The Viking’s Sacrifice (5 page)

He got to his feet, blind to everything around him, head dipped to keep his face hidden. He must swallow the courage that begged to be let free, to run through Bausi like a sword. His dreams would accomplish nothing but the death of those he loved.
Keep your peace, keep her safe. Silence is our friend.
That had been his motto for eight years now. Eight long silent years, hostage to his sister’s safety, and now that sister laughed at him and yet still he must keep her safe. No matter his useless dreams of courage, the slow beat of it in his heart where no one could see. Silence was his only refuge.

He stumbled out into the snow, the chill of it a welcome balm to his flaming face. Not the only refuge—there was Agnar’s house. Bebba was bound to have ale, and hers was the best in the village. Besides, Idunn was one of the few who never laughed, who chided those who did. Though she might never greet him with warmth or a smile, that she had no time for ridicule was good enough.

He needed something to give for the ale. The brace of hares he’d left on Einar’s pack. That would get him enough, maybe. Maybe not, because, not for the first time, he wanted to get very drunk indeed. He took the hares from their loop on the pack and made for Agnar’s.

After Agnar left for the feast to celebrate the return of the raiding party, Wilda spent the evening learning where things were kept and what duties she could expect.

“Old Agnar can’t do so much with the stock anymore. He’s got a few thrall boys and such but, well, he’s getting on now. But we makes a fair bit from the ale, because I’m a dab hand. Best ale in the village. So while you’re here you’ll be helping out with the animals and the food, same as everywhere. Maybe we’ll get you to spin and sew too. But mainly, we’re going to make lots more beer. That’s Agnar’s plan to keep himself comfortable in his dotage, even when he can’t cast a cow no more.”

The house was large, at least for one not a thane. One big main room with the hearth at the centre. Two rooms led from it, one a bedroom for Agnar and Idunn, with a sagging box bed covered in blankets and furs. The other seemed newer and was filled with all the makings of ale. It smelled of barley and hops and honey, and reminded Wilda of how Bayen would smell when he came to bed, of mead or beer. It reminded her of home. She turned away. No time for that.

“We sleep on the benches,” Bebba said. “Comfortable enough, and there’s skins and blankets to go round.”

Indeed, the benches were covered in skins, sealskin, wolf, deer, some Wilda couldn’t name. Some with coarse grey hair, some smooth and slippery, some so soft Wilda kept wanting to touch them. Bebba rummaged around in a large chest against one wall. “Here, you’ll find these a bit warmer.”

She handed Wilda a long tunic and another, more of an apron, to go over the top. Not so very different to what Wilda already wore, but thicker and undoubtedly warmer. She’d just finished pinning the brooches that held on the apronlike overskirt when the door banged open with a flurry of snow, and a man ducked through the opening. Wilda flinched, just a little, at the look on his face, a twisted grimace of…she couldn’t tell what.

He stood up straight again, his eyes wide with surprise when he realised she was there, then dipped his head and made for a bench, his lips pinched amidst his beard.

“Oh, don’t you worry ’bout him,” Bebba said. “That’s only Toki. He won’t do you no harm. He’s simple, poor lad, don’t talk. Does like his beer though.”

Bebba fetched a wooden cup, filled it with ale and took it over to Toki. He was a big man even for one of the Northmen, made to look even bigger by the fur across his shoulder. His fair hair was braided and his neat beard was two shades darker with a reddish tint. His clothes were clean but tatty and threadbare. Rents in his trousers had been badly patched and the fur at his shoulder was ragged at the edges. He didn’t look up even when Bebba handed him the beer, though he held out a brace of hare.

“He’s a good lad, don’t deserve what that lot put him through. Always pays for his beer in kind, with hare or helping out. Shy though.” Bebba said something to him but was rewarded only with a brief shrug. Toki kept his head down, eyes on his beer.

He stayed that way as Bebba got Wilda to work, cleaning and scrubbing. Whenever his cup was empty he would hold it out and Bebba would go and fill it again. It grew darker outside, the wind sharper so it rattled the wooden shutters Bebba had closed. Finally, when Wilda’s eyes had begun to droop, the door banged open again and Agnar came in, dripping snow and unsteady on his feet.

Bebba got up to help him in, take his cloak and settle him on a bench. “Wilda, you get Toki another ale, will you?”

Toki moved at her voice, a sudden jerking as though surprised. When Wilda brought him the full cup he stared at her, his eyes intense and unsettling. He searched her face, seemingly looking over every part. Wilda didn’t dare move—he looked too savage, too frightening. Yet she didn’t flinch either. Her pride wouldn’t let her, because she was a Christian among heathens, barbarians.

Finally, he set his cup on the floor and stood up, towering over her. When he reached out a hand, she did flinch, a little. His fingers grazed the skin just under her eye, where she bore a scar from the fateful day the heathens had killed her mother. The skin on Toki’s fingers was roughened from work, but his touch was gentler than she expected from such a large man, one of these loud barbarians.

“Hey, Toki.” Bebba took hold of his arm and began to berate him, but he shook her off. He was still staring at Wilda.

Bebba scolded him in his language but he ignored her, ignored Agnar’s question and hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. He only had eyes for Wilda, and that unsettled her in ways she couldn’t name.

“Wilda,” he said and both Bebba and Agnar pulled up short, Bebba cut off in mid-sentence. “Wilda, renn.
Renn.
”

Ice prickled over Wilda’s skin, crawled over her face and down her back. She wasn’t in a longhouse in some godforsaken heathen country that was too cold and strange. She was a girl by a burning barn, watching two heathens fight in blood and flames. It couldn’t be…

“He ain’t never spoken a word, not all the time I been here. Not a word,” Bebba said behind her. “I didn’t think he could.”

Toki stared at her intently and she tried to imagine him without the beard, without the creases by his eyes or the frown of care that marked his forehead. The eyes themselves were dark brown and full of worry. Like the boy, Einar. She’d never forgotten his face, or the way he’d screamed when Bear Man had thrust a sword into his back. The way he’d faced down Bear Man to save her.

“Ei—”

He cut her off with a quick finger on her lips and a brief, furtive shake of his head. “Renn, Wilda.” He touched his fingers to his own lips, a gesture for silence, and again on hers. His fingers vibrated on her mouth, as though he was suppressing some vital urgency.

Agnar seemed to get over his shock then and grabbed Toki’s hand away. Toki shook him off but made no other move, as if he was waiting for something. Agnar spoke to him in a low voice, slow words as though for a child who couldn’t understand. Bebba came and led Wilda away. Her feet didn’t seem to want to move, but she let Bebba sit her down on a bench.

“Agnar’s trying to explain to him, but I don’t know how much he understands, poor fool. Why would he tell you to run?”

Wilda could still feel his fingers on her lips, the urgency in his movements.
Silence. Say nothing.
She couldn’t see why, what purpose her silence would serve, only that she felt compelled to obey, at least until she could find out why. She owed him that, and more besides, if he was who she thought. “I don’t know. Maybe he has me mixed up with someone else.”

The name jerked Toki out of his reverie. Wilda, a name that echoed down his dreams, ones filled with fire and murder and one act, the one little thing he’d done to claim bravery before Odin. It was her, the same girl, he was sure, though it’d been long. She had the same dark hair and pale skin, the same wide eyes. A scar just under one of them, where he remembered blood on her face. If it was the same girl, then one breath of that night from her, and Bausi wouldn’t stop at illness for Gudrun. It was only Loki’s luck that Wilda hadn’t seen Bausi yet, because surely she’d know him. He’d changed little in the passing years, because he’d been full grown at the time. Not like Toki and Wilda, who’d had all their growing still to do.

Agnar’s low voice was a murmur, a meaningless babble he ignored. He had to get her away from here or they were all dead, Wilda, Gudrun and Toki, even Sigdir. He had to gather his courage for more than keeping silent when he wanted to shout, more than dreaming of the day he lived for and might never come. Wilda was watching him now, a delicate crease in between her eyebrows as she thought. He had to get her to see. He took a step forward, thinking maybe now he’d said a few words, more might come easier. Agnar’s grip on his arm didn’t slow him down, though he listened now to the words.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, boy, or even if you do think. You ain’t the simpleton Bausi makes you out to be, I know that. But what are you doing? Why’s she got to run? Run? She can’t run, she’s a thrall. Even if she weren’t, the snow’s coming down, good and thick. Be a foot and more by morning. Where’s she going to run
to?
”

That made Toki pause. There was nowhere for her to go. Yet he had to make sure, make sure she said nothing, that Bausi didn’t find out who she was, what she’d seen. Bausi could kill her and all he need do afterward was pay Agnar for her. She was a thrall, no one would care overmuch, or even if they did, none would dare question Bausi about it. Maybe she’d speak and then the curse would fall. He was all that stood between Bausi and Wilda dying, Gudrun dying.

He steadied his breath. Courage. A new thing for Odin and Thor.
You can. You can be a brave man and do this. Hold your courage like the Norseman you are. Show Thor you still have his red blood in you.
That helped, settled his mind, sent a warm ripple through him from his amulet. Thor was with him, lent courage to him.
I am not a coward, no matter what they say, no matter that no one sees it.

“Come on lad, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Get home, sober up. Stop acting like a fool over a thrall.” Agnar tried to steer him toward the door.

Toki shook Agnar’s hand off, reckless now. As if it was the day of his dream, the day he stood tall and strong. She couldn’t run, neither could he, but he could do something, could show the courage he knew beat in him. A little thing, but maybe enough.

When he stepped toward her, she stiffened but didn’t move away. Her eyes, a deep blue-green he saw now, watched him gravely. A small pang in him then, for the aching wildness of the girl that seemed stamped out of her, replaced by a dull chill. Gone, forgotten, except in his memories. He knelt awkwardly before her, his bad leg twisted under him.

“Odin’s arse, Toki, will you stop this.” Agnar grabbed for the scruff of his neck but Toki ducked out of the way and reached into his tunic. When he pulled out his amulet, the bronze one of Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer, Agnar stuttered to a stop.

Wilda’s eyes were very wide and she jumped when he took her hand, tried to pull it back but he wouldn’t let go. He put Mjollnir in her hand and closed her fingers over it.

Agnar’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Toki—Toki, your father gave you that. It’s a sacred thing, not for a follower of the White Christ. What are you doing, giving it to a thrall?”

Protection, that was what he was doing, giving up all the protection he had for her. She wore a crucifix but the White Christ couldn’t save her. Not here, not in Odin’s country, not against Bausi’s rune-curse. It was all he had to give her, all he could do for her tonight, for the days ahead until he could think of a way. Bausi was leaving tomorrow, to negotiate a wedding. He had time.

He let go of Wilda’s hand and she stared at the amulet as though she didn’t understand what it was, but she nodded and placed her fingers to her lips. Silence.

When Agnar grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away, Toki didn’t try to resist. He stepped out into the deepening snow, shrugged his furs more snugly about his shoulders and headed for home. He’d done all he could for tonight. Now he had to think, to plan, to wake his rusty brain and work out how he was going to keep Bausi from seeing her when he returned, finding out who she was. How he was going to keep her alive. Keeping Wilda alive, that had been his one little thing for Odin. He wasn’t going to let anything or anyone take that away from him. It was all he had.

Wilda stared down at the bronze amulet in her hand, still warm from where it had hidden under Toki’s tunic. “What is it?”

Bebba tutted and shook her head. “One of them heathen charms. Thor’s hammer, got some weird name I can’t never remember. Supposed to be a protection or somesuch.”

Agnar shut the door firmly behind Toki and came to loom over Wilda. She stood hurriedly. Her master, or rather her master’s watchdog. He didn’t act like it, though, not now. He stared at her thoughtfully for a long time, then down at the amulet. Finally he shrugged and made for his bedroom, casting a few words over his shoulder at Bebba as he went.

“He says you can keep it, but he doesn’t think Red Thor protects Christians. Why did Toki give it to you? Awful peculiar, the way he was acting. I never thought he was as simple as they made out, just shy, but I never seen him act like that before. And fancy, him being able to speak after all.”

That was the part that puzzled Wilda the most. Einar the boy hadn’t been simple, or mute. So why was he now both? She couldn’t bring herself to put the amulet on, not a heathen charm round her neck with her crucifix. That would be blasphemous. Yet she didn’t want to be parted from it either. It seemed important to Einar, and his giving it to her had shocked Agnar, that was plain. But why?

She ran her thumb over the markings on it, little spirals along the head of the hammer. Protection. She had need of protection, the most he could give her, protection of the gods he worshipped, like a blessing. The thought made her hand tremble a little, and she covered it from Bebba’s watchful gaze by attaching the amulet to one of the chains hanging from the brooch that pinned her apron dress.

When it came time for bed, Wilda lay under her blankets for a long while before she could sleep. Morning came late, or so it seemed. Her head ached with tiredness, with the wrongness of where she was. What she now was.

In the morning Bebba opened the door, and the ground outside was thick with snow. Wilda gazed in wonder. What had seemed dark and drear yesterday seemed bright and new today. Long stretches of unmarred snow lay in swathes around and below them, broken only by small brakes of trees and huddles of farm buildings, until the snow reached the black waters of the fjord. Above the water the steep-sided mountains held scarves of snow that seemed to hang in mid-air, playing hide and go seek with lowering wisps of cloud. This more than anything brought home how alien this place was. She’d known snow but not as much as this, not such a thick blanket and from one night’s fall. She’d known hills but not the towering mountains or the brooding crystal stillness where she’d lived in the bustle of town and market, where all lived nearby for safety inside stout walls.

The air stung Wilda’s nose, but it was clean and crisp after the longhouse, which was steeped in sweet, heady smoke even when there was no fire. Bebba set her to clearing a path, feeding the pigs, then to breaking the ice and drawing water from the well, scrubbing and cleaning. All the thousand and one jobs that needed doing in any farm or household. Yet ones that Wilda had rarely done, as lady, for Bayen’s thralls had done them while she’d spun and sewn and woven, or tried to. Now she was thrall and Idunn was lady of the house.

The sun crept over the edge of the mountain before Bebba called her for breakfast, and Wilda was exhausted already, her feet and legs wet from snow and scrubbing, her hands chapped and raw.

Bebba gave her a bowl of warm buttermilk and some bread. “Make the most of this. Day meal they calls it. You get one other, night meal, at sundown. Today’s going to be busy. Snow came early, see, even for these parts. They don’t have enough fodder to overwinter all the animals, so tomorrow’s a slaughter day, and the days after that. The men’ll do the killing, Agnar and his thrall boys, and even Sigdir. It’s up to us to make sure it keeps. And if we’re doing that tomorrow and after, we got a lot to do today to get ready.”

Wilda had to force herself to not wolf down the meal. Her belly was cramping with hunger but she wouldn’t show it, or any hint, so she sipped and chewed with care.

Agnar came in, stamped snow off his boots, shook out his cloak and sat at the head bench. The two thrall-boys scuttled in after him and Idunn made an appearance, moving regally to sit next to her husband and watch Wilda with a puzzled gaze. Bebba served them, Agnar and Idunn getting extra, as well as dollops of butter and honey for their bread. Agnar sneaked a look at Idunn, for approval it seemed, because he didn’t speak till he had her cautious nod.

“Vetrnætr,”
Bebba said when he was done. “Winter Nights. We got to get you learning their language. But Winter Nights is coming up on us. A
blot,
a sacrifice that is, and a great feast. Bausi’s asked for my ale to be served. We’re going to need a powerful lot of it to feed the thirst of the whole fjord. We’re all going to be working harder than horses for a while.”

When they’d finished the meal, the two thrall boys ran off under Agnar’s orders. After they were gone, and as Wilda was about to get on with the cleaning, Bebba had her stay.

“Agnar and Idunn, they wants to know a thing or two. You sit there and answer their questions. Truth be told, I got one or two my own self. Like how you can sit and be so calm when your husband was murdered in front of you, you taken as thrall and, when you talk of it, your eye is as dry as this fire.”

Wilda stared at her hands as they twisted in her lap. “What’s to say? I’m here now, and must do as I’m told. I’ve heard what they do to thralls, that a man can beat one to death here and it makes no matter, and worse. I will not die. Survival, that’s everything. There’s nothing else. God gives us what He will, and He gives us the strength to survive it. Or not. All is God’s will.”

“A cold one, I said before. You’re well-suited to this place, my lady. Colder than a witch’s tit.”

Wilda knew it to be true. Cold in her heart, for too long. The fire there had died when a sword ran through her mother in front of her, when she had to leave a boy to die for her own survival. Only he hadn’t died, had he? Yet that coldness had served her well, had made her cool in a crisis, practical, an asset to her father’s, then her husband’s households. Fire in her heart was worth nothing, could do nothing but hurt, so she quenched it with cold practicality.

Bebba spoke quickly with Agnar and came back with another question. “He wants to know why Toki gave you the hammer. Why he told you to run. He ain’t spoke to no one for years, poor sod. Why you?”

Wilda looked down at the amulet, a wash of guilt tingling through her that she wore a heathen token. It was smooth under her hand, yet ridged with signs and meaning. His meaning, when he’d put his finger to her lips. Silence. Her answer was truthful enough, as far as it went. “I truly have no idea why he gave it to me. You say it’s for protection. Who should I need protection from? Agnar?”

Bebba snorted. “No, the old goat’s soft as melted butter under all that hair, though he’s as lustful as the rest. But you must know. Agnar says Toki ain’t spoke a word for eight years, not since his brother got killed on a raid. The fear of it turned him simple, that’s what they say, drove the sense from his head and the words from his tongue. Till last night, and he spoke to you, a thrall. Why?”

The amulet seemed to throb in Wilda’s hand. His brother had died in a raid, and he hadn’t spoken since. A big man, a heathen, run through from behind by Bear Man. The twisted smile as he’d turned on Einar, intent on doing the same to him. A touch of fingers on her lips. Silence. “I don’t know. Truly.”
God forgive me the lie.
Not a true lie though, because she didn’t know why, or not exactly.

Bebba pursed her lips in a silent “humph.” Disbelieving, and rightly so. Agnar’s gruff voice growled out more nonsense words.

“He says you keep away from Toki, you hear? I reckon it worried him, last night. Not for you, for Toki. These two, they had no children, to their grief. And Toki—I don’t know, but I think they feel they should watch out for him, especially the way everyone else treats him, like he was lower than pig shit. Agnar and Idunn are the only two in this village that don’t call him names, that don’t sneer at him. Poor young fool, he is, as welcome in this fjord as the Devil at a birth. Agnar and Idunn don’t sneer, even if they ain’t too welcoming, because of what he done. I told you, didn’t I, courage is all to a Norseman? The way they see it, the whole village sees it,
he
sees it, he’s shamed himself. Like a man sinning before the sight of God, with no hope of confession. But they don’t like to see him upset, and he was right upset. Difficult to tell with this lot, until you have the way of it. If you don’t know, you don’t know, though I’m thinking there’s more here than you’re letting on. But we’ve work to do, lass. Come on, we’ll get started, and I can teach you their tongue. Young Sigdir was most insistent about that. You’re to know their words, at least enough to understand most of what’s said to you, by Winter Nights. Lord knows why.”

By the time the early dusk came on, Wilda’s back was aching but there was no rest as she and Bebba made the night meal for the older couple and the two thrall boys. The stew had been brewing most of the day by the fire, but now they baked fresh bread and Bebba brought out something she called skyr—a type of curd too soft to be cheese and sweetened with honey—for Agnar and Idunn. A delicacy, Bebba said, and not one they shared often with thralls, who made do with buttermilk.

“See, now meat ain’t all that common here, excepting at slaughter time and what they can preserve. It’s all about what the others see, what you can keep because of the winter. Too long to keep most the animals and feed them. So Winter Nights is a big feast where they eat every damn thing they can’t keep from the slaughtering. It’s the milk and what you can make of it that they live on, mostly. This meat’s tougher than boots by a liar’s mile. Been cooking all day though, reckon you won’t break a tooth. When they start the slaughter, then you’ll get your fresh meat, though you and I won’t get the good stuff. But Agnar’s not so stingy as some. He likes his thralls to eat enough to keep them healthy.”

True enough, the food wasn’t the best Wilda had ever eaten—the stew was as tough as predicted, and no butter or honey on the thralls’ bread—but it was hot and filled her, and that was enough.

When they were done, Bebba and Wilda collected the bowls and rinsed them. The two thrall boys went off to their space in the hayloft, both yawning prodigiously. Agnar took his leave with a tender kiss on Idunn’s forehead and went out into the snowy night. Once he was gone, Idunn’s rod-straight posture wilted and Bebba hurried to help her up from the bench. A quick, stern look at Wilda stopped any comment until Idunn had been installed in the bed and the partition closed.

Bebba bustled about doing nothing much, her shoulders stiff to ward off any comment, but finally she sat down across the fire. Sparse tears lay scattered on her cheeks. “Breaks my heart, that it does.”

“What does?”

“Idunn in there. Dying she is, no doubt about it, but won’t show a damn thing to Agnar. He don’t know, the old fool. Thinks she’s just tired of late is all. The spae-wife—that’s like their, I don’t know, not a priestess, more like the goodwife, see? Knows all the old charms and herbs. Anyway, she brings up a thing to dose her with, make the pain go enough so she can sleep. A sad thing, I calls it, when she won’t take comfort from a husband she loves, and who loves her. But there, one way they’re different, the Norsemen. Courage is everything to them, even the women.”

Bebba wiped her face with her apron and got up, all business again. “Can’t be sitting around with idle hands. Here, you take the wool. It’s washed and it needs combing. Their combs is much the same as at home.”

Bebba took out two long-tined bone-handled combs and left her to tease the wool into order while she went into the ale room. Wilda set to, almost happy in it. Combing she could do, without too much taking the Lord’s name in vain. A mindless task she could lose herself in, not think, just do. Lose herself she did, in the soothing movement of hand and eye. She could pretend she was at home, that Myldrith was just waiting for her next “Goddamn!” or that Bayen would be here any moment—soft, comforting thoughts. Even if it hadn’t been her life of choice, it was a life she knew, where the rules made sense. And yet that seemed pathetic, to want what she hadn’t wanted, just because it was familiar. As though she had forgotten who she was.

The bang of the door made the combs skip from her hands as she jumped up, half expecting Bayen to be standing in the doorway. Instead, it was Toki. He hesitated, as though gauging her reaction. When she made no move, he ducked his head shyly and bent to pick up the combs and wool, now tangled worse than when she’d started.

Bebba came out of the ale room, wiping her hands on her apron. When she saw who it was, she tutted and began to hector Toki, but he paid her no mind. Instead he handed Wilda the combs, his head still ducked, and went to sit on the same bench as before across the fire from Wilda. Bebba’s voice trailed off when he still took no notice and instead went to fetch him a cup of ale with a weary sigh.

When she came back, she eyed Wilda thoughtfully. “No trouble, that’s what I told him. Don’t want no trouble disturbing Idunn. Same goes for you. I got a powerful lot of work to be doing, but I’ll be keeping an eye, don’t think I won’t. Whatever’s going on, you keep it quiet.” She disappeared back into the ale room, though the door was left open and she kept a careful eye on the two of them. What trouble was she expecting?

Wilda went back to combing, but her eyes were drawn to Toki. The way he sat, hunkered in on himself as though he was ashamed even to exist. It shouldn’t be so. He’d saved her life once and paid a price for it, and she wanted to tell all of them, everyone who Bebba said treated him as worthless. Yet he didn’t want her to.

When he’d drained his cup, Wilda fetched him another, wilting a little under Bebba’s glare. She stood so she was on a level with Toki’s eyes and held out the cup. Toki chewed on his lip a moment before he reached for it, his head still ducked. She wished he’d at least look at her, like he had last night, when there had been something more than dimwittedness behind his eyes, When she’d seen the deep thought, the sharp glance of a boy who’d saved her.