Runestone (55 page)

Nils nodded. “I am made to think so. Our brother wants us to … to use our gifts, as we did once before.”

“How is this done?”

There was a pause as Big Tree realized that he had come close to asking about another’s spirit-gifts. That would be quite rude, even in the urgency of the present situation.

“I mean,” the headman went on, “what is needed now?”

“I am made to think,” said Nils with great dignity, “that I must go to him.”

“It is good!” announced Big Tree. “We will send a party of warriors with you.”

Now a plan was forming, one that would create the greatest impression on Odin’s captors.

“No, my chief. This is a thing of spirit, not of weapons. I will take Fire Man. Hornet can show us where to go. Maybe one warrior.”

There was an instant reaction from one of the men in the circle.

“I will go,” said Snake, boyhood companion of Odin and Hawk Woman. “Odin is my friend.”

“When will you go?” asked Big Tree.

“Tonight,” Nils answered. “There will be a moon later. Let Hornet rest while we make ready.”

Svenson approached and spoke to Nils in their own tongue.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

Nils looked at him, and noticed a gleam in the eyes of the old sailor. Sven, too, had realized what Odin intended, and was actually enjoying the excitement.

“We can plan the details as we travel,” Nils said. “This has to be a good show, Fire Man.”

Svenson nodded.

   A day’s travel to the west, Odin shifted his position, trying to ease the strain on his muscles. The abnormal angle that was imposed by his fetters was uncomfortable at best. After long periods of time it became almost unbearable.

All in all, he had not been treated badly, he reflected. He had been subjected to much worse in his previous captivity. These people had beaten him only a little, and then not with weapons, but only their hands. They had given him food, and had even untied him to allow him to eat and to make hand signs for a little while. There had been two episodes of questioning.

He had a strong impression that these people were primarily curious about the nature of the newcomers into their territory. That was as it should be. They would need to determine
the purpose of this nation of people on the move. Would the People represent a threat to the Chalagee? And if so, what sort of threat? One of war, or merely an occupation of territory that was needed for crops? Yes, it was easy to see their concern.

The frustrating thing was that he could have answered their concerns if they had allowed him. Their meeting had started in a very unfortunate way, with the death of young Catbird. Odin regretted that, but he saw no way that it could have been avoided. He had the idea that their captors regretted the killing, too. But after all, Catbird
had
attacked the man, driven by panic. That was no way to begin diplomatic negotiations.

Odin had felt from the beginning that his questioners were so impressed by that event that they were not listening to him. It was some time before an idea began to form in his mind. If he could arouse the curiosity of their captors, impress them, somehow. From that point, his plan fell rapidly into place.

He had already tried to convince them to release Black Hornet. That, he insisted, would let the People know of the power of the Chalagee, as well as their generosity.

“Why are you willing to be a captive in his place?” he was asked.

“Because my heart is good. The Chalagee will see that I speak truth.”

He began to gain confidence after the thought came to him to use the expertise of the Norsemen. It had worked before. The problem was to get word to them. His captors seemed unwilling to let the two prisoners converse at all. He now hoped that the brief message that he had given to Hornet had been understood. If so, he believed that by tomorrow evening he would see White Wolf and Fire Man. If the message was not understood, then the People would probably send a war party. That, in view of the strength of the Chalagees, would be a great mistake.

Well, he could do nothing for now but try to rest. Finally, he drifted off into fitful slumber.

O
din lay, or rather propped himself against the wall of one of the lodges, hands still tied. After a fitful night of interrupted slumber, the day had dawned at last. At least, the bright rays of the sun gave him a sense of optimism that he had almost lost in the chill hours before dawn.

This should be the day that someone from the camp of the People would come. He hoped that the scout had understood his message, but could not be sure. After being cuffed for trying to communicate, there had been no further opportunity to attempt it. If he had realized that their conversation could be only a few words, he might have handled it differently. “Tell White Wolf to bring the sun-stone,” maybe. Or perhaps, “White Wolf and Fire Man must bring their medicine.” As it had happened, his only chance to say anything had been the partial idea, “Tell White Wolf it is as before.” He would have continued with more detail, but the conversation had been interrupted. It was difficult now even to remember at what exact point he had been cut off. He
had
, he was certain, been able to say that this situation was like their previous captivity. The nagging doubt was whether the scout had understood enough of that interrupted statement to inform White Wolf properly. Today would tell. By sunset … well, if the People decided to attack the Chalagee he might be dead by sunset.

He would think of other things. A few paces away, three youngsters sat and watched him, chattering among themselves. There were two boys and a girl, probably of eight or ten summers, he thought. One of the boys carried a stick of about his own height. By the way the youngster handled the object, it seemed to be something of importance. It was regarded with respect, somehow.

Puzzled by this, Odin focused his gaze on the youth and his stick. Could it be a weapon of some sort? Then he saw … yes! A hole in the end. The stick was hollow. He recalled now that a trader had spoken of this weapon of the Chalagees. It was primarily used for hunting squirrels or birds, the man had said, had he not? A puff of breath through the hollow tube would blow a small arrow as fast as the eye could follow.

Now that Odin realized what sort of implement the young man held, his attention was totally absorbed by it. He did not know just how dangerous the blowgun might be. To add to his discomfiture, the boy kept swinging the tube slowly back and forth, pointing it at the captive. It was very disconcerting to watch the round mouth of the weapon move toward a position where it pointed directly at him. Then it would sweep on past, Odin would relax, and the children would giggle. He must have shown his concern more than he realized, because the game was repeated. The boy pointed his blowgun, as if threatening, and then lowered it, and the others laughed.

If his hands had been free, Odin could have talked to them in signs. That was impossible under the circumstances. He also realized that his reaction was important. If he showed his concern, the game would continue. He tried to appear calm, even bored, lifting his gaze to watch a fluffy white cloud high overhead. He was dimly aware that the boy with the blowgun was moving it around, but he determined not to look.

There was a light
thunk
beside him, and he glanced down involuntarily. Only a hand’s span from his left shoulder, a dart protruded from the bark-covered log of the lodge wall. It was slender, as long as his fingers, and a fluffy little plume of feathers or thistledown was tied to the shaft. The children were laughing in delight at his reaction, and a chill came over him. This could be a dangerous situation. He was virtually defenseless, and at the mercy of children who might not be possessed of good judgment. If the darts could kill a squirrel or a bird, they could do much damage to unprotected flesh. A deep wound to the chest might collapse a lung. Or a wound to the face … he cringed at the thought, and then the full import of his danger descended on him.
His eye
…

Odin had adapted fairly well to the loss of his eye some
years before. He could still see, and he was still alive. With the inborn stubbornness that was his, combined with a basic optimism, he had made a success of survival. Now, however, he faced a situation even worse than his mutilation at the hands of the Downstream Enemy. He glanced again at the slender dart beside him. If he were struck in the eye with such a missile … It was too horrible to contemplate.

He watched, fascinated, as the boy chose another dart from a pouch at his waist, and inserted it into the rear end of the tube. Then the game began again. The wavering mouth of the weapon swept slowly across him. The girl was giggling. Odin could hardly stand to watch as it pointed directly at his face. There was no way that he could defend himself, even to raise a hand to stop the dart, to protect his vision. He could turn his head to give partial protection to the eye, exposing the already blind side. That was little comfort. In so doing, he could not see his tormentor. Such a position would also expose his ear. In the mind of a youthful tormentor, that opening might be an inviting target. Odin shuddered again. That polished hardwood dart … Ah, he must not even
think
such thoughts!

He tried to estimate a position for his head that would at least partially protect his eye, yet not expose his ear to direct danger. It was not easy, and even more difficult to remain calm. He was sweating profusely, waiting, knowing that soon, or maybe later, another dart—
thunk!
He looked quickly. This one was at his other shoulder, again about a hand’s span away.

Somehow, it was reassuring. The boy was apparently skilled with the weapon, and was merely teasing him. Odin was able to regain some of his composure while the youngster reloaded. Again, the tube of the blowgun scanned back and forth across Odin’s bound figure. With a little more confidence, he managed to maintain an expression of pride and dignity. There was actually a look of disappointment on the face of the Chalagee boy.

Then, an idea seemed to dawn. The boy lowered the aim of the tube. Odin was sitting propped against the wall, knees bent slightly, and spread apart by a couple of hand spans. It took only an instant for Odin to realize that the blowgun was
pointed directly at his groin. Instinctively, he clapped his knees together, protecting his private parts. The children howled with laughter.

Now a new dimension of danger was added. He had reacted so definitely that they were amused, and this was not good. They now knew that they could affect his mood and his reactions in another way, by a threat to his manhood. He stretched his legs out flat in front of him, knees together. The blowgun hovered with its aim at his lower abdomen. Even that, he knew, could be a dangerous wound.

The boy apparently tired of waiting for Odin to spread his knees again, and loosed another dart.

This one struck the ground just beside his right hip. It was close, too close. He flinched involuntarily, and there was more laughter. This had missed his thigh by less than two fingers’ width. Odin tried to tell himself that it was good, that this proved the boy’s skill, but he was not convinced.

Now the other boy, who had been quiet, seemed to initiate a conversation. It seemed to involve the blowgun. In a little while the first boy handed the weapon to the other, a bit reluctantly, Odin thought. It was disconcerting to see that this one handled it clumsily, as if it were unfamiliar to him. It was certainly not reassuring, then, when this boy reloaded the tube and began the taunting game again.

The first dart missed Odin by an arm’s length. It quickly became apparent that it was a mixed blessing, however. The studied preparation by this boy as he readied his next shot said plainly, ’This one will be closer.”

Even as he realized this, Odin was unprepared for the sharp jab of pain that struck his left shoulder. The shaft of the dart was protruding completely through the meaty part, with the ball of fluff sticking like a bur to the front of his buckskin sleeve. He realized that he had cried out involuntarily, and regretted the loss of dignity.

Odin need not have worried. It was apparent by the look on the shooter’s face that the boy realized he had made a great mistake. He almost threw the blowgun back to its owner as he jumped and ran. The other two followed in the twinkling of an eye, and Odin was left alone. That was a relief, but the
wooden skewer in his shoulder would not let him enjoy the fact that the children were gone.

A woman looked out of a doorway to glance around the area. Almost as an afterthought she turned for a look at the captive, and stopped short in amazement. She hurried across the open area, talking loudly to no one in particular. She paused to study the plumed darts in the wall and the one in Odin’s shoulder. For a moment, she seemed to consider pulling it out, but decided against that course of action. Instead, she raised her voice in a call for help, and people came running.

There were exclamations of surprise and even of irritation, much gesturing and pointing to the darts. Odin had the impression that his tormentors were known, and that they were probably in trouble. Meanwhile, the jab in his shoulder that had struck like a swarm of hornets had now steadied to a dull ache, except when he tried to move it. Then it was a massive thing, spreading up his neck and down his arm. He did not see how such a tiny wound could cause such misery.