The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (22 page)

She
smiled, licking her lips as she stared down the two wolves that had just
arrived. “Yes, you did.”

The
wolves began to growl, one snarling and snapping, spittle flying from its
slavering jaws.

Seta
took a step forward, stabbing with her spear.

The
skraeling man, with the burning brand still in his hand, stared with wide eyes,
his gaze switching between the wolves and Torrador. He spoke quickly in his own
tongue, too fast for Torrador to hope to grasp, despite his lessons with
Alfvin.

Seta
grimaced as she glanced at him, and then shot a sharp answer back. She then
took her anger out by stabbing her spear tip at a wolf and yelling at it.

The
two wolves facing her fell back a step, one then turning and disappearing into
the night. The other snapped at her again, but then turned and ran.

The
old man cursed the animals, and then used the opportunity to drop to his knees
and rummage in the nearest shelter.

Seta
turned to the remaining wolves on the other side of the clearing, striding over
to them, past Torrador, and again stabbing with her spear as she advanced. With
an angry fire in her eyes she hissed, “They have already lost three of their
number. They will go.”

Torrador
came up beside her with his own weapons. “I finished off the one you knocked
into the stream. They are now a much smaller pack than what they were at
sunset.”

Another
wolf turned and ran.

The
last beast stood its ground for a moment, snarling, but then also backed away.

After
a few moments, the night fell silent.

Seta
looked around the clearing, checking it over, before throwing some more wood on
the fire to build it up. “They are not usually in the valleys this deep. My
people keep their numbers back.” But as she said it, she realised that the only
reason the wolves had come so far, even if it was only a small pack, was
because her people were no longer about the vales to stop them.

Her
gaze drifted across to the shelter where the old man dug through a pile of
furs.

A
figure moved within, lost in shadow.

She
cursed. Children were in there!

Torrador
looked over his shoulder and saw them also.

The
old skraeling nodded to her, but threw a glance of concern Torrador’s way. He
turned back to Seta and hissed in their tongue.

Seta
snapped back, “He is mine. We are together!”

Torrador
tensed, understanding enough of what they discussed, even if he could not be
clear on every word’s meaning.

The
skraeling grunted something verging on disapproval, but turned back to the
children.

The
little ones began to emerge from where they had been hiding amongst the furs.
Their movements were hesitant at first, but the longer the silence reigned
after the pack’s departure, the more confident they became.

There
was a girl and a boy, both only a few years old. They reached for the old man
and threw their arms about him. Eventually, when their affections subsided, he
looked up to Seta and asked, “Who are you?”

Torrador
let Seta answer. He barely knew enough of their tongue to be able to follow the
question and was certain any attempt he made at an answer would only sow
confusion.

She
wasted no time. “I am Seta and this is Torrador.”

The
old man frowned, while his eyes showed both confusion and discomfort. “He is of
the Sea People.” He indicated a direction with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Neither
Torrador nor Seta had to guess at where he meant – Lakeland.

Seta
explained that Torrador came from a different group, even if of similar kin.

The
man looked unconvinced, but he acknowledged that Seta thought him worthy–and
that Torrador had undisputedly saved him and his kin.

He
and Seta spoke for a good part of the night, while Torrador helped them bury
the bodies of the skraeling dead.

The
old man, during that toil, spoke of the many deaths in the valleys caused by
the Norse of Lakeland, some in misunderstandings or outright fights, but worse
had followed those first incidents. He told of how some of their people were
taken back to the hall, and made to work in thraldom, with the women taken as
mates. That had been near the end of fall, not long after the first snows had
come.

Seta
and Torrador could both imagine the scene all too easily.

Later,
some of them escaped, but one of them was sick. His fellow escapees helped him
back into the vales, but his return seeded a terrible trail of pestilence, one
that claimed several members of each camp and scarred many after they were
racked by fevers.

The
violence and sickness, the latter of which had spent the last of winter moving
deeper into the vales, valley to valley, and camp to camp, caused Seta’s people
scatter. In the wake of it all, the way lay open for wolf packs and other
predators to stalk the land.

Seta
listened to the tale, of a bloody autumn, followed by a terrible winter, and of
heartbroken survivors dealing with a spring where they were hunted and overrun.

The
man, Doroba, looked exhausted, but he became re-fuelled by a smouldering
bitterness. Tonight the wolves had taken his son, after mauling his sick
granddaughter, the fever having already claimed his son’s wife earlier in the
evening. Her body still lay in one of the shelters.

With
so much death, and no hope of help coming from a people scattered and weak, he
had begun to mourn those lost, while he got the little ones to hide and he
stood to keep the wolves at bay. He had not expected his mourning song to
summon any aid; it was merely a means to farewell his family’s spirits and set
the scene for his own demise.

Seta
listened to his story, offering her understanding as he went on.

Beside
her, watching over the edge of the clearing, while working to skin the dead
wolves, Torrador understood enough to feel the truth of what his people’s
arrival had meant for Seta’s kin.

By
the time Doroba finished his tale, his surviving grandchildren asleep at his
feet, Seta knew there was nothing left for her here. Her people were now in
thraldom, scattered or dead. The life she had known was no longer here, only in
her memories.

Even
if she could find a group to join with, things had changed and would never be
the same again.

She
found the truth of it hard to believe.

But
it had been two years since she had been in the vales...

It
was then she realised she had no better choice than to return to her children
and Godsland.

She
looked to Torrador beside her, to where he worked at skinning the wolves. He
was a good man, and capable.

He
had come back for her.

Tentatively,
she reached out and patted his knee.

-

The Golden
Vale

Eskil
stood at the ship’s bow, beside Faraldr, as they made their way up the waters
of the fjord under the midafternoon sun. A steady breeze meant their progress
came by sail. The ease of passage gave most on board, especially the new
settlers, a chance to look upon the surrounding shoreline’s climbing slopes,
scattered woods and the distant, snow-dusted inland heights.

Despite
the fine weather both Faraldr and Eskil were preoccupied by their thoughts, if
not of what lay ahead at Guldale, then of what lay behind.

Lakeland.

The
lakeside hall seemed stable, but troubled and tense, and built on a short and
bloody history that could all too easily erupt like tinder touched by a spark.
It was true to say Thoromr was calmer now and perhaps even more considerate,
and that came courtesy of a newfound sense of caution that had settled in as if
to replace his lost eye.

The
brute knew he had been lucky to survive the injuries he had suffered following
the murder of Ari. He also knew he had been even luckier to have Faraldr and
his people in Lakeland to care for him. Yet those exposed to the hall over
winter had also been touched by its corrupting blight.

Now,
at the end of spring, with a full summer ahead, the new settlers presented a
chance to change Lakeland. An opportunity to build a place that would last; a
hall that might be the seed of a thriving new settlement instead of a sickly
sprout doomed to being stamped into the dirt by its own, or those surrounding
it.

The
future held so many possibilities.

Faraldr
spoke, breaking the contemplative silence, as the ship cut its way up the
fjord’s smooth waters. “Lakeland was a sorry place when we first arrived last
year, and yesterday it seemed that it was becoming such again.”

“The
men of the hall are too quick to reach for their blades and axes. It is a land
of brute strength, blood and fear.”

“It
was not as bad as last year.”

“Perhaps,
but not so different either.”

“Things
will change. Besides, of the ten men I left there, five now have their wives to
help temper their actions. The other five have apromise that I shall
bring them single women next year, if they are not returning to Greenland with
me. ”

Eskil
nodded. “Your sister is your best chance of making Lakeland a more civil place,
but you are a brave man to leave her with Thoromr.”

“Not
as brave as she is.”

Eskil
looked further down the channel, hoping their early arrival for Torrador’s
pickup would not see the lovelorn Norseman caught out. Faraldr’s ship meant
they could get around much quicker, so they would get to the shore where they
had dropped off both Seta and Torrador much sooner than planned, and still get
to Guldale before sunset.

His
thoughts turned back to Lakeland, the topic at hand. “I do not see why you do
not settle all your people with us, or in Guldale, and forget about Lakeland?”

Faraldr
offered a nod. “I know what you mean. Lakeland will be an ongoing effort, as
well as draining. Thoromr will never be someone I can trust, but working with
him does two things; one being to keep alive my claim on the hall and vale; the
other is to give our people, as a whole, more chances in this new land.”

“But
the men you left there last winter became almost as wild as Thoromr and Trion.
How can you know that every person you put into that hall will not also become
a murderous beast? What if your sister fails, overwhelmed by internal dissent,
Thoromr’s temper, a long winter or other trial?”

A
grin cracked the Greenlander’s face, one built of secrets. He lowered his voice
and said, “Eskil, I am going to share a bit of information with you, news that
will become common knowledge, soon enough.”

“What
is it?”

“Those
I left behind last year were volunteers, many of them young and full of a
hunger for adventure, fighting and lust.”

Eskil
snorted. “Like Thoromr?”

“Indeed,
but nonetheless, they are from my own family’s farms, and owe an allegiance to
me that will be reinforced now that half of them have their wives and the other
half have women promised to them, either here or in Greenland.”

“Alright,
but I guessed they had some kind of link to you. Is that your secret, because I
fear it is not enough.”

Faraldr’s
smile broadened. “The secret is not about those I left there last year, but
those who have willingly come here this spring.”

“What
is it?”

“Aldis
is my sister, but not my only relative in Lakeland. Those we left behind today
are not only loyal to me because of bonds of service through my own hall, but
because they are family. All of them. The men and women will work as a block,
to do what I want and secure my claim on Lakeland, because the claim is also
theirs, through blood.”

Eskil’s
eyes went wide as he laughed. “How many of them, surely not all?”

“All
of them. Each and every one of them is either a brother, sister, cousin, or
niece or nephew, or married to one. Nothing will happen in Lakeland without me
learning of it, and soon enough, nothing will happen that my family does not
will.”

Eskil
pursed his lips. “And what of the settlers in Godsland? Are they all relatives,
too?”

Faraldr
laughed. “Eskil, how big a family do you think I have?”

The
Godslander shrugged.

“No,
I am sure you shall have some of my family arrive sooner or later, but not now.
Godsland and you are not what worry me. You are a clever man, wise beyond your
years, looking to both immediate needs and the future. Thoromr, on the other
hand, if left alone to live with his anger, will either be murdered, or die in
a fight. With him, Lakeland may also die, for he is likely to turn the local
skraelings completely against our kind.”

Eskil
agreed.

“We
are here, and this land will be ours, but that does not mean we need to wash it
in blood.”

Eskil
listened and liked the sense he could hear in Faraldr’s words. “There may yet
be a time of blood before we can truly hold this place.”

“Yes,
there may be. If it comes to that, I will be at the front of the charge, doing
what has to be done for our people. But if that has to happen, I would rather
we chose the time–and that is not now. We need greater numbers. Right now our
hold here is too fragile.”

Eskil
could only agree.

––––––––

T
he
shoreline where Torrador was to wait came into view up ahead, although the
original arrangement was for Eskil and Ballr to return closer to sunset.
Looking ahead, Eskil could not see the Norseman or Seta. He frowned. He did not
really expect to see Seta, but hoped Torrador would have at least had a chance
to look for her, perhaps found and talked to her, and then returned to wait in
safety. He wondered, not for the first time, if he should have tried harder to
convince Torrador to return to Godsland and let Seta find her answers alone.

Ballr
arrived beside him, as did Alfvin and Frae. The Icelander asked, “This is it,
is it not?”

Eskil
nodded. “They are not there, not yet.”

Frae
looked up and down the shore, peering where the trees thickened. They were
still a fair distance out from the gravel beach. “I do not see anyone.”

Alfvin
frowned, knowing his wife constantly worried about Seta’s insistence she
return, by herself, to the vales. “We did say to meet us by sunset. We are
early.”

Faraldr
shrugged and turned to Eskil. “You said that Guldale is close?”

Eskil
gave a nod and, with a tilt of his head, indicated the distant shoreline on the
other side of the channel. “It is over there, just back around that last point.
You merely follow the other waterway to the north.”

Ballr
asked, “Can we wait?”

A
good part of the afternoon remained.

Eskil
shook his head. “No, we should take advantage of the daylight and land in
Guldale now. But we can send one of the small boats ashore here, as we have
brought two. The boat can wait until sunset and then meet us in Guldale.”

Ballr
volunteered to take a boat and wait, for he was close to both Torrador and
Seta–and Halla would never forgive him if he did not try to help her dear
friend. Steinarr offered to row ashore with him, as Alfvin, Frae and Eskil
needed to continue to Guldale.

They
parted, the ship waiting until Ballr and Steinarr reached the woods. After they
checked the area for safety and saw that Torrador and Seta were not there, they
waved and called out, bidding the ship get on its way.

––––––––

T
orrador
set as fast a pace as he could, Seta following hard, with both of them weighed
down by wolf pelts, gear and carrying one of the children each. They managed,
but were tiring, as they climbed up the slope and out of the vale. Behind them,
burdened by his wounds, Doroba struggled along.

The
old skraeling was doing well to keep up; he was exhausted, bruised, and had
lost some blood from his various bites, scratches and gashes, but he did not
complain. He knew he could not last by himself in the valley and therefore
could not protect the two little ones. The realisation had been a hard one for
him to accept.

Last
night he fought Seta’s suggestion to go with them, but she told him the truth
of his fate if he stayed.

Death.

The
end would come for him because either he would not recover from his wounds, the
pack would return or he would face some other calamity. At best, he might last
until the next snows, but at some point, the winter would bury him.

Once
Seta got him to accept that, she only had to ask what would happen to the
children.

Finally,
at dawn, he agreed to go with them, also reluctantly letting them carry the
little ones. From then on, he simply locked eyes on the carried children and
followed, regardless of how tired and sickly he felt, or how often he tripped
or stumbled.

Above,
the sun began to sink, heading for the horizon at their backs. The crest of the
hill rose ahead, and then it would be downhill all the way, on a gentler path.
That trail ended at their destination by the water.

Slick
with sweat from their efforts, their muscles burning, they continued their
journey. All three knew they had to leave the vale, if not by boat this sunset,
then some other way. The wolf pack they had confronted might not return for
them, but eventually another would, or perhaps a bear, or some other threat.

––––––––

B
allr
and Steinarr watched the ship leave, their boat pulled up beside them on the
gravel beach. The ship was a beautiful sight, turning on the wide and calm
waters of the channel. It headed to round the point that would take it into the
waters of the Guldale shoreline. Such a ship would not take long to cross the
distance.

The
two of them surveyed the area again, looking for any recent signs of passage or
any hint that Torrador had returned. They found nothing aside from the traces
Ballr, Eskil, Torrador and Seta left in the days previous. Even the nearby and
sheltered campsite held no sign of recent use.

With
an eye to the waning afternoon, Ballr and Steinarr sat and waited, watching the
approaches to the shoreline.

––––––––

T
he
ship came into the gentle waters off Guldale, after rounding a small promontory
and making its way along the shore. The breeze slowed and the sun seemed, if
possible, to brighten, despite the growing cloud cover.

To
the ship’s left spread the shore of Guldale, with the low hills behind. On the
other side of the ship, small waves lapped against the island that had been
Alfvin and Erik’s refuge. Ahead, the waters continued, the widening channel
eventually turning back towards the sea and passing by Godsland’s distant,
far-northwestern coast.

The
hills behind the shore, green and covered in shrubs, hid much of what lay
beyond, yet the wide spread of the vale and the two much higher ranges of
hills, one studded with rocky bluffs, were visible. For now, the bottom of the
valley lay hidden by the low hills backing onto the beach. But those on the
ship could see parts of what lay beyond as the land rose to climb, with wooded
slopes, towards those siding bluffs and heights.

Proudly,
Eskil announced, “Welcome to the Golden Vale, or Guldale, as we know it!”

Faraldr
smiled and was not the only one to do so. He clapped Eskil on the back as
others about him began to nod and voice their agreement that the vale was
indeed worthy of such a grand name.

Faraldr
said, “It looks better than the valleys of Greenland, though I am certain the
winters will still be white, long and hard.”

Eskil
said, “The valley floor is wide, and the land around the lakeshore and along
the river shows promise.”

Alfvin
grinned. “Good land with iron and plenty of timber. This is where we need to
settle!” He stopped and cast a sheepish look at Eskil, before whispering, “Only
do not tell Gudrid!”

Eskil
laughed to hear such a thing. “Do not worry. Godsland is serving our purpose
for now, as the gods wanted, but I think it is clear, even to my Gudda, that we
will outgrow the island.”

Behind
them, the excited conversations of the new settlers came punctuated by the
bleat, oink and call of their livestock, as they joined in agreement.

Faraldr
asked Alfvin, “Well, let us not waste any time. Where do you want us to land?”

He
pointed. “Make for the beach up ahead, by the river.”

––––––––

T
hey
came ashore quickly, but left most of their belongings and livestock on the
ship. For now, most of the Norse carried nothing but their weapons, while a
small group stayed aboard, ready to set sail if need be.