Runestone (53 page)

“Yes, they have to be. Especially, if they seek a place to plant. How soon must they do that?”

Several people glanced around at one of the
kutani
, a priest or holy man who had said nothing yet. His garments marked his difference in calling. He wore a capelike robe woven with feathers and strips of fur. His was the responsibility for ceremonies for the crops, for needed rain, and for time of planting.

“I do not know their crops,” he observed, “but I am made to think that corn must be in the ground soon. Half a moon … maybe a little longer.”

“So, they must find a place very soon, no?”

“That is true. Our planting is nearly finished.”

“Look!” a woman said. “We could not kill them
all
and it would be dangerous to try. Maybe we could get rid of them faster if we help them find a place to plant.”

“But then they might want to stay!” protested another.

The argument rambled on. Finally it was decided. They must learn more of the intruders, and the most practical approach would be to question the advance scouts.

“What if they resist?” someone asked.

“Then we capture one. … Or kill him, if he seems too dangerous.”

There was a chuckle, at the thought of one or two scouts presenting a danger to the warriors of the Real People.

“Well,” said one of the elders, “let us catch one and see!”

   The trail had broadened into a well-used thoroughfare in this area. After the People reached the westward bend of the road, it was apparent that it was heavily traveled. They met more travelers, in ones and twos like the traders they had seen previously. There were also other parties of varying sizes. Some may have been hunters, moving into an area favorable for a day’s hunt. Others included women and children. People looked at the procession of outsiders curiously as they passed, sometimes smiling and signing a greeting. It was obvious that
the presence of the People was of no surprise to anyone they met. The approach of such a large body would be news that had traveled quickly up and down the trail. Probably, word had spread in other directions, too. There were spurs and branches along the way, leading to other areas.

At the point where the route turned westward, a well-traveled branch split away to wind into the mountains to the south. The main trail seemed to continue to the west, however. There had been only one brief discussion before the People chose their route. Their most urgent need for the coming summer was a place to plant. Certainly, the likeliest spots would be in the rolling plain between the great lake to their right and the mountains to the south. It was really no decision at all. One seeks flat lowlands to plant corn, not mountains. They moved on westward.

Now, however, there was beginning to be a certain urgency. It was time to plant. They must find a site. The complicating factor was the presence of unexpectedly large numbers of people. The entire area seemed heavily populated. On some days they had passed not only several dwellings, but several clusters of lodges as well as a village or two. Still, information that they gleaned from traders suggested that there was more room and fewer people to the west. They moved on.

There was growing concern, however. In strange country, the seasons might be quite different. Not everyone was aware of this, but there was quiet discussion, always skirting around the question: How long is it until we
must
plant, or lose the crop?

Odin, more widely traveled than most of the People, was quite concerned over this. He sought out Nils one evening as they camped.

“White Wolf,” he began seriously, “you have traveled much.”

It was an odd statement, coming from Odin.

“Of course,” Nils answered, puzzled. “We are here, no?”

“No, I mean … I am not sure what I mean, Thorsson.”

Odin usually called him White Wolf, or simply Wolf. The use of the Nordic name sometimes indicated that Odin was in
a very serious or philosophic mood. They sat in silence for a little while, watching the stars appear over the lake to the north. It was a warm evening, the air soft and quiet. The busy sounds of a large encampment were settling to a muted hum as darkness deepened. Halfway up the deepening vault of northern sky hung the North Star. Now Odin pointed to it.

“There,” he said, “the Real-star.”

“Yes,” Nils answered after a long silence. “What about it?”

“It is always there, no? All others turn around it.”

Nils was puzzled. “Of course.” He had become aware in the past year that the Skraelings were far more knowledgeable than he had supposed. At least, more aware of the movements of the heavenly bodies. Even so, the observation that the North Star does not move like the others is a primitive thing. His puzzlement and surprise was that Odin would remark on a thing so simple. There must be something else. He waited, and in due time Odin spoke again.

“Thorsson, is the Real-star not lower in the sky here?”

Nils was caught completely off guard. He had come to realize that this was a highly intelligent man, but this question indicated a great depth of thought. Odin was showing an understanding, or at least a glimmer of knowledge that involved the basic principles of modern celestial navigation.

“Yes,” he said. “We are farther south.”

Nils would soon be almost embarrassed by his lack of understanding of Odin’s knowledge. He was still thinking to himself that it was clever of a primitive Skraeling to notice such things. But now Odin continued.

“And as we go farther south, the Real-star is lower, no?”

“Yes, that is true. When we sail on the sea, we use that to—”

Odin waved that aside, as if it were unimportant. “And this,” he continued, “because we are farther from the lodge of Cold Maker in the north.”

It was a statement, not a question. A statement that reflected the childlike simplicity of the Skraelings. Nils smiled and nodded patronizingly. Therefore, the next comment from Odin was a surprise, a complete shock.

“So,” said the Skraeling, “that is why we can expect a longer growing season here.”

Nils’s mind whirled in confusion. He knew nothing of growing seasons, but it was apparent that once more he had badly misjudged Odin, and probably the People as well. The simple remark about Cold Maker was not childish whimsy at all. It was merely a way to express an understanding of the principles of climate in relation to latitude.

“So,” Odin went on thoughtfully, “maybe we have more time to find a place to grow, more time than we thought.”

Nils thought for a moment. The logic seemed to escape him.

“I do not know,” he admitted. “Does the corn always ripen in the same number of days?”

“Yes, mostly. Some kinds shorter, some longer. And some difference with what sort of season, how much rain.”

Nils had no comment. This was far more complicated than he had imagined. Odin was nodding to himself, lost in thought.

“Thorsson,” he said finally, as if he had solved his dilemma, “here is my thought. If the corn takes the same number of days, but the season
has
more days, we could plant earlier,
or later
. It does not matter so much, here.”

The Skraeling glanced over to see if an answer was forthcoming, but it was not. Nils’s knowledge of agriculture was limited. He was aware that different crops are grown in different places, but the complexity of it all! He had not really wondered about it, but now he felt a little foolish. He had just learned something. He had been taught some very important principles by an illiterate Skraeling, a man he had once regarded as an ignorant savage. Nils hoped that his embarrassment would not show in the gathering darkness of early evening.

Odin seemed not to notice.

“I think I will go with the scouts tomorrow,” he said thoughtfully. “I would like to see how the crops of those who live here are planted.”

O
din was glad that White Wolf did not express interest in the idea. It was one thing for an extra scout to travel out ahead of the column. It would be quite another if the extra scout had blue eyes, yellow hair, and facial fur. It would be much better not to confuse further the initial contact with these Chalagee by the presence of the Norsemen. Man fears that which he does not know, and fear leads to unpredictable behavior.

He sought out Big Tree and told the headman of his idea. It was received with approval, although not with wild enthusiasm.

“Yes, it is good. See what you can learn.”

The scouts were more interested. It would be pleasant to have a companion with whom to visit on the trail, and Odin was generally popular among the People. He would depart next morning with the runner who had returned to bring the latest news. There was a constant rotation to relay information daily, a shuttling of messengers back and forth from the advance scouts to the column. Usually there were two warriors together at the front at all times. If some misfortune befell them, one would try to return word to the main party.

So it was that Odin had decided to accompany the runner as he returned to the front to relieve one of the others.

“You will be careful, my husband?” Hawk Woman asked seriously. “I do not want to lose you again.”

“Of course, Hawk. This is nothing. I will maybe not even talk to anyone among these Cave People. We just want to see their crops.”

This was not quite true. He did intend to make contact, and possibly negotiate if he could. This had intentionally been
left somewhat vague when he talked to the headman. Actually, Odin was looking forward to the challenge of meeting and communicating with these people.

“I will be careful,” he assured his wife as he lifted the small traveling pack to his shoulders. “I will be back in two, maybe three days,”

   “It is good to have company,” said the scout as they jogged along the well-beaten trail. “To travel alone is not my favorite thing.”

Odin nodded. He was having a little trouble matching the stride of the runner. He was in fairly good condition, but this steady jog-trot for half a day at a time was using different muscles. There was little possibility of communication as they moved, because it required most of the breath in his lungs just to keep the pace. He resented, just a little, the youth and vigor of his companion.

They stopped to rest, and the tired muscles of his calves and thighs reminded him again that it had been some time since he had used the message-runner’s jog. That was a task for younger men, like this youth by his side. That one now glanced at the sun, rose, and started on.

   It was midmorning of the next day when it happened. The three men of the People had suspected since the sun rose that they were watched. There was much evidence of human habitation, but they had seen few people, except for the occasional travelers on the road.

On either side of that road were plots where fresh dirt gave indications of planting. Corn, probably, Odin thought. He had examined the little hillocks, taking care not to disturb anything.

A time or two, they had seen a hint of motion that suggested that they were watched. They discussed this, and decided to continue at their deliberate pace, an easy walk.

“It is often so,” one of the scouts told Odin, making much of his experience on the trail. “They will contact us later, maybe. See, on the rocky hill to the left … do not be too obvious. There is a man in the rocks, watching us.”

“He is not well hidden,” observed Odin.

“Yes. He wants to be seen, to see what we do, how we act.”

“There are probably more who watch from hiding,” said the other scout. “They will meet with us when they are ready.”

The whole experience was unsettling to Odin. He could not forget his capture and servitude by the Downstream Enemy, and all of his troubles since. To walk calmly, knowing that they were watched by the eyes of unseen warriors, was quite difficult for him. These strangers, of a powerful and unknown nation, could be very dangerous. Now
his
fear of the unknown made his palms sweat and his stride unsteady. Irritated at himself, he squared his shoulders and trudged on. He had chosen this, and would see it through.

They approached a place where the trail passed along the base of a rocky slope that rose sharply on their left. The way narrowed to pass between this hill and a rough, brushy gully on the right.

“Look!” said one of the scouts. “On the left,”

At the crest of the hill, where a flat ledge formed the rim of the slope, stood a man. He was completely exposed, pointedly watching them. He carried a bow, and a knife or short ax at his waist. He was naked except for a breechclout. The warrior made no move to raise his bow, or to make any other threatening gesture. There seemed nothing about him that would arouse suspicion. He continued to watch.

“He seems friendly,” said one of the scouts.

“Yes, but he is farther away than a bow shot,” the other answered sarcastically. “That makes him look friendlier. But he wants us to watch him.”

“Should we stop and wait?” asked Odin.

“Maybe. But let us keep moving as we have been a little longer.”

“I am made to think,” said Odin, palms still damp, “that the rocks on the slope below him are a size to hide men.”