heavy snows. It did not touch any of us.”

Aldis
prodded from behind, “And what of Thoromr?”

“Thoromr
has recovered, but is a different man. He still has his temper, yet it takes
more to stir it and even more for him to act upon it. He was lucky to survive,
and he knows it.”

“And
Trion?” she persisted.

“Yes, he
is also here, but spends much of his time away from the hall.” He slowed his
walking and turned around to meet their gaze before going on, “And from
Thoromr. They have grown apart. I think Trion thought he would be king of
Lakeland if Thoromr did not recover.”

Faraldr
grumbled, “I hope you reminded him of my own claim?”

“We did,
but I do not think he believed you would return.”

The path
rounded a bend, past some thickets, and then the heart of the vale opened up
before them. Ahead at the foot of the bluff spread the hall and the wooden
frame of a new building rising up next to it. Several garden beds ran to one
side of the hall, where the soil and light were best. Two skraeling women
worked the dirt as another Norseman looked on.

Raf, the
wintered Greenlander, said, “Trion had his own brush with death, making him
both an eager hunter of skraelings, while also wishing to leave this place.”

“What do
you mean?”

“Some
thralls escaped. They came across him while he was out in the woods hunting,
and he tried to stop them. They knocked him out and left him. We found him in
the snows later. He was nearly dead.”

Faraldr
nodded. “And Thoromr has treated you well?”

“Well
enough, but he considers the hall and vale his.”

“We shall
see about that. Where will we find him?”

“The
hall.”

“We shall
head there to speak to him. Can you gather our wintered people and bring them
in?”

“Of
course.” And with that, he hurried off to fetch his fellows.

They kept
walking, following the path to the hall.

Eskil
shuddered as they passed by the thralls working the soil with crude tools
fashioned from cut branches. The misery on the poor souls’ sunken-eyed faces
spoke of more than endless toil. Their skin bore bruises and pockmarks, while
their limbs were thin and their shoulders slumped.

He could
not help but make the comparison: Back in Godsland, Frae was not just free, but
free to marry whom she liked, and her sister, Seta, was even free to leave.

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T
he door
was open to the hall, so Faraldr walked straight up the path, intending to go
in. Eskil and Aldis followed directly behind him, and they were trailed by the
rest of Faraldr’ people.

With only
a few paces to go, a series of small thuds and splats sounded out as if someone
or something hit the floor within. A moment later, a loud curse growled,
quickly matched with the sharp slap of a blow and a muffled scream.

Faraldr
quickened his stride and entered the hall to find a basket rolling across the
floor. Between it and a Norseman, with his hand still out, fresh from
delivering a blow, lay a skraeling woman sprawled on the floor, surrounded by a
scattering of broken eggs.

The
Norseman looked up in irritation, but surprise quickly overcame his face. He
whispered, “Faraldr?” At his feet, the skraeling woman scurried away, one hand
to her cheek, the other chasing after the basket.

On the
other side of the hall, a familiar voice rose, “Faraldr, you have returned...but
you are late!” It was Thoromr.

The
Greenlander continued on, his pace slowing. He moved beyond the entry, the
broken eggs, and then past the smoldering fire pit, to make room for his
people. He looked to the Lakelander, the big man sitting on a stool while he
checked over two iron blades. “Thoromr, I see you have recovered from your
wound?”

Thoromr
frowned and began to move a hand, raising it on reflex to his missing eye,
covered by a leather patch. He stopped himself. “Yes, I survived.” He smiled,
but it was not a warm thing. “Odin wanted me to witness your return.” The big
Lakelander then glanced at the people following Faraldr in. The first thing he
searched for was drawn iron or any sign of hostility. The second thing he
noticed was the presence of so many women.

It took
only a heartbeat for his manner to soften.

Until his
lone eye spotted Eskil.

He sprung
up as he took a blade into each hand, roaring, “What is that Godsland pig doing
here!”

Faraldr
squared his shoulder, but did not draw his own blade. Calmly, without looking
to Eskil or to any of his own people, he said, “Eskil is my guest and under my
protection. I have asked him to come here, to a hall I built with my own
hands.”

Thoromr considered the words,
but did not like them. Yet he relented, at least for now. “Then you can look
after him, for I want nothing to do with him or his people. Besides, I have
already had my vengeance.”

Ari had
paid a high price for leaving Lakeland.

Eskil
said, “I can look after myself.”

Faraldr
put a hand out to stop the exchange. “This is not about ravens and wolves. Let us
move onto other matters. I am glad to see you healed and I would like to hear
how my men, and you and Trion, fared over winter.”

Thoromr
beckoned him forward and sat himself back down. There were other stools about,
and a step around the fire pit. “Sit and I will tell the tale.”

Faraldr
sat closest to Thoromr, Eskil let Aldis slip in between her brother and him,
pushing him further back, so he did not become a distraction for the rest of
the visit.

Once
everyone had settled, Thoromr began to speak, “I was well tended, and for that
I must be grateful; even I can face up to such a thing.”

Eskil was
surprised to hear such an admission.

Perhaps Thoromr
had changed, or, perhaps was not so much like his father?

Faraldr
answered, “I was glad to help.”

Thoromr
locked his one eye on him, the glare more piercing because of its singularity.
“I am sure you were. Regardless, because of my wounds, I missed much of your
men’s hurried preparations for their unplanned stay. Trion helped them, taking
them hunting, while also gathering nuts, roots and leaves that could be stored
for eating during the snows. There was also fish to be caught and dried, of
course.” He shook his head. “My father hated those fish, and I think, after
another winter, I shall be in full agreement with him.

“Your men
caught more than fish; there were birds and small animals like hares and
squirrels, plus seals, and even a few wolves and a bear. The meat was cured,
carcasses skinned, and then there were the skraeling camps they kept stumbling
upon.”

Faraldr’s
brow furrowed. “We have had little contact with them before. How did it
happen?”

“The hunts
were going deeper into the vales. Once they found one camp, another never
seemed to be too far away, or that is what they told me.” He leaned towards
Faraldr, his eye intense. “In truth, I think your men got a taste for killing
and taking thralls.”

Faraldr
did not respond to the suggestion. “Were they or you or the hall ever attacked?
Did this all happen only away in the deep vales?”

“Nothing
happened here; they would not dare!”

“How many
thralls are there? We have already seen three.”

“There are
six at the moment, all women.” He looked like he was about to leer, but glanced
at Aldis and thought better of it before continuing, “There were more, but some
sickened after the first snows, others escaped. Those who fled attacked Trion
when they did. We killed a few who were nothing but trouble.”

Faraldr said,
“It
is one thing to bring someone into thraldom in a world where everyone knows the
rules, where one hall is surrounded by a dozen others, and those by hundreds
more. But it is another thing to do it in a lone hall, where the source of
thralls is what surrounds you.”

“Hold
your lecture. They are a placid people and are there to be taken.”