Catan: The Order of Ravens, page 19
“You’re in no position to name conditions! If I torture you, you’ll soon tell me where the bastard’s hiding,” said Thorolf harshly.
Dag nodded as if he’d expected no other reply. Then he drew a dagger and held it to his own throat. “Either you listen to my condition, or you’ll never learn where to find Runar.” To underline his threat, the outlaw drew his dagger lightly across his throat.
Thorolf stared at the blood seeping from the cut. “What’s the condition?” he grumbled reluctantly.
“I want your word that my wife, Nele, and my children may continue to live as free people at the place that has become our home.”
Yngvi decided it was time to intervene. Back then, right after Ansgar’s murder, Yngvi had found some evidence that suggested that it hadn’t, in fact, been Dag and the thralls who’d murdered the farmer but Ansgar’s wife, Hedda. But in the end, he had lacked definitive evidence, so he’d said nothing. He knew that Hedda had passed away since, but her daughter was still alive. Perhaps she’d witnessed it all back then and would be able to confirm Dag’s innocence.
“Thorolf, before you decide, let us speak with Hedda’s daughter, Britta.”
“What use is that supposed to be?” asked Thorolf gruffly, but then changed his mind. “Go on and fetch her,” he commanded Kilian. He probably didn’t wish to spoil things with his brother at their first meeting after all this time.
“Take that silly dagger off your throat already,” Thorolf said to Dag. “I haven’t spoken the final word yet.”
But Dag didn’t seem to trust his former master. Unwaveringly, he continued to hold the blade against his throat. The following silence, interrupted only by the crackling of the torches, emphasized the disconcerting situation.
Kilian’s return came as a relief. Britta was following him hesitantly. Yngvi remembered her well, the shy young girl who had suffered under her father’s brutality. Now Britta was a woman around thirty, her belly bulging under her thin shift in late pregnancy. She wore a sleeveless cloak over her shoulders, and her blonde hair was uncombed, framing a pale, plain face. It seemed Kilian had roused her from her bed.
Yngvi pointed at Dag. “Look, Britta. Do you know this man?”
Her eyes followed the direction of his finger and lingered on Dag’s face for a moment. Then, she shook her head uncertainly.
Yngvi decided to jog her memory. “He’s the man who supposedly killed your father, together with your maid and your two servants. Do you recall that night?”
Britta nodded and looked at Dag again.
“This man,” said Yngvi imploringly, “can expect the death penalty—if he doesn’t execute himself—if you don’t tell us what really happened that night.”
Ansgar’s daughter said nothing, staring at the ground by her feet.
“Dag has a wife and children. Do you truly wish him to pay for a murder he didn’t commit? Do you want your father’s malevolence to reach so far that it even destroys Dag and his family?”
Britta looked up, casting a tortured glance first at Yngvi and then at Thorolf. Then she spoke softly but clearly enough for all to hear, “Edvina struck down Father with a jug when he wouldn’t stop laying into Dag with his belt. Dag was only trying to talk sense into Father, asking him to leave Edvina be. Mother then looked at Father’s head and told Edvina, Dag, and the two other servants that they’d killed him and they had to flee.” She faltered, looking to Yngvi for help.
He stood up and took her hand. “Your mother is dead and cannot be punished for her deed. Tell us what happened next.”
She drew a deep breath before eventually continuing, “Father was still alive, and when he came to, Mother took the jug and . . . There was blood everywhere.”
“She crushed his skull at least three times,” added Yngvi.
Britta nodded. She seemed relieved to finally have spoken the truth out loud. She eyed Thorolf fearfully, as if she carried part of the guilt and felt obliged to justify herself for Hedda’s deed. “I know what Mother did wasn’t right, but she hated Father, who humiliated and tortured her all his life. And she wanted to protect me and my brothers from the beatings he gave us, and . . .” She looked down with shame.
“And she wanted to spare you from having to share his bed any longer,” said Yngvi gently, squeezing her hand.
Tears rose to her eyes. “I was nine winters young the first time it happened . . .”
Asla stood up and folded Britta in her arms. “It’s all right. You don’t have to say any more.”
She signaled silently to Thorolf and Yngvi to stop pressing the young woman and led Britta to the bench, where Carla and Frida moved closer together to make room for the two women.
Leif gave Britta a perturbed look, and Stina said, “I’ll fetch you a cup of thinned mead.” She jumped up and rushed into the house.
Dag, meanwhile, standing somewhat lost between the torches, had lowered his dagger, glancing about incredulously.
Thorolf rose and walked toward him. “Is what Britta told us true?”
“I don’t know what happened after we fled, but Edvina only struck him once, and there was no blood.”
Thorolf placed a hand on his arm. “The gods played a nasty game with you. I’m very sorry.”
“You know I’m always the unlucky one,” replied Dag with a shrug and a vulnerable smile on his lips.
“Sit and drink with us. As a free man. I waive the time you still owe me as a servant. And your wife will not be punished for her deeds, I promise you.”
Yngvi felt like patting his brother on the back. He would have made exactly the same decision. Even if Thorolf had been seduced by power, he obviously hadn’t lost his humanity.
Dag’s expression alternated between doubt and joy, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend yet what Thorolf’s words meant for his future. He sat down on the bench and turned to Yngvi, who was sitting beside him. “I thank you for what you did for me.” His eyes turned to Britta. “And I thank you for speaking about what happened back then.” A shy smile scurried across her lips.
Once they’d drunk together, Thorolf asked Dag to finally tell him Runar’s hiding place.
“He is in the valley we live in. Only people who know about the access usually find it; it was an unfortunate coincidence that Runar discovered us. I’ll lead you and your men there tomorrow,” said Dag.
“How long will it take us?”
“About a day and a half. We only need to follow the Saltmarsh upriver. There is a lake at the end of a gorge, and there lies the entrance to our sanctuary.”
“I believe I know the lake. I can scarcely wait to get my hands on that filthy bastard,” growled Thorolf. “Not only did he murder a young farmer, but also his own father and brother. He’s a man without honor.”
Dag did not appear surprised. “That sounds like him. He destroyed our community within just a few weeks. Ortwin died when he tried to protect his daughter Ethel from Runar, who was chasing after her. Afterward, Ethel fled into the wilderness together with her mother, Edvina, and Luba. They’ll probably die there. Nele, myself, and our children are the last ones remaining, utterly at his mercy.” Clenching his hands into fists, his mouth twisted bitterly. “He wanted to force me to bring back the three women, threatened to rape my eleven-year-old daughter Maida. I only saw one way to protect my family—so I came here.”
“That was a clever idea,” said Thorolf, lifting his cup toward Dag.
“And what about Runar’s mate, Beli?” asked Digur. “Isn’t he also in the valley with you?”
“Yes, he is. Together with his wife, Signe.”
Thorolf spluttered, sending ale flying across the table. “Signe, his wife? You’re joking. Signe is the wife of Sigurd, the murdered farmer. Beli is their servant!”
“Oh,” said Dag with surprise. “The two of them don’t seem like mistress and servant, more like lovers. Runar seems to have something over them. But I’ve never really managed to figure them out.”
“I’ve known Signe since she was a child,” said Asla. “I know she wanted to marry Beli. But her father gave her to Sigurd. And Signe was also the reason why Beli stabbed Sigurd’s brother at the tavern. He called Signe a whore, claiming she was already with child when she wed Sigurd and that she was putting a cuckoo’s babe in their nest.” She cast an accusing glance at Thorolf. “Those are the kinds of misfortunes that happen when fathers decide over their daughters’ heads who they’re to marry.”
Thorolf appeared to have little desire to discuss the tiresome topic with Asla, standing up abruptly. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. I’m going to bed.”
The others still sat together until late, listening to Dag telling them about the hidden valley and the time he’d spent there with his friends. Asla was the next to say goodnight. Yngvi offered to walk her home. With a tired glance at Leif’s heavy cart, she gratefully accepted.
Yngvi handed his nephew a torch to hold and pushed him out into the lane. He said to Asla, who was walking beside him: “Thorolf struck me as agreeable. I almost felt as though he felt sorry for what happened back then.”
“Maybe he does,” she said. “I think he misses you and your wise counsel, even if he’d never admit as much. He also misses his warm relationship with Digur. Digur never forgave him for raising his sword against you, and he only speaks with Thorolf when it’s unavoidable.”
Leif straightened up in his chair and said with a cheeky smile, “At least he’s got you to talk to. Thorolf doesn’t just seek you out when his body aches or ails him, but also when something’s weighing on his mind.” Now he grinned broadly. “Or when my mother, forever meek and obedient, starts to bore him, and he craves a change and a decent row.”
Despite her worries about Jora, Asla couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps he simply needs someone every now and then who speaks frankly.”
“And you’re probably the only person he can bear to hear the truth from,” said Leif.
“You can be very persuasive, Asla,” said Yngvi breathlessly, straining to push the cart up the hill. “Maybe that’s why he’s turned into a better jarl than I’d expected upon my departure.”
“Don’t overestimate my influence,” replied Asla. “Granted, if measured against all those devious, brutal men that used to rule in our old Northland, he is a good jarl. But he’s still a stubborn old dog who refuses to listen whenever I try to discuss the prohibition of abuses and rapes of thralls or wish to talk about strengthening the rights of women.”
Almost inaudibly, Leif added, “Or when it’s about loving his firstborn son, even if he’s a cripple.”
First thing in the morning, Thorolf set off with Dag, Kilian, and three more warriors to capture Runar in the Valley of the Outlaws. Dag proudly carried his old sword on his belt, Thorolf having kept it for him while he’d served his indenture.
After a day and a half of hard walking, they reached the end of the gorge. At the top of the opposite rock face, the waters of the Saltmarsh spilled over the edge and roared into a lake enclosed by tall rock walls. They stopped where the river flowed out of the lake, wide and lazy, to tie a raft to a rock. They had constructed the raft from freshly felled logs earlier.
“I’ve been here before—many years ago, when we were searching for Ortwin, Nele, and Luba,” Thorolf said, remembering. “Back then, I never would have thought there was a way out of this gorge other than the one we took in.”
“I found the entrance by chance,” Dag said. He led Thorolf around a corner in the rock wall and pointed at a rocky island. “It conceals the entrance to the cave. And the access lies mostly under the water. If I hadn’t swum around the island out of curiosity back then, I never would have found the narrow crack above the surface.”
“What are we waiting for?” Thorolf cried impatiently. “Let’s go get the mongrel!”
“Wait!” Dag said intently. “We must proceed with caution. Runar has my family in his control. If we just come marching into the valley, he’ll take my wife or one of our children as a hostage.”
“What do you propose?”
“We wait until nightfall. The sky is clear, and we should be able to keep track of time by the movement of the stars. If Runar hasn’t changed his habit, he’ll withdraw to his hut late at night with a jug of ale. That’s when we should strike.”
They had eaten and drunk well, but as usual, Runar asked for another jug of ale.
Nele made to rise to heed his demand, but Signe gestured for her to remain seated, walking over to the cave herself.
When she returned, she noisily set down two jugs on the table. “Those are the last. From tomorrow, there’s no more ale.”
Runar’s face darkened, and he snarled at Nele, “What? Why haven’t you brewed more?”
Nele looked down fearfully and grasped her son’s hand. He was glaring angrily at Runar. Submissively, she replied, “Because Signe and I help Nils and Beli work the fields, tend the animals, grind our grain, and prepare food. And we should also be spinning and weaving.”
Signe added, “If you don’t want to sit on your lazy backside all day, I’d be happy to teach you how to brew ale.”
Furious, Runar sprang to his feet and punched her in the face.
Beli also jumped up, drew his dagger, and positioned himself in front of her. “Don’t you dare strike Signe again,” he said angrily. “Or our allegiance is finished.”
In response, he received hate-filled laughter. “You know what will happen then, don’t you?”
Beli nodded and sheathed his dagger. “Then you stick to your end of our bargain too.”
Runar sat back down. “I will if you make sure your whore keeps her trap shut.”
Signe clasped her aching cheek with one hand, squeezed Beli’s arm with the other, and whispered to him, “Leave it be.”
Nele took Maida by the hand and looked at Nils. “Come, it’s time for us to go to bed.”
Signe thought that Nele had probably aimed for a cheerful, optimistic tone, but she’d failed miserably. Her profound fear for her two oldest children was obvious. She’d sent the younger children to bed a while ago.
“You stay!” ordered Runar. “Or do you not feel at ease in my company?” He looked at Nele in a way that sent a cold shudder down Signe’s spine, even if she didn’t have children to worry about.
Nele nodded eagerly. “We do, we do, it’s only that the children and I are tired from work. Also, I want to rise early tomorrow morning to mix up a fresh batch of mash for ale.”
Ignoring her, Runar began telling his story about the two smiths Brokkr and Sindri. Apparently, the dwarf brothers visited him one night and demanded that he forge a ring, a hammer, and a sword by sunrise. If he did not succeed, he would not live to see the next day. “Impossible, right?” he shouted into the night in his attention-seeking manner. Then he told them how he managed to trick the dwarfs and save his life.
Like the others, Signe already knew the story and failed to suppress a yawn. Nele alone pretended to listen attentively, feigning admiration here and there, even asking a question once, which pleased Runar, who took it as an opportunity to expand his tale by a dramatic part which no one had heard before and which he’d obviously just invented.
Signe noted, with concern, that Runar’s eye kept returning to Maida, lingering on the still childlike figure of the dark-haired girl. Signe had made a promise to Dag to protect his daughter. Stealthily, she felt for her knife on her belt to make sure it was there.
Runar had reached the end of his tale and yawned heartily. “Time for bed,” he announced, standing up and holding out a hand in Maida’s direction. “Come, darling. Tonight you will warm my bed.”
Nele jumped up and cried, “You can’t! You promised Dag you wouldn’t touch Maida until he gets back. The five days aren’t over yet.”
Runar gave an ugly laugh. “Who says I’ll touch her? But maybe I’ll teach Maida how she has to touch a man to bring him the greatest pleasure. I believe she’d like it.”
Nils moved in front of his sister protectively, clenching his fists. It was clear that he was afraid of the violent and much stronger man, yet his voice was firm when he demanded, “Leave her alone!”
Runar, unimpressed, grabbed the slender boy by his collar and punched him with his fist. Nele and Maida screamed out with panic when Nils went down and remained on the ground, unmoving.
Nele dropped to her knees and made sure her son wasn’t seriously hurt.
Desperately, she cried out, “Leave Maida be, and take me into your hut! I know how to bring pleasure to a man. That way, you keep your word, and your honor remains intact.”
“You?” asked Runar, surprised. “You’re not at all my type, with your blonde hair and your pale skin. Although . . .” He grinned. “I don’t mind your ample body.”
Resignedly, Nele followed Runar to his hut.
“I like these people, and I feel bad about what Runar’s doing to them,” whispered Signe when she lay beside Beli later. “Runar is stealing their future, and with that, he is also destroying ours.”
“I know,” said Beli. “I used to think he was just a rough sort of a fellow that I could somehow get along with. But then he killed Sigurd. If your life hadn’t been in danger, I never would have followed him.”
“He’s a monster,” she hissed softly. “Evil in the shape of a man. The Christians would call him a devil. Who else would be capable of murdering their own father and brother?”
“He assured me that it happened in the course of a struggle. Apparently, they caught him trying to steal the gold that he deemed he was owed as his inheritance from his father’s chest.”
“And you believe him? Runar is a liar! He bends the truth to suit his needs.” Signe shook his arm. “Things can’t go on this way, Beli. We’ve got to do something. First, you need to break off your allegiance to him and band together with Dag.”
“I would dearly like to, but your life is the pawn for my loyalty to him. If I break my oath, he’ll kill you. You know he will. Dag and me won’t be able to watch you day and night—besides, he has a sword and knows how to use it.”
