"Saga" - Chapter 21, Part 1
Content - Saga is a Brokeback AuAu fic taking place in the Viking era (Scandinavia, ca AD 850). No warnings for this chapter. This chapter rated PG.
Disclaimer - The original Ennis and Jack who inspired this fic do not belong to me, but to Annie Proulx, Diana Ossana, Larry McMurtry and Focus Features. I intend no disrespect and make no profit.
A/Ns - Explanations of names and terms follow after each chapter. Thank you to Soulan for betaing this chapter!
Links to all previous chapters are available here: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/43336.html
Saga - Chapter 21
Ketil returned to his farm carried over the back of his horse, his body carefully wrapped in his own sumptuous cloak. Einnis rode into the yard in front of their small and subdued company. Mistress Ragnhild came out to meet them, her face pale and serious.
The news traveled over the farm in no time, almost as if spread by seid, everyone appearing in the muddy courtyard to watch in silence as Ketil was taken down and respectfully brought into the guest-hall on Einnis’s orders. Einnis followed, seeing to it that his brother was carefully laid out on a stretcher next to the cold hearth in the middle of the floor.
The men, women and children of the farm remained standing outside in the fading daylight of the early spring afternoon, looking to Einnis in silence as he stepped back out from the darkness of the empty hall.
Einnis looked drawn and exhausted. He clenched his jaws, squared his shoulders and looked out over the people assembled, every one of them now once more dependent on him for their safety and wellbeing. Even the thralls had come slinking up, standing unobtrusively in the background of the throng.
“My brother is dead. He died with courage in fair battle, and no doubt he’ll soon be feasting and fighting in Valhall with the heroes of old.” Einnis drew a breath. “Once the funeral ale has been drunk, I will take over as master and assume the high seat of this farm as did my brother and our forefathers before me. Never fear. Life here will continue as before.”
A low murmur of approval could be heard from the intently listening crowd. Einnis nodded and made a dismissive gesture, turning towards the hall but looking back over his shoulder. “Svein, please follow me, and mistress Ragnhild too. There’s much to be arranged and little time to waste.”
Inside the hall Einnis sank down on the bench next to the high seat, slumping tiredly against the wall. Svein followed him with weary steps, but Ragnhild remained among her women for a moment and had them busying themselves by the hearth before following the two men.
“I’ve arranged for food and drink to be prepared for you, Einnis Elmarson,” she said “You need to keep your strength and your wits for the days ahead.”
Einnis nodded, tacitly acknowledging her care. He sighed. “Tomorrow at first light, have a man sent up to Einstad to bring them the news. Let me speak to him before he goes - I want to give him instructions about what to say and how to say it, and I will give him a private message to Arna from me. And we need to prepare the burial. I think we will open the side of my father’s father Elmar Ketilson’s barrow and place Ketil there.
“You do not want a separate mound for your brother?”
“No. The terms of the Holmgang were clear enough that it will be said Ketil died for a dishonorable cause, even if he died well. Opening and adding to his ancestor’s barrow will have to do. Before the sjaund we will have a large pyre built and send Ketil to the afterlife that way.”
Svein stared at him disgruntledly, but didn’t object. Einnis paused for a moment, looking at the two others. “Ketil died in battle, he’ll be drinking in Valhall and tended to by valkyries that very night, and every one thereafter as long as the world stands,” he said earnestly. “I will myself choose his belongings tomorrow, everything that will be burned with him. We need to have men prepare all the firewood and the incendiary material.… “
Einnis turned to Ragnhild. “First of all we must start preparing the sjaund. Seven days is not a lot of time, especially now that the stores are so low. Svein, we must have messages sent through the valley. I don’t know how many will come. The tracks are very difficult to travel these days, and some people may want to recall the terms of the Holmgang, and to show Ulv and his clan respect and therefore stay away.”
Ragnhild shook her head. “You hold yourself too cheaply, Einnis Elmarson. They will come. I have heard enough talk here in the valley to know people respect you. Now that you inherit your brother and assume the clan’s high seat they’ll not think less of you. They’ll surely want to remain on good standing with you, and with your wife and her clan too. Yes, I do think we will have a full house.”
Einnis sighed again and drew a weary hand across his eyes. “I will take some food now, and then I will follow you back to see my brother laid out and tended to. I will wake over him tonight.”
---
Ketil had been laid out in the middle of the room. He had been respectfully cared for by Ragnhild and her women, who had washed him and arranged his hair, tended the cuts in his cheek and his neck, pinched closed his nose, tied up his jaw, and clothed him in his best attire. Holmhogg lay on Ketil’s unmoving chest, its hilt under his chin, and was held in place by his crossed arms.
Now the women had all left the room, and night was setting in. Einnis was alone with his brother. Two torches on the far wall and an oil lamp by Ketil’s head provided the only light. Einnis was sitting on the bench, staring at his brother’s inert form. Ketil looked at peace. The once haughty face was now tranquil; all the bitterness and scorn were things of the past. His mouth was soft and forever rid of the sneer that had so frequently marred it.
The flickering torchlight played over Ketil’s features. The constantly shifting light and shadows gave the illusion of animation, as if the unruly spirit had not torn free yet from the still body and was struggling within, homeless and distraught.
The hours dragged slowly on, the farm and all its inhabitants sleeping uneasily in the buildings surrounding the little hall. One of the torches sputtered and went out, but Einnis didn’t move to replace it. Instead he rose from his seat and stepped up to Ketil’s pallet, looking down on the body already crumbling in death. Einnis’s own body went tense, and he turned to hammer his hand with all his might against one of the wooden beams. He swore, sat down again, and bent forward dejectedly. “Love….and dishonor…..but no regrets?” he whispered shakily into the darkness.
A heavy sigh escaped him, and then he did what he had not done since he was five years old, that far-away never forgotten day when Ketil mocked him for behaving like a little girl. He hid his face in his hands and wept - deep sobs racking his frame and making his crumpled shadow on the wall shake and tremble in the dim and dismal light.
---
The next day was a hectic one. Ragnhild set her women to start preparing the sjaund. She herself went through the farm’s stores and decided on what food and drink they’d need to borrow or buy in the valley. She picked out the sheep and a bull to be slaughtered in order to feed the guests at the feast, and shook her head in dismay, clicking her tongue at the thin animals in sheds and byre and the number of empty ale barrels in store.
“The leanest time of year, and yet here’s a wedding the one year and a funeral ale the next - it’s certainly no easy game being mistress of this place!” she muttered under her breath.
The thralls were set to work getting ready the large quantity of firewood required, and one of the free-men, skilled in general carpentry work, was already busy building the wooden cover for the top of the pyre. Messengers were sent north to Einstad and south through the valley, one of them on a special errand carrying gifts for the godi who was needed at the farm for the funeral rites. All the people of the farm made common cause in preparing the funeral. If their master was dead then at least they would take pride in sending him off in a manner that would satisfy both gods and men.
The first of the messengers returned home as the light faded towards evening. Einnis was in the process of picking out those of Ketil’s possessions that would follow his brother on his pyre. Svein walked by his side and so did Ragnhild, the keeper of all the finely wrought keys granting access to storage rooms and locked chests.
Svein at once went out to talk to the man, while Einnis lingered for a moment over a chest containing some of his father’s weapons, all those that had not followed him into his grave. When he stepped out of the storage room after a brief while, Svein was already deep in talk with the messenger. He turned to Einnis.
“Skjalg here says that nearly every single farmer and chieftain have confirmed they will be coming to the sjaund. They want to pay their respects. The news had traveled fast; everyone already knew Skjalg’s errand when he rode to their door.”
Skjalg nodded empathically. “The news in the valley is that Helga Hauksdottir rode south this morning. She probably wants to check if that cut across Ulv’s ass robbed him of his manhood. Little point would there be to her having promised herself to a youngling whose only advantage is his stamina and a perpetual hard-on, if his balls have just been cut off!”
“In any case he can’t ride a horse and he won’t be able to sit for a good long while,” Svein added with a vicious grin. “He’ll have to spend his time crawling on his knees - with a wife like Helga I guess that’s the position he should get used to in any case!”
The men laughed uproariously, but Einnis frowned and laid a hand on Svein’s arm, shaking his head.
“Such talk is unwise and unwarranted, Svein. The valley has ears, as my brother certainly discovered. Leave it be.”
The men could not fail to notice the dark circles round Einnis’s eyes. “Yes, Einnis Elmarson. We will keep our mouths shut. Justice is in any case secured with the sword and not with the tongue, but only a thrall takes vengeance at once,” Svein said, bowing slightly and signaling for Skjalg to follow him inside.
Einnis looked after them, but didn’t respond nor speak again. Instead he walked back to sit by his brother’s side. The room where Ketil was resting was open to all, and nearly every person on the farm had been there in the course of the day to show him honor and to mutter an imprecation to the gods for their own future wellbeing and that of their new master’s. As Einnis entered the hall, one of Ragnhild’s younger serving maids stepped out through the door, her head bent low to hide a pale and stricken face. One of her hands was balled into a fist clenching her skirt, and she was biting the knuckles of the other to keep herself from sobbing aloud. Silent tears nevertheless trickled down her cheeks, and her chest was heaving as she scuttled past Einnis, face averted. He looked after her in surprise. He could not even recall the girl’s name.
Arna Mjodsdottir arrived at the farm the next evening. Only with difficulty did she manage to get down off her horse, and Einnis had to support her inside. The long ride through mud and melting snow had taken its toll on her heavy body. Once inside, Arna wordlessly embraced her husband, holding him as tight as her bulging belly allowed. He hid his face in the crook of her neck and sighed.
“It is good that you are healthy and whole and unharmed,” was all she eventually said. “We will bring the clan forward in honor and decide on the proper steps to take. The rash cut too oft goes astray. With time and care and wisdom much will become clear.”
The wake over Ketil lasted three days and three nights. Thereafter he was placed on a wooden platform that had been prepared in the yard, laid to rest on the skin of the bear he himself had brought down. He was clad in full warrior’s attire, his helmet for one last moment catching the rays of the setting sun, which was bright but held little warmth. His hands clasped the hilt of Holmhogg, firmly in place on his chest, and his decorated round shield covered his legs and feet. All his other weapons - spear, axe, daggers, bow and arrows - were placed around him. He was after all going to Valhall to continue fighting every day till Ragnarok.
Einnis stood by, pale and silent, as his men lifted the wooden tent-like structure that would cover Ketil for as long as his body still remained on earth. Looking at his brother for the last time, he bent over him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and spoke softly into the dead man’s ear, his voice a mere whisper so that none of the bystanders could discern his words. At the very last Einnis placed a dagger, one of their father’s heirlooms, over Ketil’s heart. Its handle was made with fine silver inlays in the shape of a snarling, attacking wolf.
He stepped back and signaled for the men to close the makeshift chamber up. They put the wooden cover in place. The temporary burial chamber would remain in the yard till time came for the sjaund.
---
On the seventh day since Ketil’s death the whole household was up early. Ketil’s wooden chamber was carried to the pyre, which had been built outside the gate in the field behind the ancestors’ barrows. The pyre had been constructed in the shape and size of a long-ship, and was entirely made from dry wood, built over a core of oil-soaked and tarred logs. Ketil’s horse was killed and lifted onto the pyre with its ceremonial harness and bridle on, and was followed by an ox and several of the farm’s hunting dogs. Many of Ketil’s personal belongings followed, carefully placed so that they would be available to their owner in his new life beyond the grave.
Guests from the valley started riding through the gates well before noon. One of the first to arrive was the godi, who greeted Einnis and Arna solemnly. After washing himself and taking some refreshment he walked out with the new master and mistress, the farm’s people and the guests to stand before the pyre.
Einnis carried a burning torch, and so did many of Ketil’s free-men. It was a fine day. A pale sun shone from a sky dotted with fast-moving clouds. The winds were blustery but not violent.
The godi stretched his hands skyward, and with commanding and far-reaching voice started the funeral ritual. He named Ketil’s clan and listed his ancestors, described his death in battle in formal terms meant for the ears of the gods and the powers of earth and sky, and called on Odin himself to acknowledge Ketil’s bravery and to admit him into Valhall, to be feasted every night after fighting every day.
While the godi spoke these words of praise for the deceased, Einnis stepped forward and thrust his torch into the pyre. The other men followed suit, one after the other, till the whole structure had been set ablaze, and the heat of it forced the mourners to move further away. Ferocious flames soon engulfed the entire pyre. Heavy grey smoke billowed into the air, rising on the gusting wind like a tower of cloud and ashes, visible for miles. It was a signal for the gods to notice and the valkyries to descend upon.
Making a sweeping, dramatic motion, as if driving the smoke up and onwards, the godi broke into the words of one of the ancient rites, calling on the valkyries to come for Ketil and to bring him back with them.
“On all sides I see Valkyries assemble,
Ready to ride, then return to the gods.
Hrist and Mist bring the horn filled with mead
Skuld bears the shield, and Skogul the sword,
Skeggjold rides next,
Guth, Gol, Gondul, and Geirskogul,
Hild and Thrut, Hlok and Herfjotur,
Randgrith and Rathgrit and Reginleif,
All Odin’s maidens these names I have spoken,
Valkyries ready to roam over earth,
Finding the fallen, fast steeds flying home.”
The pyre was completely engulfed in flame and smoke. The women mourners wailed and cried aloud, and the free-men and warriors beat their shields with their spears, brought along for that purpose.
Einnis stood with Arna in forefront of the throng, near enough to feel the fire’s heat scorching his cheeks and forehead. He stared unblinkingly into the flames and remained standing there till the pyre collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing more than a heap of embers and ashes, pieces of scorched timber and some flickering flames here and there. The main structure was gone, and all that it had held. Ketil Elmarson had left the earth behind.
Continued in Chapter 21, Part 2: http://gilli-ann.livejournal.com/45030.html