The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (5 page)

-

Wolf Sign

Winter
came and went, a dark time of meagre food. Storms battered Godsland and buried
it under heavy snows, while the waters of the fjord froze over. The long and
tedious season consisted primarily of being holed up in the hall and waiting
for better weather to come. Together, they all suffered through it, working on
what they might, while shut away from the worst of Markland’s cold and gloom.

During
that first winter, young Ulfarr grew, feeding from his mother’s teat. In time,
like the hopes of their settlement, he began to blossom as the cool waned and
spring neared.

When
the weather eased, the people of Godsland escaped the confines of their warm
but smoke-filled hall. They emerged leaner, but more than relieved, dreaming of
the more varied foods the previous summer provided: birds and their eggs, fresh
fish, crab, hares and even berries. Their bland winter diet had kept them
alive, but they all craved the variety and the tastes spring and summer would
eventually deliver.

They
talked during the winter of many things and agreed they needed more iron and
would work long and hard towards that goal. The few haphazard trips to the
mainland, on the raft constructed by Steinarr and Torrador, would need to be
bested, including the working of a promising nearby bog they discovered as a
source of bog iron. Along with such efforts, they also needed to replace the
raft with a proper boat.

While
all worked on those tasks, along with repairs to the hall, Gudrid was
determined to expand her small garden, to grow more of their seed, along with
trying some of the new plants she had seen, hoping they would be good eating.
She and Halla knew they needed to improve storing foods for next winter, and
most especially to improve on their stores of feed for the sheep, which had
barely lasted the season. Again, they also spoke of watching for a better farm
site, closer to good timber, plant stock, meat, furs and any other treasures
Markland offered.

Mixed
feelings haunted the group at any talk of moving, for most had grown attached
to the Godsland Hall, while others felt it their duty – a divine duty – to
stay. There was also, despite them not yet being sighted, the matter of the
skraelings.

Where
were they?

Despite
the hardship, during that first taste of spring, as the sun grew in strength
and the snow and ice started to melt, they celebrated their survival. Adding to
the excitement was Halla’s announcement that she was expecting. Her husband,
Ballr, was doubly thrilled.

Gudrid
insisted on taking some time during one of those first fine days after the snow
and ice had well and truly begun to melt. She wanted to lead Eskil back to the
runestone, along with young Ulfarr. She felt the runestone was the site of
their new beginning in Markland, and that as such, it was the place the infant
should be presented to the carved stone, Markland and the gods.

Eskil
could not refuse her.

It
was then, as they walked along the shore, with the runestone just ahead, that
Eskil turned to notice a distant column of smoke rising from across the water,
and not far from where the bog iron works should be. “Gudda, look!” he pointed.

Peering
into the morning, she saw the thin, grey mark as it climbed and broadened into
the sky. “A fire.”

His
face was grim. “Yes, a fire.”

“Skraelings?”

“I
suppose. We best be quick with our purpose, for we will need to return to the
others and then investigate.”

As
Gudrid looked towards the smoke, her jaw tensed. “I cannot believe the gods
brought us here only to meet beasts who would kill us. We will survive what the
smoke signifies, just as we did the wreck, the wolf, and winter, too.”

Eskil
smiled as he put an arm about her waist and began to get them moving again.
“Come, the runestone is near.”

––––––––

B
y
the light of the midmorning sun, Gudrid and Eskil placed Ulfarr, wrapped in a
square of sailcloth and a sheepskin, at the foot of the stone. A small swell
behind them, dotted with sea ice, accompanied their thoughts with the rhythms
of the world.

Gudrid
spoke, raising her voice, “To our gods we present Ulfarr, son of Eskil, the
first of our kind to be born in this land. For him we ask your favour, and that
you grant him a long life filled with courage and strength, as this is Godsland
of Markland, and here we plan to build the greatest of all our kin’s realms.”

Eskil
nodded before finding some of his own words. “May we Marklanders be the ones to
fill the grand halls of Valhalla in the days to come, with the might we breed
here. Yet what we send will be only a fraction of what resides in these fjords,
valleys and islands, as we build a land stronger than what we left behind.”

Gudrid
whispered, “So may it be.”

They
stood for a moment, deep in their thoughts, while taking in the frail warmth of
the sun. Little Ulfarr lay swaddled at the foot of the stone, only to cry out
once. With wide eyes, he looked up at the runestone towering over him.

Gudrid
turned to look down the coast at the cairns of stone marking the graves of
Drifa and Manni. Both cairns were battered by the worst of the winter storms.
It seemed that when stirred, the sea’s anger could reach up onto the pasture
and still have the strength to move rock, though she could only guess how much
of it had been caused by surging water or shifting ice. She knew in time they
would have to return and repair them so they had a better chance of surviving
the winters to come.

Her
thoughts led her to consider the runestone, for it also faced exposure from the
rage of winter’s squalls. It was a sign of their landing place, where they had
first camped, the place where the gods had revealed Markland to them. The
Landing Stone also needed protection.

With
her gaze upon it, she whispered, “Like us, it should never be let to fall.”

Eskil
thought on her words, but then cleared his throat and prompted. “There is smoke
on the horizon.”

His
wife reluctantly nodded before collecting Ulfarr.

They
made their way back along the shore and then cut across the hills as swift as
they could, while watching for signs of smoke from across the water. The
telltale column of light grey had faded, perhaps blown away by the rising
breeze, or perhaps the fire that had caused it now burnt more cleanly.
Regardless, they still needed to investigate.

––––––––

W
hen
they returned to the hall, they found the others had also seen the smoke and
had begun to prepare. The iron knives and axe were sharpened, as were the stone
and bone blades they had begun to make and use, along with their fire-hardened
spears.

The
iron represented some of their settlement’s greatest treasures.

Eskil
spoke as they gathered at the ice-caked shoreline, gathering around Steinarr
and Torrador’s beached raft. “I would rather take twenty men, but we do not
have them.”

Ballr
offered, “All six of us should go. Skraelings are said to be fierce if but
short wretches.”

Steinarr
countered, “Perhaps we will meet a different type of skraeling to what has been
faced before?”

“We
lack knowledge to make any decision with certainty. We must be cautious,” Eskil
observed. “While we are close to both Greenland and Vinland, we are also far
enough away that we might face a different kind of people.”

Torrador
agreed. “The raft can only take five. If things do not go well and we need to
get away, do we draw lots to decide which of us stays behind and waits to be
collected after the others are all safe?”

Eskil
gave a nod. “A good point.”

Torrador
grinned.

“We
will send five, and I know who will remain behind, for he has something to
attend to in a season’s time.” His gaze fell on Ballr.

“Me?
I will not stay! I will go across to fight these skraelings! Besides, I am the
lightest. We should leave the heaviest behind in case the swell rises to swamp
the raft!”

Steinarr
turned on him and gave him a shove. “I will not be staying! I have only blooded
myself on a wolf, a seal and a bellyful of fish. I will be going to gut some
skraelings!”

Gudrid
stood watching at the edge of the men’s argument, while Ballr got back his
balance after Steinarr’s push. His face was red with anger as he looked to both
his tormentor and Eskil. He snapped, “I will not be staying!”

But
it was Gudrid who answered him, “You will be staying, as Halla is due in a
season or so, and if any should stay, it should be you to see the birth.”

Halla
came to stand beside Gudrid, her eyes downcast. Her pregnancy had been a point
of great joy between her and Ballr, yet now it was opening a vein of
resentment.

“You
will stay, Ballr,” Eskil said in a firm tone, “You will stay to protect the
women and also little Ulfarr.”

“I
wish to go.”

“Of
course you do, but Torrador is right that we can only take one load. There is also
wisdom in leaving at least one of us with the women.”

With
a spiteful look at Steinarr, Ballr took a metal blade out from where he’d
tucked it into his belt and threw it down on the stones of the beach. With a
curse, he turned and stalked off towards the hall.

Halla
moved to follow him.

Gudrid
looked to her husband and said, “You will not be taking all the blades with
you. You need to leave at least some sharpened bone or stone.”

“You
will have some blades.”

“Good
luck then, my husband. May the gods aid you.”

“They
have had a hand in our fate so far, so I do not doubt they will come if we have
need.” He walked across to her, and kissed her, and then little Ulfarr in her
arms. “We will go now before Ballr decides to return and argue.”

She
nodded.

He
turned to the other men and said, “Let us discover the source of the smoke and,
if possible, return by sunset so we might make our plans. If it is opportune,
we will stay and do what we must. But we will not take needless risks. There
are too few of us to join a fight we cannot win.”

Most
of the men nodded, but Steinarr flexed his arms and grumbled.

––––––––

T
hey
landed on the other side of the sound after midday. They used two oars from
their long-sunken ship to paddle across, poling in the shallows of the foreign
shoreline. From there, they immediately began to climb the rising,
scrub-covered side of the fjord, seeking the source of the smoke that had
seemed to come from a valley one or two ridges beyond.

While
they paddled across, Eskil decided it best to come at the smoke from the cover
of land and not from the exposed waters of the sea. They expected groves of
trees deeper in, the same as were on the fjord’s steep slopes, or perhaps even
small woodlands. Such a landscape would give some cover and might give up signs
of other inhabitants before the Godslanders encountered them.

They
climbed the steeply rising land and kept quiet and close. Eventually, after
following the hard trail past rocks and through shrubs and stunted trees, they
approached the top of the ridge.

Puffing,
Steinarr whispered to Samr, “We better not get into a fight. Ballr will never
forgive us!”

Samr
chuckled at his brother’s words. Taking the opportunity to stop and catch his
breath, he turned and looked back, the view stilling his laughter.

Steinarr
also stopped, making the others stop and turn.

Before
them lay the waters of the sound, flat and smooth, but still speckled with ice
in many places. Looking across what seemed a narrow passage of calm, they then
looked down at the green and white spread of Godsland, the island’s hollows
still caked with snow.

Torrador
spoke first, breaking the spell, “Look, there is our hall.” He pointed to where
their settlement lay, half hidden by the hill.

Erik
asked, “Do you think Ballr is watching us?”

Eskil
looked about, stroking his blonde beard. He shook his head and instead said,
“And who else has watched us – or perhaps watches us even now? We are too
exposed. We need to put more effort into exploring what lays about us, making
sure we cannot be surprised by unknown neighbours or other rogue beasts.”

“By
the strength of Thor,” murmured Torrador, seeking divine protection.

“If
we have seen the smoke of another fire, I think there exists a good chance
someone has also seen our own. We must be more careful.”

The
others agreed.

“We
have not seen anyone yet, not in any of our expeditions,” Erik offered.

“Not
yet, but we will see someone soon enough.” And, with that, Eskil turned and
continued the climb.

––––––––

T
hey
finally came to the ridge’s crest, the lichen covered rocks showing amidst a
mix of tired grasses, brush and the odd bit of stubborn snow. Stunted pines
grew in some places, but most trees stuck to the sheltered gullies or the base
of the fjord where a variety such as birch and willows crowded the ground.

Eskil
made them all crouch down as they approached the crest, preparing to look on
more of Markland than most had previously seen.

Over
the ridge, to one side, a small cove opened off the sea. On the other side rose
another ridgeline, and beyond that appeared to be an even deeper fjord. Above
the cove stretched a small valley, the land stepping up to some height. At the
back of that higher valley, nursed between two snow-capped bluffs, a wood
crowded beside a small lake. The lake spread mostly on the far side of the
trees, where a stream ran down a series of foaming white falls, into the cove
to find the sea.

Torrador
whispered, “That looks to be a grand place.”

Eskil
nodded, while the others murmured agreement.