Now though, curiosity lured him to look. His heart wanted to know what was so important to the old man that he took pains to put it in writing on an expensive piece of parchment. Einar had served the old earl in his younger years and had learned to read and write in both the Scots common language and the more formal Norse used by the earl and king. Latin was required for anyone involved with the court or the Church. Einar had insisted that his son and grandson be educated in those skills as well.
Soren sought out some privacy in a copse of trees near his barn and opened the packet. Unfolding it, he found two larger pieces of parchment and a smaller one. None of them were actually letters, but rather he found one had a map, one had some symbols and the last, the smallest one, had some words scrawled across it. Foreign words he could not understand. Mayhap the language of the Gaels?
Studying the map, he could identify several places noted on it. His grandfather’s favorite place—the broch—sat in the center of the map surrounded by other markings. Several of the ancient stone circles and standing stones and tombs were there, as well as some of the cities on the island like Orphir and Birsay. There were some places outlined in square or round shapes—the land that sat between the lakes of Stenness and Harray, the tidal island off Birsay and a beach on the north-central coast of the island. Kirkwall, now the main city and location of the earl’s palace and the cathedral of St. Magnus, was strangely omitted.
Putting the map aside, Soren studied the other large parchment that was covered in symbols. One, the war hammer, was familiar to him as Thor’s hammer. Many sailors and farmers carried or wore that symbol for Thor was known to be friendly to those who worked the lands or sailed the seas. Others were easy to identify like the shape of flames, or the shape of a horse, or the sun or the tree or the moon or a flash of lightning.
Lines connected some of the symbols but he knew not why. The fire and the hammer. The lightning and the water. The tree and the sun. The moon and the horse. Soren ran his finger over them and shivered at what he felt there. This was not just a parchment, this was a talisman, filled with some power he could feel but could not explain.
The symbols were arranged in a circle, too, outlined in shapes that resembled the stones near Stenness and Brodgar’s Ring. And in the center of that sketch, a black circle, completely filled in. A word he could not read was next to it and underlined several times. Another word, written then struck through several times, was under the black spot. When he touched that circle, screams filled his ears and visions of fire burst before his eyes.
Soren drew back, not certain what had happened. The sounds and sights stopped when he no longer touched the parchment. The sick, queasy feeling that settled in his gut made him want to burn the thing. Only that it was the last contact with his grandfather stopped him from doing so. Standing, he held the paper in the sun’s light to see it more clearly. Other shadowy figures were revealed then, along the edges of the drawing, but he could not identify them.
Placing the disturbing drawing down, he looked once more at the piece filled with words. More like words than symbols he realized, but the language did not look familiar at all. Soren had seen Latin and English and Scots and many others and yet this did not seem similar to those.
Einar would not have left them for him unless they were important and unless they could be understood or translated. So, if he could not translate these words or symbols, who could?
The only man he knew who might be able to help lived in Kirkwall. A childhood friend, Ander Erlandson worked for the bishop now. Though a priest, Soren thought he could trust the man.
Soren would not be able to travel to Kirkwall right away though he would as soon as was possible. Until then, he would protect these pages and say nothing about them to anyone. After speaking with Ander, he would go to the broch and try to find any sign that would help him understand whatever this information was that Einar wanted him to have.
If only his grandfather yet lived . . .
Ander looked from the parchment he held to Soren and back again, squinting and peering closely at the strange words. Soren could see both the amazement and curiosity in his friend’s gaze as the priest scrutinized the sheet again. Soren left the other two—the map and the diagram—tucked safely inside his tunic. Until he had some idea of what these were, there was no reason to share too much with others. Even friends.
“I have never seen the like, Soren,” Ander said, lowering the parchment to the table between them. “Where did you come upon such a document?” Ander moved a candle closer and bent over to look once more.
Soren chose not to answer and waited on Ander’s examination to continue. When his friend happened on something curious or different, he would quickly become lost in it. Minutes passed as Ander turned the parchment this way and that, holding it up to the candlelight and away from it. Then he’d hold it up against the glare of the midday sun coming through the window in the corner of the chamber. Soren stood and walked to the window, away from the table so his pacing would not interrupt his friend.
Peering out of the round tower of the bishop’s palace, he could see the cathedral of St. Magnus rising over the other buildings of the city. Ander’s position was important enough that he worked in the lower chamber of the bishop’s private residence.
“May I keep this a few days, Soren?” He turned as Ander approached, parchment in hand and a furrow in his heavy brow. “I want to compare it to something I saw in one of the bishop’s books.”
“You have no idea of what it says then?” Soren asked, fighting the urge to tear the paper from Ander’s hand.
“And no idea of what language it is either,” Ander admitted. “I am baffled by it,” he laughed as he shrugged. “And I do not like to be baffled.” No, Ander did not. It was one of the reasons that the bishop took him into service—Ander was relentless when meeting an obstacle. Ander looked at Soren and waited for an answer.
Could he part with it? Einar had trusted it to him. But Soren trusted Ander and he needed his help, so Soren nodded.
“How long?”
“Two days, three at the most. I have an assignment to complete before I can give my attention to it.”
“Three at the most,” Soren repeated, more to convince himself than to confirm his friend’s words.
Ander nodded and smiled, like a predator who scents another prey. “And if I give it back to you in two or three days’ time, you might even trust me with the others.”
“The others?” Soren asked.
“You keep touching something over your chest. More of the same, mayhap, or something different?” Ander asked, holding out his hand. Soren stepped back and shook his head. “Ah, so there is more.”
“Nothing really,” Soren assured. “Only something personal from my grandfather.” He met Ander’s green and knowing gaze, hoping the lie worked.
“Very well,” Ander said, backing away and placing the parchment on the table once more. “I will protect this one and you can make up your mind later on the others.”
“I thank you for your help, Ander,” Soren said. He walked to the door and pulled it open.” I will come back at week’s end.” About to leave, he finally remembered the name his grandfather had mentioned. “Have you heard the name Taranis before?”
“Aye,” Ander said. And nothing else.
