The Bard's Gift

By Meredith Mansfield

The Reluctant Story-Teller
Sixteen-year-old Astrid keeps mostly to herself, finding companionship in the stories her grandmother used to tell. She's too shy even to talk in front of Torolf, the young man she secretly dreams of. Then the Norse god of eloquence appears in Astrid's dreams and forces her to drink the Mead of Poetry. Suddenly, she's compelled to tell her stories. In public. Even in front of Torolf.

Astrid is meant to use these stories to guide her people from starvation in Greenland to a better future in Markland. A place legends claim is the abode of dragons. But not all of her fierce and independent people are willing to follow a mere girl, even the chieftain's daughter--especially when she counsels peace. Some have other plans for the new land and want to use Astrid and her gift as a tool.

The Inventive Young Man Who Loves Her
Torolf never dreamed that quiet Astrid could choose him. Now he's stranded in Iceland as she sails in the opposite direction. To attain the promise of a future with Astrid, he'll have to attempt the impossible--sailing alone across the North Atlantic.

Together, they might defy the plans the gods have made for them and change the fate of more than just their own people. 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meredith Mansfield
• Release date: Mar 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393562771

Book preview

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Chapter 1: Starvation

Astrid leaned into the freezing wind, staggering down the beach hunting for driftwood to feed their meager fire. She kept one eye open for anything edible. The gale felt like needles of ice penetrating even the thick white bear pelt she wore as a cloak.

The wind swept up the fjord straight off the icy sea, funneled by the steep hills on either side. Astrid paused to take shelter for a few moments under a rock overhang that blocked the gusts. With nothing to hunt for, she let her mind drift, retelling to herself some of the stories her grandmother used to tell her. It was almost as good as sleep to take her mind off her hunger and keep her company.

From her shelter, she could see one of the many islets in the fjord, one that would be a seal rookery later in the year. That made her think of the stories about selkies, sea creatures that could shed their skins and take human form once a year. She pictured them dancing down there on the beach, as the stories described. In her mind, the leader looked a lot like tall, red-blond Torolf. The stories said that if a human stole the seal skin while its owner was in human form, the selkie could be compelled to stay on land as the wife—or, she supposed, husband—of the thief. Pity the stories always ended with the selkie finding the stolen skin and returning to the sea.

She sighed. If it were only that easy. Why would Torolf ever give her a second glance if she could never manage to say a complete, coherent sentence in front of him? Well, Torolf wasn’t going to magically appear on the beach. She might as well continue her search. She had to go farther and farther afield to find anything these days.

The force of the wind doubled as she rounded the headland, almost knocking Astrid backward. An overpowering stench assaulted her nostrils. She looked up, seeking the source. The massive grey shape in the shallows was not a rock; it was a beached whale. Food for weeks. Maybe even enough to get them through until the ships could get out of the fjord again.

She dropped her few sticks of driftwood, picked up her skirts and ran back for the longhouse. It would take every hand to harvest this windfall. No one would mind because they’d all have full bellies tonight for the first time in over a month.

Astrid slowed down as she reached the last long slope that led up to the sod-covered longhouse. She looked to see if her father was out in the fields somewhere close by. She’d much rather take this news to her father or one of his men than go up to the longhouse, where she’d have to deal with Helga.

She saw no sign of her father, but she spotted Ranulf, one of Father’s men, down by the shore, inspecting the ships for winter damage. He could get the men organized to butcher the beached whale better than Helga could anyway and he wouldn’t complain about how she’d found it. She took another quick look around before starting down to the beach. Torolf was Ranulf’s son and might be nearby. It was a close call whether she’d rather listen to Helga’s tirade or get tongue-tied and stammer in front of Torolf.

She blew out her breath. No sign of Torolf. The path here hugged the outside of the homefield wall, marking the divide between the grassy hills above and the rock-strewn sands sloping down to the waters of the fjord. Astrid gathered momentum as she sprinted down to the boats, arriving out of breath.

Ranulf—

Ranulf turned toward her. Astrid! Girl, you look about frozen.

Astrid drew a few deep breaths. There’s a beached whale up around the headland.

Whale? Torolf popped up from the other side of the nearest knarr.

Astrid felt her face flush hot. She looked down at her toes to hide it. She’d heard Helga’s opinion of her unladylike behavior often enough. Now what would Torolf think of her? Nothing good.

Where did you say? Ranulf asked.

Astrid swallowed twice and still couldn’t find her voice, so she raised her arm and pointed back the way she’d come.

Come on, boy. Let’s gather some help and bring home the meat.

Astrid watched Ranulf and Torolf as they climbed up to the path and sighed. Why couldn’t she ever just talk to Torolf? Why did she always have to act like an idiot when he was around? Just once she’d like to act like a grownup woman around him. She was sixteen, not six, but you sure couldn’t prove it when Torolf was nearby.

~~~

Helga thrust a platter of whale meat into Astrid’s hands. Here. If you like to walk so much, you can take this down to the far end of the table.

Astrid looked down to the end of the table and gulped. That’s where Torolf was sitting. No—

Helga placed her hands on her bony hips. "Think you’re special girl? We’re all busy here. Get moving. And try not to spill it."

Now, that wasn’t fair. Gerda was the clumsy one. Astrid could keep her footing on an icy slope without dropping her burden. Not that that ever stopped Helga from blaming Astrid for anything that went wrong anyway. She braced herself and walked down the wide bench behind the men and boys to the far end. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, she deposited the platter and started back down along the long trestle table to her usual place on the cross bench. Gerda would have flirted with the young men. Astrid was just glad she hadn’t made a fool of herself.

Come sit by me, Luck-Bringer, Father said.

Astrid stopped to see who was being called to the place of honor. If someone else was taking Aric’s place tonight there could be trouble tomorrow. Her father smiled at her and gestured to his left side, where her mother used to sit. Astrid felt her face flush as all eyes watched her walk up to the center of the table.

Father raised his drinking horn. A toast to Astrid Haakonsdottir, Luck-Bringer.

Astrid felt her face go even redder and looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Why did Father have to invite everyone to stare at her like that? She tried to resist hunching to make herself smaller.

Hold up your head, Daughter, Father said. It was your luck and effort that provided tonight’s feast.

Astrid ate in silence, intimidated by the conversation going on around her. She wasn’t used to sitting in the center of the room, surrounded by Father’s armed supporters. Down the table in her usual place, the talk would have been about the work to be done the next day and sometimes about the young men seated far enough away that they couldn’t overhear. Her father and his thingmenn talked about larger and more serious subjects. The timing and chances of the next trading ship to try for Iceland, mainly. Things Astrid knew nothing at all about.

She glanced down the table to where her friends sat and caught Gerda’s eye. Gerda smiled back at her, cocking one eyebrow in unspoken question. Astrid shrugged.

You’re quiet tonight, Astrid, Father said.

Astrid turned to him, spinning her drinking cup in her hand. I don’t know enough about these subjects to comment. That was true. It was also true that she would never dare offer an opinion in front of these stern and powerful men.

Ah, well. That’s my fault. I should have had you up here before this, only you seemed to enjoy yourself with the other girls. Now, I’ll have lost my chance.

Astrid almost spilled her cup. What? Why?

Father stared down at his empty hands and his voice, when he answered, was flat. It’s been in my mind to send you back to Iceland with the next ship. Things are only getting worse, here. Your mother’s people will take you in. You wouldn’t be the daughter of a chieftain, but at least you’d have enough to eat.

Surely you’re not thinking of sending your only daughter back to Iceland as a pauper, Valborg, one of the oldest of Father’s men said. The voyage alone is much too dangerous. Only one ship in three gets through, now.

Aric, sitting at Father’s right hand, chewed his lip and stared into his drinking cup.

Risk all on one throw or wait here and hope. I can always bring her back home if things improve, Father answered. Ranulf is my best captain. When will there be a better chance?

The land spirits have forsaken us here, Ranulf said. I plan to take Torolf back with me, too.

Astrid’s head was spinning. Greenland was all she’d ever known. The thought of leaving her home, family, and friends made her stomach clench. Though her mother came from there, Astrid had never been to Iceland. Then again, not to be on the edge of starvation every winter would be wonderful.

On the other hand, Ranulf had just said that he was taking Torolf with him. Astrid cast a shy glance down the table toward the tall youth. Torolf’s reddish hair made him easy to spot among the other young men. He was looking the other way, so she let herself smile. Maybe . . . if they took ship together . . . Someone down at Torolf’s end of the table nudged his arm and pointed. Astrid had to look down quickly before he caught her staring at him.

"I confess, with both my son and your daughter on board, I’d give a lot for the word of the volva on the success of this trip," Ranulf said.

Go on wishing. The seeress’s ritual is too costly, after the winter we’ve had, Aric said.

Father chewed thoughtfully. Such precious cargo is worth a few extra precautions. He patted Aric’s shoulder. "Besides, we don’t have to ask just one question of the volva. It would be good to know when these harsh winters will end. All of us could make better plans with that information. Father nodded. We’ll ask the volva to come back with us when we go down to Brattahlid for the Althing. He nudged Aric’s arm. With that assurance, you might choose to send one of your sons along, too, eh?"

My sons have been fostered at Brattahlid to prepare them to do well here in Greenland. That education would do them no good in Iceland, Aric said.

Astrid didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Instead she let her mind wander into the exciting possibilities ahead. This voyage would start in the same way as so many of the sagas. That seemed like a very hopeful sign. She sneaked one more glance down the table at Torolf. Very hopeful.

~~~

After the leftover food had been carefully stored and the trestle table disassembled and put up in the rafters, Astrid stepped out into the icy night for a last trip to the privy before bed. Not surprisingly, Gerda followed her.

So, besides celebrating you finding the whale, why did your father want you up at the high seat tonight? Gerda asked.

Astrid smiled. She’d known Gerda was being eaten alive with curiosity all through supper. Anyway, she wanted to talk about this with her best friend. He’s going to send me to Iceland with Ranulf.

Iceland?

Back to my mother’s people. I don’t know any of them.

But they’re still your family. There was a slightly wistful tone to Gerda’s voice. So, why were you spending so much time staring down the table at Torolf? I’m surprised he didn’t feel your stare burning into him.

Astrid blushed. Ranulf said he’s taking Torolf to Iceland, too.

Gerda’s smile took on a dreamy look. Hmm. A long, cozy sea voyage. And then, you’ll each be the only person the other one knows in Iceland. I see possibilities.

Astrid blushed deeper and looked down.

What’s wrong? You like him. I know you do.

I’d feel better about it if I could manage to talk to him—or even just in front of him.

Gerda burst out laughing. Whatever makes you think that talking is what a young man wants from a girl?

Gerda!

What? I’m not a chieftain’s daughter. I won’t even have a dowry. If I’m going to get some man with a farm of his own to marry me, it’ll have to be because he likes me well enough to overlook that. Gerda was silent for a moment. Do you think you could talk your father into sending me to Iceland with you? Maybe to keep you company?

You’d want to leave Greenland?

Gerda shrugged. What’s in Greenland for me? I don’t have home or family here. The life of a servant girl is pretty much the same everywhere, but there are more men and more farms in Iceland.

"I’ll ask him. There’s plenty of time. Ranulf won’t sail until after the Althing. And then Father’s planning to bring the volva back to prophesy about the success of the voyage."

"The volva’s coming here? Why didn’t you say so? Ooh. I have to think about what question to ask her."

Astrid laughed. I thought there was only one question.

Who’m I going to marry? Of course. But it’s more than just the question. It’s how you ask it, too, you know.

~~~

Astrid made her way down the long center aisle of the longhouse to her place on the wide bench. She pulled her straw pallet, blankets, and the white bear pelt out from the storage space beneath the bench, and wrapped herself up to sleep.

Warm and full, Astrid drifted quickly into sleep and into a dream. In her dream she stood on a headland, the wind off the ocean blowing her hair back from her face. But this wind was cool, not icy. She turned landward to see a broad grassy land. Hilly, but much less steep than anything she’d seen in Greenland. There were even a few clusters of trees. It certainly wasn’t any place she knew, although she could see the long hummocks of several longhouses down below. A strange bird with a long naked tail and colorful wings circled high above.

A young man walked up the slope toward her, carrying a drinking horn. Torolf? Her heart did a little flip in her chest.

Astrid started to look down out of sheer habit, but realized to her delight that her dream self wasn’t blushing. The thought of talking to Torolf didn’t scare her, either. If only she could feel this way when she wasn’t dreaming.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the young man approach. Yes, he looked like Torolf, but also not. His face wasn’t end-of-winter pale and gaunt. His cheeks were full and ruddy and his eyes sparkled in a way she’d never seen Torolf’s do. Not that she’d met Torolf’s eyes that often. There was something else about him, though. It took her a moment to recognize it. The way he held his body, his gait as he strode forward, were not at all like Torolf. Neither was the smile he gave her as he stopped just a few feet away.

You’re not Torolf, she said.

The man smiled. No. Though this form seems pleasing to you.

Who are you?

I am called Braggi.

The name was familiar, but Astrid couldn’t quite place where she’d heard it before.

He pressed the cup into Astrid’s hands. Drink.

The sweet smell of fermented mead rose to her nostrils. Astrid shook her head. I don’t drink mead.

This is a very special brew. Drink it, Astrid.

Astrid wrinkled her nose. She didn’t like mead, or, more properly, she didn’t like how mead made her feel. No, thank you.

Braggi’s eyes almost seemed to glow. I insist.

She tried to push the cup back toward Braggi, but found that her arms wouldn’t move in that direction. Every attempt to push the cup away from her only resulted in bringing it closer to her lips. Braggi’s eyes seemed to bore into her.

Her arm trembled, but the liquid didn’t spill. Astrid tried to turn her head away, but that didn’t work either. Instead, her face lowered to the cup until her lips touched the rim. Her heart hammered in her chest. There was no way she was going to escape drinking this, whatever it was.

Don’t fight it so hard, Astrid, Braggi said. You’ve wanted this. It will give you the ability to speak—yes, even to Torolf. It’s also for the good of your people. You must trust me on this.

Trust was about the last thing Astrid felt. Everything she tried to do ended up as something else, as the very thing she was fighting against. She could feel sweat popping out on her upper lip. She clenched her jaw, but none of her muscles seemed to be obeying her. Instead of locking her mouth shut, the effort caused her lips to part.

The sweet smell of the mead filled her nose. She could feel the liquid against her teeth. Braggi put a hand to the bottom of the cup and tipped it upward, so the liquid filled her mouth. She would not swallow. She wouldn’t. She tried to spit the mead back out and once again her body did the opposite of what she intended. She swallowed and felt the liquid burn as it slid down her throat.

All at once, the spell or whatever it had been was broken. Astrid’s legs folded beneath her and she crumpled to the ground. She threw the cup away from her, but Braggi caught it, holding it reverently.

Careful, Astrid. There’ll be no more of this brew until the end of the world. It wouldn’t do to spill it. He raised the cup above his head and another hand reached down from somewhere else to take it from him.

Whatever the drink was, it was different than anything she’d tasted before. Unlike mead, this seemed to make her mind clearer, not muddled. Her body, now that it was hers again, seemed to pulse with life. What was that?

Braggi smiled and offered her a hand to help her stand up. That, Astrid, was the mead of poetry. And now you will become the bard of your people. Their guide to a new and better life.

Me? I’m no bard. The thought of trying to sing or speak or tell a story in front of anyone made her feel slightly queasy, even in her dream.

You are now. When the time is right, you will know the stories your people need to hear.

She was still shaking, but she pulled her chin up in an attempt at defiance. And what if I don’t want to tell these stories?

Braggi shook his head. Oh, Astrid. There’s more of your father in you than I allowed for. You may fight us, but you can’t expect to win. In time, you’ll realize that what we do here is for your good and the good of your people. Then, maybe, you’ll accept the gift we offer with better grace.

Although the sky was clear and there was no hint of recent rain, a rainbow appeared behind Braggi. He turned and stepped onto it as if it were a bridge to another world.

Astrid woke with her heart thundering so loud she thought it should wake Gerda curled up beside her. The longhouse was still quiet, filled with the breathing and snores of sleeping people. No one was awake but her. Maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t think she wanted to discuss that dream with anyone else—at least, not yet. Who would she tell, anyway? Certainly not Helga. Not Father, either. And Gerda would be useless. She interpreted every dream as a sign of who you were going to marry. Very one-track mind, Gerda’s.

As quietly as possible, Astrid sat up. Wrapping her white bear pelt around her, she tiptoed down the center aisle to the smaller chamber at the end of the longhouse. This was usually the women’s work room during the day and so a place to be avoided because Helga would certainly be there. It was empty now. A place where Astrid could be alone and think until she was ready to try to go back to sleep. In here, she could pace without disturbing anyone else.

If she couldn’t tell anyone about her dream, then it was up to her to try to unravel its meaning. The last image, of Braggi walking up on the rainbow seemed a safe place to start. Every time her grandmother had seen a rainbow, she’d told Astrid that it was Bifrost, the bridge between Earth and Asgard, where the gods lived. Astrid’s knees almost buckled. Braggi, of course. The god of eloquence and poetry. Not one of those gods her father commonly prayed to, but . . .

Another story drifted through her mind. She’d always turned to her stories in times of stress or loneliness, but she didn’t think this was one of the ones Grandmother had told her.

The mead of poetry was made by mixing the blood of Kvasir, wisest of all the gods, with honey. The dwarves who’d killed Kvasir for this purpose, then gave the mead to a giant in blood payment for the slaying of the giant’s parents. Odin himself, had retrieved the mead for the sole use of the gods by tricking the giant’s daughter into giving him three sips. Three sips were enough for Odin to drain it all. Then Odin changed himself into a giant eagle and flew back to Asgard with the mead.

She must have heard the story from her grandmother. Where else could it have come from? But . . . why should she dream about the story in such a frightening way? There was some meaning to it, surely, but Astrid couldn’t figure it out. She had a feeling that this dream was going to haunt her until she did.

Wait. Father had said he was going to bring the volva here. Who better to interpret a strange dream? Astrid let out a long sigh. She felt her heartbeat slow for the first time since she woke up. It was a huge relief just to have a plan.

Chapter 2: New World

Braggi turned slowly in place, taking in the beauty of his surroundings. He breathed in the smells of pine, earth, and water. Plenty of trees from which to build longhouses and ships—and fires to warm his people through the winter. A complete contrast to the steep, winter-ravaged slopes of Greenland. The great river was in some ways not unlike a very long, narrow fjord, but no great ice floes would block navigation for months or longer. The islands in the river would naturally contain the herds of sheep and cattle until fences could be built. This place was a perfect new home for his people, if they could secure it. He’d chosen his messengers among them and done what he could to set Astrid along the path the gods had chosen for her. Now he needed to prepare the way, here. That might not be as easy, which was why the other gods had chosen him—and his gift with words—for the job.

A shadow passed over him and he looked up. A huge bird-like form circled above him. Its wings were banded with colors reminiscent of Bifrost, the bridge from Asgard to Earth, but its long, naked tail reminded him more of the dragon, Fafnir. So this was a thunderbird.

Braggi composed himself as the bird, several times his own size, dove toward him, pulled up, and landed a few feet away. The beak opened, showing a human face inside. The feathered hide folded like a cape to reveal a human form. Finally, the man removed the bird’s head as if it were a hood. The man stood before him, holding the bird’s head under one arm like a helmet. He was tall, lean, and dark—dark skinned, dark-haired, and dark-eyed. Very different from Braggi’s own tall, massive, and blond people.

Braggi nodded in greeting. Wakiya?

The man nodded. I am. And you are Braggi?

Yes.

You asked for this meeting. What is it you want of us? Wakiya asked.

Braggi drew a deep breath. I seek a place of safety where our people may thrive and outlast the coming cold.

Wakiya’s eyebrows rose. The cold will come here, too. What’s wrong with their own place?

Braggi made a negating gesture with his hand. They’ll starve if they stay where they are.

Wakiya narrowed his eyes and looked into the east. Some of my people are in that place, too. If they can survive its challenges, why not yours?

Our people have different ways than yours. The animals they depend on will die and then so will they.

Wakiya turned to glare at Braggi. Why must they come here?  Can they not return to their places of origin?

Braggi shook his head. These few are the last that are ours. Everywhere else, their kin have turned to the New God. They remember us only as figures in folklore. Haakon is almost the last who remembers the old worship—our worship. His people must survive.

Wakiya paced a few steps. I sympathize with your plight, but I must concern myself with my own people. Yours have come here to settle before—and killed mine before they were driven out. How would this time be different?

That was the trouble. Rich as this land was, his people had never had a chance to really establish themselves here before the more numerous skraelings had driven them off. His Greenlanders were great fighters. If they could just get a foothold, they’d soon be secure against any attack. But, of course, Braggi couldn’t say that. He needed to soothe Wakiya’s fears, not intensify them. That was generations ago. They have come and gone in peace since then. They trade now with those of your people who live near them, mostly in peace.

Wakiya’s mouth twisted into a sneer. Mostly?

Braggi held out his hands, palm outward, in a placating gesture. Even brothers may have disagreements. It is not reasonable to expect men of any kind to always get along perfectly.

Yours less than most. Wakiya drew in a deep breath then nodded. I will let them come. But they must prove themselves and their good intentions to me or I will drive them back without mercy.

Braggi smiled. "Leave that to me. The messenger I have chosen