Releasing the rock, she watched it fall but was disappointed that it was too small to see it hit the water. The rock disappeared into the background of waves breaking at the base of the cliffs.
"Well, now you've fulfilled your dreams, Runa. Congratulations." She laughed at the whole exercise, and began to crawl back from the edge.
Then she saw the man.
He was sprawled on a flat rock, debris floating on the water around him. While the sea battered sections of the cliff faces, clumps of large rocks formed natural wave-breaks, and the man rested within one now. Runa called down to him, but realized her voice would be lost in the roar of the sea. He lay face down to the rock, a tattered white shirt brilliant even in the shadows of the cliff. She suspected he might be dead, then he turned his head to another side.
Backing away from the edge, Runa knelt in the grass and considered what to do. He could be an enemy whose ship was wrecked in the storm. From the distance she could not determine the man's age, but he appeared young. That would rule him out as belonging in these waters.
In any case, she ran back to the hall, holding the sax steady as she did, drawing comfort from the feel of the leather wrap in her palm. Finding Gunnar outside, she called him over. "Gather the strongest boys, and meet me in the hall."
Gunnar and his friends lowered their toy swords to the grass. "Enemies?"
"Hurry," was all she said as she continued to the hall. Stopping at the entrance, she leaned inside. "I found a man washed up on the rocks by the northern cliffs. I'm taking the boys to help me rescue him." She scanned the blank faces, all stopped in the midst of whatever they had been doing, and found the man she sought. "Ornolf, I need your boat. Come with me."
Ornolf, a man with shaky hands and white beard, stood with the care of the elderly, but he smiled. "Glad to finally have something to do."
By this time Gunnar had arrived with three other boys. Together with Ornolf they ran for the shore where Ornolf's son left behind a small fishing boat. The rest of the hall emptied out behind them, women fluttering with speculation and worry. At the boat, Runa ensured they had rope, and tied it around all of them in case any one fell overboard.
Ornolf steered his ship while Runa and the boys worked the short oars. Gunnar sat beside his mother, his young arms straining at the work and a determined scowl on his face. The gods favored them with calm waters, and Runa was further relieved to see no other ship in the foggy distance. They held a tense silence as they navigated to where she had spotted the man. Gunnar was the first to see him. "On the rocks over there! A man with a white shirt!"
"Careful now," warned Ornolf. "Getting to him is another thing than seeing him. The tide wants to push us into the cliff."
Warned, the boys refocused on their rowing. Runa moved to the prows of the small boat. Only two people could sit on a bench, shoulder to shoulder if they were men, Fortunately, her crew were slighter and the vessel could accommodate another passenger.
Ornolf, despite his decrepit appearance, nosed the boat closer to the rocks with confidence and skill. He snapped at the boys to cease rowing and let the natural tide take over. As they closed, she first saw the man's bare feet, then his calf which had been cut. Entering the calmer waters, Runa gathered up the slack in her rope and leaned forward to call to the man. She saw a halo of disheveled yellow hair as the man barely raised his head, and she called him again.
Bumping into planks of wood and sea weed, Ornolf guided the boat to the side of the rock. "Told my boy I could still do this," he said, and clapped his hands. "They should've taken me too."
"I'm glad you stayed," Runa said, focusing on the man. She carefully stood, and Gunnar steadied her. "I need you boys to help me get him aboard. Ornolf, can you keep the boat against this rock?"
"Not without a tie-off or anchor. Be swift, Lady Runa."
"You there, can you hear me?" The man on the rock raised his head again, rolling to face Runa. He nodded. "You must help us get you on board. Can you move?"
The man seemed unsure, but both his legs moved in reply. The boat bounced against the rock, and while the water was still, she put her foot on the rock. Her skirt restricted her and she had to immediately return to the boat. "You boys will fetch him. Gunnar, stay with me to steady the boat."
"No, I will lead my friends," and he jumped onto the rock with his two friends following. She bit her lip, hearing Ulfrik's words in her son's voice.
The rope had enough slack, but Runa tugged forward as they worked. They propped the man on his elbows and he shook his head. Gunnar hooked the man's arm over his shoulder while another boy did the same. The third boy steadied the boat as the man got to his knees to crawl forward.
"Here's the difficult part," noted Ornolf. "Don't let them fall or we're all going to the bottom."
"I'm aware of that," she snapped.
The man shuffled on his bloodied knees. He was young and strong, though bruised and cut in a hundred different places. He wore tatters of what appeared to be fine clothes, and a gold torc clung to his neck still. She scanned him for weapons, and found none. At the side of the boat, Gunnar ducked from beneath the man's arm and helped him to the boat. Rather than assist, Runa found herself drawing the sax and pointing it at the man.
"A Valkyrie? I am dead, then?" The man managed to smile, revealing teeth reddened with blood.
"I am here to help, but I don't know you. I have many enemies."
His head lolled and he muttered words Runa could not understand over the growling of the waves against the cliffs. The boys managed to roll him into the boat, and it rocked and pushed back. Ornolf steered it close to the rocks and all the boys rejoined. Gunnar gave her a sheepish smile. She pursed her lips, but patted his shoulder. His smile widened and his cheeks reddened.
They began to row back, the man lying uncomfortably between benches.
"Thank you for your kindness and bravery," he said. His bottom lip was split and his eye blacked, but confidence filled his exhausted voice. "You will not regret this, I promise."
Runa nodded, squeezing the hilt of her short sword. Glancing again at the milky horizon, she saw nothing but the black dots of sea birds weaving over the ocean. The gods made no sign for her, good or ill, but her other hand sought the hammer of Thor beneath her robe. Fate had woven a new thread into her life, and winter was at hand.
CHAPTER TWELVE
November 25, 885 CE
Ulfrik watched Paris rise from the middle of the Seine River. He and his men gathered in the prow and strained for their first glimpses of the city between the hundreds of other striped sails obstructing the view. Silence spread from ship to ship in the great Danish fleet, and as Paris revealed itself to the crew, their excited voices stilled. The fire in Ulfrik's blood cooled. The fort called Pontoise now seemed like a fisherman's shack.
As winds pushed the ship ever closer, the size of Paris grew. Its walls consumed nearly the entire island and were made of gray rock stained brown with age. The walls stood beyond a height rocks should be lifted. Towers rose above the walls, fat and round, and pennants fluttered from them. Worse than the walled city were the two bridges that barred passage deeper into Frankia. To Ulfrik's eyes, they were low, dense lines of black spreading across the river like the two arms of a giant. Each bridge was anchored to a mighty tower of stone, both square but with protruded round corners.
"Now you see Paris," Humbert said, a note of triumph in his voice. "And you wonder how to get through those walls."
Ulfrik frowned, then stepped out of the prow to face his slave. He held his head back, one hand pulling his beloved red cloak tight against the chill morning air. Despite Humbert's defiance, he had to agree that Paris was formidable, though he dared not voice it before his crew.