9
A short width of empty shoreline separated the edge of the fjord from the birches sprouting up from the soil on either side of it. The trees were sparse but tall, and loomed overhead like white spears that had been thrown into the ground by the gods. At least that was Erlandr's opinion, which he kept to himself, concentrating instead on staying in the emptiness and reaching the longhouses that the Riverraider had told them were nearby.
Beside him, Goll was being a little less romantic. "It's hardly green here at all. Wouldn't you say the name's a tad deceptive?"
Erlandr wouldn't say it. Although his first impression of the island had been grim, he was warming to it quickly. The sun, the sky, the wilderness. He was already trying to convince himself that this was a place in which he could live. It was certainly no worse than Iceland, and filled with a potential that he felt even without being able to explain it. He would find a pretty woman to be his wife...
Goll kicked at a clump of sod. "The dirt doesn't look the richest, either. To me, it looks like nothing would grow better here than back on our island, but you're the expert on that, so what do you say, Erlandr, son of Jokell the farmer?"
"I say my father raised sheep, not cabbage."
"Raises," Goll corrected him.
If Halfdan keeps his word, Erlandr thought. Even then, he wondered if he would ever see his father again.
As if on cue, a sheep bleated and they caught a flash of movement through the birch trunks. It was a tall movement, human. The opening words of a song followed, accompanied by the sweet, sharp sounds of a stringed instrument. Goll drew his knife. Erlandr put his hand on his axe and shouted out, "Greetings to whoever goes there. We are two travellers in search of hospitality. Do not be alarmed."
The song ended. The sheep bleated again. There was another flash of movement, and the voice that had been singing said without a melody, "Do not be alarmed yourselves, because, you see, travellers are a treat and a rarity." Then, from a different place, it continued, "Alarmed? Neither should you be armed. There's no need for axes and knives." And, from a third place: "I see you without you seeing me. I like it that way. So lower your weapons, walk through the trees, and I'll feed you according to your needs."
Erlandr looked over at Goll, who was staring into the forest. Erlandr stared, too. The trunks were so far apart and the voice had seemed so close at times that it was nearly impossible for them not to have identified its source. But they hadn't.
"Come, come," the voice said.
Goll stepped toward the nearest birch. "Show yourself first."
"Lower your knife first," the voice said.
"Lowered," Goll lied, crouching and getting behind as much cover as possible. In fact, he was nearly hugging the birch tree, when—
An arrow slammed into it!
Goll jumped backward, slipped and fell on his butt.
The voice laughed.
Erlandr took out his axe and laid it on the ground in front of him.
"What are you doing?" Goll asked.
"I'm lowering my weapon."
"Pick it up and walk through the forest," the voice instructed. "It's not a deep forest. When you find yourself on the other side, you'll find you've also found me."
Goll sprang to his feet. As far as Erlandr could tell, his knife had disappeared up his sleeve again. "And what do I do?" he asked.
"Go with him knowing that the next time you break one of my rules, I won't miss," the voice said. Before adding a few seconds later, "Also, if you'd be so kind as to retrieve my arrow..."