Viking Gold (44 page)

Redknee turned back. Koll
stared at him, bleary-eyed, his eating knife in his hand.

“Everything’s fine,” Redknee
said.

Koll looked disappointed.

“I just wanted to ask about
when you first arrived in my father’s village. Was it before my father died?”

“After.”

“So my uncle was already
jarl?”

Koll nodded. “I heard they
needed a blacksmith. So I went. Offered my services. I never met your father.”

“What happened to the
previous blacksmith?”

“No idea. Died, I suppose.
He’d left his tools. Great stuff – bellows, tongs, beaters. All well made.”

Redknee’s
body felt like a series of angles pressed into the hard ground. Still unable to
sleep, he got up, and motioned to Olvir that he was going for a walk along the
riverbank. Silver followed at his heels. The forest looked different to when
they’d first arrived. Gone were the streets of gold; instead, dead and
blackened trunks twisted against an empty sky.

He followed the river
downstream. Silver bounced in front of him, sniffing the wet ground, tail
wagging. The water sped past: a chortling foam that tumbled over glassy rocks,
eddied in clear pools and then raced on, leaping boulders and fallen logs. He
looked for a place to cross, using his sword to test the footing. Some rocks
were spaced close enough to—

The water rushed towards him,
smacked into his face. The fierce chill ripped the air from his lungs. He heard
barking, grasped for the bank, but the current was strong. Trees and rocks shot
past. He fought to keep his head above the water, tried to swim, to keep his
balance, but everything was a blur …

His
head struck a rock and he screamed in pain. Water filled his mouth as the
current dragged him on, tugging at his feet, pulling him along,
pulling him
under
… 

Redknee
coughed. Spewed water. He blinked to find a pair of hard, flint-coloured eyes
staring down at him. Seeing Redknee conscious, the man stretched to his full
height. He was tall, and broad as a bear.

Redknee shivered in his wet
clothes. He was on the far bank. A small fire near his feet was giving off
blueish smoke. The man turned away. A large, patch-worked bag lay next to his
feet. He rooted about in it.

Wary of the stranger, Redknee
felt for his sword. But he must have dropped it when he fell. His heart jumped
when the big man turned back and thrust out his hand, so much so that he nearly
fainted with relief when he realised that it wasn’t a weapon in the stranger’s
outstretched fingers, but a brightly coloured blanket.

Redknee gratefully wrapped
the blanket round his shoulders. Then he cried out. For behind the stranger,
axe raised, ready to sever the man’s neck, stood a grinning Koll. Before
Redknee had drawn breath, the stranger whipped round. His foot sliced through
the air, crashing into the side of Koll’s skull. Koll stumbled backwards, his
axe thumping harmlessly to the ground. Redknee leapt up and helped Koll to his
feet.

“This man saved my life,” he
said. “Pulled me from the river.”

Redknee followed Koll’s
bewildered gaze. The stranger wore a leather tunic with fringes, breeches to
his ankles and soft boots. His skull shone like an eggshell, clean of hair save
for a corn-coloured tail wound with red and black feathers that hung in a rope
down his back. Redknee pointed to the river.

“Thank you,” he said slowly.
“Thank you for saving my life.”

The man nodded with the same
scarcity of movement he’d shown when disarming Koll, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” Redknee said. “Are
there others like you?”

The man looked confused and Redknee
wiggled his fingers to show people walking.

“Ah, just leave it,” Koll
said. “He doesn’t understand.”

The stranger froze. Then he
spoke in Norse. “This land is no place for you,” he said. “No good will come of
your being here. Death will hound you until you leave.”

“What?” Redknee frowned.
“This island is vast … and rich. A thousand men, more even, could live here. Each
one fat as a jarl.”

“Don’t you see?” the stranger
said, his stony eyes fixed on Redknee’s face. “That is exactly what will
happen. Once the world knows about this place, they will all come in their
longships. It will be made in the image of the Northlands, and everything will
be as it was before.” The stranger lifted his bag and began to walk away.

“But,” Redknee said,
scurrying after him, “we aren’t going to tell anyone. We just want somewhere to
live, free from tyrants and taxes.”

“
Really?
Is that how
you think it will come to pass? Not one of you has thought about getting rich
from all this timber? From the furs?”

Redknee remembered the
conversation about selling logs to the Greenlanders and the Icelanders who had
no trees of their own.

“I thought as much,” the
stranger nodded, lifting his pace.

“But
you
are a
Northman,” Redknee shouted at the stranger’s retreating figure. “And
you
are here.”

“Leave it,” Koll said,
tugging on his arm. “There’s nothing he can do to stop us. He’s only one man.”

“But he got here first. Don’t
you see? This is
his
land. And he might know about my father …” Redknee left
Koll looking bewildered and ran after the stranger
. “Wait!”
he shouted
as the stranger started up the grassy embankment. “I owe you for saving my
life.”

“It is no matter. You ought
to stay by the fire.”

Redknee drew level with the
stranger. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not getting rid of you,
am I?  Should have left you to enjoy your swim.”

Redknee shrugged. “You know,
getting here was hard. We lost a lot of good people.”

“And you will lose many more
if you stay.” The stranger sighed. “They call me Dreaming Hawk.”

“Who’s ‘they?’”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Are they like trolls?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“
You know
… things
people are scared of, but no one has actually seen. Least, no one sober.”

Hawk laughed. “If only that
were true. No, my young friend, the Kanienkehaka most definitely exist.”

“Who are the
Kanianke—?”

“—haka.”
They’d reached the top of the embankment. Hawk
stopped and faced Redknee. “Kanienkehaka means
People of the Flint
.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“It means, young one, that
they protect this land from invaders like you.”

Redknee followed Hawk in
silence. After a short while, he asked where they were going.

“
I
am going home.”

“Where’s that?”

“You ask a lot of questions.
It’s half a day’s walk.”

“Were you following us?”

“Picked up your trail this
morning.”

Redknee let out a long, low
whistle.

Hawk laughed. “Didn’t suspect
a thing?”

Redknee shook his head. “Had
a hunch – but I couldn’t be sure.”

“That’s the Kanienkehaka
training. They move quick and quiet.”

“Can I learn?”

Hawk spun round. Koll and Toki
were running up behind them, Silver at their heels. Olvir trailed a few paces
behind. “Maybe
you
can learn,” Hawk said, turning back to Redknee, “but
those over-fed lumps never will.”

Redknee faced his friends. “This
is Hawk,” he explained. “He saved my life. He’s going to take us to his home
and tell us all about the Flint People.”

Koll gritted his teeth. “What
manner of—”

“They are just people,”
Redknee said.

Koll shook his head. “It’s a
trap.”

“No!” Redknee said, “He saved
my life.”

Koll snorted. “He’s luring us
astray – so his Flint People friends can pick us off.”

Hawk folded his arms. “We’re
days from Kanienkehaka territory, but suit yourself. Though, if it makes any
difference, others are on your trail.”

Hawk
led them on a twisting route, so that by the time they reached the clearing,
night was already drawing a veil over the sky. A hovel of branches and mud
huddled against the frozen ground.

“
This
is your home?”
asked Redknee.

“It’s better from the inside.”

Hawk was right. Beneath the
thatch of leaves and daub, the air was warm and dry. What looked small on the
outside easily held the six of them. Thick furs lined the floor and woollen
blankets hung from the walls. The men kicked off their boots and made themselves
comfortable while Hawk lit the fire.

They had caught a couple of
squirrels on their walk and once he had a good blaze going, Hawk went outside
to gut the carcasses. Soon they were talking and eating. Silver, though, sat by
the door, amber eyes scanning the gathering dark. Nothing, not even the sweet
smell of roast squirrel, could tempt him from his vigil. Sensing the pup’s
unease, Redknee kept
Flame Weaver
by his side. Toki had recovered it for
him after his dip in the river. 
One more I owe him
, Redknee
thought grimly.

“Ah,” Hawk said, chewing on a
piece of meat. “Tastes good.”

“How long have you been
here?” Toki asked.

“Two winters.”

Redknee studied the hut in
more detail. A man’s tunic hung from the rafters, drying. A pair of soft, brown
boots warmed by the fire. A soapstone bowl and spoon sat in a corner, half
covered by a linen square. One of everything. He turned back to Hawk.

“You live alone?”

“My wife is visiting her
people.”

“She’s a Flint Person?”
Redknee asked.

Hawk nodded.

Koll loosened the neck of his
tunic. “Didn’t you have a wife before?”

Hawk studied the fire, the
yellow flames dancing against the dull grey of his eyes. “I did,” he said
quietly. “But I will never see her again.”

“Aye,” Koll said, nodding
sadly. “My woman has gone too.”

Something moved outside.
Silver’s ears pricked up. Both Redknee and Koll jumped to their feet. Olvir
grabbed his bow.

A smile played on Hawk’s
lips. He didn’t stir. “Your stalkers have finally caught up with us.”

“What?” Redknee said. “I
thought all that doubling back was to lose them.”

Koll marched to the door and
burst into the night. He reappeared a moment later, a violently struggling
woman under his arm. “Vermin!” he said, dropping her onto the floor.

Astrid scrambled to her feet and
lunged across the fire, knocking Hawk backwards. She tore at him with her
nails, gouging angry red lines across his cheeks.

Hawk kept perfectly still.

“Bastard!” she screeched,
getting to her feet and kicking his shins. “I hate you, Gunnar Osvaldson,
you’re a traitor and a coward!”

Koll dragged Astrid off Hawk
and pinned her arms behind her back. It was then that Redknee saw Sinead
standing in the doorway, her hands folded neatly beneath her green cloak; she
flashed a brief smile in his direction.

“Astrid sneaked out. I had to
come with her. She would have died on her own.”

Astrid wriggled like a salmon
in Koll’s arms as she tried to spit in Hawk’s eyes. Koll pressed his hand over
her mouth. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

Redknee turned to Hawk.
“Should we call you Gunnar, as Astrid does?” Hawk just shrugged, so Redknee
continued: “Our new friend is Astrid’s estranged husband. Gunnar Osvaldson,
long lost Jarl of Reykjavik.”

Koll howled. Blood flecked
from Astrid’s teeth where she’d sunk them into his finger. As Koll snatched his
hand away she began shouting at Hawk with renewed fury. “You
lied
. You
said you’d come back for me.”

“I
tried
to build a
ship.”

“You didn’t try very hard.”

“My men were all killed … or
died of the fever. And the Kanienkehaka, none would come with me … except for
Running Deer.”

“Ha! Your new wife? That
would be a fine homecoming. Bet you didn’t think I’d come to find
you
!”

“So you came all this way,
risked your life, just to shout at him?” Sinead asked.

Astrid rounded on her. “Shut
up, slave. You don’t know the first thing about Gunnar and me.”

Sinead laid a bag on the
ground then marched across the room and slapped Astrid square on the cheek. “I
know he left you,” she said, her expression softening at the sight of the angry
welt rising on Astrid’s pale skin. “But be quiet, before someone really hurts
you.”

Tears sprung into Astrid’s
eyes and she went limp like an old rag. Cautiously, Koll loosened his grip, and
she slunk, defeated, to the furthest corner of the hovel, drew her feet to her
chest and closed her eyes.