Runestone

by Don Coldsmith

  At least, Dove thought, I have him for now.

  This was an advantage that she must not overlook. If she could make his life pleasant enough, he might not want to leave.

  69

  Calling Dove might have been even more concerned if she had known her husband’s actual thoughts. He was not thinking so much of his people and his home as he was of the geography of this place. The river, it appeared, was flowing in a southerly direction. The smaller streams that they had seen in their travels for the past year had done the same.

  Gradually, an idea was forming in his mind, a general idea of the configuration of this great land, that which they called Vinland. The Norsemen had crow-hopped across the Atlantic, colonizing as they went. Eric the Red, fleeing from the law, had done so. His sons, Leif and Thorwald, had continued the push westward. Iceland, Greenland, Newfoundland, Vinland … It was only now, however, that Nils had begun to see the immensity of this Vinland. It must be much larger than Greenland, even. He had doubted the stories of the People at first, that the land stretched westward a lifetime’s travel. After all, stories are meant to be exaggerated. But here, it seemed, all things were bigger than the story. The immensity of the inland seas of fresh water had not been fully realized. The land, too … Vast stretches of mountains and prairie, reaching on westward forever, it seemed.

  Nils had begun to ponder the stories of nations and clans that they encountered. They still talked of the wider lands to the west. No one they had seen knew where it might end.

  And now, this river. He had noted as they traveled a slight rise, or divide, between the lakes and the rolling plain to the south. There were small streams flowing northward, but mostly, the watershed seemed to be to the south. These streams, then, must flow into a large body of water somewhere in that direction. He had considered what it might be. More of these strange freshwater seas? It was possible, of course. Anything was possible, it seemed, in this land so different from anything known in Europe. However, it seemed unlikely to him. He was certain that they had crossed a divide, and that the watershed where they now camped was sloping south. South, away from the freshwater seas, and probably back to the ocean.

  What was needed, he knew, was a map or chart of some sort. The impression that the river had made on him was greater than he realized, and he found himself thinking in terms of navigation. He knew that they had traveled quite a distance to the south. The position of the Polestar said so. He had paid less attention to it for the past year or two. He had been preoccupied with the problems of the People, and with the delights of watching his son grow and learn.

  Now, however, the river had quickened his seafaring blood. He had almost forgotten the uneasiness that he had felt when he first saw it. No longer did he wonder what lay in its dark channels. He was amused, almost, that he had felt that dread. It was certainly inappropriate for a seafarer. A river, especially one of this size, is a highway to the sea, and its pull was becoming stronger. Maybe the canoes, too, were a factor. Give a boatman a boat, and it opens the world to him. And, though these canoes were intended primarily to help the People in crossing this watery barrier, he began to see other possibilities.

  “Sven,” he asked, “do you still have your charts?”

  The sailor looked a bit startled, and somewhat apologetic. “Yes,” he answered tentatively. “I have not kept them up. You want to see them?”

  “Yes. I would talk with you of this, Sven. This river flows south, no?”

  “Of course.”

  “And where does it go?”

  Svenson shrugged. “Back to the sea.”

  Nils was startled by that answer. The sailor had not said “to the sea,” but “back to the sea.” This would suggest that Sven, too, felt something of the pull to explore the waterway.

  “Do you remember,” Nils went on, “how some of those at Straumfjord were talking of how big this Vinland might be?”

  Sven nodded, puzzled, but said nothing.

  “Karlsefni thought it might even be a new continent,” Nils went on. “Maybe it is.”

  “It seems so,” Svenson agreed. “But what—”

  “Let us look at your charts,” Nils suggested.

  Svenson fumbled among his belongings and came out with the birchbark maps. The two men withdrew to a quiet place and Sven opened the bundle.

  “I have not made an entry since before we saw the lake at Mishi-ghan,” Svenson admitted.

  “No matter. I wanted only the bigger picture. Let us align it with north.”

  Quickly, with the use of the sun-stone, the map was oriented and they began to study its features.

  “The river would be about here, no?” asked Nils.

  “Yes, off the map, there.”

  “Let us put it on the sand, here, to draw a little more.” He picked up a stick. “Now, here would be Mishi-ghan, at about the edge of your map, no?”

  “Yes,” Svenson answered, “about there.”

  “And let us draw in where we think the coast might be.”

  “To the south?”

  “No, the east. Straumfjord is here, no?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And we know something of that coastline. The Ericksons have sailed southward along the coast, have they not?”

  “Yes, Thorwald said—” Sven began.

  Nils motioned him to silence, now warming to the excitement of his theory.

  “So, they will be exploring in this direction. The coastline runs southwestward as far as they had sailed.”

  “Yes …” Svenson agreed, beginning to understand.

  “Now, if we follow this river, it will lead to the sea. The Ericksons will be exploring around the coast, trading—”

  “Nils, it has been six years!” Sven sputtered.

  “All the better! They will have colonies. Maybe at the mouth of this very river. They could sail a longship this far upstream, even. We might meet them!”

  Svenson was staring in openmouthed astonishment.

  “You want to go down this river?”

  “Why not? We have the canoes. It would be an easy thing. Float along … Sven, I am made to think that this river is our way home!”

  “But … but Nils, what if they are not there?”

  Nils shrugged. “No matter. We follow the coast northeast. Somewhere, we will meet our people. Sven, they must have more colonies by now. Leif is as anxious to colonize as Thorwald is to explore.”

  “That is true,” Sven agreed, beginning to catch the excitement of the grandiose idea. “But we do not know how far.”

  “Of course. But we can reach the sea without much effort. And think … We can hand Thorwald Erickson a chart of the interior!”

  Both chuckled. That in itself would be a crowning achievement. Yet Svenson still had reservations.

  “But Nils, your family …”

  “We take them. Look, Sven, we have two canoes. Each can carry five or six people and their baggage. Some goods to trade, maybe. You and I, Odin and his family … we need him to help with languages.”

  “You have spoken to Odin of this?”

  “No, the idea is new to me, too. I have said nothing to Calling Dove, even.”

  “You had best do that, my friend,” Sven chuckled. “But yes, I think this thing could be done. Had you thought of when?”

  “No. But the People plan to cross the river as soon as the weather opens up. The Moon of Greening, maybe?”

  “Probably. As soon as the ice clears the river.”

  “Good. We could help get everyone across, and then start downriver in the canoes. We would be heading into warmer climate, and would have all season to reach the ocean. Sven, we can do this!”

  Svenson was becoming more enthusiastic, but had a few reservations.

  “Nils, before we launch this trip, we must talk to the women and to Odin. What if they do not want to go?”

  Nils thought for a moment. “Let us talk to Odin first. We can see if he thinks this could be done.”

  I
t was not yet evening when Nils drew the Skraeling aside and briefly explained their theory. Odin’s one eye widened with wonder.

  “You have talked with Dove about this?”

  “No … I …”

  “You would leave your family?”

  “No, no, Odin. We would all take our families.”

  “Oh. That is different, then. Maybe … yes, it could be done.”

  “To the sea?”

  “Yes. The Hidatsa have talked to people who say there is a salty sea to the south.”

  “I knew it!” Nils exclaimed triumphantly. “It can be done! Will you help us, Odin?”

  Odin appeared lost in thought for a little while. “Yes,” he said finally. “But this is a very big thing, Wolf. We must go slowly, talk with our wives. There is a little time before we must decide. But yes, I will go. Your people were good to me. And I am made to think this can be done.”

  Nils’s enthusiasm was tempered somewhat by Odin’s remark, “Your people were good to me.” He was a bit embarrassed at his own feelings when they first met. He had considered the Skraeling as a lower-class being than himself, a, sort of half-human barbarian. The others at Straumfjord had had even less regard for the Skraelings. Now this man was one who had not only saved his life repeatedly, but who was a friend. Possibly, Nils thought, the best friend that he had ever had.

  “So,” Odin went on, “let us talk with the women. We will speak of it later.”

  They rose to go back toward the longhouse, and Odin spoke again.

  “Does Fire Man know of this?”

  “Yes. We decided to talk to you and then to the women.”

  “It is good. This could be a great quest, Wolf.”

  Nils smiled. He could see that this was beginning to stir Odin’s imagination, too. His own excitement was mounting, and he was becoming more confident of ultimate success.

  He did not know, of course, that Thorwald Erickson had been killed in a battle with Skraelings some years before, that the colony at Straumfjord had been abandoned, and that Leif Erickson had seriously curtailed his explorations.

  More important than any of these facts, however, was one that he did not even suspect. The great river that appeared to be their highway home led not into the ocean traversed by the Norsemen, but into the southern gulf.

  70

  Once the decision was made, the period of waiting began. It was easy for Nils to become impatient. The People with their easygoing ways settled in for the winter quite comfortably, but it was harder for him to do so. Up to a point, he could adopt the day-to-day attitude of his wife’s people, but this was different.

  He began to wonder how he had managed to refrain from such impatience for the past few years. The possibility of returning to the sea and maybe even on to his native land was a stimulating thing. Though he did not realize it at the time, it may have been the journey itself, not the goal, that inspired his excitement. It was a wonderful vision that now challenged his imagination. He could imagine a gathering of ships’ masters back in Stadt. He had listened sometimes as a boy, while the older men told tales of the sea. But there had been none that could even approach the tale he and Svenson could tell now. They would have maps and charts of the great inland waterways, and of the river by which they had returned to the sea. They would proudly introduce their families. It would also be good to watch Calling Dove and her mother as they discovered all the miraculous things of the modern world.

  Odin had not yet decided whether he and Hawk Woman would go on to the home of the Norsemen or not. There were the two girls to consider, ages six and nine. Their presence might complicate such a journey beyond acceptable limits. Hawk Woman was reluctant.

  “We will see,” Odin said cautiously. “If we find that this can be done, then will be time to decide.”

  This, of course, was logical. Odin had the ability to see beyond the immediate, acquired from bitter experience. Nils found it interesting that Odin had no hesitation at all about the journey itself. He had only a reservation about what course to take at the other end.

  “We are traveling anyway,” Odin explained. “This is only a change in direction. If there are problems, we can return to the People.”

  Yes, Nils reflected, I had not thought of that. But if, for any reason, the voyage downriver seemed not to be practical, they, too, could turn back. Even if it had been a season or two, they could return to wherever the People had decided to settle.

  That, too, was a matter that was much discussed that winter. There was a general feeling that once across the great river, the People should begin to look for a permanent site on which to build. Maybe this was far enough to go, and it was time to put down roots again. That, of course, would make it easier to rejoin the People if it became necessary. Nils wasted little time on such a thought, but it was there, to be noted in passing.

  One thing that was noted this winter was that there seemed to be less snow in this area. There were discussions around the fires. Younger people felt that this might be only normal variation from one season to the next.

  “No, I am made to think not,” said old Clay, the holy man. “The snow is not nearly so deep here, or for the last two winters.”

  “Do you think this is because we are farther south, Uncle?” asked Nils.

  The old man looked at him in mild surprise, and took a puff or two on his pipe before answering.

  “Maybe,” he finally said, “but maybe not. There is not so much water here. Cold Maker likes ice.”

  Nils thought of the ice-giants of his own mythology, and it seemed logical enough. It takes water to make ice, so in terms of a mythical being who depends on ice, it was much the same. The remarkable thing was the similarity of the two stories.

  “You think, Uncle, that this is why the snow is not so deep here?”

  Clay’s eyes twinkled as he shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? But it is not. That is enough for me.”

  Nils smiled. He was thinking of a saying that he had heard somewhere, about looking a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Yes, it is good, no?” he asked.

  Still, the questions lingered in his mind. Was the climate changing as they moved westward? How much effect did latitude have as they moved southward? And the lakes … was Clay’s suspicion valid, that water brings snow? He realized that he might never know for sure. Some day, someone might.

  There were snows, of course, some driven by icy winds and drifting enough to become a nuisance. Still, this was not as bad as many winters that they had experienced in their own country. And the ice on the river was never quite frozen solidly enough to attempt a crossing on foot. The People ventured to walk on the ice near the shore, but farther out it became less trustworthy, and to be avoided. It was only two seasons ago that a tragedy had occurred.

  Three small boys had been playing on the ice. As the lone survivor related the story, the other two had been challenging each other, to see who could go farthest out onto the frozen water. They became more daring, even as the ice began to speak in musical creaking tones. He had not seen a crack appear, but suddenly one of his friends plunged through into the icy water and disappeared. The second ran to help him and another fracture claimed him, too. The sobbing boy who told the story related how he had screamed and run for help. Men came running with ropes and poles, but there was no sign of the victims. The river’s current and Cold Maker’s chill had claimed their victims.

  The People had become more cautious about the treacherous ice of the frozen rivers. There seemed no doubt that something was different about the climate here.

  Nils and Calling Dove talked often of the coming journey. She had misunderstood at first. He had started to explain to her what he had in mind when he noticed that her eyes were filled with tears. She was trying to choke them back, with little success.

  “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

  “You are telling me that you are leaving me?”

  “What? No, no, Dove. I … oh, no!”

  “Bu
t the canoes … the river … you said—”

  “Dove, I would not do that. I want to be with you!”

  She brightened for a moment, but then showed concern again. “Then you are not going?”

  “Yes … that is, I want to go, if you will come with me.”

  He had not decided what to do if she refused, and her manner concerned him greatly. But only for a moment.

  “Oh!” Dove said, wiping her eyes. “Of course. Who else is going?”

  “The others are talking of it, too. Your brother and Hawk; Fire Man and Fawn. The children, of course,”

  She gave him the smile that could always cure any ill for him, solve any problem. He had not seen that smile recently, he recalled. He was confused for a moment before the truth dawned on him, and then a great sadness swept over him. Had she actually believed? …

  “You thought I would leave you?” he blurted.

  She did not answer immediately, but her tears told the story, coming now with a rush, in a mixture of laughter and crying. He gathered her in his arms.

  “I … I thought maybe—” she stammered.

  “Ssh … No, no, Dove,” he crooned, holding her close. “I would not—” he broke off, unable to speak further.

  Now they were both laughing and crying all at once, and holding each other tightly. Finally she pulled away and brushed the tears from her face.

  “It is good,” she giggled, “Tell me now, Wolf, how it is to be, this great adventure.”

  Nils warmed to his subject, telling her of his theories about the river and its course, of the trading voyages of the Erick-sons, and how he expected to meet his people on the coast.

  “I do not understand the big canoes,” she said. “My brother says they have wings?”

  He tried to explain the use of sails, and found that Dove grasped the idea quickly.

  “Yes,” she said, “it is easier in a canoe, to go with the wind than against it.”

  “Right! And if you held up a robe, it would go faster!”

  “But what if there is no wind, Wolf?”

  “Then they wait. But there are long paddles. Men can use those.”