A Short Tale From Norse America: Young Ravens & Hidden Blades (The United States of Vinland) (4 page)

“Why
don’t you carry them?” Ulfarr whispered.

“I’m
not to have them. In Lakeland, no skraeling can carry iron.”

“Why?”

He
glanced through the greenery and down the slope to where his father searched
the trail. The boy’s eyes narrowed as he hissed, “Because Thoromr fears we
would use them against him.”

Both
Godsland boys were familiar with similar rules at home, if they were perhaps
dressed in more gentle terms. Iron needed to always be accounted for and was
only available to those who had proven themselves. Yet, on occasion, blades
still went missing.

Ulfarr
wondered for a moment — were such weapons truly lost or had they been taken by
the skraelings and mixed children in Godsland, to also be hoarded by angry and
resentful minds?

Dore
indicated Thoromr with a nod of his head, the giant Lakelander now about sixty
paces down the slope. “Put them back and I will lead One-Eye away. You can then
get back to your boat or raft and head home.”

The
boys nodded. Ulfarr took the blade from Brandr and put all of them back into
the hiding place in crack in the rock. He smiled as he said, “Thank you, Dore.”

Brandr
nodded in agreement.

Dore
offered a smile and looked pleased to see the blades returned. “Many thanks for
earlier distracting One-Eye. You have saved me from some bruises.”

“You
could still come with us.”

“No.
I’ll go out and call him and take him home. His anger will have faded. Wait
until he comes back up and passes. Do not move until you are sure we have gone
down into the next valley.”

The
boys nodded.

“You
know I’m Dore, but who are you two?”

“I’m
Ulfarr, this is Brandr.”

Brandr
offered a smile, despite the pain of his swollen ankle.

Dore’s
eyes went wide, his gaze locking onto Brandr. “Your father stole one of my
father’s eyes! I have heard the tale!”

Brandr
gave a cautious nod. “Yes, a long time ago, after the murder of Ari.”

Dore
beamed with pleasure to hear it, before the expression fell into a sneer, but
not one directed at Brandr. “If Thoromr ever cuts my mother’s throat, I shall
claim his last eye! I might be his son by blood, but I am little more than a
slave to him. He names his true sons as the ones born of Aldis, his Greenlandic
wife.”

The
boys understood. They had heard that the Lakelanders often put babies into
their skraeling thralls, despite having their own wives.

Dore
turned to Ulfarr. “I have also heard your name; you are the son of Eskil, the
Founder of Godsland?”

“Yes.”

Dore
nodded, pleased. “I need to go, but I hope we meet again.”

Brandr
said, “I hope so, too.”

Dore
didn’t waste any time. He left, disappearing back up the slope to where Thoromr
had first crossed the ridge. Once there, he stopped and called out to his
father, “One-Eye, the hunt is over. The hunters are waiting for you to
celebrate with them back in Lakeland!”

The
boys couldn’t see Dore from where they were, but heard him clearly and could
see Thoromr below, turning at his son’s voice. The man’s face was firm, but
much of the anger had drained from it. The big man called up, “Where are your
friends?”

“What
friends?”

“The
two boys!”

“I
don’t know.”

Thoromr
cursed and glanced about the slope.

Dore
repeated, “The hunters are waiting to honour you!”

His
father grumbled to himself and then growled, “I still owe you a beating!”
before he began walking back up the trail, but his voice did not hold any of
its previous fury.

As
the man advanced, Ulfarr and Brandr shrunk as low and as far back as they could
into the rock overhang.

One-Eye
moved quickly, but his steps came heavy and he breathed noisily as he climbed
the steep trail. His gaze stuck to the path to ensure his footing, only
occasionally glancing up to check on Dore. He grumbled to himself as he walked.
“Wretch, I should have named you Loki, as you are such a trickster!”

Dore
laughed.

He
soon passed by the rocks, trees, ferns and shrubs that hid the boys, and he
then headed for the end of the trail, making his way to the ridge’s crest.

Ulfarr
and Brandr held still, listening to his passage.

Thoromr’s
footfalls and panting receded.

Dore
spoke up again, luring his father on, “The hunters will be back at the hall by
now.”

Thoromr
answered, his tone gentler. “If I find fresh meat awaiting me, I shall save
your beating for another day.”

Dore
laughed again, the sound short but sincere.

Two
sets of footsteps then padded out through the grass and rock of the slope as
Dore darted over the crest and began his descent into Lakeland. He kept just
ahead of One-Eye, retaining some distance from him.

With
a teasing tone, Thoromr One-Eye, called out, “Do not run off!”

Dore’s
voice was more distant, “I am not; I am right here.”

“Not
within reach.”

The
boys listened to them move off, their voices fading.

When
it seemed safe, Brandr looked to Ulfarr and asked, “Are you going to leave the
blades?”

“Yes.
While he should not have them according to the laws of Lakeland, he has helped
us.”

“And
we helped him.”

“He
will still get a beating. Besides, the blades are in the borderland.”

Brandr
nodded. “He is tough.”

Ulfarr
got up, stepping out of the shadows before reaching down to help Brandr rise.
“Let us get going. I’ll help you.”

“Thanks,
I just want to get back to the raft and across the water.”

“At
least the trip is all downhill.”

Brandr
smiled, but after a heartbeat, the warmth of it faded. “We better start
thinking of what we shall tell our mothers. They will want to know how I hurt
my ankle and how you cut your face.”

“Yes,
they will.” He then grinned before adding, “And so will Seta.”

––––––––

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The United States of Vinland: The Landing