Page 32 of Viking Beast
Turning, he uttered instructions in his own tongue, sending two of his men below deck. They returned with a chest.
Opening it, Yusuf brought forth a ceramic pot sealed with wax. “One silver piece for an amphora of aloe, my friend. For the rest, I shall prepare a small vial of each spice from my personal store and explain their properties. For this, in good faith, I make no charge, but shall return with the spring tides and greater volumes—from which you may purchase as much as you wish. If it pleases you, I would trade for the furs you harvest this winter. Your foxes are particularly fine, and I have buyers who await them back in the east.”
Eldberg gave his agreement, and they proceeded about the business, Yusuf decanting small quantities of colourful powders and potions, giving their name and application: turmeric and ginger—to counteract soreness in the body and aid digestion, clove oil for relief of tooth pain, and cinnamon to ease breathing. There were twenty or more, each with its own remedy, which I committed to memory.
“And this, my friend, I’m sure you have no use for.” The captain shook a small ball, making it rattle. “It increases a man’s ability and sustains his force, for the creation of many children.” He gave a small smile. “Though you need it not, I shall place this nutmeg with your other medicines, in case one of the men under your command wishes to test its potency.”
Shaking hands, Eldberg thanked him for his thoroughness and opened the pouch upon his belt, counting out the necessary coins. When he’d finished, he held up an extra five.
“What else do you have for me then, Yusuf? Show me your best. Something fit to be worn by my golden queen.”
I reddened to hear him call me such, for the jest was at my expense. Whatever he named me, I was still his slave, without any right to refuse him or his gift.
The captain considered a moment before giving instruction again, sending another of his men to fetch what he requested.
There were three bolts of fabric, each of sufficient length to make a gown. The first was of rich green brocade, the next in pale gold, threaded through with silver, and the last a silk of shimmering blue—its hues similar to those of the fjord. In addition, Yusuf produced an arm circlet intricately shaped in silver and studded with pearls, with brooches to match.
I was speechless, for not even the fabric of my own wedding gown had been so fine, and I’d never worn any adornment of value—other than the ivory brooch given me by Asta.
Eldberg nodded. “You have a good eye, Yusuf. Pack everything, and we’ll leave you. I wish you a safe journey and shall look for your return.”
“Veda arkadasim. Farewell, my friend.”
As we rowed back to the pier, Eldberg leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees. “You will look most elegant, my Elswyth, but I meant what I said.”
“And what was that, my lord?” I looked over the water, not trusting myself to meet the intensity of his gaze.
“No matter how fine your gown, I shall always prefer you out of it.”
13
Eldberg
October 31st, 960AD
The skuas, gulls, and terns had flown, leaving the wind to moan its loss through the crags that hung above Skálavík.
Eldberg raised his face to the rolling pulse of shivering light—flickering green, silent. Even with his eyes closed, the shimmers remained, rippling and breaking—as vivid as the memory of her face.
In his mind, he reached for her.
Do you see me, Bretta?
They’d gathered to mark the rite ofAlfablót,to honour the souls of the dead and the spirits of the dark—theDökkalfar. Unseen by the living, mysterious, and at their most powerful during the long nights, such forces dwelled in the mountain above Skálavík. Tonight, they would receive their sacrifice, and all men would remember their frailty in the darkness of the unknown.
Sweyn led the young bull within the sacred circle—a stone for each man of Skálavík, and each man behind a stone.
“We call upon our male ancestors to protect us—to speak for us among the dark ones.” Eldberg’s voice rang out, addressing all surrounding him. “We offer thisblót, this libation, and we beseech mercy through the winter’s long cold, that we may live to see the sun return.”
Raising his axe, Eldberg swung it thrice about his head before burying it with a splitting thud in the calf’s skull. It was a clean kill, the creature falling to the ground with the blade still lodged in the bone. It gave no bellow—only a sudden jerking and a wide-eyed stare.
Planting his foot firmly against the calf’s shoulder, Eldberg released the weapon and gestured to Sweyn. With a shallow bowl placed beside the creature’s neck, his sworn-man knelt and plunged his dagger deep, bringing forth a gush of blood.
When the vessel was full, he raised it up and Eldberg dipped his thumb into the liquid, marking the forehead of his commander and then his own. While the bull’s life-force soaked the ground beneath their feet, Eldberg brought the dish to his lips and drank.
“Pledged in loyalty, we stand, brother to brother, until we enter that other realm.”
“Until we enter that other realm.” The response travelled the circle with the passing of the bowl, all drinking and receiving his jarl’s mark.
