The Whaler (The Island of Sylt Book 1)

by Ines Thorn

  A little later, Maren trudged sullenly up the dunes with the Ottensens, the Lorenzens, the Thakens, the Hennings, the Bohns, and the other families of Rantum. There had been a fine drizzle falling over the island all day, and the sand was hard as stone. Now the rain had stopped, and twilight was washing the last bits of color from the winter landscape, making it grow ever darker until it became gray. It was a good day to sit at home by the hearth; but even though it was damp and cold, everyone climbed up the dunes. Klaas walked slowly and had to stop now and then because his rheumatism was particularly bad that day. The youngest Ottensen child coughed so hard that one could almost hear the rattling in her chest, and someone had tied a hot stone in a sling to old Mrs. Thaken so she wouldn’t freeze. Still they were full of laughter and banter, singing and chattering in anticipation of the festival. The people of Sylt had spent the whole winter in their houses, sheltering from the heavy storms and bitter cold, and now it was time to call the spring.

  Everyone wore their best clothes. Their shoes had been polished until they shone, and the women’s wrists, hands, and necks glittered with every piece of jewelry they owned. All of them wore their freshly aired-out traditional formal wear, but no one wore it as haughtily as Grit. And she had every right to, for on her dress, a few real gold coins danced, catching the light of the torches. They walked up the narrow dune path like geese, craning their necks toward the festival, eager to capture and enjoy every tiny moment of it. Sand crunched quietly under Maren’s feet. The children chattered excitedly and pulled their parents forward. Even the elderly who could barely walk anymore perched on the backs of their strong sons and were carried up the hill.

  Just before Maren and her family reached the top, Thies met them. Maren reached for his hand, casting a triumphant glance at her mother, and they climbed to the top together, arriving almost last. The area at the top was filled with people. Two fishermen were spreading herring over an old grill, and spiced wine was being heated over a barrel of coals. The citizens of Rantum stood around in groups, and laughter sounded in the darkness again and again. Maren thought it was very much like the atmosphere in the church on Christmas. Nothing exciting had happened yet, but the air was practically flickering with possibilities. Holding Thies firmly by the hand, Maren looked over at Grit. Grit’s dress might be decorated with gold, but her face didn’t show the least glint of joy. Angrily, she stared daggers at Maren and Thies, threw back her head, stuck her nose in the air, and turned away.

  When everyone had finally reached the top of the path, the villagers of Rantum arranged themselves around the huge unlit bonfire. A reverent, almost hallowed silence overtook the group. Only the children, with colorful lanterns in their hands, laughed and scampered around the few men holding flaming bundles of straw. As the beach overseer for Rantum, it was tradition for Rune Boyse to take the first step toward the fire, but this time, Old Meret stepped forward out of the circle. She leaned close to the woodpile, her small figure glowing in the light of the torches. She looked as though she had been dipped in gold. Maren poked Thies in the side. “She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?”

  Thies shook his head. “Some people say she’s a witch, and now I’m not so sure that isn’t true. What’s she doing there?”

  Then Old Meret raised her arms and tilted her face up toward the dark night sky, which was lit only by a pale sliver of the moon. “Odin, lord of storm and sea, guardian of seamen and fishermen, guider of wheel and sword, is our great protector. To earn his goodwill, today we sacrifice animals and goods to the hungry flames,” she called in a deep, powerful voice that sent shivers down some people’s backs.

  Maren turned to Thies again, who was staring as though spellbound at the strange, almost ghostly apparition of Old Meret. “What’s she talking about? We don’t sacrifice animals. That would be cruel.” At that moment, a flock of wild geese flew over the hill, honking loudly. Everyone looked up. When they saw the birds, they froze and went silent. Old Meret pointed to the geese, as though she had summoned them. There must have been about a dozen, and they circled over the group and cried out, as though they had something to tell the crowd.

  Only Grit, who was standing behind Maren, seemed relatively unimpressed. “What a lot of drama,” she said. “Now all we need is for one of them to land on Old Meret’s shoulder.” But her scoffing was immediately interrupted. Old Meret raised a finger in warning to her, and it seemed to Maren as though the old woman was looking directly at her.

  “Do you see them?” the old woman cried. “Do you see the wild geese? You all know the story of the wild geese. In the old days, part of our island sank into the tide. Before the disaster, which I myself did not see, our island was shaped like an oval, like a seagull’s egg. After the storm, it looked like a torn piece of seaweed. The entire village of Steitum disappeared. Now, the ghosts of the lost souls of Steitum take the form of wild geese and mourn their loss every year at the Biikebrennen. Those who see them are doomed to disaster.”

  Everyone stared up at the geese, who were still calling. Men put their arms protectively around their wives and children, and some of the little ones began to wail. Captain Rune Boyse was about to put an end to the eerie, haunted atmosphere, but then the geese flocked together and flew away. The villagers exhaled in relief, and Old Meret continued, her arms still stretched to the heavens and her shape silhouetted by torchlight. “Our shouts ring at the feet of the gods. Wetke tiare! Take our sacrifice, great Odin! Ho! How the winter will soon burn on the pole! Spring, open your blossom eyes. Awaken and watch the fiery wheel roll to the sea!”

  At that moment, a young man who would be going whaling for the first time that year pushed a wheel wrapped in burning straw across the dune and let it roll down into the water. Now the villagers were free of all debts to their neighbors, free from the sin of the harm they had done to one another. It was a new beginning.

  A collective sigh could be heard, and afterward there was a thoughtful silence. Old Meret used the moment of quiet to deliver the final threatening words of her speech. “You have forgotten! Forgotten the gods, forgotten the father, forgotten the meaning of the sacred Biikebrennen! We old ones must call them!” Then, exhausted, she let her arms drop to her sides.

  Captain Boyse stepped up next to her holding a long, flaming pitch torch in his hand. “Tjen di Biike ön!” he shouted. Light the Biikebrennen! Then he threw his torch into an opening at the bottom of the huge pyre, and the others with torches or bundles of burning straw followed suit. The pyre crackled, smoke billowed up, and then flames shot into the night sky, thanks to the donations of oil and fat. Sparks flew upward and sprayed the sky with golden stars, which fell glowing to the earth. Cries of jubilation broke out. The girls clapped, and the boys threw their hats in the air. And in the blink of an eye, the fire from the village of Hörnum could be seen in the distance, glowing in the dark night. Then the fire of Keitum, and afterward, Westerland. The smallest children were lifted onto shoulders, and they pointed southward, to where the Biikebrennen on the neighboring island of Amrum could be seen. Faces glowed with happiness. The villagers took one another by the hand, not caring whether they stood beside friends or enemies, and made a circle, walking slowly and ceremonially. Then the musicians began to play an old song, and the plaintive melody could be heard far across the island.

  When the song was over, Old Meret raised her arms once more and turned her eyes to the sky. “Odin, great lord! Protect us and our island,” she cried in her dark, conjuring voice.

  Then she lowered her arms, suddenly looking unspeakably exhausted. She staggered out of the circle, supported by a neighbor who quickly supplied her with a tankard of hot wine. At the same moment, it seemed like the fire lost some of its power. The golden sparks ceased rising, and even the crackling of the wood became quieter. An oppressive silence hung over the crowd, but only briefly. Then murmuring, whispering, hissing, and grumbling began.

  “The Biikebrennen should be a happy festival,” someone said. “Send that ol
d witch home. We don’t want her dark prophecies here.”

  “Yes, send her away so she doesn’t ruin the festival. We want to celebrate and enjoy ourselves,” someone else added.

  Then several voices rose in chorus. “Send her home. Send her home. Send her home!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Old Meret left after practically being driven away. In a few moments, the merriment of the festival took hold again. Young boys cavorted and shouted as loudly as they could, and girls took each other by the hand and danced around the fire, leaping like young deer. The older men had gathered together and filled their pipes, and soon a thin white cloud floated next to the mighty pillar of smoke from the Biikebrennen. The married women had also gathered and were chatting and singing songs, but the mood was still slightly dampened in spite of all the noise. The cheerfulness was contrived, and it became more hysterical and wild by the moment. The songs sounded shrill, and the laughter sounded hollow. Hanging over the festival was a dark foreboding, which couldn’t be driven away by laughter or song. Maren had taken Thies’s hand and pulled him into the circle of youths. One of the boys, who was passing around an old sailor’s flask of rum, kicked a foot in the direction that Old Meret had disappeared in.

  “I wish the old witch would finally die. She only brings trouble to the island. Just last week my mother dragged me to church. I had to light a candle because I met the old woman at night and forgot to greet her.”

  The other boys jeered. Even Thies made a face. Only Maren shook her head. “I don’t think she’s dangerous. Maybe she has some strange ideas, but she certainly isn’t a witch, at least not an evil one that we have to be afraid of. She’s never hurt anyone. But I am sure she has the second sight.” She paused to think. “I’m happy, at least, that I only have one set of eyes.” And then Maren laughed brightly. Only Grit shook her head as though Maren had just said something monumentally stupid.

  “We’ll be leaving in a few days,” one of the boys said. “Let’s celebrate properly one last time!” Then he started singing a bawdy song, and the others joined him, laughing.

  Captain Boyse stood with the minister, observing the antics of the young people. He was particularly interested in one of them. He smiled when she smiled, and scowled when she took someone by the hand.

  “You will be leaving for your long voyage in a few days,” the minister said, shuffling his feet in the sand. “I can’t say that I’m particularly pleased about it. When you’re on the island, I can depend on people to go to church and behave themselves. But as soon as you’re gone, things become unpredictable.”

  “What do you mean, Father?”

  “Well, sailors’ wives are expected to be faithful, but it seems to me that doesn’t always apply to all of them.”

  Boyse’s forehead creased. “Girls who have lost their virtue and unfaithful wives have to wear a red band on their foreheads. I didn’t see a single woman or girl wearing one today.”

  “No, and it’s no wonder. It just means that since you’ve been back on the island, you’ve been keeping order. And when I baptize the spring babies whose ‘fathers’ were at sea nine months before the birth, of course I record the names of those sailors as fathers in the parish register.”

  Boyse nodded. “As we agreed. And in exchange, Father, you receive a barrel of good rum from me every November. So I’ll hear no complaints. The most important thing is that there is peace on Sylt. And so there is.”

  Boyse left the minister standing where he was, straightened his tunic, and ran a hand over his hair and beard once more. Then he straightened his shoulders and made his way over to Finja and Klaas Luersen, who were standing with neighbors and singing songs.

  “I’d like a word with you, Luersen.”

  Klaas separated himself leisurely from the group and followed the captain for a few paces. They walked away a little, where no one would hear them. Klaas didn’t follow as reverently as another man might have done. He had respect for Boyse but didn’t fear him.

  “I’ll come straight to the point. I’d like to marry your daughter.”

  Klaas drew on his pipe. “Ah. And why our Maren, of all the girls? You could easily find richer, more beautiful girls.” Klaas loved his daughter dotingly, but he knew she wasn’t a good match for the captain. She was too outspoken, and too poor. She was pretty. Yes, she was very pretty, with her gray eyes and long blond hair. But she was also headstrong. She wouldn’t make a good wife for someone who was used to giving orders.

  “I have chosen Maren. She belongs to me and my family.”

  Klaas was astonished by the certainty of Captain Boyse’s words. Any other man would have praised Maren’s virtues, her skills, and her beauty. But Boyse didn’t waste any breath on those things.

  “Does she know?” Klaas asked. He never could have imagined that the girl who had been the talk of the Rantum pub could be his daughter.

  “She doesn’t know. At the moment, she’s dancing with Thies Heinen around the fire. And I don’t like it, if I may tell you.”

  “You may, but it won’t change anything. Maren is sixteen years old, Captain. Should she sit at home twiddling her thumbs? She’s young, and she wants amusement like all the other young folk. She still has time before she has to marry. But when the time comes, Maren herself will decide.”

  “I’d thought to announce the engagement this evening. We can marry next winter. You and Finja can think about whether you’d like to leave your cottage here and come live with us in Keitum. I have plenty of room. You know I have one of the best Frisian houses there. You would want for nothing. There’s even plenty of firewood and Branntwein.”

  Klaas regarded the captain for a moment before he spoke. “A tempting offer, to be sure. Although surprising. But we won’t do anything that Maren doesn’t agree to. You may ask her yourself whether she wishes to be your wife, though I think she’s too young for marriage. Everything else will happen as it must.” Then Klaas tapped his pipe out on the heel of his boot and turned to go. He sighed softly, because he knew that marrying Boyse would be the best way for Maren to have a comfortable life. But she was headstrong and was used to making her own decisions. Maybe the people who think we’ve spoiled her are right, Klaas thought. The ones who think she always gets her way and doesn’t understand her duty to her family. He knew they were right. Finja had been over thirty when she finally became with child. Finja and Klaas had always known that Maren would be the only one. And so they adored her and spoiled her, and almost always let her have her way. They were happy when Maren was happy. And now Klaas wondered for the first time whether they had prepared their child properly for life. It was clear to him that neither Finja nor himself would be able to decide whom Maren would marry. She would have her own way again, but this time, Klaas feared, she would make the wrong decision. However, he could do nothing about Maren’s stubbornness and nothing about the selfishness that sometimes possessed her. He turned back to glance at Boyse and prayed silently that he’d have patience with Maren. Patience and a thick skin.

  Boyse straightened his tunic again, although it was already hanging smoothly. Again, he smoothed his already-neat hair. Then he strode toward the group of young people.

  “It’s time to leap the fire!” one of them shouted. “Thies! Go! Jump for Maren!”

  “Stop!” Boyse commanded. “First, I wish to speak with Maren alone.”

  Her face was glowing with joy and excitement as she swept a loose strand of hair from her forehead. Her eyes flashed; her breath came fast. “Now? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” But then Maren saw the captain’s face darken, and she went to him. Boyse took Maren’s hand and spoke quietly, so the others couldn’t hear.

  “Maren Luersen, daughter of Klaas and Finja, will you marry me in a year?”

  “What?” Maren’s eyes went wide in surprise. She had been ready for anything, but not this.

  “Will you marry me?” Boyse sounded slightly aggrieved. Any other woman on the island would have fallen to her knees with joy an
d thanked her creator. But Maren stood proudly in front of him, not even lowering her eyes.

  “Why me?”

  “Because I have chosen you. Would you deign to be my wife? I can wait one more year if it must be.” Now he sounded even more impatient.

  Maren felt laughter rising up inside of her, tickling her throat, filling her mouth, but shortly before it broke out, she managed to swallow it again. Then she looked Boyse directly in the eye. “I thank you kindly for your proposal, but I’m already in love. In love with Thies Heinen. This evening, we promised to marry each other. He will make me happy.”

  For a moment, everyone stood as though frozen. Those who had been listening in secret immediately wished that they were very far away, and more than a few thought of the wild geese who were supposed to bring doom and disaster. No one dared to deny Rune Boyse anything. It was unthinkable that a woman he had chosen would refuse him. But Maren did. She even held his gaze without flinching, while Thies stared at the ground and suddenly no longer looked like someone who’d just spoken of true love.

  “Do your parents know about this?” the captain asked.

  Maren smiled and shrugged. “They knew that I wanted to go to the Biikebrennen tonight with Thies. This time they wouldn’t let me, because we’re not engaged yet. They’ll have to allow it next year.”

  “And you believe they will still be in agreement?” Boyse asked.

  Maren smiled again. “Why wouldn’t they be? Thies is a good, hardworking man. We love each other. For me, that’s the only reason to marry.” She spoke the last words almost triumphantly. “He will make me happy,” she repeated. She believed it too. So far, her life had been all about waiting. She would finally find happiness when she was married, when she no longer had to obey her mother and father. Her entire childhood and youth, she had been waiting for her real life to finally begin. Maren could see how the others in Rantum lived, how many marriages weren’t blessed with love and happiness, but she was sure that it would be different for Thies and her. Thies. That was happiness. Even if she didn’t know exactly what happiness looked like or how it should feel.