I was trying to get it all to sink in, but there was too much to process.
"You left me the bottle of oxygen, didn't you? And these sheets and the down comforter.”
He didn't nod, but I knew that the answer was yes.
He simply stood up, with the box in one hand, and walked to the door in silence.
But before shutting it he chewed on his nail, thinking, as if he weren't sure whether or not to ask me a question.
"Hey, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this since I took it, along with your purse and cell phone. How did you get this? It once belonged to me."
He showed me the bronze berserker plaque that Iago had given me on our last night.
"Your father gave it to me the last day we were together, I'm not sure whether it was the day before yesterday or even before. He told me about the circumstances surrounding your birth, your childhood... those precious family memories that you longevos like so much," I added.
"And he gave you this..." he muttered, without lifting his gaze from the metal plaque. "It's curious that he kept it. This plaque in particular."
"Yes, he didn't have time to tell me anymore that night and his story ended when you reappear at your berserker farm."
"Skoll, I hadn't thought about him in a long time," he said, staring at the flagstone floor.
"I'm one of those people who listens," I dared to say. "And I'm afraid that the night is going to be very long here in your dungeon."
He frowned for a moment, and took his time to come to a decision.
"Ok, stedmor. I have to go and put my uncle to bed, wait up for me."
13
Berserker
ADRIANA
I sat on the bed, waiting for Gunnarr to arrive. I wrapped myself in the quilt and tried not to lean against the wall so as not to lose my body heat. I waited and waited, until sleep overpowered me and I gave in.
I think that I dreamed, a smell that I recognized, familiar eyes.
No, I was awake. Gunnarr was watching me, sitting next to me on the bed. My head cleared in a second and I jumped up, uncomfortable with the situation. Having that giant next to me, defenseless, hidden away in God knows what dark corner of the planet made me feel very vulnerable.
"Calm down, are you worried that I'll hurt you?"
I didn't answer, but I instinctively moved away from his body.
"Does my presence in this cell scare you?" he asked, looking at my face. "Oh God! Do you really think that I would rape you? Don't worry, woman, I'm celibate."
"Celibate?"
"Well, pretty celibate."
"Pretty celibate," I repeated in disbelief.
"Yes, pretty celibate. I've only broken my celibacy on three occasions over the last 1,200 years. Three women who deserved it, one for good, and two for bad. But that's it, so don't be scared, I won't hurt you in that way. I'm indifferent to many pleasures. So don't worry, your fortress will remain impregnable while I am your captor."
"You won't hurt me in that way, you said it. But you will be my executioner when the time comes, that's the plan, right?"
"Tell me, why do you think that?"
"Nagorno isn't in any shape to do it, and if he dies, you'll take revenge on your father, whatever it is he did to you."
"Didn't he ever tell you?"
"No, and he won't either. If Iago has decided not to tell me, there's no way to change his mind. And that's that. He's like that, so secretive," I sighed. It was painful to think about him and until then I had been blocking any thoughts of Iago out. "With a safe for a brain”.
"Well, I'm going to be an open book, stedmor. You say you're one of those people who like to ask questions? Well go ahead, I'm not going to hide anything. You wanted to know what happened with the berserker. Well, I'll tell you. It won't be pretty, but I'll tell you. I have robbed you of your freedom, so the least I can do is to keep your brain occupied. On the house."
I nodded my head and Gunnarr began his story, leaning back on the bed.
"I think I had already seen twelve winters. There were two thaws left until I would be considered a man, but my voice had changed and I was a good hand taller than my father. I practiced every morning on my own, in the forest, throwing the weapons against the tree trunks, just like my uncle Nagorno, who I knew as Magnus, had taught me. Everyone else on the farm was still sleeping at that hour but I always was an early bird. I didn't bother anyone, and nor did anyone bother me during my times of solitude.
One morning I saw a black bear watching me from afar during my training, hiding behind the trees, sometimes standing up on its hind legs.
From that night I started dreaming about it, dark dreams tainted with blood, although they brought me much pleasure. In my dreams I had a magical immunity to weapons. Swords couldn't touch me, spears bounced off my chest, shields shattered before reaching my hands. And there was always a black bear behind me, protecting me. The same happened night after night, and I didn't say anything to anyone other than my father, who I shared everything with, down to my most private thoughts.
You see, my father, who everyone knew as Kolbrun, was a jarl, highly respected in those times. Our farm was prosperous, and although we didn't flaunt our wealth, I knew the extent of our assets because I went with my uncles Magnus and Nestor to hide the precious metals when they came back from trading on the East Route.
But my father was much more than a wealthy landowner. During the things, the meetings, he recited laws from memory better than any old man could. In fact, everyone went to him when they had a question. He was like..."
"Like an encyclopedia," I interrupted.
"Yes, like an encyclopedia of Danish laws. Yes, he knew every chapter and verse perfectly. He remembered the findings and judgments of old trials, and I was the proudest son you could imagine for having a father like him. That's why I told him about my dreams and the black bear that haunted me.
"Father, we should go to the forest and look for it. If the bear is coming that close, it means that he's hungry and no good will come to the farm."
"I'll send your uncle Nestor, he's a better tracker than you are."
"That's exactly why I want to go with him, I have to learn from him."
My father gave in and we began the search, but we didn't find anything, or rather, we didn't find any bear prints, although we did find out that someone was camping in the forest. My father and my uncles were worried and were on edge for several days, but nothing happened, until one morning when I went back to the forest with my two small axes to continue with my training.
I knew that it was a berserker because he appeared before me, shirtless, on a quiet, icy morning, following a night of heavy snow, with a black bear skin cape tied around his neck. It was the traditional attire of the warriors during the looting raids or during battles between local kings. In times of peace they were simply a plague, dangerous madmen who the Danish avoided.
He had very broad shoulders, messy black hair and a shaggy beard that covered most of his face. He was as ugly as a rabid dog. He had the kind of face that gave children nightmares.
He stood in front of the tree I was aiming at and I had to lower my axes.
"Do you know who I am?" he said, by way of a greeting.
"Your stench precedes you." And I wasn't lying, he stank of filth, urine and fecal matter.
"I've killed for lesser insults."
"And what are you waiting for?"
He went quiet and moved his hand to his waist. He was armed, as were all the men at that time. A pretty long sword with a blunt handle.
"What do you want from me, berserker," I said, getting straight to the point.
"I want you. I've been watching you for the last few days and you have the right size, strength and skill with weapons. This capacity you have for throwing with both hands and at different targets at the same time will make you very valuable in the future, boy. You are going to be one of us, I want to train you, and if you survive the ritual, you will be the next leader
of the twelve. When I die in battle, which could happen sometime in the next couple of winters, now that I'm getting old, I want you to be prepared to take my place."
"You have to understand, stedmor, that twelve was a recurring number in our culture. Twelve was also the number of free men chosen for the thing meeting. And almost all the Nordic kings had their private army of twelve berserkir."
"And what makes you think that I will leave my farm and join you?"
"How many nights have you dreamed that a black bear makes you invincible?"
"Those words gave me the chills, which ran down my spine and left me petrified on that spot.
I counted the nights.
"Twelve."
"Good, then you're ready. I didn't choose you, it's your destiny. It has simply been revealed to you."
"No, my destiny is to inherit my father's farm and run it as well as he has. The only thing I want from my future is to become a honest, respected man, and protect my people."
"Is that what your father told you? Because Odin has told me his plans for you and they're quite different. Your destiny was written long before you were born, boy. You have been exceptional since you were trapped in your mother's stomach, isn't that right?"
I was beginning to get angry at that point. I didn't like his talking about my late mother.
"And what do you know about that'"
"I know that you were a berserker from then on. You were probably born tearing a woman apart, that's our destiny."
"I told you to shut up! What do you know about my mother?"
"Gunborga carved the most famous runes in Scandia. Didn't you ever wonder how she got her name?"
"Gunborga? What about her name?"
"All the berserkir are sons of bears. Our firstborns must have that trait in their names: Gerbjorn, Gunbjorn, Arinbjorn, Esbjorn, Thorbjorn… So the question you have to ask your father is: why is he hiding your abilities and talents from you?"
I just wanted him to shut up, to stop talking about me as if he knew me better than I knew myself. In a moment of impulse, I threw the axes at him, although my plan wasn't to hurt him. One, above his head, the other, between his legs. Both stuck in the trunk, just a few centimeters away from his flesh. But he didn't move, he didn't dodge them, as anyone else would have done.
And that indifference got to me, I wanted it for myself.
I wanted to be that kind of man, someone who doesn't flinch at a weapon flying through the air towards a certain death.
The berserker said that he would be back the following day and then he disappeared. I didn't dream about the black bear that night, nor did I dream that I was invincible in battle. The arrows wounded me and they hurt like hell. The fire reached and disfigured my skin, the daggers made shards of my bones and I thought that I would die of sheer pain. I woke up drenched in fear and ran to my father's bed to wake him. I have never felt worse than I did that night, with my body battered by my nightmares, with the awareness of having lost a power that made me invulnerable.
I spoke to my father and we went out to the back of the skali, wrapped in the furs we slept with, my father barefoot, as if the snow he was standing on didn't bother him. He listened to me patiently, I was very worked up but told him everything: about my dreams, my encounter with the leader of the berserkir, the feeling that I was being followed ever since the day that the black bear came into my thoughts, my restlessness because the farm was feeling smaller and smaller every day.
"Gunnarr, the man you met is called Skoll, we've heard about him, and we knew that he was in the area. We were warned about him at the last meeting. He has been to every farm along the coast and has challenged all the jarls he has come across. Small farms, prosperous farms: the entire valley. But he is cunning and goes by the old laws, challenging others to a holmganga."
"I am not learned like you, father."
"A holmganga is an old type of public challenge. It's not very common nowadays, which I why you haven't heard about it. The person being challenged cannot refuse, like in the case with duels nowadays. And the worst part is the person who loses is named niðingr."
"Coward," I muttered.
"Yes, and everything it implies for a jarl and his heirs for life. However, that hasn't happened for the last twelve winters, as far as we're aware. He always wins the duel and to date has never been beaten. He then kills the owner, and takes the women, the slaves and everything that belongs to the dead man. But he doesn't look after anything, he bets the possessions in matches with other berserkir and most often loses them. He's leaving a trail of chaos to the east of our farm, other farms are going from bad to worse, the women are tired of being raped, but nobody dares to come face to face with him, and the kings are on his side. Everyone goes to his twelve berserkir, they are his shock force, whenever they have conflicts with their neighbors, and that makes them untouchable. Nobody kills a berserkir for fear of being annihilated by the rage of the king he serves."
"But, father, the berserkir knew things about me, about my mother. He said that this was my destiny, not his, to come to this farm as I first thought. And for the first time in my life I feel that what you are teaching me isn't enough, and I want to find out how other lives are lived, beyond milking cows and feeding pigs."
My father turned his back on me, looking into the forest, as if he were afraid that one of Odin's ravens was spying on us.
"But not like that, Gunnarr. Not like that. That man has nothing good to show you. He is a predator that disrupts the peace, that's all. What merit can you see in his ways?"
"But, what about those dreams that were so real?" I insisted. "Shouldn't I listen to them?"
"Enough!" he shouted at me. "You don't know the danger everyone who lives in these valleys faces, and you're just talking about adolescent dreams!"
He stood in front of me, although he had to lift his head to stare me in the eyes.
"You haven't seen the berserkir in combat. Nobody knows their secret, but they are truly invincible. I've never seen anything like it. If Skoll comes here and challenges me, everything I've built up here will go to hell and the people who depend on me will never see peace again."
"Have you seen him fight? When, father? You never told me that you were in a battle. Why do you never talk about your father, or of your life before you came here?"
"My father looked at me, and I saw something that looked like impotence in his eyes."
"You have to stop being a child, Gunnarr, and start to think like a man," he muttered, going back inside the skali.
And that's when I sensed the black bear behind me. I didn't turn around, but I knew he was there, waiting for me.
"And that's what I'm going to do, father. That's what I'm going to do."
"I packed up my things and took a piece of birch bark. I then carved some runes and left it under my father's bed."
"What did you write on those runes?" I wanted to know.
"Something like: 'Father, what if I'm more than just a farmer? Let me find out. Can you forgive me?'"
Then Gunnarr stretched out like a kitten, looking at the morning light coming through the tiny window high up in my cell. It was then I noticed that part of his neck was burned. The scarring continued down under his biker jacket. He realized that I was staring and lifted up the worn collar to cover it up.
"And that's enough for tonight, my girl. I'll go on answering your questions tomorrow, provided that during the day when you see my uncle, you act as though nothing has happened, don't let him know about my nightly visits."
I nodded my head. I didn't have anything to lose, but possibly much to gain with Gunnarr's visits. Besides, while he was talking I forgot about my sorry situation, and his stories were much better than the silence of my medieval cell.
"Iago is always on edge when he tells me about his memories," I told him, when I saw that he was standing up and getting ready to go, as if he was afraid of my next question, as if he didn't have a clear conscience.
Gunnarr stopped in h
is tracks on his way to the door.
"My father wasn't a bad man, although he and the rest of us have been affected by his errors. But he isn't capable of self-indulgence. It must be hard looking in the mirror everyday and seeing your enemy."
"Talking about indulgence, was it so awful, whatever it was he did to you, that you haven't been able to forgive him in four hundred years?"
"You hate Nagorno."
"I do."
"Because he killed your mother."
"That's right."
"And you could never forgive him, however sorry he may be now."
"His apologies would be worthless, my mother is gone."
"So we're not that different, you and I. I'm still angry at my father because someone I loved very much died because of him. Still, my father didn't know about our relationship, he didn't know what she meant to me, but the hurt he inflicted cannot be reversed."
"They'd be dead either way," I said, without knowing very well why.
"I don't understand."
"The woman, the one Iago took from you, who died for whatever the reason may be, would be dead now anyway, and it's quite possible that my mother would be as well, she might have died by now. But you and I are still here, many years after their deaths, hurt by the injustice of their deaths, as if a part of our lives had been stayed behind with them, in the past, unable to move on."
Gunnarr kept his back to me, he didn't move, other than to make fists, which turned his knuckles white.
"Don't you dare think that you can understand my pain, stedmor. Don't you dare."
And he went to open the door, patting his pocket to find the key.
"Now I understand you a bit better," I said, before he left.
"What do you mean?"
"Before I thought that you had to be an extremely stubborn person to go four hundred years without forgiving a father like Iago. I thought that you were inflexible, spiteful."
"Wow, thanks. I've had nicer compliments."
"But I understand that you can't forgive him, and I can't forgive Nagorno. I look at him and I see him killing my mother. I see everything that I never had: a childhood with her, knowing her as an adult, her knowing my husband. He made me an orphan, Gunnarr. He left me all alone in the world, he turned me into an adult in one afternoon."