Islands in the Fog (23 page)

Ulfrik paused and bit his lip. "I suppose that's true. But keep your eyes open for a chance. I might still form a plan. This storm feels like something sent to us by the gods."

"Isn't every storm?"

Ulfrik left Snorri to his defeatist thinking, instead focusing on finding a way to exploit the unexpected storm. If the island were large enough, they could escape overland. It would still be desperate, far from certain, but it would be a chance. Ulfrik lost himself in planning while the storm gathered force.

As expected, they were forced to carry the ships onto higher land. But the storm moved fast and they soon realized that not all six ships could be ported to safety in time. So they carried away their treasures and supplies, abandoning two ships as far up the slope as possible. Ulfrik and his fellow slaves stood in the rain on shore as crewmen scurried around the beached ships and threw over whatever they could find. Ulfrik and another man had to carry a heavy box up the slope.

The storm winds now flattened the grass and rain pelted their faces. Four of the six ships were safely up the slope, and Kjotve pulled his sails over these to make a place for his crew to shelter. The slaves, except for Ingrid, were to fend for themselves in the wind and rain. Lightning burned the sky white and a boom so terrible followed that men cried out. Kjotve hastily ordered a few unlucky spearmen to remain with the slaves, then ducked into the ship.

"This is a bit of bad luck," Snorri screamed over howling wind. "I think we're going to die out here."

But Ulfrik's heart beat with anticipation. Four hapless men were accepting sealskin cloaks from their fellows hiding on the ships. They clung to the hulls and faced their backs to the wind and rain. Four men. At least twenty other slaves, more than half of which were his own crew, clumped close to the ships. He smiled.

"Snorri, the gods do love us."

"What?" The wind drove at them, and voices died beneath its roar.

"We're escaping tonight!"

Snorri hunkered in the grass and jabbed a finger at the sky in frustration. Lightning streaked overhead and Thor's roar nearly flattened them.

People crowded toward the ships to find relief from the wind. Ulfrik watched the guards huddle, oblivious to their approach. The ferocity of the storm threatened to sweep men away, and everyone outside had a single concern to survive the wind and avoid lightning.

Ulfrik crouched and yelled in Snorri's ear. "There are only four of the bastards. They're not even watching us. We kill them and get to the ships left by the shore."

Snorri's eyes widened, and Ulfrik smiled. Then he pulled himself to Ulfrik's ear. "You're fucking crazy. This storm would drive us into the cliffs or swamp us. And we don't have any weapons."

"Of course we do. Look under your feet."

Snorri scrabbled back and looked down. "We're going to choke them with grass?"

"No, you old fool. Rocks. Bash their heads open with rocks. Look!" Ulfrik pried up a fist-sized rock. "Time to crack some hazelnuts."

Ulfrik hefted his muddy rock and smiled as Snorri dug up his own. Ulfrik stooped low against the wind, going from man to man and instructing them to find a rock. He monitored the guards as they huddled against the ship with their backs turned. He crawled closer and waited for his men to join him. He glanced back. Lightning flashed and painted the land white and black. His men inched across the grass like giant snails.

Ulfrik struck in time with the lightning. His rock slammed into the skull of a guard who crumpled as thunder shuddered the earth. One guard turned in time to catch a rock in his face. Two other men beat him down, his howl inaudible over the hiss of wind and rain. Ulfrik fished a knife from the man at his feet. The guard lay face down in muddy water, but Ulfrik took the knife and thrust it into the man's throat for good measure. He did not trust his plan to a rock, but cold iron gave him heart. Then he cut away his bonds.

The other men huddled over dead bodies, stripping them of anything useful. Rain bounced violently off their backs. In moments, eight of his twelve men were armed either with long knives or spears. The other slaves, captives from Hardar and Vermund's lands, hung back. When lightning struck, Ulfrik saw the whites of their terrified eyes.

Snorri scuttled over to Ulfrik. "Now what? We're armed. Do we attack?"

Ulfrik shook his head. "Let's get to the ships. We can be ready to launch once the storm eases up. Kjotve won't come out before then, not in this weather.

As if to emphasize his point, a gust of wind flipped his sodden cloak over his head and caused him to stumble onto Snorri. They laughed a moment, then Ulfrik stood straight above all the others who still hugged the ground. He circled his hand in the air, then pointed toward the shore with his spear. Without delay, he put his head down and ran.

Wind fought him, and more than once he fell into the thick muck. But he reached the two ships, and threw himself against one's hull. Others tumbled after him. He wiped mud and water from his face. The storm had not abated, but he had seen storms like this often enough in these lands. They would rage a few hours then pass. Patience would be repaid with a change of weather.

"I think this is going to work," Snorri hollered. "By the gods, we're going to get away with a ship!"

"I told you he was over confident. Let's pick one of these ships and wreck the other one. Steal the rudder, ropes, oars, anything he could use to steer it. That will give us strong lead."

"Good idea. Where are we going?"

"To find help. Ragnvald or anyone else who will listen." Ulfrik shared his plan with his crew, and they jumped to the work. The other captives, mostly women and children, watched silently and huddled together like a black lump in the gloom. Ulfrik shook his head and inwardly cursed them for being no braver than the sheep they had once herded.

After the rudder and oars of one ship were aboard the other, Ulfrik decided the storm had subsided enough to chance the sea. Snorri disagreed, but Ulfrik insisted. "If we wait until it's completely safe, Kjotve will find us. We have to brave the storm. You know I can do this. Let's move!"

Ulfrik's heart throbbed with joy. Escape was as easy as walking away. He only had to steer the ship clear of hazards and then his crew would row them to safety. Kjotve would give chase, but the ocean swallows all trace of man's passing.

Though sore and weak from his days in captivity, he put his shoulder to the cold strakes of the ship and pushed. The ship sank into the mud as he and the others shoved. He groaned with the exertion. Rain and sweat mixed on his face.

Then a man stumbled. Wind still filled his ears, but he thought he heard screams. He looked back.

At first he saw only flashing silver eyes in the night. They might have been elves come searching for mischief. Then he realized they were the flashes of weapons in the storm gloom. Kjotve's roar became clearer.

"Push!" Ulfrik screamed. The rocks of the sea were already at his feet. But strong waves rolled them back. "We are so close!"

Another man fell, and Ulfrik realized that despite the angry winds, Kjotve's men still hurled spears or axes at them. Ulfrik felt tears streak down his face. "Push!"

But the ship thudded to the rocks, becoming as unmovable as a mountain. He felt a sharp point jab his back, and he put up his hands. He had thrown his spear on the deck of the ship, but a fight now would be his death.

The man spun him around and yanked him forward. He landed on the rocks, and as he tried to raise himself, something butted the back of his skull. His head slammed forward onto a heavy stone and his world snapped to soundless darkness.

Ulfrik felt the cold rain of the storm blast him full in the face. He awoke with a shout, a blanket of sullen gray clouds filling his sight. Then someone kicked him and he heard angry voices. The water in his mouth was salty, not rainwater. He felt a deck beneath his hands, and he raised his head.

His vision swam from the blow, but he instinctively sensed the rocking of a ship at sea. The he remembered what had happened, and realized he was aboard Kjotve's ship. He was laid out in the stern, facing Kjotve as he glared down on him. He heard oars splashing the water.

"Oars in! Time for a demonstration!" Kjotve ordered. Ulfrik's head fell to the side. He saw people seated at their oars, hauling them in. The mast was up and the sail furled. He saw Ingrid with her hands tied before her, staring at him from beneath tangled, platinum hair.

Someone hauled him up, then smashed him face-first into the mast pole. Another man jerked his hands around the pole, while the man behind him kicked Ulfrik's feet into position on both sides of the mast. Then they bound him, and lashed him to the mast with heavy coils. Kjotve inspected, circling around as they did.

Kjotve tested Ulfrik's bindings. He had some tightened and others loosened. "We don't want your hands to go cold and dead. I won't get much sale value if you don't have limbs, though I've a mind to hack them off anyway." Kjotve's breath was hot on the side of his face. Ulfrik's cheek pressed to the smooth mast pole, blocking vision from his left side. On his right, he saw Kjotve and beyond his shoulder he saw Snorri. Tears filled his old friend's eyes.

Kjotve shouted orders and signaled the other ships in his fleet. The ship drifted under the slate sky, a watery light rendering the world plain and dull. He waited for the other ships to pull in closer before he stood in the prow and shouted.

"You killed four of my men. Four! Were I not such a greedy bastard, I'd have your balls cut off before I drowned you. But you owe me repayment, and I can't get that from a ball-less corpse. So you go to the slave block still. If your plan had worked, it would've been a tale for the skalds. Yet you failed. So punishment is necessary, and someone has to be an example. Who else should bear the punishment, but the leader?"

Ulfrik squeezed his eyes shut. Every muscle tensed and he trembled. He didn't have to hear Kjotve speak the words to know what he planned.

"Forty lashes is light punishment! This hardy young man probably won't even feel it. That's how generous I am in these matters. But if anyone tries or plans another escape, I will have that person lashed to death."

Ulfrik gritted his teeth. He had heard stories of men dying under the lash. A stray hit to the head instead of the back could kill. He prayed Kjotve had good aim.

The mast obstructed his sight, but he heard Kjotve approach from the prow. He appeared at Ulfrik's side and brandished a lash of sealskin, just like the ropes used to bind him. "It was an admirable attempt, worthy of you, Ulfrik. But you've got to bleed for it."

Rough hands stripped his tattered shirt and the cold air washed his back. A moment of refreshing sea air hung before the first lash. Then he heard the whip inhale and crack.

His vision exploded into a bright white field. Then pain came, thunder after the lightning. He felt the line of hot agony from his shoulder blade to his hip. He gritted his teeth and determined not to cry out. The next stripe came fast on the second. Kjotve was practiced with his whip and landed close to the first. More pain bloomed, but Ulfrik could withstand it. The whip snapped and struck, repeatedly the crack broke across his back. He squeezed his eyes tight and stifled his cries. His back was crossed with lashing. Errant blows hit the backs of his calves. He did not know if Kjotve counted those. He did not know if anyone counted at all. His back softened, the pain intensified. He thought he would pass out, but instead he forced his knees to lock and stood.

The lash stopped. Only the creaking deck or slapping waves made any sound. He heard Kjotve's lash dragging on the deck as he gathered it to his hand. It was over.

Someone doused him with seawater. The salt on his back made him scream at last. It was all he could take. The fiery throbbing intensified with the sea salt. He thrashed against his bindings, blind with pain. Kjotve again appeared at his side. "Seawater is good for the wounds. You'll live, at least long enough to sell your hide at a fair price."

Ulfrik hung limp, the pain of his bindings incomparable to the agony inflaming his back. Even the breeze, so refreshing moments before, felt like dragon's breath. A vague awareness of Kjotve shouting orders and the lurching of the ship penetrated his haze of suffering. He held his eyes closed, and used whatever strength he had to keep himself from crying.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Clouds hid the sky and refused to dissipate. Toki had waited for a break, and receiving none he chose to sail rather than drift. He had often traveled beneath hidden skies, but never after becoming so disoriented. He had no landmarks to follow, and the only signs were the lack of birds and seaweed that indicated he was still far from land. He had picked a southern course based off the bright patch of sun seeping through the cloud cover.

They rowed south and east, but it was slow travel with only three men to row. Dana took the fourth oar, being a slave accustomed to manual work. She rowed surprisingly well, but did not last. Reluctantly, Toki raised the mast and fought with his steering board to guide them to where he guessed to find land.

But by the end of the day, the expected coastline did not emerge on the horizon. No one spoke more than necessary. Only Gunnar's voice broke the monotony of rowing oars or billowing sail, and he only spoke to his mother. The men rowed and Gerdie tended them like a nursemaid, bringing mead or wiping their brows. When the sail went up, she had nothing more to do and paced the deck in silence.

Halla sat deep in the forecastle, disappearing into the shadows as if she wanted to leave the world. Toki's head ached when he thought of her. He tried to be understanding, but had no patience for it. Ulfrik, for all his fierceness in battle, could effortlessly summon patience and understanding for others.
How I wish I could be like you, old friend
, Toki thought.
You would know how to speak to her. Look at how you tamed my sister!

By the onset of twilight, land still eluded them and the sky still withheld its secrets. Exhausted, he gave the steering board to Einar, who had already rested, and stretched out to sleep. "The wind wants us to go east, and we must head south."