Chapter 3

Tranum was not certain that he cared for his new clothing. The sandals were fine and the cloth shoes she called sneakers were comfortable enough; but his blue trews, jeans, were rather stiff and had an odd odor, and he did not understand the words and pictures painted on the T-shirts Linden had chosen for him-- except for the one that had a shark eating an oar! That was certainly plain enough. But his Valkyrie said that they were the names and emblems of Valhalla's favorite warriors, so he would wear them. After they had been washed.

Linden had laughed at his complaint of the odors and promised that the evil smell would go away when they had been put in a device for washing clothes. After that, the trews and tunics would have the same scent as her clothing-- Unless he objected to that?

He didn't object, but if clothes were to be perfumed he would not have minded having his clothes smelling like Eucalyptus or the place where they were at now. Club Valhalla was certainly a world of contrasting smells. Food and flowers, sulphur and sea. Most of the odors were pleasant; a few, like the T-shirt and car, were not.

Tranum took a deep breath, enjoying the cooking odors from the McDonalds where they had stopped to eat more food. He was not particularly hungry as he had dined lavishly at the morning meal, but Linden said that they were going to share a portion of two of the favorite foods of the Americans; french-fries and milk-shake.

Linden had given him the words in Danish. He warned her that shaking milk would make it clot into butter, but she had only laughed and said that he would enjoy the way they clotted milk in America. He believed that it was likely; he was developing a taste for this land of strong colored food and vivid smells.

In many ways he felt like Linden's infant, a child that had just opened his eyes on the world and did not understand its meaning, or like a dreamer who was waking for the first time from a deep slumber and had not yet cleared his thoughts from the dreams that came before his awakening and is confused, but who also knows that the real world is waiting for him beyond the blur of sleep that clouds his thoughts and sight. He almost had a feeling of childish excitement-- almost. Though he would never admit this to his Valkyrie, for he also had the feeling that this was, in the most basic way, very different world from the one he had left in that other cold ocean. Until he understood the rules, he would be cautious of taking any misguided steps.

Tranum ran his hands over the smooth, curved seat where Linden had left him to guard their packages-- Though what he was to guard them from, she did not say-- and felt the restless stirrings of his curiosity. This bench was a good example of what made him both curious and cautious. He had never seen or touched anything like it. The seat was a yellow brighter than tormentil, glossy as noon sun on still water and it almost hurt the eyes to stare at it.

His fingers curled under the narrow, sharp edge testing its strength. The resplendent bench was made of some thin but hard substance that he had never seen before. He would like to examine it more closely, to look underneath to see the cross-bracing that held it up, but the floor was not as clean as the one at the longhouse and he did not want to risk soiling Rolf's borrowed clothing by squatting on it.

Also, it would make Linden sigh and frown if he asked more questions and he did not wish to spoil their morning by inviting another opportunity for her to display her temper, or even laugh at him, and thus earn further correction from him. But it was hard to remain calm when he had so many questions. He was certain now that sight alone could not answer the myriad puzzles that were filling his head about the purpose of this waiting place on the way to Odin's hall. It truly was a pity that his explorations and queries seemed to alternately annoy and alarm his Valkyrie.

He did not understand why this was, but when Linden was alarmed, she sighed and spoke more often in englansk. It was simpler to just let her talk about the things she wanted and try to understand what she meant. Then he could ask subtle and crafty questions. He had already learned several things this way and now had many more questions.

For instance, his first view of the people at outletmall-- and especially that strange animal that was some sort of hound that had briefly overwhelmed him-- his staring had annoyed Linden very much. He had quickly recovered himself and looked away without questions when he saw her annoyance.

Tranum frowned as he considered. He would have thought that she was merely jealous rather than alarmed, except she must know that the other woman was not as attractive as she was and, therefore, it seemed she had no cause for a jealous display... So there was another reason for the look of tension about her eyes. A reason he did not understand but that might be dangerous.

Tranum did not need or want Linden to be deciding how he would go about, but she did know more about this Club Valhalla than he did. He would pay some heed to her fear, at least for now. Perhaps it was very rude to stare at strange women. Maybe women with purple hounds had bad magic and Linden feared to bring ill luck upon them. She seemed quite protective of him, so it must be that she had good cause to fear, and it was certainly unnecessary for him to stare at the strangers if it alarmed Linden. Besides, if he was to build his ship and then go on to Asgard, there was no real need to meet with all these foreign people and their silly animals; for there were no warriors for him to fight to gain greater glory and he did not make war upon women. Nor were there any monsters to vanquish before he entered Valhalla, unless it was the purple hound, and that did not seem very dangerous to him.

In the mean-time, the only people he needed to concern himself with were Rolf and his cranky Valkyrie, he instructed himself. He would study them and gain knowledge.

It was just that it was all so interesting, he thought with a Linden-like sigh. And he had always been a curious man-- an overly curious one, according to Grandfather Selig, who had often tired of answering Tranum's questions about the world, and particularly about how the many foreign weapons and devices worked. Curiosity was a strange curse to give a man, but sometimes Thor did it anyway.

He could not expect Linden, as a woman, to know all these things and he supposed that he would simply have to practice caution and patience until Rolf returned from Humboldt, and could give him some clear answers about how things worked.

Tranum gave the yellow bench a last pat and then looked up from his seat to watch as Linden worked her way through the crowd holding a bright red tray above her head. She was forced to wriggle and push as she waded through the press of bodies at the tarnished and impure silver table where the food was being prepared.

Even if it was rude to stare at women, he would still do it. Linden's tunic had ridden up and she was showing the smooth skin of her stomach and torso. It was enough to make his mouth go dry. That, at least, was the same in both worlds; although, he could not remember ever seeing anyone as smooth and pretty-- and healthy-- as Linden Kirstensen. Perhaps all ills were cured in Club Valhalla, not just wounds. That would explain Linden's perfection and appeal.

The tightening in his loins was quite painful in Rolf's too tight trews, Tranum noted absently. It was to be hoped that his new clothing would be more comfortable.

Tranum swallowed once and ordered his body to remain calm as he reached for the bright tray. Linden hadn't said, but he had the feeling that showing lust in McDonalds would probably annoy her as much as staring at the woman with the purple dog. His Valkyrie had not been happy earlier when people were near and he had refused to let go of her hand; she would probably be enraged if he held her in his lap and put his hands under her tunic to see if she really was as perfect as she seemed.

Linden sat down across from him and started to lower her leather pouch on the floor. Then she looked at the less than clean surface and sighed. She left her bag in her lap.

He had been correct! His Valkyrie was not pleased with the dirty floor. Linden was an excellent housekeeper and kept an immaculate home; of course she was offended. It simply pleased him that he had reasoned this much through. Perhaps he would eventually comprehend other things about Linden.

"This is milkshake?" He indicated the tall cup with an unpleasant brown mixture that had contained two hollow tubes stripped in scarlet and gold. "What has happened to the milk?"

"It's frozen. Try it." Linden picked up the thin cup and offered it to him.

He reached out quickly and very nearly crushed the vessel. The milkshake was indeed cold.

"Careful... It's just waxed paper."

"Waxed paper." He looked at the cup with renewed interest and reached for one of the thin tubes. He had seen paper before; it did not look like this. "The tube is also waxed paper?"

"No. Plastic. It's a straw." She gave him the word in her strange Danish but it did not mean anything. Her head tipped to one side as she studied him. Perhaps she was also curious.

Linden took the cup back and then raised one of the straws to her lips. She sucked hard and some of the cold, brown sludge traveled up to her mouth.

"Taste it. It is very good, I promise."

Tranum was dubious but he did as she suggested. It was difficult to draw the dirty, frozen milk through the tube but he persisted, and soon had his reward. The brown milkshake was indeed quite delicious; a sweet, creamy froth with just a small hint of bitterness that was pleasing on the tongue. It was also immediately plain that it did not come from a goat.

He put down the cup and reached enthusiastically for the french-fries in their bright red box. They were not cold. Actually, the brown, skinny things that looked like strips of succulent, golden fowl were quite hot and crushed easily.

"What are these made from?" he asked, biting into one cautiously. The taste of salt and something else foreign exploded on his tongue, chasing away the sweet of the milk. "Potatoes. You have had potatoes before?" He could not tell if she was making a jest.

"Of course. We eat many root vegetables on the farm."

"So you live on a farm? Is it far away from the city?"

"Ja."

Tranum picked up another piece of brown potato and sniffed. It smelled delicious and different from the potatoes at home. The new, rich foods of Valhalla were a great improvement over the handfuls of half-ripe berries and tasteless, dried fish they had been eating on the ship.

The cold that had come upon the world in recent years had all but destroyed the grape and berry vines north of Frankrig. Nor could they grow enough wheat for bread in Danmark. It was the same in Norge and Sverige and Skotland and Irland. Greenland was white and empty now. Everywhere, it was too cold, maybe even in Vinland where he had hoped to go.

Except in Club Valhalla. Here it was amazingly warm. The farms in this land would be bountiful, the food exciting.

"Do you grow vegetables in Club Valhalla, Linden?" he asked before recalling that he would not show any curiosity.

"Yes. Carrots, beans, lettuce-- greens, tomatos. Sorry, I don't have all the words in Danish. I can show you the garden when we go back home," she offered.

"I would like that." Tranum picked up another french-fry and bit down slowly, enjoying the salt and heat as it spread through his mouth.

Linden watched Tranum closely, smiling a little. She had never seen anyone be suspicious of a milkshake, and watching him eat fries was like seeing someone entering The Rapture. He was completely engrossed in the fried potatoes; eyes closed, savoring the smells and textures like it was a fine, vintage Bordeaux instead of cheap fast-food. She had seen women do that; the rolling eyes, the sounds of ecstasy when they bit into chocolate. But never a man. They weren't honest enough-- or sensual enough-- to really enjoy their food. Except Tranum. This was one man that loved his meals!

She wondered what he would do with a chocolate-hazelnut truffle or a hot fudge sundae. The thought had definite possibilities.

As though becoming aware of her regard, the pale green eyes opened and focused on her face. She had no idea what thoughts were turning over in his head, but it was likely that they were miles away from her own inappropriately lascivious musings about men and food.

Linden didn't say anything as she handed him the chocolate shake. Tranum took the cup with careful fingers and drew on the straw. He continued to watch her as he drank.

"Why do I confuse you, Linden?" he asked at last, his voice soft and inquisitive. "Every time I ask even a simple question you are distressed."

"I don't know," she answered honestly. Her voice was also soft. "I guess I don't know quite what to say because you aren't at all what I expected. You're a lot younger. More..."

"More...?" he prompted. The green eyes were intent.

"More innocent." She hunted in vain for words in Danish to describe feelings she couldn't put a name to even in her first language. "You're not acquainted with all the modern... Sorry, I don't have the words in Danish."

"But I do not come from here," he objected mildly. "Why would I know your customs? Does everyone who comes to Club Valhalla know your ways?"

"Most of them."

"Perhaps they have not traveled as far as I have," he suggested. "I think maybe it is an accident that I have ended up in Club Valhalla."

"The hand of Fate?" she asked, half seriously.

"The will of the gods, perhaps." He shrugged

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter really. It's just that after drowning you in the Pacific, I feel responsible for your well-being until my brother arrives," she explained carefully. "I guess I've been overly worried about you."

"You did not drown me, Linden." His Valkyrie scowled at him with mock fierceness and shook a finger at him.

"You miss the point. This place looks very safe and attractive-- and it is! Mostly. But there are some dangers for the..."

"Innocent?" Irony sounded the same in Danish.

"Inexperienced," she corrected, searching for any sign that she had truly offended him and finding nothing beyond indulgence in his expression.

Tranum picked up another fry and munched it absent- mindedly. Even in Rolf's clothes, he very much looked like a northern barbarian. The weathering of the skin, the crude scars on his hands and arms that showed rough stitching. It was hard to believe that he had any part in the computer age.

"When it is time for me to sail onward in Rolf's boat, are you going to come with me, pretty Linden?"

"Well, maybe," she answered. He had done it again! He had a way of saying things that were just that little bit off- center. He was like one of those pod people, or a Martian that had stolen a human body and was trying to pass himself off as a native.

Linden shook herself mentally. Now she was being as ridiculous as Rolf! Next, she'd start believing in his sea- monsters and reincarnation.

Out of habit, Linden looked at her watch. This time it offered salvation from this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. One o'clock. It was time for them to be getting back to the inn.

"You don't know if you'll come?" Tranum was asking, also looking at her watch. "Is it that Rolf won't let you go? Does he feel that it is bad luck to have a woman on board?"

"What? Oh! No. Rolf doesn't mind if I sail with him. He is not at all... superstitious. You know what I mean? He doesn't believe in bad luck." He just believes a lot of other strange stuff, she added to herself. Linden rose to her feet and tucked one of the bags under her arm. "Let's take the food with us. We can finish it on the way home."

Tranum stood, too, and reached for the other white paper parcel.

"Rolf doesn't believe in bad luck?" The tone was incredulous. Linden remembered then that most seamen were somewhat superstitious.

"Not from women," she explained. And then she added mischievously: "And especially not from me. I'm his good-luck charm. Without me, he'd be lost."

Tranum picked up the french-fries and followed her to the door. Linden had the feeling that they weren't through discussing women and bad luck. But that was fine. She welcomed a chance to educate her Danish pod person about the wonders of women's liberation.

"What is that you wear on your arm?" Rolf asked casually as he checked carefully for the car traffic.

"My watch?" Linden pulled up her sleeve and showed him. It was another brightly colored thing made of plastic that had some sort or runes encircling it. "It is rather ugly but Rolf gave it to me on my birthday... The day we celebrate my birth. Do you have birth day celebrations in Svensborg?" she asked chattily.

"No." He thought for a moment, trying to think of a subtle way to question Linden about the purpose of her watch.

"How old are you, Tranum?" she asked suddenly and then blushed. He glanced up from her wrist and watched with interest as the red tide moved through her cheeks. This time it was definitely embarrassment that stained her skin. "I'm sorry. Is that a rude question?"

"I don't know, Linden. Is that a rude question?" "Sometimes." She sighed, but she was also smiling a little. "Are you going to answer?"

"Perhaps. How old are you?"

"Twenty-six," she replied promptly.

"That old?" he asked in surprised. "You must be very healthy. You still have your teeth."

"Old?" Linden gasped and then started to laugh. "You horrible man! I am not old!"

"Twenty-six is very old. You should be married by now and have many children. It is your duty. We must see to this--"

She swung around and lifted one of the bags that held his clothing. He watched with interested disbelief as she hit him with it. The blow to his arm was not intended to hurt, nor did it; but he was still surprised that she had dared, even in jest, to strike him. It showed again that Rolf had not trained her well. Linden was an excellent housekeeper and an amusing, beautiful companion, but she was dangerously impulsive about other things.

"You should not hit me, Linden. It is not polite."

"Ha! How do you know? Maybe it is very polite here in California."

Linden's pretty mouth was trying not laugh. He had an urge to share her amusement but it was important that he make a point about hitting. Obedient women did not hit. Or if they did, they were punished for it. Better that she be cured now than to have some angered warrior beat her when they arrived in Asgard.

"If it is polite, perhaps I will hit you back," he answered, frowning at her continued amusement. She did not believe that he was serious.

Tranum studied her for a moment. The pattern of shade cast by the gentle swaying of the Eucalyptus leaves was quite attractive on her gleaming hair-- and an unwanted distraction at the moment.

"'Never mock a wandering man or a guest'," he quoted. "'None is so good that he lacks all fault, none so wretched that he lacks all virtue.'"

"Who said that?" she asked curiously.

"Havamal."

"We have a saying here, too," she answered back smugly. "It goes: Do not bite the hand that feeds you."

"Why?" Tranum caught her empty left hand and brought it near his face. "It is a very nice hand. I think I would like to bite it."

Linden's blue eyes widened. "And what about feeding you?" She was still teasing him but the pulse in her throat and wrist said that her heart was beating quickly. That was good. He wanted her to be aware of him and a little wary of carrying her teasing him too far. It was important that a man have his woman's respect.

"You have another hand."

He watched her carefully as he drew her unresisting hand to his lips. Her expression was somewhere between shock and fascination. He slowly turned her hand palm side up bending the fingers slightly back and exposing the skin of the pad below her thumb. Linden had stopped breathing. The blood hammered at her throat and wrist.

Tranum bit down gently. There was some force in the jaws but not enough to break the skin, or even bruise the tender, uncallused flesh.

"Oh!" Linden pulled back and after a moment he allowed her to escape. "Tranum Svensen, you play too roughly!"

"That was not playing, Linden Kirstensen. I have already told you that I do not play." She stood less than a pace away. She was breathing hard and again there was pink in her golden cheeks. It was anger or passion. Or maybe both. "Do not hit me, pretty Valkyrie. I bite. Even the soft hand that feeds me."

She dropped her gaze and spun about on her heels. She did not flee from him but she did not answer either.

Tranum suppressed the sigh that rose from his chest. That was not a habit that he wished to learn from his now silent Valkyrie. Still, he felt like sighing. Correcting Linden was a frustrating process as she did seem to like to play.

"Do not be angry with me, Linden," he finally said to the back of her tunic.

"I'm not."

"Then perhaps you would like to walk beside me," he offered, suspecting that he was relenting far too soon. He should leave her to think about his lesson in silence for a while longer.

"Not particularly," came the ungrateful reply. Then: "Can you see down the path to the left? That is another way down to the water."

Linden stopped and turned toward the ocean. Tranum looked where she was pointing. Through a break in the foliage he could see the shore. The distant beach looked small and hazy. The sea beyond was calm but there was a tell-tale glitter where a strong tide moved just below the frothy sea-foam scattered in small patches on the surface.

"This is not a good place for swimming. The tides are bad and also there are large fish-- like the one on your shirt-- that sometimes attack people. Do not go," she began and then rapidly amended her speech to something less forceful. "It would be best if you did not swim there. Not alone."

"Do you care then, Linden, if I am eaten by a fish?"

"At this moment?" She turned her head and looked directly into his eyes. There was another of her small smiles touching her lips. He had been forgiven.

"You are teasing again." He permitted himself a tiny answering smile. Perhaps teasing was just in the Valkyrie's nature. If she was a magical being, she would not be able to help her nature.

"And you don't play, correct? I think it might be best then if we did not speak to one another."

"'A fir tree withers on a dry knoll without shelter of bark and needles; so too does a man whom no one loves,'" he said softly.

"Let me guess. Havamal?"

"Do you care what happens to me, Linden?" he asked again, ignoring her question.

"Rolf does."

Linden felt guilty. Tranum actually looked hurt by her words-- Why, she could not imagine!

Except that she could imagine, she admitted almost immediately. She was, after all, the only friend he had while Rolf was gone. And maybe kidding a sailor about being eaten by a shark wasn't very nice.

"Oh hell!" she muttered.

"Hel? We are near Hel?" Tranum stopped and looked around quickly.

"What are you doing?" Linden also stopped. "What do you mean, we are near hell?"

"You called to Hel," he accused.

"I did not. I was cursing-- in American. You won't find hell hiding under any of those bushes."

"Of course not." Tranum straightened. He was frowning. "Hel smells bad and there is no ice here."

"Hell smells... Oh! Hel. I understand. I was talking about a different hell. This hell is very hot."

"Like here?"

"No, like Arizona."

"Ar-i-zon-a?"

"Now who is teasing?" Linden turned and started back for the inn. Tranum fell in step at her side. "Don't try and tell me you aren't a Christian in good standing! Every Dane I ever met was as Christian as it is possible to be. In fact, Denmark has to be about the most Christian country I ever visited. Don't try and tell that you haven't heard of hell."

"I am not a Christian!" The voice was affronted. "My parents were traders and forced to baptism when I was an infant. But after they died I went to live with my grandfather, Selig. He was not a Christian. He was a Viking from a long line of Viking fathers. I am a Viking! And I do not worship the Christian God." He was emphatic.

"Forced! Truly? But how? Why?" Linden was shocked. She had never heard of anyone being forced to a baptism, but Rolf was always telling her that things were different in the old country. And he should know; he went there often enough on his spiritual pilgrimages!

"It is the law," Tranum explained. "The priest came and everyone was ordered to be baptized if they wished to continue trading with outsiders."

"That's horrible Tranum! I can't imagine anything like that happening in Denmark. How dare they be so arrogant?"

"You were not forced to a baptism?"

"No! Of course not!" Linden was appalled and showed it. "We don't do things like that here. Haven't you heard about our freedom of religion?"

"Then you are not a Christian?"

"Yes. Of course I am. But no one forced me."

"Is Rolf also a Christian?" Tranum sounded bewildered.

"Well... Of a sort. He used to be. Now he is--" Linden groped for a word in Danish. How did one describe Rolf's hodge-podge of Norse and New Age religion? "Pagan. Rolf is a pagan."

"He worships Odin?" The question sounded quite serious. Could Tranum be serious? she wondered uneasily. Rolf's playing at Odin worship was one thing, but a true worshipper? Animal sacrifice?... Please, don't let Tranum be a hard-core about his religion, she pleaded.

"Rolf's a peasant," she answered at last. "He likes Thor more. Does it matter?"

Linden had a sudden unwelcome vision of Rolf hiking through Denmark in his green woolen cloak and passing himself off as a practitioner of the old religion, a Godi. He would see his unscrupulous actions as a practical way of luring an innocent Tranum out of his small farm and all the way to California-- Just to work on his stupid ship! And for free!

"No. If Rolf knows how to make a longboat, he may have any religion he wants," Tranum answered equably.

"And you? Are you a true follower of Odin?" Linden asked but she was not sure that she wanted to hear the answer.

"Yes. Why else would I be here to build this boat?" he answered in a tone of great reason. "Didn't Rolf tell you about me? Why I am here?"

Why indeed? She really was going to strangle Rolf. He had obviously found Tranum's village of isolated ship builders-- who were probably the Danish equivalent of the Amish-- and then he had spun some tale about a holy quest, and lured Tranum out to California under false pretenses! It wouldn't bother Rolf that he was taking advantage of Tranum's naivete, not if he got a good boat builder in the bargain.

"Do you... Does it disturb you that I am a Christian?" she asked. It was ridiculous, but his answer mattered to her. She did not want him to feel uncomfortable around her.

Then something she had rushed by earlier clicked into place with a loud, mental snap. Before he could reply, this new horrified thought came tumbling past her worried lips. "You didn't fly here, did you?"

"Fly!" He looked as stunned as she felt. "How would I fly?"

"You came in a boat, didn't you? And that's what you meant about drowning! You actually, almost drowned... oh my God!"

"Are you ill, Linden?" Tranum asked with concern. "Your face is white."

"What? I'm fine. Just..." she trailed off, not knowing what to say. There was no boat tied up at their jetty. That meant that Tranum had lost his ship, too. "Oh God! I'm going to kill Rolf."

"Speak Danish, Linden, or I can not understand."

"An Amish Dane! I'm going to kill him."

Tranum did not know what to make of Linden's strange behavior. She had seemed quite stunned that he had been traveling in a boat instead of flying. Flying! What an idea that was... and something that he would think about later.

He tried to talk to her, but the shock seemed to have taken Linden's Danish. He reassured her over and over again that he did not care that she was a Christian, but she only stared at him like he was speaking in some foreign tongue.

They arrived back at the longhouse very quickly as Linden was walking at a brisk pace as she muttered about Rolf. The red haired servant was waiting for them and she said something to Linden about Rolf that completely enraged his worried Valkyrie. She threw her paper package onto the big table and shouted: "What!" at the servant. "Rolf what?"

Tranum was of the opinion that if she had been carrying an axe something would have been chopped into pieces... probably her brother, had he been present. Certainly the table would have perished before her rage.

He asked again what was wrong, but she ignored him and just kept talking to the red hair, snarling and pacing up and down as she gestured in his direction saying: "Am-ish. Am- ish."

Tranum finally had enough and took her by an arm. He turned her to face him.

"What is wrong? Where is Rolf?" He spoke slowly and calmly, and after emphasizing his question with a small shake, he seemed to have some effect on his enraged Valkyrie. "We do not know where Rolf is," she finally answered in Danish. "He left a message on the answering machine. He has left Humboldt and gone somewhere else to find wood for the ship. He may not be home by the end of the week."

"Does this matter? I am content to wait. There is no need to build the ship at once."

Linden covered her eyes with both hands and exhaled slowly.

"It matters. Building ships is not all that Rolf does. He has other important tasks-- which he has left to me." Linden took another deep breath. "Three important men of learning are coming here to see Rolf at the end of the week. They are traveling a great distance and spending a great deal of... wealth in order to see a Danish skald perform a saga. Rolf is our skald. Rolf invited them. Rolf may not be here."

She was keeping her sentences simple. He wondered if it was because she was still angered and having trouble with her Danish, or if she was again treating him as a child.

"This is not important, Linden," he answered calmly, having decided that it was anger affecting her speech.

"Yes. It is important."

"No. It is not-- I am a skald," he interrupted over her continuing lament. "I will tell a saga for these men of learning if Rolf does not come back."

"You? You are a skald?" She blinked rapidly and looked down at the hands on her shoulders. "That is... That is wonderful. I am glad. I will still strangle Rolf when he returns, but I am glad."

"You will not strangle your brother," he said firmly. "And you will cease this display of temper. It is unwomanly."

Linden's mouth opened and then snapped shut. Lightning seemed to crackle in her stormy eyes and Tranum waited to see what she would do. She turned her head slowly and said something to the red hair, who was listening with rounded mouth.

"Tranum, Tabby has prepared a room for you. If you would go with her, she will take you there and show you where to put your clothes. There are some interesting books about ships on the table. I will see you at the evening meal. Right now, I have other chores to attend to." The tone was polite, but an absolute dismissal.

He looked at the fine trembling in her soft hands and decided to permit this discourtesy because she was obviously battling hard to keep her temper under control.

"Very well. You will come to see me in a while and we will look at your vegetables."

"Don't count on it."

"Speak Danish," he reminded her before following the red hair from the kitchen.

Now he was alone in a new room. It was as clean as the one that belonged to Rolf. His bed was large, the room generous in its size, even though it was tucked under the slope of the roof. It even possessed another of the fascinating glass windows that looked out at the beach.

In his boyhood home they had only had animal bladders to cover the small openings in the longhouse's walls. He had seen glass in windows before but only in small amounts, and only in the Christian churches of Middlefart.

Tranum dropped the curtain and pulled out the chair by the small table. It did not have the look of the Loki chair in Rolf's room, but Tranum was still cautious as he took his seat.

In front of him was a small pile of books. The covers were ugly and not made of leather as important Christian books were, but he forgot all about the Christians as soon as he opened the first thin tome.

He could not read the writing as they did not use Norse runes, but the pictures! The pictures were marvelous! Some brilliant artist had drawn the strange ships with a masterful technic of brush and stylus. They appeared so real that Tranum was almost certain that he would feel the wet of the sea water if he stretched out a finger and touched the page.

He was soon completely engrossed and forgot all about the fact that he was alone, and that Linden did not come and visit him.

Club Valhalla

Copyrighted (c) 2002 Melanie Jackson

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