The United States of Vinland: The Landing (The Markland Trilogy) (23 page)

Eskil
and Alfvin led Faraldr into the low hills, towards where they had been working
the bogs for iron. The path appeared recently trod, tracks and trails marking
its length, but as they moved along, they set great clouds of insects to rise,
making Alfvin feel that no one had been through the camp, at least recently.

Faraldr,
and those with him, spoke about all they saw; the variety of plants and small
animal tracks, so many new to them, and a few familiar in one way or another.

When
they reached the bog workings, Eskil could see things looked much the same as
when Alfvin and Erik had left them a few days before.

Alfvin
searched for Erik, waving for him to move to the head of the line. “Take a look
from the hilltop. We will work to keep everyone quiet, until we know if they
are still camped in the valley.”

Erik
nodded and began to climb the hill opposite, crouching as he got near the top,
until he finally slid amongst the shrubs at the very crest.

Aided
by Faraldr, Alfvin and Eskil, those waiting below grew quiet, despite more than
a few looking as though they wanted to follow.

The
question was on countless lips, “Were the skraelings there?”

No
answer came from Erik, not at first.

Frae
moved down the line and joined Alfvin.

He
shook his head and frowned, whispering, “I told you to stay on the beach, near
the ship!”

She
simply smiled at him and shrugged, the gesture melting his anger. He knew her
well enough to know she would do whatever she wanted if she deemed it wise.
“You will need me here if they are near.”

She
made a good point.

Erik
cursed, drawing the attention of everyone.

Back
on the hilltop, he began to wriggle backwards so as not to be seen. That alone
said the skraelings were there, but the curse added an ominous weight to the
moment.

Eskil
noted the sun was already sinking towards the distant hills. Soon enough they
would be out of light, so they needed to make a decision on where to spend the
night: here, the beach, the ship or on the island.

Erik
extracted himself from the shrubs and crawled down the hill enough so he could
stand.

Alfvin
was already stepping forward to meet him. “Well?”

“I
saw a skraeling running, crossing the vale, heading from our hills here to the
woods, where camps are beyond the trees.”

Alfvin
asked, “Camps? How do you know, what did you see?”

“Smoke
rising from fires.”

“How
many?”

“Perhaps
as many as a dozen.”

Eskil
shook his head. “That skraeling was watching for us, and now hurries to report
our landing.”

––––––––

F
araldr
and Eskil sent groups to comb the low hills and make sure that they were alone.
Meanwhile, Erik took a different path, heading for a spot that would give him a
view down the river and across the valley to survey the extent of any skraeling
camp.

Through
all this activity, the day began to wane. From the beach, where many of the
Norse gathered, they watched and waited as the sun sank towards the horizon at
the far end of the vale. With each passing moment, they knew they were losing
the time they needed to properly prepare their own camp.

Concerns
and worries grew as the shadows lengthened and the land about them began to
look wilder and more alien.

––––––––

W
hen
the sun began to set, some of the scouts returned. They announced that the low
hills were clear of skraelings and that they had checked over some of the
taller rises about the bogs. The hills were so good that they had left some of
their numbers behind to continue watching the beach, vale and approaches.

Faraldr,
Eskil and Alfvin spoke to Erik when he also returned, jogging from down the
riverbank, where it cut through the hills.

The
Norseman looked anxious, glancing to the nearby hilltops and down to the river
as he spoke. “I cannot give a good count, but if there was fifteen or twenty a
few days ago, that number now must be closer to a hundred. My tally includes
all of them; men, women and children.”

Erik
worried about the skraelings, ever since they had first confronted Alfvin and
him in Guldale. The Norseman seemed quite disheartened now that they had
returned, only to find more.

Frae
listened and offered, “They have gathered for spring.”

Alfvin
gave her a nod, understanding some of what she meant through their discussions
of her people and their traditions. “You may be right, but what does that mean
for us?”

Frae
gave a weak smile. “It would normally mean they might be open to strangers,
even those who come in numbers like ours.”

Eskil
could see she was troubled. “But there is something else?”

She
nodded. “They think we have brought a sickness to the land, an illness that is
working its way through their camps. If they truly believe this, they will not
welcome any of us.”

Eskil
asked, “Frae, even if they are not your people, Alfvin says they spoke a
similar tongue, and looked much the same.”

She
nodded. “There are many groups, not all of them the same or related, with some
welcoming and others happy to kill. There are also different people up and down
the coast. Some work the sea, with boats and spears, where they fish and seal,
using the ice and living in the snows. If these people are camped in the
forest, near a lakeshore, then they are more likely to be of my own kind. Our
people are few now, with our neighbours forcing us away as they take the best
fishing grounds. They have made us a people of wood and vale.”

“What
would you suggest we do?”

Frae
looked to Alfvin and the others. She knew they needed the land. “We should set
up our camp, but watch them. They shall come soon enough, perhaps tonight. We
can talk to them then.”

“Will
they attack us or just come to talk?”

“With
the bloom of spring, they may be emboldened, helped by their greater numbers.”

“So
we should plan for an attack? Is it that simple?”

“If
they attack, we know our iron will weigh heavily, cut hard and quick and
perhaps let us win, despite their advantage in numbers. They will not expect it
or know the danger they are in until they face it.”

Alfvin
looked to her with a stern face. “We have nothing to fear, but you worry that
we will slaughter them, if it comes to fighting?”

She
nodded, her eyes reflecting her worries. “They will come, perhaps to talk, but
also perhaps to fight. Such a meeting need not end in the slaughter of anyone.”

––––––––

B
allr
and Steinarr paced the beach and again walked the nearest trails. The light was
fading.

Where
was Torrador?

The
sun had dipped below the heights of the fjordside, and they waited in shadows
that grew only deeper.

Where
was Seta?

Steinarr
had always been close to Torrador and was reluctant to be the first to say it
was time to leave. However, as the light faded, the woods along the shoreline
became not just mysterious, but ominous. And none of that accounted for the
channel’s dark water, the unknown depth that showed off swirls and bubbles,
where unseen animals hunted beneath the surface.

Such
stirring movements only reminded the men of Manni, long since dead, his leg
taken by a monster at sea.

Were
they safe to try crossing the water under the stars?

Ballr
spoke after they had walked the shores and looked up the paths for the
umpteenth time, “I suppose we should go?”

Steinarr
frowned, the expression weighed down by sadness. “If we leave, we are saying he
is as good as dead.”

Ballr
sighed, looking around and up the empty paths again. “No, we are saying he
missed our meeting.” The Icelander pointed to where the sky showed over the
fjord, the scattered clouds aglow in amber. “It is sunset; we need to get to
Guldale, while we still have light.”

The
noise of a passing flock of birds came from above, calling out as they beat
their wings. Many of them seemed to slow and circle, as others settled in the
branches above, rather than moving on.

Something
must have been good for feeding.

Steinarr
turned from the sky and looked back to the trail they both felt Torrador had
taken. The path meandered, but widely climbed the gentlest part of the slope.

“Steinarr,
as much as I would like to, we simply cannot stay.”

The
big man bunched his fists and began to grumble as he stepped down from the
start of the path and made strides back towards their beached boat.

Ballr
sighed, looking up the path again himself. He whispered, “Torrador, come
friend, come back to us now–or is this the end?” With a shake of his head, he
turned and followed Steinarr, who was already throwing his gear into the boat.

––––––––

T
orrador
stumbled, his legs heavy as though made of rock. Seta struggled along behind
him, not in any better shape. Neither of them felt the burdens of their gear,
the wolfskins or the children they carried. They were merely numb, and almost
senseless, as they pushed themselves on.

Unbelievably,
Dorobastill followed, although he regularly fell.

The
sun was setting in the vale behind them, the sky lit in amber and shades of
pink. Thankfully, they had crested the ridge and left it behind, now well on
their way down the slope towards the water. Yet, on their descent, they
unmistakeably walked a path of deepening shadows.

Torrador
did not say anything, but he thought they were too late. For the fjord in front
of them, the sunset had already occurred.

Regardless,
they continued the trek.

––––––––

T
he
din of the birds in the trees above filled the fjord.

Ballr
cursed them.

Steinarr
growled, angry at the world, “We would not be able to hear, even if Torrador
and Seta were near!”

Ballr
picked up a rock off the beach and threw it into the branches. The attack
elicited a flurry of movement, but did not make any real difference as the
birds continued to call to each other.

Ballr
cursed again and shook his fist.

Steinarr
sighed. “Come, let us get going. Otherwise we will be crossing the fjord in the
dark.”

The
Icelander went to the end of the boat, waited for Steinarr to get in, and then
began to push the last of it off the beach. With a final shove, he stepped in,
grabbed an oar and sat down.

He
turned around and stared back into the darkening woods, any sign of trails or
camps erased by the deepening gloom. He called out, “Torrador!”

Steinarr
added his own voice, “Seta! Torrador! We must go!”

The
boat drifted out, both of the Norseman quiet as they listened for a reply.
Above them, the chorus of the birds continued on, in a mix of chirps, screeches
and screams.

Nothing
else sounded.

Resigned,
Ballr said, “Let us go.”

––––––––

T
he
sunset began to wane, the lurid colours above glimpsed through the canopy,
bleeding away into dusk. Torrador and Seta continued on, both focussed on
staying up and moving, their legs following the downhill trail as they carried
their burdens. Fatigue numbed their bodies, their limbs heavy and sore, but
they dared not stop. If they did, they knew neither of them would be able to
start again.

Behind
them, stumbling on, Doroba followed.

They
both knew they were not far from the gravel beach at the end of the path. About
them birds raised a racket in the shadowed canopy.

Torrador
gasped, “We are nearly there.”

“Will
they wait?” Seta asked.

“Perhaps,
if they have brought supplies to set up camp.”

Doroba
stumbled behind them, tripping over a rock or root, or perhaps his own sluggish
feet. He fell forward with a crash, but did not get up.

They
both went to him, putting down their wolfskins and children.

Seta
bent over him, putting a hand to his cheek. “Doroba, are you alright?”

Torrador
added, “We are nearly there.”

The
two young children squatted down beside their grandfather.

Doroba
moaned. “Leave me, I cannot go on.”

Seta
met Torrador’s gaze. “There is nothing else to do but for you to run on and see
if they are there. I will stay. If you find them, you can tell them to wait and
come back for us.”

Torrador
glanced at the shadowed woods about them, remembering the previous night’s
fangs and claws. “I do not want to leave you; that is not why I came back.”

She
smiled, the gesture mostly lost in the gloom. “Torrador, go and find them. I
will be here. You only need be gone a short while.”

“I
will not leave you.”

“We
need to catch the boat.”

Faint,
yet managing to be heard over the birds’ chorus, Ballr’s voice sounded out in
the distance, “Torrador!”

“Go!”
she hissed.

He
nodded. “I shall be quick; call if you need me.”

Another
distant voice called out, also faint, “Seta! Torrador! We must go!”

Torrador
dropped his gear, handing her the blade, and then sprang off down the trail.

He
went as fast as he dared in the dying light, trying to keep his footing as he
flew over tree roots, gravel, rocks, and dealt with the bends in the path. Once
he was on his way, he took in a deep breath and called out, “Ballr!”

The
birds’ din continued, growing louder as he neared the shore. He hoped that if
he could hear them, they could hear him.

By
Odin, how he hoped they could hear him!

He
called out again.

––––––––

B
allr
and Steinarr listened for long moments, both reluctantly beginning to pull on
their oars. The noise of the birds dominated the sky but were joined by a
rising breeze.