North Child (29 page)

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.

First, though, the sail. It took some time to drag up the portion that hung over the side, but finally I had it all in, stretched out on the deck to dry in the sun. There was a jagged tear across much of the bottom of it. In the process of moving the sail, I found one of the buckets and bailed until well after sunset.

I thought the ship might be headed west, because the sun had set directly in front of us. But east or west…in truth it mattered little in which direction we were heading because I had no idea where we
were.

It grew cold without the sun. I searched but could not find any of the skin-sacks we had slept in on the ship. Exhausted, I crawled under the cloth I had used to cover Thor and lay beside him, thinking to keep us both warm. I must have dozed, for I suddenly came awake, uneasily, with the feeling that I was being watched. Disoriented, I thought for a moment that I was back in the castle and had just awakened beside my visitor.

But it was Thor's blue eyes that were gazing on me. They were unfocused and unreadable, but they were open.

The night was surprisingly bright; the moon was half full and the stars were like a million cold-flamed flickering candles spread across the sky. I could see Thor's face clearly. I sat up.

“Thor?” I said. He did not reply; nor did his gaze waver from my face.

“You were injured,” I explained.

He blinked and tried to move his injured arm towards his face. Then he let out a groan and stopped moving. “Gest, Goran…”

I could just barely make out the mumbled words. “They are gone,” I said simply.

He closed his eyes then and kept them closed.

“Thor?” I whispered, feeling for his pulse.

His lids twitched.

“Rest now,” I said, and I settled back down beside him. I listened intently to his breathing, which was ragged for a while but finally became more regular. Then I, too, slept.

When I awoke again it was dawn. The wind had freshened and the sun shone in a cloudless sky. Thor still slept.

I rose and stretched. If only I could repair the sail enough so that I could use it, maybe I could sail the
knorr
on my own. But even as I thought that, I knew it would be impossible. I hadn't the strength or the skill. I cursed myself for not paying closer attention to the men as they worked the sail. What would I do if Thor did not recover?

Luckily, there was food as well as water. I had found both when I searched the ship. Secure in a spot under the deck boards of the stern had been a crate of hard bread as well as a barrel of smoked and dried fish. I had also been quite excited to find a small box filled with pears from Fransk, which Gest had told me Thor planned to sell to the Njordens for a profit. But most important of all, I found two large casks of freshwater, along with four of ale and several of wine. I should have known that Thor's precious ale would survive – he stored it in the most protected spot on the ship.

I moved towards the centre of the ship to see if there was any way I could light a cooking fire. I had found the cauldron and tripod the day before, also lodged under the sail, but there was nothing dry enough to use for kindling. I hurriedly ate a small meal of bread and smoked fish, then went to Thor.

He was awake, staring up at the sky. I filled a cup with water and sat beside him.

“Thor, drink this.”

He glanced at me, then turned his gaze upward again. “Leave me be,” he muttered.

“Just a little water,” I coaxed.

He ignored me.

His manner frightened me. There was a blankness in his face, and it seemed as if he had made a choice to die rather than fight.

I sat still, uncertain of what to do.

“Thor…” I said. “You need water.”

He did not respond.

I held the cup to his lips. “Please…”

He reached up with his left hand and, with a jerking motion, swatted the cup. The water spilled out, soaking the front of his clothing. “Leave me be,” he repeated.

I felt a stirring of anger. He had wasted a cupful of precious water.

I left him. The sail was almost dry and I set about mending the tear in it. The cloth was thick, and it was difficult working a needle through it. It took most of the day to complete the mending. I checked on Thor frequently, each time offering food or water. But he continued to ignore me. I had seen his look before, in the eyes of a mother cow that had lost too much blood in a difficult birth and in those of a lamb whose neck had been broken in a fall.

I felt grief for the man, but also fear for myself. And I felt occasional surges of careless anger as I sat, thrusting my needle through the heavy cloth of the sail.
Let him die if he chooses. I will manage.

But then I would look at the broken mast, the endless sea around me, and knew I could not.

I made the final knot and gazed at my handiwork with a sense of futility. I would never be able to raise the cursed thing. With an oath that would have done Thor proud, I stood and crossed to the dying man.

Standing over him I said loudly, “All right, go ahead and die! You called Gest and Goran cowards for lowering the sail, but it is you who is the coward.”

His eyes flicked over at me and I thought I saw a spark of something in them.

“I did not think 'twas the way of a Viking to slink into death like a wounded lamb,” I went on recklessly.

Then Thor muttered something I could not hear, but it sounded like he was cursing me.

“You may curse me all you like, but I am not the one who has given up,” I said.

He raised his head and said, his teeth bared, “I am no coward.”

“Then drink this,” I challenged, holding the cup of water up to his face.

“To Niflheim with your blasted water,” Thor rasped. “Bring me ale.”

Without hesitating I quickly went to the casks of ale and drew him a brimming cupful. I held it to his lips, but he brought up his left hand and roughly took the cup from me. While he drank I got some hard bread and smoked fish. The ale was gone when I returned, and he snatched the food from me, crumbling it into pieces that he stuffed in his mouth.

“More ale,” he muttered between bites.

The letter from Rose arrived just after the fall harvest.

Dear Neddy,

I am writing to tell you that I am safe and well and no longer living at the castle with the white bear. It is a long story and one I hope to tell you at the end of my journey. But I made a wrong choice, one that hurt someone very badly, so I must now undertake a journey to a far distant land – one that lies east of the sun and west of the moon.

Because you are cleverer than me, you will have already figured out that there is no such land. Nevertheless, I go there. It seems right somehow that I should journey to a place that does not exist; it is where Mother always feared I would end up.

And please tell Mother the candle worked all too well. But tell her, too, that the choice to use it was mine and I do not blame her.

Just as the blame is mine, the journey, too, is mine, and I must undertake it alone. So do not try to come to me. I need to set right the wrong I have done, and when I have I will return home. Trust me, Neddy, and try not to worry.

Tell Father I love him. And tell Mother and Sonja and Willem and Sara that I miss them and hope that we will all be reunited before too long.

My love to you, Neddy.

Your sister, Rose

During the next few days the weather stayed fair. Thor continued to lie where he was while I brought him food and ale – mostly ale. He finally had me roll the cask over and set it beside him so that he could refill his own cup.

I had my doubts that ale, especially in the amounts he was consuming, was a particularly healing drink. But at least he had decided to live, and he had the constitution of an ox. Each day he gained in strength. The grey pallor was gone and the wound on his forehead was healing.

Thor was soon sitting up and, on the second day, even stood for a few minutes, leaning on a makeshift crutch I had fashioned from a splintered deck board.

As he lowered himself back into a sitting position, I asked, “Do you think it possible that Gest and Goran could have survived?”

Thor snorted, then took a long draught of ale.

“But they might have gotten hold of something to float on. They were good swimmers, and perhaps there was land…” I gazed out over the endless expanse of water. “Well, isn't it possible?”

“Anything's possible,” Thor said. After refilling his cup he leaned back, eyes closed.

“I had a son once,” I heard him say.

“You did?” I said stupidly. I had never pictured Thor as having any kind of life outside the ship, especially not a family.

“Egil was his name. Died at the hands of a band of thieves and murderers. Along with his mother. My wife.” His voice had softened slightly as he said
wife.

When he opened his eyes, they were laced with bitterness. “It is
possible
they would have lived if I had been there to protect them. But they died. Like Gest and Goran. And like I would have if you'd left me alone.”

“Well, I couldn't leave you alone. And you saved my life, sticking me under the deck boards the way you did. 'Twas only common courtesy to return the favour.”

Thor suddenly threw his head back and laughed. It was a full-throated reckless sound, and I liked the sound of it, even though I knew he was drunk.

“May I commend you on your manners?” he said.

I laughed, too, and there was some sort of softening between us. After that, if we were not exactly friends, at least Thor did not act as though I were not there.

Later that day I asked Thor if he had any idea where we were.

He finished the ale at the bottom of his cup, then looked up at me with something like a smile on his face. I thought he might even laugh again. “
Hafvilla
,” he said.

“Where?”

“
Hafvilla.
'Tis a word in the old language,” he explained. “The Vikings used it when they found they were hopelessly lost.”

“I think we have been heading mostly west, since the storm,” I said, attempting to be helpful.

With a shrug he refilled his cup.