followed by the Riverraider's words that these people were regular people and that regular people can be bought or intimidated into doing bad things to people they otherwise care about.
Goll went on, speaking faster, "You're here because you raised a hand against your better. I'm here because I failed to prevent it. We are both outlaws, Erlandr. The only difference is that my crime is unofficial, my punishment unwritten. Your crime is legal. Your punishment is clear. Your capture is just. By this time, there's a bounty on your head in Iceland because power needs to make examples of people who challenge it. The bounty will be enough to turn Greenlanders against you." Goll drew a breath. "If," he said, "they know it's in their interest. Information can travel slowly. But that's the sword I hold above your neck. In Iceland, you're a dead man. Here, you're my man. Wherever you go, your life is no longer in your hands."
Erlandr felt his ribs turn inward. Just like that, his future in Greenland was gone. Indecision flowed through his bones, which felt empty, a system of delicate tubes ready to snap. If he killed Goll, he'd be a Greenland murderer. If he didn't, he'd have to do as Goll commanded. How easy it would have been to have pushed him over the side of the boat, into the sea along with his streams of vomit. If only Erlandr had known then...
"You have no choice—if you want to live, that is," Goll said.
But there was always a choice. East was a choice. Erlandr would bargain with the Riverraider for ownership of his boat, working off the cost with labour if necessary, or he'd scour Greenland for another boat. If he didn't find one, he'd construct it. He'd learn how. Then he'd sail to the mainland, bypassing Iceland, with its great and horrible past. What's the worst that could happen, an anonymous death on the seas?
In the meantime, he walked silently away.
"You'll come back," Goll said, picking up one of the walrus tusks. "You'll see reason. And when you do, these will be waiting."
Erlandr didn't look back.
12
Dvalinn opened the sack he'd brought with him from Iceland and spread its contents on the bald man's table. The valuables shone and glittered in the dusky light of the longhouse lamps. They were the last physical remnants of a lifetime of raiding: golden statuettes, ivory combs, gemstone jewellery, an assortment of foreign coins.
The bald man's eyes widened at the sight, bouncing from one object to the next, and his lower jaw fell, exposing small, yellow teeth and the pool of saliva that was gathering in his mouth. He was visibly starved for riches.
Even Agata stopped what she was doing and ogled.
"All of it?" the bald man asked, his voice so hoarse that he cleared his throat and repeated the question.
Dvalinn nodded. These things were of no more use to him. One couldn't eat gold or drink sapphires. "For as much food and supplies as will fit into my boat. Skins, leather, thread, rope, tools."
The saliva dripped from the bald man's mouth. He wiped it off his chin with his hand, with which he then picked up one of the statuettes to look it over. "Certainly," he said. "Oh, yes, certainly, we have a bargain."
"I need it delivered to my boat by morning," Dvalinn said.
"Personally," the bald man said, "on my very own back. Drudge will help as well, and even Agata. We'll all help carry your things to you. How's that for hospitality?" His voice went hoarse again. Again, he cleared his throat. "May I keep these beautiful treasures here tonight?"
" They are yours," Dvalinn said. There was no reason for the bald man to steal the valuables. He was already getting them for nearly nothing. And if he reneged on his promise to hand over the food and supplies, Dvalinn would have no trouble taking what was his. As for Drudge, the bald man was still blissfully ignorant of that particular issue.
"And where is it that you will be sailing?" the bald man asked, rubbing his palms together. Dvalinn had no doubt that he was maintaining conversation to be polite, in case Dvalinn decide against their deal because of some perceived slight.
"East, to the mainland," Dvalinn said.
The bald man put down the statuette and picked up a comb. Dvalinn noted the irony. Agata seemed to note it, too. Her smile was conspiratorial. These are good, simple people, Dvalinn thought. Nevertheless, there was no reason for them to know the truth. They might try to dissuade him, and he wasn't in the mood for an argument. "I have satisfied myself that my son is gone," he added. "It is time for me to return home. If we meet again, it will be in the afterlife."
13
Erlandr reclined inside the Riverraider's boat, among what was left of their food and drink, and watched the endless sea become the narrow fjord, which itself became, in his eyes, a dagger aimed at the heart of Greenland and his own.
He'd had half a thought to steal the boat and set sail east tonight, by himself, leaving the Riverraider stranded, but even having such an idea shamed him. The Riverraider deserved better. Everyone deserved better. It could not be that the right response to being wronged was to then wrong another, contributing to a sick, never-ending cycle of wrongdoing. That was what separated him from men like Goll and Halfdan.
He lost himself in these knotty problems of morality until interrupted by his grumbling stomach. He'd not had anything to eat since morning. He wrapped his cloak around his body and waited. He refused to touch the food that was in the boat. The Riverraider would return, either tonight or in the morning, and when he did Erlandr would tell him about Goll and ask for his advice. Only then would he eat. Honesty, he decided, was the only true solution. And if it wasn't, he could always steal another boat from somebody else. Greenland was an island, and every island has its boats.
He must have dozed, because when he lifted his eyelids, the sky was darker, and darker still was the shape standing before him: the tall, thin figure of Kaspar.
"I came to see your boat," Kaspar said in his sing-song way, which found poetry even in the most mundane utterances. "I needed to see whether it existed." He reached into a pack hanging from his shoulder and pulled out pieces of bread and meat. He held both out to Erlandr. "I also brought these. I wasn't going to give them to you unless you were telling the truth about the boat, but you were, so here you are."
Erlandr took the food and began eating.
Kaspar handed him a skin, which Erlandr drank from. It was filled with the same kind of strong ale as before. "Where's Goll, the man who came with me?" Erlandr said after washing a chunk of meat down his throat. "Did he follow you?"
"Me? I'm invisible in the forest," Kaspar said proudly. "No one can track me, let alone a drunk in the twilight." He retrieved a bite of food from the pack for himself. "When I left, he was with my mother. Do you mind if I take a closer look at the boat? It's been years since I've seen one."
"Look as much as you like," Erlandr said.
Kaspar walked around it, touching its sides, feeling the grain of its wood. Then he hopped deftly inside, landing close to Erlandr but barely upsetting the stillness of the boat. Erlandr had heard about goats that lived in the mountains, leaping from crag to crag, and that's what the boy reminded him of. He watched, chewing, as Kaspar inspected the boat's sail and the large sheet of cloth that covered their supply of food and drink and Erlandr's own supply sack. "You could fit a fair amount in here," Kaspar said. "I suppose that's useful for a pair of traders."
Erlandr didn't say anything. Why did there always have to be lies? A flash of understanding appeared on Kaspar's face, like moonlight briefly uncovered on a cloudy night, reflected on the surface of the sea.
Then the boy jerked his head to peer inland—
Erlandr aped him.
Four people were approaching.
When Erlandr turned back, Kaspar was gone, leaving behind him only the rush of freshly disturbed air.
14
Dvalinn led the bald man, Agata and Drudge toward his boat. "Leave the supplies on the ground," he said when they were close enough to see Erlandr. "My men and I will load them."
Erlandr stepped forward.
The bald man laid down his bundle of su
pplies and bowed. "Good to meet you," he said.
"You as well."
Dvalinn noted the uneasy expression on Erlandr's face. Something was wrong, but there would be time to speak about it later, and if there wasn't, by tomorrow afternoon it would no longer be his concern. He'd done all he could for Erlandr. Eventually, the young Icelander would have to start taking care of himself.
"We'll bring two more loads tonight," the bald man said, "and the last load tomorrow, after breakfast. To which—" The accompanying sweep of his arm took in Dvalinn, Erlandr and about half the world. "—you are all invited. No one should sail with anything less than a full stomach." The evening had turned his yellow teeth grey.
Dvalinn thanked him, waited until all three of the strangers had disappeared, and was about to start arranging the new supplies among the old, when Erlandr caught him by the elbow. The unease on his face was gone. "You're sailing, Riverraider?" he asked.
"Yes."
At which point Erlandr launched into an excited explanation of his situation with Goll. Dvalinn listened with stony patience before saying, with the finality of an executioner's axe cleaving a convict's neck, "I am not sailing east. I am sailing west."
The blood drained from Erlandr's face. "West? But, there's nothing west of here. Greenland is the western edge..."
"My son sailed west. To find him, I must do the same. If indeed there is nothing west of