“Thank you for saving my life, Lord Ulfrik,” Runa said, giving him a gentle smile. “You could have left me to die yesterday.”
“You are of my household,” Ulfrik said, and then winced at his poorly chosen words. “I had to take care of you.”
Runa’s hand hovered over a nut and Ulfrik anticipated a reprimand, but instead she focused on her work as she spoke, mashing the nut and ruining it. “Well, once you lead us to safety and return my freedom, I will ensure you are repaid for your sense of duty. When I find my brother, I will tell him how well you treated me.”
Ulfrik put down his stone and straightened his back. By Odin’s one eye, the girl had pluck! Whatever she was before, she was now a slave, but her pride was noble.
She cracked the remaining nuts, studying each one with exaggerated care. Ulfrik admired the way her curly hair, although now matted and greasy, fell across her face. Once washed, he imagined it would smell beautiful and form exquisite ringlets in his hands. She was his slave, his possession. He could take her and make that happen, but he wanted her to want him, and not just for the freedom that she desired, for himself, as a man. That-he decided while she separated shells from nuts, as if unaware of his stare-was what he wanted from her.
“You’re so confident you will find your brother, but the ocean is wide, and he’s probably gone roving in other lands. You shouldn’t waste your time searching.”
“As you say, Lord Ulfrik.” She gathered the shells and threw them into the underbrush. Then, before leaving, she stood and bowed, something she had never done before.
Ulfrik remained seated, watching her return to the woods. The heat on his face doubled. To his horror, he turned to see Yngvar reclining against a tree trunk and watching. Their eyes met. His enigmatic friend smiled, but then turned away to study the skies.
Ulfrik took some hazelnuts in hand and stood. Popping one into his mouth, he walked to Yngvar and dropped the others in his friend’s lap. “Eat. I hope you can keep some down. I’m not sure how well we’re going to be eating on the run. Magnus is still asleep?” He trusted Yngvar to get the hint and not to comment on his blundered exchange with Runa.
Yngvar did not disappoint. “Yeah, like a hibernating bear.” He picked up the hazelnuts and held out an arm out for a hoist, which Ulfrik provided. Yngvar swayed, then controlled himself and stood. “The sky promises snow. The rain a few days ago was wicked. Had that been snow…”
The words died between them. Only the rustle of empty branches and dead leaves filled the space.
“Rouse Magnus and call Runa. We have to get moving before my brother regains his senses and comes for us.”
Yngvar did not move to the task. “No.” He shook his head. “With those clouds, if your brother had sense he would stay away. Let us die, then come find our frozen corpses. We need to get moving, but we’re running from that, not from Grim.” Yngvar stabbed a finger to the sky.
Ulfrik saw blustery clouds beyond the claws of branches. A lone flake landed on his cheek, melted, and chilled him more thoroughly than any winter gale. Their furs were lost or ruined, only a few nuts between them, and enemy territory from the ocean to the steep hills on the western horizon.
“We could stay at Magnus’s farm,” Ulfrik suggested. “At least until the storm blows over.” He expected Yngvar’s rebuttal, but his friend just rubbed his chin like it ached. “I know it would be hard on Magnus,” Ulfrik continued. “But the other choice is to find shelter in the woods, and we don’t have furs.”
Yngvar remained silent, still rubbing his chin. They both looked at Magnus, snoring beneath a heap of forest debris and leaves. To ask him to suffer more was wrong, but Ulfrik could see no alternative.
He made to crouch down beside him when Yngvar put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me talk to him. I know you think it’s your duty to ask. But you’re out of form this morning.” Yngvar guided Ulfrik back, stepping in front of him and flashing his full smile. “It’d be better if you go to find the other one. When you return with her, I’ll have this hibernating bear persuaded. Go on. You’ll just be in the way here.”
Ulfrik started to protest, but Yngvar put up his hand, silencing him.
Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I do need to apologize to Runa. Ulfrik tightened his sword belt, ate a nut and took a handful of others, and went in search of Runa.
***
More flakes fluttered down between the trees, melting on Ulfrik’s face and shoulders. The first were frail and tentative, hesitant to leave the clouds so soon, but soon they would fall in droves, blanketing the ground. The first snowfall of winter was at hand. All across the land, men were bringing livestock into their halls, shoring up walls, and piling up furs. In happier times, Orm had met the first snowfall with a feast of hot fish soup. Ulfrik wished for that now as his tongue eagerly prodded his teeth for any hazelnut trapped between them. Those morsels were all he would likely eat until tomorrow, which would see the last of the hazelnuts as well.
Runa had not made it difficult to follow her; her trail was obvious. From what he could see, she had walked at first, and then started to run. She did not know the land, and she seemed to have little woodlands sense. He half expected her to be lost and feared she may have tripped and twisted an ankle. It would be typical of recent luck, Ulfrik thought. But she had not.
Her dirty white shift contrasted with the blacks, browns, and wet grays of the winter woods, making her easily spotted atop a tall stone covered in milky green lichen. Its flat top was made for sitting and brooding, but the ground beneath was spongy, and Ulfrik’s footfalls made enough noise to alert the forest. Still Runa sat oblivious, swinging one leg and gazing into the distance.
Only when Ulfrik was close did she startle enough to pull her leg up with a gasp. Then, recognizing him, she let it fall again and returned to her study of the horizon. Ulfrik said nothing. He hadn’t planned what to say, and his awkwardness and silence embarrassed him. A man falling in love with a slave was not uncommon, he knew, especially not with one made from a high-born woman. But the men who took slaves to their beds were jarls or lords. They had legitimate wives and they could free their slaves and have that freedom recognized by the world.
Ulfrik failed on all accounts. His mouth opened, and all he could do was hope the right words would come out. “Yngvar is going to ask Magnus to let us weather the storm at his farm.”
Runa shifted at the words and it seemed as if she would speak, but she just continued looking away. Ulfrik kicked at the soggy earth, folding his arms against the cold air. “We should probably go now, before the storm hits. No telling how bad it will be.”
Still no reaction beyond a sniff.
Ulfrik felt his patience slipping. Why couldn’t the girl understand what he was doing? Why couldn’t she see he was apologizing? And a master never has to apologize to a slave. Doesn’t she realize she is the least important member of this group? Ulfrik gave no voice to these last thoughts. Instead, he tried to consider what she felt. She must be cold, wearing only tattered rags. He removed his own cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He smiled, anticipating Runa’s gratitude for this thoughtfulness.
“Hmph! Wouldn’t want one of your household possessions to get sick from the cold? Maybe you’d have to gather your own nuts then?”
The smile dropped from his face. “Well, you seemed cold. Now you will be warmer, and I will be colder. Sounds fair, right? I mean, you’re better off now that I’m here, so you could feel a little grateful for that,” he said, aware he was not speaking the words he intended. His mind screamed for him to halt this march to confrontation, but his mouth produced only high-handed garbage.