by Edith Pattou
“You won’t get nearly as much as it’s worth, here in La Rochelle,” Gest called after him. But Thor ignored him.
Gest shrugged. “The man’s got a mighty thirst on him.” He turned his attention to me. “Well, welcome aboard the good ship Sif,” he said. “What’s your name, lass?”
“Rose,” I replied.
“Rose, is it? I am Gest, at your service, and this is my mate, Goran.” The fair-haired man nodded at me. “I don’t suppose, Miss Rose, you know how to make raspberry cake out of salt pork and hard bread?”
“Perhaps not, but I can manage rommegrot, if you have a measure of wheat flour,” I said.
A wide smile creased his face. “Ah, bless you, child,” he said.
“May I ask,” I said, “where exactly this ship is headed?”
“You may well ask. The destination is upward of Suroy, but with old Thor at the steering oar, you never can tell. If he’s full of ale, which is what that golden dress is headed for, he’s likely to steer us into a storm cloud thinking he’s found Valhalla.”
I felt giddy with excitement. Suroy was near the top of Njord and this was just what I’d hoped for, though I was also a little uneasy at Gest’s words. I could only pray that he was exaggerating.
I decided to use the time until sundown to write a letter to my family. When I was done I went back to the caravel and, keeping out of sight of Captain Contarini, managed to find a friendly sailor who was willing to take my letter – along with the last of my coins – across to Tonsberg, and then make sure it got from there to Andalsnes. Of course, I had no guarantee he would do as he said, but I sensed an honesty in him, as well as a dislike for the way his captain had treated me.
It was approaching twilight when I found my way back to the knorr. But before I even saw the ship, I could hear Thor singing at the top of his voice.
“Reach for your mead horn and raise it high.
Odin the great! Thunder god Thor!
Balder the mild, and Freya sweet.
We toast until Valhalla is reeling!”
As I came up to the knorr, I smelled a strong stink of ale.
Thor was sprawled at the rear of the ship, his hand gripping the steering oar. Gest greeted me cheerfully, helped me aboard, and gestured to me to take a seat. “Could be a rocky departure,” he warned.
“Ready to cast off?” he called to Thor.
Thor kept singing.
Gest nimbly unfastened all the ropes binding the boat to the dock, and he and Goran pushed off. The sail filled and the ship lurched forwards. “That old souse won’t give up the steering oar for the life of him,” Gest muttered as he passed me, grabbing at a rope that was whipping around the deck.
Anxiously I gazed ahead at the seawalls protecting the entrance to the harbour. We looked to be heading straight towards the starboard one, but eventually Thor heaved the steering oar and we just cleared it. He laughed loudly and then resumed his song. We were out on the open sea.
“We are lucky,” Gest said. “We have a southeast wind.” It served us well for the first two days of the journey.
I had never been on anything larger than a rowboat, much less a ship such as this. It was clinker-built, Gest told me, which was a style of boat building that involved overlapping the planks in a fashion that made it shimmy through the waves like a sea-dwelling snake.
Surprisingly, I took to life aboard the knorr without difficulty. Gest had predicted I would get seasick, being such a landlubber, but I did not. I loved the sea wind on my face and the feeling of skimming the waves.
On the second day of the journey, we spied the brooding white cliffs of the land called Anglia to the northwest. If I had not known better, I would have thought the cliffs were snow-covered, but Gest told me they were white because of limestone, a chalky rock.
Soon we came out on Njordsjoen, the sea I had travelled through in a sealskin, borne by the white bear.
The journey was uneventful for the next five days. I learned how to cook on a knorr when the water wasn’t too choppy, using a small cauldron hung on a tripod. My cooking was only just adequate, given what I had to work with, but Gest praised me lavishly – mostly, I think, to annoy Thor. Gest was an extremely amiable, entertaining travelling companion, while Goran remained silent, and Thor spoke only to the two men, ignoring me almost completely.
Eventually Thor sobered up, at least for a time, and it became clear that he knew his boat and the seas – and that he would have been a very good captain, were it not for his weakness for ale. Gest had been right; most of what Thor got for the golden dress had gone to buying casks of ale. They were stowed in the sturdiest part of the storage area below decks, and Thor visited there frequently, refilling a smaller cask that he would keep at his side.
There was one time when Thor lay passed out at the rudder as we hit a patch of choppy seas. Goran took over the steering oar and held us fairly steady, although when Thor had finished sleeping it off, he groused that Goran had put us off course. Goran and Gest seemed to be used to Thor’s unreliable behaviour, however, and took it all in stride.
For navigating, Thor used a leidarstein, an ugly brown stone he always carried with him in a small leather pouch. My mother had a leidarstein that had been handed down to her from her mother, so I had seen how one worked. But it never failed to amaze me, watching the needle slowly swing towards the polestar in the north.
On the sixth day we came into sight of the Shetland Islands, and Gest told me that the southern region of Njord lay directly east, though we were too far away to see it. If we continued at our current rate of travel, he said, we should reach Suroy in eight or nine days.
But the next day the wind deserted us. After several hours becalmed, Thor suddenly shouted at me to take over the steering oar. Until then my jobs had been confined to cooking and bailing out water (which, because of the low sides of the knorr, was an ongoing and crucial job). Gest and Goran lowered the sail, while Thor gruffly instructed me on how to hold the tiller steady. Then, because he was the largest of the three men, Thor took an oar on one side of the ship while Gest and Goran manned two oars on the other side.
It did not take me too long to get the feel for holding the ship steady, especially with Thor barking out instructions. The rowing was hot, backbreaking work, and I felt sympathy for the three men, their muscles straining and sweat rolling down their faces. At midday Thor came back to the steering oar while I prepared a meal of smoked fish and hard bread. He took many breaks from steering to refill his mug of ale, and I could see that Gest was watching him closely.
The sky began to cloud over, and naively I thought this a good thing because the rowing wouldn’t be so hot for the men. But the air felt strange, making my skin prickle. When the wind began to blow again, whitecaps appeared on the waves. It was coming too quickly. And the sky kept getting blacker.
Thor jumped up, draining his mug. “Raise the sail!” he shouted.
Gest frowned. “Looks a big one, Thor. Best we not risk the sail.”
“Let it blow!” Thor threw back. “We’ll ride her out. And make good time, too.”
“But the wind has shifted all around the compass these past few minutes,” Gest responded, “from south to east to west. You know that portends…”
“We’ll raise the sail!” Thor thundered. “‘Rather founder than furl’,” he said, sounding as if he was quoting something.
Reluctantly Gest and Goran went to unfurl the sail. The wind tore at them, and the fabric snapped as they struggled to raise it. But finally the sail was aloft, and as the wind filled it, we shot forwards through the roiling sea.
Thor had grabbed the steering oar from me. I could smell the ale on him and felt suddenly afraid. Gest and Goran were moving around the boat, checking on ropes and making sure everything was tightly lashed down. I picked up a bailing bucket without being told.
Rain sheeted down from the sky, mingling with the surging spray from the sea. In short order I was soaked through but was too busy bailing t
o care. Gest and Goran soon joined me.
The waves were getting higher, and it seemed for every bucket of water I tossed overboard, three bucketfuls came sloshing over the sides of the knorr.
But it was a wonder to me how that ship rode the waves. Every time I saw a huge wave looming towards us, I was sure it would be the end – that the ship would be swamped and we would capsize. But every time, the knorr slid up and over the wave.
The wind was shrieking and the sail was stiff and distended, as though a giant fist were thrust in it at the bottom, hurling the knorr along with a violence unlike anything I had ever seen. The ropes holding the sails were taut, stretched to their limit, and I imagined that at any moment they would snap.
At the steering oar, Thor concentrated his whole body on wrestling the wind and enormous waves for control of the knorr. His eyes burned and his face was lit with some primitive emotion; it almost looked like joy.
Then Gest shouted to Goran. They threw aside their bailing buckets and made their way to the sail, untying ropes as they went. They were lowering the sail. I looked over at Thor and saw that his face was suffused with rage.
“Cowards!” he shouted. I was afraid he was going to lunge at them, but he kept still, just barely.
The wind was lashing the sail, which snapped and bucked like a living thing at the two men as they wrestled it down. They secured the sail as best they could, then returned to bailing. The knorr steadied with the sail down. I could hear Thor still shouting curses at his crew.
As we crested one very large wave, I saw a mountain of water bearing down on us. I let out a cry of fear and Gest muttered a prayer. Then I turned to see Thor charging towards me, the tiller swaying crazily behind him. No more was there rage in his face, just a fanatical sort of determination. The wind blew back his mane of hair, and he looked like some crazed sea-god. Grabbing hold of me with his thick arms, as if I were no heavier than a child’s cloth doll, he carried me across to the prow of the ship and then thrust me under the deck boards, wedging me in tightly. My cheek scraped against a barrel and my shoulder struck my own pack from home, which had been stored down there with other cargo. I inched forwards, clutching my pack to my chest. I dimly heard shouts and the wind screaming, and then there was a great violent crashing sound as a giant wave slammed down on the knorr.
When I came to, I could still hear the wind, but it was no longer screaming. Miraculously the ship was still afloat. I lay in a chilly pool of water and wine, which had spilled from the cask on which I had scraped my cheek. I could hear no other sounds but the creaking of the ship, the sloshing of water around me, and the diminishing fury of the wind.
Gingerly, my head pounding, I wriggled my body backwards, then slowly pulled myself out from under the deck boards. I sat up, waist-deep in water, and the ship seemed to spin dizzily for a few moments. I closed my eyes, then opened them.
I could see no one.
He cannot get used to being without fur. I see him rub at his skin, and he remains quiet most of the time.
I call him Myk now, and he seems to understand it is his new name. Beyond the sadness, the quiet, I see the softskin boy that I first met in the green lands. He is all I ever wanted. His voice; his soft, warm skin; even the smile, which it is true I do not often see now. Two days ago was the first time, some caper of Tuki’s. But it was as I remembered it, like sunlight on the snow, melting, good.
I continue with my arts, trying to soften my own skin so that he will feel more as if he is with his own people. So far the change is only temporary, which is frustrating, but I will keep experimenting.
Tuki is acting strangely with me. He scurries away when I come near. I can see Urda is worried; she knows what I will do if he gives trouble. Perhaps it was a mistake sending him south with Urda, to be so long gone from here, but Urda would have been too lonely without her son there. It is her own fault anyway; she admits she should have kept a closer eye on him and not let him spend time alone with the softskin girl.
The changes to Myk’s quarters are almost complete. He has books and musical instruments. It may have been a mistake to make the flauto just the same as his favourite one in the castle. I saw a look in his eye the first time he held it, as though some small memory was pricking at him. But it passed. And the thanks he gave me were deeply felt.
I am pleased to be home, and to have him here with me at last. Now there is only the wedding to prepare for. So much to be done, but such delicious planning. Much as I want him to be my husband at once, now that he is here I can take the time to make the wedding feast as it should be. But not too much time.
It will be the grandest and finest celebration ever in Huldre. Perfect. Lavish. All the most important of our race, from all corners of the earth, shall be here.
An event to do us both honour. The queen and her king.
I could not at first take it in.
I was alone, completely alone on the vast sea, in a battered, broken, waterlogged knorr. The mast was gone; all that remained was a jagged stub little taller than I. The sail had come loose from its lashing, and part of it lay draped across the deck while more than half of it hung overboard, dragging in the sea. And there was a large tear through it. The steering oar was gone, and it looked as though much of the cargo had been swept overboard as well.
I began to shake.
The wind had subsided to a stiff breeze and the knorr rode the waves, oblivious that its sole occupant was a dishevelled, terrified girl. My trembling grew worse. Then, telling myself I must not give in to panic, I stood up. I needed to find a bucket. The knorr had taken on a great deal of water during the storm and was riding dangerously low.
But I could see no buckets for bailing. What if they had all been washed overboard? Perhaps one had gotten lodged under the sail. With difficulty I lifted one side of the wet, heavy sail. Gazing down I let out a gasp.
At first I thought the thing was a dead sea creature, then realized with horror it was a bloody leg. It lay oddly, looking as if it were disconnected from a body. My heart beating fast, I heaved up more of the sail.
There was Thor. The leg stuck out at a strange angle from his body. As I pushed the wet sailcloth off him, I saw that his eyes were closed and his face, too, was covered with blood from a jagged gash on the forehead. He looked dead – his skin was grey and there was so much blood – but then his body twitched and he let out a soft moan.
One arm, too, was bent at an awkward angle, and the hand was clutching the broken-off tiller. I leaned over him, feeling for his pulse. It beat under my fingers but was slow and irregular. Thor moaned again.
It took all my strength to wrestle the huge sail completely off him. Breathing hard from the exertion, I searched for something to staunch the flow of blood from his forehead and his leg. I found several cargo boxes lodged underneath the deck boards, and inside one was a large bolt of linen. I went back above and got the knife that Thor wore at his side; his eyes barely flickered as I removed it from its sheath. Returning below decks I used the knife to cut and tear off a length of the fabric. I took it back up to Thor and swabbed at the cut on his face. The cut was deep, with jagged edges, and I could see the whiteness of bone underneath. It needed stitching, I thought, reminded of injuries I had seen back on the farm. For the time being I tied a makeshift bandage tightly around his head, then turned my attention to his leg. The gash there wasn’t as deep, I was glad to see. But his leg definitely looked as though it was broken. His arm, too.
Thor’s eyes flickered again as I worked over him, but then he lapsed back into unconsciousness. After wrapping his arm and leg to keep them steady, I covered him up to his chin with dry cloth, making him as comfortable as I could.
I rested a moment, then shakily got to my feet. I searched the ship from fore to aft, assessing the damage and confirming the grim truth that both Gest and Goran were nowhere to be found. They had been swept overboard. Anxiously, but with a sense of futility, I scanned the sea around me. Nothing but water. No sign of man or car
go, or even land.
My head pounded from the blow that had knocked me out. I sat there for a long time, staring at the water. I wanted to cry for the two men who had been swept into the sea, but I could not.
I remembered Gest, his courtly, laughing jests, as well as the musty, fishy smell of him. And Goran’s slow movements and calm manner. How could they be gone, just like that?
As for Thor… He was lying there, not very far from death himself. It was a miracle that I had survived the monstrous wave. And it was because of Thor that I had. I laid my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I listened to the water sloshing over the sides of the boat. I ran a finger across the smooth silver of the ring on my thumb.
Then I felt a warmth on the back of my head and raised my eyes to see the sun piercing the grey mantle of clouds above. Somehow the sight brought me out of my own private greyness.
I glanced over at Thor. If I was going to survive, I needed him. And I had to survive, because of the thing I had set myself to do. Gazing up at the sun’s position in the sky, I guessed that there were several hours before nightfall.
I retrieved my pack from under the deck boards and crossed to Thor. He was still unconscious, his pulse the same. I unwrapped the bandage on his head, which had soaked through with blood, and using a needle and a length of flaxen thread, I stitched up the gash. I had a fair amount of experience with such needlework; early on, Father had put me in charge of stitching up the wounds of the animals on our farm. Using a couple of broken planks and more cloth, I also did the best I could to set his broken leg and arm. Thor came to as I worked over him. An agonized scream burst out of him as I forced his leg bone into place. And another one, less intense, when I set the bone in his arm, pain shuddering through his body. By the time I had finished, he was unconscious again.
I made him as comfortable as I could, laying him on his side and covering him with dry cloth. Then, taking the piece of steering oar from Thor’s hand, I went to inspect the tiller, wondering if there was some way I could repair it. It looked bad but not impossible, I thought.