A small child tripped and fell in front of her home, and her mother rushed to lift her up. Leif watched them as he passed by. Bitterness tainted his thoughts as he recalled the last time he’d seen his mother. She had waved at him from the shore with tears in her eyes as they set out to sea. She must have known she would never see him again.
Leif had fallen behind his father, so he hurried to catch up, dragging beside him the thrall he’d just bought. When they finally reached the river, the others were already wading into the dark water to approach the knarr. Sten, Oddmund and Agnar had stayed behind on the cargo ship with their unfree servants and were now watching Ragna, Rúni and the new thralls climb on board.
At the sight of the boat, Aiden stopped in his tracks. The young man shook his head and tried to step back. Leif glanced at him before checking to see if Ragna was watching. He knew his father was already displeased he’d bought a scrawny slave. It wouldn’t be good for him or Aiden if Ragna saw what was happening on shore.
Leif stepped in front of the thrall, blocking his view of the river. From under Aiden’s dark wavy hair, blue eyes peered out at him. They were filled with dread. Fear wasn’t something to be ashamed of, but shying away from the object of one’s fear without courage was a sign of weakness. He began to question his choice of thrall.
Gaelic words flowed from Aiden’s lips. “I do not swim.”
“Then do not fall overboard,” Leif answered in the thrall’s language. Aiden looked over his shoulder at the busy town behind him as if he were considering running away. Seagulls called out from the shore as Leif grabbed hold of the man’s narrow wrist, catching his attention. “Have courage. If you do not come quick, there will be trouble for both of us.”
Aiden’s wide eyes met his. He knew the thrall didn’t care if anything happened to him, and he couldn’t begrudge him for it, but he would likely care about his own life. The longer it took Leif to get the thrall on board, the more he felt his father’s impending anger. Any moment he’d notice the delay at the lip of the river. Unlike Ragna, Leif didn’t use violence to make others listen, even though he was prickly in nature. He leaned in to say, “I will look out for you if you heed my words, but we must go now.”
The young man’s chin touched his chest in defeat. Leif turned around and stepped into the cold water, leading the thrall with him. He heard Aiden suck in his breath as he waded into the river. From the cargo boat his father shouted, “Hurry yourself! Why must I always wait on you?”
Leif didn’t answer, for it was best not to. Instead, he told Aiden, “Pull yourself on board!”
The thrall glanced over at him, curled his hands over the gunwale of the boat and struggled to lift himself up. His thighs rose above the water. Leif heard him groan while he tried to fling a leg over the edge, so Leif grabbed hold of him and helped lift him on board.
“You must be getting lonely.” Rúni reached down to pull Aiden upright. He grasped Aiden’s chin with his thick fingers and called to Leif from the decking, “This one’s quite a pretty fellow. Plan on sharing your hudfat with your thrall?”
He burst out in laughter, and Sten and Oddmund joined in. Ragna’s sneer twisted into a grimace at his brother’s joke. No matter what, Leif could never seem to meet his father’s expectations. Leif knew just how unhappy Ragna was with him, but the feeling was mutual.
The only one on board who didn’t join in Rúni’s jesting was Agnar, a thrall-turned-freeman who’d worked on their farm since Leif was a child. Agnar was a year Leif’s junior, with dark hair and a broad build.
Leif came over the aft of the hull, spilling water onto the decking. Agnar held his hand out to him once Leif stood upright and muttered, “Once we drop oars, their minds will be put to work. How was it?”
Leif looked at the noisy town and shrugged. “More people than last time, but nothing like home.”
Agnar nodded, understanding what that meant. Neither of them were seafarers like the others—not really. A good plot of land with rich soil for farming was what they dreamt of, like the grange from their homeland, a place they would never see again. There were all sorts of men: men who were restless without a fight and the sea beneath their feet, and men who sought a quiet life on a farm. Neither were of any use when forced into a setting not suited to their strengths, and both were scorned for it, for all men should be equal fighters and planters. The world according to Ragna was, of course, quite different.
“Get your thrall to work bailing, and tell the others to take to the chests.” Ragna walked along the aft decking to the starboard where they stood. “Rúni, get the oars in place!”
Agnar took a deep breath and hurried to pull out their wooden chests, setting them on the bow and aft decking of the boat. Oddmund helped him set the trunks in place beside the oar holes in the hull. The round coverings slid open, and Sten lifted the oars out of storage in the open cargo hold, handing them up to Oddmund.
While the crewmembers got busy hurrying about the boat, the thralls, new to this life and their master, stood out of the way of the rushing bodies. All curiously watched the activity around them, no doubt wondering when their labor would be needed. Rúni slapped one man across the chest to get his attention and pointed at a rope that hung over the edge of the hull. The thrall began to pull on it, not expecting the weight that countered his strength. Rúni laughed as he always did, enjoying the amusement from the thrall’s inexperience of sailing. He never tired, year after year, of finding a new slave to tease. “Try harder, beita!”
It had started. The fun of naming the new deckhands had begun. Rúni smirked at his creativity. Fish Bait might actually live up to his name if he wasn’t careful. Leif motioned at another dark-haired man, nameless at the moment, to help the other thrall lift the anchor into the boat.
Aiden stood near the mast in the cargo hold, trying to stay out of the way of Leif’s kin. His feet were underwater, something he seemed nervous about. Leif jumped down, splashing into the hold. He bent over to pick up the bailer, a long wooden scoop with an intricately carved handle. To demonstrate, he held it and collected some of the river water that had seeped into the boat and tossed the unwelcome stuff over the edge of the hull. Then he handed it to the thrall. “Your job.”
The young man seemed relieved at the thought of getting rid of the excess water, and he got to work, so Leif went to direct the other thralls. One by one, he had them sit on the wooden chests at the aft decking where the oars had been placed. His father stood by, holding onto the rudder and staring at the distant ocean horizon.
Leif hurried to the bow of the ship. Its curved stem rose up in a grand swooping point high above his head, a design that protected them from choppy seas. At its tip, a bronze windvane twisted in a knot of tentacles, forming a great squid. On the opposite end of the boat, Rúni joined Ragna on deck before the crew, pulling on his leather cap and placing his hands on his hips.
Once the thralls finished pulling the anchor onto the boat, they sat on two awaiting trunks and grabbed hold of their oars. Four rowers were in place at the back of the knarr and three sat at the front, waiting for their orders.
“You know what to do!” Ragna shouted to his son from the opposite end of the boat beside his brother.
Leif nodded grimly, preparing himself for his eighth season and what lay ahead. He sat on the one remaining open seat at the starboard bow and gripped the oar in his hand. Its length disappeared behind the gunwale of the ship. He could feel its weight in the water below. All of the rowers sat ahead of him, all facing Duiblinn and the aft of the boat. He called in the thrall’s native tongue, “Hold the handle of the oar ahead of you with its end in the water like this, pull back, lift and repeat! When Rúni calls, ‘heave ho,’ start the motion!”
Leif glanced at one of the aft rowers to his right who was peering over the gunwale at the swirling waters of the River Liffey. The dark-haired man’s name was unknown to him because his father had just bought him in Duiblinn.
“Ready?” Leif called, an
d the thrall straightened up, pulling his shoulders back and mimicking Leif’s grip on his oar.
When he returned his gaze forward, Rúni smirked at the various sets of eyes resting on him. “Heave ho!”
Leif gripped his oar tight and pulled it toward his body in one smooth motion. His biceps flexed and his abdomen tightened as he held his back straight. He lifted the oar and moved it back into starting position, waiting for the next call. It often took a few strokes for the untrained thralls to feel the rhythm. The boat drifted along the river and rocked gently from the activity.
When all men were back to starting position, Rúni called out again, “Heave ho!”
A few more awkward strokes pushed them a little farther out from the river and toward the mouth of the ocean. The only time his father appreciated his voice was when he kept the rower’s pace and when he sang of Ragna’s legends around the fire. Leif waited for the calls to become a rhythmic pattern before he cleared his throat. His voice came out clear and deep,
“The broad seas are calling,
stronger than a siren.
A power that echoes,
in every man’s chest.
Salty waves will carry,
the Kraken to treasure.
A promise from Ragna,
made upon his breast.”
While Leif sang the rowing song, the thralls’ strokes steadied and fell into pace. The familiar creaks from the flexing boards of the ship and calls from sea birds filled the air. The noises from the seaport were silenced as they slowly moved out into the bay. His singing drowned in his ears while he watched the dark-haired men who’d joined their crew stare at their shrinking homeland. It was almost decidedly the last time they’d glimpse their northern shores.
Chapter 3
Eilish watched as the town grew smaller. She wondered if she would ever walk the hills around her home again. The song that filled the air was eerie and beautiful. She didn’t know the words her captor spoke, but she imagined the melancholy tune was the sort the angels might sing in the last moments of her life, whenever that time might come.
With the bailer clutched in her hands, she continued to fill the wooden scoop and send the unwelcome water over the edge of the boat. She knew nothing about sailing, but instinctively understood it wasn’t good to have the sea leaking into the ship. Any moment she could perish, drowning. When she was a child, her father would tell her stories about the merrow, men and women who lived at the bottom of the ocean and captured the souls of those who slipped beneath the waves. She feared for her spirit the farther they moved away from land, just as she had when she’d stood amongst the busy lanes in Duiblinn.
Once they were far enough off shore, the song died away and the oars were stowed. The strongest of the men lifted the striped red sail into place. The large square of fabric cupped the breeze and carried them south, keeping the tree-lined coastline in sight, a deep relief to Eilish. She kept her eyes down as much as she could, not wanting to draw attention to herself, and continued the work she’d been given, though it was hard to ignore the discomfort of needing to relieve herself.
From under her veil of dark shaggy hair, she tried to take every man’s measure. She heard the other slaves speaking her language, but none of their faces were familiar. None had been taken in the raid on the hills around the monastery near her home. This meant her secret was safe, but also that none would have any interest in helping her. She was truly alone.
One of the slaves held onto the edge and got sick into the sea. When he was done, he slid down and pressed his back to the hull, clearly missing the steady presence of land just like Eilish. She wanted to help him but didn’t have anything to soothe a sour stomach. Instead, she continued to bail water, hiding behind her constant job.
She observed the Finn-Gall men. Her new masters. There were six in total, but it was clear which one was in charge. He stood where he could always be found, on the rear decking, gripping a wooden handle that was secured to the side of the boat. Its end disappeared into the water, and she presumed it gave him power. His youthful, chiseled face rested in a frown much of the time, and his brown locks were tightly braided against the sides of his head, leaving the hair on top rustling in the breeze. Despite that, his intimidating stature, angry scowl and barking command made it clear he was someone to fear. His eyes appraised the men around him like he was weighing their worth. She hoped he wouldn’t find her valueless, which encouraged her to work even faster. She was used to hard work, but not life on a rocking vessel such as this. Eilish was confident that if she stopped herself from moving, she would empty her stomach like nearly all of the other slaves.
Beside the Allmaster, her name for the man in command, there was the one who’d shouted at the rowers. He appeared to be the eldest of the crew. His orange hair was peppered with streaks of white and gray. His beard was trimmed to a point, and his mustache curled into a sort of smile, something she found unnerving. Dark eyes observed the slaves carefully. He seemed in wait for the men to make a misstep or error so he could laugh and mock them, like he’d done with the slaves who’d helped bring on board the large piece of metal from the bowels of river. Eilish was very careful not to draw herself to the center of his attention.
Then there was the one who’d bought her from the raider. He was standing at the bow of the boat, his hair cut to his shoulders and his beard trimmed close to his tanned skin. He’d spoken to her so she could understand his words, and he’d called himself Leif. She’d nearly slipped and said her name was Eilish. Just in time, she’d remembered the name her father had given her. Aiden. The persona she would embody until her secret was discovered or until the day she died. Neither prospect gave her much hope.
Leif looked very much like the man at the other end of the boat who was master to them all, except there was something different about him. He stared at the water with sadness, like he’d been defeated, much like the slaves on the ship. The Allmaster appeared to view the sea as though it was a pearl to place on a chain and wear. Something to possess.
She glanced at two other men standing side by side on the decking. Eilish would have guessed they were related. Both were stocky and shorter than Leif and the Allmaster. The sides of their heads were shaved. The light-brown hair remaining was braided into one long rope that reached the trim of their tunics. Their forked beards hung from their chins like a serpent’s tongue. One of them wore an amused smirk, while the other’s eyes held a stony gaze.
The last of the freemen stood near Leif, holding his leather-cuffed arm. He spoke in their low, rolling language. Try as she might, she couldn’t understand a word he said. His brown hair was trimmed to his shoulders, and he only wore a beard on his round face. Black ink was drawn on his skin like words and pictures on the pages of a book. They crept up his neck from underneath his yellow tunic. She had never seen anything like it before and wondered if he had been born that way.
Eilish bumped into a casket that had been stacked in the cargo hold where she worked. It smelled of damp wood, though it was different from the smell following a rain. She leaned down to collect more water and climbed onto one of the wooden braces so she could tip the liquid over the edge of the boat. It seemed to be a never-ending job, although the level did appear to have dropped from the time she’d first started. She decided to pace herself, for she didn’t want to be found useless or weak.
The Allmaster shouted at Leif and his dark-haired friend. She caught herself staring and quickly remedied that, returning to her work. There might come a time when she’d learn their language, but no matter how hard she strained, understanding wouldn’t come suddenly. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed the two men go to their wooden trunks and retrieve items that gleamed in the sun. Her chest thundered as though a bird were trapped there, looking for a way out.
Leif called one of the slaves over and said something she understood: “Sit.”
The tall, lanky man’s eyes darted around nervously. His mind appeared fast at work, just like her
s, trying to decide if his life was in danger. After realizing there was no other option for a man who’d been bought at the market, the slave kneeled before Leif, clearly prepared for the worst. The freeman hunched over and lifted his hands to the slave’s head. A long single braid fell down between the slave’s shoulders, much like Eilish’s father’s hair. Leif’s painted friend lifted it up, and in one quick motion cut it off with the shears held in his hands.
She drew in a quick breath. Her people had pride in their hair, never cutting it short. The slave’s head hung low. Eilish remembered the moment her father had removed her pretty locks and the emotion she’d felt.
The severed braid was cast over the edge of the ship into the sea. The slave’s remaining hair was trimmed above the ear. Leif leaned down to speak to him, then straightened up to announce, “Cormacc.”
The Allmaster adjusted his leather vest with a sour expression and growled at Leif, who responded so the slaves could understand. “We will call you by name.”
Eilish realized she was staring slack-jawed and bent down to collect more water. She watched from under her shaggy bangs as another slave was called over and his hair was inspected for what she presumed were the tiny bugs that tickled one’s head, a very common nuisance. Ronan’s name was announced after his head was scrubbed with soap and his locks were trimmed even shorter than Cormacc’s. He stepped away from his masters rubbing his dripping scalp.
She knew her turn would come. Just thinking about the crawly critters they were looking for made her own skin tingle. What if they chopped her hair completely off? Would they see her for what she was? A slave woman trapped on a boat full of barbarians. It was what her father had tried to protect her against. Eilish swallowed hard, trying to push the fear away. She lifted her chin and prayed for either protection or a quick end.
Tides (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 3) Page 3