The United States of Vinland Box Set

  The United States of Vinland: 4 Tales From Norse America

  The United States of Vinland

  Colin Taber

  Published by Thought Stream Creative Services, 2018.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE UNITED STATES OF VINLAND: 4 TALES FROM NORSE AMERICA

  First edition. November 16, 2018.

  Copyright © 2018 Colin Taber.

  Written by Colin Taber.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Welcome to Norse America!

  The United States of Vinland: The Landing | Map

  Part I: The Landing

  Part II: Wolf Sign

  Part III: The Rift

  Part IV: The Rise of Ravens

  Part V: The Golden Vale

  The United States of Vinland: Young Ravens and Hidden Blades

  The United States of Vinland: Red Winter | Prelude: An Icelandic Seed

  Part I: Blood of Wolves

  Part II: The Ravens’ Chase

  Part III: Two Lives

  Part IV: Red Winter

  Part V: Visions & Wrath

  The United States of Vinland: Loki’s Rage | Prelude: The Midnight Sun

  Part I: An Icelandic Landing

  Part II: A Markland Storm

  Part III: A Vinland Beach

  Part IV: A New Land

  Part V: The Coming Storm

  Epilogue: Neighbours

  About the Author

  Welcome to Norse America!

  In this collection you will find the first four installments of a grand retelling of history. The beginnings of a glorious saga befitting the Viking age!

  The Norse settled Greenland in 985AD and reached continental North America not long after - almost five centuries before Columbus - but left.

  What if they had stayed?

  Imagine what may have happened, how the world we know might be different...

  Would the British still have built their great empire? Indeed, what of the Spanish, Portuguese and French imperial expansions?

  Would there still have been some kind of American Revolution and Civil War? Might the American Bible Belt we know celebrate instead the All-Father Odin, Freya and Thor? What kind of America would have arisen? Would it even be known as America?

  What about the two catastrophic world wars our timeline has endured?

  We begin with The Landing as the Norse arrive on the shores of what we know as Canada’s Labrador. From there we will watch the first of them explore, live, love and in some cases fall. In time they will build halls and their first settlements will spread. They will meet other peoples and face great challenges. Bitter winters will come, but they will be followed by hope-filled springs. And all the while the Norse Gods will look upon the work of their mortal followers as a new civilization rises.

  Join me as we explore this amazing alternate history!

  Colin Taber

  The United States of Vinland: The Landing

  Map

  -

  The North West Atlantic in the Expanding Viking World 1000AD

  Part I: The Landing

  Chapter 1

  -

  The Squall

  All Eskil knew was the smothering chill of the embracing sea. As the waves passed, they rhythmically lifted and lowered him and the broken mast to which he clung. But he was not able to focus on any of that; his body was numb, his thoughts slow and thick.

  Death beckoned.

  A storm had come from nowhere, to darken the sky and push their two ships off course. Fierce winds and mountainous waves had driven them well away from their Greenland heading, and then, after what seemed an eternity of battling the tempest, both had stolen the other ship out of sight. At that point, with a prayer to Odin, Eskil could only focus on his own ship and people.

  They struggled with exhaustion, until their limbs ached, hoping to handle the protesting ship through the heaving seas. But it was finally swamped by a monstrous wave. His last memories of the chaos were of his crew’s desperate attempts to hold the craft together, until a final wall of brine had come to tear it all apart. Eskil found himself alone in the water, not remembering where he had last seen his expecting wife, Gudrid.

  The worst of the weather then dissipated, as if its job was complete.

  To lose out at the end of such an elemental fight was maddening, but rage was an emotion Eskil could no longer conjure. Not now, for he was drained and battered, overcome by the chill of the sea.

  He knew it would not be long before the cold would claim him, stealing his last breath as it kissed his shivering lips.

  He dimly noted the clouds beginning to break up, although the rain continued. Such a thing at least declared that the storm was well and truly past.

  Maybe it was a victory of sorts that he had survived such a vile tempest.

  He clung to the ruin of the ship’s mast and sail, still bound to the rigging, the best manoeuvre he had been able to manage after finding himself in the sea. Once secured, he had begun calling out, seeking his beloved Gudrid. But because of the continuing rain, he had neither seen nor heard her or any of the others.

  Bound to the floating timbers, he was relatively safe from the threat of the sea finding his lungs, although it left him with only one other task – trying to stay awake. If he did not, he would die. He knew the icy water was far more likely to kill him than anything else.

  He seemed otherwise alone, if not for the ship’s ruin, the soft call of the wind, and the grey curtain of rain.

  Eskil faded, his fatigue rising to overwhelm him, as the rhythmic motion of the waves continued to gently lift and drop him. Around him the wind droned on and the rain eased.

  Jerking awake, thus setting his sodden blonde hair to flick about his face, Eskil realised he had blacked out for a moment, or perhaps longer; he was not certain. He tried to curse, but his voice failed him, coming out as a shivering rasp. He should have been frightened, but instead lay his forehead back down against the timber of the mast.

  A feeling stirred in him; perhaps his spirit was trying to rally whatever remained. Finally roused, he hissed out across the waves, “Odin, help me! Take me to this new land you have led me to seek!”

  There was no answer.

  Eskil’s grip began to slacken and his mind began to fall to grim and dark thoughts.

  Then he heard a sound, a sound not of the wind or the waves, or even of the gods. The noise grabbed his attention.

  What could it be?

  It sounded again: the call of a bird, the caw of a raven.

  A raven meant land!

  He fought to awaken himself, to focus, as he tightened his grip.

  The raven sounded again, this time joined by another’s call.

  Land!

  And then, after that sweet chorus, came the crash of rolling surf.

  Land was near!

  He lifted his head to look about, seeing nothing but the tight, blue-grey valleys of water between the passing waves. Once it moved on, he roused in time to make a new discovery: beneath the waterline, his numb feet briefly stirred gravel as they dragged along the seabed.

  Shallows!

  He looked past the mast and tangled lines, and the cloth of the ship’s sail in front of him, to the overcast western sky, where the grey shroud of rain was brighter because it hid the sun.

  To the west, where yet more land was reputed to be.

  His feet then found the shallows again.

  While still hugging the mast and up to his neck in the chilled sea, Eskil took a step forward, only to find yet more rising sea
bed.

  The curtain of rain continued to fade, revealing huge but distant silhouettes. The dark, steep-sided forms loomed as if they mouthed a great fjord. With each moment, more land became visible, in shades of grey, as a rugged coastline opened up in front of him.

  “By Odin!” he whispered through chattering teeth.

  Eskil took another step on the stones of the seabed, only to find the water so shallow that he stumbled to his knees. His spirit soared as he worked with numb and awkward fingers to untangle himself from the rigging that had bound him to the mast. Finally breaking free, he rose and stepped forward as he sought to escape the water.

  He would live!

  He looked at the land emerging from the receding drizzle as he stumbled forward. His mind, still half lost, began to stir, but for now he noted the green of grass and grey of rock ahead; he realized he remained alone. Gazing up and down the shoreline, he searched for a sign that the others had also made it to land.

  Anyone, but most especially his Gudrid!

  The thought overcame him, setting him to shake and shiver as he staggered out of the foaming surf. He had promised his thirty followers a new life of land and freedom, a life away from the rising kings and the creeping influence of the White Christ.

  They would only honour the old gods!

  Just ahead of him, the rocky shore ascended to a narrow pasture, a few shrubs and a tumble of larger stones before the side of a low green hill began. The steeper entry into the fjord rose farther along the shore as it ran away to meet with other valleys. Yet, much remained lost in the colourless haze of drizzle.

  After a few more exhausted steps, he was out of the water, across the stony shore, and onto the pasture.

  He dropped to his knees.

  Here he was alone in the wilds, lost on the rugged shores of Markland, or another place beyond Greenland.

  But he had survived!

  Behind him, debris from the ship washed up, stranded next to a large, already-beached section of the hull. He could also see one of his people bobbing face down in the water.

  He got up and stumbled back to the surf, reaching Drifa’s body. He pulled her up to the gravel – but to no avail – she was still and dead.

  “Damn you, Odin,” he growled, “I was doing this for you! To bring your faith to a new land, away from those who have turned from your might!” Exhausted, verging on delirium, he collapsed onto the rocks leading up to the pasture, his spirit all but broken. “You led me here, you whispered to me in my dreams of a westerly land that I should seek. Well, I did as you directed; now I am here!”

  And then the wind died, as the last of the squall’s clouds and rain parted, allowing the mid-afternoon sun to shine down from over the distant heart of the fjord. The light washed over him, golden, generous and warm.

  Eskil slowly rose back to his feet as he called out, “Odin, give me this land and I shall give it back to you a thousand-fold!”

  A raven called, drawing his attention.

  Amidst the golden glare, briefly highlighted by the departing showers, Eskil saw a raven perched on a tall stone rising straight and true by the tumbled boulders at the base of the hill.

  He stepped forward, drawn to it.

  The raven watched his approach.

  He slowed, with each step, not believing what he saw: a stone, taller than a man, marked by the runes of his people.

  The runes read: "The Landing".

  “By the gods!”

  He then heard another voice, the sound of which made his heart jump.

  “Eskil?” It was his wife, Gudrid.

  He looked down at the base of the standing stone and noticed wet cloth on the grass, trailing away behind it. Putting a hand to the runestone, he leaned on it for support as he stepped around it, holding his breath.

  There she sat, with her back to the stone, her woollens still damp from the sea, but lit by the warm sunlight. Already her long blonde hair was mostly dry.

  “Gudda!” he whispered in disbelief, using his pet name for her.

  She looked up to him, her hands over the small bulge of her expectant belly, her blue eyes sparkling with relief. “Oh, Eskil!”

  He dropped to his knees beside her and took her into his arms.

  “I thought I had lost you!”

  “And I you. But Odin has spared us.” Pulling away from her, he surveyed the green slopes of the hill in front of them and then turned to the steep sides and rocky crests at the entry to the fjord rising farther down the coast. “He has brought us here.”

  “But where are we?”

  “I’m not sure, perhaps Markland.”

  “Markland?”

  “I think we passed Greenland.” He pointed to the distant fjord. “And I can see thickets of trees farther down the sound. They might simply be willow and birch, but others will be deeper inland, where they are better sheltered from the fury of the sea. Markland is named after the trees.”

  “Markland?” she whispered again.

  “Yes. The sailors in Iceland described it as a rugged and harsh land said to be beyond Greenland, but a place with more timber.”

  They both turned to take in the view – low green hills behind the beach, running west onto a deep and wide sound along the coast. The steep sides of the fjord rose in the far distance, occasionally edged by narrow, sun-warmed pastures. Glimpses of waterfalls spilled down like white ribbons between exposed rocks and thin woodlands. By the golden light of a summer afternoon, Markland seemed a land of rugged beauty and promise.

  Eskil stood and offered his hand to Gudrid; she took it and rose. “Are you hurt?”

  She smiled. “Merely tired and cold, although I feel sickly.” One of her hands went to her belly again as she spoke, “I think I swallowed a lot of seawater.”

  He nodded as he put an arm about her. “And how long have you been here, sitting against this runestone?”

  They both turned to examine the etchings, the raven watching them from above.

  “Not long, although to be truthful, I find it hard to think of how it all came about. I grabbed at some wood from the ship and was brought here by the waves. I do not think I was in the water for long, and I did not realise this stone was special until now. I simply came ashore and sought to escape the last of the rain and wind.”

  Eskil ran his hand over the stone’s weathered face, his fingers tracing over the rough runes. The stone faced out towards the open sea as a marker.

  The raven watched them for a moment, and then jumped into the air, spreading its black wings. The bird flew above their heads and dove down towards the shore. It did not land, instead gliding to pass over the breaking waves. The raven then rose again and turned to land on the broken timbers of the beached hull lying in the shallows. It looked back at them and cried out.

  The wet sounds of splashing came to Eskil and Gudrid as something stirred the water nearby. Another part of the ruined ship drifted into view. A small, partially hidden section of timbers emerged from behind the bulk of the beached hull the raven was using as a perch.

  Eskil and Gudrid could see three of their people clinging to the timbers as they tried to get to shore, their kicks and strokes heavy with exhaustion.

  “Quickly!” Eskil called out as he led Gudrid racing down to the water, wading into the chilly surf to reach them.

  They grabbed the three men, one by one, and dragged them to the gravel beach.

  The men collapsed. Torrador coughed up water while the blonde brothers, Steinarr and Samr, both gasped for breath.

  The raven called out again before leaving the hull, flying up and over them. It turned and dove again, down towards the breakers, as it headed along the shallows and towards the distant fjord. With another call, it flew towards the glare of the sun, but not before drawing Gudrid’s attention up the beach.

  Two figures, silhouettes against the golden glare, waved as they staggered towards them.

  “More of our people!” Gudrid exclaimed as she left Eskil with the recovering men.


  Torrador began a fresh round of choking and retching, ending with a hoarse gasp. “By Odin, thank you, Eskil!”

  Eskil knelt beside the big man, relieved to hear his voice. “Only concentrate on getting the sea out and some air in.” He patted the big man firmly on the back, setting his brown hair to jiggle.

  Beside them, Steinarr was now on all fours, as was Samr, who was trying to rise.

  Gudrid called from down the beach. “Erik is over here!”

  Eskil watched the silhouette of the Dane as he crawled from the water, amongst the bobbing timbers and other debris from their ship.

  She went to the retching man who was slumped onto the gravel. As he gathered himself, she called back to Eskil and the others, “There is much here we can use, including the rigging and sail.”

  Eskil patted Torrador on the back again as he looked at his wife and whispered, “Thank you, Odin.”

  Gudrid remained with Erik as he recovered.

  Beyond her, a man and woman approached from down the beach, both moving heavily with fatigue.

  Before turning to face the newcomers, she called back to Eskil, “Get the wood and rope, and the sail as well. We will need it for shelter.”

  Torrador paused in his recovery and let out a chuckle, despite trying to stifle his mirth in case he embarrassed his leader.

  Eskil grinned. That was his Gudda; she was never shy in voicing her opinion. He stood and said, “Come, she talks to you, too!” He glanced at the other men and added, “Steinarr and Samr, we have work to do!”

  His friends, coughing to clear their lungs, did as bidden and got to their feet. The four of them began grabbing at any useful debris they found in the surf, pulling it up onto the beach.

  Gudrid moved on and met the other survivors, bringing them back to Erik.

  Eskil could see it was the Icelandic couple, Ballr and Halla. He liked them; Ballr was a resourceful and trustworthy man.

  When Erik the Dane recovered and was on his feet, Gudrid sent him and the Icelanders back to Eskil, as she continued to walk along the beach, looking for more survivors and salvage. Occasionally, she would turn and call back, telling of particular items washed up on shore. After a good while, she turned and made her way back to them, holding a box in her arms.