American fiction; Horror tales, American; Short stories, American
Thorstein lifted the great ring and slid it up his right arm to the
shoulder. There Thorfinn tied it with a crimson wool ribbon, slipped
under his father’s left arm-pit and crossed on his left shoulder;
so that the ring would not slide down the arm. Then, standing on
Thorstein’s right, Thorkell unsheathed his dagger and with its
point lightly slashed the back of his left hand, tilting it till
the dagger-blade ran with blood. Then, placing his left hand on the
temple-ring and holding the dagger point down over the center of the
altar, he swore:
“As my blood drips upon this altar from the point of this dirk, so may
my blood and the heart’s blood of all my kin, of any wife I may wed, of
any children I may have, of all those dear to me, be spilt upon the
earth, if my oath is not truthful. I swear by my own blood, by the holy
ring which I grasp, by this altar, by the pillars of the High Seat, by
their sacred bolts, before Thor and Odin, that I am Thorkell Vilgerdson
of Rogaland in Norway, and that I am newly castaway on the coast of
Iceland and have never, in Iceland, seen or spoken with any Icelander
excepting dwellers here at Hofstadir.
“If my oath is false may my heart’s blood and the blood of all those
dear to me be spilt upon the earth as my blood now drips from the point
of my dirk. Before Odin and Thor I have sworn.”
Thereafter Thorfinn removed the Gothi’s ring from his father’s arm and
he and Thorstein laid it in its place midway of the altar-slab.
Outside the temple Thorgils dressed the slash on the back of Thorkell’s
left hand. Then Thorstein first and after him his sons in the order of
their ages, clasped hands with Thorkell, each uttering the formula:
“You are our dear and trusted cousin.”
Finnvard followed. Then Ari, Olmod and the men-at-arms saluted
Thorkell, crying:
“We are brothers in arms.”
From the temple Thorstein led Thorkell into the storehouse and into
that part of it which was used as an armory.
“Look over these weapons,” he said, “and select a sword, poniard and
belt-knife to your mind. Try first those you now have; if they suit
you, keep them. But be sure that the balance of the sword is precisely
what you prefer and that you are armed as you desire.”
Outside, in the mild sunshine of a day unusually mellow for Iceland,
they sat on the benches flanking the doorway and chatted until after
midday. Then Thorstein cautioned Thorkell that a man who had been
exposed and exhausted as he had had best lie down an hour or so before
his first heavy meal after his privations.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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