Chapter 4
Light
broke over the mountains to the east and lit the temple-farm, but the darkness
had ended some time before as black night gave way to gray-blue. It was a
cloudless day and cold but the wind was up and moving the trees on the hillside
and to the forested path to the south.
Ring
sat atop the roof of the hall swathed in furs like a small bear on an empty
hill-top bare of trees. He called to Ragnorvald when he saw him leave the hold.
"Hey!
Send someone up here to watch while I sleep," he yelled down.
"I
need you up there," Ragnorvald yelled back.
"I
can sleep up here fine. Just send someone to watch while I do it."
With
an eye at the barn Ragnorvald turned back to the door of the hall.
"I'll
drag someone out of the furs," he called to Ring.
The
entrance to the hall was a bloody mess. Four of the men who'd defended the door
were dead and they'd gathered them and their bits and pieces and tossed them in
a heap to the side of the entrance. To Ragnorvald's surprise the bodies were
now laid out some distance away beside the low building the temple used as a
forge and smithy. Three of his men were busy with picks and shovels digging
holes in the ground.
He
frowned and veered from the hall.
"I
see you have moved in here," he said to them as he approached.
"What?"
asked Asbjorn pausing in his work and leaning on his shovel. Next to him Eirik
wore a piece of cloth tied around his head and from his jaw to his crown. He
was knee deep in his hole and didn't bother to look around. Hrafnkel was
chopping at the ground with a pick and pulled up his downward swing when he
heard Ragnorvald speak.
"You
look to be planting potatoes," laughed Ragnorvald.
Eirik
suddenly stopped his digging and turned to face Ragnorvald with his shovel
wavering in his hand halfway between tool and weapon but acting as neither in
the young northman's grasp.
"Eirik,"
Ragnorvald said quietly but with unhidden menace in his voice, "you going
to try planting me?"
For
a moment a red sheet fell before Eirik's eyes and his body tensed to spring,
but his spirit was weak and the rage did not take hold. The moment passed. The
shovel fell from Eirik's hand and he turned his head away.
"Maybe
it is better that you do stay here," Ragnorvald said with contempt and
disappointment.
"I
will keep planting potatoes," Asbjorn said and dispelled the dangerous
cloud that had formed around them.
Ragnorvald
looked at the squat powerful warrior digging in the ground like a farmer or a
thrall and laughed. "Hrafnkel," he turned to the third man. "I
need someone to take a turn at watch on the hall roof."
"I
do not like," Hrafnkel began and paused for words. "...the temple.
The Harvest Mother..."
"You
can dig... you can stay awake and watch," Ragnorvald said evenly.
"I
can watch," Asbjorn said.
"Do
you challenge?" Ragnorvald asked him casually.
Asbjorn
locked eyes with the chief he'd sworn to obey and felt that this was not his
day to die.
Hrafnkel
threw down his pick and, not glancing at Ragnorvald, headed for the side of the
hall where they had left the ladder.
***
Inside
the hall the thralls, except for a half-dozen of the women culled aside by the
outlaws, milled about the base of the Harvest Mother's statue. A pile of goods
had been dragged to the front of the temple-hall near the doors. Several fine
wooden chests, tools, several barrels, piles of furs, whatever weapons could be
found and foodstuffs that had been kept near the small cooking fire toward the
back of the hall. The center firepit, wide enough to roast an oxen, was blazing
merrily with a week's worth of logs and items such as Ring's torn and
bloodsoaked clothes. They added to the thick smoke and burned amid the timbers.
"Well
I'm glad to see you've been busy," Ragnorvald boomed out as he looked
about him.
"Nothing
keeps us from loot," Skarpi called back. He had planted himself near
enough to the blazing fire to roast, and Ragnorvald laughed when he saw the
spear behind him with a hunk of meat charring on the end set leaning against a
bench and dangling just outside the flames.
Gisli
wandered up with a small chest in his hands. He had clothed himself in his old
stained garments and wore his armor. All were clean and looking none the worse
for their roll in the sheep pen.
"Found
this back there," he said and nodded toward the back of the hall with the
looming statue of the Harvest Mother. "Even the thralls didn't know what
it was."
"That
sounds promising," said Ragnorvald.
"I
brought it up here because it is stirring up the thralls."
"Afraid
of those," Skarpi teased his friend.
"I'd
rather not slaughter them," Gisli said seriously, "and not
here." He set the small chest on the ground by his feet. It was old and
coated in a moldy looking green with a lock half as big as a fist. "I'm
not worried about the Harvest Mother and her priests or her temple," he
held up his hand, "my people have never been farmers, both the men and
women always sought a place in the Raven King's hall, but this is a holy place,
and I'd rather not have even the Goddess of farmers and pregnant women angered
with me."
"Save
me from pregnant women," Skarpi mocked.
Ragnorvald
rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to disregard the worries of his men.
Well, the worries of Gisli and Skarpi who were two of his better men.
"Let
us see what we have here," he said to Gisli.
Skarpi
moved himself over but didn't stand. Gisli squatted by the small chest and
pulled a short broad knife from his belt. It was a stabbing blade which would
split bone and leave a wide wound though not a deep one. Its broad handle was
as long as the blade so a man could get a strong grip and tear it loose if it
became wedged. Ragnorvald watched as Gisli scrapped the blade between the lock
and the edge of the chest. The dagger left a sharp copper scar where it parted
the verdigris of years. When he had the hilt up to the side of the lock he turned,
twisted and pulled, his face went red and he put his knee on the top. With a
snap the old metal parted and the lock shot free, barely missing Ragnorvald who
had backed away from the arc of the freed dagger as Gisli tore it loose.
The
top of the chest sprang back. Inside the box was a swirl of copperish rope
coiled into a long braid. Ragnorvald bent down and brushed at the tangle, then
lifted the box in one hand and poured the contents out into the other; A round
and leathery object fell out amid a shower of copper braids.
Skarpi
laughed and Gisli gave a curse. Ragnorvald tilted the box back and rolled the
withered skull inside, but the braids dangled from it like a coiled serpent.
"Not
even any gold teeth," Ragnorvald sighed. "I thought they buried their
dead?"
"This
is something of the priestesses," said Gisli more than a little dismayed
to see the skull, "some secret that they have."
"Put
it back then," Ragnorvald said with disappointment. "Or toss it in
the fire. Or hang the cursed thing from the ceiling so Ring and Aelfdan can
shoot at something," his voice rose and then he chuckled. "Close it
up and put it back. I was hoping for a chest of gold, but I knew it was too
light."
"Little
gold or coin we've found here," Skarpi complained. "They seem to like
fur, cloth or bones. Not even much metal except for some blades."
"They
don't like metal," spoke a voice through the fire.
Eystein
came limping around the outer edge of the great center fire. "We won't be
finding gold here," he told them in a strained and hollow voice. A small
trail of blood followed him as he approached and he fiddled with the cloth tied
around his thigh. He looked pale, though the light from the fire danced orange
and red across everything, but still a drawn and grey face stared at them.
Ragnorvald
held back a grimace. Eystein had the face of death on him. His time did not
look far off.
"Hah,"
Eystein snorted than swayed a bit on his feet.
Skarpi
caught his leg and Eystein stiffened then dropped himself to the floor.
"You'll be in the fire!"
"It
doesn't matter," Eystein rubbed at his leg, "I've bled too much. I'll
never make it back to the cave. To the ice with this place, some bitch cuts me
down with a bow..."
"We
will carry you back if we need to," Ragnorvald assured him, but to himself
he silently agreed.
"If
I could have made it to those spearmen..."
"Hold
yourself together," Ragnorvald reached down and gripped Eystein's
shoulder. "You charged into the fight. This is a battle wound, be it from
a bow or spear. Those women were no thralls. The way you treat these
priestesses they sit above a jarl."
"I
didn't care," Eystein muttered, "I said to myself I didn't care. The
Crow-Maiden's would never carry me. I would never go to the Raven King's hall. Now
it is my hope. My time is near."
"Your
time will be when it will be," Ragnorvald told him. "You know you
cannot hide from your fate. If this is your death it came with honor, but while
you still breathe fight, fight for that last breath."
"Morning
is here..." said Gisli without looking up. He worked to stuff the braids
of the skull back into the metal chest but clanged it close with a long tail of
it hanging down.
"Yes,
it is time for us to be leaving," Ragnorvald agreed. "Everyone
up!" he yelled and his voice echoed through the temple-hall.
***
The
doors to the hall were pulled wide. Ragnorvald led his men out with a gaggle of
thralls carrying their former possessions and those of the temple. The morning
was changing from cold, clear and bright to a gray which promised snow. Clouds half-filled
the sky and they sailed like the sea-kings own dragon-prowed ships over the
waves. Darker tidings were on the move, a storm was coming, Ragnorvald could
taste it in the air.
"We
need those wagons," Gisli looked toward the barn.
"Where
has Sven gotten?" Ragnorvald replied but really asked the question to the
air.
"What
is all the noise?" the air asked back.
Ring
sat on the roof-peak above the entrance to the hall.
"Time
to go," Ragnorvald told him. "Stay up there, but send Hrafnkel down
to help get the wagons and the oxen. We're leaving."
"About
time," Ring called back and then yelled for Hrafnkel to get his ass over
to the barn.
"You
get things sorted out here, Gisli," Ragnorvald nodded toward the throng of
men and thralls. "Keep watch on Eystein. He can ride in a wagon. We take
him or his body with us."
"Right,"
Gisli replied, "Skarpi should stick around too. He took a good beating
last night."
Ragnorvald
nodded then called to the others, "Agnar, Glum, Thorkel, up to the barn.
We have those wagons to prepare."
The
temple-hall, barn, forge, sheep pen, and small buildings were held in a big circle
of logs that formed a short wall, taller than a man but no defense against a
real foe or even a dozen raiders such as Ragnorvald and his men, and the barn
was only a score of yards distance away.
"Where
is Sven?" Ragnorvald muttered aloud. The men beside him gave the
exclamation a sidelong glance but offered no reply.
***
(If you are enjoying this story please consider purchasing it on kindle
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Comments here or on Amazon Kindle would be greatly appreciated)
Copyright March 2014 By Jason Zavoda
Can you read Kindle purchases on a computer? I know nothing of the ap.
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