Runestone by Don Coldsmith Page A

obtaining food.
    “I have brought some,” Odin said simply.
    “Brought
what?”
Nils demanded.
    “Sword. Ax … a little food.”
    “But how…where?”
    The Skraeling shrugged again.
    “It is much confusion over there. Dark … I picked up what I could.”
    “You went ashore? Among
them?”
    Nils’s doubts began to return, in a strange mixture of pride in the man’s accomplishment and a question of his motives.
    “Of course. I look much like them. I stayed in the shadows. Everyone is picking up what he can.”
    It was logical, but such bravery! This man was truly remarkable, bold as well as clever.
    “You have brought food, too?”
    There was no urgency, no immediate threat of hunger. Nils could not have eaten now anyway, with the shock of destruction still upon him. But soon their bodies would need sustenance. Meanwhile, the fast would only sharpen their senses. Eventually, though, they must eat, and it would not be easy to procure food.
    “A little,” said Odin shortly. He pointed to a bundle, wrapped in skins and tied with a thong.
    Nils wondered momentarily what it might be, but thethought was soon gone. When the time came, whatever was in the bundle might be edible or not. For now, there were more important things to consider. Survival, mostly. The boat, Odin had said, was well hidden. They must wait until the way was clear, and then row across the river above the rapids, carry the boat around the portage, and relaunch it below. As for when the way was clear, it seemed that they must rely on the one-eyed Skraeling. That, too, rankled in Nils’s soul. He was not accustomed to asking for help in anything.
    Yet he must admit that of their little party of three, Odin was the only one who was really equipped to make the decisions. Only Odin could effectively handle the boat. Only he could mingle with the other Skraelings undetected. He had proven himself already, procuring weapons and food.
    “How long till they leave?” he asked again. “A day or two?”
    “Maybe. I will watch to see.”
    Again, the frustration of becoming dependent on anyone, much less this savage whom he did not totally trust. What were the man’s motives, anyway? He could merely have left them, or worse, brought back the enemies who even now were probably hacking to death any surviving Norsemen, between orgies of plundering the supplies. Yet he seemed to be trying to help them. Why was he doing so?
    “Odin,” Nils demanded with authority, “why are you doing this?”
    “Doing what?”
    “Helping us escape our enemies.”
    Again the shrug, with palms upward and spread wide.
That could become irritating
, thought Nils. It was not really an answer, but an evasion. It could mean anything.
    “They are my enemies, too,” the Skraeling reminded. “See?” He pointed to his shrunken eye socket.
    “But you could have slipped past them and started back to your people.”
    “Yes. I thought of that. But you were good to me. You did not throw me to the fishes.”
    Nils thought that he saw a flash of humor in the one eye that looked straight into his. Straight through, perhaps. Every time the Skraeling looked at him, he felt that. What was it,this feeling that the man, even with only the one eye, could see directly into his soul?
    “How are you called?” asked the Skraeling, unexpectedly.
    “What? You mean, my name?”
    “Yes, maybe so. How shall I call you?”
    “Thorsson…Nils Thorsson.”
    The Skraeling nodded. “Thorsson…What means that?”
    “I…well, Thor is one of our gods. The thunder-god. Thorsson means a son of Thor.”
    Odin chuckled, though very softly.
    “So you are a son of thunder?”
    “Maybe. I guess my name says it, no?”
    “Maybe. Now, tell me, Son of Thunder, what my name means.”
    For a moment, Nils was puzzled.
    “I am called Odin by your people,” the Skraeling went on. “What means this Odin? No one ever told me.”
    “Ah! I see. Odin is another of our gods. The father of all the gods. The father