The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (6 page)

“There
is much timber, that is certain, and it looks to be sheltered from the winds
off the sea,” answered Steinarr.

Eskil
mused, “I do not see any sign of a camp from here.”

Samr
answered him. “No, but it is hard to be certain. In truth, I cannot be sure of
where I think the smoke rose, but if I had to guess, I would say it was from
that valley and not the next.”

Steinarr
agreed with his brother.

Eskil
also was uncertain of whether this was from where the smoke had risen, as he
and Gudrid had seen its sky-climbing trail from much farther off. “Let us back
down our side of the ridge and follow it along. Then we will try to cross over
and get down into those woods. We need to try and remain unseen.”

It
had been mid-afternoon when they first reached the ridge top. Now, as they made
their way along, checking for signs of movement from the vale below, the
afternoon waned. Eventually, when they found a good spot for crossing and
making their way down to the woods, they could see they would not reach the
lakeside until sunset.

Though
the skies remained mostly clear, Eskil wondered if they should risk spending
the night in the wild, exposed as they were to the early spring elements.
Finally, he said, “Let us stop and wait for the coming of dusk. We will then
make our way down, using the night to aid us. It will work to double our
numbers and perhaps we will even see a fire light to help give our foe away.”

So
they sat up on the ridge, taking in the view, not only of the vale they were to
enter, but of their own fjord. From where they sat, they could see other vales
in the landscape, some crammed with trees, others not. The heights around them
still wore tattered shrouds of snow, but the lowlands held such stores only in
shadowed gullies.

The
thaw was well underway.

As
they waited, Steinarr said, “It is a good land, if harsh, and its winters long
and cruel.”

Eskil
smiled at his friend’s words. “Yes, a harsh land, and one we will need to
master if we are to survive. I suspect it also hides great riches for us to
uncover, but first we must make ourselves safe.”

When
the sun finally slipped below the snow-capped mountains to the west, the meagre
heat of the day died.

“Let
us continue,” Eskil said.

They
got up and readied their weapons. As quickly as they could, and with much care,
they crossed the ridge’s peak and started down the hillside. They headed for
the closest edge of the woodland.

Torrador
whispered to Eskil as they neared the end of their descent, “I smell smoke.”

He
was right.

A
light breeze had come in off the sea late in the morning and scattered the
smoke before it could rise and be seen, but the scent lingered.

Before
long, they were at the edge of the wood. After a quick check that they were all
down, they dove into the maze of branches and trunks, passing swiftly through a
thick leaf litter of rich rot, some of it still frozen or caked in snow.

The
night settled cold and dark about them, while the wind picked up strength.
Scattered, heavy clouds started to come in from the east, though it seemed they
would be safe from any rain or sleet for a while yet. But such a thing, this
close to winter’s last gasp, would be uncomfortable to bear, and perhaps, at
its worst, even deadly.

Soon,
they were at the edge of the lake, looking across the waters, taking what cover
they could from the trees around them, many only now coming into leaf.

Steinarr
turned to Eskil and asked, “Which way?” He was asking if they should follow the
lakeshore seaward or inland, yet the answer came from elsewhere.

Out
of the cool night and the whisper of the rising wind came the sudden and stark
bleat of a sheep.

The
Godslanders quieted in an instant.

“Sheep?”
Torrador finally gasped.

Eskil
smiled. “Perhaps our own, once lost, but now found?”

Another
sheep sounded.

Steinarr
pointed in the direction of the bleats. “Two of them! The call is coming from
across the lake. That puts them at the base of the bluff, the place best
sheltered.”

“But
are they living wild or tethered in a skraeling camp?” Samr asked.

Eskil
tightened his grip around his spear. “We did smell smoke, after all, and it is
what brought us here. There must be a camp.”

The
men agreed.

Eskil
continued, “We approach in the dark, slow and quiet.” He then turned to lead
the way, heading seaward, following the lake’s edge.

They
made their way amidst shrubs that gave way in places to last autumn’s dead
reeds. They continued to pass along the edge of the mostly leafless wood, some
of the trees yet to awaken from winter’s sleep.

Again
the sheep called, their bleats coming to them on a slow but smoke-scented
breeze.

After
some time spent following the lake around, they reached the base of the bluff,
a place where more trees and rocks crowded as the cliff face stepped down
steeply into the vale. Once there, they caught a glimpse of light ahead.

Flames!

It
was the soft, yellow glow of a campfire.

The
nearer they approached by dusk’s dying light, the more they realised that what
they saw was the stirring of a fire pit as they looked through a doorway into a
hall. The detail of the building was lost to gloom, but the structure was clear
enough.

For
a moment the light died, blocked by a figure passing through the doorway and
into the night. The sound of the sheep came a moment later, them calling out as
they were led inside. With that, the door shut and only the barest of golden
lines from the fire was visible.

Eskil
slowed his men by holding out his arms as they neared the camp. He whispered,
“Let us take great care in this. While we could do with those sheep, there is
something here that unsettles me.”

“What
is that?” asked Steinarr.

“It
seems too familiar, so unlike what I would expect of skraelings.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I
know dark is upon us, but look at what we can see of that hall.” They all
peered through the night, taking in what they could from the escaped glow of
fire light, or from what the night shared of the silhouette. “It looks to be a
hall, a hall of our own kind, not a hut or tent roped together by wretches of
no consequence.”

As
they looked at it in the dark, weighing Eskil’s words, a great gale of laughter
erupted from within the hall, one borne of several strong voices. Amidst the
roar, one voice declared, “By Thor, I am surprised she has not had twins yet!”

Eskil
swore, “By all the gods!”

His
fellows exchanged glances and cursed in surprise.

Steinarr
whispered, “What in all of Valhalla is this?”

Eskil
was smiling. “Kin! Our kin, I think. Was that Thrainn’s voice?”

Torrador
whispered, “It might be, but how could such a thing come to pass?”

“Perhaps
they survived their own ship’s wreck as well, but landed over here.”

Steinarr
eagerly stepped forward, with Samr and Erik at his back, the three almost
pushing past Eskil. “Let us get in there!”

Eskil
stayed him. “Stop! If you barge in, you will end up with a knife in your gut or
an axe in your face.”

Steinarr
relented.

“I
will call out to them and see what we might learn. Even if it is not our lost
brothers, at least they are our own kind.”

The
others agreed.

Eskil
strode forward, out of the cover of the trees. He waved his men forward,
indicating for them to stand arrayed behind him just before the thicket. With a
whisper, he said, “I alone will speak until we know all there is to know. Keep
your weapons down.”

The
others agreed.

Eskil
took a deep breath and called out into the night, “By Odin’s grace, Thrainn, is
that you, survivor of the sea?”

The
fading laughter coming from the hall now died.

A
deep silence settled as they listened to the last of Eskil’s voice echo into
the night.

The
door opened, but no one stood there revealed. The light within dimmed, as
someone in the hall worked to smother the fire.

Finally,
a silhouette came to stand in the doorway.

After
only a brief pause, the silhouette stepped fully into the night, with an axe in
one hand. By the light of the stars, the Godslanders could see it was indeed
the big Swede, Thrainn.

Eskil
stood still and silent, despite his excitement at finding survivors from the
other ship. While the Godslanders might be eager, he knew that to Thrainn, the
night’s newcomers would seem to be more likely phantoms of the dead.

They
would need to be careful.

Thrainn
did not address Eskil or his fellows directly, although he gazed at them. He
spoke instead to his own in the hall at his back. His voice came deep and
rough, just as his hard and long years had made it. “Five figures by the trees;
they look to be Norsemen.”

Movement
of shifting silhouettes in the doorway revealed at least three more survivors,
perhaps four, within the dim hall. Their hissing voices questioned Thrainn, who
stood with his bulk blocking the way. They also made observations as they stole
glances over his high and broad shoulders:

“Nothing
good arrives cloaked in the dark of night.”

“Could
there be more of them?”

“Is
that an evil sea mist lingering around them?”

“Can
you tell in this gloom if you know any of them?”

Thrainn
continued to ignore Eskil as he studied him and the other Godslanders, speaking
only to answer the questions coming from those behind him. “Five of them, not
wreathed in fog or seaweed, and yes, I know their faces.”

Steinarr
shifted with impatience, although he did nothing more than move his weight.

Thrainn
glared at him.

Eskil
moved his hand ever so slightly to Steinarr as he quietly let out a
disapproving hiss.

Meanwhile,
more questions came to Thrainn from his fellows:

“Who
is it?”

“Who
do you know?”

Thrainn
cleared his throat and loudly announced, “They look to be our fellow
travellers, or at least their long missing bodies.”

Eskil
recognised the voice asking many of the questions as that of Thoromr, Thrainn’s
own son, now a man himself. Thrainn, a Swede, had married in Iceland twenty
years before and had raised a family, bringing them west to seek fresh
opportunities and claim land. He had been one of the oldest men on their
voyage, near on forty, and one with a big temper. He and his like-minded son
had made enough enemies back in Iceland to make trying their luck elsewhere a
wise choice.

Thoromr
asked, “Who is there, who can you see?”

“Eskil,
Torrador, Steinarr, Samr and Erik, so it seems.

“Be
wary.”

Thrainn
snorted in irritation, and then hissed, “Be quiet! You are acting like a
frightened girl.” He then stepped forward two more paces and called out,
“Eskil, if it be you, come forward a few steps and let me see what the night
dares deliver to the Lakeland Hall.” He lifted his axe as he spoke, adding with
menace, “And if you are a shade come crawling from the sea, or a dark spirit
that has taken his sodden corpse, also come forward so I can put an end to
you.”

Eskil
whispered to his fellows, “Stay back.” He then slowly and steadily stepped
forward, stopping when he stood halfway between the two groups.

Thrainn
watched him closely and then demanded, “Speak, tell me what brings you here
tonight?”

Choosing
his words carefully, Eskil answered, “We saw smoke this morning; it was rising
from across the water, so we set out to see who made such a thing.”

“From
across the water?”

“Yes,
our own hall is on an island. That is where we wintered.”

“You
have a hall?”

“Yes.”

Thrainn
did not ask anything more. He merely stood there for a time, looking over
Eskil, while his own people passed through the doorway and spread out behind
him.

The
Godslanders recognised both Thrainn’s son, Thoromr, and his nephew, Trion, as
well as the farming cousins Alfvin and Ari, not of Thrainn’s kin.

Thrainn
frowned and then strode forward, axe in hand. He walked up to stand a pace from
Eskil, stared him in the eye, and then walked around the Godsland leader,
examining him, while also keeping note of what the others were doing. He
clutched his axe tightly the whole time. After circling around again to face
Eskil, he said, “You survived?”

“Yes,
but we lost many to the storm.”

The
words hung heavily over the meeting, as all had lost family and friends.

Thrainn
stepped forward, bringing his free hand up to grab Eskil’s shoulder and brush
his fingers along his neck. The big man could feel flesh. Eskil was warm and
real. With a sigh, Thrainn said, “I had given up on you and the others,
believing you were all dead. But you are not made of mist or a spirit of the
sea or shrouded in a grave’s stink.” He began to shake his head, but stopped
himself. “Or so it seems. Come, and bring your men into our hall and let us see
you by the light of our fire pit.”

Eskil
and his men stayed the night in the hall, not just reunited with five men from
the other ship, but also, it felt, the wider Norse world.

Thrainn
led them, the Lakelanders, as they called themselves. The big Swede, the oldest
survivor from both halls, stood both tall and broad, with blonde hair verging on
red, a colour obvious in his beard, although grey had begun to touch its edges.
A strong man, he was also known for his cunning and pride-fired anger. His son,
Thoromr, was a young, hulking man in his own right, who shared those
attributes, both in appearance and temper. Three others were also in the group:
Thrainn’s nephew, Trion, and the two farmers, Alfvin and Ari.

The
men all held broad skills. Ari knew a good deal about hunting and of the labour
of a woodsman, and both Alfvin and Trion held skills in farming and working
iron. Thoromr, young as he was, had learned much in the ways of a warrior from
his father, as well as farming. Together they had made the trip from Iceland
with two dozen others, their own vessel following alongside Eskil’s ship. Inspired
by Eskil’s vision, they had hoped to claim their own land in the west and start
afresh in a settlement dedicated to honouring the true gods.

That
is until the great storm came.

They
were an intense group, more so now for the hardships they had endured, and knew
they had been lucky to find an abandoned hall. The finish of the structure was
rough, but no doubt raised by Norse hands. It seemed to be a hall for seasonal
use, perhaps built by Greenlanders, who some said visited Markland to explore
and harvest the natural treasures, particularly the furs and timbers.

The
luck of finding the hall was supported by the discovery of a nearby swamp
showing signs of being worked for bog iron.

Whether
it was someone’s summer camp or not, one thing was certain – it had been built
by Norse hands. That alone gave the place a comfortable feel.

Eskil
and his fellows were invited into the hall, although the Lakelanders continued
to watch them in case they were malicious spirits labouring in deceit. The
Godslanders gratefully embraced its warmth, but they soon discovered that not
only the five Norseman lived there; along the back, skulking away from the men,
shone the timid and dark eyes of four skraeling women.

The
women were rugged up in furs, and, Eskil noted, at least two of them sported
heavy bruises to the face.

As
the Godslanders were brought closer to the re-stoked fire pit and were
encouraged to sit, Eskil asked of Thrainn, “Tell us of your escape from the
storm.”

Steinarr
added, “And of these womenfolk, please tell us of them.”

Eskil
frowned and gently reprimanded Steinarr for speaking out of turn, for he could
see all his men were taking an interest in the female skraelings. “Steinarr,
let Thrainn answer my question first. I’m sure it will lead to the women here.”

Thrainn,
busy studying the faces of the guests in his hall, barely turned to look at the
women. “Sit and we will tell you our tale. First though, tell us of your own
camp. Did you also find a hall?”

Eskil
shook his head. “We came ashore amidst the ruin of our own ship. With its
timbers, ropes and sail, we were able to get up a roof that first day, and then
the only thing we had to worry about was food.”

Torrador
added, “And the wolf.”

“The
wolf?” Thrainn asked.

Eskil
nodded. “A great wolf, one of the biggest I have ever seen. It came on our
camp, just after dusk on our first night, when only Gudrid and Halla were
there.”

Steinarr
laughed. “The women went to face it, but we beat them to the fight. Most of us
returned from our various dusk wanderings just as the wolf was about to
attack.”

“You
came ashore with weapons?”

“Not
at the time – only the one blade. We also recovered a small wood axe and some
other knives in the following days as we scoured the beaches for more salvage.
We chased the wolf off that night with our numbers and by raining down rocks
upon it.”

“So
Gudrid and Halla went to face the wolf?”

“Yes,
but they are safe.” Eskil smiled. “And Gudrid has given birth to a son, Ulfarr,
while Halla is now expecting.”

“Expecting?”
Thrainn looked about. “Did Ballr survive or is she widowed and remarried to one
of you?”

“Ballr
lives. He is back at our hall with the women and young Ulfarr.”

Thrainn
burst out laughing. “At home with the women!”

Many
of the men laughed at the charge, but Eskil answered Thrainn. “Our raft, as
small as it is, can only fit five.”

“You
have a raft?”

“Small
and solid, yet not worthy of the sea.”

“So,
with Ulfarr, there are nine of you?”

“Yes.”
Eskil looked about the small hall, particularly at the skraeling women. “And of
yours?”

“Only
what you see.”

Eskil
sighed with disappointment, and he was not alone. “I had hoped to see your
women, and also Leif.”

Thrainn
frowned. “No,” he said, then shook his head. “No, none of them.”

“What
happened?”

He
began the tale, looking at his men as his first words flew. “We struggled
ashore, the five of us. We found some others, including Katla and Herdis, but
they did not last the night. They died with water in their lungs, the chill of
the dark finishing them.”

At
his words, Alfvin and Ari looked down at the glowing coals in the fire pit,
their troubled thoughts lost to memories of their dead wives.

Eskil
studied the two men before turning back to Thrainn. “I am sorry to hear of it.
Many good men and women have been lost. It is also a shame Leif did not make it
ashore. The big Dane knew a lot about working wood and shipbuilding. He would
have been a handy man to have.”

Thrainn’s
men all turned to their leader as he glanced down at the flames and frowned
anew. He finally met Eskil’s gaze and said, “Leif did make it ashore, but he
was in a bad way, as all of us were. He did not survive.”

Eskil
and his men nodded their understanding.

Thrainn
continued on, “We had little in the way of salvage from the ship, so we needed
to look for shelter as the day waned. That was when we stumbled upon this hall,
but it was not empty.” And he tilted his head towards the skraeling women. “We
discovered this family, sisters I think. They were passing through the area,
for they had little with them and were simply using its roof to shelter from
the storm.”

Thrainn
shook his head before glancing at his fellows again. “They were here with their
old father, a man weak and sick. There were also some younger men who tried to
stop us.” With a dark smile, he added, “I slaughtered them.”

Thoromr
gave a hard laugh. “Do not forget I helped.”

Thrainn
raised an eyebrow, but gave a single nod. “And Trion. Do not forget the part
your cousin played.”

Thoromr
grimaced, while Trion smiled in appreciation.

Eskil
asked, “Slaughtered? Do you have weapons other than your axe?”

“No,
no others besides a blade. My axe came ashore with me, still strapped to my
back. We surprised them and took the hall in moments, the fight over quickly.
The women cowered, while the old man died not long after. We then took the
women as our own, bringing them into thraldom.”

His
men nodded, staring into the flames as they recalled that fateful night.

Eskil
asked, “Sisters?”

Thrainn
gave a shrug. “In truth, we are not certain. I think at least some of them are,
the others perhaps cousins. Either way, they now are ours.”

Eskil
noted that several of his own men turned to look at them, appraising the idea.
To take people into thraldom was nothing new to the Norse. Such enslavement was
accepted.

Thrainn
also noticed the interest of Eskil’s men with a frown that deepened amidst his
red beard. “Thralls, I suppose, is the word for it, or perhaps even wives.
Having been with them through winter, the truth of it is we probably owe them
our lives for the knowledge they shared of where and how to gather food in this
harsh and strange land.”

Eskil
looked to the dark haired women again, observing more than anything how fearful
and withdrawn they were. “Wives you say?” But it was indeed thralls, or maybe
prisoners of a sort, that he saw.

“Yes,
and now all four of them are expecting our sons.”

Eskil’s
men laughed aloud at that, offering smiles and well wishes. “So, there is five
of you, four women and now the coming of four babes?”

“Yes,
a brood of thirteen, I suppose.”

“Have
you seen any other skraelings?”

All
eyes turned back to Thrainn.

Eskil
noticed how Thrainn’s own men waited for the answer as much as the Godslanders,
as if they did not know what he might say.

A
grim smile cracked the big man’s features, built of blood and satisfaction, as
he squared his shoulders and leaned back. “There was some sign at the end of
summer, of three sets of visitors, I think. We found two of them; one of two
skraeling men, the other of a lone man, though it would be fairer to call him a
boy.”

“What
happened?

Thrainn
lifted his axe from where it sat beside him by the fire, moving it in his hand
as he felt its weight. “I killed them.”

All
the Norse stirred to hear such a thing; Eskil’s men to hear of battle,
Thrainn’s because of the memory.

Eskil
asked, “And how did it come to that? Did they start the fight or come to trade
or try and talk?”

Thrainn
glanced at the women sitting alongside the wall.

At
his gaze, they shrank back further into the shadows.

“I
think they came looking for the women, but we never let them get close enough
to know.”

“What
makes you think they came looking for them?”

“In
truth, I am only guessing, but they were geared to move, not to hunt. They had
some weapons, but for the most part travelled light. They carried no game with
them, so I think they were not out hunting animals in the woods, but instead,
seeking their lost kin.”

“I
see.”

“They
tried to talk, but I would have none of it.”

“So
you killed them?”

“Yes,
while they were distracted in trying to make themselves understood. My axe took
them both; one in the neck – I nearly got his head clean off – the other in the
ribs. What we did understand from them, before I ended our conversation, was
that they were looking for someone or something. I did not want to give up our
thralls or even the knowledge that we had them.”

“And
that was the two of them?”

“Yes.
Later, quite a while later, we saw a lone skraeling, a young man in the woods.
He was more a boy, I suppose. It took some doing to catch him, but eventually
we realised he was coming back to check on us, so we set up a trap for him one
night.”

“And
did you capture him?”

“Yes.”

“And
what was he after? Searching for the other missing skraelings?”

“Yes,
I think so, for the men. We will never know. He did not survive his catching.”

“You
mentioned a third sign of skraelings?”

“We
found more tracks, but never caught sight of who made them. We did find a
campsite a good day’s trek away. It looked to have been used by two or three
men. They had stayed the night there and had a fire. We do not know if they got
close enough to see our hall, but we caught signs of their passing on the beach
of the cove. In truth, having seen it, the camp told us nothing other than they
had been near.”

“And
you have had no other visitors since?”

“Not
that we know of. Perhaps more will come with the melting of the snow?”

Silence
fell for a moment, a heavy moment Thrainn eventually broke when he ran his
fingers along the head of his axe. “They were dressed to keep warm, but had
little in the way of weapons, using sharpened stone, bone and wood.”

“What
do you mean? What were they armed with?”

“Spears.
They also had knives and axes, but with stone blades. We kept them, but not in
here.” He nodded towards the thralls. “I think the women worked out that we met
some of their kin and fought them. I am certain they have heard enough of our
talk and seen the blood on our clothes. But I thought it best to keep them from
seeing the bodies or belongings, in case they recognised any of them. Besides,
the weapons were so poor that while we might use them outside of the hall, we
do not need them in here.”

Steinarr
wore a grim smile. “Worried you might wake up with a skraeling axe in your
throat?”

Thrainn
did not try to hide his scowl. “They are timid enough, but with five of us and four
of them, having extra weapons about to tempt them, particularly if they feel
the need to avenge kin, is not something I would see happen.”

Steinarr
ventured through a smirk, “You fear them?”

Thrainn
growled, his tone threatening as he used his axe to point. “No, we are being
smart with our numbers. Five versus four, as it stands, weighs in our favour,
even more so because of our weapons. But give them blades or axes also, the
sight of their dead kin to fire them on, and maybe then one of us will have an
accident. Suddenly it will be four versus four, and then maybe three versus
four. In truth, I am of half a mind to simply slit their throats and be done
with them.”

With
such harsh words ringing in the air, Thrainn’s kin, Thoromr and Trion, did
nothing but glare at Steinarr. Contempt radiated from the young men, the
feeling as menacing as the way their leader gripped and pointed with his axe.

The
other two men, Ari and Alfvin, were more subdued. They stole glances at two of
the thralls before dragging their gazes back to the fire pit.

Eskil
knew the look; they did not like to hear such talk about their thralls, wives
or women.