The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (14 page)

“Let
us just do it quickly.”

They
did not have far to go. The young pines were near a much larger and ancient
pine that had fallen and lay down the slope, its thick trunk and dying foliage
running like a wall.

They
struggled up the steep slope, the ground slippery in places with wet soil and
fallen leaves. Shrubs and moss covered much of the hillside, all of it shaded
by the trees they passed under. All would soon be lost under snow.

They
reached the young pines, the trunks straight and tall.

Ballr
said. “Yes, let us take one. We shall then head home.”

Ari
stepped across to Ballr and offered him the new axe handle first. “You should
break it in.”

Ballr
smiled. “Thank you, but I thought you wanted the honour?”

“You
do one, the first, and I will take another. With an axe like this, it should
not take long.”

Ballr
looked around the woods and the breaking mist. Birds were down in the waters of
the sound, only forty paces away. Visibility was increasing, and no one was
about. “Alright...but quickly.”

Ari
gave a nod and stepped back, out of the way.

The
Icelander sized up the closest tree’s trunk, the straight and textured shaft
just over a hand-span in width. He spread his legs and checked his footing
before drawing the axe back, and then swung it hard to give the trunk a taste
of Alfvin’s iron.

The
axe bit into the trunk, the smell of resin rising in the air as green wood was
revealed.

Ari
smirked, his arms folded across his chest.

Ballr
chuckled and his smile broadened.

They
were both pleased.

Ballr
swung again, the sharp chop of the impact ringing out to echo down the fjord.

Ari’s
smirk grew into a broad smile that fell into laughter.

Chips
of wood flew with each swing. The rhythmic sound of it became both pleasing and
hypnotic.

After
working up a sweat, Ballr watched the tree begin to lean, a movement
accompanied a heartbeat later by a sharp crack as the trunk began to fall. He
stepped to the side to watch.

Ari
also moved back.

The
trunk teetered for a moment before falling with gathering momentum, all of it
announced by a chorus of cracks and snaps that gave way to a rising whoosh as
the branches brushed against their neighbours and rushed for the ground. The
noise ended quickly, with the crash and crunch of the trunk, the cool autumn
morning suddenly full of falling twigs and pine needles.

A
few moments later, the woods were again mostly quiet. With the tree down on the
hillside, the only sound to punctuate the morning was the call of birds from
down on the water.

Ballr
let the head of the axe rest on the ground between his feet as he steadied it
by the handle. With a grin, he looked to Ari and asked, “Are you ready for your
turn?”

Ari
nodded and stepped forward.

Ballr
handed him the axe. “It feels good, certainly better than the old axes.” He
then stepped back to get out of the way. “I will go down and get it stripped
and ready for rafting.”

Ari
nodded and waited for him to start down the steep slope and get out of harm’s
way. He then began to swing, the strikes sharp and hard. Ari knew how to handle
an axe; he was a fine woodsman.

Ari
worked to bring the pine down, as Ballr descended the last of the steep slope.

The
hillside was slippery, the footing treacherous – certainly much harder to
descend than to climb – forcing Ballr to slow. No matter how careful, the
Icelander lost his footing, slipped, and then slid down the rest of the way on
mud and wet moss. After barrelling through a shrub, he finally tumbled over to
land in the dying needles and branches of the huge fallen pine.

Ballr
lay there for a moment, startled by the fall. After he gathered his senses and
began to rise, he noticed the nearby birds had all taken flight, flapping and
calling as they cleared the water.

He
watched them go, their calls fading and leaving him in silence on the edge of
the gravel beach. In the settling quiet, he realised he could not hear the
rhythmic chop of the axe.

He
turned to look up the slope and, with a shiver, realised he could not see Ari.

They
had stayed too long.

Ballr
was about to begin to climb the slope and seek out Ari when he paused, thinking
he needed to take more care. Something did not feel right. He did not even hear
the sounds of Ari’s breathing or movement through the undergrowth.

He
backed up and around the end of the ancient pine, and began to use it as cover
as he carefully climbed the hillside. He tried to get a little higher before
trying to sneak a look through the branches. He looked uphill, searching for
any sign of Ari or a hint of what had happened.

Ballr
would encounter whatever awaited him unarmed, aside from a small blade. The new
axe was with Ari. Even the old axes were not nearby, for they were down by the
boat, where they had been working on the driftwood earlier.

Compared
to the scraggly groves of Iceland, the woods of Markland were thick, but not
enough so that he could expect to advance – or fall back – unseen.

Ballr
silently cursed his luck.

There
was still no sound from Ari.

Above,
the fog had thinned enough to reveal an overcast sky that let out a soft roll
of thunder, a rumbling that grew to crack and boom.

Thor
was here.

Ballr
felt emboldened by the thought. He needed allies.

As
quietly as he could, he crept amongst the ancient pine’s limbs and knelt down
by the thick trunk, hoping to see what he could through the withered branches.

Ballr
wanted to glimpse what he could of the slope, to see any possible sign of his
friend.

Again
thunder rumbled.

The
sharp snap of a twig came from uphill, near where Ari had been.

Ballr
looked, but could not see anything clearly, now that he huddled in the branches
of the fallen pine lying covered in struggling growth.

Rain
began to fall in drops heavy and hard.

Sounds
now rang out as the rain hit leaves, rock and wood.

Thunder
rolled again, this time married to lightning that washed over the woodland.

Another
crack sounded, of a snapping twig, this one from uphill, but also perhaps to
the side. The rain’s chorus was making it hard to tell from where such subtle
sounds were coming.

Ballr
eased closer to the fallen tree, putting his arms out to heave himself up and
over the thick trunk, in the best spot he could find. He breathed deep and then
prepared to weave through the branches on the other side and move up the hill,
closer to where he had last seen Ari.

He
took a few steps, trying to keep low, as he wove between the pine’s branches,
pulling one gently towards him so he could escape the maze of needles, only to
reveal Thoromr standing patiently, waiting for him.

The
big Norseman looked lean and fit. He stood, with one of his hands clutching his
father’s bloodied axe, while he stared at the Icelander.

Ballr
froze.

Thoromr
demanded, “What are you doing here?”

Ballr
quickly looked him up and down in a brief glance that gave away terrible
detail.

Fresh
blood still ran to gather and drop from the axe head, the red made thinner but
no less gruesome by the rain. The mess also coated not just Thoromr’s hand, but
painted his arm and the furs he wore. The Norseman’s eyes were wide and wild,
as veins stood out on his neck, forehead and temples.

“We
came for wood.”

Thoromr
frowned before curling his lip. After a long pause, he asked, “Ballr, should
you not be at home with the women?”

Ballr
tried to offer a calm face. Eyeing Thoromr, he asked, “Where is Ari?”

The
Lakelander grinned, his staring eyes sparkling. “Dead.”

“You
killed him?”

Thoromr
took one step forward, his fingers tightening about his axe. “He was taking my
timber.”

Ballr
heard another sound behind him, a little uphill, on the other side of the
fallen tree.

They
were not alone.

Thoromr
glanced at someone and gave a nod.

With
a quick look over his shoulder, Ballr saw another Norseman, not Trion, but
someone else, in much less ragged clothes. Surprised, he asked, “Who is that?”

Thoromr
grinned. “A friend from Greenland. Lakeland has had visitors this summer.”

Ballr
had another quick look. The man nodded. He clutched the new axe forged by
Alfvin and stolen from the dead hands of Ari.

Thoromr
took another step forward, coming into the branches of the fallen pine,
including the one Ballr had pulled back and still tightly gripped.

Slowly,
Ballr eased back a step, but kept his grip on the branch, bending it with his
withdrawal, its length arching.

His
rival watched him, but did not move. He squared his shoulders, and asked, “Are
you also here to steal Lakeland’s timber?”

“We
are a long way from your hall.”

“It
is only over the ridge and down the vale.”

Ballr
knew he was running out of time. Thoromr would not let him go, not to carry
news of Ari’s murder back to Godsland.

He
had to get away, yet he was outnumbered.

Lightning
flashed with a booming thunder, making the very air shiver. The suddenness of
it made them all start.

Ballr
did not waste the chance.

He
pushed the branch he held so it flicked back to block Thoromr’s path, cracking
towards the giant Lakelander’s face like a whip.

At
the same moment, sensing Ballr’s imminent escape, Thoromr surged forward.

Ballr
did not stop, but turned and dove under the pine’s ancient limbs, scrabbling to
get away.

Thoromr
cried out behind him.

Ballr
crawled free of the maze of branches to get back onto the clear slope, using
its wetness and mud to aid him in a speedy escape.

The
Godslander hurtled down the steep slope. His last sight of Thoromr had been of
the bloodied man lunging forward as the branch hit him fast and hard in the
face. Now, the fjord rang out with his furious cursing, amidst a chorus of
snapping wood and cracking twigs.

Ballr
did not stop or even turn to look. He just tried to keep his footing as he
charged down the hillside towards the beach.

Thoromr
howled as he and the Greenlander followed down the slope, but the outsider was
on the wrong side of the tree from Ballr and not as nimble.

Meanwhile,
Ballr threw his small frame whichever way he needed while he desperately
plunged down the hillside. The Icelander occasionally missed a step and
stumbled, but he was able to bounce back up and again find his footing by
reaching out and grabbing bushes.

Thoromr
cursed anew, but was interrupted by the roll and thud of tumbling as he lost
his footing.

Ballr
dared to glance over his shoulder to see what was happening.

The
Greenlander, on the far side of the fallen tree, continued on, but was a
distance away, having trouble finding safe ground. Behind Ballr, on the same
side, Thoromr rolled hard and fast down the hill, his limbs flailing as he
tried to stop himself.

Ballr
stopped and watched, just as Thoromr tumbled over an outcrop of rock half-hidden
by foliage. The big Norseman’s body passed mostly over it, but his head caught
a rough edge, the crack of the impact clear.

Thunder
boomed again as lightning flashed.

Thoromr
continued to roll down the hill, but his limbs fell about loose and uncontrolled.
In that storm of movement, his axe came free, cartwheeling ahead and away.

Ballr
looked across to the Greenlander who had only now noticed how heavily Thoromr
had gone down. The man steadied his own advance, settling on an unhurried pace,
as Thoromr’s descent slowed. The newcomer had also come to the end of the
fallen tree that had separated them, leaving Ballr feeling vulnerable.

Thoromr’s
axe slid forward along fallen leaves, coming to rest at Ballr’s feet.

The
Icelander snatched it up by the bloodied handle and then braced himself as
Thoromr rolled toward him, still slowing, but with enough momentum to knock him
over. With care, Ballr put a boot forward, planted it firmly in Thoromr’s back,
and stopped the body.

It
came to a stop, yet Thoromr did not react.

The
big Norseman lay on his side, with his limbs spread out. His eyes were closed –
one of them swollen, bloody, and crusted with leaves, dirt and twigs – while
blood covered half his face from a wound under his thick hair.

Ballr
looked to the axe in his hands and then back to the Lakelander.

Thoromr
breathed, blood still flowing from his wounds, but was otherwise motionless.

The
Greenlander frowned.

Ballr
let the beginning of a smile ride his lips. He reached down and pulled a blade
from Thoromr’s belt, putting it on his own. Leaning in also gave him a closer
view of his foe’s wounds.

Thoromr’s
eye was not only swollen closed and caked in dirt, leaves and twigs. Ballr
realised that the end of the branch he had pushed into the big man during his
escape had gouged large gashes along the man’s cheek, with some of the pine
digging into the flesh about his eye. Twigs and loose leaves did not surround
his eye, but rather the end of the branch stuck right through the closed and
swollen lid.

Thoromr
had lost an eye.

Ballr’s
smile became grim as he turned to face the Greenlander. “You have found poor
company.”

“He
was in my hall, although welcoming enough.”

“How
many of you are there?”

“Two
score. Enough to take either of your halls.”

“Friend,
Thoromr is the one with anger and hate, not me or mine, certainly not against
you and yours.”