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  RUNES OF FATE

  LENA NORTH

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Lena North

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover design: Copyright © 2016 by Flat-out Publishing.

  Illustration: Copyright © 2016 by Lena North

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Discover other titles by Lena North:

  The Dreughan series:

  Courage

  Reason

  Joy

  47 Sweet Street

  To my Norse ancestors.

  What was is always a part of what is.

  I hope my take on what your life was like won't have y'all rolling in your graves... though, honestly? If you wanted us to know more, then you should have written it down.

  Thanks

  As always, there's a lot of people to give thanks to, for editing, beta-reading, emptying the dishwasher, giving input on just about everything, putting up with me, and cheering me on in general.

  In no particular order, other than alphabetical - extra special hugs and kisses from me to Amanda, Audrey, Filippa, Lars, Nina, Peter, Rebecka, Susanne & Tina.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Thanks

  Norse terminology

  Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Read more by Lena North - Courage

  Read more by Lena North - 47 Sweet Street

  Norse terminology

  Below I've briefly explained a few key concepts, used in the novel. I am, however, no expert on Norse history. There are tons of other books and web-sites out there that describes the subject in a more academic and factual manner. I have read a number of them and used some of their /sometimes conflicting/ content in this story. Mostly, it's my own interpretation of what life was like, how they felt, thought and acted.

  Yggdrasil: A great ash tree that held together earth, heaven, and hell by its roots and branches in Norse mythology.

  Runes: Characters in the alphabets used in Norse times.

  Norns: Female beings who, according to Norse mythology, ruled the destiny of gods and men, spinning the threads of fate at the roots of Yggdrasil. The runes of fate were then carved into the roots of the tree.

  Jarl: A Norse chieftain. The Jarls often managed the faith on behalf of society, in particular in smaller villages. The Jarl's were often thought to have a special relationship with the gods.

  Freeman: Includes all freeborn people such as farmers, craftsmen, landowners, and others.

  Bondsman: A thrall who had purchased his own freedom. Bondsmen had ties of obligation to the former owner so they had to get their master's approval for marriage, moving residence, etc.

  Thrall: Slaves, often captured in raids. Freemen could become thralls when committing a crime, commonly due to debt. The children of thralls were automatically thralls too. Thralls had no rights, and their living conditions were variable, depending on the master.

  Hundred: A geographical area of responsibility or administration, normally part of a larger region.

  Thing: The assembly of the free men of a country, province or a hundred where disputes were solved and political decisions were made. The place for the thing was often also the place for public religious rites and for commerce.

  Faering: A wooden boat type with two pairs of oars, pointed at both ends.

  Odin: Ruler of the Æsir, the Norse gods. Odin was a god of war and death, a sky god as well as the god of wisdom and poetry. Odin sacrificed one of his eyes to drink from the fountain of wisdom.

  Hel: A giantess and goddess in Norse mythology who ruled over the underworld where the dead dwell. To 'go to Hel' is to die.

  Thor: The god of thunder and the ideal toward which the human warriors aspired. When Thor rode across the sky thunder erupted and lightning came from his hammer, Mjölnir, as he slayed giants.

  Valhalla: The hall where Odin houses the dead whom he deemed worthy of residing with him.

  Niflheim: the cold, dark, misty world of the dead, ruled by the goddess Hel.

  Characters

  Sigtrudr (Sissa) [SIG-tru-dər]: Thrall girl, and the one telling the story.

  Raudulf [ROW-dulf]: Sissa's father.

  Gudrun [GOO-drun]: Sissa's mother.

  Lif [LEEF]: Sissa's sister, sold and moved to another village.

  Ulf [OOLF]: Sissa's brother.

  Torbiorn (Torbi) [TOOR-byərn]: Sissa's brother.

  Ingolf [ING-golf]: Jarl, leader of the village and also the one in contact with the gods.

  Torunn [TO-run]: Jarl Ingolf's first wife and Heidrun's mother. Dead.

  Freyja [FREY-ə]: Jarl Ingolf's second wife, raised as a foster child by Jarl Ingolf and Torunn.

  Heidrun [HAY-drun]: Jarl Ingolf and Torunn's only child.

  Stein [STEYN]: Heidrun's betrothed. Comes from a powerful family living some distance away.

  Einarr [EY-nahr]: Jarl Ingolf's younger brother.

  Astrid [AHSS-trid]: Einarr's wife and Josteinn's mother.

  Josteinn (Joss) [YOSS-teyn]: Einarr and Astrid's only child.

  Finnr (Fin) [FIN-ər]: Sissa's best friend. Finnr's mother was pregnant when she was captured during raids and she died giving birth to him.

  Morag (Mags), Catriona and Agnes (Nessa): Slave girls. Captured previous summer in raids to the Northern Isles.

  Disa [DEE-sə]: Old thrall who lived with the Jarl's family and helped raise Freyja.

  Hjalvor [YALL-vohr] & Sigurd [SEE-gurd]: Two of Jarl Ingolf's warriors.

  Chapter One

  Sacrificed

  This was not a good day.

  Any other day this would have been because of heavy snow, or getting boiled cabbage for dinner. Petty little problems that any other day would have seemed huge.

  But this was the day I would be sacrificed to the gods.

  Sacrificed, as in killed.

  So this was a genuinely bad day, at least if you were called Sigtrudr Raudulfsdatter, which unfortunately I was.

  I'd not volunteered for the honor of being sacrificed, of course, and I had not seen it coming. I'd lived my whole life in the same village and during all that time we'd sacrificed goats, sheep, and a few cows when things were really miserable, but there had been no human sacrifices, ever. There had been rumors about it. People were saying that this was the old way or that it was still done at the bigger gatherings, far away, but we had not believed it and never even imagined it would happen in our village.

  There hadn't been
anything unusual happening to indicate that things were about to turn bad, and people traveled through the snow from farms around the village for the midwinter sacrifice, just like they did every year. All houses were filled to the rafters with guests, food had been prepared for weeks, and everyone had been looking forward to the big feast that would go on for days after the annual sacrifice to our gods. The plan had been to offer a horse in addition to the usual pigs and goats to get the good graces of the gods back. We really needed for the gods to forgive whatever it was that we'd done to displease them. The last few years had been hard, with too much rain one year and too little another, so our crops had barely been enough to feed us all. Disease struck the village in the last winters as well, taking several of the elderly as well as a few young children.

  On top of it all, our warriors had come back from this summer's raids with almost empty ships. Wherever they'd been, others had already plundered the churches, or else the monks had managed to hide their treasures, so the men returned without gold and with very little loot. They brought slaves back with them, though. I'd started to laugh when I heard, so hard that I had to walk away from the gathering by the ships.

  Our foolish warriors had decided that when they couldn't find any loot they would instead bring back three new mouths to feed, something I did not think was smart at all. They hadn't even brought back three strong men that could work the land or in the forest. No, they brought back three women. One of them had seemed sturdy enough, but the other two were dainty and extremely pretty. I wasn't naive, so I knew exactly why they brought the women. I just didn't think it was a good idea for our warriors to let their brains slide down below their belts, and let them stay there when everyone was starving.

  Then the day before the sacrifice, our Jarl suddenly gathered everyone to announce that we had to please the gods exceptionally well this midwinter. We'd all been nodding enthusiastically, understanding that this would help us. He then explained that to get back in the gods' good graces we had to sacrifice one of our own, and it took a while for us all to understand what he meant. A wave of quiet murmurs swept through the gathering, but no one dared to protest because Jarl Ingolf was not only our leader, he was also the one who would know how we could please the gods. He continued to explain that we would sacrifice the youngest offspring in the thrall family who had the most children. There was silence then, we all stood as frozen, and slowly heads started to turn my way. As I realized what his words meant, my thoughts went from total confusion into a shocked numbness.

  Our village was not tiny, but it wasn’t big either. It was just an ordinary kind of village with the usual Jarl and his family, some warriors and a lot of peasants - and then there was us. The thralls. We weren't slaves, they said, but we weren't free. I could never understand just exactly the difference, and it didn't matter anyway because the gods decided on our fates, also mine. I was a thrall, and that was that. My parents had four children, which was more than any other family among the thralls. Our lives were harsh, and children often died at birth or very young so what could be expected was for one or two making it into adulthood. My parents were strong, silent and hardworking. They had passed on their strength to my siblings and me, and we'd always been grateful for it.

  At that moment I cursed it, though, because being the youngest daughter in my family had gotten me bound, gagged and in a locked shed, waiting for my death.

  I honor the gods, of course, they are the rulers of all things in our world, and if they demand a sacrifice, then we should give it to them. Part of why they would strap me to an altar, slit my throat, and then hang my body in a grove just outside the village, was about asking the gods to give us enough crops to feed everyone, and to make sure no more disease came to our village. I would not have minded so much if this had been what it was all about. After all, someone had to be sacrificed and if the runes of fate spelled out that it should be me then so be it. I didn’t like it at all, but I couldn't see what to do about it.

  I disliked the part that was about ensuring success for our warriors in their raids because any wealth they brought back would go to the Jarl and, compared to the rest of us, he had plenty already.

  The part that was about bringing fertility to the Jarls wife made me decidedly unhappy. I did not want to die to make sure that he could put a baby in the belly of what likely was the dumbest woman in the village.

  My mind had become a bit fuzzy, and it felt like my head was spinning slowly. I wondered if my mother put something in my last meal to make this easier for me. It wasn’t allowed, and it was a risk I hadn’t expected her to take, but I was grateful. The chanting from the area around the hastily erected altar was increasing in strength, and I'd promised myself that I would be strong. I would hold my head up. Since I had no choice, I might as well finish my life with dignity. That had been my intention.

  As it turned out, this was easy to plan, but when it actually happened, I was scared out of my mind. I sat with my back pressed against the wall and my knees bent so I could lean my forehead on them. I pulled my arms up so that they covered my ears, whimpered softly and refused to look at the hood they would put over my head before bringing me out to the altar. Then all sounds outside stilled.

  It was time.

  I was silent as well at first because I couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, but then I whimpered again. Long, low moans of fear pushed out through my clenched teeth, and I could feel the dirt floor beneath me slowly getting wet. That had to be the most humiliating moment of my life, I thought, although I knew that the worst had yet to come.

  In my head, I suddenly heard the echo of a voice.

  "Sissy-Pissy…"

  Memories from my childhood crashed in on me, and I remembered how Freyja had pulled my hair, taunted me about my clothes, and told everyone I wet myself every night. Freyja, the daughter of a landowner in a nearby village, fostered in the Jarls family since she was nine, and married to the Jarl since his first wife passed away two years ago. Beautiful, spoiled and so dumb she made the cows in the meadows seem clever.

  "Go away Free…"

  Another memory came to me. It felt like my soul shattered into a million small pieces when I remembered Finnr, the only one who had seemed to know how to handle Freyja, and the one who always protected the thrall children from her. My best friend, and the boy I always thought I'd end up building my life with. Then two years ago, just before Freyja married the Jarl, Finnr had suddenly been gone. Dead or sold some said, given his freedom others said. I never bothered to figure out what happened, Finnr was gone, and I was devastated.

  Somehow, the memory of Fin cleared my head. Suddenly I wanted to make him proud of me, of how I held myself up, so I tilted forward and with some effort, I got to my hands and knees. Then I crawled away from the wall and the mess I'd made. I grabbed the hood, got up on my feet, raised my head and waited for them to come. I was shivering, and my belly clenched with fear, but I held my head high, and my back was so straight it felt like it would snap in the middle. I would show them courage, I thought. I would show them dignity.

  Time passed slowly, and I counted my breaths at the same time as I counted the stitches in the hood with my fingers. One, two, three... forty-five... eighty-nine...

  Why weren’t they coming?

  I stumbled a little, my head was swaying from side to side, and I braced myself when I heard footsteps passing outside, except I must have been wrong because then there was only silence.

  The chanting started up again, louder, faster, and more insistent, and it was picking up speed. I heard the words clearly then and opened my eyes. What were they doing? Were they performing the sacrifice without me? How could they, when I was the main attraction? That thought made me feel like giggling, and I wondered again what Mother had put in my meal.

  It all felt unreal, like it wasn't actually happening, and then the whole shed started spinning. Darkness closed in from the sides until all I could see were tiny yellow dots swirling in front of me.
When I fell to the ground, I heard a long drawn out cry. Someone was calling my name. Not my full name, the short name that my friends and family used.

  "Sissa..."

  It was a roar, full of pain and anger, and I recognized the voice.

  It was Josteinn.

  When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I had dirt in my mouth.

  I stayed sprawled out on my side, keeping my eyes closed but listening carefully because I'd been told that if the gods accepted our sacrifice, I would be led by Odin himself to celebrate in the great halls of Valhalla. If our sacrifice had not been enough for them, then he would take me to the cold land of the dead with the endless dark nights, the dreaded Niflheim. I was cold, though not frozen to the core, and no festivities were going on that I could hear so I seemed to be in neither of those places.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked around without moving. I was still in the shed, and a bright mid-morning light was filtering in through cracks in the walls. Right in front of me I could see the cloth Freyja had ordered my mother to stitch into a hood. It lay there in a small crumpled pile, and the pale yellow fabric had fallen in soft folds. For a long time, it all seemed so bizarre, and I thought that perhaps I was dreaming. I knew I wasn't when I felt pain in my shoulder from the hard dirt floor, so I raised my head to whisper a hoarse, "Thank you."

  I didn't know who to give thanks to, but I was alive and thankful, so I said it anyway. Maybe my small act of bravery made the Norns carve new runes in the tree of life, giving me another fate. Maybe I was just lucky somehow. At that moment, I didn't particularly care.

  I wondered if the Jarl had changed his mind and sacrificed his horse instead, as he originally planned. If he had, we would have to brace ourselves for another year of hardship because the poor animal was old as dirt and would probably not make the gods all that happy.