The Ghostfaces (6 page)

chapter
eight

E
xciting as it was, sighting land did nothing to relieve their most pressing problem—their lack of drinking water.

As they came closer to the coastline, they could see no place where they might be able to go ashore. The land stretched north and south in an unbroken line of rocky cliffs, with trees growing thickly on top. The waves beat against their bases, sending towers of white spray high into the air in a constant rhythm.

“Plenty of trees and vegetation,” Edvin said hopefully. “That means there must be water somewhere.”

“All we have to do is get to it,” Stefan said, and they all strained their eyes to see some kind of landing place. But there was none.

They were barely four hundred meters from the cliffs, traveling at right angles to the land. Soon they would have to turn to port or
starboard to make their way along the coast. The choice could be vital. They needed an inlet or a bay, somewhere they could find freshwater. Such a spot could be a few kilometers in either direction. Or it could be twenty or thirty kilometers away. There was nothing to guide their choice.

Thorn and Hal exchanged a glance. “Which way?” Thorn asked.

Hal considered the matter for a few seconds and, as he almost always did, automatically looked up to check the wind direction on the telltale. It was still out of the north, as it had been for days. He knew that, of course. But checking to make sure was an instinctive action with him.

“South,” he said. “If we go north, we'll be tacking back and forth into the wind. This way, we can run before it on one tack.”

He shouted his sail orders to Ulf and Wulf as he let the bow fall off to port. They released the sheets, letting the big port-side sail swing out almost at right angles to the hull. The wind filled it as they tightened the sheets a little, and
Heron
drove to the south.

“Eyes peeled, everyone,” Hal ordered. “We don't want to miss an entrance if there is one.”

The crew lined the starboard rail, peering intently at the shore that passed by them. For some time, there was no break in the cliffs, no sign of any inlet or bay that would let them approach the land.

When it came, they very nearly missed it. There were two close-set headlands, with a third sited well inside, opposite the opening, and giving it the appearance of an unbroken coastline. It was Stefan who recognized the lack of breaking waves across the fifty-meter gap and, peering more closely, saw that there was a narrow inlet just visible.

“There!” he shouted, pointing.

Hal heaved on the tiller so that the
Heron
swung to starboard, Ulf and Wulf compensating for the new angle across the wind by sheeting home and flattening the sail. Stefan moved aft to the steering platform and pointed to the gap in the rocks.

“See?” he said. “There's a way in there. Must be a small river.”

Hal nodded, his eyes riveted on the almost invisible gap.

“Get the oars ready,” he told Stig. “I don't think I want to go careering in there under sail.”

Stig nodded and shouted a series of commands to the crew. The ship was filled with the rattle and clunk of the oars being unstowed and then placed into the oarlocks. The crew members took their places on either side, ready to begin rowing.

Hal waited until they were a bare hundred meters from the river mouth and nodded to Stig. The first mate called for Ulf and Wulf to bring the sail down and stow it, then to take their places in the rowing wells. With the sail down, the ship gradually lost way. She was almost at a stop when Stig took his own oar and called for the first stroke.

Seven oars dipped into the water as one, then heaved the little ship forward. Hal felt the renewed life in the tiller as she started to move, swooping up the long ocean rollers at an angle, cutting through the crests and sliding down diagonally into the troughs once more.

They made ground swiftly to the inlet. Lydia, with no rowing duties, was in the bow, keeping a keen eye out for hidden rocks or shoals. But the way in was clear.

The tall cliffs towered above them on either side, blocking the sunlight and casting deep shadows over the water. Then they were
through the entrance and Hal cried out in surprise at the sight that greeted him.

He had assumed that the narrow gap in the cliffs was the mouth of a river. Instead, it turned out to be the entrance into a massive, wide bay, at least four kilometers across. Straight ahead was the long, narrow promontory that had seemed to fill the gap between the heads, but on either side, the bay swelled out into a huge natural harbor, fringed by heavily treed shores.

The crew, hearing his exclamation of surprise, looked over their shoulders and paused in their stroke. Angrily, Stig urged them on again and they went back to work. But they continued to look over their shoulders at the huge enclosed space of water that now surrounded them.

“Looks like a river to the north,” Thorn called and they all swung their gazes that way.

There was a gap in the trees that might well have been a river mouth. Hal nodded, but continued to look for another water source. The river, if it was one, and not just a shallow inlet, would be tidal. They'd have to travel several kilometers inland to find freshwater.

“To the south,” he said, pointing.

On the southern curve of the vast bay's coastline, he could see the pale sand of a long beach. And, issuing from the cliffs above it, a shower of sparkling water fell down the rock face. Unconsciously, he licked his dry lips at the sight of it, as did several of the others.

He swung the
Heron
to the south and the rowers drove her on with renewed energy. They had all seen the silver sparkle of water cascading down the cliff to the beach below. That meant freshwater ready to hand.

The seawater gurgled and thumped under the hull as the
Heron
gathered speed. They cruised smoothly across the bay, watching that sparkling, gushing source of drinking water, licking dry, cracked lips at the thought of drinking unlimited amounts of it. Only Thorn kept his wits about him.

“Keep a good lookout,” he said, his voice rasping. “There could be people here.”

That thought hadn't occurred to them, and they began to sweep the shoreline with their eyes, looking for some sign that there were people here—people who might not be altogether welcoming.

But the shoreline seemed deserted and the peacefulness of the bay, after the rush of wind and waves on the open sea outside, seemed to wrap itself around them, giving them a sense of security.

“Can't see anyone,” Hal called.

“Doesn't mean there's no one here,” Thorn replied. “When we reach the shore, don't go dashing off to get water. Keep your weapons handy while we make sure this place is as deserted as it looks.”

Lydia looked at him and nodded agreement. She unclipped her atlatl from her belt and took a dart from the quiver slung over her shoulder, casually fitting its base into the hooked receptacle on the end of the handle.

Stig glanced inboard, making sure his ax was ready to hand. His shield was slung on the bulwark beside him. The others mirrored his action. Edvin reached out to where his sword was hanging by the side of the rowing well. He loosened it in its scabbard, raising it a few centimeters, then resumed his two-handed grip on his
oar. Seeing these actions, Hal made sure his crossbow was close by. He was already wearing his sword, with the scabbard slung over his shoulder.

“Do you always expect the worst?” he asked Thorn with a grin.

The old sea wolf raised an eyebrow. “Always. That way, you're never disappointed.”

They were twenty meters off the beach now. Hal could see it was coarse sand and small pebbles, colored a dirty white. The bottom shelved as they came closer.

“Beaching positions!” he called.

Jesper ran in his oar and stowed it, then sprang to the main deck and ran lightly for'ard, to where the beach anchor sat on its coil of rope. Ulf and Wulf joined him, staying slightly behind him and arming themselves with their axes. Their shields, which had been hanging from the bulwarks beside their rowing positions, were now slung across their backs, leaving their hands free.

Once they were all in position, Lydia moved for'ard as well, her atlatl held casually, a dart nocked and ready to cast at the first sign of danger.

Hal made a hand gesture to Stig.

“In oars!” the first mate yelled.

Stefan, Edvin and Ingvar obeyed, raising the dripping oars out of the water, then lowering them to stow them along the line of the hull. A few seconds later, the bow grated onto the coarse sand and ran up it for a few meters, before tilting to one side on the keel. Instantly, Jesper was over the side, running with the beach anchor until he reached dry sand above the tide line, and driving the flukes of the anchor into the sand. Ulf and Wulf went over the side a few
seconds behind him, flanking him. They had their weapons ready and kept their eyes scanning the silent trees at the edge of the beach. Lydia moved to a vantage point on the bow and Thorn tied off the anchor line to a wooden cleat on the starboard bulwark.

Now, without the creak and rattle of the oars, and the sound of the seawater sliding around the hull, they became aware of another sound—the liquid splashing of water on rocks as the waterfall cascaded down, barely fifty meters from where the ship lay beached.

Hal and Stig exchanged a glance. Hal felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders. They had come through. They had found land and, even more important, a source of freshwater. They would survive—at least for the time being.

Stig, guessing his thoughts, inclined his head and grinned. He realized, with a little surprise, that he had never really doubted the fact that Hal would bring them through the days of peril and hardship they had faced.

The young skirl tied off the tiller and slung his crossbow and quiver of bolts over his left shoulder. The others made way for him as he paced down the length of the ship to the bow, then they fell in behind him.

Thorn moved aside as Hal slung his legs over the bulwark and let himself drop to the hard, wet sand. He moved a few paces up the beach, hearing the dull thuds of the others following him. He stopped level with Jesper and the twins. The three crew members were still scanning the trees fifty meters away. There was no sign of anyone watching them. The harsh cry of a bird broke the stillness, and the wind eased softly through the tops of the trees, setting the tall narrow trunks swaying in unison.

Thorn, Stig and the others stopped a few meters behind him. Like him, they were intent on the shadows beneath the trees, looking for the first sign that they might not be alone on this unknown land.

Jesper broke the silence, his voice sounding unnaturally loud and somehow intrusive. “What do we do now?”

Hal glanced at him and gave him a tired grin.

“I don't know about you,” he said in a dry, rasping voice that was barely audible, “but I'm going to get a drink.”

chapter
nine

T
here was an immediate surge of motion as the group started toward the waterfall. But Thorn's voice stopped them in their tracks.

“Stand fast!” he roared. They responded immediately to the note of command in his voice. He glared at them, then continued. “We'll go in formation. Arrowhead, forming on Stig. Keep your eyes open and your weapons ready.”

He knew all too well that a wild rush to get water would leave them vulnerable to ambush, if there were any potential enemies nearby. Distracted by the prospect of easing their maddening thirst, they would be easy targets. It was a tribute to the years of drilling under his command that their discipline held now and they formed into an inverted-V shape, with Stig at the point. Hal and Ingvar stood to his left and right and the others fanned out behind them. Thorn nodded, satisfied.

“Move out, Stig,” he ordered and the big first mate led the way, jogging through the soft sand, his steps causing the coarse grains to squeak together as they were compacted, then released.

The crew moved up the beach, with Thorn bringing up the rear. Their eyes scanned the surrounding trees.

As they drew closer to the spot where the waterfall splashed onto the rocks, among a series of sparkling pools, Jesper couldn't stand it any longer. He broke ranks and raced up the beach, throwing himself facedown in the first of the pools and lapping at the water like a dog.

“Blast you, Jesper,” Thorn muttered. The others heard the angry tone in his voice and maintained their formation. As they reached the water, Thorn gestured to Lydia.

“Lydia. Keep watch with me.”

He reasoned that the girl's long experience of stalking and hunting would make her sense of personal self-discipline stronger than the others'. She nodded and stepped back as the others waited.

“All right,” he said gruffly. “Get to it.”

They broke ranks immediately and dashed toward the nearest pool, where Jesper was still lying belly down, sucking in great quantities of water. Edvin, ever the planner, had brought their drinking mugs with him, and the water skin. He handed out the mugs to them now and they filled them, standing or kneeling in the shin-deep, beautifully cold water, and drank. Then they refilled them and drank again. Edvin filled his own mug and took a deep draft. Then he filled two more and took them to where Thorn and Lydia stood guard.

The old sea wolf acknowledged his thoughtfulness with a nod.

Lydia allowed him a beaming smile. “Thanks, Edvin,” she said.
Then she couldn't wait any longer and let the first draft of cold, refreshing water slide down her parched throat.

Thorn followed suit, taking a deep draft. Then he lowered the mug. “Not too fast too soon,” he warned them. “You'll just throw it all up if you do.”

And of course Jesper, who had been facedown in the water, sucking in huge gutfuls, chose that moment to do just that. Fortunately, he managed to clamber to his feet and move away from the pond before he threw up on the rocks nearby, his stomach and throat heaving.

Thorn watched him, one eyebrow raised. “There's always one,” he muttered.

“And it's usually Jes,” Lydia replied, smiling.

They exchanged a conspiratorial glance and shrugged, before beginning to scan the land around them again. Then Hal and Stig approached them, having slaked their thirst with several mugs of water. Hal jerked a thumb at the pool.

“Your turn,” he said. “We'll keep watch.”

Thorn nodded gratefully. “Let's g—” he began, but Lydia was already dashing to the water, kneeling to fill her mug, throwing her head back to drink it, letting it slide slowly down her throat. Grinning, Thorn allowed his own iron self-discipline to relax and hurried to follow suit.

There were cries and moans of pleasure from the crew as they had their first real drink of water in days. And it was fresh, cold water, not stale and moldy after weeks in a cask. With their immediate yearning assuaged, they filled their mugs and moved to sit on the rocks fringing the series of small pools, drinking slowly,
appreciating the taste and sensation of wetness in their mouths and throats, feeling their dry, swollen tongues slowly returning to normal.

Jesper sat to one side, head down, retching and belching. Edvin filled a mug and started toward him. Thorn held out a hand to stop him.

“Leave him,” he said. “He'll be all right and it'll teach him a lesson.”

But Edvin's role as medical orderly gave him a feeling of responsibility for the crew's physical welfare. He hesitated, then moved around Thorn.

“I'll just take him this mug,” he said.

Thorn shrugged. “Suit yourself. I'd tend to throw it at him.”

Edvin grinned and continued to where his crewmate sat, hunched over and groaning. He prodded Jesper's shoulder with the mug to get his attention.

“Here, Jes,” he said. “Just sip this slowly.”

Jesper looked up at him, took the mug and drank deeply. Edvin put a hand out to pull the mug away from his lips.

“Slowly, I said!”

Jesper shook his head. “I'm fine,” he said, then let out a resounding belch.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Well, if there's anybody within ten kilometers, that should let them know we've arrived.”

• • • • • 

Once they had drunk their fill of the fresh, cold water, they made their way back to where the ship was beached.

Hal trudged wearily along the sand, measuring distances with
his eye, looking for a suitable campsite. The obvious choice was near the water source. Not only would that give them an uninterrupted supply of water, but the high, rocky cliff where the water ran down would protect their rear in the event of an attack.

He paced backward a few meters, then held both hands out at arm's length, looking from side to side to see where a protective fence could be sited. His arms suddenly felt tired and he let them droop. His shoulders followed. He shook his head to clear it, and made a mark in the sand with his heel. This would be the forward extent of their fence, he thought. Then he stopped. What would they use to build the fence? There weren't sufficient rocks nearby to construct a solid wall. He shook his head again. He was bone tired, and the problems of building a secure camp suddenly seemed too much for him.

“What are you doing?”

It was Thorn, standing close by him, a concerned expression on his face.

Hal took a deep breath. “We'd better get started on a camp—and build a protective fence around it.”

Thorn shook his head. “No.
We'd
better get started on that,” he said. “Stig and Lydia and I can handle that. It's time you got some decent rest.”

“But I'm the skirl,” Hal began to protest.

Thorn nodded agreement. “That's right. And when we're at sea, you're in total command. But on land, you can hand over the responsibility to me and the others.”

“I don't . . . ,” Hal started again, but Thorn took his arm and led him to one of the nearest rock outcrops.

“Sit down,” Thorn ordered, and Hal, after a moment's hesitation, obeyed. Suddenly his legs felt very tired.

“Hal, you're worn-out and you need to rest. You've been carrying us all on your shoulders for weeks now. You've made all the hard decisions.”

“But that's my job . . .”

Thorn nodded patiently. “When we're at sea, yes. And you've handled it brilliantly. You've brought us through safely. But now we're ready to take over. To take some of the load off you.” He studied the young man keenly, seeing the strain on Hal's face and the utter weariness in his eyes. Thorn understood, more than any of the other Herons, how heavy a burden command could be. There was a physical side to it, of course. But more than that, there was a mental load that a skirl carried—the need to make life-or-death decisions for his crew, to be always ready to take control in times of danger. It could wear a person down, he knew. And he could see that Hal, after weeks of danger and uncertainty, was nearly at the end of his tether.

Ingvar, who had been dispatched by Thorn to the ship, appeared at his side, carrying a roll of blankets.

“Here's Hal's bedroll, Thorn,” he said quietly.

Hal looked at the big lad, not comprehending. “My bedroll?”

But Thorn forestalled him. “Thanks, Ingvar. Spread it out here.” And, as Ingvar complied, Thorn turned back to Hal. “Lie down and get some good, solid rest, Hal. I'll wake you when we need you.”

The bedroll, spartan as it might be, looked incredibly inviting. Hal crawled under the blankets and pulled them up to his chin.
Ingvar knelt, felt under the blankets and found Hal's feet, then removed his boots.

“That's good,” Hal said dozily. “Maybe you're right, Thorn. I'll just have twenty minutes, then I'll . . .”

He didn't finish. His eyes closed and he let out a little sigh of pleasure—a sigh that turned into a soft snore.

“Yeah. Twenty minutes,” Thorn said, smiling. Then he turned to Ingvar. “Let's start building a camp.”

• • • • • 

Thorn marked out a semicircle in the sand with a pointed stick. The two ends of the line abutted the cliff face and the line itself enclosed a space ten meters by thirty.

“I want a two-rail fence built on this line,” he said. “I want it a meter eighty high, with uprights every five meters. We'll fill it in with brush and bracken to give us a reasonable barrier. If we can find some thornbush, that'd be ideal.” He looked critically around the bay, then at the ship, beached on the sand at the water's edge. “I'm not happy with
Heron
being so exposed to view,” he said. “I think we might move her into that inlet.”

He indicated a narrow inlet that was close to the southern end of the proposed fortification. It was barely ten meters wide and overhung by trees growing on either bank.

He turned to the crew. “Stig, Stefan, Edvin. Come with me and we'll get the ship refloated. Ingvar, start cutting logs for the fence. Lydia, you can go with Ingvar and keep watch. Someone might get curious if they hear trees being cut down.”

They set to their various tasks with a will. Once the ship was refloated, Thorn took the hawser and waded waist deep into the water,
holding the rope over his shoulder and hauling on it to drag the ship stern-first along the few meters of beach to the entrance to the inlet.

“If we have to leave in a hurry, we won't want to waste time turning her around,” he explained.

The
Heron
bobbed along obediently behind Thorn. Once she was afloat, there was very little weight for him to move, but Stig waded in to join him.

The inlet was a narrow indentation in the beach, extending back barely fifteen meters. But that was ample space to conceal the
Heron
from unfriendly eyes. They took a mooring line to each bank and hauled her in under the trees. Once she was in place, her bow facing out to the large bay, they moored her securely to the two banks and left Edvin to conceal her with hacked-down branches.

Then they returned to the campsite. Ingvar had cut the first half-dozen uprights for the fence. They carried these to the line Thorn had drawn and began digging deep, narrow post holes in the sand. Thorn walked up the beach to the tree line, where Ingvar was at work, stripped to the waist, his arm and body muscles rippling. He grunted lightly with each stroke of the ax, and Thorn was mildly impressed to see how deeply each ax stroke bit into the wood.

Lydia was a few meters away, patroling among the trees, watching inland. Kloof kept pace with her, nose raised, sniffing the air, her nostrils quivering.

“Anything to see?” Thorn asked her quietly.

She shook her head. “So far, not a thing. Although if there's anyone within half a kilometer, they'd be hearing Ingvar's ax strokes.”

She was right, Thorn thought. The big boy was driving the ax blade deep into the larger saplings that he was felling, and each blow rang loudly, the sound echoing and reechoing around the forest. He grunted.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “I'll send the others up to collect the posts and rails.”

He strode back through the thick sand, noting that the first three uprights were already in position, Stig having driven them deep into the sand with a large wooden mallet from the ship. Thorn caught Jesper's eye and beckoned to him.

Jesper glanced away guiltily, unwilling to meet Thorn's gaze.

“Jesper,” Thorn called softly, “I'd like a word with you.”

The soft tone and easy words were deceptive. Jesper sauntered across the sand to where Thorn waited, the thumb of his left hand thrust through his broad leather belt.

“Yes, Thorn?” the former thief said, trying too hard to be casual. He knew what was coming.

Thorn smiled at him, then moved closer, so that their noses were ten centimeters apart. The smile faded and the old warrior spoke in a voice that wouldn't carry to the crew members working on the fence.