Stolen Away. Christopher Dinsdale

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      FIVE

      After a night harboured in a sheltered, cedarlined bay, the crew ate a breakfast of salted fish and raised the sail at the first light of dawn. Excitement was building, for by mid-afternoon Thorfinn predicted that they would be reaching the southwest corner of this enormous island and would start their more dangerous trek westward towards less explored territory. It had been over a decade since the westward lands had been explored by earlier Viking expeditions. There were stories of large native villages, huge tides, sea monsters, severe storms and ancient ruins. But balancing the dangers were tales of endless forests, plentiful game and delicious fruits. The crew was itchy with anticipation. If they could only find a piece of that western paradise for themselves…

      Thorfinn remained focused on the task at hand; a safe voyage during a dangerous season. Being late summer, he knew from experience that there was a much greater chance of their craft running into an unpredictable and dangerous Atlantic storm. Although a Christian, Thorfinn continued to respect the ancient gods of his forefathers. Many Viking ships had been lost in such maelstroms, and his village could not afford a catastrophe. He could only hope that whoever truly controlled nature's wrath would look kindly upon their noble trek.

      “We will stay as close to shore as possible until we must cross the open water to reach the western lands,” Thorfinn explained. “It is there that I hope we can find a new, suitable home.”

      “The western lands,” repeated Mats, in awe. He turned to Kiera. “I've always dreamed of exploring the lands of the sagas. Thorfinn is the only one in the village to have travelled with Leif on those early journeys.”

      Kiera tried to imagine such lands. “Do you think it's true? Are there really forests of fruits, endless seas of grapes and natives that live in villages even larger than our own?”

      Mats frowned. “Of course it's true. The sagas contain our people's history. Why would we teach our children lies? What purpose would it serve? But, of course, sagas are a Viking tradition. You do not realize the importance of such tales.”

      His comment stung Kiera. Of course, she understood the importance of tradition, whether it be Viking or Celtic. Kiera had thought that Mats was kind-hearted and open-minded. Had she misjudged him so badly? She looked away in anger, but a hand rested upon her shoulder.

      “There is nothing wrong with having a streak of doubt in your mind when you overhear an unbelievable tale, lass.”

      Thorfinn had moved to the bow and was now standing between the two young adults. He had mistaken her anger for doubt of the truth of the sagas. “Your doubts are no different from the ones I had in Iceland when, over the roaring flames of the hearth, old warriors would tell the tale of the Ancients sailing across the Atlantic in leather boats only slightly larger than a barrel. It is said that those old Celtic mariners were already living in Iceland when my Viking ancestors first arrived in those northern lands. Being defenseless, they fled further west with each Viking advance, including Greenland. My favourite legend went on to describe how they had found the Promised Land, the one referred to in the Holy Bible. Some of the Ancients made the return home to Ireland to tell of their adventures but never to reveal the exact location of what the old Celtic maps had labelled their “Land of Promise”.

      “You didn't believe those tales, did you?” asked Mats.

      Thorfinn laughed. “The combination of old men and ale often makes for storytelling that tends to, shall we say, stray away from the truth on occasion. But after living here, in Vinland, I now believe the ancient tales.”

      “Because of the Stone,” added Kiera, smiling.

      He nodded. “Aye, because of the Stone and several other stones that Leif and I found further ahead on the coast. They've been here. We believe they were carved over two hundred years ago.”

      Mats' mouth dropped open. “Two hundred years ago! That I don't believe.”

      “You'd better apologize to Kiera and her ancestors right now. Those ancient Irish mariners are like ghosts. We have been chasing their movements ever since our people started sailing west. I tell you, what they lacked in ship construction, they made up in brains and guts.”

      Mats' eyebrows went up. “So there really are forests filled with delicious fruit and large native villages ahead?”

      Thorfinn nodded and looked towards the shore. “Everything in the sagas describes the events of Leif's voyage. I have seen those forests and villages with my own eyes. This is a land of huge abundance. There is no limit to the amount of fish, game and fresh water contained here. We just need to find a place that will allow us to live together in peace with the native people.”

      “But is that possible?” Kiera asked. “From what I've seen, we are not exactly welcomed guests.”

      “It's true that the skraelings are everywhere, but some are different from others. The first Vikings to make contact with the skraelings to the north of our settlement had a misunderstanding which led to an argument. A fight broke out. Men on both sides were killed. The northern skraelings still remember that ill-fated moment. We think that it is why we are still attacked today.

      “But Leif and I met other skraelings to the south who were friendly. That is where our hope lies. We are going to sail to the land of the Mi'kmaq. They were a friendly people and welcomed us as we resupplied our ship all those years ago. We will travel to their settlement and ask permission to build our own settlement in their lands.”

      Thorfinn paused, then looked carefully at the passing shoreline. “We are being watched.” Mats and Kiera turned their heads towards the shore.

      “Where?” they asked.

      “Among that clump of cedars over there,” he pointed. “Just above the rock face. Look for a dark red colour.”

      Kiera squinted in the afternoon sunlight and searched the shadows among the thick evergreens. What seemed like a dark red stone along the craggy shore suddenly shrank and disappeared.

      “I saw it!” she shouted.

      “Where?” complained Mats. “I didn't see anything.”

      “It's gone,” she said, excitedly. “But he didn't look anything like the skraelings that attacked our village. His face was such a dark red.”

      Thorfinn nodded. “Aye, you saw him all right. This tribe stains their skin with some sort of red pigment. Can't tell for sure, however. I've never met one face to face. They're like ghosts. You catch a glimpse of one, but only for a second. Then they disappear. I've never met natives like them. Curious about us, but extremely shy.”

      Kiera pointed. “Look! There's another one!”

      Another red face popped out of the shadows further ahead and to the side of a large outcrop of granite. The head didn't move, but Kiera could almost feel the eyes tracking the ship. Wait, not the ship. She swore that the eyes were tracking her! But before she could investigate further, the native vanished.

      The game of “Spot the Skraeling” carried on for the next half-hour. A face would suddenly appear among the bushes and rocks along the shore, and the crew would burst into a frenzied shouting match, debating who had spotted the red native first. The game helped to break the monotony of the day. A count had been started to see who had the keenest eyesight.

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