Stolen Away (5 page)

The wave receded. Gasping for breath, she let her legs hang limply behind her as she dug her fingers into the slippery rocks and dragged herself, inch by inch, away from the churning water. How long it took, she had no idea, but somehow she pulled her body beyond the reach of the surf.

The pain was simply too much. Exhausted and curled up at the base of a rock face, she could no longer feel the icy rain pelting her body. She felt her mind slip away from the horror of reality and into the comfort of inner darkness. She welcomed the peace that was awaiting her in the world beyond. Her life here was over.

Then, before she completely submitted to unconsciousness, she felt something touch her. There was a slight tug on her neck, perhaps from her necklace. For a moment, she willed her burning eyes to open. In the dark twilight, she made out the outline of a face looking down at her. Where was she? The voice! The beautiful language of her birth tongue! Heaven! Only in heaven could it be possible. The voice of an angel had spoken to her. She allowed the darkness to envelop her once again. Before drifting away, Kiera let the glorious Celtic words sink into her memory.

I
t was as if she were trying to swim up from the depths of the darkest ocean. Kiera floated through layers of grey thoughts and foggy memories. She remembered the time she had burned her hand on the hot kettle, and the fiery tears as her mother bathed her injury in a barrel of cool rain water. She tasted the salt on the fish her grandmother had always prepared before the family attended evening mass. She felt the icy cold rain that had pelted her shivering body as she was led away, sobbing, in the hold of the Viking ship after the invaders had sacked her home and village. Kiera wondered if she was living her life in reverse. Was this the process of life after death? She searched for a beacon to follow, a light to guide her to the afterworld.

Pain! Her cry of anguish cut ferociously through layers of confusion and opened a cruel portal back to reality. Somewhere deep within her mind, she was aware that she was being moved, and with each bump, an invisible knife sliced cleanly through her lower leg. Her senses began to return. The thundering of the ocean surf was now only a distant rumble. The scent of wet pine tingled within her nostrils.

With great effort, she forced her eyes open. Perhaps she was still dreaming, for there was darkness everywhere. No. There was a strange shadow hovering above her. It looked like the upside-down and backwards silhouette of a man. In her delirious state, she found the angle almost amusing. What was happening? Under her, she felt a soft cushion that bounced in a rhythmic pattern. Her fingertips reached down and touched soft pine needles. It was then that she realized that she was being dragged on a thick bough of pine.

Before she could completely piece together her thoughts, the improvised stretcher jolted upwards as it struck something large and unseen. The stranger grunted at the impact. The collision rocked her body onto her injured leg. Unbearable pain tore through her. It was simply too much agony to bear. Her ragged voice managed a hoarse whimper before her tortured thoughts disintegrated back into the comforting darkness of unconsciousness.

Kiera's nose twitched at the tickling sensation of smoke. She wondered why she couldn't hear the children playing in the longhouse or the women chattering as they began the morning meal preparations. A gentle breeze kissed her forehead as she struggled to open her eyes. Something was wrong. The air in the longhouse was always stale and stuffy.

Kiera squinted into the bright morning light. She gasped at the unexpected sight. Next to her was a crackling fire. Several pieces of fish were skewered on sharp sticks and were roasting above the heat of the flames. Her body lay within a small, shallow ditch that encircled the fire.

Suddenly, the memories of the storm flooded back. The longboat. Her leg! Her hands reached along her body, checking for injury as her eyes continued to adjust to the morning sun. Her injured limb had been raised off the ground, supported underneath by several layers of folded fur. A large grey pelt covered her lower body, providing her with warmth against the cool morning air.

Kiera ran her hands under the cover and found that her injured left leg had been secured from her ankle to her knee by several thin but firm pieces of hewn tree limbs and securely bound together by many pieces of leather twine. Whoever had immobilized her leg seemed to know what they were doing.

From behind, a hand touched her shoulder. Kiera looked up, then screamed. Two concerned white eyes stared down at her from a female face stained blood red. The woman's exposed upper body, along with the knee-high leather skirt, were also stained a dark crimson. Her hideous skin colour looked like the hide of the devil himself.

The reddened woman, holding a large wooden bowl, also screamed. She flung the bowl high into the air, its contents spraying Kiera and the surrounding ground as it spiralled skywards. The woman turned and sprinted away, disappearing into the forest.

Kiera was alone again. It took several minutes to regain her breath. Where was she? Who was that strange woman? Could she have been the one who had rescued her from the beach? If she was indeed her rescuer, then she had frightened away the person who had just saved her life.

Shivering, a thought passed through her mind. Perhaps they were going to kill her. In the past, other skraelings had not hesitated to kill. But why, then, would they have bothered to mend her leg?

Tears began to trickle down her pale cheeks. She was crippled and alone with frightening people she did not understand. What was to happen to her?

A twig snapped. She wiped her eyes with her arm and turned towards the sound. Appearing silently from the stand of cedars was a man, completely covered in the same red stain as the woman. He wore only leather breeches hanging loosely from his waist. Kiera dug her fingernails into the soft dirt, readying to drag her body away in retreat, if need be, from the skraeling.

But the man approached no further. Instead, he slowly stepped sideways towards a birch bark basin. He knelt, held his stained hands up and opened his palms towards her. He lowered his eyes, cupped his hands and then began to splash water onto his face. With a piece of leather and what looked like a gob of animal fat, he began to vigorously scrub his skin. After a minute, he paused and lifted his head. Kiera's mouth dropped open in astonishment. His cleaned skin was much fairer than the dark complexion of the northern skraelings. His skin was, well, almost European. His handsome mouth was framed by high cheekbones. His dark, kind eyes crinkled slightly as his lips curled upwards in a friendly but cautious smile. Although he looked older than her, she could not guess his age. His skin was deeply etched as from a lifetime of wilderness survival, but his eyes sparkled with youthfulness.

Again, he held up his open hands.

“I no hurt.”

It was the voice!

“I wasn't dreaming!” she spluttered. “It was you who saved me!” She then realized she was speaking the language of the Vikings. She switched over to a language she hadn't used in nine years.

“You rescued me!” she said in her Celtic mother tongue.

“Yes,” he replied.

“How is it possible that you know the language of my ancestors?”

He shook his head. “Story long. You sleep two days. Tired. Hungry. Must eat.”

The spoken words were choppy, and the skraeling seemed to struggle to find the right words, but his voice was one of the sweetest things she had ever heard. She stared at him in amazement. Was she dreaming all of this? This was impossible! How could she be speaking Celtic to a skraeling who was living an ocean away from her home?

He cautiously moved to the fire and lifted a stick of fish. Then he turned and called into the woods using a strange language. The woman whom Kiera had seen when she had first wakened reappeared with another wooden bowl. She approached, her eyes fixed suspiciously on Kiera. Kiera noticed that above her left eye was a pattern of three black triangles that together looked something like half a flower.

“Please,” Kiera said, soothingly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

The man spoke to Kiera. “She not know.”

He turned and spoke to the woman. She seemed to relax slightly. She then examined Kiera as if she was the strangest creature she had ever seen. Carefully, she set the bowl of water by Kiera's side, then backed away.

The man pointed at the water, then passed her a cooked fish. He also passed a small birch dish filled with a selection of wild berries.

“Eat. Drink.”

Kiera held the fish. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of sinking her teeth into some food, but she hesitated and watched her visitors. She observed the two strangers as they removed the fish from the stick, then pulled the meat from the bones with their fingers. His mouth full, the man gestured again for Kiera to join them. Kiera could no longer resist. She attacked the food ravenously. The fish was delicious. She then realized how long it must have been since she had had her last meal. The food also seemed to help clear her thoughts. She looked again at her wrapped leg. She tried to move it, but a sharp pain fired up through her body and took her breath away.

The man seemed startled by her action. “No move!” he commanded.

He said things that she did not understand. Kiera, confused and in pain, shook her head. The man looked around and found a twig. He pointed to his shin, then took the twig and bent it until it cracked, then pointed at her, trying to tell her that her leg was fractured. Kiera eased herself backwards and stared up into the speckled sky. This was what she had suspected.

She was helpless. She could not move, let alone get home. What was she going to do? She was now at the mercy of these strange skraelings. It took a minute for her to recover from the shock. Her thoughts quickly returned to the fact that the man knew Celtic. Perhaps this was a key to another way home! The skraelings were still sitting across from her, staring, eating their fish in silence.

“Tell me,” she asked, “how is it that you know Celtic?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. An answer to such a complex question was too much to expect. Better to step back a bit. After all, she wasn't going anywhere. She pointed to herself and smiled. “Kiera. My name is Kiera.”

He smiled and pointed to himself. “Chocan. She Sooleawaa. We Beothuck.”

“Chocan. Sooleawaa. Thank you for saving my life.”

Kiera bowed her head in respect. Chocan stood up, approached her and knelt down in the ditch beside her. He reached out and reverently lifted up the Celtic cross that hung around her neck. He rubbed the intricately carved grooves with his thumb and smiled.

“No. Thank you, Teacher.”

K
iera lowered the needle, held up the fine leather garment and examined it in the glowing radiance of the fire. Sooleawaa circled around the fire and knelt next to Kiera, her eyes widening in admiration.

“It is beautiful,” said Sooleawaa, feeling the delicate stitching. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Kiera, Sooleawaa and Chocan had passed the last several weeks trying to learn each other's languages. It was Kiera's job to improve Chocan's mysterious knowledge of the Celtic tongue, while Sooleawaa had taken on the task of teaching Kiera the Beothuck language. Although Kiera could now understand most of Sooleawaa's phrases, she was having far more difficulty getting her voice to imitate the strange rhythms and sounds of the different tongue.

“Your skirt,” corrected Kiera, in embarrassingly rough Beothuck. “It for you.”

“For me?” stammered Sooleawaa, shocked.

Kiera passed it to her. “Yes. My thank you gift to you.”

Sooleawaa looked to her, then turned in disbelief to Chocan, who sat to the right of the fire. He was using the fire to help illuminate the fishing spear he was carving from what was once a maple sapling. He put the stone and stick down and admired Kiera's handiwork. The flames danced across his glowing gaze.

“Are you going to try it on?”

Sooleawaa needed no further prodding. She stepped into the skirt and pulled it up over the thin, worn skirt she had worn every day since Kiera had arrived. The soft, brown material fit perfectly around her waist, curving down her hips to just above her knees. Kiera was relieved that she had sewn it perfectly. Sooleawaa turned back to Kiera, her eyes as round as the full moon peering through the trees above them. She tried to stammer a thank-you, but she was so excited, she simply hopped up and down three times, turned and sprinted into the darkness.

Chocan laughed. “I have never seen my sister so happy. Thank you, Kiera.”

Kiera put the needle back into the hem of her own skirt. She grinned with a mix of satisfaction and relief. The giving of a gift brought back all of the memories of the last few weeks. Seeing her friends covered in red ochre seemed now just a natural extension of their warm personalities. She was overwhelmed with gratitude.

“It was the least that I could do. You saved my life, fed me and kept me company. I owe both of you much more than a simple leather skirt.”

He nodded towards the trees. “She has gone to show the villagers.”

Kiera turned her gaze towards the woods as well. “When will I meet the people of your village?”

“Soon,” laughed Chocan as he threw another log on the evening campfire. “They know you. They've seen you through the trees. My people, however, still fear you. You are a pale-skinned stranger. I tried to tell them that you are not a spirit to be feared. They're still not sure.”

Kiera straightened. “I would love to meet them. Is there anything I could do to help them not be so afraid of me?” she asked.

Chocan thought for a moment. He then reached behind the stump on which he was perched and brought forward a stained leather bag. Kiera recognized it.

“Your staining powder,” she whispered.

Chocan opened the sack, reached in and took out a handful of the clumpy mixture. He held it up to the fire. “This is ochre. Ochre is part of us, just as skin is part of us. It comes from Earth, our mother. It is also the blood of Beothuck ancestors. When we wear it, ancestors become part of us. Live with us. Ochre connects us to Earth and ancestors. It makes us one with all there is. You understand?”

Kiera sighed. Why couldn't she learn the Beothuck language as quickly as Chocan had improved his Celtic? He had come so far, and now he was helping her make sense of this new world. Just as the cross around her neck was her connection to her family back home, the ochre was the link to their Beothuck family. Her thoughts were broken by the stinging bite of a mosquito on her neck. She slapped at it, but it was too late. Her neck now itched as she scratched at the annoying bite.

Chocan smiled. “Also, mosquitoes hate ochre. No more bites.”

“We never had these little creatures in Iceland.” She scowled, then paused. “I'm ready to try the ochre, if it's all right with you.”

Chocan shook his head. “Must wait. The first time, the mark of the band is very important for woman. The mark must be done by woman. We will wait for Sooleawaa.”

Kiera thought about all of the rituals performed by Chocan and Sooleawaa that she had witnessed since being rescued. They always cut and prepared the fish or meat the same way, singing the same melodious chant that gave thanks to the animal for sacrificing its life for them. They always thanked and honored their ancestors and the Great Spirit before drifting off to sleep. They often talked to the trees, wind or animals with whom they shared their forest home. Kiera now realized that these people were actually connected to the forest in a spiritual sense. They were so different from the Vikings, and even her own family who chopped, tilled and planted the world into an environment that was suited only for human habitation.

Sooleawaa returned from the darkness. She was still grinning from ear to ear.

“They had never seen anything like the skirt before. They think you know magic. They think you are a bird spirit, weaving this garment as you would a nest.”

“Thank you,” laughed Kiera, switching to Beothuck. “I am honoured. You think I am a spirit?”

Sooleawaa smiled. “Special, yes. Spirit, no. I saw you stitch the skirt with my own eyes. There was no magic in your fingers. My village, however, did not believe me. They do not understand this thing that you call a needle and this rock, iron, from which it is made. You must show them.”

“Kiera can show them tomorrow,” added Chocan.

“Tomorrow?” repeated Sooleawaa and Kiera, together.

“Our band will be leaving for the Meeting Place very soon. Kiera will have to be introduced to our family before then.”

Kiera reached over and touched Sooleawaa's knee. “Please…put ochre on me?”

Confused, Sooleawaa looked from Kiera to Chocan.

He nodded. “It is time.”

He passed over the bag. Sooleawaa knelt down in front of Kiera. She smiled warmly at her pale friend then began to hum softly, closing her eyes and allowing herself to drift off into a trance. Her lips quivered as she whispered a prayer of guidance. Stopping suddenly, Sooleawaa took several deep breaths then reopened her eyes. Her dark, caring eyes locked on to Kiera.

“This is the way of our people,” Sooleawaa explained. “It will be your entry into womanhood. After placing the ochre on you, I will mark you with the sign of a woman. It is also the sign of our tribe, our family.”

“Like this?” Kiera leaned forward and touched Sooleawaa's three triangles above her left eye.

Sooleawaa smiled. “Yes. I will mark you in the same way.”

Sooleawaa again started humming a low, wavering tune that flowed softly, like a gentle summer breeze. It was a melody that Kiera found calming. Kiera closed her eyes as Sooleawaa's hands placed the cool, refreshing paste on her forehead. As her swirling movements moved onto her cheeks and down her neck, the melody was transformed into a poetic song. Kiera shivered with wonder as Sooleawaa wove a tale of marriage, motherhood and love.

Soon, Kiera's exposed body had been entirely lathered in the red stain. Sooleawaa took a cool, thin piece of charcoal from beside the fire and gently pressed it down just above Kiera's left eye. Kiera closed her eyes and allowed Sooleawaa to complete the transformation.

The humming stopped. With the silence, Kiera smiled and allowed her eyes to flicker open.

“How do I look?”

She gasped in surprise. In the faint, flickering light, it appeared that a circular gallery of both old and young spirits had descended upon their campsite. Their unblinking eyes stared at her, assessing her and her new stained look. Chocan materialized in front of the crowd. He opened his arms and, turning to Kiera, introduced the entire assembly.

“This, Kiera, is our band, our family,” said Chocan, proudly. “They heard the song of womanhood permeate the woods. They have come here to welcome you.”

Kiera looked through the silent crowd for a friendly face, but the sea of blank expressions remained. This was a welcome? They certainly didn't have the outgoing friendliness of Chocan and Sooleawaa. Chocan turned to the gathering and spoke quickly in Beothuck. The apprehensive, trance-like state of the onlookers seemed to crack with Chocan's words. There were rumblings among the older crowd, their gazes examining the strange, injured young woman. The younger adults shifted nervously. Some of the children clutched their parents' legs.

Kiera swallowed hard and wished she could disappear. What were they thinking? Would they abandon her in fear? Would they reject her and send her away? Given the grumblings, would her new friends, Sooleawaa and Chocan, now turn their back on her if the band should decide to leave her behind?

Finally, the woman who seemed to be the most elderly of the entire band stepped gingerly forward. Others shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what was about to happen. She spoke slowly in Beothuck, as if for Kiera's benefit.

“Chocan says she speaks with the tongue of the Teachers. She also has been properly initiated in the rites of womanhood. Look, she. has the mark of our band on her temple.” She moved next to the young foreigner and gently touched Kiera's charcoal marking.

Kiera glanced shyly up into the wisest pair of eyes she had ever seen. The leader's face, deeply etched yet full of life, grinned at her in full approval. Kiera noticed the three triangles etched into the craggy skin above her left eye. The woman bent over and placed a bony hand on the side of her face.

“What is your name?”

“Kiera.”

“Kiera, I am Nadie. I am the elder of the band.”

Sooleawaa passed the bowl of red ochre to Nadie, who stirred the mixture with her finger, then brought the tip to the top of Kiera's forehead and traced the shape of a cross. She chanted a phrase too quickly for Kiera to understand, and the gathered crowd repeated the words.

She cupped Kiera's face in her hands. “Welcome, my child.”

“Thank you,” said Kiera, touched by her kindness.

Suddenly, the crowd began to whoop and cheer, shattering the silence of the still forest. Several of the men approached. They carefully lifted the startled Kiera up off the ground. For the first time since her arrival, Kiera left the clearing. The band weaved through the dark forest, shouting and dancing alongside their new family member.

They had travelled only a short distance when the darkness of the forest gave way to the shadowy outlines of fire-lit trees. The trees opened up into a broad clearing filled with over a dozen roaring fires encircled by piles of fur bedding. A shallow, gurgling river lined the far side of the camp. Jutting out from the edge of the water were several strange yet elegant craft made of what looked like the papery bark of a tree. The boats were pointed at both ends and had a sharp wavelike rise along their sides. They were quite different from the skin-covered crafts that the northern skraelings had used to attack her village. Next to the boats were small huts venting thick smoke from a central hole in their domed roof. The air was saturated with the aroma of smoked salmon.

The parade entered the central sitting area. Some of the men sat down at a row of hollowedout logs that were covered with stretched animal hides. They began to pound out a beat on the drums, to which the rest of the band danced and swayed. Everyone was swept up in a whirlpool of motion around the central fire. Some bobbed and weaved quickly like squirrels, while others swooped with their arms like the mighty coastline raptors. The air became saturated with booming rhythms and animal noises. The men who carried her, also caught up in the pandemonium, gently bobbed her up and down to the rhythm as they moved around the fire. Kiera smiled as she watched Sooleawaa and Chocan become totally absorbed in the festivities. Sooleawaa floated around the fires, hooting like an owl while Chocan loped along gracefully, his mournful howls revealing the wolf within.

The celebration continued well into the morning hours. The dancing eventually transformed itself into a salmon feast. Sitting near the band elders, a place of honour she was told, Kiera ate with her new family members. Sooleawaa and Chocan sat on either side, translating the conversations that to Kiera seemed to be taking place at a blistering speed. The elders were impressed with Kiera's growing knowledge of their language, and every member made the effort to welcome her into the family.

The last person to welcome her, a little girl no more than seven years old, was different from the rest. She barely made eye contact, mumbling her welcome, then rushed back to her place at the far end of the gathering. Kiera turned to Sooleawaa.

“Who is she?”

Sooleawaa swallowed the rest of her salmon and looked towards the distant girl.

“Her name is Shawnadit. The spirits have not been kind to our little sparrow. Her father died in a battle with the Thule several years ago. Her mother was killed when she slipped over the edge of a cliff last winter. She has no brothers or sisters. We, the tribe, are now her family. Just as we would raise any child, she is looked after by the women of the band. Her mother's death, however, has greatly affected her. She and her mother were very close.”

Kiera sighed, thinking of the young girl's heartache. “At least she is not alone,” she whispered to herself.

As dawn approached, the revellers eventually gave in to their urge for sleep. Kiera reached forward and touched Sooleawaa's back. Sooleawaa was already slumbering beside the roaring campfire in front of her. She let her darkening thoughts drift upwards into the brightening sky. She thought again of that little girl, Shawnadit, who had suffered terrible losses, but still had an extended family to look after her. From Ireland, to Vinland and finally to the land of the Beothuck, Kiera was being pulled ever further away from her home and family. Although happy to have her life after almost losing it, she couldn't stop a growing sense of emptiness from weighing down upon her heart.