Thirteen
Sitting on the lake’s shore, Runa sighed and shivered in the sharp evening air. Her clothes were still wet, and although she had taken the only fur, she had let it drag in the water where it became soaked and useless for the oncoming night. The band of pale yellow at the horizon would soon sag behind the trees, leaving her in the dark, with only the wind and the vast purple expanse of lake for company.
She twisted around when she heard Magnus grunt and flip onto his back. He stared straight upward, arms and legs splayed as if he had fallen from the sky. Magnus had recovered his senses only after traveling too far downstream to do anything about it. He and Ulfrik had growled at each other like angry wolves, and although Magnus was the bigger man, Ulfrik was more ferocious. He had managed to wear Magnus down to silence. From that moment, Magnus had not spoken, and Ulfrik still angry, had stormed off to search for Yngvar. Runa sympathized with Magnus. She had not dared look at what Grim had done to his family, but she knew it was monstrous.
Runa drew her arms tighter around her body as the wind strengthened. She wondered if the lake would freeze; certainly, a frost would ice the shallow surrounding ponds by morning. A few more nights like this and they might all die. Ulfrik had lost his furs and supplies in the chaos of the fight. Magnus also carried nothing but what he wore and his sword. Yngvar might already be dead. Runa’s confidence in their survival sank even lower than the setting sun.
Pushing back the thought, she stood and walked to the trees. It would be warmer among them now that the sun had sunk. She passed Magnus, hoping he might speak or move, or otherwise indicate he wanted to live, but he remained sprawled on the beach, exactly where he had fallen when they made shore.
Ulfrik still had not returned. Runa supposed he had either found Yngvar or been captured in the process of searching. As much as she wanted to feel anxious, she could not. She set about raking together fallen leaves to make her bed and cover her against the cold. Thinking too far ahead creates more worry, she told herself. And she had completely overindulged in worry since her capture months ago. There were simply too many bad things awaiting her to consider them all. For all she knew, she could be a feast for wolves before sunrise. Satisfied with the leaf pile, Runa dropped into it and scooped some over her lap.
Despite her affected calmness, she shrieked when a heavy shadow drew up beside her. Runa put her hand to her chest and then forced a laugh. Magnus did not move, just stood as a hulking black shape. She wondered if he had lost his mind. Visions of herself being strangled by Magnus’s giant hands filled her head. Instead, he turned and crunched through the leaves to a tree opposite hers. Leaning against it, he slid down the trunk and slouched, as forlorn as a child’s abandoned doll.
“They cut off his hands so he couldn’t hold a sword.” Magnus let that statement linger.
Runa sucked in her breath, knowing that Grim and his men had denied Magnus’s son a warrior’s death. It was the death of an animal, not a man.
“What was the purpose?” Magnus asked, after a deep sigh. His voice rasped. “What kind of man does this? We were farmers. Just one family. Were we that threatening?”
Runa could not answer his questions, could not fathom the cruelty. There were no answers that could be given, no reasons for Grim to have tormented the boy even in the otherworld. Grim, she knew, acted out of hate and anger. He was the same kind of man who had come to her own homeland, murdering and destroying for no better reason than to take what he thought he deserved. He would plunder and destroy everything, anything he could.
“He would’ve fought bravely. Certainly the gods will not be blind to that.” Runa was surprised at her own words. Through the darkness, she sensed Magnus’s eyes upon her. Now that she had created an opening, she had to fill it with more words, words she feared she could not find.
“I know about loss,” she continued. “My parents were both murdered in their own hall. Only my brother still lives, somewhere out there.” She waved one hand, assuming she was pointing to the sea, but not knowing the true direction. “My sister died after our capture. The future I had expected will never come. My grand husband, whomever he would have been, will not have me now; none but a swineherd would take me for a wife.” Runa stopped, realizing she had said too much. Although she had thought the last of them spent, she found tears upon her cheeks and swiped them away with a small laugh. “I guess I’m not helping much.”
Magnus’s shadow had still not moved. He was inscrutable in the darkness. Runa assumed him to be either angered by a slave’s rambling or lost in his own thoughts. She crunched down into her pile of leaves, feeling stupid and ashamed. Six months or more had passed, yet she still had not accustomed herself to slavery.
“So why do you want your freedom?” Magnus asked. He sat motionless, but his tone was curious. Runa was surprised.
“You have no family to help you, it seems. So why do you care?”
“Because fate has left me but one strand to weave my hope upon,” she found herself replying.
Magnus merely laughed. She did not know if it was from derision or admiration.
“My brother was out with my father’s ship and crew when the Svear came,” she said. “If I can be freed, then I can find him. It is a small hope, but the only one I have.”
“You are a strange girl,” Magnus said with an empty chuckle. “Finding him will convince me fate has a special plan for you. The world is wide, and a homeless man with a ship and crew can become lost within it. I don’t think you will find him.”
“Now you are not helping,” Runa said, thinking she had overstepped her station. But Magnus remained as he had throughout their talk: a rough bulk of shadow seated opposite.
When he spoke, it was thoughtful and calm. “Do you really have such belief in fate?” “Yes.” She composed herself. “I believe my fate is not to die a slave. I have no reason to believe I can escape this, but I am unable to accept that I will not. My father raised me nobly, and I was to be a noble’s wife. As the Fates weave my strand, whatever is woven into it will always be part of my thread.”
This time Magnus laughed genuinely.
Runa raised her eyebrows. “You may laugh, but I believe in what I have said. I will not be a slave. Lord Ulfrik has promised me as much.”
The mention of Ulfrik’s name silenced Magnus’s laugh upon his lips. His last talk with Ulfrik had not been friendly.
He likely blames Ulfrik for his family’s death, Runa thought. Whatever positive work she had begun with Magnus now crumbled. He folded his arms and shifted away until only the silhouette of his wide shoulders was visible.
Runa leaned back and shored up her leaf blanket. She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would find her soon and half listening for Ulfrik’s footfalls.
“He will give you freedom if it suits him,” Magnus said suddenly.
“He has sworn it!” Runa lurched up, feeling anger flush her face. “I got him his sword and he promised me freedom if I did. As soon as we are safely away, he will remove my collar.”
“I heard about that promise,” Magnus said, still hidden within the shadows. “But he’s not beholden to a promise made to a slave. So what if he breaks it?”
“He would not do that!” Runa yelled, forgetting that they were supposed to be hiding. “Ulfrik would never do that to me. He…”
Runa stopped short, surprised by what she was about to say. Did Ulfrik have feelings for her, or was she merely imagining it? This was a terrible time for her to consider that he might. Her feelings ended whatever it was she had intended to say. Instead, she huffed and fell back to her bed of leaves.
Magnus laughed, but suddenly clamped his laughter off into silence. Runa glimpsed motion to her left. The shadows of two men, intertwined, appeared. Before either Runa or Magnus could react, the men disengaged and one toppled to the ground between them.