Runa did not react as poorly as he expected. She pulled the cloak tighter and at least looked at him before nodding in agreement. Such a simple thing, but it encouraged him.
“Well, then, that’s all I wanted,” he said. “Now we can return together. Magnus’s farm will be a safe place to weather the storm.”
“His family was murdered there,” Runa whispered. “We can’t ask him to go back there.”
“There’s nowhere else to shelter from this storm, nowhere close enough.”
“They were slaughtered like pigs. It was his home, but now it is a place of terror and death, of blood and sadness. I know what that is like. No one can go back there. For him to see it like that, dead and dark, would be too much. Too much to see again.” She shook her head.
Ulfrik opened his mouth to speak into the silence Runa had left, but paused as a tear stretched down her cheek. Words failed him; anything he said now would be like defiling a grave. He had not said what he had come to say. But speech was not necessary now, and perhaps not helpful. He put his hand gently on her shoulder.
Runa did not move away but leaned in to it a little. Neither looked at the other, but Ulfrik could see loss etched on her face. The snow became heavier, the air colder. The woods were silent with the exception of branches dueling overhead. Winter’s first storm would hit hard, and hit soon. Ulfrik guided Runa off her stone perch, held her close against the cold, and led her back toward the camp. A dark, dead hall would have to serve as shelter, no matter how many ghosts dwelled within.
Sixteen
The storm arrived that afternoon. Disorganized flakes soon gathered in formation and enshrouded the woods. The air tasted sharp and wet, and the wind lashed them with icy gusts. Ulfrik and the others sheltered in Magnus’s hall. Grim had not burned it, having done his murder outside, and the snowfall soon covered the grisly evidence of his crimes.
It was a mistake to call it a hall, although Ulfrik felt it honored Magnus to call it such. The farm building was only large enough for the family and some livestock, yet they were all grateful for it, and for Magnus’s sacrifices. It was sturdy, and it kept the wind out and the weak fire alive.
They passed the time in silence at first, everyone stealing furtive glances at Magnus, waiting for him to break down or rage. He did not. He had agreed to the plan and while his home had been plundered-and his iron cooking pot taken, along with his tools and supplies-a pot of ale, a wheel of cheese and a single fur had been overlooked. Magnus grabbed the fur for himself, holding it close. No doubt it has value for him beyond its warmth, Ulfrik thought.
Runa began to divide the cheese into portions, and as she did so, Yngvar began a tale. No one acknowledged him at first, preferring their own thoughts, but he continued telling tale after tale, each more improbable than the last. Soon everyone had at least something to say, to laugh at, or to question. The winds beat at the door and window battens, but inside warmth flourished.
***
“Thor has provided us with an escape?” Ulfrik shook his head in wonder when he opened the door the next morning and glanced outside. The snow had stopped early in the evening and barely covered the ground. He laughed, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Yngvar encouraged the thought.
“The weather has lifted enough for us to move again,” Yngvar agreed. “Thor has seen us and holds the winds back to make our way easier.”
Ulfrik suspected everyone knew Thor’s involvement was sheer optimism. The gods, thus far, seemed to let them live just long enough to encounter their next disaster. But he also understood the importance of morale. So everyone nodded, stepped out into winter’s first snow, and raised their eyes to the sky. The fearsome clouds still pressed down, blue and gray whales swimming in the sky.
Ulfrik put his hands skyward, but felt no precipitation. “It’s dry enough, even if there’s no sun. We’ll have a few days of good weather, and this storm is moving toward the sea. We will be fine.”
“A sacrifice to Thor,” Magnus suggested, standing in the doorframe, almost as if he were seeing off guests. “That’s what we need. That’ll guarantee good weather.”
“A fine idea, but for the lack of anything to sacrifice,” Ulfrik said.
Yngvar looked at him, and Ulfrik immediately read his thoughts. A slave could be sacrificed, and human blood was the most potent sacrifice known. Yngvar’s eyes remained on him as the unspoken thought flashed through all of them in an instant. Runa stepped back, a confused, twisted smile forming on her lips.
“Not the girl! It’s not what I meant.” Magnus leaped, growling, from the doorway. Grabbing Runa’s arm, he yanked her toward him. She seemed weightless in his grip, flying over the snow to him. Magnus stepped in front of Yngvar, his beard waggling as he yelled, “No more killing on my lands. Do you hear me?”
Ulfrik stepped between them. “Runa belongs to me, Magnus. She returned with my sword, and at great risk. I would offend the gods if I repaid loyalty with death.”
Runa, shaking and ready to cry, hid behind Magnus’s bulk until Ulfrik extended his hand and smiled. Magnus did not move, but Runa came forward and Ulfrik felt her small hand trembling and cold in his own. He guided her to his side and released her hand.
“Still, a sacrifice to the gods would be a good idea,” Yngvar continued. He remained unmoved, as if nothing had happened. “But we will have to take our chances without one.”
“Our need is shelter.” Ulfrik, anxious to change the topic, began to outline their next move. “Grim will have declared us outlaws, but the news could not have traveled far. The inland kings won’t have heard yet. They will not yet kill us on sight.”
The group listened as Ulfrik explained. All the while, he paced before them, reminiscent of his father lecturing the men before a battle drill. “If the weather holds, Grim will send men straight here, but if we leave now we can make a fast march to the southwest, to the lands of King Frodi. He visited my father once, years ago. He might even remember me. We could ask hospitality from him.”
Both Magnus and Runa nodded their agreement. But Yngvar’s expression was flat-a look Ulfrik was coming to understand meant he was wrong in some detail. Pausing, he waited to hear the flaw.
“We could ask hospitality,” Yngvar began, “but what is our explanation for wandering the lands during a winter storm? And we don’t look prepared for a winter journey, do we? We look like outlaws.”
“Curse it, Yngvar! What choice do we have? However we look, Frodi would have to declare us liars to say so. His honor would prevent that. Even if he has heard Grim’s declaration, on his own land he is the judge. I’m trusting Frodi to be evenhanded enough to consider what really happened. We would be bringing him news of trouble at his borders. He should be grateful for that.”
His outburst over, Ulfrik finally looked to his companions. Surprise registered on their faces. Yngvar was smiling, his impossibly white teeth a match for the freshly fallen snow. Magnus folded his burly arms, but seemed to be signaling his approval. Runa wore a small smile.
“So, then, I assume you all agree? Let’s collect what we can and make haste.”
Not much remained to be gathered from the farm. A striking steel in the shape of a coiled dragon was by the hearth. They also gathered a few drinking skins and a whetstone. Yngvar hacked a table to kindling wood. Everything else had been pillaged or broken when Grim raided the place. Ulfrik searched the woods for the dead, hoping to find a cloak or useful item such as a bow or spear, but could not. He found a few bodies of Auden’s men, their flesh now blackened and frozen, but they yielded nothing beyond scraps of cloth, which he cut away.
Before they departed, Magnus visited the hasty grave he had dug for his family. Snow had caved in the unpacked earth, leaving a wide depression. The three watched him from a distance as he stood over it and said his farewell.