Fate's Needle (34 page)

Being close to the king, Grim heard news from men who had visited distant places. He learned that Ulfrik had sworn himself to Kjotve the Rich and Thor Haklang, building ships and a hall of his own. But Grim also knew the curse was still upon him; he could feel it tugging at him while he slept. Fell shapes shambled through his dreams, ghosts that threatened and chastised him. He kept the bone amulet, but doubted its efficacy without Ulfrik’s bowstring. No one but his brother had so much as ever nicked him in a fight. Would the power of the curse guide Ulfrik’s blade to his heart? Grim regularly begged the gods to keep his brother at bay, desperate to ensure he never met Ulfrik in battle.

The king had settled his sizable army in Trondheim, and tended to his family. Grim cared nothing for children, but particularly disliked Harald’s twin sons. Both were named Halfdan, one the White and the other, the Black. Grim could not tell the difference between them, other than their clothing. All four of Harald’s children were brats, which Grim supposed was the case for all princes, but the king’s sudden desire to spend time with them left his troops bored and irritable.

Grim kept occupied by drilling the younger men, or sparring whenever he could find a reluctant opponent. He had nearly killed a spindly armed boy for failing to keep up his shield. Unfortunately, the boy had been a friend of Harald’s twins, and Grim had been forced to apologize and pay for the injuries.

“There you are.”

Grim set down his ax and drew his thick forearm across his brow as two men approached across a field of waving blue-green grass. The day was clear and cool, right at the meridian of spring and summer.

“The king is calling his men together,” the taller of the two men said. “You must return to the hall immediately.”

Grim gave a short nod and a grunt. “I’ll go right away.” Grabbing the ax high on the haft, he started to walk. “What’s it about?”

“He’s not calling us to chat about the weather,” said the other man. They turned back the way they had come, to walk with him. “But it’s big news. He’s calling for everyone.”

Grim didn’t fill in spaces in the conversation. He didn’t like to talk. He had discovered that keeping his mouth shut helped him avoid trouble. The other two traded jokes as they walked.

“So are you always practicing with that ax?” the tall one addressed Grim again. “Don’t you ever relax?”

“I like to be ready.”

“For what?”

“For cutting out the tongues of fools who ask too many questions.”

After that, the two men fell behind and let Grim walk alone to meet the king.

***

Harald’s men were arriving from all over, herded together by runners, slaves, or, as was Grim’s case, other hirdmen. Harald’s eldest son stood next to his father as they waited outside the hall doors. Where the sun touched Harald Finehair’s lustrous, well-groomed hair, it turned to blazing gold. His son had inherited something of it, but nothing as magnificent as Harald’s.

As Grim arrived, he recognized the grizzled, hardened faces of Harald’s best warriors. Sweat flowed down his face and into his mouth; he blew it away angrily.

Once the group had assembled, Harald raised his hand for silence and attention, both of which he received immediately. He scanned their faces, his gaze as sharp as a bird of prey’s. When he spoke, his voice was sonorous. “I have had news from the south. The false jarls of the coast have made an alliance against us. Of this news, I am completely certain. Even now, they gather their men and ships and sail for our lands.”

Growls rippled through the men. Grim ignored them, concentrating on Harald. He felt his chest tighten at the news.

Harald nodded, acknowledging the group’s anger, and continued. “They expect to catch us unaware, dozing in the summer sun like old men. But we will be ready; we are always ready! Prepare yourselves to sail at dawn. We will move first, and move fast, gathering up the levies as we sail down the coast. We will spring upon them and destroy them before they ever reach our homes.”

The men roared their approval and Harald pumped his fist in the air, roaring back at them. Grim joined in, although hesitant. The jarls of the southern coasts would include Agder’s Kjotve the Rich; Ulfrik could be among the enemy sailing to Trondheim.

Clusters of men drifted away, boastful and animated. Harald remained, speaking to his son and a few of his hersir. Catching his eye, Grim approached and bowed. “King Harald, may I ask if the Kjotve the Rich is among the men we will destroy?”

The hersir with Harald gave Grim a cool look, but Harald always made time to speak with his men, particularly those who guarded his flanks in battle. Harald raised his brow at the question. “He still calls himself King of Agder, so I believe he is.”

“Who is strong among his men, Your Majesty?” Grim had to know for sure.

“His son, Thor Haklang, is as much a leader as his father. He is a berserker, and a great warrior. Is that who you are asking for?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Grim said, bowing as he backed away. “I will not bother you any longer. It will be a pleasure to kill them both.”

King Harald nodded and turned back to his son and the hersir. Grim walked until he rounded the far side of the hall. Then, when no one looked, he threw himself back against the wall, clutching the amulet in his left hand and bracing himself with the right. He felt dizzy. The curse was coming for him. There was no escape. To flee would turn him into an outlaw—a short life. To sail with Harald would bring Grim to the only man who could stand against him. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he opened them, the curse would be gone.

But nothing felt changed. He imagined he heard Aud chuckle. Sinking to the ground, his back to the wall, Grim knew that tomorrow would sail him to his doom.

Thirty-two

When Runa was a child, she had fallen into a pond while stretching to catch a dragonfly. She remembered the cold slap of the water embracing her, the muffled bubbling of air rushing from her mouth, and the stark terror of death enveloping her. Then her brother had snatched her from the water’s frigid embrace, and she had lived. She felt the same way now.

The fall from the sledge evoked the same horror, the same muffled struggle to breathe, the same coldness surrounded her as she floated in blackness. But this time, it was Ulfrik pulling her back to the world.

She had landed on her stomach and passed out. When she came to, it was to deliver her baby. It had been a boy after all, but he was dead. The delivery was a jumbled mess of memories and unfamiliar faces hovering over her. Only Ulfrik’s worried face appeared once. He had spoken soothing words to her, although she couldn’t recall what he had said. She felt it best that she didn’t remember too much. She had been delusional, sure she had seen the faces of family members, and of Toki.

Runa lay on a timber bed that was thick with furs and blankets. She couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced such luxury. It was Ulfrik’s bed—she remembered that much. The room was small, unadorned, and still smelled of fresh timber, which creaked and popped as the structure settled. An older woman named Gerdie cared for her and insisted that Runa remain in bed for at least a week and eat only special broths. Runa did not protest. She had spent the past few days in comfortable silence, mostly asleep, weary with grief.

The sun began to peep through the window and roosters announced the new day. Within moments, the door opened. She had expected Gerdie to deliver her soup. Instead, Ulfrik carried the bowl inside.

He held the bowl of steaming soup carefully in both hands, and closed the door with his foot. Before the door shut fully, Runa glimpsed men gathering at the tables in the main hall. Ulfrik’s hall was modest enough to not even have rooms separating the main hall.

“Gerdie says you are now strong enough to talk to me.”

“That’s true.” The words sounded foolish to her. She had been well enough since yesterday, and had been dreaming up the right things to say. Runa did not want to gush, nor to sound ungrateful. She sat up to receive the bowl, smiling dumbly at him and taking comfort in the knowledge that he didn’t know what to say either.

Ulfrik handed the bowl to her, sat on Gerdie’s stool, and smiled. To break the awkward moment, Runa sipped the bland broth.

“Runa, there’s so much to say, but I don’t know how to begin. I’ve never found the right words when it comes to you.”

“I’ll agree to that.” She refrained from jabbing him a little harder. Part of her wanted to punish him for all she had suffered, for the nightmare of the past nine months. But one look at his pained expressions stopped her. “But my tongue has grown wooden too. I’ve had no practice with fine words these days.”

Ulfrik lowered his head. More silence passed as Runa continued to sip from the bowl. Finally, he looked her in the eye. “I am sorry about the baby. I wish I could have saved both of you. I know he might have been my son.”

“I doubt that,” she lied. “Bard raped me so many times in those first days. Your seed never had a chance. Do not worry for me. I was not attached to the thought of that child, especially if it was his.”

“But it was half of you. And that is still precious to me.”

Runa suddenly felt the surge of emotion she had been keeping at bay. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Well, you’re beginning to find some right words.”

Ulfrik removed the bowl and embraced her. How long had it been since she was last held with love and tenderness? How long since anyone wanted her as a person? She stiffened, not remembering how to respond, and then softened and began to weep. Tears for the pain of losing her son, the joy of reunion with her lover, and the glorious satisfaction of being freed from slavery.

Her hand reflexively searched for her slave collar but felt only bare flesh. Pulling away, she looked into Ulfrik’s eyes, astonished. She had not even realized the collar had been removed.

“It was the first thing I did once I knew you were safe.” Ulfrik said, his own tears gathering. “You will stand at my side as a free woman, if you will agree to stand with me.”

“I said I would, and I will.” Runa’s tears turned to laughter, exuberant laughter at the removal of the last vestige of her slavery.

Ulfrik’s laugh joined hers as he gathered her again into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, allowing herself to experience the sense of safety, the myriad happy feelings. But still there was an undercurrent of uncertainty, as if Ulfrik wanted to pull away but was hesitant.

She pushed herself back instead and said, “You want to say something. There’s bad news.”

“Not bad news, but news that is hard to explain.” He separated from her, sitting again on the stool. “I think you will find it good news.”

“You’re wrapping fish bones in fine cloth. Don’t patronize me.” She straightened her back, felt a twinge of pain from it, and grimaced. Ulfrik seemed to be appraising her, and she wanted him to see her pride.
I have to set the pace for this man from day one
, she thought.
He must deal honestly with me or not at all
.

“I’m not patronizing. I just don’t know how to do this so I will let it be. Fate has drawn you all to me in this place. I will trust in Fate’s plan. What else can I do?” He stood and shrugged. Despite his smile, Runa felt the security she had just experienced draining away. “One thing you could do is to get this over with. Please, Ulfrik, you’re frightening me.”

“Don’t be frightened. What comes through this door next is not a ghost.”

***

“Toki!” Runa screamed his name, and then a second time. She tried to leap from the bed, but her soreness pulled her up short. Toki spared her the pain and dashed to his sister, sweeping her into a hug.

The two embraced and sobbed together, shuddering tears of joy and pain. All the death and loss never grieved, all the hopes and dreams never fulfilled, the multitude of feelings welled up and spilled out. Runa had already wrung herself out with Ulfrik, and now Toki’s appearance placed her on the verge of collapse.

She could barely keep her swollen, weeping eyes open. As she rocked in Toki’s embrace, she saw, through a watery film, Ulfrik standing in front of the closed door and smiling.

“Don’t excite her! She needs rest!” She heard Gerdie protest from outside. Runa closed her eyes again, inhaling the scent of her brother, thinking she did not need rest: she needed this.

“I never thought to see you alive,” Toki said. “I swear I counted the bodies.”

Runa shook her head, not knowing what to say. “I could say the same for you, Brother, but we are reunited. Fate is as often kind as it is cruel. Father always said that. Do you remember?”

She felt Toki nod and his grip tightened. “We are a family again, no longer alone in the world.”

***

Runa’s physical recovery astonished Gerdie, but Runa had endured far worse than comfortable beds and hot meals. All up, she had spent a week in Ulfrik’s room while he slept on the floor in the hall. Gerdie had slept with her, and cried in the night, weeping for her husband who would never return from the battle at Frodi’s hall.

This morning, Runa rose with the dawn, moving slowly and without help. The hall was already busy with people. Snorri and Yngvar seemed to pass all their time drinking in the hall, she noticed. She felt the men treated her nicer now that she was freed, although Yngvar seemed to harbor some reservations. He had befriended Toki, and the two apparently had much in common; Runa couldn’t see what.

She wandered outside where she found Ulfrik and her brother with several men. Their voices were low and grave. Spotting her, Ulfrik excused himself to join her.

“You look radiant. How do you feel?”

“Ready for you to return to your bed. Gerdie can move out.”

They drew together and kissed, then Ulfrik took her arm and guided her down the slope toward the beach. “Gerdie’s husband was a brave man, and probably saved his family a great deal of suffering. Nothing is left of Frodi’s holdings. All the people there are dead or enslaved.”

Runa trembled at the memory. “I think she has been keeping me over-long in my bed. She misses her husband.”