Swords From the Sea (59 page)

First of all, the coming of the foot-loose girl:

That morning, Rang the Icelander picked clean the bones of an eider duck. He drank clean the barley soup from his bowl. He put the bones in his bowl and gave all that to the dog.

"Now," he decided, "will we need another duck."

The dog, wagging its tail, and Rang, knowing by the flash of sunlight on the silver ring that the winter sun was up over the sea, stepped into the stofa of his strong stone house. Bending over the stone-pit, he washed head and hands in the steaming water from the spring. Drying his hands on a sheepskin, he overlooked his hunting weapons-a throwing stick, a weighted line for casting at birds, a stone-sling for small game, a looped rope for wild ponies, an ax for bear, and a three-tined spear for fish. Rang took the bird line and went out to see what might be.

He went through the haystacks, covered tight with sealskins that shielded his stone house from the winds, and he overlooked his claim, in that mild winter light.

Among the thin birches his ponies grazed-four tens and three of them, as they should be. Over the river, eider ducks winged down toward the sea marsh, at the river's end. All was as it should be.

Even the smoke came lazily from the mountain high up there where the Sleeper breathed. A puff of smoke. Rang began to count to ten and on to seven. Another breath of smoke. That was as it should be.

"He sleeps," Rang told the dog. "And the snow is white over the glaciers."

Now Rang spoke to that dog because the two of them lived alone in the valley, which Rang would not leave. On that day he was seventeen years of age-by count of the years on the time-stick over the hearth-and his father being dead, he was master of his claim. All that valley from the glacier ice to the sands at the sea belonged to Rang, with the living things in it.

Then the dog barked and Rang saw the sheep. They were strange sheep cropping the grass across the stream. Surprised, Rang counted them. Five sheep would not wander across the claim unless driven. And the neighboring men, here and there beyond his valley, had all gone off to the Althing, by the town, to sit in judgment on a manslayer. Rang had not gone to that judging, because he would not leave his stud of ponies and his valley.

This, Rang thought, was by way of being something strange. Thrusting the bird line into his belt he hurried down through his shaggy ponies. He hurried by leaping the slope in ten-foot drops, for that boy was long in the limb and sure in the jump. Heading toward the narrow gut in the stream, he hurried out on a rock and leaped the waterfall where spray swirled up in the wind. He hurried on to the sheep, and stopped by two stones.

There was the foot-loose girl between the stones on a bed of moss with an eider-down cape tucked around her knees. Her hands wound wool thread from a skein on a staff. She pushed away the loose hair blown over her face by the wind, and she looked up at him-dark eyes shining in her thin face.

"Well," Rang demanded, "what?"

Her bare arms trembled over the tangle of wool; the sleeves of her smock were torn. She seemed to be hiding between her rocks, by the twigs of a burned-out fire.

"Are you foot-loose, to be driving sheep over hill and dale?"

She whispered yes, trying to draw down the tangle of her hair. "And I am afraid," she added, seeing him frown.

"Of what, girl?"

But she would not say of what. She only worked at her skein of wool, and the Icelander rubbed his yellow head, not satisfied. "This is Rang Dale," he explained, nodding at the valley. "And that is Rang River."

"And what man are you?"

"Rang."

At that she laughed.

"I am Caill-I would like well," her voice chimed like a bell, "to be in Rang's house up there." She nodded, wistfully. "Then perhaps I would not be frightened."

Considering this carefully as he did all such matters, Rang frowned.

This seemed to frighten her again. "I can turn mare's milk into good sour cream," she whispered. "I can weave-wool into cloth."

Now that Rang had considered, he announced his judgment. "Food you may have, foot-loose girl, in my house, and shelter against this night's cold. But this claim of mine I will not share."

She flung up her head, trembling. "Bright you may be, and full of wealth, and proud by good right. Dark though I am, and without a claim-yet I will never set my foot in your house."

"Suit yourself, Caill," Rang agreed.

And he went away angry, wondering what could make the girl over there afraid in this valley. No harm could be hidden here where his ancestors had lived by the stud of horses.

His father had found death in the sea, coming back on the west voyage with sheep from the Green Land, when there had been famine on Iceland. His grandfather had come to a peaceful end when he had broken his back in a wrestling bout-for the Icelander folk were mighty wrestlers-at the Althing bullfeast. Yea, and his sire had never come back from venturing on the uplands too close to the Sleeper.

For that Sleeper who lay outstretched beneath the island stirred at times in his sleep. When he turned over, the earth shook. The mutter of his waking ran along the land-the steam of his breath filled the sky and came down in ashes around the mountain. Those ashes choked to death men who were caught on the mountain.

And then the Sleeper spat out molten rock and steam from his mouth. The fire of his spittle ran down the glaciers, turning ice into steam. Rang knew the signs of the Sleeper's waking. Black lines upon the snow of the mountainside.

It was in the mist of the next morning that he heard the wailing. His ponies broke and ran uphill. And Rang, who had not heard the like before, traced it down to the water.

On the far side walked a dark man. Under his arm he pressed a skin-he blew his breath into one end of a pipe, and moved his fingers over another pipe.

Rang hurried and leaped the waterfall. The stranger stopped, staring: "Now that was something to do!" he shouted. "But I can liken it easy."

He sounded a blast on the pipes. Then putting aside the pipes, he faced Rang and leaped in his tracks, cracking his heels high in the air where his head had been.

Rang reached angrily for the pipes, but this stranger moved quickly before him, pulling a knife from his belt. Steel flashed under Rang's chin, and the Icelander stepped back, surprised.

"You frighten the beasts!" he exclaimed.

The man of the mist nodded.

"I frighten more than beasts," he said softly, "when the mood is on me. For I am a ready man at slaying or marauding or thieving. Yea, I will match you, Icelander, at what you will."

He grinned crookedly, and nodded. "It is easy to see that you are a sleepy and simple man-very tender in what you do." Sheathing his knife, he took up his pipes carefully. "But now I am making the pipes sing to bring a smile to the lips of this elf-maid."

Then Rang saw that the girl Caill was perched on a rock with her staff of wool, watching them.

"You are quick to boast," he remarked. "Honeywords."

He thought of that name because the dark man had a soft, throaty voice.

"Yea-quicker than you will ever be," said Honeywords. "For I have fared forth over the seven seas, and my eyes have seen all the wonders of the world itself. I have seen the dragon that swims this sea of yours with ten legs creeping on one side, and ten on the other. Can you match that, Icelander?"

The girl Caill was coming closer, listening.

"Well, hear this," growled Rang, who was no hand at words. "In the dark of a night my eyes can see. Yea, every stone of this valley I can see."

Honeywords grinned. "Easy to do, when that volcano of yours spits out fire. Now, hear this, horse-herder! Through wind and wave and mist have I come hither. Yea, from Saint Patrick's isle have I come in a skiff without a sail. Can you match that?"

His eyes gleamed and snapped, while Rang thought slowly as usual.

Then Rang's dog barked, far off.

"What may that be?" Caill asked.

Up the river scores of men were climbing, feeling their way around the quicksands. They had round shields slung to their backs, and they carried spears that were not fish spears.

"Raiders," quoth Honeywords. "Now there will be a gathering of spoil and a shedding of blood, and a great rapine in Iceland." Rang had farseeing eyes, and he made out a ship drawn up on the shore. Its prow reared up, shaped like a dragon's head. From its stern hung two steering oars, like legs.

"There sits your dragon," he said, "on the beach."

Some of the ship's crew were letting themselves down over the side.

"Who are the raiders?" he asked Honeywords, who seemed to know all that went on at sea.

"I am not so curious," Honeywords shook his head, "as to want to look at them closer to find out. Nay, I will hie me the other way." Tucking his pipes under his arm, he caught at the Icelander. "Man, are ye beside yourself?"

For Rang had seen some of those raiders spreading themselves out toward his ponies, grazing down by the river, and he jerked away from the piper.

"You run quickly," Honeywords shouted, "to find your death. Turn away!"

With empty hands Rang was hurrying down to the river. "He had his warning," Honeywords muttered. "Now I must be hiding you, Caill."

"The sheep!" cried the girl. And she was off, scrambling through the rocks looking for her animals.

Honeywords looked thoughtfully. With no one to see him, he crossed the stream to the Icelander's hut. Thrusting his shaggy head through the door curtain he blinked at something that hung from the roof, gleaming in the late sun. A heavy silver ring, lopsided. When the men of Rang's family gained a bit of silver, they had heated it, and molded it to this ring. They had kept this treasure of silver carefully. Honeywords felt its weight curiously.

Rang hurried down his land to the leader of the shipmen, where they had caught his ponies. They had their legs bandaged, they had iron shirts on their bodies, they carried wallets and axes and short swords. Silently they watched him. Two of them stepped around behind him.

And Rang felt the chill of fear in his blood. This leader, this tall man who leaned on a spear, had the half of a boar's head over his own. The snout and the bristles were gleaming gold.

"Why do you make a landfall here, Swinehead?" Rang asked.

The tall man looked at Rang's empty hands. "We saw the skiff." Softly he spoke, with a twang to his words that was not Icelandic. "Men call me Hjor."

His curling beard twitched in a smile as Rang looked over him. A dragon's head on a boat's prow-a swine's head on a man. Long iron weapons in the hands of a hundred shipmen. Never had such things as these appeared on his beach before.

"Then, Hjor, turn loose my ponies."

Gently Hjor shook his head, and the jeweled eyes of the boar gleamed. "Why, no. Some of us can ride them to town, youngling." He stared at Rang's skin jacket and uncut hair. "Are the Icelander-folk all as dumb as you?"

Now Rang was beginning to understand that these were no guests or settlers making a landfall.

"Yea, they are dumb as their cattle, Hjor," Honeywords shouted, running up. "They tend horses and catch the fish of the sea. Now they herd themselves in the Town, to make laws. There they listen to the law-talk of their chieftain, Gizur the Old."

It seemed to Rang that Honeywords must have discovered all this from the foot-loose girl.

"By Freya's boar where is this Town?" Hjor scanned the empty ridges that closed in Rang's valley. "I see it not."

"Two hours over hill and dale," chanted Honeywords. "Ochune, good are the signs. The menfolk of this coast will be sitting at their Hill of Laws. Wait, Hjor-abide here until night falls, lord of the Kattegat and Skagerrak-spoiler of ships. There will be a moon to light the path to the slaying and spoiling. There will be a wailing of women, when your seafarers run in with their swords. Yea, good are the signs, Hjor." Shuffling his feet and fingering his pipes, he grinned up at the raider. "Only wait until dark. And I will be after spying and peering before you, along the way. I will be your forerunner to the destruction, even as I found this landing place, marking it with the skiff. I will go on ahead-"

Gently Hjor shook his head. "You will stay by me, piper."

"Nay, this horse-herder knoweth the way. Let him lead you, Hjor."

"He will lead and you will follow."

For the first time Rang realized that the words he had heard meant that these two would seize the herds and the silver of all the Icelanders they found, and would slaughter the men, like cattle. No one in the Town could have noticed their arrival in this valley.

This much being clear to him, Rang reasoned that he must forewarn the folk in the Town. Edging toward a pony, as Hjor's men drove the herd up toward his hut, Rang jumped to it. Swinging himself up, he kicked at the animal's ribs.

Something whisked through the air, as the pony sprang forward. It fell away beneath him. Rolling over, the Icelander saw a spear-shaft thumping the ground, and the point of it was through the pony's loins. The horse cried out. Hot anger came over Rang when he saw this. Tears ran from his eyes, and he threw himself at the nearest of those raiders, to grapple him. The man laughed and stepped back, bringing the flat of his ax down over Rang's ear.

"He sheds tears," the raider gibed, "before he is hurt."

Blood ran from the Icelander's head. Fingers of pain tore beneath his skull as he tried to raise himself. He heard Caill's voice cry, shrill with fear.

Hjor looked around sharply. "Find me his woman."

The weapon-men were starting to beat through the dwarf birches when Honeywords pranced out in front of them. "Yonder she hides."

Up the river he pointed, at a grassy mound, where there was no sign of a living being. "Yonder in the elf-mound. An elf-maid, she, dwelling beneath the grass until the rising of the moon. Yea, that is the hour of her coming forth upon the earth."

Hjor grunted, but some of his men came closer to hear.

"When the moon is full upon this maid," Honeywords explained, "she sings, and she combs her hair with a shining comb. Some of you, mayhap have seen the mermaids of the waters. Fairer indeed is this elf woman. White as wands, her arms. Like fruit blossoms her breasts. With her distaff she weaves a mist of magic about her, and if you can enter that, you will find her dearer than mortal women."