To Serve and Submit

by Susan Wright

  Though I didn’t have to dream of intimacy with Lexander, a true joining was difficult. Silveta and the oarsmen were always within arm’s reach. I became adept at sitting on his lap, facing him, my arms around his chest. Our groins rubbed against each other, and when he grew firm, he slipped inside of me. Silveta could not help but notice, but she mostly tried to ignore us. He wrapped his cloak around me to hide my trembling as we moved to the motion of the ship, sometimes for hours, as pleasure flashed back and forth through us. I opened myself to him, as always, letting him feel as I did.

  Once he lifted a strand of my hair and kissed it. “It’s as if you’ve become translucent, and all that exists is pleasure.”

  We could not conceal the passion that permeated the ship and drove the olf to a gibbering frenzy. Often it snuggled up to us at night, tangled together under the cloak. I had never seen an olf so satiated with delight.

  The oarsmen, on the other hand, grew more surly and tense, unable to release their own desires. They gave me and Silveta sidelong looks, licking their lips and appraising our charms. If Lexander had not made a name for himself as a strong warrior in Pingvellr, they would have tried to take what they wanted. He regularly sent me under the canvas with Silveta to sit on the bags of linen cloth that were part of the payment for the spars. He wanted us out of sight so the men’s lust could cool. He made sure to sharpen his ax and knife every day. His point was clear. They had seen how fast he moved and how great was his reach. Alone, they had no chance. But Lexander could have been overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. Only the shipmaster, fearing for his post with the Sigurdssons, kept the simmering crew under control.

  We didn’t pass near Gronland, far to the north, so the days grew long but never endless. Our knaar was lightly loaded, making us skip across the wave tops. Thankfully there were fewer icebergs to be avoided in the rough, open ocean. By the time Helluland was sighted due west, I was one with the water spirits.

  Silveta stood by the prow, searching the forbidding rocky land. “How shall we ever find the Skraelings?”

  “When I traded with them,” Lexander told her, “I always went to their winter settlements farther south. In the summer, they move inland. They’ll come back together in a few moons.”

  “Birgir will surely be chieftain by then,” she retorted. “If he’s not already. We must have help now.”

  The olfs of Helluland were putting out a fine welcome for us. I was relieved to feel it after the dearth of otherworldly creatures in Issland. Though the coast looked desolate, there was life here that went far deeper than in more populated lands.

  They were both looking at me expectantly. I didn’t need to consult with the sea spirits. The olfs were already showing me walrus-hide boats bobbing in the mouth of a river. A gush of blood stained the rocks on the shore where fat salmon were being gutted.

  “There,” I said, pointing to an inlet south of the knaar.

  The gray rocky hills of the inlet were no different than the others we had sailed past, but I knew this was the right spot. We were north of the tree line in the tundra. Ferns, mosses, liverworts, and crucifers spread across the ground wherever the bedrock didn’t poke through. A heavy coastal fog was hugging the thawing land. It felt like a colder version of my beloved fens.

  The shipmaster claimed the tide was wrong and refused to beach the knaar. Lexander argued with him as the oarsmen grumbled at the delay. I asked our faithful olf to let the Skraelings know we had need of them.

  Two round boats emerged from the low-lying mist that clung to the shoreline. There were six people in each of the umiaks, which bristled with harpoons and long sinew-backed bows that the Thule were renowned for. This was the fiercest of all the Skraeling tribes.

  Silveta was frightened of them, drawing back as the umiaks glided silently up to our knaar. I saw my mam’s face in theirs—the narrow black eyes and dark complexion, creased by the everlasting sun. The blood of salmon washing their sealskin boots attested to their work that day. The hoods of their formfitting parkas were thrown back, showing their top-knotted hair. The boats were rowed by strong young men, but my eyes went unerringly to the two elders amongst them.

  “Greetings!” I called out in my mam’s language. “I see the blessings of Arnaaluk are upon you.”

  Their surprise was evident. One of the elders, with white-frosted hair, asked, “Are you a daughter of the true people?”

  “My mam is Beothuk.” The language came easily, the first I had heard whispered to me as a babe. The guttural sounds came from the back of my throat, an emphatic way of speaking.

  The elder nodded slowly, glancing up at the olf that now hovered over his umiak. I gestured, and it flashed back to us. It began to bob and weave about Silveta, though she could not see it. That truly interested the elder.

  Silveta could restrain herself no longer. “What are you saying? Are they going to attack us?”

  I wasn’t sure about that myself. Lexander spoke in Skraeling to the elder I had addressed. “We need safe escort to speak to your leaders.”

  I had heard him speak to the Skraeling slaves in their own tongue, so I was not surprised. But Silveta was. Not many Noromenn knew Skraeling—my siblings and I were the only ones in Jarnby who could talk with their traders. But Lexander had bargained for decades with them to acquire slaves.

  The elders spoke low amongst themselves. Silveta was shaking in fear. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.

  I closed my eyes, reaching out. We were in harmony with the flow of the spirits of the land and the sea. These fierce men with their weapons were a sign of more help to come.

  “Yes.” I smiled at the elders, knowing they must feel this, too. They did not understand how our fates were intertwined, but in the Skraeling way, they were content to let the path guide them.

  “Come with us then,” the elder declared.

  I hiked up my skirt and swung one leg over the side. Lexander caught me with one hand before I could slide over. I gave him a reassuring nod, and he let me go. I dropped from the knaar. The Skraelings made sure I came down safely.

  I held on to the flexible side of the boat, feeling it shift beneath me. I motioned to Lexander and Silveta. “They’ll take us to shore.”

  The olf who had accompanied us jumped into the midst of the Helluland olfs. But Silveta hesitated. “What if we’re stranded here?”

  “It’s a little late to question our course.” Lexander also swung over the side of the knaar, landing in the other boat very lightly for such a big man. He reached up for Silveta. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

  With evident reluctance, Silveta leaned over the side of the ship. But she was afraid to swing her legs over. Lexander was much taller than the Skraelings, and he plucked her off the ship, setting her down next to him. I saw the way she clenched him so hard and how protective his arm was around her. But his expression when he looked at me was full of pride, and that was enough.

  The Lootega clan consisted of an extended family. The eldest were two withered sisters, with interlocking cousins and siblings descending to a tiny babe strapped to a board on a young mother’s back. The middle-aged matrons ordered everyone around as they smoked the fresh fish to preserve it, feasting well that night.

  For the first time, I saw how my mam had lived before coming to Jarnby. They slept in two long tents, narrower than a longhouse, supported by arced staves of antlers. I had to duck my head to walk inside. We slept in the midst of the family, with less privacy than we had on the knaar. But here, there were couplings throughout the short night, the moans and groans casually ignored by everyone.

  Silveta was lost, unable to speak to anyone or understand their customs. The Thule, from the children on up, stared in fascination at her yellow hair, more golden than the sun in their sky. I insisted we trade our dresses for warm parkas and caribou leggings. Hers was much desired for its brilliant color even though it was stained. Silveta hated wearing pants, but she finally stopped complaining of the cold. I adore
d the waterproof boots and leggings, cozy with fur lining.

  Whenever I could, I tramped far from camp, communing with the olfs, who skipped over the rocks and dived in the ponds of water that laced the undulating ground. There were tiny ice sprites living underground, where the frost reached nearly to the surface. In winter, they were freed to dance over the drifts of snow and crystalline air. They sent joyous sparks through the ground in their excitement that I had heeded their summons to Helluland. I could feel the much slower, deeper agreement of the very old spirits that inhabited the rocks, older than any I had sensed before. In truth, I was surrounded by an abundance of otherworldly creatures.

  The clan appreciated the olfs and spoke with them as a matter of course, placating and bribing them to ensure good luck. Many times I couldn’t distinguish the Markland olf from its northern cousins. When I wasn’t roaming the tundra, I stayed among the women, asking them about everything from the fish they were drying to the intricate signs they painted on their caribou clothing. They were preparing for the big hunt, when they would acquire the hides they would need for the coming year. It was important to respect the great spirit of the caribou so that many animals would be given to them.

  “We have to hurry,” Silveta insisted every day. “The longer we delay the more entrenched Birgir will become.”

  “The elders say they will leave soon for the caribou hunt. ’Tis where we’ll find enough people to get your warband.”

  “Can’t you urge them to hasten?” she pleaded.

  “They will go when the signs tell them to. Why should they risk delay or sickness when following the portents will ensure their safe arrival?”

  Silveta rolled her eyes. “Why aren’t you talking to them about Markland, to get them on our side?”

  “ ’Tis not the time.”

  Silveta tried to appeal to Lexander again. “You speak Skraeling. Why don’t you do something?”

  He still wore his cloak and oarsman garb because he was much too large for Thule clothing. But he never noticed the cold. “My trades were all simple—so many ax blades for a boy, sacks of grain for a girl. You have no goods in hand to give them. The only way they will help you is if you gain their trust.”

  “The olfs will make sure they give us aid,” I assured her.

  Silveta covered her face, shaking her head as if she couldn’t take it anymore. But at least she left me alone after that so I could enjoy my mam’s people. The Beothuk roamed the southern coastline of Helluland, where the trees grew thick, but they were Skraeling just like the Thule.

  When the shaman finally decreed the spirits were with us, the family transformed their tents into boats and packed their furs into surprisingly small bundles. Their entire camp was mobile, with bags to hold their whetstones, tools, fishing gear, and carved soapstone pots and lamps. The shaman had his own special waterproof sack that contained the wooden masks he wore during trances to speak to the guardian spirits and gods. I was allowed to watch the ritual he had performed to ensure favorable travel, dancing and singing in the mask of a walrus, the totem of the Lootega clan. I could hear faint echoes of the animal spirit speaking to the shaman, and it made me long to see more.

  We paddled up the vast inlet for three days. I was surprised when the water remained salty as the inlet undulated deep into the interior. The farther we got from the coast, stands of conifers appeared in the creases between the barren hills. The low, rocky shoreline passed by, covered in purple and umber plants that hugged the ground. From what the clan told me, it was difficult to wrest life from this cold world. They usually moved south during the winter season despite having to compete with the Beothuk and Micmaq tribes who lived there.

  When we finally reached the hooked end of the inlet, the Lootega clan packed up their boats and dragged them on sleds over the surrounding hills.

  Topping the rise, I suddenly felt as if I could see forever. Hundreds of Thule tents hardly made a notch on the edge of a great bowl of tundra. It stretched into the distance farther than I could see. Here and there were lines of brown specks as caribou passed through on their annual migration. The feeble sunlight glinted off thousands of tiny puddles and pockets of water smearing the landscape.

  Silveta cheered up at the sight of so many people. “Surely there are a hundred stout men here who can fight,” she declared. “What would they take in trade?”

  Lexander shook his head. “It must be something they need enough to make them risk their lives. Marja, do you know what they desire most?”

  I looked around at the Skraelings, busy setting up their snug tents. The enormous encampment smelled cleaner than any Norotown I had seen. Their smiles told their own story as they greeted friends and kin. We were included in the welcome simply because we were with Lootega clan.

  “It seems they lack for nothing,” I had to admit.

  Silveta pushed her hood back, causing a sensation with her blond hair. “Tell them what I need, Marja. Let them set their own price.”

  But I was distracted by the sight of someone who looked familiar. A young man stood next to one of the tents. He was alone and had one elbow slightly raised as if to ward off a blow.

  I went closer to be sure. It was Kinirniq, my former slave-mate from Vidaris, just as scrawny as before. He was trembling all over.

  “Kinirniq!” I exclaimed. “Can it be true? What are you doing here?”

  He looked at me blankly, too exhausted to acknowledge my presence.

  As Silveta joined me, I turned to Lexander. “Don’t you see? It’s Kinirniq.”

  Lexander was looking at him intently as if he, too, couldn’t believe it was he. “What happened to you?” he asked, concerned by the young man’s lack of response. Kinirniq’s eyes were reddened and watery, and he was mumbling something to himself.

  “Kinirniq, are you unwell?” Lexander asked, reaching out to touch his bared shoulder.

  The Skraeling youth reacted as if he had been struck. His hands went to his face and he began to scream. He collapsed to the ground, shrieking in pure terror as he warded Lexander off.

  Twenty

  “Kinirniq!” I cried. But he flinched away violently from me and bellowed like an animal in pain. His arms shielded his head.

  Thule began to gather. An elder I had not seen before gestured to some youngsters to go to Kinirniq. The poor young man could not bear to have us near him. I was touched by the way the little children surrounded him, cooing in sympathy, calming his cries.

  “My cousin’s son was returned to us this way,” the elder told us. “Two summers ago, he strayed from our winter camp and was not seen again. How do you know him?”

  Lexander was impassive, as usual, and Silveta looked at me in bewilderment.

  “I knew Kinirniq in Viinland,” I replied cautiously.

  The elder was a powerful man in his prime, with silver-dusted black hair and brows that met in a deep crease between his dark eyes. His complexion was burnt near black. “Kinirniq was sent to us from Kebec. The traders claimed him as a slave, but his past is locked in the depths of his mind. He does not speak. He rarely sleeps, and is frightened even then. Do you know what caused this malady in him?”

  The olfs were watching us curiously, coming from all around. They also wanted to know what evil spirit had blighted this poor young man. Kinirniq was a cipher to them. Now he sat on the muddy ground, breathing heavily as if he had run very far. The little girls and boys were patting him and sitting by his legs. Their energy soothed him.

  “It was Helanas,” I blurted out. “Our mistress tortured him. She summoned a deadening miasma of despair that enveloped Vidaris and drove away all the good spirits.”

  The elder’s gaze was unnaturally compelling, as if he was reading the truth from my essence was well as my words. “We have not been able to expel that evil spirit. Kinirniq breaks into rages when he is touched. He is cared for only by the young ones.”

  I thought of the abuse Helanas had inflicted on Kinirniq, the endless restraints, the unwant
ed penetration and forced ecstasy. She had abused me as well, but I had enjoyed everything far too much for her taste. Even her worst torture was merely a prelude to Lexander’s touch. But evil had seeped into the cracks made in Kinirniq before I ever came to Vidaris.

  I turned to Lexander with pain in my eyes. How could he have taken a boy so unsuited to be a pleasure slave? But I could not ask it out loud. My stomach twisted in fear at the thought of how these righteous Thule would react if they knew what Lexander had done to Kinirniq.

  He saw my revulsion, and it hurt him deeply. There was self-loathing in his own eyes. “It was wrong,” he told me quietly. “This is exactly the reason why I had to leave Vidaris.”

  “I know that name well!” another man called out, pushing his way to the fore. “This man is Vidaris, Amaruq. He lured my granddaughter away with tales of fame and riches in Viinland.”

  Amaruq, the elder, was watching me, clearly concerned by my reaction. “Nerriviq is the elder of the Tomalik clan.”

  I was silent, afraid of implicating Lexander.

  But the enraged grandfather was already focused on Lexander. “Where is she now, our Qamaniq, our precious girl?”

  So Qamaniq was Thule, as well. I had not guessed it before, though I knew the stately Skraeling was exceptional. Indeed, Kinirniq and Qamaniq had the same high cheekbones and prominent nose ridge, instead of the flatter, rounder faces of the Beothuk like my mam and the Skraeling sisters. But Kinirniq had been sent to Kebec before Qamaniq arrived, so I had never considered their similarities.

  “Qamaniq is in Vidaris,” Lexander said quietly.

  “The very place that stole this boy’s inua?” Nerriviq demanded angrily, pointing at Kinirniq. “Is that the fate of our girl?”

  I knew Qamaniq was strong-willed, but Helanas would probably enjoy tormenting her stubborn streak. Helanas was capable of anything, especially if her anger at Lexander’s abandonment was turned against the defenseless slaves. The best Qamaniq could hope for was to be taken by the winged ship, to suffer as Rosarin and Ansgar did now. Perhaps Kinirniq was the lucky one, to be returned home, even in such a terrible state.