Runestone Page 3

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Thora. ‘Father and my brothers are the ones who do the runes.’

  ‘But you must know some of them!’ Oddo exclaimed.

  As long as he could remember, Oddo had been forced to keep his strange powers hidden. Here at last was someone who could show him how to use them.

  ‘Let me put them away,’ said Thora, pushing his hands aside, and counting the stones as she dropped them into the pouch: ‘. . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen . . .’

  ‘Could a runestone make my father like me better?’ asked Oddo.

  ‘Of course,’ said Thora. ‘People ask for love runes all the time.’

  ‘Then you’ve got to show me how to make that one!’

  ‘I told you,’ sighed Thora, ‘I don’t know how to do runes. But if you want, maybe I can find out a bit. Now shush, I’m trying to count. Twenty, twenty-one . . .’

  ‘Can you find out quickly?’ Oddo persisted.

  ‘. . . twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four!’ Thora dropped the last runestone into the pouch and stood up. She looked around.

  ‘When I’ve got something to tell you, I’ll leave a runestone there,’ she said, pointing to a hollow in an ancient elm tree.

  ‘All right,’ said Oddo.‘Don’t take too long, will you?’ But he was talking to Thora’s back. She was already running towards her house.

  6

  Not so easy

  ‘Hey, Thora, what’s for breakfast?’

  Little hands were patting Thora’s cheeks. Blearily, Thora opened her eyes. Ketil’s face was so close to hers, all she could see were his freckles and his wide blue eyes. Harald came galloping across the room and threw himself against her.

  ‘Come on, Thora, we’re all starving!’

  Thora groaned. Cooking was one of the things her family couldn’t do by spellwork and they didn’t think about food until they were starving. Thora was the only one in the family who had any housekeeping sense. She sat up and stared around the room at all the hopeful, hungry faces. She realised she’d forgotten to put the oats on to soak before going out the night before. Of course, nobody else had thought to do it, so now there’d be no porridge for breakfast.

  ‘I’ll make some flat bread,’ sighed Thora.

  But when she got up, she saw the flour bowl was half empty. She scooped a few handfuls of barley grains out of a sack and tipped them into the hand mill.

  ‘Make yourself useful, Arni.’ She pointed to the mill.

  ‘That’s girls’ work,’ growled Arni, as he knelt down and began to turn the handle. Very slowly.

  Thora watched her older brother, her hands on her hips. ‘You’ll have to put a bit more effort into it if you want to eat today!’ she said.

  Pulling on her shoes, she stomped outside. It was cool inside the thick stone walls of the storehouse, where she kept the provisions neatly arranged. On the shelves were sacks of barley and oats, a dish of yellow butter, and a hunk of crumbly cheese – all payments from neighbouring farmers for spells and runestones. Smelly salted fish hung on hooks and white meat fat glistened in a bucket. There weren’t many vegetables or fruit, just a few wild onions, strands of seaweed and yellow cloudberries. As usual, Thora thought with longing how handy it would be to have her own vegetable garden. If only she were allowed to dig!

  In a short while, the family was sitting down to a breakfast of crisp, fried bread. They were just finishing when the door hangings swung apart to reveal a squat woman with layers of wobbly chins and coiled grey hair.

  ‘Gyda!’ cried Granny, standing up with a loud crackle of bones. ‘What brings you here?’

  The old midwife waddled into the room.

  ‘Well, I don’t get out much these days,’ she wheezed. ‘But I’ve come to see how my children have grown!’ She lowered herself onto a seat. ‘And to ask Finnhilda to tell my future.’

  Thora’s mother bent over her wooden chest, lifted out a bundle wrapped in soft fox furs and headed for the table. Thora, embarrassed by the mess, tried to brush away some breadcrumbs.

  ‘You’re Thora, aren’t you?’ said Gyda, beaming up at her and patting her face. ‘I remember when you were born. You’ve still got the same chubby cheeks. What a good housekeeper you’ve turned out to be. You must be such a help for your mother!’

  ‘A help!’ thought Thora. A picture flashed into her mind of Finnhilda picking seagull bones out of her stew and tossing them over her shoulder onto the floor.

  Finnhilda laid her bundle on the table and peeled back the covering to reveal a small silver bowl, her fortune-telling bowl.

  ‘I need fresh water and a good light,’ she announced.

  Runolf pulled one of the spiked iron lamp holders out of the floor and shifted it closer to the table. Edith hurried outside to fetch a bucket of water.

  As everyone bustled around, the midwife beckoned Thora to lean close, and spoke in a low, husky voice, ‘What about your spellwork, dear? Can you manage that?’

  Thora stared at her anxious face. Why was she asking such a strange question? Thora didn’t know how to answer. She turned her head away and her eyes fell on the dish of melting butter.

  ‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘I’d better put that back in the storehouse,’ and she reached for the dish.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Finnhilda, as she took her seat at the table. ‘In fact, all of you can go outside now and leave us in peace.’

  At the doorway, Thora glanced back. The silver bowl was filled to the brim with water and her mother was staring into it, muttering. Gyda had completely forgotten about Thora. She was leaning forward, listening anxiously to Finnhilda.

  Thora shrugged. ‘Funny old woman,’ she thought.

  Outdoors, Arni scuffed at the ground, found a flat stone, and squatted down to scratch at a rune. Thora knelt down beside him.

  ‘What’s it for?’ she asked, thinking of Oddo.

  Arni was about to answer when Astrid butted in.

  ‘Don’t tell her, Arni. It’s none of her business. Girls aren’t allowed to know runes.’

  Thora sighed; this was not going to be easy.

  7

  The first of May

  Oddo walked up and down the furrows, head bowed, back aching. He was searching for any weeds cheeky enough to take root in his father’s perfect acres. Every now and then he knelt down and plucked a green tuft out of the ground, hoping desperately he wasn’t removing any plants that were supposed to be there!

  Gradually he became aware of distant voices singing, and a rumbling in the ground. He looked up to see a flower-decked cart approaching, surrounded by a crowd of chanting people. One man in a long white robe left the group and strode over to Oddo.

  He lifted his arm and showered flower petals on Oddo’s head.

  ‘Blessings on you!’ he announced.

  There was the sound of pounding feet and Oddo heard his father’s familiar angry bellow.

  ‘Get away from here!’ Bolverk trumpeted. ‘Get off my land. Don’t foul our ears with your blethering!’

  Oddo cringed with embarrassment and looked at the man apologetically. The man bowed.

  ‘We wish you a good harvest,’ he said.

  The crowd moved off, heading for the next farm.

  ‘Fools!’ said Bolverk,‘thinking songs and magic bring a good harvest. It’s plain hard work that does it!’

  Oddo supposed his father was right, but life could be very dreary with just plain hard work.

  ‘When those silly flower-shakers turn up, it’s a sign that summer’s started,’ his father went on. ‘Time to get the beasts out of the barns and back to the pastures. Time to make everything ready for market.’

  Oddo’s heart sank. He hated the frantic busy weeks that led up to the market trip each year. Bolverk would become even grumpier than usual as he scrambled to get extra chores done on top of the usual farm work. All the sheep had to be shorn. The boat that had been laid up all winter had to be checked for leaks and patched. Fish had to be salted. Worst of all was collecting
the seabird eggs. Eggs and feathers were always popular at the market, but climbing the cliffs to get them was a job Bolverk hated. It always put him in a bad mood.

  Summer was a time of long hard days and little sleep. Bolverk believed in making use of every hour of daylight, and at this time of year those hours seemed never-ending.

  ‘You can lie abed all you like in winter!’ Bolverk would say.

  But of course that wasn’t true. Even in winter he found plenty of chores for his family to do.

  That night, as soon as darkness fell, Oddo, Sigrid and Bolverk dropped wearily into bed. There was no one to witness the strange ceremony taking place in the wood.

  Thora’s whole family was gathered round a large bonfire. A full moon hung in the sky. Granny lifted a creaking arm and tossed three offerings onto the fire.

  ‘There’s a crab apple for love,’ she said.‘Rowan leaves to drive out the evil spirits. And a pine cone for luck.’

  The flames flared and crackled. Finnhilda swayed. Her feather cloak glimmered in the firelight and her long fair hair rippled down her back. She gave a low, twanging strum on her lute, and they all began to sing. The first notes were deep and slow like the mooing of cattle, but they rose quickly, higher and faster, till the air was filled with wild shrieks that drowned the music of the lute. Everyone started to stamp their feet and wave their arms. Runolf plucked a burning brand from the fire and whirled it in a great arc about his head.

  ‘The dark half of the year has ended!’ he cried. ‘The time of warmth and light has returned!’

  He ran up and leapt towards the fire. ‘Follow me, for health, wealth and love!’

  For a moment his tall figure was swallowed up by the golden light. Then he reappeared, bursting through the flames. One by one, each member of the family followed him over the fire, the younger children carried by their elders.

  ‘Come on, Thora, it’s your turn.’

  Astrid sprang to her sister’s side and tugged at her arm, but Thora shook her head. She was wearing a new robe she’d made for the occasion. Granny had taught her the spell for it, a spell to protect her against burning, but Thora knew it wouldn’t work because she’d done it herself.

  The singing died away and everyone stood around panting and laughing. The ceremony was over.

  ‘Thora hasn’t jumped yet,’ mewed Astrid.

  But no one was listening. They turned for home. Runolf swung his arm around his wife’s shoulders and began to sing a love song.

  ‘Of course, this is May, the month of love!’ Thora realised with a start.

  If Oddo wanted to make a runestone to get his father to love him, now was the best time to do it. But she still had to find out how!

  Runolf seemed to have read her thoughts. When they got back to the house he clapped his hands and called out, ‘Erik, Harald, the hour has come to embark on your study of runes. On the first of May, it is the custom for spellworkers to pass on their secrets to the next generation.’

  ‘Me too, me too!’ cried little Ketil, but his father shook his head.

  ‘Two more summers must pass,’ he said, ‘till you be old enough to wield a chisel.’

  ‘Not fair!’ wailed Ketil.

  Thora hurried across and gathered him in her arms. The downy tufts of his hair tickled her nose.

  ‘Let’s sit and watch,’ she whispered in his ear.

  Erik, Harald and Runolf clustered together in a pool of lamplight and Runolf drew open his runestone pouch. Thora crouched in the shadows behind them, little Ketil squirming in her arms, trying to see what was happening.

  ‘Ssh,’ warned Thora, ‘if they notice we’re watching, they’ll send us away.’

  Thora, too, wished she could see better. She could hear what her father was saying but she couldn’t see what he was showing the boys. After a while Ketil snuggled down and fell asleep. Thora’s arms and legs grew numb from sitting still and holding him, but she didn’t want to stand up and draw attention to herself.

  ‘Now this,’ said Runolf, placing another runestone on the floor, ‘is the rune of love.’

  Thora’s heart beat faster and she leaned sideways, trying to see the stone.

  ‘Father,’ cried Astrid suddenly, ‘Thora’s watching!’

  Thora stumbled to her feet, holding the sleeping Ketil, and turned away. But not before she had caught a glimpse of three stones, and burnt the shape of the runes into her memory.

  8

  Oddo’s runestone

  Oddo paced up and down in the knee-high weeds before Thora’s house, wondering what to do. Tight in his fist was the runestone Thora had left for him in the hollow, just as she’d promised. He’d run here, bursting with excitement, but now he was here he didn’t know how to get hold of Thora. He had never been to a stranger’s house before.

  A little boy danced out the front door waving a goatskin hood, and pulled it onto his head. To Oddo’s astonishment, the boy vanished from sight. A moment later he reappeared, laughing gleefully, the hood in his hands. He stopped still and stared at Oddo.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘Um, is Thora here?’ stammered Oddo.

  ‘I dunno,’ said the child, drawing the hood over his head and disappearing again.

  Hesitantly, Oddo entered the house. It had a passageway, just like home, with a covered doorway at the end. When he pushed the door hangings aside, a riot of twirling colours, bouncing bodies, squeals and crackles erupted around him. He made out a boy doing cartwheels on a tabletop and a girl prancing around with her eyes shut, waving a stick in front of her. Mysterious objects rolled and twitched on the floor and fluttered from the rafters. The firepit blazed with purple flames, then a tall slant-eyed girl poured something onto it, changing the flames to brilliant green. Pungent smoke swirled round the room.

  Oddo felt a hand on his arm and Thora’s voice spoke in his ear.

  ‘Come outside again,’ she said.

  Oddo stepped through the doorway and took a deep breath. He held out the runestone he’d found in the hollow.

  ‘Is this it? Is this the love rune?’ he asked excitedly.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Thora looked around to make sure they hadn’t been followed, then opened her palm to show two more runestones. ‘I don’t know which is the right one,’ she explained. ‘I tried to watch while Father was teaching my brothers. I know one of these is a love rune, but I’m not sure which.’

  ‘What!’ Oddo pouted with disappointment and frustration. ‘That’s no use! I have to know the right one!’

  ‘Well, it’s the best I could do,’ said Thora crossly.‘Give it back, if you don’t want it.’ She reached out for the runestone in Oddo’s hand.

  ‘No, wait!’ Oddo flicked his hand behind his back. ‘Let me think.’ He frowned down at the other two stones nestled in Thora’s palm. ‘Maybe I could try one tonight, and if it doesn’t work I could try another one tomorrow!’ he suggested. ‘What do I do to make it work?’

  ‘Just hide it in your father’s bed,’ answered Thora. ‘He’ll go to sleep and when he wakes up he’ll love you! But you can’t take these stones home with you. I borrowed them from Granny when she was asleep, and I have to put them back before she finds out. You’ll have to make your own.’

  ‘But I can’t! I’m no good at making things!’ Oddo exclaimed. Then he saw the look of exasperation on Thora’s face. ‘All right, all right, I’ll try!’ He examined the stones one by one, running his finger along each rune, before handing it back to Thora.

  Suddenly, there was an explosion of giggling around the level of their knees. Thora’s fist snapped shut.

  ‘Ketil, give me that hood and go away,’ yelled Thora, ‘or I won’t make you any supper.’

  Ketil materialised and tossed the hood in Thora’s direction.

  ‘Thora’s got a boyfriend. Thora’s got a boyfriend,’ he sang as he ran off.

  Thora looked pink and angry and Oddo was afraid she would chase after her brother.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.
‘How about we make a runestone now? I’m supposed to be picking berries, but I could find some stones and bring the tools to make a runestone instead. Will you meet me in the wood and help me?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Thora. ‘But you’ve got to say a spell over them first. To make them magic.’

  ‘What spell?’

  ‘Everyone makes up their own spells. I’ll help you make one up if you like. Then after you’ve done the carving you have to rub something red in the rune. If you want your father to love you, you should rub in some of your blood.’

  ‘My blood!’ squawked Oddo. Then he gave her an indignant glare and put his hands on his hips. ‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘Ha, ha!’

  ‘No,’ said Thora. ‘It’s true!’

  ‘I wonder if he’ll come,’ thought Thora as she hunted through the long grasses for the little white bells of May lilies. She fetched an oil lamp from the house and set off for the wood.

  In a short while, Oddo appeared, hurrying between the trees, a berry basket swinging on his arm.

  ‘He doesn’t look much like a spellworker!’ thought Thora. ‘He’s too clean and tidy!’

  Thora’s brothers wore baggy breeches and tunics made from raw, roughly-spun wool – a mottled, dirty colour. Their hair was never washed or trimmed. In fact, they didn’t wash much at all! Oddo’s hair gleamed like the bronze buckle on his belt, and his neat, clean tunic was a rich sea green.

  ‘I’ve got everything!’ he called excitedly.

  He crouched down and upended the basket, tipping out a collection of rounded pebbles, flat stones, rough chips of rock, and a long pointed tool. He held up the tool.

  ‘Will this do? I didn’t have time to hunt through the tool chest properly. I was worried Father would catch me and ask what I was doing!’

  Thora screwed up her face at the tool.

  ‘It looks different from ours,’ she said. ‘But we can try.’

  ‘Now what about the spell?’ asked Oddo.

  ‘It has to be a rhyming poem,’ Thora explained.‘Like

  Make these stones