2) Wanderer

Thorgrim now walks alone, cast out of his village. Death awaits, when a Vagrant appears.

I ran along road north out of the village. It started as a road but within a few miles I had dwindled to a walk, and it had dwindled to a path. Too few people walked into the mountains to sustain a larger track. In hindsight I chose the most obvious direction, and the first one the Earl's men would follow, but I also chose the most logical direction for me. I couldn't go to some other village. They'd turn me out, too, just like my own father had.

In a way I hurried. With death at my heals, of course I did. On the other hand, I could only hurry so much because I only cared so much. My past had been erased. At best I faced an uncertain future. All roads ultimately led to death sooner or later, and for me most seemed to lead there sooner. Why rush to the inevitable?

As I walked, I pondered the cruel fate The Norns had woven for me. That morning, I awoke as the son of a prosperous farmer, training to serve the lord. I looked forward to making my fortune in his service, then coming back to the farm and marrying the girl I loved. Life was as simple as sitting by a riverbank, idly fishing on a frosty autumn afternoon. I wanted nothing more out of life than what lay before me. Few young men my age could be as content. Perhaps that's why The Norns chose to weave such chaos. Now, mere hours later, a man lay dead at my hand, I am an outsider, and I have neither a home nor or a love. Even my own father has disowned me. I don't even know where I'll sleep tonight. Long term? That's even murkier.

I can't light a fire - the Earl's men would see it. It will take them time to get organized, but on the other hand they'll have horses. And motivation. The man I killed was one of them. The sun would set in an hour or two and I needed to have a camp - a hidden camp - set up by then. Yet this close to the village there wasn't any secret place that the Earl's men wouldn't know about.

Then a man emerged. I have no idea where he came from or how he appeared without warning. Maybe The Gods had a hand in it? He appeared disheveled. In the village we would have called him a vagrant, so in my mind that's how I identified him. The Vagrant.

"You probably shouldn't stay on this path," he said.

No kidding.

"I look at you and see a boy on the run. Be at peace, Wanderer. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Others have left the paths of man before you, and others will again."

I just looked, amazed that he could have such a window into my mind after one glance.

"It is going to snow soon. You need to be off this path before the past you run from catches you."

I sniffed the air and looked up. He was right. I'd been so preoccupied I hadn't noticed the weather. Heavens Candle barely peeked through the thick clouds. It was yet early in the year for snow, but snow is never impossible in the North Lands.

"I know a place, Wanderer, not far from here, which no one else knows about. It will serve for tonight."

"Why?"

"Would you rather meet your troubles on the path?"

"That's not what I mean. I mean, why help me?"

"The world isn't always a fair place, Wanderer, and sometimes The Fates can be cruel. But sometimes the thread they weave is a lifeline. You carry a man's sword, but are you really ready to live by it? And equally important, are you willing to die by it?"

Again I stared.

"Don't answer. There's no need. We both already know the answer. So leave the path of man and walk the wild woods with me while The Fates decide what to cast your way next."

I had no argument. He held no obvious weapons and made no threatening movements. If he wanted the sword, or even the axe for that matter, he'd have to fight me for it. He might win but I'd make sure the victory rang hollow. Aside from those I had my seax in a sheath hanging crosswise just below my belly and I had a small knife, just larger than my fist, on a strip of leather hanging around my neck and concealed by my tunic. If he found that, there was a small, sharpened pick in my pack that I ate with. If I could skewer meat with it, I could skewer a man. It wouldn't be the first. Týr's balls, it wouldn't be the first today. Yet something, some feeling, told me I didn't need to worry. That this vagrant meant no harm. After all, if he'd wanted to harm me, he could have done so without the conversation.

I followed him, East, away from the path and towards the mountains.

No sooner had I started than the snow began to fall. It turned the earth to mud at first, making signs of our passing obvious. Yet as the sun lowered and the day got cooler, the earth began to harden, and the snow began to cling. I worried about footprints but not for long. The snow began to fill them in almost before the thought had formed. The tranquil autumn day had turned into an early season blizzard. Still The Vagrant walked. We continued to head generally northeast as we plunged deeper and deeper into the woods and up into the hills. The wind began to howl in the treetops. By now, despite being less than a days walk from my own village, I'd lost any sense of location. It might as well be Serkland for all I could recognize. Still, we walked. Yet as we walked, the hope in my heart began to grow. Maybe he would lead me to a place where I could make a new life?

The sun showed barely a sliver as we reached a small clearing on the side of the hill. On the far side of the clearly lay an enormous rock, easily dwarfing even The Earl's longhouse. The Vagrant headed for a neatly concealed cleft in the boulder. I could easily have walked past and never noticed it. At only two or three paces away did I finally recognize the opening.

"We are safe here for tonight but be ready to leave at dawn."

We were safe. I had concerns still about the Earl's men, but on horses in the snow in a forest with no path, I'd take my chances. At least in the cave we found respite from the wind and the snow. I reached for my flint, but The Vagrant stopped me.

"No fire tonight."

I didn't argue. Inside the cleft, the hole opened up into a small chamber. Two could sleep comfortably, but no more. I pulled my wool blanket from my pack and made myself warm. Spruce boughs had been cut down and piled in the little area. They had turned brown, but they would cushion the ground and keep the cold earth from seeping into our bodies. I tore a hunk off a loaf of bread - at least my father had provided that much - and ate in silence. As I ate, I realized how exhausted, both physically and mentally, I had become. We made no attempt at conversation. Instead, I drifted off to sleep.

Alas, the sleep did not prove restful. Multiple times, The Vagrant awakened me, for I had been screaming. My dreams consisted of blood and gore. I saw the open throat I'd pierced, blood spewing, then fountaining in a geyser, enough blood to fill a lake. It soaked me, hot and sticky. The jaw moved, but no sound came forth. The eyes joined in the accusation as well, a symphony (anachronism!) of silent condemnation. In these horrible dreams this death lay not only in the past, but also in my future. My life had been reduced to no life at all, just the bringer of ruin.

When morning finally arrived, I found that The Vagrant had disappeared. Outside the rock, the snow continued to fall. With a shiver, I come to the sudden realization that I am now lost in the woods, with no idea how to find any path out. Where I had The Vagrant, now I have no one. I'm just an outlaw murderer on the run and left to die alone and forsaken. Was my fate to freeze to death here, forgotten by all? I didn't need food, but I ate a nervous handful of hazelnuts from my pack. Then another. While I ate, I pondered my options. I couldn't stay here through the winter. Yet I didn't have anywhere else to go, either. Somehow, I'd allowed myself to be at the utter mercy of The Vagrant. That had been a foolish mistake and now I might die from it. Somehow, I found myself very much not wanting to die. I didn't yet care so much about living, yet dying somehow seemed like the worse option.

I was still mulling my inevitable death when The Vagrant returned. I tried to hide my immense relief. He carried a handful of snares and two large hares. They'd already been dispatched, gutted, dressed, and carcasses wrapped up in their furs.

"Good. You're up," he said, "Let's go."

I now understood his disappearance, and his appearance the previous day in the first place. He'd been trapping in the region. No trapper would ever leave their traps behind. Even more importantly, no trapper would ever risk wasting an animal's life by having it get caught in an abandoned trap. Some women didn't like the fact that we had to kill the animal in order to eat it. It made them squeamish to think about that. Yet anyone who'd ever seen a wolf or a bear take down a reindeer knew it was a messy, terrifying business. No hunter took a life lightly. It was too precious. Yet I'd taken life lightly just the prior day, and now a fresh wave of guilt consumed me.

The Vagrant left the rock shelter and almost immediately put his pack down in the clearing. Outside, the snow came up above my ankles, almost to my calves. The Vagrant made a snowball and started rolling it in the snow along the edge of the rock. He motioned for me to do the same. When the snowballs grew about as big around as my waist, he placed his in the doorway and stacked mine on top of his. Because the snow we'd removed came from the edge of the rock, it seemed as if that area had been protected by wind and the snow had simply never landed there. It didn't look disturbed. We made two more and stacked them on top of the first. The snow concealing the door now extended above a man's head. We took loose snow and smeared it into the cracks to make the snow wall look natural, all the while being careful to take only from along the boulder edge. Then we hoisted our packs and left. No one would see this shelter until spring.

For two weeks, we walked. All day, every day. Over the mountains, then down the other side. Twice we didn't descend into the next valley, as The Vagrant knew of a village there. My belly shrunk and my legs grew hard from the walk. But I was young and on the run, and had no choice. Surely The Earl's men had given up the chase by now. Our evenings were spent in whatever makeshift camps we could find. Often, we'd simply climb under the lowest boughs of a spruce tree. It provided an escape from the wind, if nothing else.

Finally, we climbed yet another ridge. Across the other side I could see a large lake nestled in a valley. The lake probably meant civilization. The Vagrant turned and walked along the ridge rather than heading down. I soon understood why. Only a few hundred paces from the pass, he went into a cave. Much like the cleft in the valley where we'd spent the first night, the entrance did not face out, but rather to the side. Someone had piled rocks in front of it to narrow the opening and provide even more concealment. Whoever did it had taken great care to select rocks that were the same shades of brown and grey as the natural cave wall. Even from a short distance, they appeared natural. The Earl's men could search from Helluland to Miklagård and never find me.

On the inside, the cave had been made into a home. Animal skins lined the walls, a fire box and chimney had been built, and it even contained some rudimentary furniture. The Vagrant made himself at home and motioned for me to do the same. A store of seasoned wood had already been cut and stacked, and in short order he had a fire lit. Despite making the fire larger than necessary, it seemed an eternity before the warmth reached beyond my skin and into my body. I then realized just how exhausted and run down I'd become.

He sent me outside to grab some spruce needles to make tea. We even had a little bit of honey to sweeten it. When I stepped outside and found the nearest spruce, I noticed a familiar raven, settling in on a bough. As I approached the tree he flew off a distance but kept his eye on the cave. I grabbed a fistful of needles and returned to the warmth. As I entered the cave, I noticed the raven return to his perch outside the cave.

"We'll stay here for the winter," The Vagrant announced. I had no say, but I was content to be done running away for now. The nightmares still came, but not every night. On the other nights, I still dreamed of Emma. And of vengeance.

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