I felt pity for him then, but I was angry as well. I would never be able to land the knorr on my own; certainly not along such a rocky coast. My only hope lay in finding some kind of natural harbor.
The sun had set by then and I managed to steer the ship through the night. The moon shone inconstantly, moving in and out of cloud cover, and I could only occasionally make out a dim outline of the land we glided past. Finally I decided to drop anchor, thinking to wait until morning to try to find a place to land. Shivering, I covered the snoring Thor, noting that he had almost completely emptied an entire barrel. I burrowed under my own layers of cloth and quickly fell into a deep sleep.
I awoke to find snow falling, and a good two inches of it already accumulated on the cloths covering me. There was a trace of light from the predawn sun.
Dusting the snow off, I got up and stretched. Thor was still passed out, his mouth hanging open and his breathing loud. I gazed toward land and in the gray light could just make out what looked to be a slim outcropping a little to the north. I wondered if there might be a harbor of sorts within it.
After attempting in vain to awaken Thor, I raised the sail and steered the knorr toward land. As I went closer I saw that the arm of land did provide protection for a cove of sorts. Suddenly all I wanted was the feel of land under my feet, and I recklessly pointed the bow toward shore. The light was so dim that I could barely tell where the sea ended and the shore began, but I didn't care.
The water was fairly calm in this natural harbor, and the knorr glided through the gray waves, snow still lightly falling. My eyes straining, I thought I saw a cluster of shapes on the beach ahead that from such a distance looked like standing stones.
All was silent; even the slapping of water against the hull seemed muffled by the falling snow. Somehow I managed to avoid the rocks. There was a grinding sound as the prow of the knorr slid up onto the snowy beach and came to a stop.
I sat for a moment, unnerved by the lack of motion. Thor let out a grunt and shifted on the bench, still passed out. I stood and made my way forward to the prow. The sun had not yet risen and the light was the same dim gray. Despite my many layers of clothing, I was shivering again. I lowered a plank from the side of the knorr. Using it as a bridge I descended to the beach.
I stood by the hull for a moment, swaying dizzily after such a long time at sea. But then I heard a noise coming from the beach. I turned and saw the strange shapes I had thought to be stones moving across the beach toward me, their feet making quiet crunching sounds in the snow. The one closest to me raised a hand and all the others stopped, but the small figure with the raised hand kept moving toward me. I stayed very still, my heart beating fast.
It was a woman with dark, creased skin and narrow bright-black eyes. She was dressed from head to toe in various animal skins. She wore a hood with silver-gray fur around her face. The fur obscured her features, save for those penetrating black eyes.
She stepped forward until our noses were almost touching, and stared directly into my eyes. I stared back, which turned out to be the right thing to do, for I found out later that she was the local shaman and was then reading my soul with her eyes. Had I looked down or away from her, the shaman would have deemed that I had things to hide—and I most likely would have been killed.
As it was, the shaman apparently found my soul to be satisfactory, or at least harmless, for she smiled at me and then spoke. I didn't understand her, though the language was vaguely familiar to me, with a faint echo of Njorden.
I said, "I am from Njord."
"Ah, Njord." She nodded, then gestured at the knorr, taking several steps toward it.
Assuming that meant she wished to board the ship, I led her to the makeshift gangplank. She followed me aboard and slowly made her way from fore to aft, her eyes sweeping the battered knorr. She came to a stop in front of Thor, who was still sprawled in a drunken stupor. Leaning over his prostrate body, she reached out and held up the tarnished hammer necklace he wore, inspecting it closely. Then she took her thumb and raised his eyelid, revealing the bloodshot white of one eye.
Looking at me she said something that sounded like the Njorden word for illness. I shook my head and pantomimed drinking a mug of ale.
A slow smile creased her face and she nodded in understanding. Then she crossed to the prow and called out to the figures standing on the shore.
They responded by gathering around the knorr and pulling the vessel far up onto the beach. I clung to the mast to keep my footing.
The woman gestured for me to follow her as she disembarked. "I am Malmo," she said as she stood facing me on the beach.
"My name is Rose," I replied, wondering if we should shake hands. But she did not offer her hand.
Instead she said, "You will come with Malmo." She then set out across the beach, away from the knorr.
"But my friend..."
"We bring him, too," Malmo said.
And I followed her. For some reason I trusted Malmo. Perhaps I had inadvertently looked into her soul as she was inspecting mine; I sensed that she meant me no harm.
She led me away from the water until we came to a cluster of stone buildings. Malmo directed me to one of the larger buildings and opened the flap of animal skin that served as a door, gesturing for me to enter.
"Malmo home," the shaman said by way of explanation. The building was a small structure made of stone, clay, and dried grass. It had two rooms, both small; one was for cooking and eating, the other for sleeping.
Malmo gestured for me to sit, handing me a fur-skin for warmth. Then she went outside again, leaving me alone briefly. She soon reappeared with several of her people, who were carrying Thor. He was still unconscious and they laid him on a raised sleeping platform, then covered him with fur-skins.
Two women entered the home, bearing bowls of stew and steaming cups of mead. Malmo smiled at me, saying, "Eat, rest." And once again she departed.
Hungrily I ate, then bundled myself into the furs. I sat there, Thor snoring softly nearby, and thought about all that had happened since I'd left the castle. And for the first time I found I could think about the white bear with some kind of hope. I was getting close to where he was. Warmed by those thoughts, and by the stew and hot mead in my belly, I drifted into sleep.
Book Four
North
She traveled on the back of the North Wind to the very end of the world.
Rose
WE HAD COME TO the village of Neyak on the northeastern coast of Gronland. Malmo showed it to me on the map. She and her people were Inuit and had lived on that land since Sedna, the Mother of Sea Beasts, came to guard the oceans. Malmo knew the Njorden language because whale hunters from Njord had come to their land before. She had nothing good to say about them, though. Her opinion of the Vikings was even lower. They had been the first to come in their longboats—with their hammers of the thunder god Thor around their necks—bringing devastation and fear to the Inuit, whom the Vikings called Skraelings, or "the ugly ones." It had taken the Inuit years to get rid of the marauding invaders, and there remained a distrust that had been passed down through the generations. Still, it was clear that my particular "Viking," with his broken limbs and giant hangover, did not exactly inspire fear.
Thor remained in his ale-induced sleep while Malmo and I talked. She knew enough Njorden that we were able to understand each other fairly well. I told her of the deadly storm we had encountered and of the loss of Gest and Goran. She asked where I was bound.