Runestone (56 page)

An older man joined the crowd, and the others parted to let him approach. The man examined the skewer, shook his head, and muttered something. Odin had a strong impression that this was a sort of holy man, but different than the
kutani
, the Chalagee holy men who lived in a special lodge on a hillock at the edge of the town. This one seemed more like the men of the People who had the gift of healing.

Now the old man gently touched the dart, then grasped it firmly and gave a quick jerk. There was an instant when Odin felt that the bone itself was being pulled out through the skin, but there was quick relief. The old man brought out a gourd with a greasy salve and rubbed some of it on the wounds, both front and back. Odin nodded his thanks, and the medicine man returned the nod.

People began to drift away, sometimes laughing. To Odin there was very little humor in the situation, but he understood. He wondered what sort of punishment might be directed at the youngsters.

Even more, he wondered what the People were doing. He glanced at the sun. Shortly past noon, it seemed. Sometime between now and dark, he should know something. He hoped
it would be good. He did not know, even, if White Wolf had received his partial message.

He shifted his position to wait again, and his shoulder throbbed dully.

T
he hill up ahead,” said Black Hornet, pointing. “That is where he stood. They were hiding to the right, there, when we came along the trail.”

It was a well-planned ambush, Nils saw.

“And they killed Catbird?”

“Yes, with a club … in the face.”

“Yet they did not try to kill you, or even harm you?” asked Nils.

“No. I was made to think that they only wanted to capture us. Catbird tried to escape. He attacked one of the Chalagee.”

Nils nodded. It seemed likely that the plan had been capture, but something had gone wrong. The favorable part of the situation was that the Chalagee had released the scout, with a message that they wished to talk. That was a start. The darker side was that the Chalagee still held Odin, and there was no way of knowing his status or condition. That was a worrisome thing.

There was also the concern that the situation they were walking into could become very dangerous. They had seen signs that they were being observed all through the morning’s travel. Now they were nearing the place where the scout party had been ambushed, and Hornet was becoming quite uneasy.

“Hornet, if they wished to kill you, they would have done it,” Snake told him.

The scout smiled ruefully. “I know. But you were not here,
Snake. To see Catbird struck down …” His sentence died uncompleted.

“They will probably contact us at the same place, no?” Svenson suggested.

“Yes, I am made to think so,” Hornet said nervously.

“It is good,” Nils spoke. “Let us move up near where the trail bends around the rock there, and stop to wait.”

Before they reached that point, however, the sentry at the top of the hill stood to allow himself to be seen. It was apparent that it was a deliberate move.

“There! It is as before!” said Hornet excitedly. “We were watching him and the slope above the trail, and they came from the other side, behind us.”

“From those bushes?” asked Snake, being careful not to point.

“Yes, to the right of the trail.”

“It was well-planned, no?” Snake observed.

“Yes,” Nils agreed. “Let us keep walking, but stop before we reach that point.”

The four men did so. When they were about a long bowshot from the spot where the ambush had taken place, they paused by common consent. At first nothing happened. They stood and waited, trying not to let their nervousness show. The observer on the hill waited, too.

After what seemed an eternity, a warrior emerged from his concealment in the bushes and stalked over to stand in the middle of the trail, facing the newcomers. Soon he was joined by others, six in all, who drew up in a casual line across the trail, blocking passage. They waited.

“Let us move toward them,” suggested Nils.

He raised his palm in the hand sign for peace, and stepped forward. The Chalagee party waited for them to approach. Svenson was carrying his battle-ax, and it was apparent that the warriors were curious about such a weapon. No more so than they were about the appearance of the Norsemen. There was a murmur of talk among the Chalagee warriors, which was cut short by the older man who appeared to be their leader.

Now
, thought Nils,
it begins
. He must think and act as Odin would do, playing the part that fate had assigned him.

He tried to consider himself the powerful holy man that Odin had envisioned.

“We fight only if we must, to defend ourselves,” he said quietly. His companions nodded.

Nils walked to within a few paces of the warriors and then stopped, assuming a firm stance in the middle of the trail. His right hand was still raised in the peace sign, but there was no response yet from the Chalagee. Well, he must do
something
.

“Our brother here says that you hold my helper. How is this?”

He tried to look confident, and to appear in command of the situation, which of course he was not. The party of the People was outnumbered, and facing well-armed, capable-looking warriors. If it came to a fight, however, Nils thought that they could handle themselves well. Svenson alone was probably worth two men. But of course he reminded himself, if it came to a fight, they had already failed Odin.

In his opening gestures, Nils had tried to seek the initiative. His question as to Odin’s capture was expressed in the hand sign for an inquiry. The same gesture asks
how, where, who
, or
why
. A stronger, more demanding question, perhaps, than one could ask in words. In effect, it was a demand:
Explain your actions!

This seemed lost on the Chalagee, who completely ignored the question.

“How are you called?” he demanded. “You have come onto Chalagee land.”

Nils took a deep breath. He did not like the part he was forced to play. He was not even certain how to play it. He wished that Odin were here, to tell him what to do.

“I am White Wolf, of the River People,” he signed. “This is Fire Man, my helper. You have my other helper, Father of the Gods.
Why?”

Again, he used the demand.

   If the truth were known, the Chalagee leader was probably more shaken over the meeting than the Norsemen. They had not half believed the tales of their captive. A holy man with white hair and facial fur … Another, whose hair and face-fur gleamed red like the fire. That one carried a strange
weapon, too. At least, it looked sharp, like a weapon. One would certainly not want to learn of it in a wrong way.

“It is all as the captive said,” one of the younger warriors whispered in wonder.

Blue Tree motioned him to silence, but he had been thinking along the same lines, himself. It was expected that any captive would make exaggerated claims to try to improve his status. No one had really believed the one-eyed father of gods, as he called himself. It was quite disconcerting, then, to find that so far, every absurdity that the man had voiced was precisely true. Maybe they should have treated him with more honor. … No, probably not. The captive had not really been hurt. Too bad, though, about the blowgun dart. Children sometimes show poor judgment. Luckily, there had been no major injury.

But just now, it was time to think of other things.

“The one-eyed one is our guest,” Blue Tree signed. “Come, we will take you to him.”

Two warriors stepped forward as if to take the weapons of the travelers, but Svenson hefted his ax in an unmistakable gesture, and the young men stepped back. They glanced at their leader, who shook his head.

“It is not needed,” he told them.

“Tie their hands?” asked one.

It was a stupid question. How could they tie the hands if the would-be captives were still armed? But here was an opportunity to curry favor with a potentially powerful holy man. Blue Tree spoke both in his own tongue and in signs.

“Of course you need not take their weapons,” he said, as if that had been the question. “These are our guests.”

He turned back to Nils.

“Come, White Wolf. We will take you to your brother, Father of the Gods.”

He led the way along the trail and they followed, the two parties still eyeing each other suspiciously.

It was really not far to the stockade that surrounded the village. It was strategically placed beyond the ridge, not openly visible from the road. The village, however, overlooked the trail, allowing easy observation of the traffic at any
time, merely by stepping to the crest of the ridge. At the nearest point, the trail was only a bowshot away.

Children came running to see what was happening, and the Chalagees warned them back. By the time they entered the stockade and made their way toward the center of the town, a sizable crowd had gathered, trailing along with the principles. There was an excited buzz, many of the remarks obviously directed to the striking appearance of light-colored Nordic hair and beards.

Their escort stopped, and a man who seemed to have more authority now emerged from one of the houses to approach them. In a few moments, there seemed to be a loosely organized party of leaders, including a couple of women.

Nils repeated the peace sign, which was now returned courteously. He decided to try to take the initiative.

“How is it,” he asked, “that you hold our brother? And you have killed another. We come in peace!”

The others exchanged glances.

“What do you want?” one of the leaders asked suspiciously.

“We would talk. But first, our brother, Father of the Gods?”

The man who had just spoken turned and made a gesture, and a couple of warriors led Odin, his hands tied behind him, from behind one of the lodges. His glance met Nils’s, and the old glint of mischief showed that Odin was basically unharmed.

“It is good,” Nils signed. “May he now be released?”

“We would talk,” said the other.

“That, too, is good,” Nils agreed, “but let us free my brother’s hands.”

The man seemed to consider for a moment.

“The fire!” Odin called.

Nils nodded to indicate that he understood.

“My chief,” he signed, “let us have a council fire. Fire Man, here, will make one while we prepare to talk. Is there a little wood?”

“Yes, of course.”

He motioned, and a couple of older children scurried to bring an armful of sticks.

“Here?” signed Svenson, asking permission. The leader nodded.

Nils watched as Sven began his preparation. He had been amused before at the natural showmanship of Fire Man. Svenson, in the few times that he had used the flint and steel as a demonstration, had managed to make an impressive ceremony of it. Even so, it was quick.

Sven lifted the tinder of shredded cedar bark toward the sky, tucked his scrap of charred cloth into it, and knelt to strike the spark. Never had a spark flown so well. One or two strokes, and Sven palmed the steel to lift his tinder, blowing his breath gently from beneath as he offered it to the sky again. A dense white smoke, a burst of flame … He thrust the little blaze into the cone of small twigs that he had prepared, and stood, arms spread to indicate that his ceremony was finished. There was a murmur in the crowd. The rapidity with which the flame-haired stranger had kindled a fire, and even without the use of rubbing-sticks, must have seemed miraculous.

“It is good, Fire Man.” Nils turned to the Chalagee leaders. “Now you have freed my brother there. Let us talk.”

Odin was allowed to join them, rubbing stiff wrists as he did so.

“You are all right?” Nils asked.

“Yes. We talk later. Show them the stone.”

“Do we need it?”

“Maybe. We can start the council first.”

The Chalagee were showing signs of irritation, and Nils turned back to them.

“It is good. Now, let us talk.”

They seated themselves around the fire, the People on one side and the Chalagee on the other.

“Now tell us,” the man who had done most of the talking signed, “how it is that your people have entered our country.”

Nils shrugged, as if it really made no difference. “We are only passing through.” He started to go on, but was interrupted.

“To
where!”

“We do not know, my chief. When we find the place, we will know it.”

“It is a quest, then?”

“Yes,” whispered Odin. “That is good.”

“Yes, my chief,” Nils signed. “We have heard there is more room, not so many people, to the west.”

“That is true, maybe.”

“Our people, called the River People by some, do not want the land of others. Only a place to plant.”

“What do you plant? It grows late for planting.”

Nils glanced at Odin.

“Corn, pumpkins, beans,” signed Odin. “We had hoped to ask the advice of the Chalagee, for this one season only. Is there a place to plant and maybe winter, then move on?”

The Chalagee exchanged glances.

“We must consider this. You would hunt?”