Islands in the Fog (37 page)

"And now Gunther should leave with our thanks. There are one hundred men on his ships. They are eating away our winter stores. Doesn't he know?" Runa put down her cloth, and Ulfrik opened his eyes. Her brows were knit. "I'm not ungrateful. But if he cannot do more to care for his own men, he will end up killing us over the winter."

Ulfrik fell into silence. He knew the words were true. "When Gunther returns, I will speak to him. He will be reasonable."

Runa continued to work, and the morning passed with Ulfrik resting. Soon Gunnar awakened and wanted to go see his friends. Ulfrik gave him permission, but he seemed hesitant to leave. "Will you need me to help you walk?" he had asked. Ulfrik struggled to match his son's seriousness when he declined; he laughed when Gunnar trotted out of the room.

By midmorning word had come that Gunther's ship had returned. Ulfrik insisted he stand and greet Toki in the hall. It was an effort to reach the high table, but it was an improvement. Everyone else had gone to greet the ship, only Snorri remaining with Ulfrik. The two shared a companionable silence as they waited. He heard them approaching long before they entered. Ulfrik shoved to his feet, bracing against the table.

The group swept into the hall. Halla and Ingrid's brilliant hair caught Ulfrik's attention. He saw Runa, tears glittering in her eyes. Only then did he realize Toki stood between Runa and Halla, each woman holding one of his arms. They stopped at the far end of the hall. Toki's gaunt and haggard face told Ulfrik of all the suffering he had endured. The gods had clawed him, dragged their price out of him in blood and soul. Their eyes met, and Toki immediately forced out any hint of his pain. He pulled his arms from the women at his sides and straightened his back.

"Gods, it's killing me to stand. Come here, Toki!"

Toki ambled as fast as his wounds allowed, and stepped onto the high stage where he and Ulfrik hugged.

"Ulfrik, will you forgive me?"

"For saving my family and friends?" He pulled back, a quizzical look on his face. "I'm afraid I must remain grateful for the rest of my days."

"No, for failing you, Ulfrik. For breaking my oath. For lying on a bed while you fought for your life. For not following your plans and endangering your family."

"Be silent, Toki, and be welcomed. We are brothers, and there is nothing to forgive." Ulfrik turned to the small group of familiar faces. The remainder of people filling the hall belonged to Gunther One-Eye. "With Toki and Halla returned, my home is whole again. Let us celebrate."

Men cheered and shouted agreement. Runa shot him a frustrated look, but Ulfrik merely smiled. He had a duty to provide entertainment and generosity to his people, especially after all that had happened. So he sat gingerly on his bench, and laughed.

Later in the day when the sun mounted the top of the sky and the last of the fog had rolled off the plains, Ulfrik and the remnants of his hirdmen gathered by the sacred stone. Snorri had lent his support to Ulfrik's weakened stride. Pain seared his leg, but he believed exercising it was better than allowing it to stiffen and wither. He now leaned against the rock, restraining his agony behind a straight face and tight clamped lips. He needed to appear strong and confident.

Ingrid and Halla arrived with men who had once served Hardar. Despite her travel-worn clothes, Ingrid still cut a dignified and elegant figure in the sharp shadows of noontime sun. Toki ambled behind, leaning on Halla and Dana. Ulfrik at least did not feel alone in his suffering.

Gunther attended with a few of his closest, standing to the side as an outsider. But his single eye fixed Ulfrik with a mischievous glint, as if he approved of the children at play.

Ingrid stopped a distance away from Ulfrik, waiting to be summoned. He straightened himself, clasping Snorri's arm in a shaking grip for support. "Come forward, Ingrid of Trongisvagur. Stand before me and be recognized in front of this assembly."

She swept across the grass, uncommon confidence and a flair of arrogance in the lift of her brow. Ulfrik forced himself to recognize her strength, but still had come to like her less since their return home. But he needed allies, and he needed peace.

"Kneel and place your hands upon my blade." Ulfrik unhitched his sheathed sword with his free hand and tipped the hilt for her. Ingrid glided to her knee and placed her blue veined hands upon it. Eager to be finished, he drew a deep breath before speaking. "As the price of defeat, I claim Hardar's lands and belongings. But in recognition of the long held traditions of the people of Trongisvagur, I award Hardar's property to his wife, Ingrid, whose father ruled those lands in old times. Ingrid, you must swear your oath of loyalty to me, to serve as my bondsman, to provide warriors for the hird and the levy, and all other duties of a bondsman. Before this assembly of freemen, make this oath and be joined with me."

Ulfrik watched her downcast eyes search an invisible scene before her. At the moment when her silence would become strange, she spoke. "I swear loyalty to Ulfrik Ormsson and accept his generosity with the heartfelt thanks of all the survivors of Trongisvagur." She lifted her fierce eyes to his, and Ulfrik startled at the resolve he saw within their pale depths. But she smiled, and Ulfrik withdrew his sword.

"Rise, Ingrid, and be welcomed." He offered her his hand, which she took gently and stood. Men cheered and Ulfrik even felt a lightness, for now truly a peace had been restored and rebuilding could start.

"You buried my husband," she said in a low voice. "But I wish his body returned to my lands."

Ulfrik nodded, but frowned at the request. He did not expect she held any love for Hardar, but perhaps he had misjudged. He turned to address the others. "We have peace again, but the enemy has still survived. Hardar's cousins have gone north and may one day return. Our union with Trongisvagur will make us strong, and keep them off our shores. Yet we must remain vigilant."

The talk of renewed war drew sour looks and damped the celebration. Ulfrik regretted his poor timing. "But tonight we will feast and celebrate victory! Already my wife is preparing the evening meal, a last feast before winter visits us again."

Cheers renewed and a positive murmur rippled through the crowds. Ulfrik dismissed them to their duties, though he still had a few matters to settle. Before his own hirdmen departed, he called Thrand the Looker to him.

Thrand plodded to him like he carried a stone over his back. White sea salt stained his clothing and when he drew near mead stench flowed from his mouth. Ulfrik felt the pang of guilt at his appearance. Even Thrand's good eye did not meet his.

"Thrand, Njall's death was noble and brave. He is with Odin now, feasting and fighting and drinking."

"Noble? He pitched into the ocean and drowned. He's in Rán's Bed now."

Ulfrik bowed his head to the stubborn sorrow. He wanted to do more for Thrand, who had lost the last of his family while protecting Ulfrik's. But such was the duty of sworn men, and while a good lord tries to avoid it, Fate often had other designs. Ulfrik gestured to Snorri, who passed him a heavy leather purse.

"This is Njall's blood price, and more for your service to me. I will not forget it, Thrand. This gold is not enough for what you did."

Thrand regarded the proffered purse, then shook his head. "Keep it for rebuilding. You're right, though. It's not enough."

Ulfrik forced the purse at Thrand, but he already turned and stalked away into a lonely field.

The celebration was modest compared to the feasts of days past. Were it not for Gunther's men, Nye Grenner's hall would have been half empty. Many had fled or perished under Hardar's rule. Deaths of hirdmen had further thinned the population. Yet still families gathered to celebrate a return to peace and the memories of the dead. They told stories of Hardar's villainy, cursed his name, and proclaimed Ulfrik a hero. Ulfrik, still unable to stand but healing better than expected, sat at the high table with his leg propped on a bench and raised his drinking horn to every toast. Runa and Gunnar sat beside him.

"Mead dulls the pain," he explained to Runa.

She smiled, placed her hand upon his, then adjusted Gunnar who slept in her lap. "Time for your son to get to bed. You will do what you promised tonight?"

Ulfrik rolled his eyes. "As I promised. I've just been waiting for the right time."

Runa laughed, then stood. Laying sleepy Gunnar over her shoulder, she leaned to kiss Ulfrik's head. He watched her leave for their room. Looking back on the hall, hearth smoke laid white over the drowsy guests. Ingrid and Halla, knitted together since their reunion, still chatted among their drunken hirdmen. Toki, with a long suffering look, caught Ulfrik's gaze and raised his mug to him. Ulfrik laughed. Men who had been enemies only weeks before now shared benches in his hall.

Fate, Ulfrik had decided, was unknowable.

He judged it time to keep his promise to Runa. Gunther One-Eye and his men, valuable as they had been, now burdened him. Winter approached and supplies dwindled. Some murmured the foreigners planned to occupy Nye Grenner.

Gunther had swilled a lake of mead and still appeared unsullied and cogent. Ulfrik beckoned him over, and Gunther left his small group to sit beside him.

"You've held a fine feast for such a small place. Your mead is made for the gods."

Ulfrik laughed politely. "I think you have drank the last of it."

"Then make more." Gunther doubled over in laughter, slapping the table.

"Gunther, I have to speak to you about your men."

"Don't say it. I know. We are leaving tomorrow."

Ulfrik's mouth hung open. "It's not that I'm ungrateful."

"Of course not, but you're poor and we've got all we can from you. You've shown me a good time here. I'm ready for something new."

"I would offer you to stay, but with all the chaos we have not prepared for winter. I'm sure we will meet again, though."

Gunther roared laughter once more. "Plan on it. Hrolf the Ganger is one to keep his men busy. Once that leg is better, you're going back to war."

"War?" Ulfrik sat up straighter. "What are you saying?"

"Give it time. Fill your ships with swords and men, and make ready. You have promised Hrolf to answer his call. And he will call."

Ulfrik swallowed and blinked. Gunther, laughing, rose and slapped Ulfrik's back. He staggered away, finally showing a hint of drunkenness. Ulfrik sat alone at his bench, presiding over the mass of people falling into drunken slumber. He glanced at the door to his room, remembering his oath to never again separate from Runa.

The gods, it seemed, still found him entertaining.

Author's Note

The Faeroe Islands are a grouping of eighteen islands in the middle of the North Atlantic, halfway between Iceland and Norway and northwest of Scotland. A rugged land of cliffs and emerald fields, the islands would make a good setting for a fantasy world. Proximity to the Arctic Circle means daylight varies by season. For two months of summer the sun never completely sets, and in winter the sun barely creeps over the horizon. Temperatures are surprisingly mild for such a northern climate, thanks to the Gulf Stream. The original settlers must have felt they had arrived in another world.

Norwegians settled the islands in the early ninth century, taking residence in the north, though recent evidence suggests Celtic people may have been there earlier. Then as now, sheep outnumbered the human population. In fact, the original name of the islands,
Faereyjar,
means Sheep Islands. By 900 CE, Vikings were settling in larger numbers. The predation of Harald Finehair is considered the driving force of this migration. After the Battle of Hafrsfjord, Harald's enemies felt safer living somewhere besides Norway, many moving west to the Shetland Islands or Orkney Islands as well as the Faeroe Islands. Again, this view is challenged by some scholars.

The Vikings brought their traditions and social structure with them. Odin, Thor, Freya, and a host of other gods arrived with the settlers, even though Christian Irish monks maintained a monastery on the islands for hundreds of years prior to the Viking arrival. Jarls still ruled their communities, and freemen had voices in public assemblies that met regularly. While survival must have seemed tenuous to them, the Vikings were hardy people and laid down solid roots that exist to this day.

Most of the characters and place-names in this book have no historical counterparts. The exclusions are Kjotve the Rich, who was a leader of the failed alliance against Harald Finehair, and Hrolf the Strider. Hrolf has an interesting history, and while his name is not something every child learns in school, his legacy is well known to many. Since to reveal more would betray too much of Ulfrik's future stories, I will leave it to the industrious reader to research Hrolf on his own.

Hardar Hammerhand was loosely based upon Hafgrim from the Faereyinga Saga, a chronicle of the settlement of the Faeroe Islands. The saga described him as a chief over half the islands, and a quick thinker who lacked in wisdom. I took great liberties with Hafgrim, letting him inspire Hardar's character rather than dictate his story. Hardar is most similar to Hafgrim in the conflicts he had with other settlers. It should be noted that the Faereyinga Saga is not a historical document as much as it is epic story-telling. It is a good resource for inspiration and insight into a group of foggy, remote islands during the Dark Ages.

The size and scope of the conflicts described in this book are grander affairs than what reality must have been. Many conflicts and battles fill the pages of the Faereyinga Saga, but these were mostly fought between individuals or small groups. To the best of my knowledge, no great numbers of Viking age weaponry have been recovered on the Faeroe Islands, suggesting that while men armed themselves, it was not with mail coats and professional armies. However, several caches of Viking treasure have been unearthed. I have chosen to imagine wherever great treasure is found armies will be found as well. Hopefully, readers will have enjoyed reading about larger, more "epic" clashes.