Stolen Away (3 page)

T
he following week was one of hard work and grim determination. The four longboats that had transported the Nordic community to Vinland sat dry near the river. Due to the bountiful and busy summer, it had been several months since they had last touched water. The raised ships were being sheltered under a crude, thatched roof for protection against both the drying summer sun and the ice of the upcoming winter. After a quick inspection, Thorfinn and the other men chose the smallest ship of the four. It was also the one that required the least amount of repair for what could end up being a lengthy and risky voyage. Originally, they had planned to do the repair work during the long winter months when there was little else to do. But last night's attack had changed everything.

First, they ripped away rotten planks from the ribbing and began the laborious task of repairing the damaged sections with fresh timber. Fatigue soon etched its mark onto the faces of the labourers as they ceaselessly sliced and shaped the plentiful trees into long, narrow planks. Upon hammering the planks into place, the mariners sealed the cracks in the hull with a foul-smelling mix of hot tar and animal hair.

From a small building near the sheltered ships, a bellows breathed a continuous roar, adding to the shipbuilding symphony of zips, bangs and curses. Bjarni the blacksmith, struggling with the pain of an arrow wound to his upper arm, ignored the sympathetic gestures of his friends and maintained a blistering pace of productivity. Kiera cringed as she passed the pile of soiled bandages growing outside the entrance to his shop. The burly blacksmith would simply change his bloodied dressing several times a day, while continuing to pound out the endless number of glowing nails and fittings that were essential for the ship's repairs.

The women, however, prepared for the upcoming voyage in a different way. Some were filling bags and caskets with food and drink. Kiera helped several of the older women mend the holes and rips within the worn white sail which would soon power the Viking vessel along the Atlantic shoreline. Her fingertips burned with pain from the endless number of self-inflicted needle pricks. She gritted her teeth and persevered through the discomfort, knowing that their future might depend on the next few days.

The women chattered continually to help them cope with the stress brought on by the attack. They never tired of matching up the single men and women of the village, debating the pros and cons of each couple, often embarrassing Kiera in the process, as she was one of the few remaining unclaimed young women. The possibility of marriage would certainly be a means of escape from her role as a slave. A marriage to a Viking would lift her to equal status among her Nordic captors. She wondered what it would be like to experience all of the rights and freedoms allowed to the Viking women.

Secretly, if it came down to it, she hoped that young Mats would be the first to approach Bjorn and Dagmar with the proposal of marriage. Mats had come to Vinland to escape the memories that continually haunted him. His young Icelandic wife had suffered a terrible death while in the grip of a debilitating illness. Kiera could tell from his empty gaze that even after all this time, he was still mourning his loss. But he had been more talkative of late, and the occasional look that he gave her from the corner of his eye allowed a glimmer of hope to flicker within her heart.

When bored with the talk of future couples, the women would then begin to reminisce about their faraway homelands. Kiera's occasional contribution to the conversations would often come to a sudden and painful end. Talk of home would instantly flood her mind with memories of emerald green fields and Celtic banter. Most disturbingly, the ghostly images of her parents, brothers and sisters would drift into her consciousness. The shadowy memories of their faces, the laughter and embraces, retained for so long in her young mind, were slowly being eroded by time. She was terrified that she would lose the memories of her family altogether. Her heart broke at the thought of the time that had passed since her abduction. Did her family still think about her with the same longing and grief that she felt? Would they even recognize her if she should miraculously make it back to Ireland?

Kiera was thankful when Bjarni stuck his head out of his darkened shop and bellowed her name. She politely excused herself from the group and trotted down the path to the blacksmith's shop. Sitting in a bucket of water, next to the bloodied rags, were two dozen blackened nails. She stuck her head inside the door, and heat smacked her across the face. She recognized Bjami's silhouette against the glowing oven as his brawny arms pumped the hissing bellows. She noticed the damp, red stain on the cloth that was wrapped around his huge arm.

“Kiera, I need you to run these nails over to the ship. Mind yourself, though,” the smith's voice boomed. “Those nails may still be hot!”

Kiera bent down and carefully touched the nails before grabbing them. Several were still warm. She scooped them out of the bucket and began the trek towards the ship. She smiled as she wandered through the colony of workers as they lovingly nurtured their thirty-five foot long, timber-lined queen. Kiera ducked underneath the arching keel and moved towards Mats, lying on his back, red-faced, and holding a plank up with one hand against the bottom of the hull.

“To the gods above,” he moaned, “it's about time! Quick! Quick! Bring them here before my arm falls off!”

Kiera passed the nails to his free hand, then watched as he placed the majority of the nails on his chest, stuck the last two in his teeth, then, with three expert cracks of the hammer, drove his first nail deep into the plank. Slithering backwards, Mats worked his way along the length of the keel, driving in nail after nail, his hands flying with quickness and precision. Securing the board, he gave a great sigh, rolled onto his side and smiled at her.

“Thanks, Kiera. Sorry if I was grumpy a moment ago.”

“That's all right,” she said, trying to be casual. “How is it going with the ship?”

“She was in rough shape, but with all of us breaking our backs on this job, I think she will be ready to go in a day or two.”

“And I guess you'll be going?”

Mats shrugged and turned his attention back to the hull. “Don't know. Thorfinn hasn't yet decided who's going, as far as I know.”

She frowned as he began to repair another section. The short conversation was over.

“I had better get back to repairing the sail.”

Only the hammer responded with a sharp crack. Kiera shrugged, turned and walked face-first into a sweaty chest.

“Better watch where you're going, young lady.” Bjorn pulled her away from him by the shoulders and glanced over at Mats, raising his eyebrows. “Actually, I'm glad I bumped into you.”

She smiled shyly, knowing that Bjorn wouldn't embarrass her in front of Mats, and brushed the hair from her eyes. “Do you need some help down here?'

Bjorn cleared his throat. “Not exactly. Thorfinn and I have decided that we would like you to come with us on the voyage.”

Kiera's mouth dropped open. “Go with you? On the ship?”

“That's right.”

“But I'm…”

“I know. You are a young woman, and it's unusual for women to go on voyages of exploration, but we really don't have much choice. We need every available man to stay behind and guard the village from possible attack. Thorfinn has decided to take only a skeleton crew with him on the journey south. If you come, then Gunnar, the only man who is skilled in sail repair, can remain and help guard the village. He can also continue to work on the other boats in case the village needs to evacuate on short notice.”

Kiera shifted uneasily. Unlike many Vikings, she preferred to have dry land under her feet. “But there are other women in the village who are skilled at sail repair and life on the ocean than myself. Perhaps one of them should go in my place.”

“I'm afraid that's out of the question,” Bjorn said flatly.

His words cut her to the core. The other, more skilled women were blood Vikings. She was not. Even though Bjorn and Dagmar treated her as family, she was still a slave. Her life didn't matter. Clearly, her idea of Bjorn, Dagmar and Lorna being a second family to her was just a fantasy. If this is how her own family felt about her, then what about Mats? To the villagers, she was still an outsider and would remain so for the rest of her life. Her gaze drifted down to the ground to hide her watering eyes.

“When do we leave?” she asked, her voice hollow and defeated.

“Tomorrow, at first light.”

She turned, shoulders sagging. “Then I had better go pack.”

Kiera wasn't sure if Bjorn had picked up on her dejectedness. She wasn't even sure if he cared. Everything she believed of her place in this community was now shattered. She was heading out to sea, past uncharted lands and into unforeseen danger because she was expendable. She wiped her eyes and glanced towards the open ocean, looking northeast. Somewhere, beyond the horizon, was her home. She would soon be taken even further away from her soul. She stopped, reached out a hand and let the wind kiss and caress her fingers. Closing her eyes, she imagined her parents, their arms open on the distant Irish shore, magically sending the wind across the ocean to greet her.

“Please, mother, father,” she whispered, “save me.”

T
he village gathered in the sombre stillness of the predawn twilight. The silence was shattered as the half-dozen ropes that extended across the river suddenly snapped tight, and the air was filled with grunts and shouts of encouragement. The boat reluctantly inched its way out of its comfortable home, sliding over the wet, grassy meadow and towards the waiting water. As the keel touched then slurped into the muddy embankment of the river, the ship gained speed. With a splash, the nose and hull gracefully slipped into the calm river. The villagers cheered. They pulled the ship alongside the village dock and extended a wide gangplank across to the midship's gunwale. The men and women formed a chain and began to load the mountain of packed provisions onto the ship.

The rising sun winked above the horizon, setting the majestic ocean ablaze with deep crimson. The men gave their loved ones a tender hug and said their goodbyes. Kiera stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, looking off into the distance. A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned and looked into the kind eyes of Dagmar. Lorna, still sleepy, clung to her mother's leg.

“We will miss you.”

“And I you,” she said, half-smiling.

“Please don't go,” begged Lorna. She looked forlorn.

Kiera smiled, grabbed her under the arms and lifted her up. Lorna wrapped herself around Kiera's neck and buried her face in her auburn hair. Kiera gently stroked her head.

“Listen, Lorna, the village needs you. You will have to be a good helper to your mother while I'm away. And when I get back, I want you to show me your weaving. Finish the basket that we started before I return, and I will be very impressed.”

Lorna nodded, her face still crestfallen.

“Are you well?” Dagmar asked. “You've been so quiet.”

Kiera shrugged and looked down. “You know how I feel about boats. I'll be glad when we get back.”

“Well, think of it as an adventure. The men certainly do. They haven't even set sail yet, and already they're singing sagas about the great deeds they think they will accomplish.”

Keira sighed, looked up and tried to smile. “Thanks. I'll try.”

“And you still have my needles?”

She patted her skirt. “Right here in the hem.”

“Well,” Dagmar stepped forward and embraced her. “Good luck.”

Kiera held onto Dagmar, her heart aching, wishing she could feel towards her now what she had felt only a day earlier.

“I'll be back soon.”

She gave Lorna a final kiss on the forehead. “Don't you grow up on me while I am away.”

Lorna nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“Kiera, let's go!”

Thorfinn was shouting from the stern of the boat. Already the men were on board and making the final preparations for departure. Kiera grabbed her sack of clothing and ran for the walkway. As soon as she had stepped over the side, the remaining men pulled the gangplank back to shore. The boat started to drift downriver. Thorfinn, manning the large, paddle-shaped rudder that was attached to the side of the stern, worked the boat towards the middle of the waterway.

Kiera moved to the front of the boat and took her seat, facing backwards, at the right front oar. Never in the villagers' memories had a woman ever been given the duty of rowing a longboat alongside Viking men, and from the looks that she was receiving from the eleven others, her adventure was about to start as soon as she touched the rough handle floating in front of her. Beside her, manning the opposite oar, sat Mats. She swallowed hard. The last thing she wanted was to look like a fool in front of him. She grabbed hold of the handle with both hands.

“Ready, men…Steady the oars. On my count…heave!”

The oars dipped into the water, and every set of arms hauled hard on the handles.

“Heave!”

Kiera could feel the ship accelerate as she grunted with each pull.

“Heave!”

Through the oar hole, she could see the riverbank zip by. She was amazed at the speed they had already achieved.

“Heave!”

They only rowed for a short while, but to Kiera, it felt like an entire day had already passed. Not used to such exertion, the muscles in her forearms had tightened into fiery knots. When Thorfinn finally told them to stow the oars, the command could not have come soon enough. Her arms shook, and she barely had the strength left to pull in the heavy piece of lumber and store it on the floor of the open hull.

“Prepare the sail!”

Kiera had been rehearsing her duties all the previous evening with several of the other sailors. For practice, they had rigged one of the other boats still in need of repair. Thorfinn had shown her how to tie the sail lines off to the wooden stays located on either side of the bow. She had to learn many new sailing terms such as starboard, port, come about, release, trim and hoist so that she could respond to Thorfinn's commands and become a seamless part of the crew. As the sail was hoisted up the length of the mast, Kiera took a deep breath and focused on the two ropes to the side of her.

“Haul in the starboard lines!”

Kiera quickly unwrapped the forward rope from the starboard stay. Using the stay as a pulley, she hauled in the rope as quickly as possible, trying her best to ignore her complaining arm muscles.

“Trim the bowline!” Thorfinn howled. She hauled in the second rope. “Again! Again! Good! Stave off the line and secure the portside.”

Kiera's hands worked quickly, making both lines taut. The skin of her palms began to smoulder from the rough surface of the rope. She nearly lost her balance as the wind caught the sail, and the boat leapt ahead like a freed stallion. The crew shouted a whoop of joy. These were the descendents of the one of the greatest sailing nations ever to grace the open ocean. Ocean water ran in their veins. Kiera noticed the joy in their eyes as they shook their fists in the air and smacked each other on the back.

“A toast to a good voyage!” Thorfinn shouted.

Another whoop from the crew. Bjorn removed the cover of a cask filled with warm ale and lowered a large wooden stein into the liquid. The stein was passed to Thorfinn, who hoisted it up in salute to the gods, downed several large swallows, then passed it on to the next man. Eventually, the mug made its way to Mats, who had his pull, then handed it on to Kiera.

“Good work with the lines,” he commented. “You keep working like that, and the rest of the boys will soon learn that you are as capable as any of them.”

“Thanks, Mats,” she said, smiling. She couldn't deny a certain tingle of excitement building within her. She let go of the anger and disappointment that had been eating within her all night. Perhaps this was to become a real adventure after all. She looked down into the mug.

“I've never had ale before.”

He laughed and pointed to all of the casks in the stern. “Might as well get used to it. It's our main provision. Besides, I can guarantee it will help kill the pain you're feeling right now in your arms. Don't worry. Mine are aching too. Most of us haven't been out to sea in over a year.”

She smiled at the kind words. She was thirsty. She brought the warm, brown liquid to her lips and downed several swallows before the thick ale in her throat and belly caused her to gag. She couldn't swallow and ended up spraying the remainder of the ale out of her mouth. Mats put up his hands too late, and his face received a shower of suds.

Kiera was horrified. “I'm so sorry!”

Instead of anger, Mats burst out laughing.

“You downed half of it before gagging. For a first-timer, that's an accomplishment!”

The rest of the crew had been watching the scene in the bow with amusement.

“Don't laugh too hard, Mats,” quipped Bjorn. “I remember your first ale. You turned as green as seaweed and didn't eat for two days. I'd say she's faring a lot better than you!”

The second burst of laughter turned Mats' fair cheeks into a flame of red. Kiera didn't want to see him teased but couldn't help but join the merriment as well.

“If it's all right with Thorfinn, I think I'll stick with water for the rest of the trip.”

“Of course,” replied Thorfinn. “The lady gets whatever she wants. And you're doing an excellent job on those bow lines. Good work, Kiera!”

Thorfinn's eyes suddenly narrowed as he gazed at the sea ahead.

“Wind change! North, northwest! Prepare to come about. Release the starboard lines! Prepare portside!”

The jovial mood of the crowd evaporated with the commands. Kiera dumped the rest of the ale overboard, threw down the mug and grabbed the lines. Together the crew worked like a well-oiled machine, listening to the commands, guiding the boat onto her new course and continuing their coastline trek southward.