East

Rose

I COULD NOT at first take it in.

I was alone, completely alone on the vast sea, in a battered, broken, waterlogged knorr. The mast was gone; all that remained was a jagged stub little taller than I. The sail had come loose from its lashing, and part of it lay draped across the deck while more than half of it hung overboard, dragging in the sea. And there was a large tear through it. The steering oar was gone, and it looked as though much of the cargo had been swept overboard as well.

I began to shake.

The wind had subsided to a stiff breeze and the knorr rode the waves, oblivious that its sole occupant was a disheveled, terrified girl. My trembling grew worse. Then, telling myself I must not give in to panic, I stood up. I needed to find a bucket. The knorr had taken on a great deal of water during the storm and was riding dangerously low.

But I could see no buckets for bailing. What if they had all been washed overboard? Perhaps one had gotten lodged under the sail. With difficulty I lifted one side of the wet, heavy sail. Gazing down I let out a gasp.

At first I thought the thing was a dead sea creature, then realized with horror it was a bloody leg. It lay oddly, looking as if it were disconnected from a body. My heart beating fast, I heaved up more of the sail.

There was Thor. The leg stuck out at a strange angle from his body. As I pushed the wet sailcloth off him, I saw that his eyes were closed and his face, too, was covered with blood from a jagged gash on the forehead. He looked dead—his skin was gray and there was so much blood—but then his body twitched and he let out a soft moan.

One arm, too, was bent at an awkward angle, and the hand was clutching the broken-off tiller. I leaned over him, feeling for his pulse. It beat under my fingers but was slow and irregular. Thor moaned again.

It took all my strength to wrestle the huge sail completely off him. Breathing hard from the exertion, I searched for something to stanch the flow of blood from his forehead and his leg. I found several cargo boxes lodged underneath the deck boards, and inside one was a large bolt of linen. I went back above and got the knife that Thor wore at his side; his eyes barely flickered as I removed it from its sheath. Returning belowdecks I used the knife to cut and tear off a length of the fabric. I took it back up to Thor and swabbed at the cut on his face. The cut was deep, with jagged edges, and I could see the whiteness of bone underneath. It needed stitching, I thought, reminded of injuries I had seen back on the farm. For the time being I tied a makeshift bandage tightly around his head, then turned my attention to his leg. The gash there wasn't as deep, I was glad to see. But his leg definitely looked as though it was broken. His arm, too.

Thor's eyes flickered again as I worked over him, but then he lapsed back into unconsciousness. After wrapping his arm and leg to keep them steady, I covered him up to his chin with dry cloth, making him as comfortable as I could.

I rested a moment, then shakily got to my feet. I searched the ship from fore to aft, assessing the damage and confirming the grim truth that both Gest and Goran were nowhere to be found. They had been swept overboard. Anxiously, but with a sense of futility, I scanned the sea around me. Nothing but water. No sign of man or cargo, or even land.

My head pounded from the blow that had knocked me out. I sat there for a long time, staring at the water. I wanted to cry for the two men who had been swept into the sea, but I could not.

I remembered Gest, his courtly, laughing jests, as well as the musty, fishy smell of him. And Goran's slow movements and calm manner. How could they be gone, just like that?

As for Thor ... He was lying there, not very far from death himself. It was a miracle that I had survived the monstrous wave. And it was because of Thor that I had. I laid my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I listened to the water sloshing over the sides of the boat. I ran a finger across the smooth silver of the ring on my thumb.

Then I felt a warmth on the back of my head and raised my eyes to see the sun piercing the gray mantle of clouds above. Somehow the sight brought me out of my own private grayness.

I glanced over at Thor. If I was going to survive, I needed him. And I had to survive, because of the thing I had set myself to da Gazing up at the sun's position in the sky, I guessed that there were several hours before nightfall.

I retrieved my pack from under the deck boards and crossed to Thor. He was still unconscious, his pulse the same. I unwrapped the bandage on his head, which had soaked through with blood, and using a needle and a length of flaxen thread, I stitched up the gash. I had a fair amount of experience with such needlework; early on, Father had put me in charge of stitching up the wounds of the animals on our farm. Using a couple of broken planks and more cloth, I also did the best I could to set his broken leg and arm. Thor came to as I worked over him. An agonized scream burst out of him as I forced his leg bone into place. And another one, less intense, when I set the bone in his arm, pain shuddering through his body. By the time I had finished, he was unconscious again.

I made him as comfortable as I could, laying him on his side and covering him with dry cloth. Then, taking the piece of steering oar from Thor's hand, I went to inspect the tiller, wondering if there was some way I could repair it. It looked bad but not impossible, I thought.

First, though, the sail. It took some time to drag up the portion that hung over the side, but finally I had it all in, stretched out on the deck to dry in the sun. There was a jagged tear across much of the bottom of it. In the process of moving the sail, I found one of the buckets and bailed until well after sunset.

I thought the ship might be headed west, because the sun had set directly in front of us. But east or west ... in truth it mattered little in which direction we were heading because I had no idea where we were.

It grew cold without the sun. I searched but could not find any of the skin-sacks we had slept in on the ship. Exhausted, I crawled under the cloth I had used to cover Thor and lay beside him, thinking to keep us both warm. I must have dozed, for I suddenly came awake, uneasily, with the feeling that I was being watched. Disoriented, I thought for a moment that I was back in the castle and had just awakened beside my visitor.

But it was Thor's blue eyes that were gazing on me. They were unfocused and unreadable, but they were open.

The night was surprisingly bright; the moon was half full and the stars were like a million cold-flamed flickering candles spread across the sky. I could see Thor's face clearly. I sat up.

"Thor?" I said. He did not reply; nor did his gaze waver from my face.

"You were injured," I explained.

He blinked and tried to move his injured arm toward his face. Then he let out a groan and stopped moving.

"Gest, Goran..."

I could just barely make out the mumbled words. "They are gone," I said simply.

He closed his eyes then and kept them closed.

"Thor?" I whispered, feeling for his pulse.

His lids twitched.

"Rest now," I said, and I settled back down beside him. I listened intently to his breathing, which was ragged for a while but finally became more regular. Then I, too, slept.

When I awoke again it was dawn. The wind had freshened and the sun shone in a cloudless sky. Thor still slept.

I rose and stretched. If only I could repair the sail enough so that I could use it, maybe I could sail the knorr on my own. But even as I thought that, I knew it would be impossible. I hadn't the strength or the skill. I cursed myself for not paying closer attention to the men as they worked the sail. What would I do if Thor did not recover?

Luckily, there was food as well as water. I had found both when I searched the ship. Secure in a spot under the deck boards of the stern had been a crate of hard bread as well as a barrel of smoked and dried fish. I had also been quite excited to find a small box filled with pears from Fransk, which Gest had told me Thor planned to sell to the Njordens for a profit. But most important of all, I found two large casks of freshwater, along with four of ale and several of wine. I should have known that Thor's precious ale would survive—he stored it in the most protected spot on the ship.

I moved toward the center of the ship to see if there was any way I could light a cooking fire. I had found the cauldron and tripod the day before, also lodged under the sail, but there was nothing dry enough to use for kindling. I hurriedly ate a small meal of bread and smoked fish, then went to Thor.

He was awake, staring up at the sky. I filled a cup with water and sat beside him.

"Thor, drink this."

He glanced at me, then turned his gaze upward again. "Leave me be," he muttered.

"Just a little water," I coaxed.

He ignored me.

His manner frightened me. There was a blankness in his face, and it seemed as if he had made a choice to die rather than fight.

I sat still, uncertain of what to do.

"Thor..." I said. "You need water."

He did not respond.

I held the cup to his lips. "Please..."

He reached up with his left hand and, with a jerking motion, swatted the cup. The water spilled out, soaking the front of his clothing. "Leave me be," he repeated.

I felt a stirring of anger. He had wasted a cupful of precious water.

I left him. The sail was almost dry and I set about mending the tear in it. The cloth was thick, and it was difficult working a needle through it. It took most of the day to complete the mending. I checked on Thor frequently, each time offering food or water. But he continued to ignore me. I had seen his look before, in the eyes of a mother cow that had lost too much blood in a difficult birth and in those of a lamb whose neck had been broken in a fall.

I felt grief for the man, but also fear for myself. And I felt occasional surges of careless anger as I sat, thrusting my needle through the heavy cloth of the sail. Let him die if he chooses. I will manage.

But then I would look at the broken mast, the endless sea around me, and knew I could not.

I made the final knot and gazed at my handiwork with a sense of futility. I would never be able to raise the cursed thing. With an oath that would have done Thor proud, I stood and crossed to the dying man.

Standing over him I said loudly, "All right, go ahead and die! You called Gest and Goran cowards for lowering the sail, but it is you who is the coward."

His eyes flicked over at me and I thought I saw a spark of something in them.

"I did not think 'twas the way of a Viking to slink into death like a wounded lamb," I went on recklessly.

Then Thor muttered something I could not hear, but it sounded like he was cursing me.

"You may curse me all you like, but I am not the one who has given up," I said.

He raised his head and said, his teeth bared, "I am no coward."

"Then drink this," I challenged, holding the cup of water up to his face.

"To Niflheim with your blasted water," Thor rasped. "Bring me ale."

Without hesitating I quickly went to the casks of ale and drew him a brimming cupful. I held it to his lips, but he brought up his left hand and roughly took the cup from me. While he drank I got some hard bread and smoked fish. The ale was gone when I returned, and he snatched the food from me, crumbling it into pieces that he stuffed in his mouth.

"More ale," he muttered between bites.