The Beachcomber

by Ines Thorn

  “What crime is the Icelander accused of?” he asked.

  “That’s not your concern,” the soldier replied. He looked around once more and then took a well-filled leather pouch out of his saddlebag. “This pouch is full of silver coins,” he cried. “Anyone who can tell me where the Icelander is will be rewarded.”

  Tamme’s breath caught. Arjen, too, went pale. One could catch rats with cheese, and traitors with silver. Silver was rare on Sylt, especially now, in the winter.

  A few sailors, a captain among them, stood in the village square. In just over a month, on Petritag, they would sail for Greenland. But they, too, wanted to know why the Icelander was being sought.

  “We’d like to help you,” the captain said. “But we need to know what we’re looking for. Knowing that the man is an Icelander is too little for us to go on. We need more information.”

  The Dane scowled. “You’re in no position to make demands,” he said brusquely.

  The captain nodded. “Fine. If that’s how it is, we’ll go now. There’s nothing we can do.” He turned and walked away, grumbling. The villagers followed him until the village square was empty except for Inga. Arjen and Tamme watched from a short distance away between some houses.

  Tamme quickly exchanged a glance with Arjen. Could Inga really be trusted? Or was she waiting for a chance to earn some money of her own?

  Inga stood there looking at the Danish cavalier. Tamme clenched his teeth, and Arjen stood frozen. The cavalier bent down toward Inga. “Do you have something to say, woman?” he asked. Inga glanced quickly at Arjen and Tamme, and then took a deep breath.

  “Yes. I have something to say. But not here. Come with me.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Jordis paced restlessly back and forth in her hut. When would the Danes come to search her hut? When would Lian be back? He was still feverish; he still required care. Besides, she missed him. He’d been with her so long she’d gotten used to him. And he was from Iceland, like her mother and grandmother. Once, when she was sitting on the edge of the bed, she had begged him to tell her about Iceland.

  “Tell me about the land of ice and about the Norse gods.”

  Lian reached for her hand. “The Norse gods . . . what could I tell you about them? You know them all: Odin, Baldur, Rán, the Norns. In the old days, everyone believed that the old gods lived in the sea. They consulted the runes and made sacrifices.”

  “And you?” Jordis asked, and felt her heart accelerating. “Do you believe in the old gods?”

  Lian nodded. “Yes, I do. Do you?”

  Jordis shook her head. “I don’t know. Etta, my grandmother, cast the runes for me on my sixteenth birthday. The runes said that I would marry a man I had known for a long time. I’ve never left the island, so that means someone from Sylt. But the man I loved married another woman. And she stole one of the rune stones. The runes were incomplete, and they couldn’t be used. And someone else holds my future in her hands. Someone who doesn’t believe in the old gods. My life hasn’t been at all like the runes said it would. I lost everything I loved: my grandmother, my home, everything. I haven’t always been so poor, and this hut wasn’t always my home.” She stopped, unable to continue. Her distress was obvious.

  Lian took her hand gently. “When I’m recovered, I will go home, back to the Island of Ice. If you wish, you could come with me. I would care for you as you have cared for me. You would want for nothing.”

  “Thank you,” Jordis said. “I’ll think about it. But now we should sleep.”

  Jordis had lain on a sheepskin on the floor with her arms folded behind her head, thinking. Should she go to Iceland? She spoke their language, and their world was familiar to her. But she didn’t know anyone there. She wasn’t exactly well liked on Sylt, but she had some friends. Tamme was one of them. And of course Antje. And she knew who her enemies were. That was important, she thought. Only those who knew their enemies could protect themselves against them. She also loved the landscape of the island. But was that enough?

  Her mother and grandmother lay buried there in unconsecrated ground. If she left Sylt, they would be alone. They were dead, but Jordis believed that a person’s roots didn’t necessarily lie where they were born, but rather where the people they loved were buried.

  On one hand, she could imagine a life for herself in Iceland. It was colder there, but Etta had said that it was also full of hot springs. The Icelanders were a fierce people, but they were also honest and fair. She could live among them, and no one would stop her if she cast the runes. But the runes had let her down. They hadn’t told her the truth at all. And didn’t Jordis have to remain here because Inga held the rune of her future? She didn’t know. She had rolled around restlessly, unable to make a decision.

  Morning broke. The sun stained the sky crimson, and Jordis was exhausted. She’d spent the entire night pacing back and forth, worrying about Lian. Would he be too cold in the coffin? Would the Danes find him? What would happen if he was discovered? Tamme had come to tell her what the soldiers had said in the village square. She hadn’t expected anything else, but there was something in Tamme’s expression that bothered her. She knew there was something he wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t know what. Was Lian in danger? Had he been betrayed? And if so, by whom? Only four people in Rantum knew about him.

  Jordis cooked some barley gruel, which she quickly ate, and then she ran out of patience. She couldn’t sit and wait anymore. She had to do something. She wrapped herself in her warm shawl and left the hut, walking over the dunes and down to the beach. The sea had washed up some flotsam during the night. Jordis saw Antje, who was just bending over to pick up a plank from a ship and was carrying a sack on her back that seemed to already be quite full.

  “Good morning,” Jordis called to her.

  Antje waved and smiled at her.

  “What are you doing here so early?” she asked. She winked, and Jordis understood that Tamme had told her about Lian.

  “I can’t stand waiting anymore,” Jordis declared. “The Danes will be here soon to search, but I’ve worn out my shoes pacing back and forth in the hut. I just had to get out.” There was driftwood washed up everywhere. They walked a ways toward Westerland, collecting whatever they could use. Then they walked back toward Hörnum, to where the wreck of the schooner that Lian had arrived on still lay. The area was still roped off.

  “Have you been to the wreck?” Jordis asked.

  Antje shook her head. “It’s too risky for me. You never know who’s hiding in the dunes. And now with the Danes here . . .”

  Jordis nodded. Then, just a few steps into the water, she saw a little leather pouch. She pointed at it. “I’m going to get that. Keep a lookout?”

  Antje nodded.

  Jordis hiked up her skirts and waded into the icy water. She fished out the small leather pouch and returned to the beach.

  “What did you find?” Antje asked.

  Jordis showed her the leather bag.

  “What’s in it?”

  Jordis looked down, but then held it out to Antje. “It feels like there are many small pieces inside. Would you open it?” Somehow, she knew what she’d find in it but didn’t have the courage to open it herself.

  Antje nodded and shook the contents into her hand. They were small pieces of bone that had incised markings on them. She held them out to Jordis.

  “It’s a futhark,” Jordis said. “A runic alphabet. That’s what I thought.” She took the stones and counted them; there were twenty-four. “A complete set,” she said, shivering with excitement. She was sure the Norse gods had sent the futhark to her. They must have taken it from a dead sailor and washed it up directly at her feet. She was flooded with relief. Now that she had a new futhark, she could cast the runes again. She put the stones into the pouch and tucked it into her bodice. “It’s very good luck to have found the runes.”

  “You, there!” A harsh cry came from the top of the dune. The women turned and saw two Danish cavaliers. “
What are you doing?”

  One of the soldiers dismounted and came down the dunes toward them.

  “We’re looking for driftwood,” Jordis replied. “Winter is long, and we have no firewood left.”

  He pointed to Antje’s sack and indicated that she should open it. Then he dug around in it and nodded. “Get you gone, now,” he growled. “You know very well that this is theft.”

  Jordis and Antje curtsied politely and hurried back up the dunes. The Dane got on his horse, and the soldiers rode toward Jordis’s hut.

  Jordis stopped where she was and took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her bosom. “I hope I didn’t leave anything suspicious lying out,” she said softly.

  Antje put a hand on her arm. “Shall I come with you?”

  Jordis shook her head. “No. If they find anything, I must be the only one punished. You’ve done so much for us already.”

  She clasped her friend’s shoulder gratefully and wrapped her shawl more tightly around herself before hurrying home.

  The men were already inside the hut. Jordis hadn’t locked the door, as was typical on Sylt, and she hadn’t wanted the soldiers to break the door down either.

  With her heart pounding, she stopped in the doorway. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  The man who’d been on the beach looked up and shook his head. “You are a very poor woman. And you really don’t have any firewood left. I doubt we’ll find the Icelander here.” He waved a hand at the sparse furnishings. “Where would he hide?”

  But the other man pulled the blanket off her bed and stared at a blood spot on the sheet. “What is this?” he asked threateningly.

  Jordis blushed. “Don’t ask such unseemly questions. It’s my time of the month, what else?”

  The Danes left it at that. “We should go,” one of them said.

  When they had both gotten back onto their horses and returned to the village, Jordis breathed a sigh of relief and felt the tension leave her body.

  “What happened in the village square?” Arjen asked his wife, glancing at her with annoyance. “Did you betray us? You were speaking with the Danes.”

  Inga recoiled. “Do you really believe I would do that?”

  Arjen leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest, watching Inga stir soup in a kettle. He considered briefly. “No, I don’t think that you did. Otherwise they wouldn’t still be looking for him. But what did you say to them?”

  Inga looked offended. She stirred the soup so hard it overflowed and the fire hissed. “What do you think I was saying?”

  Arjen reconsidered. “I trust you,” he said slowly. “Please forgive my questions.”

  Inga turned around, still holding the spoon, and soup dripped onto the floor. A slow smile spread across her face. She had always dreamed that Arjen would speak to her so kindly. Now she had gotten something else she had always wished for too: his trust.

  “I introduced myself as the pastor’s daughter and told them that my father isn’t an easy man to deal with. Since he comes from the mainland and is loyal to the Danish crown, I suggested they leave the church undisturbed. And they did. This morning, they only opened the doors and glanced inside, and then left.” She smiled at Arjen.

  Arjen was touched. He squeezed her hand gratefully. Inga, who had longed for his touch for so long, suddenly realized that although she enjoyed it, there was nothing passionate about it for her. I’m not in love with Arjen anymore, she thought as she let go of him. He stacked a few pieces of wood next to the fireplace. She saw his long hair, the play of the muscles on his back, his narrow hips, and his long legs. But the longing that had once almost torn her apart had disappeared.

  CHAPTER 14

  When Tamme and Arjen brought Lian back to her hut that evening, Jordis was more relieved than she had ever been in her life. She immediately questioned him about his welfare. “How are you? Was it too cold? Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink?”

  Lian smiled and shook his head. “I was well cared for,” he said. “A woman brought me a hot brick to place at my feet for the cold, a cup of grog for the thirst, and cake for the hunger.”

  “A woman? Who?”

  “She didn’t want to tell me her name, but she was small and plump, and had curly hair.”

  “Inga?” Jordis said in surprise, and looked at Tamme and Arjen.

  “She’s a good woman, Inga,” Tamme said softly. “She actually always has been. She just forgot it sometimes. We should be happy that she finally remembered. We didn’t always treat her well either.”

  Jordis had forgiven Inga, but she still couldn’t forget. She was still angry about what had happened, but her anger had softened a little. Inga had once been a friend, and then an enemy. And now? Jordis didn’t know.

  Then Arjen and Tamme left, and Jordis was alone with Lian. She sat on the edge of the bed, carefully unwrapped the bandages from his stump, and removed the maggots.

  “The wound looks better. The maggots have eaten all of the dead flesh, and now it’s healing,” she said, after thoroughly examining the arm. She smiled. “I believe you’ll soon be well again.”

  Lian nodded but didn’t return her smile.

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy?” she asked.

  Lian sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t hide with you here forever. I must return to Iceland, but I have no idea how. The Danes are still searching for me.”

  Jordis stroked his shoulders. “First, you have to get well, and then we’ll see what we can do.”

  Lian wouldn’t allow himself to be comforted. “The Danes won’t give up so easily,” he said.

  Jordis raised her eyebrows. “But they looked for you and didn’t find you. What can they do? Perhaps they think you’re dead and lost at sea.”

  “That would be good. But it would be better if the Danes found the plans and stopped looking entirely.”

  “I don’t understand. You want them to have the plans? But then they’ll win the Great Northern War. That goes against everything you’ve been fighting for!”

  Lian moistened his cracked lips, and Jordis handed him a cup of water. “I want to redraw the plans incorrectly. Not completely, because they still have to be believable. Just enough to throw them off. When they try to build the navigation device, they won’t get very far. You see? So it’s good if they believe that I’m dead. Now we just have to get the false plans into their hands.”

  “But how? The original plans are ruined,” Jordis said. “They’re illegible.”

  “That’s the problem. Someone has to redraw them. I can’t do it anymore. And then the drawings have to get to Denmark. Only then will the people of Sylt be left in peace, and the Danes will stop looking for me. I’ll be able to go home and start a new life.”

  “I think I know someone who can help,” Jordis said hesitantly.

  Lian noticed her misgivings. “But you don’t want to ask him?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Don’t you trust him?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. We were betrothed, but then he left me for another. To this day I don’t know the reason he betrayed me.”

  Jordis got up, and as she moved, she heard a faint rattling. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She pulled the little leather pouch out of her bodice. “I found this in the water. I don’t know who it belonged to.” She tossed him the bag, and he caught it neatly in his hand. He smiled.

  “An Icelander without his runes is like a sailor from Sylt without a pipe.” He weighed the pouch in his hand. “There was another Icelander on the schooner. He, too, wanted to go home. Now he must be lying at the bottom of the sea. I think I saw him with these once.” He smiled. “And now they are yours. Would you like me to cast the runes for you?” he asked.

  Jordis sat down at the table. “My grandmother’s futhark was broken and burned. Do you think you can read my future with these?”

  Lian nodded, got up with a groan, and sat at the table across from her. “When I was lying in the co
ffin in the church with an old woman I’d never seen before, I began to ponder life and death.” He was silent for a moment. “And of course the gods.”

  “Did you come to any conclusions?”

  Lian smiled, but it was a pained smile. “I believe we can’t trust the gods. They don’t shape our lives; we have to do that ourselves. It’s not about whose gods are right, because there is no right or wrong. We have to be able to depend on ourselves and trust ourselves. If we can gather strength from our beliefs, then that’s enough.”

  “But isn’t it all about believing in the right god?” Jordis asked. “I was made to suffer because I believed in the wrong gods. At least, that’s what the people of Sylt thought.”

  Lian shook the bag. “Do you still want to know? Do you want to hear what the runes have to tell you?”

  Jordis thought about it. She could use some guidance because she had no idea what to do. Should she go to Iceland or stay on Sylt? But could she leave such an important decision up to the runes? And what about the rune that Inga had taken? Inga, who had once been her friend, still held her future in her hands. No, she didn’t want Lian to cast the runes for her. But she would try to get her future back. The rest of Etta’s runes had been burned in the fire. Since then, Jordis had lived without a futhark, and she hadn’t missed it very much. But she definitely wanted to have her future rune back. It seemed to her that if she got the rune back, she’d be able to start anew.

  Jordis got up and slipped into her clogs and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “I have to go out for a little while,” she said.

  “Are you going to see the person who can redraw the plans?” Lian asked.

  “Yes,” Jordis replied. “Him too.”

  When Jordis left the hut, it was already dark. It had been windy all day, and there were still strong gusts coming over the dunes. But the sky was clear and the moon was bright. Although it was already February, the cold still had the island in its icy grasp. After only a few steps, her cheeks were red from the chill and her breath formed little white clouds in front of her mouth. She leaned into the wind and made progress very slowly.