Page 30 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
Helka and I had been to the rear of the party, my own mare being less fleet than the others, but we now drew alongside.
From the peregrine’s claws hung a hare, limp and bleeding, its neck broken, its eyes glassy in unexpected death. With a shake of feathers, the bird deposited its prize, resuming its place on its master’s forearm.
“You’ve coddled your little hawk, brother.” Gunnolf rewarded his own bird with a chunk of raw meat. “She seems not the mighty huntress you believe her to be.”
Eirik held out his cuff, inviting his hawk to alight there.
“And what do you wish from me, my jarl?”
“Only the pleasure of an initiation.”
Eirik frowned but bowed his head, and Gunnolf turned, looking about, until he found what he sought.
The jarl brought his horse so close that I felt the heat of its flank. My mare tossed her head away from the intruding muzzle of the dappled grey but I held her steady. Whatever was required of me, I must comply. I was a guest of Svolvaen and of the jarl’s home; Eirik’s promise was as good as my own. I could not break it without shaming him.
I’d never been so near to a falcon. It was a handsome creature, stately and graceful, but I felt myself shrink from its crimson-stained beak and its unblinking gaze. One of the men threw the hare to Gunnolf, who caught it in his free hand and pressed his thumb to the wound. The blood bubbled from the jagged tear at its throat, running thick.
“You may skit as swiftly as the hare but you can’t escape.”
Speaking low enough that no other could hear, he daubed my forehead before dropping the pad of his thumb to my lower lip, smearing blood there. The intimacy of it startled me. Instinctively, I licked the moisture away, finding it bitter upon my tongue.
“The first time is sweetest.” Gunnolf’s eyes lingered upon my lips, his own parting, full and sensuous. I found, somehow, that I’d bitten myself; he saw it and laughed, tossing the hare away again.
Gunnolf raised his arm and gave a soft whistle, sending the peregrine back into the sky. Eirik, too, released his hawk, and the two took the breeze under their wings, circling and swooping, lifting on the wild currents of the wind, daring one another higher.
The birds disappeared into the clouds while, down below, we craned to see them. The hawk emerged with the other on its tail. It was a game of chase, it seemed. However, the falcon’s pursuit was relentless. The smaller bird skittered low over the field while its rival hovered above. As the hawk struggled to rise, the peregrine seized its chance. It dived, rearing up its claws at the final moment, knocking the air from Eirik’s huntress, sending it tumbling.
The bird hit the earth upon its back and lay unmoving but for the flutter of one wing. Eirik rode to the spot, dismounting to take the hawk in his arms.
It trembled briefly, then lay still.
9
I’d long ago put away the garments I’d brought with me, for they marked me as an outsider. Helka most often wore tunics and trousers but gave me some of her aprons, woven from flax and dyed in shades of russet and green. They suited me well enough—engraved bone brooches fastened the straps over each shoulder.
She berated me for lack of skill in weaving cloth. Even she, whose time was spent more in hunting, knew how to work a loom. Her fingers were nimble but, when I tried, everything tangled. It had always been so.
“You’re too impatient, Elswyth,” she chided, showing me how to use the heddle rods to separate the threads of warp. She passed the weft through on its shuttle. “You desire to have all you wish without applying yourself to the labour of the task. All things worthy of attaining require our constancy.”
I didn’t deny the reprimand, knowing myself well enough to see the truth of it. I’d always been reckless, inclined to impulse and hastiness. I wished for action, not the monotony of hours at the loom. My stitching was little better, whether my needle was bone or wood. I preferred the dyeing of the cloth, knowing well which leaves and tubers produced the brightest colours.
Of course, I had one skill which rivalled these womanly pursuits, as taught to me by my grandmother—my healing knowledge of plants and herbs. However, I still hadn’t found a cure for the sores which plagued Ylva.
The salve I’d made from elm bark, with sage and yarrow, had curbed the spread of the poison. The sores had become less aggressive but the skin refused to heal. Astrid told me that she heard Ylva sobbing through the night, for the loss of her young man. Though my treatment had prevented the blight on her cheek from becoming an open sore, the skin remained red and swollen, the infection lingering beneath the surface. I feared to lance it as I would a boil.
Not for the first time, I wished my grandmother were with me. How I longed to bury my head in her lap and seek her guidance. She always seemed to know the answer, even where the situation was most difficult. In likelihood, she was already dead and her home cleared of its simple possessions. If I returned, I’d find some other family living there, in the home I’d shared with her.
I attempted to put these thoughts aside, for they served no purpose and I wished to keep fair spirits, those being of best use to myself and to those around me.
The weather was full of the north wind now, and the first snow flurries had come to Svolvaen. “We’ll soon be contained indoors. If the winter’s hard, the harbour may even freeze over. We shouldn’t waste this time,” Helka urged. “Come—we’ll go fishing.”
Asta insisted that I take the opportunity. Her belly was growing fast but she still wished to attend herself in most matters. Faline would keep her company in my absence.
It was with some excitement that I sat in the rear of Helka’s vessel. I’d not been upon the water since the great journey that had brought me to Svolvaen. I couldn’t help a degree of apprehension but Helka assured me that I’d be safe in her care.
“Only move as I direct you,” she commanded, “Or we’ll find out how well you swim.”
The air was fresh and the wind brisk, and I understood immediately why she liked to sail. There was an immense feeling of freedom, and it was beautiful, the sunlight quivering on the water. She took us between the cliffs and I gazed upwards, wondering at the height of the sheer rock.
