Stolen Away (4 page)

A
fter a night harboured in a sheltered, cedarlined bay, the crew ate a breakfast of salted fish and raised the sail at the first light of dawn. Excitement was building, for by mid-afternoon Thorfinn predicted that they would be reaching the southwest corner of this enormous island and would start their more dangerous trek westward towards less explored territory. It had been over a decade since the westward lands had been explored by earlier Viking expeditions. There were stories of large native villages, huge tides, sea monsters, severe storms and ancient ruins. But balancing the dangers were tales of endless forests, plentiful game and delicious fruits. The crew was itchy with anticipation. If they could only find a piece of that western paradise for themselves…

Thorfinn remained focused on the task at hand; a safe voyage during a dangerous season. Being late summer, he knew from experience that there was a much greater chance of their craft running into an unpredictable and dangerous Atlantic storm. Although a Christian, Thorfinn continued to respect the ancient gods of his forefathers. Many Viking ships had been lost in such maelstroms, and his village could not afford a catastrophe. He could only hope that whoever truly controlled nature's wrath would look kindly upon their noble trek.

“We will stay as close to shore as possible until we must cross the open water to reach the western lands,” Thorfinn explained. “It is there that I hope we can find a new, suitable home.”

“The western lands,” repeated Mats, in awe. He turned to Kiera. “I've always dreamed of exploring the lands of the sagas. Thorfinn is the only one in the village to have travelled with Leif on those early journeys.”

Kiera tried to imagine such lands. “Do you think it's true? Are there really forests of fruits, endless seas of grapes and natives that live in villages even larger than our own?”

Mats frowned. “Of course it's true. The sagas contain our people's history. Why would we teach our children lies? What purpose would it serve? But, of course, sagas are a Viking tradition. You do not realize the importance of such tales.”

His comment stung Kiera. Of course, she understood the importance of tradition, whether it be Viking or Celtic. Kiera had thought that Mats was kind-hearted and open-minded. Had she misjudged him so badly? She looked away in anger, but a hand rested upon her shoulder.

“There is nothing wrong with having a streak of doubt in your mind when you overhear an unbelievable tale, lass.”

Thorfinn had moved to the bow and was now standing between the two young adults. He had mistaken her anger for doubt of the truth of the sagas. “Your doubts are no different from the ones I had in Iceland when, over the roaring flames of the hearth, old warriors would tell the tale of the Ancients sailing across the Atlantic in leather boats only slightly larger than a barrel. It is said that those old Celtic mariners were already living in Iceland when my Viking ancestors first arrived in those northern lands. Being defenseless, they fled further west with each Viking advance, including Greenland. My favourite legend went on to describe how they had found the Promised Land, the one referred to in the Holy Bible. Some of the Ancients made the return home to Ireland to tell of their adventures but never to reveal the exact location of what the old Celtic maps had labelled their “Land of Promise”.

“You didn't believe those tales, did you?” asked Mats.

Thorfinn laughed. “The combination of old men and ale often makes for storytelling that tends to, shall we say, stray away from the truth on occasion. But after living here, in Vinland, I now believe the ancient tales.”

“Because of the Stone,” added Kiera, smiling.

He nodded. “Aye, because of the Stone and several other stones that Leif and I found further ahead on the coast. They've been here. We believe they were carved over two hundred years ago.”

Mats' mouth dropped open. “Two hundred years ago! That I don't believe.”

“You'd better apologize to Kiera and her ancestors right now. Those ancient Irish mariners are like ghosts. We have been chasing their movements ever since our people started sailing west. I tell you, what they lacked in ship construction, they made up in brains and guts.”

Mats' eyebrows went up. “So there really are forests filled with delicious fruit and large native villages ahead?”

Thorfinn nodded and looked towards the shore. “Everything in the sagas describes the events of Leif's voyage. I have seen those forests and villages with my own eyes. This is a land of huge abundance. There is no limit to the amount of fish, game and fresh water contained here. We just need to find a place that will allow us to live together in peace with the native people.”

“But is that possible?” Kiera asked. “From what I've seen, we are not exactly welcomed guests.”

“It's true that the skraelings are everywhere, but some are different from others. The first Vikings to make contact with the skraelings to the north of our settlement had a misunderstanding which led to an argument. A fight broke out. Men on both sides were killed. The northern skraelings still remember that ill-fated moment. We think that it is why we are still attacked today.

“But Leif and I met other skraelings to the south who were friendly. That is where our hope lies. We are going to sail to the land of the Mi'kmaq. They were a friendly people and welcomed us as we resupplied our ship all those years ago. We will travel to their settlement and ask permission to build our own settlement in their lands.”

Thorfinn paused, then looked carefully at the passing shoreline. “We are being watched.” Mats and Kiera turned their heads towards the shore.

“Where?” they asked.

“Among that clump of cedars over there,” he pointed. “Just above the rock face. Look for a dark red colour.”

Kiera squinted in the afternoon sunlight and searched the shadows among the thick evergreens. What seemed like a dark red stone along the craggy shore suddenly shrank and disappeared.

“I saw it!” she shouted.

“Where?” complained Mats. “I didn't see anything.”

“It's gone,” she said, excitedly. “But he didn't look anything like the skraelings that attacked our village. His face was such a dark red.”

Thorfinn nodded. “Aye, you saw him all right. This tribe stains their skin with some sort of red pigment. Can't tell for sure, however. I've never met one face to face. They're like ghosts. You catch a glimpse of one, but only for a second. Then they disappear. I've never met natives like them. Curious about us, but extremely shy.”

Kiera pointed. “Look! There's another one!”

Another red face popped out of the shadows further ahead and to the side of a large outcrop of granite. The head didn't move, but Kiera could almost feel the eyes tracking the ship. Wait, not the ship. She swore that the eyes were tracking her! But before she could investigate further, the native vanished.

The game of “Spot the Skraeling” carried on for the next half-hour. A face would suddenly appear among the bushes and rocks along the shore, and the crew would burst into a frenzied shouting match, debating who had spotted the red native first. The game helped to break the monotony of the day. A count had been started to see who had the keenest eyesight.

Using the rudder, Thorfinn turned the bow into the wind as he prepared to pass beyond the famous southwest point of the island. The game was ended as the crew adjusted the sails for the change in attack. Thorfinn smiled proudly as he watched them work as one. Given the short length of time he'd had to train the crew, it was a minor miracle that the voyage had progressed so smoothly.

Then, as the point drifted past and the south opened up into a wide vista of endless ocean, Thorfinn gasped in horror. His eyes were transfixed upon a distant black curtain of darkness that was sweeping the sea into a frenzied froth. The blistering edge of a darkened weather front was moving across the ocean at an incredible speed. The tempest was heading directly towards them.

“Lower the sail! Oars in the water! Mats! Kiera! Get that sail down now!”

Thorfinn glanced from the approaching storm front to the top of the sail that was slowly sliding in spurts down the mast. He timed the effort and looked back at the approaching curtain of death. It was going to be close. If the storm hit with the sail up, they would all be dead.

The bow was still pointing west, and the storm was coming at them from the south. They had to move the bow directly into the storm or risk capsizing.

“Starboard oars! In the water! Pull for your life! Hurry!”

Kiera and Mats glanced at the approaching wall of cloud that threatened to destroy them. The wind began to whip and swirl around their legs. It was about to hit. They knew that the next few seconds would decide if they would live or die. They had to secure the sail.

They worked the ropes feverishly, lowering the top boom until the great square sail rested upon the lower boom. The bunched-up cloth was already starting to thrash frantically against their working hands. Mats and Kiera flung short ropes around the circumference of the sail and booms, lashing them together to prevent the wind from attacking the cloth.

The boat began to heave violently in the towering waves. Kiera lost her balance on the pitching deck as she and Mats tried to retreat to their seats.

“Well done!” shouted Thorfinn over the ominous thunder of the wind and waves. “Quickly! Tie off the sail lines, then brace yourselves! It's about to hit!”

Kiera quickly looped the rope around the stay next to her seat then hunkered down low against the railing.

The storm was upon them.

Now deep within the throat of the tempest, the wind screamed into the tiny vessel, tearing at every sailor on board the ship. An arcing tongue of lightning licked across the sky. The tremendous crash of thunder that followed had Kiera thinking that the entire earth had just been shattered. Lifting her head, she was instantly blinded by a sudden crash of sea water. Everyone held on for their lives. The bow rocketed up the face of a tremendous wave, and for a moment, Kiera felt as weightless as a feather. Her body left the bench until suddenly, she crashed hard into the ribbing between the benches as the ship zoomed down the back side of the wave. As the bow shot up the face of the next swell, a loud crack caused her to glance over her shoulder.

A furious blast of wind had snapped one of the ropes holding together the lashed booms, allowing the wind to rip into the protected sail. The remaining ropes quickly burst apart, and with an explosive bang, the sail opened up its heart to the storm.

The world around Kiera slowed to a crawl. Through the rain, she could read the terror on Thorfinn's face as the sail flew open. She saw the gust snap the boom upwards. The crack of the stay next to her echoed in her ears as it broke away from the side of the ship. She could feel the sudden jerk on her leg as it was snapped upward, her ankle caught in the loose coil of rope that rocketed skywards with the wooden boom. She could see Bjorn's eyes grow wide with panic as her body launched from the floor, upside down, and soared into space. Her mind went numb as she realized she had been catapulted far beyond the safety of the ship. The ocean and ship spun like toys below her. For what seemed like an eternity, she floated within the storm, hoping that by some miracle, she would continue her upward climb to heaven rather than fall down into the gaping mouth of what lay below.

She fell. Face first, the ocean hit her body like a stone wall. The air was smacked out of her lungs, and she fell limp beneath the waves and into the eerie, serene darkness beneath. Only the sharp iciness of the water and her will to survive drove her arms into a drunken crawl for the surface. The seconds seemed like hours as the changing surface stayed terrifyingly beyond her panicked reach.

Finally, her head broke the surface, only to be lashed mercilessly by the salty foam of the storm. She managed to gulp in a lungful of air and sea spray. Gagging, she tried again. Her hip seared with pain. Twisting, she scanned her obscured surroundings. The boat was nowhere to be seen.

“Bjorn! Thorfinn! I'm over here!”

Only the howl of the storm answered her calls. She tried to clear the stinging salt water from her eyes. As a wave heaved her helplessly up into the sky, she waited, timing herself for the peak. Then as the wave reached the apex of its swell, she raised herself up and looked in all directions. There! She could see a dark, rocky outline to her right, just before the ocean sucked her back down into the trough of the next wave.

Moving her two arms and one good leg, she swam as best she could through the rough seas, waiting for each wave to lift her up in order to regain her bearings. The shore was not far, but the chilling cold of the North Atlantic had worked its way through her wool garments and was quickly draining her strength. She pushed herself onward, aware that each pull with her arms was weaker than the last. She was nearly there. The boom of the surf against the rocks was almost deafening. She briefly wondered whether she would make it to shore only to be crushed on the rocks. She had no choice. Her strength was almost gone, and death was not an option. She continued her laboured swim.

The next wave grabbed her body and threw her forward. She bodysurfed within the curl towards the jagged shoreline. The wave passed by, and what now lay ahead terrified her. Just in front of her were two huge, jagged boulders. A small gap between them led to the stony shore beyond. It was her only hope. She could feel the next wave building behind her. There would be only one chance. With several kicks, she lined herself up as best she could and allowed the wave to rocket her forward.

She almost made it. While her body flashed through the gap with the surging water, her injured left leg caught the sharp edge of the righthand boulder, sending fiery pain throughout her entire body. In agony, she crumpled into a heap amid the frothing surf. Kiera was washed up like a piece of driftwood onto a rough beach of pebbles and rocks, tumbling until the water's momentum died, and she was left groaning in agony. Another wave swept over her. She writhed and screamed as her leg twisted in the surf. Her mind tried to rise above the anguish. Staying in the surf would be death. She tried to crawl but couldn't. The next wave burst through the rocks, submerged her and again twisted her injured leg into unbelievable explosions of pain.