Solig Trilogy

Chapter 2

A shadowy figure moved quickly along the well trodden path keeping to the forest's edge  until it disappeared like a wraith into the darkness near the hovels. A dog barked somewhere nearby, alarmed by the sound of a stone kicked loose under foot as the horizon softened with a tint of light blue from the coming day.

On a snow covered knoll outside the wooden palisade around the village, a silhouette of a woman  could be seen wrapped in a dark gray woolen cloak to shield her from the bite of  a December wind. Her eyes fixed to the bay beyond where the river empties its waters while a golden flame of a single candle flickers from the draft in the opening of the longhouse behind her. Gently she touches the silver amulet that hangs around her neck on a leather strip. Two wolves embracing an amber sun, amber he had brought her from one of his many trips to Grobin. Her fingers traced every finely crafted detail like a lover who explores the face of her soul mate. The weight of it is not nearly the weight of her worry in her heart.

She had told him every merchant trip he sailed from her that he took half her heart with him and only on his return, was her heart full. Each time he left, he would return with his crew from the sea with fine gifts of silk, honey, spices and other items from far away places. She would become entranced in the tales of his adventures, wide eyed and anxious to hear every word. But now she was wrought with worry. It was war he and his men sailed off too and he was late in his return. No word came of him, yet everyday she stood waiting, defiant to give up hope.

Over the past two years, each returning vessel brought joy to some and great sadness to others. Each sail spotted on the horizon was met with great anxiety as the sea-worn longships were mobbed by those seeking a hint of word about their loved ones. A month and a half had passed since any ship had entered the waters of the bay. She let the amulet drop back into her cleavage and out of sight upon hearing the crunch of snow underfoot.

"Watching the water will not bring him home any sooner. My guess, they have decided to winter there before returning here," the old man said. She closed her eyes as a tear trickled down her cheek, across the dimple and off her chin. The grip on her shoulder was firm as his strength had not left his hands despite his age. She glanced back over her shoulder to the kind slender face cloaked in white willowy hair that danced upon the Nordic wind. 

"I know. But still I must await his return Anakol. I could not bear it if he should sail into these waters and I not be here waiting for him." Helga brushed her raven hair from her eyes keeping her gaze forward.

"Lars is a man worthy of the seas but even such a man would not test the sea at this time of the year. He would not endanger his men." Anakol was stern in his words. He did not understand worry. Things were always as they were meant to be and no amount of worry would ever change the outcome. It was indeed a senseless waste of time and emotion.

He watched her with concern. Each time he ventured back he saw how the worry had eaten away at her. Despondent to the world around her. Her eyes darker and her cheeks sunken and not so rosy. It would eat away at her until it devoured her and what gain would it have given her? He cursed under his breath. "Fool of a woman."

A  playful shrill shriek pierced the early morning air as young Thorkin exited the intricately carved door of the longhouse, followed by his younger sibling Bengt. They raced out across the knoll almost tackling the man, tugging and pulling at his cloak while he struggled to keep on  his feet. "Anakol! Anakol!" they called out in unison as they tried to wrestled him to the ground struggling to find his pouch. Helga covered her mouth to hide her smile as the man lost his footing and plummeted to the snow with a thud! She giggled at her sons as they found the carved treasures Anakol had hidden in his leather pouch. He laughed with her and then smiled as the boys ran off toward the longhouse with Anakol in pursuit.

Anakol was a friend of Lars. That made him a friend of hers. But he would have been anyway. He was a kind hearted soul with a gift of the skalds for telling a tale. He came around every now and then, mostly in the winter from somewhere up north always bearing small gifts for the children. No one was certain where he came from and when asked he would simply reply, "It matters not from where I hail or to where I go, it only matters where I am."

Despite his age, he was still agile and nibble in his step. A thin man whose strength was deceiving, well muscled from years of traveling about. His smile was infectious and inviting.
Brushing back her hair from her face, she looked once again to the empty bay below her, then walked to the longhouse following the cheerful sound of play. She solemnly went about her way, gathering items to make the porridge. She offered a small smile to the pile of energy that rolled about on the earthen floor, legs and arms intertwined in a playful struggle between her two sons and the Anakol. She let them play as she gathered wood for the fire and carefully placed the cauldron over the flames.

Picking Thorkin up and raising him high above his head, Anakol exclaimed in a deep and animated voice, "I am the mountain jotun and I shall devour young Thorkin Solig like a piglet!" Little Bengt stood before the man looking up to his older brother held lengthwise between two hands high above Anakol's head.

"Who stands before me like a warrior?" Anakol called out as Thorkin squirmed and squealed to free himself. "It is I! Bengt son of Lars that stands before you Giant and I am here to set free my brother from your evil grasps!"

Without hesitation, Bengt grabbed up a stick from the firewood, and slammed it down on top of the old man's booted foot, then promptly sent the end of it into his knee knocking him down. As he came to his knees, Bengt spun the stick, striking the man in the chin with a thud! Anakol let out a moan though he fought to show any sign that he felt pain.

"Boys! There are chores to do yet before the meal." Helga called out quickly, covering her mouth slightly to hide her smile.
"I am Bengt the Jotunbane! I am slayer of the great mountain giant Anakol!" Bengt cried out as he reluctantly followed his older brother outside to tend the stock. Anakol gathered himself up and limped to the cooking fire and took a seat upon the bench. Helga went about her way trying not to giggle in the man's presence as Anakol rubbed the top of his foot.

"It is good I bring you such entertainment m‘lady. I thought your smile had become as timid as the sun in winter. The boys grow strong Helga."

She paused for a moment from her task. "They do but I find sadness that they grow as such in the absence of their father. Things are changing and I worry of it until I grow sick in the pit of my stomach. Bishops and priests come about wielding more power than the jarl and even at a time the King allows all to believe as they wish, it isn't so here Anakol.
It used to be they levied men to defend our shores, and now they travel across the seas to fight a war that means nothing to us. Mine are not the only children who are without their father for this cause. I worry of it. Neighbors hide in secret of each other. So many men are gone there are none to foster the young, even their own."

He shrugged his shoulders as he unsheathed his knife and began carving a stick almost oblivious to her words, yet she knew he was listening. "The world grows smaller each year. You are right about theses changes that have come. The bishop's men burned the temple in the grove farther north after they ransacked it." He made a couple swift nicks to the stick as the chips fell to the floor.
"I watched with my own eyes as the thick smoke rose from the trees. Even on this journey here I was stopped and questioned. I showed them my cross I wear around my neck and being an old man, I guess I looked harmless enough. I did notice Thrand Ragnorson among them and Kalf Kjarson too, but I doubt they remembered me. It must be a powerful god that can convert men as such as those two."

Helga stirred the porridge. "Have you been in the grove since Maja was killed?"

He continued on with the carving, then paused, " My good woman, I have not. The forest is forbidden lands since that day. Not even the herder of hogs venture into the forest there. It is law."

"That was not what I asked Anakol." Helga looked to him as he refused to bring his eyes to hers. He was a respectable man but she knew him well enough to know when he wasn't truthful. "Well?"

Anakol raised his head as he sheathed his knife. "Secrets are no longer if more than one knows of them. I can not say m'lady where I've been or where I haven't. All I know is from what I have been told it was not a beast that killed Havik's woman that day."

Helga arched her brow. Lars' mother had gone into the forest grove east of the village late last summer to pick flowers that she spied on her walk one day. It was the bishop's escort that found her there, viciously  attacked and killed by what two witnesses said was a bear. No body was ever brought out of the forest for proper burial, a fact that pained Helga. A proper burial was a must but despite her requests of the bishop, she was denied access to the remains. To prevent others from going into the forest, it was made off limits by law, punishable by outlawry or flat out banishment.

" Who says such things Anakol?" Helga inquired of the old man as she came to sit near him, looking him dead in the eye. "Who?"

Though he tried not to look at her, he felt the stare burn like a summer sun upon him. Placing his knife down, he finally looked to her. "It is whispered on the wind if one chooses to listen."

The sound of a horn repeated itself in three short blast, then followed by a long mournful note that lingered heavy on the morning. A sentry's horn! Thorkin stuck his head into the entrance long enough to call out excitedly to his mother and Anakol, "A ship has entered the bay! Hurry! Everyone is going there!"

As fast as his feet could carry him he headed to where everyone was gathering. Bengt raced along behind him calling for him to slow down. Exiting the longhouse, Helga gently touched her amulet, then looked back to Anakol who was quickly putting on his hat. Her expression let him know it was not Lars' sail upon the water. He nodded as he followed her toward the growing crowd. "Perhaps they have word m'lady."

Near the shoreline the bishop stood with his escort around him, among them was Kalf Kjarson. His stance was unmistakable. Broad as an axe handle and a half across the shoulders, yet his height was average. It was the way he held his head at a slight tilt that was easily recognizable from a distance. Behind them stood the members of the monastery dressed in their drab habits. Around them, eager villagers seeking word of loved ones and news of the outside world quickly engulfing them like a raging sea, pushing and shoving to get a close look at the vessel. Anakol stood to the rear as the swarming crowd carried Helga and the boys to the arriving ship.

Helga shaded her eyes as she sought to see who stood near the prow, then she looked back toward where Anakol had stood, brushing her raven hair from her eyes. He was gone. She quickly looked to the sound of her boys pressing their way through the crowd to her. Pensively she scanned her surroundings and saw not a glimpse of the man. She sighed.

As the warship ‘s finely carved keel met the shore, the mob moved back as a slender man near the prow announced himself in a thunderous voice that betrayed his outer appearance. "I am Ove Thorbjornson from Zealand. I have sailed long across Ran's realm, danced with her daughters, and  tacked against a tremendous wind unlike I have ever seen to bring me and my crew this day far from the sounds of war."  Grabbing ahold of a seal-skin rope, he climbed over the gunwale and slid to the ground landing on his feet.

No sooner had he stood on the shore, cries of excitement broke out among the crowd as some of the crew were recognized by their loved ones. A dozen or so were from Lund it's self and another handful from villages nearby. Helga stood on her tip toes hoping to see Lars' face or any familiar face that she knew. There were none among them. None from Lars or Havik's crews.

She felt a tug against her dress. It was Bengt and behind him Thorkin. She glanced sadly to them and shook her head mournfully from side to side in a solemn gesture. In a crowd, she suddenly felt so alone. Her heart sank and she tried to hide the tears as she struggled to break a smile for the children. "Perhaps he will come upon the next vessel to us. Come, let the families greet their loved ones. We have chores to do. You would not want your papa to return and think we neglected our duties in his absence would you?"

Thorkin squeezed his mother tight as Bengt stood near watching the man Kalf arm clasp the newcomer Ove. Bengt watched the slender man close and admired his fine clothing and the way the sword hung from him. He noticed the gold armbands and the amulet that hung around his neck, large and finely detailed, a stag it appeared. As the sun's rays caught it, it glittered like jewels.

A man as such was no doubt a gifted warrior or highly paid champion, a dueler perhaps. Who ever he was and whatever he was, Bengt imagined himself to be the same. As he followed his brother and mother to the longhouse, he danced and played about swinging a wooden stick wildly like a sword in a fight against an imaginary adversary. He paused once near the knoll and glanced back. He was certain his eyes met the eyes of the champion if not for a moment and the man appeared to nod back.

"Bengt! There is no time for play. Mother says a storm is brewing and we need to tend to the stock." Thorkin yelled. "Your dragon can wait!"

"Its not a dragon I fight! Someday I will be like that man Ove, rich and powerful. Did you see his sword, Thorkin ?"