13
Erlandr reclined inside the Riverraider's boat, among what was left of their food and drink, and watched the endless sea become the narrow fjord, which itself became, in his eyes, a dagger aimed at the heart of Greenland and his own.
He'd had half a thought to steal the boat and set sail east tonight, by himself, leaving the Riverraider stranded, but even having such an idea shamed him. The Riverraider deserved better. Everyone deserved better. It could not be that the right response to being wronged was to then wrong another, contributing to a sick, never-ending cycle of wrongdoing. That was what separated him from men like Goll and Halfdan.
He lost himself in these knotty problems of morality until interrupted by his grumbling stomach. He'd not had anything to eat since morning. He wrapped his cloak around his body and waited. He refused to touch the food that was in the boat. The Riverraider would return, either tonight or in the morning, and when he did Erlandr would tell him about Goll and ask for his advice. Only then would he eat. Honesty, he decided, was the only true solution. And if it wasn't, he could always steal another boat from somebody else. Greenland was an island, and every island has its boats.
He must have dozed, because when he lifted his eyelids, the sky was darker, and darker still was the shape standing before him: the tall, thin figure of Kaspar.
"I came to see your boat," Kaspar said in his sing-song way, which found poetry even in the most mundane utterances. "I needed to see whether it existed." He reached into a pack hanging from his shoulder and pulled out pieces of bread and meat. He held both out to Erlandr. "I also brought these. I wasn't going to give them to you unless you were telling the truth about the boat, but you were, so here you are."
Erlandr took the food and began eating.
Kaspar handed him a skin, which Erlandr drank from. It was filled with the same kind of strong ale as before. "Where's Goll, the man who came with me?" Erlandr said after washing a chunk of meat down his throat. "Did he follow you?"
"Me? I'm invisible in the forest," Kaspar said proudly. "No one can track me, let alone a drunk in the twilight." He retrieved a bite of food from the pack for himself. "When I left, he was with my mother. Do you mind if I take a closer look at the boat? It's been years since I've seen one."
"Look as much as you like," Erlandr said.
Kaspar walked around it, touching its sides, feeling the grain of its wood. Then he hopped deftly inside, landing close to Erlandr but barely upsetting the stillness of the boat. Erlandr had heard about goats that lived in the mountains, leaping from crag to crag, and that's what the boy reminded him of. He watched, chewing, as Kaspar inspected the boat's sail and the large sheet of cloth that covered their supply of food and drink and Erlandr's own supply sack. "You could fit a fair amount in here," Kaspar said. "I suppose that's useful for a pair of traders."
Erlandr didn't say anything. Why did there always have to be lies? A flash of understanding appeared on Kaspar's face, like moonlight briefly uncovered on a cloudy night, reflected on the surface of the sea.
Then the boy jerked his head to peer inland—
Erlandr aped him.
Four people were approaching.
When Erlandr turned back, Kaspar was gone, leaving behind him only the rush of freshly disturbed air.