North Child (32 page)

The shaman looked from one to the other of us, then she leaned forwards, gazing into my eyes.

“You journey on,” she said, “and the old Viking will stay. There is healing here, if he will be healed. If not, he will find his own journey.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

Thor awoke soon after, groggy and ill tempered. Malmo arranged for food to be brought to him, ignoring his request for ale. Then she gestured to me, saying, “You eat later. Now, you need much.”

Thereupon we embarked upon a most extraordinary “shopping” expedition. In the first place we entered, Malmo held a lengthy conversation with the man who lived there, gesturing at me several times, saying “
seku nanoa
” (“white bear”). The visit wound up with the man bustling around his home, collecting a variety of things that he then gave to me. Malmo said the name of each thing in Inuit, but I had no idea what most of them were.

We then went to another Gronlander home, where I was given even more gear. Then another and another, until I was laden down with such a dizzying array of objects that Malmo had to help me carry them.

When we finally returned to Malmo's house, we found Thor asleep again. I wondered if he had gotten his hands on more ale, but Malmo said no, he had been given a healing drink that brings sleep.

She set about explaining to me each item I had been given.

There was an
ulu,
the most important of the various knifelike objects I had received. It consisted of a sharp slate blade embedded in a bone handle. Then there was a snow knife made of narwhal ivory, which was used for making snowhouses; and a snow beater, a larger blunt-edged blade, also of ivory, which a person used outdoors to knock snow off clothing.

Among the other things were: a long, thin tube of ivory used for drinking meltwater off the surface of ice; a needlelike probe for locating the breathing holes of seals; a pair of ivory snow goggles, to protect the eyes from the brutal glare of sun on ice and snow; a bola, a contraption made of ivory balls attached to a length of sinew that was thrown up into the air to snare birds; several small, thick pins made of bone, to plug the wounds of seals so their blood wouldn't leak out (apparently Inuit cooking used seal blood, a delicacy I was not all that eager to try); something called a
kitchoa,
or ice scratcher, made of seal claws and used by hunters to simulate the sound of seals moving across the ice, so that while at their breathing holes they would not be frightened away by approaching hunters; and a pair of short skis made of whalebone, with a strip of reindeer fur on the underside, hairs pointing backwards. (Apparently the backward-facing hairs allowed for greater speed for a skier going downhill while acting as a brake against slipping backwards when going uphill.)

And then there was clothing. For my outer layer I was supplied with a knee-length parka of reindeer hide, the fur turned outwards. Beneath that I wore another layer of reindeer hide – trousers and an undercoat – the fur turned inwards. My long underwear was made of feathered duck skins, the feathers turned inwards. (That would take some getting used to, I thought.) Then there was a pair of two-layered boots; the outer layer lined with fur, the inner with duck feathers, again turned in. There was also a pair of mittens made of the hide of a white bear. Of course, putting my fingers into them reminded me of my white bear, although when I put my nose to them, they did not have the same scent at all.

I looked at the large pile of items in some dismay. How would I carry them all on my journey north? I asked Malmo. In reply she handed me a large knapsack made of reindeer hide. She said that what I wasn't wearing on my body would fit into the pack, including my tattered pack from home. I was sceptical, but she turned out to be right.

I was also concerned about paying Malmo and her people for all they had given me. I offered Malmo my moon dress, but although she gazed at it with polite admiration, she had no interest in owning it. Certainly there was no use for a ball gown in the village of Neyak. Malmo was more interested when I told her about the crate of pears from Fransk. Thor and I had eaten many, but plenty still remained.

In the morning when I awoke, I discovered that neither Thor nor Malmo was in the house. I ate a bowl of porridge that had been left on the hearth and then put on some of my new clothing. (I wasn't yet ready to try the feather underwear.) When I stepped outside into the chill air, I felt snug and warm. I made my way to shore.

I ascended the makeshift gangplank of the
knorr,
then stopped abruptly when I saw Thor. He was seated in his old place by the steering oar, with a barrel of ale beside him.

“Is that your breakfast?” I asked somewhat severely.

“Drink of the gods,” Thor said with a grin, and took a long gulp. He gazed at my new garb with amusement. “Gone native, I see.”

“Thor, I mean to journey north,” I said, going to sit beside him. He took another long drink. Then he raised his mug.

“‘North, north, north, she sailed to Asgard and on to the north, north, north',” he sang lustily.

“The people here are good,” I went on, ignoring his song. “I am sure they will help you repair your boat. And you might find some who wish to journey to a new land. Or you could stay here with them. I believe they will make you welcome.”

“‘Welcome, ho, to the halls of Valhalla, where the ale flows and the boar's head roasts'.”

“Thor,” I said with some urgency, standing and moving in front of him so he could not avoid my eyes, “the ale will be gone soon. You cannot bury yourself in it always. You must go on. Find a new life, or a new journey. It can be done.”

His blurred eyes focused for a moment, then slid away again. “‘North, north, north…to Asgard',” he sang.

I got to my feet. “If I am able, I will come back here when I am done with my own journey. To see what you chose.”

“Chose, Rose,” Thor said in a singsong voice. “Rose chose to journey north, north, north…”

I moved to the hold, where the crate of pears was stored. “I am giving these to Malmo and her people. To repay their kindness.”

“What, no more golden gowns?” Thor said with a trace of his old sneer. Then he refilled his mug.

“Goodbye, Thor,” I said.

The move to Trondheim went smoothly. Only Willem stayed behind. Neighbour Torsk had agreed to buy half the farm, and so he and Willem would work the land together.

In Trondheim, Mother and my sisters devoted their time to outfitting and decorating the new house, a handsome dwelling near the centre of town. It had all the latest conveniences and Mother was delighted. Father and Soren spent every waking moment on the new printing press, which they fussed over like a pair of doting parents. As for myself, I had become assistant to a Master Eckstrom, the esteemed author of many well-regarded books of scholarship. The king himself, in Danemark, had commissioned Master Eckstrom to write an exhaustive history of the combined kingdoms of Njord and Danemark, and I was one of several assistants hired to help in that massive endeavour. Master Eckstrom was a kindly if very busy man, and he was not often in Trondheim, his duties to the king requiring him to be in Danemark much of the time.

I did my work in what used to be a monastery, which Master Eckstrom had converted to a private library for the use of scholars to pursue religious and historical research. Presiding over the library was a cheerful soul by the name of Havamal, who had previously been a monk. He was the caretaker of Master Eckstrom's valuable collection of books. Havamal was extraordinarily helpful. He knew the location of every volume in his library, and sometimes even the page number of the bit of information I sought. He also became a friend. I felt very fortunate in my new life.

Soren was too busy with his printing press to pay much heed to wedding plans, but Sara, with the enthusiastic help of Sonja and Mother, was beginning to make preparations for a spring ceremony. We all fervently hoped Rose would return to us by then. And Willem had made a solemn promise that if Rose should indeed come home to the farm, he would send word without delay.

Not a day went by that I did not return to our fine new home in town hoping for such a message. And each day I was disappointed.

Malmo appeared on the morning I was to depart. I had packed my gear and was eating a bowl of thick porridge. She entered the house and came directly to me.

“If you will have me as guide, I will go with you north,” she said without preamble.

I was speechless for a moment, not sure I had understood her. “You mean you would go with me, travel north with me, to find the ice bridge?”

Malmo nodded. “As shaman I have always wished to see the ice bridge. But I did not care to leave my people.”

“And now?”

“Now there is an ice bear in peril, and my animal is
seku nanoa,
white bear.”

“What do you mean ‘my animal'?” I asked.

“Each shaman has her own animal. It is
tornaq,
the source of power.” She paused. “Before you came here, I dreamed of bear. When you told me of your journey, I believed it was
ooblako,
a portent. In my dream last night I travelled to the ice field.” She gestured in a northward direction. “And there I saw
seku nanoa
again. He spoke to my soul, and so I go with you.

“I cannot be long gone from my people,” she went on. “Should Sedna grant us the way to the ice bridge, I will leave you there.”

Dismissing Sofi's map as inaccurate (at least when it came to Gronland), Malmo brought out a long, thin carved piece of wood that showed the coastline of the northern half of Gronland. She followed the curve of the intricate carving of inlets and headlands with her finger, showing how we would travel by water along the coastline up to the Tatke Fjord. We would then paddle inland, north along the fjord a short distance. When the fjord ended we would travel northward by foot and ski.

Grateful, I thanked Malmo. I felt lucky that she would journey with me, not only for her knowledge and experience of the land but also for her companionship.

The boat we would use for the sea portion of our journey was called a
kyak,
a small two-person craft propelled by paddle. Our gear would be stowed under a stiff waterproof cover with two openings for Malmo and me.

Malmo and I finished loading the
kyak
at midday. I was just settling myself into it when she grabbed my arm and pointed to something behind me.

I turned to see Thor heading towards us from the direction of the village. He was hobbling, still leaning on his crutch. I stepped out of the boat and went to meet him. He looked slightly better than the last time I had seen him, though the stench coming from him brought tears to my eyes. I saw at once that he was sober.

“Came to say a proper goodbye,” he said roughly. “I won't have it said old Thor has forgotten his manners.”

I smiled.

“I wanted to give you this, for your journey,” and he thrust at me the leather pouch containing his prized
leidarstein.

“Oh no, I—” I protested.

“Take it,” he said almost threateningly. “It's not much good in this godforsaken place where the water freezes before you can blink, but have it anyway. I've been thinking I might try one of these newfangled compasses. That is, if the old
knorr
is ever fit for sailing again.”

“She will be. You'll see to her,” I said.

He nodded absently. Then leaning towards me, he took my hand. “I hope you find the white bear. And set things right with him.”

“Thank you, Thor.”

“Well, it's back to the
knorr
for me. Have just a little bit left at the bottom of that cask,” he said with a grin.

“And what will you do when it's empty?”

“Ah, I hear they have a concoction here, fermented reindeer milk or summat. Might give it a try. Or might not.” He winked at me.

I stretched up on my tiptoes and gave Thor a kiss on his matted beard. “Goodbye.”