East

Rose

WE HAD COME TO the village of Neyak on the northeastern coast of Gronland. Malmo showed it to me on the map. She and her people were Inuit and had lived on that land since Sedna, the Mother of Sea Beasts, came to guard the oceans. Malmo knew the Njorden language because whale hunters from Njord had come to their land before. She had nothing good to say about them, though. Her opinion of the Vikings was even lower. They had been the first to come in their longboats—with their hammers of the thunder god Thor around their necks—bringing devastation and fear to the Inuit, whom the Vikings called Skraelings, or "the ugly ones." It had taken the Inuit years to get rid of the marauding invaders, and there remained a distrust that had been passed down through the generations. Still, it was clear that my particular "Viking," with his broken limbs and giant hangover, did not exactly inspire fear.

Thor remained in his ale-induced sleep while Malmo and I talked. She knew enough Njorden that we were able to understand each other fairly well. I told her of the deadly storm we had encountered and of the loss of Gest and Goran. She asked where I was bound.

"North," I said. "Can you tell me about the lands that lie north of here?"

Malmo nodded gravely. "There is a land north of Gronland that forms the ice sky of the earth. There are tales from Inuit who lived long ago about an ice bridge that connects Gronland to the ice sky, but there is no one living now who has found the ice bridge—or at least who has returned to tell the tale."

"I will find it," I said.

"You? Find the ice bridge?" She chuckled, eyeing my clothing.

Pulling my cloak tighter around me, for I was cold even inside Malmo's home, I replied with a rueful look, "I know. But I am set on traveling north. I will do whatever I must."

"Why?" Malmo asked.

And I told her the entire story, just as I had told it to Thor—and to Sofi and Estelle before him.

She listened closely, her bright eyes intent on my face.

"Seku nanoa," she said, with a note of reverence in her voice. She took a stick from the fire and, using only a few, strokes, deftly drew the exact likeness of a white bear.

Then she looked at Thor in his near comatose state. "What will you do with the Viking?"

I was silent. I was ashamed to realize I hadn't thought about Thor at all, not when it came to my journey north. I gazed sideways at him, his beard and hair matted and wild, an arm and leg still wrapped in cloth that was stained with seawater, blood, and ale. And his ship was in little better shape than he.

The shaman looked from one to the other of us, then she leaned forward, gazing into my eyes.

"You journey on," she said, "and the old Viking will stay. There is healing here, if he will be healed. If not, he will find his own journey."

"Thank you," I replied.

Thor awoke soon after, groggy and ill tempered. Malmo arranged for food to be brought to him, ignoring his request for ale. Then she gestured to me, saying, "You eat later. Now, you need much."

Thereupon we embarked upon a most extraordinary "shopping" expedition. In the first place we entered, Malmo held a lengthy conversation with the man who lived there, gesturing at me several times, saying "seku nanoa" ("white bear"). The visit wound up with the man bustling around his home, collecting a variety of things that he then gave to me. Malmo said the name of each thing in Inuit, but I had no idea what most of them were.

We then went to another Grönländer home, where I was given even more gear. Then another and another, until I was laden down with such a dizzying array of objects that Malmo had to help me carry them.

When we finally returned to Malmo's house, we found Thor asleep again. I wondered if he had gotten his hands on more ale, but Malmo said no, he had been given a healing drink that brings sleep.

She set about explaining to me each item I had been given.

There was an ulu, the most important of the various knifelike objects I had received. It consisted of a sharp slate blade embedded in a bone handle. Then there was a snow knife made of narwhal ivory, which was used for making snowhouses; and a snow beater, a larger blunt-edged blade, also of ivory, which a person used outdoors to knock snow off clothing.

Among the other things were: a long, thin tube of ivory used for drinking meltwater off the surface of ice; a needlelike probe for locating the breathing holes of seals; a pair of ivory snow goggles, to protect the eyes from the brutal glare of sun on ice and snow; a bola, a contraption made of ivory balls attached to a length of sinew that was thrown up into the air to snare birds; several small, thick pins made of bone, to plug the wounds of seals so their blood wouldn't leak out (apparently Inuit cooking used seal blood, a delicacy I was not all that eager to try); something called a kitchoa, or ice scratcher, made of seal claws and used by hunters to simulate the sound of seals moving across the ice, so that while at their breathing holes they would not be frightened away by approaching hunters; and a pair of short skis made of whalebone, with a strip of reindeer fur on the underside, hairs pointing backward. (Apparently the backward-facing hairs allowed for greater speed for a skier going downhill while acting as a brake against slipping backward when going uphill.)

And then there was clothing. For my outer layer I was supplied with a knee-length parka of reindeer hide, the fur turned outward. Beneath that I wore another layer of reindeer hide—trousers and an undercoat—the fur turned inward. My long underwear was made of feathered duck skins, the feathers turned inward. (That would take some getting used to, I thought.) Then there was a pair of two-layered boots; the outer layer lined with fur, the inner with duck feathers, again turned in. There was also a pair of mittens made of the hide of a white bear. Of course, putting my fingers into them reminded me of my white bear, although when I put my nose to them, they did not have the same scent at all.

I looked at the large pile of items in some dismay. How would I carry them all on my journey north? I asked Malmo. In reply she handed me a large knapsack made of reindeer hide. She said that what I wasn't wearing on my body would fit into the pack, including my tattered pack from home. I was skeptical, but she turned out to be right.

I was also concerned about paying Malmo and her people for all they had given me. I offered Malmo my moon dress, but although she gazed at it with polite admiration, she had no interest in owning it. Certainly there was no use for a ball gown in the village of Neyak. Malmo was more interested when I told her about the crate of pears from Fransk. Thor and I had eaten many, but plenty still remained.

In the morning when I awoke, I discovered that neither Thor nor Malmo was in the house. I ate a bowl of porridge that had been left on the hearth and then put on some of my new clothing. (I wasn't yet ready to try the feather underwear.) When I stepped outside into the chill air, I felt snug and warm. I made my way to shore.

I ascended the makeshift gangplank of the knorr, then stopped abruptly when I saw Thor. He was seated in his old place by the steering oar, with a barrel of ale beside him.

"Is that your breakfast?" I asked somewhat severely.

"Drink of the gods," Thor said with a grin, and took a long gulp. He gazed at my new garb with amusement. "Gone native, I see."

"Thor, I mean to journey north," I said, going to sit beside him. He took another long drink. Then he raised his mug.

"'North, north, north, she sailed to Asgard and on to the north, north, north,' " he sang lustily.

"The people here are good," I went on, ignoring his song. "I am sure they will help you repair your boat. And you might find some who wish to journey to a new land. Or you could stay here with them. I believe they will make you welcome."

"'Welcome, ho, to the halls of Valhalla, where the ale flows and the boar's head roasts.'"

"Thor," I said with some urgency, standing and moving in front of him so he could not avoid my eyes, "the ale will be gone soon. You cannot bury yourself in it always. You must go on. Find a new life, or a new journey. It can be done."

His blurred eyes focused for a moment, then slid away again. '"North, north, north ... to Asgard,'" he sang.

I got to my feet. "If I am able, I will come back here when I am done with my own journey. To see what you chose."

"Chose, Rose," Thor said in a singsong voice. "Rose chose to journey north, north, north..."

I moved to the hold, where the crate of pears was stored. "I am giving these to Malmo and her people. To repay their kindness."

"What, no more golden gowns?" Thor said with a trace of his old sneer. Then he refilled his mug.

"Good-bye, Thor," I said.