by Walt Socha
As four of the Haven men slipped over the gunwale, Matuso repeated Larry’s words in Eire for the refugees. Their faces relaxed. Marcan grabbed one of the oars and started polling along with the uninjured Havenites. Realizing he’d spoken in English, Larry nodded his thanks to Matuso.
After another quarter mile, a series of shallow rapids stopped their forward motion. Brush lined the banks, occasionally broken by clumps of twisted trees. On the starboard bank, several of the men peered into a narrow break in the bushes. “This game trail leads to a small clearing,” one said.
“Stay put,” Larry said in Eire, pulling up the rudder and lashing it to the port gunwale. “Matuso, keep watch. I’ll see if there’s any place to set up camp.” Pulling his axe from his pack, Larry slipped overboard and flinched as the cold water wetted his leggings to his knees.
The men parted as he approached the faint trail. “Start widening it from this end while I check it out,” he said. Branches and vines scratched his bare head as he forced his bulk into a path more suited for something the size of a fox.
The trail broke into a small meadow, maybe 40 by 60 strides, enclosed by stubby pines, twisted oaks, and the ever-present brush. “This is home for the night,” he called over this shoulder as he inspected their new camp. He nodded. Barely big enough, it was well hidden.
“Keep widening it.” He swung his axe at an errant limb. A quarter of an hour’s work placed him back at the ship.
“We’ll be here for a day or so,” Larry said to the expectant faces peering from the ship. “So get yourselves to shore. Bring the animals. We’ll pile up a brush fence for the sheep but best keep those damned pigs hobbled.”
“Guards?” Matuso said.
“Half the uninjured to rotate watches. At least one up a tree. The rest with me. We'll scout upstream.” Flexing his stiff hands, Larry looked to the sun. “About mid-day. We’ll be back by evening.” He rubbed his stomach. “And we’ll be hungry.”
“What of the supplies?”
“Take out what you’ll need to make camp. We’ll decide about the rest when we get back.”
* * *
“The valley looks pretty good.” Larry wiped up the last of the dinner stew with the remainder of his coarse bread and stuffed it into his mouth. He stood and nodded his thanks to the wounded Tamatu, who had led the day’s cooking crew.
“We followed the river up into a large lake.” Cassan looked up from his own bowl, filling in for the still chewing Larry. “Or what we call a lough.”
He glanced at Ivar. “What’s this river called?”
“I believe it’s called the Caragh,” the priest said.
Cassan nodded. “The lake is pinched into two sections as the middle of the lake is girdled by steep hills. We traveled game trails along those hills to a point where we could overlook the upper part of the valley. It’s much wider there and a smaller river—the upper Caragh?—drains that larger area of the valley into the lake.”
“Thanks for cooking,” Larry said, handing his empty bowl to Tamatu. He turned to face his men and refugees gathered around the cook fire. “I’m thinking it would be best to move to the lake and camp on a small peninsula where the lake narrows and cuts through the hills that Cassan mentioned. That's a good place to hold the sheep and pigs. It’s a couple of miles.” He paused and stretched is arm toward the sun. “Or how long to walk a hand of time. We'll camp there a couple of days while me and the uninjured drag Seabird up the rest of this river.” He glanced toward the water and snorted. “Or this oversized creek.”
Several of the men laughed.
“There’s a bit of a shortcut over a small pass just south-east of here,” Larry said. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Ivar said, standing. “It’s the Lord’s day.”
Larry turned and, with hands on his hips, glared at the young priest, wishing he’d left him back at Deirdre’s farmstead to greet the raiders. “I’m sure your fucking Northmen and Ur Neill will spend the day in prayer instead of following our sorry asses.”
“Actually,” Matuso said in a neutral voice, “it may be a good idea to rest a day. Hatimu’s leg is acting up. And we could pack what we’d need for the hike to the valley and leave the rest in Seabird.”
Larry blew out a long breath and looked around. The refugees whispered among themselves but most of his men just stood, faces open. Both groups looked exhausted. On the opposite side of the cook fire, Hatimu looked down, biting his lip. “We could all use a rest,” Larry said finally. “And repacking is a good idea, given our rush to leave Deirdre’s farmstead. Leave what we don’t need for the next several days in Seabird. It won’t add that much weight.”
“Is the valley inhabited?” Ivar asked.
“Didn’t see any smoke. And no cultivated land.”
“What of crops?” Deidre asked, nodding to the stew in her bowl. “It’s late in the year. The sun has already passed its highest point.”
“What do you care?” From the other side of the fire circle, Anya shifted her son, Conal, to her right breast, the flickering shadows of the firelight animating a small half-moon birthmark above the infant’s right ear. “You never get your soft hands dirty.”
“Shut up, whore.” Deirdre stood, dropping her empty bowl on the ground.
“I’m a whore because your father would rather sard me than your mother.” Both Anya’s eyebrows and chin rose.
“So you consider yourself more desirable?” Deirdre’s shoulders drew back as she took in a deep breath, thrusting out her smaller chest.
“Yes, but that is not the reason that he played with me,” Anya said. “Your father liked the sheep, also.”
Deirdre screamed as she stepped toward Anya. Larry shifted to block her way, feeling her bounce off his torso. Clamping one hand on her shoulder, he turned to glare at the laughing men. They quieted.
Stepping close, he whispered to Deidre, “I think you should sit down.”
* * *
“Larry, here.” Larry stepped from the trees into the moonlight at the edge of a small open area on the hill above camp. “I’ll take the next watch.”
“Good,” Matuso said, letting the half drawn sword slip back in place. “The only reason I’m still awake is that it hurts when I fall over.”
Larry moved to Matuso’s side. “Thoughts?”
“I assume you are referring to the young women?” Matuso said. “I do not understand these people. So much anger.”
“Life is hard here.” Larry looked over the moonlit landscape. A flicker of light betrayed their camp in the dark moon shadow of the mountain. Fog softened the indistinct features of the flat lands to the east that stretched out from the bay, which was blocked to the south and north by the mountain ranges that formed each peninsulas. No other lights pierced the night.
“What would Joe say about them?” Larry turned to his young friend, a dark statue in the dim night.
“Father would probably start talking, asking about their hopes and fears,” Matuso said. “And he’d just keep talking until everyone settled down.” A small chuckle escaped. “I will try the same.”
“Do you miss Haven?”
“Yes.” The dark statue moved closer to stand next to Larry. “But these new lands call me. And you?”
“Ever since Sesapa died, Haven’s lost the feeling of home.” Larry shifted his weight. Should he burden his young friend with his problems? His guilt? “Not sure what ‘home’ means anymore.”
“She will live long in our memories. Someday, maybe I’ll find a mate like her.”
Shifting again, Larry looked over to the young warrior. Mid-height and wiry, he took after his father physically. Easy going and friendly, he also matched Joe’s temperament. But unlike his father’s pragmatic indifference to the spiritual, Matuso had taken to Potts and Brent’s Buddhist approach to life.
“Can’t complain.” Larry turned, eyes following the gossamer threads that defined the Caragh River below them. “Got Fergus and
Kaylin. And maybe some grandkids if either ever settles down.”
“Hard to settle under the shadow of your legacy.”
“Don’t start that shit. I’m nobody special.” Larry breathed in, trying to dispel the ember of irritation. He only did what had to be done at the time. Never really had a choice.
“I know that personally.” The shadow turned toward Larry. “I have my father’s footsteps to follow.”
Larry sighed as the ember died. Joe had formed Haven out of sheer perseverance. And started a trading empire that now spanned the entire eastern coast of what they had known as North America. And that would have extended to Eire—Ireland in this past-future—if he hadn’t screwed up this trip.
Yeah, it would be difficult to grow up as the son of Haven’s founder. And Larry’s own role might have been less dramatic but legends about him, factual or not, still grew. Maybe his kids did feel pressure to prove themselves. Especially Fergus. Larry had pushed him especially hard—maybe too hard—but that was because he knew what his son would likely face outside the safety of Haven’s lands. “Maybe you’re right.”
Chapter 7
July 12
Larry opened his eyes only to see dim branches and leaves. Closing them, he tried to sort recent memories. Which were worse, the nightmares or his day realities?
Crawling out of his sleeping blankets and skins, he cursed his joints and wondered if some of the trees along the river were willows. They kind of looked like willows. If so, maybe Matuso could brew him up something for the ache.
As Larry stood, he scanned the camp. Matuso stooped by the fire ring, prodding last night’s embers.
As Larry approached the cook fire, Matuso looked up. “Something hot?” The younger man leaned toward the fire and grabbed a pot. “The ladies collected some herbs yesterday that make an acceptable tea. I think at least one is a member of the mint family.” Matuso looked around at the slumbering camp. “It may be awhile before we organize food.”
“No, I want to get the Seabird ready for rock climbing.” Larry looked over the camp. Most of his men and the refugees were no more than hide covered lumps scattered around the small clearing. “Maybe even start dragging it upriver while Ivar does whatever he does on a Sunday. Gonna be a bitch. Gets more rocky the closer we get to the lake. I'll eat after we get that little project going.” Adjusting his sword belt, Larry headed toward the trampled trail leading to the river. “I’ll be on the ship. Or chopping logs to roll that damned boat over the shallows. Send down the able-bodied as they wake.”
* * *
Matuso watched Larry head toward the Seabird. The big man started limping just before he disappeared down the trail. He added another hunk of broken wood to the fire. There was plenty; the men had made a show of chopping up a fallen tree and the debris from the path. Probably to impress Deirdre and Anya. Matuso let out a small snort. In spite of their attitudes, they were attractive young ladies. And with her breasts swollen with milk, Anya even drew covert glances from Larry.
But would he have a better attitude if he’d grown up in the violence of this society? Shaking his head, Matuso stood and walked to a pile of bags and baskets sheltered by one of the Seabird’s sails. Favoring his injured left arm, he searched through the assorted contents.
“May I help?” a small voice asked. Anya stood at his side, her baby hidden in a blanket tied over her shoulder.
“Yes, please.” Matuso shifted to his left. “I’m looking for the grinding stones and the grains. We used up the last of the ground wheat and rye for last night's meal.”
Anya’s eyebrows wrinkled together. “That’s women’s work.” Under the layer of dirt and ash, her skin appeared smooth.
“Feeding one’s tribe is a honor for both men and women.” He forced a neutral expression. He wasn’t a fresh flower, but she stank. “How is Conal? I think I heard you say that was his name.”
Anya’s face split into a wide smile. “He is well. And tired from a long suckle.” She shifted the blanket and pulled at her blouse. “My teats are very sore.”
Tightening his jaw and exhaling through his nose, Matuso forced his eyes to one of the leather bags. “Here are the grinding stones.” He shifted his eyes to hers. “Can you find the grain please?”
By the time they had started grinding grain for porridge, most of the men had rolled up sleeping skins and blankets and, after long glances in Matuso and Anya’s direction, had joined Larry at the ship. The sounds of axes biting into wood, grunting men, and Larry’s curses carried up from the river and over the sound of stone on stone. Matuso fed grain onto the bottom stone as Anya pushed the top stone back and forth with both hands. His heart pounded in his ears in time to the swaying breasts that threatened to escape her mended shift.
* * *
With the hazy sun near high, Larry strode up the trampled path from the river into camp. Across the clearing, most of the refugees milled about Ivar, several breaking away to walk toward the cook fire in the center of the clearing. To the left, Deirdre sat on her blanket looking miserable, her mouth and eyebrows pinched. Her own moving eyes caught his and held them for several heartbeats before she looked down.
Squatting next to the cook fire, Anya handed out clay bowls of porridge to a growing crowd of men and the first of the refugees. Feeding wood to the flames, Hatimu sat next to her, his bandaged left leg stretched out along the rocks that contained the flames.
Larry stopped for a moment, observing that neither Deirdre nor Anya had joined in Ivar’s Sunday ceremonies. As he reached Anya, he took his bowl. Turning away, he noticed Deirdre's empty hands. Larry turned to face Anya again. “Can I please have another bowl for Deirdre?”
Anya froze, her hand hovering over an empty bowl. After a long moment, she filled it, added a spoon to the bowl, and held both up to Larry.
“Thanks Anya,” Larry said, noting the tightened muscles around her mouth. He walked over to Deirdre and handed one of the bowls to the silent woman. He lowered himself to the ground and started eating from the second. As he chewed the thick gruel, he wondered if it had been a mistake to take these two under his protection.
After slurping up the last of the porridge, Larry turned to Deirdre. “Can I take your bowl?”
She stared at him, mouth open. After a few breaths, she closed it and held out her empty vessel.
Larry took it and walked to the fire where Anya was serving Matuso. As he handed the empty bowls to Hatimu, Fennore joined him, balancing several empty bowls. “How was your food?” Larry asked. “Did you get enough to eat?” He helped her set the bowls next to Hatimu.
“Yes, Honorable…” She bit her lip, and then smiled. “Yes, Larry.”
“That’s good. Is everything well with you and your family?”
“My father and mother are scared.”
“Well, they need not be. Not while I am here.”
“It is said that you will leave soon.”
Larry blew out a breath. “Yes, we will leave for our home someday. But we will make sure that you are safe before we do so.”
“Where is your home?”
“Many days sailing to the west.”
Fennore looked away for a moment. Then stared back at him again. “Why is your skin dark?”
“My mother cooked me too long.”
Fennore’s mouth opened then closed.
Larry laughed and tousled her hair. “No. My father had dark skin. So I do also.”
She matched his laugh and ran back to her family.
Larry stood and looked around, eyes stopping briefly at each of his men. Several moved closer. “We still have half a day of light. Let’s get a start on moving the Seabird,” he said, looking toward the sun, even more of a blur as darker clouds sped across the sky. “We may get some rain. But given how I smell, that would probably be a good thing.” A couple of the men laughed. Several of the refugees squinted in puzzlement. From the edge of the clearing, Deirdre continued staring.
“We may have a problem with food,�
�� Larry said. The men stopped their chatter. “Keelin?” He looked at the elder refugee woman who now had a full bowl in her gnarled hands. “Can you show us what wild plants are edible?” he asked.
She nodded, a small smile lifting the edges of her mouth.
“Matuso and Cassan, can you go with Keelin?” Larry said, looking at Ros’ son.
Cassan frowned. After several seconds under Larry’s steady gaze, he turned and walked away to the edge of the trees.
Larry followed to where Cassan stood staring at the darkness within the trees. “What’s wrong?”
Cassan turned to Larry, face red. “Am I a girl that picks weeds in the forest?”
Larry drew in a long breath. Let it out and concentrated on relaxing his muscles. “Look, we need Keelin’s knowledge, and I would appreciate it if you protected and assisted her.” Larry felt the weight on his shoulders press a bit harder but tried not to let it show. In this culture, many teenagers were probably already training to be warriors. “Food is everyone’s problem.”
Cassan remained silent, but his face softened as his gaze shifted back to nowhere.
“Look, back in Haven, the most important person is Kristi.” Larry let out a chuckle. “Some say she’s a goddess. But she’s just a smart woman.”
“Women belong on the farm. Men go to war.”
“War is for those not smart enough to learn how to get along.”
Cassan turned. “You fight.”
“Only when there is no other choice. I’d like to think that all people are part of the same family.”
“Others are evil.”
“Both sides in any argument say the same thing.” Larry took in a long breath. “But yes, sometimes one side has an evil leader. But I really believe that all people are basically good.” He let the air out. "Sometimes, they’re too stupid to live."
In the dim light, Cassan’s shoulders drooped.
“Look,” Larry said. “I’ll switch off with you. Acceptable?”
Cassan turned and cracked a small smile in the dappled light.
