Runestone (67 page)

“But we could not handle two canoes.”

Odin nodded. “That is true. And we would need two. One to go on, one to go back.”

“This cannot be, my brother.”

“Yes, I know. Unless … maybe another man or two … maybe Fire Man would go, and come back with me.”

“Maybe. Let us ask him.”

   Svenson was thoughtful about it, but it was apparent that his heart was not really in it.

“Nils,” he explained, “I can still do what is needed, but my joints tell me that they have seen many winters.”

Nils was amused at the manner in which the old sailor used the way of the People to explain his position.

“There are many snows in my hair,” Sven went on. “See? If I am needed, I will try, but on cold mornings, I am moving very slowly. Could you find another man?”

“Sven, there is none like you,” Nils assured him. “But I understand. Do not worry over it. We will find someone.”

Sven seemed greatly relieved.

The search progressed without much success. They did not want to attract too much attention, but word spread quickly. There were several young men who approached them, eager for adventure but lacking the responsibility and maturity that was needed.

Conversely, anyone reliable enough to be considered was also responsible enough not to be interested. Nils was dejected, ready to give up on the entire plan, abandoning all hope of returning home.

Then he was approached by a man who might prove to be just what was needed.

“You remember me? I am Snake, friend of your friend, Odin.”

“Of course. How is it with you, friend of my friend?”

Nils did not know the man well. Snake was quiet and thoughtful, one easily overlooked in the everyday activities of the People. He belonged to a different lodge than that of Odin and his family, and consequently their contact had been irregular. Still, he knew that Snake was well respected, especially by Odin, and that the two had been boyhood friends.

“I have been told,” Snake began carefully, “that you look for someone to go downriver with you.”

“You know someone?”

“Myself.”

Nils had been curious as to this man’s interest, but this was a surprise. He tried to think … did Snake have a family? Yes, surely. A wife, anyway.

“You have talked to Odin?”

Even as he asked, Nils knew somehow that Snake had not. He would not presume on friendship to accomplish a purpose such as this.

“No.”

“What of your family?” Nils asked bluntly. This would tell
him more without revealing his own lack of memory. There was something …

“My wife was taken by Cold Maker this past winter, you know,” Snake said, his face drawn with emotion.

That was it!
Nils told himself.
I knew there was something!
At the same time he was embarrassed that he had been so thoughtless.

“Yes,” he said sympathetically, trying to salvage a bad mistake as best he could. “My heart is heavy for you. But your children?”

He devoutly hoped that he remembered correctly, that there were children.

“They are with their mother’s family,” said Snake. “They are well cared for.”

“It is good,” said Nils, happy to have survived the treacherous moments of this conversation. “Now, about our journey. I must talk with Odin, but … do you know the canoe?”

“Some. I have used the round boats.”

“Good. I will talk to Odin.”

   Odin was delighted at the prospect of having his boyhood friend as a companion on the downriver journey.

“Yes! Thorsson, I could choose no better man!” Odin said excitedly.

They began again to plan the details of loading the two canoes. There would be plenty of room now, with only four adults and young Bright Sky. One canoe would have been enough, except that Odin must have a means to return upriver.

“You would not need to go,” Nils suggested. “Dove and I can handle our canoe.”

Odin was quite definite on this, however. “No!” He smiled the mischievous little smile that had become familiar to the Norsemen. “Someone must look after you. Dove cannot do it alone.”

“How far will you go?”

Odin shrugged. “Who knows? When the time comes, we will all know. Then Snake and I will go back.”

It seemed a good plan. Preparations went forward, both for the river crossing by the People, and for the downriver
trip. Svenson helped with the planning of the latter. He hovered and helped and gave advice, fussing around like a mother hen. Nils knew that Sven must have mixed feelings about this parting. He had such feelings himself. Nils could not remember a time when he had not known Sven. To part with him now would not be easy. He could imagine, too, the old sailor’s emotions. Sven must refuse the call of the sea that had been his life, and that must be difficult for him. But with the help of such a woman as Red Fawn … Probably, Nils reflected, a good woman would be the only thing that could tear Svenson from the arms of his mistress, the sea.

   Finally came the day when Odin approached with a gleam in his one eye.

“I am made to think,” he said simply, “that our time to leave is near. There is only a little ice in the river this morning.”

They had noticed that the river’s level was falling. Ice and debris no longer rode the main current in the center of the stream, but floated lazily out toward the banks.

“When?” asked Nils.

Odin shrugged. “The holy men will decide. Big Tree may ask you, too, since Clay is gone.”

Nils nodded. “What should I say?”

“Whatever seems good. Three days, maybe. That will let you change it if you need to.”

“Good. I will talk to Fire Man, too. But Tree may not ask me.”

Odin nodded. “That is true. Listen to your guide.”

Nils recalled that from time to time Odin had made such a remark. He was aware that the People had a high respect for things of the spirit, for dreams, and for the protection of one’s personal guide. Many signs were interpreted as warnings, others as omens of good luck. He had not taken these seriously at first, but they were so much a way of life for the People.

He must talk at greater length with Odin about this. Maybe during their time together on the river there would be an opportunity. Just now, however, such ethereal musings
were overshadowed by the one at hand. In a few days they would start the greatest journey of his Life. He was going home.

T
hat night the dream returned to haunt him. This time it was even more frightening than before. He did not waken as quickly, and it seemed that he could not waken at all. It was the sort of dream where the dreamer
knows
that he is dreaming, but can do nothing about it. This makes the fear even worse, because of the helpless feeling that he has lost all control.

The dream was much the same as it began. Dark water, glowering sky, a foggy mist over the water. He could not tell whether this was ocean or river.
Odd
, he thought,
I have never wondered before
. A light drizzle was falling, it seemed. More properly, hanging in the air. Fat droplets of mist seemed suspended permanently, soaking everything, making a sodden world even wetter.

He was being carried along, and seemed to have no control. His paddle …
yes, it must be a canoe paddle in the hand
… was useless against the mighty pull of the current.
A current
…
It must be the river, then
. Just as he realized this, still in his odd dual role as observer and participant, it happened. Dark tentacles thrust up out of dark water, reaching, writhing. …

This was the part where he had always wakened. The conscious part of his mind, the part that knew it was a dream, waited, but it did not happen. In a panic, he felt that he was trapped in the dream. The reaching, grasping thing from the
river’s depths thrust up, searching. This tentacle had risen from the left side and behind him. Now it reached
over
him, grasping at the figure in front of him.

This was the first time that he had been aware of another person in his dream, but he could see her dimly through the mist … a woman. The reaching Thing grasped at her, and he tried to scream a warning, but it was too late. The woman turned her head and the terror in her eyes was horrible to see.

“Dove!” he screamed.

Just then something reaching from behind struck him, grasped, and pulled him under. The dark chill of the waters closed over him, and he was drowning. He struggled, kicking and fighting his way, trying to reach the surface. But he was being pulled deeper, tangled by the clutching fingers of the creature below. He fought, even as consciousness was slipping away. …

“Wolf! Wake up!”

Dove was shaking him, holding him in her arms now, and the darkness around him was the dark of the lodge, not that of the water. Gratefully, he drew a deep breath.

“Dove … I …”

She held him tightly. “What is it, my husband?”

Someone tossed fuel on the embers of the fire in the center of the longhouse, and a flicker of yellow began to light the area. It was a great relief to see the familiar surroundings.

“What is it?” called Red Fawn from their curtained cubicle nearby.

“A night-vision, maybe,” Dove answered. “I do not know.”

“Yes … yes, it is good now,” Nils mumbled, embarrassed at the commotion. “It was only a night-vision.”

People were settling back into the arms of slumber. There was some grumbling, but not much. The seriousness of a night-vision was well recognized. Above all, it was a very private thing. If the dreamer chose to tell it, so be it, but if not, it would be a serious breach of custom to inquire.

“A dream? A night-vision?” Dove whispered.

“Yes … I will tell you. …”

“Ssh … you do not need to.”

“Yes, I want to. You are in it.”

“Later, then. Now, rest.”

She lay beside him and snuggled him in her arms, and it was good.

He lay in the darkness a long time, staring at the dim flicker of firelight on the ceiling around the blackened smoke hole. Dove’s muscles relaxed, her breathing became regular, and he knew that she had fallen asleep again. He would tell her of his recurring dream in the morning. Meanwhile, it seemed unlikely that he would be able to sleep. The dream …
What could it mean?

   “You had a bad night?” Odin asked casually as they rose for the day and began to move around.

Both men had gone outside to empty their bladders. No one else was within hearing. Nils realized that Odin’s comment was not really a question, but a statement, to open a conversation about the incident that had roused the whole lodge.

“Yes,” Nils answered. “Odin, I would speak with you of this … the night-vision again. The People see them as very important.”

Odin looked startled. “Your people do not?”

“Not the same, maybe. This is a thing that Clay would have known about.”

“That is true. But we do not have Clay.”

“Let me tell you of this dream, Odin.” He quickly sketched the basic points of the dream, as Odin’s one eye widened in wonder.

“The same, but now drowning … Maybe this
is
a warning, Thorsson!”

To Nils it was almost a relief to have that suspicion actually voiced. Now he realized that he had been unwilling, or perhaps unable to face that possibility as a meaning in the dream. Odin was standing there, lost in thought, pondering the situation. Another man approached the area sleepily, and nodded a greeting as he prepared to answer his call of nature.

Odin rearranged his own private parts in his breechclout, and motioned to Nils to follow him. This, the area where men came to empty their bladders, would become busy, and they
needed privacy for this discussion. They moved a little farther from the lodges.

“I am made to think,” Odin began, “that we need the advice of a holy man.
Another
holy man. Clay is gone. There is one in the other band, Broken Tail, who could help, but you cannot go to him.”

“Why not?”

Odin looked at him with displeasure. “It would lessen
your
powers. Not really, but the People would see you differently. No, we must not risk it.”

“But Odin, I—”

Odin waved him aside. “No, Wolf, you have convinced the People of your gifts as a holy man. To ask help from old Broken Tail would make it seem that your powers are less than his.”

“
But they are!”
Nils started to protest. “I have no special gifts.”

“Ah, but you do,” Odin insisted. “We are alive because of it. It is good, of course, that you are not too proud. Still, you must accept that your gifts are real. To yourself, anyway. Now, let us think on this. You need Broken Tail’s help, but cannot ask for it.”

He seemed lost in thought, and then suddenly brightened.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “I know … you cannot ask without showing weakness, but I can!”

“What do you mean, Odin?”

Odin was becoming enthusiastic now, as he usually did over a new and exciting idea.

“I will tell him it was
my
dream!”

“You think—”

“
Yes!
That is it, Wolf. You must tell me more, all about your night-visions. Then I tell it to him, as mine!”