5
It was still the dark of early morning when Dvalinn stepped onto Fox's Prowl. He was carrying a sword, a shield and a sack of valuables. He was alone. His boat, the same small but sturdy flat-bottom on which he'd made his initial voyage from the mainland to Iceland, sat on the shore as he'd left it several days ago. It was sea ready and packed. He tossed his shield and sack inside, then sat down to face the sea. He was early. He would wait. He began to gaze over the peaceful waters, toward the horizon line, and ponder...
Two faces preoccupied him. One, his wife's, he couldn't stop seeing. He saw her in the clouds and on the surface of the water, with features that were almost too vivid, too sharp. How could she be dead if he remembered every detail about her? The second face was his son's. The features of this face were fuzzy. Its shape was distant. From his wife's face he wanted to escape. His son's he wanted to catch. But each time he drew close to the latter, it was the former that loomed back at him.
A flock of birds scattered.
Dvalinn noted from where and studied the area, a clump of trees further up the coast.
A man emerged from the trees and neared.
Dvalinn had expected it to be Erlandr, but it wasn't. The man was Goll.
"Good morning," Dvalinn said when Goll was close.
"Is your offer still good?"
"It is."
"Are there still wives to be found on Greenland?"
"I have heard," Dvalinn said. When he saw that Goll was empty handed, he added, "there is still room in the boat for supplies, as well."
"I travel light, Riverraider. I have food for myself and I have this." He slipped the knife with which Erlandr had stabbed Halfdan out of his sleeve and spun it in his fingers. "It's quite the versatile little tool."
Dvalinn was wary of men who preferred knives to swords. "Do you have ale?"
"I have a leather skin full." Goll laughed. "If I need more, it means we're too long out to sea and lost beyond saving."
"I have an extra supply in the boat," Dvalinn said. He believed that a man should never sail without ample ale. Food he could do without, but he needed his drink. Ideally, there should have enough ale to last him a few days after landfall, too. Unknown sources of water were not to be trusted. They could make a man ill.
Goll sat down beside him and picked at the ground with his knife. After a while he said, "Do you suppose Greenland's really out there?"
"I suppose it is."
"And what about beyond? Leif Ericson clinging to the edge of the world?"
Goll laughed. Dvalinn didn't. Despite the younger man's jovial attitude, Dvalinn could see that he was nervous. Nerves led to pointless conversations that did nothing but fill time which could be better spent thinking. More importantly, Dvalinn was still trawling through his memories, trying to find a clearer image of his son's face. It wasn't his place to ask why Goll was leaving Iceland.
Within the hour there was another rustling and Erlandr appeared. A small axe was slung across his back and he carried two bags, one on each end of a stick that he'd placed horizontally on his shoulders, behind his neck. He walked steadily until he was close, then laid down the stick, untied the bags and packed them into the boat.
Dvalinn stood up. "We sail," is all he said.