Gunnar clung behind and Hakon wailed at her feet as she ranged her short sword before all of them. Picking effortlessly through the blaze came the dark shape of a gigantic man. She could only see the brightness of his iron blade. He hulked over her, his shoulders covered in a wolf pelt that smoldered with embers from the collapsing hall.
Striking with a low feint, Runa reversed her thrust up to the giant's belly. His sword swept aside the strike while his huge hand punched her in the head. She sprawled out and Gunnar screamed. The giant man loomed over her, his blade reflecting the fire consuming the hall. The point of it hovered at the base of her throat, and she shrieked as he rammed down.
She awoke to her own screaming, then sprang upright in bed. The bear-hide covers slipped from her, revealing Hakon curled beside her. He frowned and shimmied to her side. Darkness filled the room, but she could hear Gunnar's rhythmic breathing emanating from his bed. No signs of a fire or an attacker. She slumped forward, dropping her face into her hands. How many more of these dreams will the gods send me? she wondered. Ever since Ulfrik sailed a month ago, terrifying dreams stalked her nights. They followed the same themes every time: invaders trapping her, killing her family. In sleep, Runa's mind was free to envision all the fears she suppressed during the day.
Thunder exploded close to the hall, rattling the walls and shaking the bed. Only now did she hear the blasting wind and rain. Water dripped from the roof somewhere in the blackness of the room. If Ulfrik were here, he'd fix it, but now I will have to beg someone or do it myself. She hit the bed in frustration, in time with another boom of thunder followed quickly by a flash of white from the lone window set high on the opposite wall. The lamb skin cover sucked against the hole, threatening to fly outside into the storm.
Hakon mumbled in his sleep, and she lay down beside him again. The fierce storm lashed the hall, but she knew it would be done by morning. If the hall blew down with her inside, then it was Fate. She did not worry for things beyond her control. She could not, for her sake and for her children's.
Runa awakened to the cheerless morning, a slow drip of water from the roof leak pattering on the floor. Gunnar had left an empty in his bed, and she swept her hands across the feather stuffed mattress to Hakon. He smiled a gurgled laughter at her touch. Raising herself to the edge of the bed, she pulled the bearskin about her and slumped on her knees. Beyond the door, the faint clack of wooden plates and murmur of voices informed her that she had overslept. The savory notes of a stew floated into her room.
As she nursed Hakon, she listened to the vague conversations from the hall. She yearned to hear the deep tones of Ulfrik's voice, but only heard women chattering and children laughing. Something toppled and a female voice shouted in irritation. Finished, she let Hakon to the floor and went to the sword Ulfrik had left for her.
It was his short blade; a sax is what he called it. The blade was sharp and well made, but it lacked a cross-guard. As promised, the sax was like a feather in her hand after practicing with a long sword. She hung it on Ulfrik's armor rack, and each morning fit the belt around her waist so the blade hung at her lap. A weapon was useless leaned against a bed or racked on a wall. Wearing it drew looks and snide remarks, but she cared little what others thought. They would hide behind her when trouble arrived, she did not doubt. Feeling its weight slapping her thighs as she walked comforted her.
Hakon stumbled a few steps then fell, preferring to crawl. Runa scooped him up after she finished dressing and combing her hair.
Morning light streamed into the hall as women in red and white linen hair covers flitted about their duties. The hall doors hung open and bright sunlight sparkled in the water dripping from the roof. She entered the hall in time to see Gunnar dash out of the hall with several other children following. With the hirdmen gone, the hall remained empty most of the time, though families whose men had left with Ulfrik gathered to share meals in the hall. Several young men sat at the trestle tables while their mothers and sisters gossiped and minded the cooking pot.
Runa smiled at the women, who paused and inclined their heads as she wandered into the hall. She spoke each of their names in greeting as she passed. Elin, Ander's wife, was the only one she considered an honest friend. After Gerdie's death, precious few friends remained with her. The other women distanced themselves, afraid of the jarl's wife and her odd behavior.
"Quite a storm last night," Elin remarked as she dropped dried heather branches into the hearth while a young girl worked a billows to build heat.
"Is there any damage?" She leaned over the cooking pot, letting the pungent smell of simmering whale meat fill her nose. She passed Hakon to Thora, a young woman who cared for Hakon while Runa tended chores and duties.
"None I know of, but I haven't heard from the outlying farms. I'm sure all is well."
"I'll take a look around anyway." Runa excused herself and stepped out to the wet grass as a girl hauling water passed her.
Scanning the rooftops, she saw no damage to her untrained eyes. The roofs would have to be gone for her to notice. Her breath fogged on the cold morning air, and she folded her arms tight. Gunnar was running with a group of boys, all clashing together with wooden swords or leather-tipped poles for spears. Their laugher was thin on the crisp morning air.
Her wandering led her across the fields and parallel to the verdant mountains in the distance. The hem of her dress became soaked and flocked with blades of grass as she approached the cliffs where she and Ulfrik often visited. Nothing led her to this place, but she smiled without humor as she found herself there. Gulls soared in the distance, as if they too had come out to survey the results of the night's storm. One seemed to screech at her.
Standing a safe distance back from the edge, she peered into the distance. Fog rolled on the waters, obscuring the land across the fjord. Facing north, she wondered how long before square red sails emerged from that fog. Ships full of enemies confident of victory, knowing only one woman with a sax stood against them. Certainly everyone would fight, but anyone with a talent for it had long sailed south. For now, as winter clenched its grip around the islands, men would remain with their farms. Yet winter would not last, and the inevitable raids would renew.
"Ulfrik, you had better return in time or you will have nothing to return to."
Speaking the words relieved the burden of carrying them in her heart. Worse than feeling defenseless was having no one to talk to. Elin was not close enough; she would not trouble Gunnar with her fears; Ingrid and Halla were witches. With the men gone, she found no one to share her mind. It surprised her to realize she related better to men than her fellow women. None of them had experienced the hardships she had, but the men understood better.
Lingering at the cliffs, she decided, would foul her mood, and a twinge of guilt followed her for not assisting with the morning meal. She had taken to sleeping later since Ulfrik had left. Being the nominal ruler in his absence, it set a bad example. So she picked up a stone and decided to toss it into the sea before leaving. The distance of the fall fascinated her, but Ulfrik would never let her get close enough to drop a rock. She giggled at the childishness of it.
Carefully sliding to the edge, slimy rock in her hand, she peered over. The sheer drop made her feel like it was dragging her down. Catching herself, she stepped back, heart thudding. Now she understood why Ulfrik forbid her from looking over the cliff, but was still determined to watch her rock plunge into the water below. Revising the plan, she got on hands and knees, the cold dampness seeping through her clothes, and crawled to the edge. Being grounded on all fours cured the vertigo, and she was able to look straight down.