conversation was getting ridiculous. “I already told you,” she said with exasperation. “The objects depicted in that book were taken from an ancient Viking burial site. A ship burial mound.”
“Burial? Whose burial?” he asked, almost fearfully. Then added, “Ancient?”
“Well, it’s believed that some powerful Viking leader had a son who died and that he erected this burial mound in his memory. There were no skeletal remains. So, it’s presumed that the son died in a battle out of the country, or at sea, maybe even…” Her words trailed off at the absolute horror on Rolf’s ashen face. “Rolf, why are you so upset?”
“He was not a prince. He was a karl…a high chieftain.”
“Wh-what?” She shook her head to clear it. She was talking to him as if she bought all his playacting. However, the teacher in her rose stubbornly to the surface, and she explained, “Rolf, the Viking buried there died more than a thousand years ago. Ancient history.”
“A thousand years?” he repeated dumbly. “Do you persist in saying this is the year 1997?”
“Of course.”
“ Guð minn góður! ” he whispered, then repeated the expletive, “My God!” Holding her eyes, he spat out, “Not only did my ship run off course in the great waters, but it traveled through time, as well.”
“That’s impossible,” she declared.
“What other explanation is there? Yesterday myship wrecked and the year was 997. Today, you tell me that it is 1997.”
“And you think that time travel is possible?” she scoffed.
He rolled his shoulders uncertainly. “The saga legends tell of such, but usually those adventures involved gods and the afterlife. But, yea, to answer your question, I do believe, like all good Norsemen, that anything is possible in this life.”
She curled her upper lip with skepticism.
A soft moan escaped Rolf’s mouth as he gazed once more at the book clenched in his fists. “ Faðir minn ,” he groaned. “My father—” he raised anguished, tear-filled eyes to hers, pleading—“my father must have prepared this burial site for me. Do you realize what this means?”
She shook her head numbly.
“I am dauður …dead.”
Meredith nodded, though she didn’t really think Rolf was dead, or that the man standing before her was a time traveler. No, she couldn’t accept that.
Could she?
Rolf was swaying from side to side now, keening a low, savage wail of bereavement. Because of his own death? Holy cow! Over and over, he muttered, “ Dauður…dauður…dauður… ” Finally, he snapped his head up, and swore, “ Hver fjandinn! Damn it! Damn Storr Grimmsson! Damn all the gods who drew me to this place and time. Most of all, damn me for my sins, which must have brought about this punishment.”
Meredith tried to put a comforting hand on his arm, but he shrugged her off. “Feel no pity for me, maiden,for I will return to my time. This I swear on all I hold sacred.”
Stepping back, she watched the raging warrior who tore the rubber band from his nape and pulled wildly at the strands of his long hair in agony. He let out a primitive Viking yell, as old as time, and stormed from the room and out to the cliffs, where he proceeded to bellow his rage and grief to the night skies.
Peering through the windows, she saw him pacing along the cliff edge, tearing at his hair, beating his chest, throwing out his hands in dismay. He chanted some strange words in Old Norse. A funeral dirge?
Meredith’s heart went out to the tormented man. She should be frightened, but she wasn’t. Somehow she knew he posed no threat to her. At least not a physical one.
He was a stranger, really, and yet she felt connected to him in a way she couldn’t define. She was attracted to him, but it was much more than that.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt Rolf’s pain. Whatever the reason for his being here, her intuition told her that fate, or God, played a role. It was meant to be.
She went out and tried to
“Burial? Whose burial?” he asked, almost fearfully. Then added, “Ancient?”
“Well, it’s believed that some powerful Viking leader had a son who died and that he erected this burial mound in his memory. There were no skeletal remains. So, it’s presumed that the son died in a battle out of the country, or at sea, maybe even…” Her words trailed off at the absolute horror on Rolf’s ashen face. “Rolf, why are you so upset?”
“He was not a prince. He was a karl…a high chieftain.”
“Wh-what?” She shook her head to clear it. She was talking to him as if she bought all his playacting. However, the teacher in her rose stubbornly to the surface, and she explained, “Rolf, the Viking buried there died more than a thousand years ago. Ancient history.”
“A thousand years?” he repeated dumbly. “Do you persist in saying this is the year 1997?”
“Of course.”
“ Guð minn góður! ” he whispered, then repeated the expletive, “My God!” Holding her eyes, he spat out, “Not only did my ship run off course in the great waters, but it traveled through time, as well.”
“That’s impossible,” she declared.
“What other explanation is there? Yesterday myship wrecked and the year was 997. Today, you tell me that it is 1997.”
“And you think that time travel is possible?” she scoffed.
He rolled his shoulders uncertainly. “The saga legends tell of such, but usually those adventures involved gods and the afterlife. But, yea, to answer your question, I do believe, like all good Norsemen, that anything is possible in this life.”
She curled her upper lip with skepticism.
A soft moan escaped Rolf’s mouth as he gazed once more at the book clenched in his fists. “ Faðir minn ,” he groaned. “My father—” he raised anguished, tear-filled eyes to hers, pleading—“my father must have prepared this burial site for me. Do you realize what this means?”
She shook her head numbly.
“I am dauður …dead.”
Meredith nodded, though she didn’t really think Rolf was dead, or that the man standing before her was a time traveler. No, she couldn’t accept that.
Could she?
Rolf was swaying from side to side now, keening a low, savage wail of bereavement. Because of his own death? Holy cow! Over and over, he muttered, “ Dauður…dauður…dauður… ” Finally, he snapped his head up, and swore, “ Hver fjandinn! Damn it! Damn Storr Grimmsson! Damn all the gods who drew me to this place and time. Most of all, damn me for my sins, which must have brought about this punishment.”
Meredith tried to put a comforting hand on his arm, but he shrugged her off. “Feel no pity for me, maiden,for I will return to my time. This I swear on all I hold sacred.”
Stepping back, she watched the raging warrior who tore the rubber band from his nape and pulled wildly at the strands of his long hair in agony. He let out a primitive Viking yell, as old as time, and stormed from the room and out to the cliffs, where he proceeded to bellow his rage and grief to the night skies.
Peering through the windows, she saw him pacing along the cliff edge, tearing at his hair, beating his chest, throwing out his hands in dismay. He chanted some strange words in Old Norse. A funeral dirge?
Meredith’s heart went out to the tormented man. She should be frightened, but she wasn’t. Somehow she knew he posed no threat to her. At least not a physical one.
He was a stranger, really, and yet she felt connected to him in a way she couldn’t define. She was attracted to him, but it was much more than that.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt Rolf’s pain. Whatever the reason for his being here, her intuition told her that fate, or God, played a role. It was meant to be.
She went out and tried to
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