Land of the Silver Dragon (11 page)

I
t was a combination of light and hunger that woke me.

The rising sun was shining directly into my face and, when I raised myself on one elbow to look out at the sea flying past, it was as if tiny, golden fires had been lit on the top of every wave.

I was so hungry that my stomach was growling like an angry wolf.

A different crewman stood at the steering oar, and I did not like to disturb him. Other mariners were visible, all looking preoccupied with whatever they were doing, and I could hear sounds of activity from the fore part of the ship. Maybe that was where they ate? Hopefully, I stood up, intending to go and find out. They had taken care of me so far, I reasoned, and so it didn't seem likely that they were planning to starve me to death.

My legs felt like feathers. Staggering, I grasped hold of the top of the gunwale, standing quite still. Fully expecting the dreadful sickness to start again, I looked round for the bucket. It was there, just by where my head had lain all night, and, again, someone had rinsed it out. These men, whoever they were, kept a clean ship.

I waited. Nothing happened, except that, after a while, I sensed that my legs were actually going to hold me up. I risked a step. Two steps. To my amazement, I realized that, as if utilizing some latent skill I hadn't known I possessed, my body was reacting to the ship's motion. I have, on rare occasions, ridden a horse, and this new sensation felt in some ways similar. The beautiful ship beneath me was galloping over the waves, responding to every nuance of the sea's powerful restlessness. And I, standing on her narrow deck, was responding to
her
, my legs bending automatically to compensate for her movement, my body – my spirit, perhaps – in tune with that of the ship.

It was in that instant that I fell in love with her.

Buoyed up, exhilarated by my new confidence, I moved on along the deck, beneath the huge, full sail. In front of it, I spotted a small rowing boat, upturned and lashed to a thwart. It was, I guessed, the means by which the abductors had transported me from the narrow fenland waterways out to the ship. I went on towards the front of the ship. There were, indeed, crewmen up there, and they were sharing out food.

It was probably my hunger that made me take in that fact first. Then, in the same instant, I saw what reared up behind them and screamed.

The long, spiked neck of a dragon rose into the clear morning sky, soaring up, up, to the high, proud head, reddish in colour, the fierce mouth spouting a blaze of flame, the pale, wide eye staring out intently over the sea ...

Somebody laughed, and as I unfroze from my terror, I saw what I should have seen instantly: this was not a real dragon, but a beautifully carved figurehead, up there above and in front of the ship, bravely leading the way through whatever perils the sea cast at it. At
him
, I corrected myself instantly. While the ship was undoubtedly
she
, the dragon could be nothing else but
he
.

The red-haired giant was beside me. The morning sun shone on his bare head, and in that bright, early light, he looked more fair than auburn. He was smiling. ‘Behold, Nidhöggr,' he said, pointing up at the dragon. Then, frowning in thought, he added, ‘In your tongue, Malice-striker.'

A deep shudder went through me. Malice-striker. The name of the ship I had twice seen in my visions. And now here I was, on board the very same vessel.

I tried desperately to ground myself, absorbing the good, solid wood of the deck planks beneath my feet; the feel of the fresh salt-tasting wind on my face. As the dream world receded, and I saw with the eye of reason, I understood that the craft on to which my abductors had brought me was subtly different from the vision ship. Lean and graceful though she was, the vision ship had been shaped like an arrow, and shields had been positioned along both gunwales. My vision ship was, without doubt, a war ship. Whereas this craft was ...

I spun round to the giant. ‘What do you call this ship?' I demanded.

‘Malice-striker,' he repeated, grinning again, as if in amusement that I appeared to have lost my wits.

‘No, I mean, what sort of ship is she?'

‘Ah.' He nodded in understanding. ‘This is what we call a knarr. A ship for carrying goods, people, horses, cattle – anything that has to be ferried over the sea.' He reached out a big hand and patted the gunwale behind him. ‘Broad and strong, high-sided and robust, the knarr is built to be reliably seaworthy.'

A knarr, I repeated silently. This Malice-striker was a cargo ship. In that case, there must have been a predecessor that shared her name. In a flash of intuition, I knew I was right. Gathering all my courage, I forced myself to look the giant straight in the eye and said softly, for I wanted only him to hear, ‘She is not the first ship to bear the name.'

His expression of astonishment gave me a brief but intoxicating moment of proud joy. He had captured me, bound me, made me his prisoner and was now speeding away with me on his ship, to God only knew what destination and for a purpose I didn't even dare guess at. It was high time I struck a return blow, if only the feeble, pointless one of taking him by surprise.

He recovered very quickly. Grabbing my arm, he led me a few paces away from the avid eyes and ears of his crew. Leaning down to speak right into my ear, he hissed, ‘How do you know that?'

I pulled my arm out of his grasp, rubbing at it. There would be five little bruises there later. ‘Because I saw her predecessor,' I said, forcing a calmness I was far from feeling.

Violently he shook his head, as if by so doing he could negate my statement. ‘It is not possible,' he whispered.

I shrugged. ‘Possible or not, I did.' I wondered fleetingly whether to go on, or to leave him guessing. I decided to tell him. ‘I saw a vision,' I said. ‘From the past. A long, slender ship, sailing very fast along a wild shore. The figurehead was a dragon, just like yours.' A little devil was prompting me to go on, and, dangerous though I knew it was, I did. ‘That ship was no knarr,' I whispered. ‘No
cargo boat
.' I emphasized the words, putting scorn into my voice. ‘She was a warship, and she carried fierce, brave warriors frantic for the fight.'

Dangerous did not begin to describe it. I saw the fury ignite in his light eyes, and the fist that caught the side of my head was so fast that it appeared to come out of nowhere. I fell, awkwardly, collapsing in the angle between the deck and the ship's side. I felt something wet and warm on my head: my own blood. Then my view of the deck, the giant, the crew and the sky was invaded by darkness, and my head fell with a painful thump on to the deck.

It was night when I woke up. The moon rode high in the sky, but she was partly obscured by cloud. I was back in my place to the left of the steering oar, in the stern of the ship. Once again, I was lying on sheepskin, my head – bound in a bandage – on a pillow, blankets covering me. I had a terrible headache. I tried to look round for my leather satchel – it must be here, since I'd been carrying it slung across my body when they took me – but I couldn't see it.

My movement alerted the broad figure sitting beside me, visible as little more than a black shape. I caught a glint of light from his bald head, and a deep voice said, ‘Einar regrets that he hit you so hard.'

Einar. The giant's name was Einar. ‘He certainly did,' I muttered.

‘You should not have provoked him. He is very aware that the glory days are no more, and he does not sail a longship as did his ancestors.'

Yes
, I thought,
that's precisely why I said what I did
.

I wriggled round to try to get a better look at the man beside me. He was older than the other crewmen, with a wrinkled, weatherbeaten face that told of years out in the rough elements. ‘Who are you?' I asked.

He made a sort of bow, as much as anyone can when they're sitting down. ‘I am Olaf,' he said. ‘I am, among other jobs, the ship's cook.'

Cook. Food. Oh, I'd been hungry this morning, and had been hoping to be fed when I'd gone exploring up to the prow. Now, a whole day seemed to have gone by. My belly felt concave. ‘Please could you find me something to eat?' I pleaded.

He leaned forward and put a spark to the wick of a lantern, lowering the flame so that the light was small. Then he waved a hand, and I saw a rough wooden platter loaded with bread, strips of dried meat, some sort of pie, and an apple. Beside it there was a stone jar.

Olaf handed me the jar. ‘Drink first,' he said. ‘Not too fast, or it will come back again.'

The water in the flask was cold, and only tasted faintly of the inside of the jar. I took some slow sips. My head throbbed even more now that I was sitting up. ‘I always carry a satchel with me,' I said. ‘Where is it?'

Olaf reached behind him. ‘Here.'

I took it from him. To hold something from home, something from my normal life that belonged to me, was incredibly comforting. I unfastened the satchel's straps – tucked inside, where I had stowed it before I left Gurdyman's house, was my beloved shawl – and felt around for the remedy I sought: a strong painkiller made up of white willow, feverfew, valerian and just a touch of the powerful medicines that we extract from monkshood and poppy; the ones that are deadly if you are too heavy-handed. I put the bitter powder on my tongue, washing it down with a mouthful of water.

Olaf was watching me with interest. ‘You travel well-prepared,' he remarked. Peering into my satchel, he added with a smile, ‘You appear to anticipate many injuries and much sickness.'

‘I'm a healer,' I said.

His eyes widened. ‘A healer.' He nodded, as if something had just become clear. Then, before I had time to ask, he pushed the platter towards me and urged me to start eating.

‘Of course,' I said through a mouthful, as the first sharp edge of my hunger eased off, ‘I should have known better than to risk such a provocative remark to a man as violent as Einar.'

Olaf looked at me, and in the dim light I made out a quizzical expression. ‘Violent?'

So that was the game we were going to play, I thought. The crew were going to pretend they had no idea what their captain had done; that he had broken his way into several dwellings and committed assaults and a couple of murders. ‘Violent,' I repeated firmly. ‘Two dead, one of them my aunt, one my sister's mother-in-law. I suppose,' I added with heavy sarcasm, ‘he would say they got in the way. Perhaps they
provoked
him.'

Olaf opened his mouth as if to speak, muttered something and then stopped. ‘Do not judge him until you know,' he said.

Oh, yes, there would no doubt be some justifying explanation, I reflected angrily. Einar would say that he'd been forced to act as he did, since finding whatever it was he sought was more important than any other considerations.

He still hadn't got his hands on it, I remembered. And now he seemed to be pinning his hopes on persuading the truth about the object's whereabouts out of me.

Which was going to be a problem, since I had no idea where or what it was.

I looked down at the last scraps of food on my plate. Suddenly I wasn't hungry any more.

I had been lulled into the illusion that I was going to be all right with this extraordinary band of mariners. Despite the fact that their leader, this Einar, had assaulted and killed in his quest for the object he sought, despite the fact that they had jumped on me, bundled me into their boat and were now sailing away with me, whether I liked it or not, they had treated me kindly. I had been fooled by soft sheepskins, warm blankets and decent food. Yet only that morning Einar had hit me so hard that I'd been unconscious all day.

From some dark hiding place, fear crept out and swirled around me, enclosing me in its tightening coils.

I must not let them see I was afraid. Must not even allow this Olaf, posing as a cheery, friendly ship's cook, to read my true mind.

I turned to him. Gathering my courage, praying that my voice would sound convincingly firm, I said coldly, ‘And now, Olaf, I would like you to tell me who you all are, what you want from me and my family, and where you are taking me.'

He looked at me, and I thought I saw compassion in his eyes. ‘You must not ...' he began. Then he stopped. For a few moments he sat in frowning, silent thought. Then he said, ‘There is a purpose. We—'

‘A purpose, yes, of course there is!' I hissed furiously. ‘You're going to try to beat out of me what you believe I know, which is the whereabouts of this
thing
that Einar's been hunting for!' A shaft of pure dread momentarily froze me, as images of that huge fist being raised against me again filled my mind. I clenched my jaws together against the wobbling. ‘I'll tell you right now, it won't do any good, because I have no idea what it is you're after or where it is!'

‘Hush.' He breathed out the word on a sort of soft whistle, like a man soothing a spooked horse. Suddenly I felt his hand take mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘You have every right to feel afraid and angry,' he went on, his deep voice quiet and gentle, ‘and to demand to know where we are taking you.' He paused, and for one wonderful instant I thought he was going to tell me.

I was wrong.

After a long moment, he said, with an unmistakable air of finality, ‘I am not permitted to explain. But—' He broke off, and even from where I sat, I sensed the struggle between obeying his alarming captain's orders and answering my questions. Then he said, ‘You are a clever young woman. Think about everything that has happened to you since we took you, and decide for yourself if we are—'

Again, he stopped. It was very strange: as if, from somewhere quite near at hand, someone – Einar? – was aware of the conversation and was somehow controlling how much Olaf was allowed to say to me.

Even stranger was that, on that beautiful ship flying over the waves in the silvery moonlight, I fully believed this to be possible. If the ship and her crew were indeed under the command of a man who had such power, then, I reasoned, the way in which I was most likely to guarantee my survival was to do exactly what I was told. And, if I was to avoid any more blows to the head, it would be wise to stop antagonizing the ship's captain.