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  “If you don’t see any Skraelings,” Karlsefni had advised, “that is when they are watching.”

  The thought made Nils a little uneasy. Were there dark eyes even now, peering from hiding, watching the dragon ships race up the bay?

  They made fast time, an excellent day’s travel on a good sea. Late in the afternoon, the wind began to moderate. It was time to look for a place to stop for the night, so Helge pulled closer to land, slowing speed as he evaluated the shoreline. Finally he signaled and pointed to a sheltered cove with rock formations that hinted of deep water. There they would spend the night.

  The longships were of shallow draught, requiring much less depth than the potbellied knarrs, but it was wise to be cautious. With sails furled, they carefully rowed into the cove, watching for submerged rocks and sounding depth occasionally.

  “Are we going ashore?” someone asked.

  “I think not,” Nils answered. “We do not know the area. But we will see what the commander decides.”

  There was no further mention of going ashore. Another time, maybe, but this run was to cover distance, chart the shoreline, not to explore the land mass. They had been traveling only one day. This would be merely a stop for the night.

  When the ships had been moored, the sailors began to haul out their blankets and sleeping gear, to be settled before darkness fell. A few hardy souls were swimming in the chilly water, and Nils was watching their antics with amusement.

  “Captain!” a sailor called from the storage area, where he had been retrieving his blankets. “Here is a stowaway!”

  Anger flooded over Nils. He whirled and made his way forward, muttering to himself as he did so. Now he knew why the girl had not turned out at dawn to see the ships off. She had been already on board. He could not forgive her for this. The men would think he had encouraged her to do so. Worse, he must protect and support her, and this would result in unrest and damage to discipline. It could threaten the entire expedition. Damn her, how could she expect him to tolerate such a stupid move? A woman…bad luck!

  He swung down from the walkway into the hold, ready to loose a tirade at the girl. Several men stood staring in the fading light at the huddled figure, half hiding among the supplies. Crouching, fearful, half expecting a blow, the stowaway peered anxiously from one to another, seeming to be searching for a friendly face.

  Nils’s jaw dropped in astonishment. The stowaway, huddled behind a water cask, was not Ingrid. It was not even a woman at all. It was Odin, the one-eyed Skraeling.

  6

  Nils Thorsson was furious.

  “Why? What in the name of Odin…” he yelled at the man.

  He paused, trying to control his temper. He realized the ridiculous contradiction in the question he had started. Still tight with emotion, he tried to steady his voice.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here?” he demanded.

  There was no answer. The Skraeling simply sat and stared at him with the one baleful eye. He seemed to have no fear, only resignation.

  “Is there any reason,” Nils shouted, “why I should not cut your throat and feed you to the fishes?”

  A couple of sailors laid hands on the Skraeling to drag him out of the hold, but Nils stopped them.

  “Is there?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Odin stated calmly.

  “Then what is it? Your time is short, Skraeling, damn your soul!”

  The man spread his hands in his characteristic gesture of resignation.

  “If I am dead, I cannot help you.”

  Nils began to calm now.

  “How can you help me?”

  “I can take you where you wish to go. I can speak the tongues of many tribes.”

  Yes. Nils had all but forgotten that he had previously tried to borrow the Skraeling to use as a guide. But, worse luck, now Karlsefni would think that they had stolen the man. Why, Nils wondered, why had he been so stupid as to request the loan of the Skraeling, thus calling attention to his disappearance? Would Karlsefni ever believe on their return that Odin had stowed away? Well, that was in the future. For now, it would be enough just to keep the man out of harm’s way. It was only that a stowaway represented an intrusion, a violation of ship’s security. It could be a serious breach.

  “Let him go,” he said more calmly. “Find him some food and a place to sleep.”

  “I have my own,” Odin said simply.

  Damn, it was difficult to stay angry at this man!

  “Tell me,” Nils asked, “you said you speak several tongues?”

  “Yes.”

  So, Nils told himself, I was right. This is no ignorant savage. One other thing bothered him. Now that the exchange had calmed a little, he repeated a previous question.

  “But why, Odin? Why choose my ship? What do you have to gain?”

  Odin stared for a moment.

  “I wished to go home. You were the first to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  Again came the quizzical palm-spread gesture.

  “That I am a man.”

  Nils was embarrassed. In truth he had not understood. He had thought of this Skraeling as lesser, a savage, nonhuman. He had been kind, perhaps, but only to gain more and better information. His actions had been misinterpreted. Well, he saw no need to correct that misunderstanding. One caught more flies with honey than with vinegar. He turned away.

  The next time he saw the Skraeling, Odin was squatting and visiting comfortably with Svenson. In a way, those two reminded Nils of each other. Good. He would ask Sven later about his impressions.

  Helge Landsverk was angry, of course. At first he blamed Nils for the security breach. He ranted and yelled and made threats, but soon realized the potential benefits of the Skraeling’s presence. Helge subsided into withdrawn muttering.

  “Remember, he is your responsibility,” Helge called across the water, to indicate that he reserved the right to the last word.

  Nils nodded and waved. By this time he was beginning to feel that this could be a fortunate situation.

  By the next morning, Odin was moving unobtrusively about the ship, showing intelligent interest in its operation. He watched, fascinated, as the oarsmen maneuvered the ships out of the cove. He peered closely at the oarlocks, seeming to try to understand the leverage gained by such an arrangement. When the great sail was unfurled in its red and white glory, the Skraeling was enthralled. He grinned broadly and nodded to Svenson as the Snowbird settled forward into her run.

  Odin went aft and watched the steersman at his oar for a while, until Nils finally beckoned him forward. They stood in the bows, watching the shore on the right slip past.

  “What is ahead?” Nils asked.

  The Skraeling shrugged.

  “More like this. Five, six sleeps.”

  “And then what?”

  “The river.”

  “Yes, you told me of that. It runs into this sea?”

  Odin nodded.

  “You can sail up the river.”

  “Sail? The dragon ships? The river is big, then?”

  “Yes. You could go five, six more sleeps.”

  “After we reach the river?”

  The Skraeling nodded again.

  “As far as Talking Water.”

  Nils missed the implication of that name.

  “Is that where your people are?”

  “I do not know. Somewhere. It has been many winters.”

  “Your people are hunters? Fishers? What?”

  “Both. We grow some pumpkins, beans.”

  “They use boats?”

  “Yes. Not like this. Skin boats. Two, three men.”

  Nils nodded, and fell silent. There was so much he wished to know, and he did not know where to begin.

  Odin watched the shoreline, occasionally pointing out a geographic feature. Again they saw smoke in the distance two or three times, which sparked great interest on the part of the Skraeling. Then, midway through the afternoon, they sighted a village on
the shore. Everyone who was not otherwise occupied stood staring with interest.

  The structures appeared to be of logs with thatched roofs, little different from the familiar Norse longhouse. Even at this great a distance, they could see people moving excitedly and gathering to watch the ships pass. Nils wondered if Helge Landsverk would put in to contact the natives, but there was no change in the smooth run of the Norsemaiden. The village slipped behind with the rest of the scenery. Odin had said nothing, but had only stood and stared.

  “Your people?” asked Nils.

  Odin seemed to emerge from his reverie.

  “No. We are kin to them, but different.”

  An opportunity lost, thought Nils. He was becoming a trifle concerned about Helge’s approach to the whole expedition. There seemed to be a driving urgency in the man, an urge to explore and conquer. Nils was afraid that it was not balanced with caution and reason. This village, for instance. It might have been a great advantage in the future to have a port on this coast, a place to stop and trade as allies. It would have cost them less than a half-day’s travel, and provided a place to moor for the night. Especially when they had an interpreter on board the Snowbird.

  It was the next day that the fog bank rolled in. Until now, they had seen only favorable weather. The fog was thick and lay close to the water, making progress impossible. The wind was light and changeable, and in a very short while they had completely lost sense of direction.

  By shouting, they maintained contact between the two ships long enough to furl the sails and use the oars to come closer together. Here, they would ride out the overcast before proceeding. It would be too risky to move into uncharted waters with poor visibility. They would wait for the fog to lift.

  The Norsemaiden came alongside, and a sailor tossed a line to the Snowbird. This would eliminate the risk of drifting apart. There were old seamen’s tales of ships losing each other in a fog at sea, with one missing when the fog lifted, never to be seen again. This, with the threat of the hafvilla, made the company of the other ship a reassuring thing. The men joked and called across to the other ship, while they rocked gently on the waves. Nils wanted to ask Helge about the village, and whether it might be good to stop if another opportunity offered. It seemed inappropriate, however, to shout such a conversation, in the hearing of the crews. Instead, they made small talk, and tried to estimate when the fog would lift. Probably not until morning, they agreed.

  “The sun-stone!” said Helge suddenly. “We can try it!”

  He fumbled in his pouch and drew out the stone. There was much interest as the sailors gathered to watch. Nils could not see the stone itself, but there was no question about when it indicated north. There was an audible gasp from the cluster of men on deck.

  “It works!” Helge chortled, pointing. “That is north. The land is there.” He indicated a slightly different direction.

  Nils was delighted. This would be a great step forward for the oceangoing ships.

  “What is it?” asked the puzzled Skraeling.

  “Nothing,” Nils brushed the question aside.

  Then he reconsidered.

  “It is a stone,” he explained. “A sun-stone. It can tell north.”

  The one eye widened considerably.

  “How?”

  “I do not know,” answered Nils irritably. “It turns blue when pointed north.”

  “Magic?”

  “Maybe.”

  That was an answer close enough for an uneducated savage, he decided. However, he saw that Odin realized the importance of the sun-stone. He would have reason to appreciate that understanding in the weeks to come.

  7

  “The Talking Water,” said Odin simply.

  Nils listened, and in the silence of the wilderness came the whisper of sound. Water, tumbling and murmuring over the rocks as the river sought a lower level. It was still wide and deep, but at this point it spread out to find its way over a rocky slope. Only now did he understand Odin’s reference. They could sail, the Skraeling had said, as far as the Talking Water. Here, the ships could go no farther.

  They had been on the river for several days, a fine, majestic stream. The bay had narrowed, and one morning they were surprised to find that they were sailing on the fresh water of a deep, clear river. They had explored it to the point of these rapids. Now, it appeared, they would have to turn back. The ships lay at rest, sails furled, while they tried to plan their next move. Nils had a thought.

  “Odin,” he asked, “you know this place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your people travel this river in skin boats, you said?”

  The Skraeling nodded.

  “How do they get across the rapids, the Talking Water?”

  “Go around.”

  “Carry their boats?”

  “Yes. That way.”

  He pointed to a well-used trail that led away from the water and into the woods. It would be worth a half-day’s effort to send a party around the rapids for a look. Odin had been lavish in his praise of the upper river, and the country of his people.

  Nils called across the water and drew closer to the Norse-maiden to discuss it with Helge.

  “Yes, of course!” Landsverk called excitedly.

  His enthusiasm had grown daily. Sometimes Nils was just a trifle concerned about his friend’s exuberance. There was a point somewhere, a circumstance that might result in a wrong decision, when emotion would override calm judgment. Still, Nils was glad for the opportunity to explore a little farther.

  Preparations were brief. It was possible to draw near enough to shore to lay the planks across. Both Nils and Helge would go, accompanied by Odin and a dozen well-armed men. The main force would stay with the ships.

  The path around the rapids was easy and plain. Centuries of use by men carrying boats had resulted in the best and easiest route, the path of least resistance. The slopes were gentle, the way between the pines wide and open. Nils was surprised that the trail was no longer than it was. They came into the open above the rapids within two or three bowshots.

  Here the river widened into a lake, cool and clear, stretching into the distance upstream. Odin was as pleased as if he had created it himself.

  “You see? It is as I said!”

  “Your people live here?” Nils asked.

  “Farther upstream. They come this far, sometimes.”

  “And this river goes on like this, like a lake?” Landsverk demanded.

  Nils became uneasy. He hated to see such a driving emotion in his friend as he saw now reflected in Helge’s eyes.

  “Yes,” the Skraeling was answering. “Many sleeps.”

  Many days’ travel. This was surely a remarkable country, Nils thought. An unusual land formation, with a great river flowing to the sea.

  “We can do it!” Helge Landsverk announced suddenly.

  “Do what?”

  “Explore the river!”

  “Helge, we have no boats.”

  “We will bring one of the ships around.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Nils blurted.

  “No! Look. A wide path, easy slopes. We cut a tree there, another where the path turns, use them for rollers. We have enough men to move a ship with ropes and levers.”

  Landsverk’s face was shining, his eyes glittering with excitement. The faint warning sounded again in the dim recesses of Nils’s consciousness. Still, how exciting, if they could manage to launch a ship on this beautiful expanse of water.

  “Maybe,” he said cautiously, “it could be done.”

  “We will do it!” Helge announced positively.

  He immediately started back down the trail, pausing to mark a tree here and there for cutting, to straighten the path. It was easy to be caught up in Helge’s exuberance. The men were already beginning to chop trees, their axes ringing through forests where such a sound was never heard before. At least, not with modern tools, Nils thought to himself. From what he had heard, the Skraelings had only primitive stone i
mplements. He glanced over at Odin, who seemed as excited as anyone over this project. That, Nils reflected, was what made a good leader of men. Helge could inspire men to do their best, accomplish more than could be expected. Helge was much like Thorwald Ericson, or Thorwald’s brother Leif, who could do great things. Nils did not understand what it was, that driving force that could make men undertake the impossible, and do it, but his friend Helge Landsverk possessed it.

  By evening, the trees were felled and trimmed, the trunks cut into short sections for rollers. The Norsemaiden was gently nosed up on the shore, but left there for the night, resting mostly in the water. She was emptied of all cargo to lighten the pull. Water casks would be unnecessary, so they would be left behind on the shore near the Snowbird. Other supplies would be carried around the trail and reloaded. Ropes and pulleys were put in place and readied for the task that would begin as soon as it became light enough in the morning.

  Nils slept little that night. Aside from the excitement of the coming day, he had much to think about. He had now overcome his doubts about the beautiful Ingrid. He managed to rationalize her treatment of her husband, and to dismiss her reputation as mere gossip. Her failure to come to the dock to see him off was, after all, only good judgment. He thought with longing of her warmth pressed against him in his blankets, and the soft urgency of her kisses. Again he wondered how long it would be before they would return to Straumfjord and he could fulfill his promise to help her, to take her away, out of her intolerable situation. Finally, he fell asleep, out of sheer physical exhaustion.

  Some distance away, a runner trotted into a village and made his way to a longhouse where three elders of the tribe waited. He paused to catch his breath, while the elders, after nodding in greeting, sat and smoked and waited.

  “We have watched them,” Gray Owl announced finally. “They are camped below the Talking Water.”

  “They are in two boats, we are told?” one of the chiefs inquired.

  “Yes. Great boats, longer than this lodge. They carry many warriors, maybe seventy.”