Stolen Away

by Christopher Dinsdale

  “It looks like our plan worked,” said Chocan. “One of the kayaks did go after our friend. Now there are only two chasing us.”

  Kiera stole a glance over her shoulder. “I'm getting a bad feeling about this. The kayaks are smaller, lighter and faster than us, and it is still a long paddle back to the point. Even if we make it to land, there is nowhere to hide. They will be chasing us over marsh and barren rock.”

  Chocan looked up at the sky. “Actually, we don't need to make it to shore. We just have to stay ahead of them for a little while longer.”

  “Why?” Kiera grunted.

  “The sun is almost touching the horizon. Soon, darkness will fall. It will also be a moonless night. Once night falls, they will never find us on the open ocean. The Thule are excellent ocean kayakers and hunters, but without the moon, they will be as blind as moles.”

  “Uh, Chocan, I hate to tell you this, but so will we.”

  “Our plan right now is simply to survive so that we can see another day. If it means drifting in the ocean all night, then so be it.”

  Kiera glanced over her shoulder again. Already she could see that the kayaks were gaining on them.

  “I don't think we'll last even to see the sun kiss the horizon. They're simply too fast.”

  Chocan assessed the situation. “They are only human. They have been paddling against the wind all day. They have to be tired. Our advantage is our rested state. We will switch as soon as you cannot keep up this pace.”

  “But you're injured!” Kiera protested.

  He shrugged. “Better an injured paddler than an exhausted one.”

  Chocan began to dig through the supplies left in the bottom of the inuak. To make the craft lighter and faster, he tossed overboard three coils of leather twine, most of the stored food, some tools and almost all of the water bags. Kiera's eyes widened as she saw Chocan getting ready to throw some large caribou skins overboard.

  “Chocan! Stop! I have an idea. I think my arms have had it anyway. How do you suggest we switch?”

  “Spread your feet apart,” he replied. “I'm going to go under your seat.”

  After crawling under Kiera and into the front of the boat, Kiera wiggled back on her seat as far as she could go. Chocan then rose up between the paddle and Kiera until he was sitting on the front edge of the seat between her legs. She let Chocan grab the paddle as she slid off the back of the seat and landed in the stern. They barely missed a stroke.

  “Nice transfer,” said Kiera, stretching her shoulders.

  “So what's the plan?” asked Chocan.

  “I'll show you in a minute.”

  Kiera bent down to examine the items still remaining on the floor of the boat. She again removed the needle from her hem and began to tear apart the bottom of her filthy skirt. She removed the long threads that held together the hem and placed them in a pile between her knees. She then threw the edge of the largest skin over the harpoon pole and quickly sewed the corners of the skin into pockets. She made an even larger pocket in the skin exactly halfway along the length of the pole. Finding a second, similar-sized skin, she ignored the fiery pain and dripping blood from her fingertips as she sewed the two skins together, end to end. She could only hope that the stitching would be strong enough.

  Now she needed some leather twine. She dug around the remaining items. Then she remembered Chocan had already thrown the twine overboard! Desperately, she looked around for an alternative. Her winter mukluks! She pulled the laces from both boots and tied them in a knot to make an even longer lace.

  She eyed Chocan's feet. “I'll need your laces as well.”

  Chocan didn't argue. In a flash, she was under his seat. She tied the laces together, then went to work attaching each lace to the free corners of the skins. Finally, it was finished. She was so engrossed with her work that she had not bothered to look behind her. The scene sent a chill down her back. The Thule kayaks were so close that she could see the beads of perspiration on their exhausted but determined faces. It was only a matter of moments before they would be within the range of the Thule weapons.

  Kiera turned back to Chocan. Her eyes went wide in shock. The back of his leather coat was stained dark red, while a crimson pool of blood gathered under his seat between the ribs of the skin hull.

  “Chocan, your shoulder!”

  “They're going to catch us,” he gasped, “aren't they?”

  “Not if my idea works.”

  Kiera looked around at the rolling ocean waves. The dark, forbidding surface was choppy, but would it be enough?

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “When I say,” explained Kiera, “I want you to give me the end of the paddle. I'll stick it into the middle pocket of the skin. Then you will have to raise it up off your shoulder and brace it against the thwart and the rib on the floor ahead of you.”

  He nodded, too tired to reply.

  Kiera took a deep breath. “All right. Let's do it.”

  Although exhausted and in pain, Chocan somehow managed to swing the paddle tip behind him and onto his shoulder. The tip landed right on her lap. Slipping the paddle into her sewn creation, she was relieved to see that the pocket made a perfect fit for the paddle. She let go of the leather sheets and grabbed hold of the laces.

  “Go, Chocan! Lift the paddle!”

  Using his shoulder like a lever, Chocan raised the end of the paddle up towards the sky, transforming it into a makeshift mast. With the harpoon holding the top corners of the blanket apart, the northern wind blew the stretched skins into a beautiful rectangular sail. The stiff breeze tried to rip the leather laces from Kiera's hands, but she was ready for the power of the wind. She had wrapped the laces twice around her wrists and braced her foot against the back of Chocan's seat. She yelped as the pain from her injured wrists raced up her arms. She leaned back and worked the sail right and left in order to maximize the power of the wind. It wasn't a big sail, and she was worried that the strength of the wind would not be enough to match the speed of the smaller kayaks.

  “What's happening behind us, Chocan?”

  Chocan tore his amazed stare away from the sail and turned back towards their pursuers.

  “Your skin cloud is working, Kiera, but I'm afraid they are still gaining, just not as quickly. The closest Thule is reaching for his bow.”

  Kiera looked to her right. For the first time that day, a smile spread across her face. A frothy disturbance raced towards them like a school of charging fish. A gust of wind was nearly upon them.

  “Hold on!” she shouted.

  Kiera braced herself as the gust hit the sail. Both she and Chocan grunted from the impact. The inuak suddenly lurched forward, and Kiera could hear the water begin to race past the hull. She closed her eyes and prayed that the sail would stay in one piece. The powerful wind lasted only for a few minutes. As the pressure on the sail eased, Kiera dared another look over her shoulder. The distance between them had nearly doubled.

  But with the calming came a second charge from the kayaks. As the Thule once again closed the gap between the crafts, another gust materialized from the north. Kiera and Chocan skimmed through the water, moving beyond the reach of the kayaks. The sky darkened to an indigo twilight. Night had finally fallen.

  The Thule shouted some final parting words that Chocan chose not to translate, then broke off their pursuit, turning north. Their captives had escaped. Chocan carefully lowered the sail. They wrapped their arms around each other in wild excitement.

  “I can't believe we did it!”

  “You did it,” corrected Chocan. “The skin cloud…I have never seen a craft, other than a Viking ship, use one before. Your idea saved our lives.”

  Kiera pressed her hand against his back, and he winced. She felt something warm and sticky. She had forgotten about his injury.

  “Your wound! Take off your coat. Let me see it.”

  Grimacing, Chocan struggled to remove his coat. His lower back was smeared in blood. The arrow from the day b
efore had caught him just below the shoulder blade. The paddling had torn open the wound once again. It thankfully did not appear to be too deep, and his breathing was not affected. Kiera sighed with relief. It was a painful injury, but one that would eventually heal. Kiera washed the wound with salt water, then using leather strips, bandaged the wound.

  While being treated, Chocan looked at the wind then to the barely visible coast. “The cloth cloud will take us further away from your village. We will need to use the paddle now in order to move towards shore.”

  “You have done enough for one day,” she said, gently pushing him off the seat. “Let's switch places, and I'll take over the paddling.”

  Chocan didn't argue. He crawled onto the pile of caribou skins and fell immediately asleep. Kiera looked back at him with concern. Had he been up since yesterday, tending to her in the Thule camp while she lay unconscious? Had he lost too much blood from his wound? Her heart ached as she looked at the man who had become her closest friend, perhaps because she knew that she would have to say goodbye to him very soon. There was so much she wanted to tell him. Now she could only hope that he would survive his injury.

  She pulled the paddle out of the makeshift sail and stored the sewn leather and harpoon by her feet. After scanning the horizon one last time for lingering kayaks, she picked out a star to the east, dug the paddle into the rolling Atlantic Ocean and set off for the coast.

  TWENTY

  Lorna watched in dismay as the bright black and orange butterfly released its grip on her finger and fluttered awkwardly away, zigzagging over the river and toward the inviting meadow beyond. Earlier that spring, she had captured the striped caterpillar, and every day, she had fed the creature handfuls of its favourite leaves. She had secretly hoped that if she treated the creature with love and care, it would someday choose to stay with her and be her friend. Lorna watched in amazement as it wove and hid itself in a tightly wrapped cocoon. For a week, the creature had remained dormant. Then, this morning, it had begun to wiggle free from its prison. Finally, she had a friend to play with! But after stretching out its wings in the sun, the butterfly turned away from its human friend and fluttered off into the morning breeze. Lorna's face wilted in sadness as the creature faded into the background of the colourful spring meadow. Why did all of her friends have to leave? First, it was saying goodbye to the other children in Greenland. Then, Kiera didn't return with the men in the battered ship. She flopped down onto the grass in despair. She had never felt so alone.

  Dagmar looked up from her scrubbing on the riverbank and felt for her daughter. The unhappiness in her child's eyes made her heart ache. It had been almost a year since Lorna had become withdrawn. She thought back to the day when Bjorn had returned in the nearly destroyed longboat and told the shocked village of Kiera's death. Confused, Lorna had pushed past her father and the other sailors. She had searched every nook and cranny of the ship for her friend, convinced that it was all an elaborate game of hide and seek. Finally, her father had to physically remove his daughter from the longboat, the villagers staring silently as the young girl pleaded for her friend to come out of hiding.

  Dagmar had tried everything to snap Lorna out of her year-long state of melancholy, but nothing had worked. She sighed as she wiped her brow with her apron and returned to her scrubbing. Perhaps leaving this cursed Vinland and returning to Greenland would be the best thing for Lorna. Everywhere, it seemed, sadness had been etched into this deceptively beautiful land. Until they climbed onto the ships for the long sail back east, they would all have to immerse themselves in hard work to keep the ever-present ghosts at bay.

  “Momma, can I go see the goats in the pasture?”

  Dagmar looked up. “After you fetch the kindling I asked you to get earlier this morning.”

  Lorna frowned. “Yes, Momma.”

  “Don't go beyond the boundaries,” Dagmar reminded her.

  “Yes, Momma.”

  Lorna trudged off into the thicker grass, heading towards a thin glade of rustling poplars that grew along the river's edge. She halfheartedly picked up several twigs, then glanced across to the far side of the water for perhaps a final glimpse of her flying friend. As she looked up, something peculiar caught her eye.

  At the far edge of the meadow, where the river curved back to the sea, Lorna saw a sudden flash of light. Curious, she stopped and stared to see if it would happen again. Nothing. Had it been her imagination? She was about to return to her collecting duties when she saw a second flash, this time much closer.

  The flash was accompanied by a voice. It was a faint voice, but strangely familiar. It was the voice that had haunted her dreams for nearly a year. There was somebody coming up the river! Breaking her parents' most important rule, she crossed the village boundary line and eagerly fought through the barrier of thorns and stinging nettles that guarded the river's edge.

  The warning call came from Gunnar. He was perched halfway up the mast of the last dry-docked ship. His eyes had also caught the flash from the river. Full of trepidation, he cupped his hands and yelled towards the village.

  “Skraelings!”

  The warning crackled throughout the village. Everyone dropped what they were doing and scrambled to their defensive positions. A deadly fight was about to begin. The men working on the ships left their tools and sprinted for the longhouses and their weapons within. The women gathered up their children and herded them into the back corner of the central longhouse. In all the pandemonium, no one heard the distant call of a woman's voice.

  Dagmar, frantically pacing the edge of the village boundary, screamed in panic.

  “Lorna! Where are you? Lorna!”

  Terrified, she turned and ran back into the village. There she saw Thorfinn, who was organizing the men into battle groups. Hysterically, she shook his arm so hard that she nearly flipped the helmet off his head.

  “Dagmar, what…”

  “Lorna! She's missing! She's gone! Help, please! If the skraelings get her, I don't know what I'll do!”

  Thorfinn grabbed Dagmar firmly by the shoulders. “Dagmar, calm down. I promise that we'll find Lorna before we do anything else. Where did you last see her?”

  “Over there! At…at the edge of the meadow,” she stammered, pointing with a trembling finger. “She was out gathering kindling.”

  He spun around to face the other armed men. “All right everyone, listen! Lorna is missing! Magnus and Gunnar, you come with me. We're going after her. The rest of you need to fall back to your defensive positions. We'll join you as soon as we can.”

  The gathering broke up as three men sprinted towards the edge of the meadow. Thorfinn knew that time was not on his side. If it was a large skraeling assault, then the villagers would be hopelessly outnumbered. Having three of their best fighters away from their positions could make the difference between a victory and an unthinkable disaster.

  The men came to a halt at the wall of vegetation that marked the village boundary. Thorfinn scanned the area. On a nearby thorn bush, he spied a tiny piece of cloth. From there, a trail of bent foliage led towards the edge of the river. Without further hesitation, the three men tore through the stinging grasses, hoping it would not be too late.

  “Hello! It's me, Kiera! I'm returning with a friend. Please, don't be alarmed!”

  Kiera continued her calling, hoping that the village would hear the familiar Nordic language and not panic at their arrival. She knew the village was just around the next bend. She also knew that the villagers would be on edge, worrying about another attack now that spring had returned. She fought her nervousness and continued to call. Perhaps the worst had already occurred. Perhaps she was too late. Her stomach tightened as she contemplated the possibility that the Vikings had already left for Greenland without her.

  It had taken Kiera and Chocan eleven days to paddle along the camouflaged confines of the western coast to the mouth of the Viking river. It was a longer and less direct route, but it had reduced the chances of further conta
ct with the Thule. Had their safer route resulted in her missing the departure?

  Kiera refused to give up hope. Both she and Chocan had come so far. In her excitement, however, Kiera had forgotten about the ochre. Her hair and body were slathered in the red pigment that now felt like her second skin. It had served its purpose in preventing the worst of the blackfly swarms from feeding upon her as they travelled through the marshy shorelines. It never occurred to her that she should have looked at her own reflection before entering the river.

  Lorna stood at the edge of the steep overhang and stared at the approaching craft. Her eyes focused on what looked like a woman standing in the front of a strange boat. Lorna had never seen anything like her before. Her face, hair, even her clothes were covered in a dark red stain. She wore a badly sewn skraeling leather top and a wool skirt that was filthy and torn. But even from this distance, Lorna could make out a pair of unmistakable green eyes. They were the same eyes that had smiled at her since she was very small.

  In her child's mind, she could easily explain the strange sight. Kiera had come back from the dead. Kiera had heard her daily prayers and now, thanks to her, Kiera's spirit was returning back to the village. By the colour of her reddened skin, it appeared that Lorna had rescued her friend from the eternal fires, which delighted her even more. She had managed to save her best friend from damnation. Her prayers to God had come true!

  “Kiera!”

  Lorna launched herself off the overhang and dropped into the river below.