The Memory Painter: A Novel (17 page)

“With some help,” Bjarni said, walking to greet him. His eyes scanned the crowd and easily found Garnissa. Her long tresses fluttered in the wind along with the colorful ribbons adorning her red and blue skirts. Her hair was pale gold and her eyes were a mixture of green and blue like the sea. They twinkled back at him—she knew he spoke of her.

Everyone crowded around the newcomers, enlivened by their arrival and ready to trade whatever wares the
Gata
had brought. The crew began to unload the cargo, and Bjarni followed his father to his newly constructed longhouse nestled on a nice patch of clearing. He wanted to soak in the bathhouse and change out of his filthy tunic before seeing Garnissa that evening.

Whenever a new ship came to port, it was tradition for the village to gather around the fire at dusk. They would often look for any reason to congregate and drink strong mead, tell stories and riddles, and sing the songs of old. Tonight was no different.

When Bjarni arrived at the bonfire, Ulfied, his burly shiphand, was in the midst of telling the story of the new lands they had sighted. Bjarni suffered many a joke for his decision not to stop. Soon drunken men were performing skits, pretending to be a daft captain unable to steer his ship. Bjarni took all of it with good humor, purposefully ignoring Tarr’s murderous gaze. He became grateful when one of the elders, Aldar, began to entertain the rowdy group with a poem.

“One day,” Aldar began, taking care to meet the eyes of every child sitting around the fire, “Odin’s ravens, Huginn and Muninn—seers of all thought and memory—swooped down and stole the threads from the three fates, the
Norns
. Now, we all know who the three fates were.”

A chorus of children yelled out their names, “Urd! Verdani! Skuld!”

“Yes!” Aldar hissed, sounding like a sorcerer himself. “Weavers of the past, present, and future. Now, because of the birds’ trickery the Norns could no longer spin the tapestry of life and time itself was in danger of being lost.”

Bjarni tried not to laugh at the wide-eyed children, enthralled by the old poet’s tale. Aldar had been a
skald
at Norway’s royal court as a young man and could launch into a perfectly metered story on a whim. Bjarni hoped that some day his own son would be able to sit at Aldar’s feet as he had and hear the poet conjure up worlds as real as their own.

Bjarni met Garnissa’s eyes, and she left the fire discreetly. He was not pleased to see Tarr’s gaze on her as well. It seemed that she had caught his attention. Bjarni locked eyes with him and followed Garnissa, marking her as his own. Tarr might have a grudge against Bjarni, but he would not let Tarr’s shadow fall on her.

Leaving quietly, Bjarni made his way to the river to meet her. Finally they were able to be alone.

“Welcome to Greenland, o fearless explorer of new lands,” she teased, yelping as Bjarni swooped her up in his arms.

“Would you have had me on another shore without you?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

“Never,” she said, bringing his face back up to hers to kiss him fully. “I’m glad you didn’t stop.”

“My refusal has made me enemies,” Bjarni admitted.

“The raider,” she nodded. “He’s a mean one.”

“Promise me you’ll give him a wide berth until he’s gone after winter.”

“And will you be gone after winter too?” She held his hand.

“No. Greenland is my home now. With my wife and sons.”

“Sons?” She laughed, her eyes shining. “And where are these sons?”

Bjarni took her in his arms. “Waiting for us.”

Skuld, future’s fate, had shown him his path long ago. He was certain Garnissa felt it too, perhaps even more clearly.

“You’re looking quite pleased,” he teased her. “Have you been casting runes?”

She nodded happily, a little smile on her face.

“You’ve no need to. I am yours, Garnissa. Always.” He embraced her tightly.

They lay down on the grass, wrapped in each other’s arms, and listened to the merriment from the bonfire. The night was cool, signaling winter would soon arrive. Bjarni’s eyes grew heavy as the laughter lulled him to sleep.

He knew not how long he slept, his body a still stone upon the earth. The mist began to grow colder, sharper, like stinging nettles coming on the wind to find him, and he awoke.

He heard rustling and forced his eyes open to find a woman staring down at him. She had long, raven black hair that was woven into a crown of braids, a queen’s crown. Her arms and neck were adorned with heavy bands of gold encrusted with priceless gems. Bjarni could not speak. She was the goddess Freyja surely.

She bowed her head and acknowledged him. “You are dying, Bjarni Herjólfsson. As am I.”

*   *   *

Bjarni woke from the dream to a world of snow and ice. He was lying by the same river where he had asked Garnissa to marry him thirteen years ago, only now his body was naked, exposed mercilessly to the elements and shivering with cold. He knew he would be dead before nightfall, as he had planned.

The goddess who had visited him must have been a
fylgje
, a follower, who showed themselves in dreams at the time of a person’s death. He had felt a sense of kinship upon seeing her.

Where she had stood, a niviarsiaq flower now grew, struggling to bloom despite the frost. It made him think of Garnissa, and tears rolled from his eyes, freezing on his cheeks before they could fall.

She had been missing for months now—taken the same day their son had been murdered.

Bjarni had returned home from his fields to find Anssonno lying dead on the doorstep, his neck slit open like a hunted animal’s. Inside, the longhouse was marked with signs of a dreadful fight, and the weapons Bjarni kept hung by the door were strewn across the bloodied floor. Garnissa was gone.

The villagers had searched the area for days, but Bjarni knew she would not be found. The intruder had left behind something Bjarni had thought he would never see again—Garnissa’s vegvísir. His eyes had settled on it as he had cradled his son’s lifeless body. It was lying in the doorway on top of Garnissa’s
hustrulinet
, the lovely white headdress she wore over her hair. When Bjarni saw the vegvísir and headdress together, he knew that Tarr had taken her and that he would never see his wife again.

There had been talk of a raider’s ship being spotted up the coast two days before. It had been well over a decade since Bjarni had last seen Tarr, and he had thought him gone from his life. But Tarr must have remained intent on taking his revenge. And Bjarni could now see that Tarr had not plotted to kill him, but had waited to destroy everything he loved.

When Bjarni realized that Tarr was the one who had taken her, he—along with Garnissa’s brothers—had set out in the
Gata
, searching for any sign of the raider. But they had no success, and for months he had sunk into the darkest despair.

It was in such a state that his old friend, Leif Erikson, had found him. One of Erik the Red’s sons, Leif had been living for many years in Norway at the royal court. Bjarni had not seen him since their youth. Leif had finally come to Greenland to see the settlement for himself and bring priests of a new religion called Christianity that had been gaining popularity in the south. They were already busy building a chapel and visiting all the settlers to invite them to attend.

Leif had come to Bjarni’s longhouse to pay his respects. The loss of Garnissa and Anssonno were still the talk of the village.

“Would you not see one of the priests?” Leif had asked him gently. “Perhaps it would help bring you peace.”

Bjarni looked at him with eyes red from too many tears and too little sleep. “If I went to Odin, ruler of Alsgard, or to your new god, and asked them why Garnissa had been taken, why my son had been killed, I wager neither would have an answer.”

Leif did not press the point and nodded solemnly. They drank mead by the fire, and Bjarni turned the subject to Leif’s plans.

“I had not given it much thought beyond reaching Greenland,” Leif admitted.

“Have you need of a ship?” Bjarni asked.

Leif looked at him in question.

“I am to sell the
Gata
. I do not need it anymore.”

“But she is yours.”

“I would give her to you,” Bjarni said. “And rest easy knowing that she was out on the sea with you as her captain.”

Leif was speechless. A ship as fine as Bjarni’s would change everything.

“I have but one request,” Bjarni said.

“Anything.”

“Find the land I sighted. I will tell you the way.”

Leif nodded with excitement. Everyone had heard the stories of Bjarni’s discovery, but he had never told anyone how to find it. Bjarni had always hoped that one day he would give his son the
Gata
and let him explore the new land. How many times had he contemplated packing up their belongings and taking Garnissa and Anssonno there while they were still young? If he had, Tarr would never have known how to find them. Instead every dream died the day Anssonno had been murdered. Now Bjarni only wanted to follow his son to the grave.

“Take this.” He placed Garnissa’s vegvísir in Leif’s hand. “It was made by my wife.” He swallowed, forcing himself to continue. “It will help you find your way.”

“You do me a great honor, Bjarni Herjólfsson.” Leif bowed his head and pocketed the vegvísir. “I will find your land.” He swore a solemn oath and they finished their mead in silence.

*   *   *

As Bjarni lay on the snow, he wondered where Leif was. Their talk had only been last spring and yet now it seemed like years ago. Bjarni had made the decision to end his life as he had watched the
Gata
set sail without him, with another captain holding Garnissa’s compass. In the weeks that had followed, he had given away the remainder of his possessions and cleared out his house—then he waited.

On the morning of what would have been Anssonno’s thirteenth birthday, during a full winter storm, Bjarni had stripped off his clothes and walked to the river to die.

He stared up at the bleak sky and thought of
Yggdrasill
, the tree that towered over all the nine worlds. At its root was the well of highest wisdom, which the giant Mimir guarded with his life. Odin had even sacrificed an eye to have a drink from the well in order to obtain infinite knowledge. Bjarni would have bartered every bone in his body to have one drop of that same wisdom before he died—to know if Garnissa was still alive. Was she in pain? What had Tarr done to her? And was Anssonno in Valhalla, the place where the bravest warriors went when they died? Bjarni knew he must be, because his son would never have let his mother be taken without putting up the fiercest fight. Anssonno had battled for her with his life and lost.

The night of their wedding, Garnissa had dreamed of their son in Valhalla. The dreams that a bride had on the first night of her marriage were considered to be prophetic—foretelling the number of children the couple would have, along with their destiny. It had taken her years to tell Bjarni about her vision. Seeing their son in Valhalla had terrified her, and made her quite protective of Anssonno after he was born. She had always believed they would only have one child, even though they had tried for many years to have more.

Bjarni sobbed and drew his last breaths in with the cold. This death would not allow him entry into Valhalla—Anssonno was lost to him. Images of his son and Garnissa filled him, and Bjarni begged the snowstorm to take his life. He could not live another moment imagining their pain.

As he closed his eyes, he saw a rainbow extending from the horizon and into the clouds, and he knew it was
Bifrost
. Odin was showing him the sacred bridge from Asgard to Middle Earth, as if to say that his journey was not yet over. Weary, Bjarni took his last breath and wished he had Garnissa’s vegvísir to help him find his way.

TWENTY-TWO

MARCH 2, 1982

Michael woke up on his office floor, his body shivering. He tried to call out for help, but his voice sounded like the cry of a wounded animal.

Diana came rushing into the office. “My God, what happened?”

But her words had no meaning to Michael. He was consumed by Bjarni’s pain.

She knelt beside him. Finn and Conrad hovered in the doorway, looking unsure about what they should do. Diana tried again. “Michael—listen to my voice. You just had a recall. Come back.”

Michael saw her face and began to sob. “Garnissa?” He sat up and held her in a fierce embrace, “Garnissa.” He could not stop the pain rising within him, as he gasped for breath and tried to explain what had happened to her and their son.

“Get me a blanket!” Diana shouted over him to Conrad and Finn. “Hurry!”

Finn ran to the closet and returned with one they used for the sofa. Diana wrapped it around Michael and began rubbing his body, trying to warm him as he rambled on.

Conrad watched in fascination and whispered to Finn, “What language is he speaking?”

Finn was staring at Michael in shock. “Old Norse.”

Diana kept working to warm Michael’s body and repeated the same thing again and again in an attempt to calm him. “Shhhh. It’s me. Diana. I’m right here.”

But Michael could see Garnissa’s spirit shining in her and it only made him cry harder. His body was racked with cold—Greenland’s winter still clutched at his mind. He forced himself to take several deep breaths and struggled to assimilate the memories.

Looking around in a daze, he saw the overturned chair and the files scattered on the floor. He must have passed out. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on feeling warm. The chill was just a memory.

Diana reached out for his hands and held them in hers. “What happened? Who were you?”

“Bjarni Herjólfsson.” He struggled to put his answer into English. “A Viking trader from Iceland.”

Diana’s mouth dropped open. Finn, still looking stunned, sat down in the nearest chair.

Conrad was the only one laughing. “Jesus, now you’re a Viking?”

“Conrad, please.” Diana glared at him.

But Conrad continued to taunt him. “Did you sail the seas, terrorizing villagers with Thor’s hammer?”