A Short Tale From Norse America: Young Ravens & Hidden Blades (The United States of Vinland) (2 page)

“What?”

“Climb
up to the ridge crest and actually look down upon the vale of Lakeland.”

Ulfarr’s
watch of the wooded slope slowed as his gaze followed the trail that climbed
steeply in front of them, the path clear, but not well worn. He frowned. “We’ve
been brave to come, but no one is here. Have you not had enough?”

“That’s
the reason to do it — no one is here. There are still birds about and the
noises of the woods.” This was true. “We may never get the chance to come back.
We’ve both been to the runestone before, but neither of us has looked upon the
heart of Lakeland.” As he spoke, his eyes twinkled, partly with passion, but
also with mischievous daring.

Ulfarr
looked about again. No one was around.

They
were alone; it was true.

Brandr
knew his friend well, and while neither one of them was reckless, they were
both boys who didn’t often get time for an adventure such as this. Thinking of
his father’s famous victory over Thoromr One-Eye, he whispered the one phrase
that he knew would have them stay. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

Ulfarr
grimaced. He was many things, just like his father: intelligent, capable, and
certainly no coward. “We go to the top, but quietly. Once we get there, we’ll
have a quick look. When we see a hall, field or fence, we go. If we see a
Lakelander, we go twice as fast.”

“Great!”
Brandr whispered. He then lunged forward, striding up the path as quickly as he
could. Over his shoulder he hissed, “I’ll race you!”

Ulfarr
hurried after him.

They
climbed the trail, following its twists and turns as it snaked up the steep
hillside ahead of them. The woods thickened and thinned in different places,
rock outcrops occasionally piercing the stony soil, breaking the good cover of
rambling shrubs and fern undergrowth. The chaotic nature of the landscape gave
the boys confidence in their adventure: The foreign hillside, part of a land so
long forbidden, offered many places to hide as they continued their advance.

They
took turns leading, one overtaking the other when he stopped to examine
something or turned to look back at the view of the green spread of Godsland
island across the channel.

Before
long, they were halfway up the slope; soon after, two-thirds of the way. The
soil became thinner, and the hillside turned into a mix of rock and gravel
marked by gullies where small streams drained the rains from the ridge. Yet the
greenery of woods persisted.

The
steep trail they followed soon levelled off near the base of a series of rock
faces, and then headed out of a thick grove of trees, before cutting across the
slope through a patch of shrubs and more exposed rock. To their surprise, the
boys realised they were near the top of the ridge. The crest was only fifty
paces away.

Ulfarr
slowed and put out a hand to stop Brandr.

“What?”

“We
need to be careful — this is not our land. If we want to look upon the Lakeland
vale, we need to be ready to turn back to the raft as soon as we see someone,”
hissed Ulfarr.

Brandr
sobered and nodded.

The
boys carefully followed the path along the slope as it gradually turned and
climbed toward the crest. Out here, high up on the ridge, they no longer had
any cover.

The
boys approached the rocky spine of the ridge with slowing steps.

To
travel the last half dozen paces, Ulfarr dropped down to his knees in the
gravel and tufts of grass.

Brandr
followed suit.

A
line of knee-high rocks marked the top, the very bones of the ridge. As the
boys neared them, side-by-side, Ulfarr whispered, “Once we see a Lakelander, we
go.”

Brandr
nodded, his early bravado gone.

They
closed the last of the distance, both coming to a stop as they crouched behind
the rocks.

With
a quick glance at each other, they raised their heads, together.

Beyond
the stones was the valley as described in countless retellings of the Raven and
Wolf Meeting Tale. The slope down was not as steep as what they had just
climbed, and the scrub-covered hillside gave way to thickets of trees, and
eventually to woodlands near the bottom of the vale. They could see glimpses of
a lake through the woods, and beyond that, a bluff rose up to dominate the
area.

But
they couldn’t see any Lakelanders.

Brandr
gasped, “There is no one!”

No
halls were visible, not even smoke from cooking fires or the working of iron.
The boys saw no fences marking out pens or yards, nor spot any grazing
livestock. Only a few trails marked the green vale.

The
area looked deserted.

Ulfarr
was stunned to see nothing, but thought hard and eventually answered his
friend. “The village is on the other side of the lake. Perhaps their halls are
hidden by the woodland.” Such a thing was possible, as in many places the
height of the trees blocked the view of the lake and the opposite shore around
the base of the bluff.

Brandr
frowned. “Maybe this is not the right vale?”

Ulfarr
glanced at him, considering the idea.

“There
is nothing,” Brandr repeated again.

“Keep
your voice down. I can see trails, but little else.”

“We
cannot go back without knowing for sure.”

Ulfarr
pursed his lips and again looked over the vale.

To
come so far and not see anything of their rivals was a great disappointment.
Not even a hall, a field, a fence or a cow.

He
said, “The bluff is as I’ve heard described, but there is no one here.”

In
truth, his own curiosity was now stirred and far from sated. His gaze drifted
back to the thickets dotting the slope nearby, leading down to the wood and
lake.

Guessing
his thoughts, Brandr said, “Why don’t we go into the vale and check?”

“We
shouldn’t. It is one thing to pass along a border, but another to cross it into
their homeland.”

“But
we can’t even be sure if this is the right vale. What if they’re all dead or
have fallen to some calamity?”

Ulfarr
again searched the land ahead for some sign of the Lakelanders.

Brandr
continued, “You said your father had heard reports of people going missing, of
theft and of troubles. We should check in case we are living next to a vale
overrun by shades!”

“Keep
your voice down!” Ulfarr hissed. “We shall go to the nearest thicket and see
what we can, but we must leave as soon as we see someone.”

Brandr
smiled, his excitement building, but he also understood that what they were
about to do was risky and well beyond play. “Just to the thicket,” he agreed.

Ulfarr
patted him on the shoulder and then climbed over the crest. Keeping low, he ran
for the nearest trees.

Brandr
followed only a few steps behind.

The
ground fell away to a gentler slope, another stony plain of rock and loose
gravel half-covered with tufts of grass and stunted shrubs. The boys hurried
through the scrub, heading straight for the edge of the thicket.

They
reached the trees, moving past the first trunks and into the thickening
undergrowth. Again, protected by good cover, they slowed and relaxed as they
made their way deeper in. Nearby, a bird took flight, keeping them on edge.

The
boys could see well-trodden paths twisting through the wood, showing that
people frequented the vale. Keeping near the best cover they could, they
continued on, heading for the thicket’s opposite edge.

When
they were over half way through, they heard a murmur in the distance. The sound
came as a whisper, so soft that the boys looked at each other, unsure if they’d
heard anything at all.

Eyes
meeting, they realised that they both had heard it.

They
were not alone.

The
boys dropped to the ground, crawled quietly into the undergrowth and waited,
holding their breaths. The murmur did not repeat, although, down the hill, they
heard another bird take to the air.

Ulfarr
whispered to Brandr, “We need to know if someone is there.”

Brandr
nodded.

Quietly,
and with great care, they continued forward, crawling past berry bushes and
through ferns, seeking what cover they could.

As
they advanced, they listened for the murmur to repeat itself. Had it been a
voice?

Finally,
they came to the edge of the thicket.

Ulfarr
and Brandr lay low in the undergrowth, beside a thick oak, mostly hidden by a
bush spreading above them with heavy summer growth. From their vantage point,
they looked out on the grassy clearing that ran down the slope until it reached
the next thickets. They immediately saw the source of the whispered murmur.

About
fifty paces away, three Lakelander men moved cautiously around the edge of the
next thicket. The men advanced, with bows at the ready, stalking something
ahead of them.

The
boys’ earlier disappointment at not having spied brawling Lakelanders from the
crest of the ridge was now long gone. Instead, tense and quiet, they watched in
fascination.

Lakeland
wasn’t empty after all!

The
men were hunting, which made gaining their attention dangerous in itself, but
they were also, most certainly, Wolves of Lakeland. They looked rugged and wore
rough and dirty clothing. Such men weren’t likely to take kindly to a couple of
stray Godsland Ravens.

The
men stalked through the clearing’s edge, holding bows nocked with arrows,
wearing knives sheathed on their belts.

Ahead
of them, visible through the trees, a lone deer stood, drinking from a stream.

Much
closer to the boys, only half a dozen paces away, a branch snapped, the crack
sharp and sudden. The deer lifted its head, saw the advancing men and bolted,
bounding hurriedly away.

The
men cursed and let their arrows fly.

The
two boys turned to the source of the noise that had disturbed the hunt.

A
huge Lakelander stood there, partially hidden from view by the oak that
sheltered the boys. The man, his back to them, was looking down at a broken
twig sticking up from under his boot. He was also part of the hunt, as he had a
bow in one hand and an axe at his hip.

A
skraeling boy, similar in age to Ulfarr and Brandr and wearing the worn rags of
an enslaved thrall, stood just in front of him, also staring down at the small branch.
Despite the ruddy complexion of his woodspeople heritage, the boy’s face
noticeably paled as he took a step back from the giant Lakelander.

The
Lakelander raised the bow in one hand to strike out at the boy. The skraeling
dropped to the ground as he lifted his arms to cover his head.

The
big man growled, “You’ve ruined the hunt, you wretch!”

The
bow flashed down, hitting the boy’s upraised arms with a mighty crack, though
he managed to deflect most of the blow by dropping further back. It seemed the
boy was experienced at such evasions.

The
Lakelander wasn’t satisfied though. With a quick glance to confirm the spoilt
hunt, he then turned back to the boy, drew back his leg, and delivered a solid
kick to his ribs.

The
skraeling threw himself back and went sprawling.

The
other hunters chased after the deer, new arrows ready, leaving the clearing
behind. “The boy’s given us away!” one of them growled.

Behind
them, the Lakelander advanced on the cowering skraeling. Without hesitation, he
sent another kick into the boy, a blow aimed at his head.

The
man thundered, “You are useless! I should cut the throats of you and your
mother!” The big Lakelander put a hand to the axe on his belt and stepped after
the skraeling thrall as the boy tried to scurry away.

Ulfarr
and Brandr were shocked by what was happening before them, an unfair
confrontation cloaked in a dreadful and heavy air. They knew the Lakelanders
were quick to anger – and even quicker to draw blood. They had grown up with
the tales of Thrainn and One-Eye and their boiling tempers, including the
description of how their rages had led to the foul murders of both Leif and
Ari.

The
other hunters were not in sight, but a cry of triumph sounded out from the far
thickets, suggesting that an arrow had found its mark. That cry distracted the
big Lakelander for a moment, making the giant turn and look to where the chase
had led. The move put his face in profile.

He
wore an eye patch.

It
wasn’t just a Lakelander, but Thoromr One-Eye who stood before them!

Brandr
gasped, catching the attention of not just the skraeling boy, but also the
Norseman.

The
man spun about, his single eye open wide and staring.

The
skraeling did not hesitate. He got to his feet and
launched himself in the opposite direction of the hunting party, using the
opportunity to get away. Once he’d gotten some distance, he headed for an
upslope copse of trees.

Spittle
flying, Thoromr yelled, “Ravens!” as he pulled his axe free.

The
paralysis of the two Godsland boys was quickly shattered. They got up, turned
and ran, tearing back through the thicket that had hidden them.

Behind
them, Thoromr bellowed and began to chase.

Ulfarr
and Brandr didn’t stop, charging on until they got free of the trees. From
there they raced up the ridge side, bounding over shrubs and spills of rock,
until they reached the crest. Once they crossed the spine of stone, they ducked
over it and stopped, laying down, using the ridge’s rocky bones as cover while
they looked back for their pursuer.

There
was nothing — just the distant woodland and field of shrubs broken up by the
odd thicket.

With
thumping hearts and heaving chests, they finally looked to each other and burst
out laughing, drunk on adrenalin.

Ulfarr
gasped. “That was One-Eye — did you see?”

“He
was close enough that I could have taken out his other eye for my father!”