Did her family still think about her with the same longing and grief that she felt? Would they even recognize her if she should miraculously make it back to Ireland?
Kiera was thankful when Bjarni stuck his head out of his darkened shop and bellowed her name. She politely excused herself from the group and trotted down the path to the blacksmith's shop. Sitting in a bucket of water, next to the bloodied rags, were two dozen blackened nails. She stuck her head inside the door, and heat smacked her across the face. She recognized Bjami's silhouette against the glowing oven as his brawny arms pumped the hissing bellows. She noticed the damp, red stain on the cloth that was wrapped around his huge arm.
“Kiera, I need you to run these nails over to the ship. Mind yourself, though,” the smith's voice boomed. “Those nails may still be hot!”
Kiera bent down and carefully touched the nails before grabbing them. Several were still warm. She scooped them out of the bucket and began the trek towards the ship. She smiled as she wandered through the colony of workers as they lovingly nurtured their thirty-five foot long, timber-lined queen. Kiera ducked underneath the arching keel and moved towards Mats, lying on his back, red-faced, and holding a plank up with one hand against the bottom of the hull.
“To the gods above,” he moaned, “it's about time! Quick! Quick! Bring them here before my arm falls off!”
Kiera passed the nails to his free hand, then watched as he placed the majority of the nails on his chest, stuck the last two in his teeth, then, with three expert cracks of the hammer, drove his first nail deep into the plank. Slithering backwards, Mats worked his way along the length of the keel, driving in nail after nail, his hands flying with quickness and precision. Securing the board, he gave a great sigh, rolled onto his side and smiled at her.
“Thanks, Kiera. Sorry if I was grumpy a moment ago.”
“That's all right,” she said, trying to be casual. “How is it going with the ship?”
“She was in rough shape, but with all of us breaking our backs on this job, I think she will be ready to go in a day or two.”
“And I guess you'll be going?”
Mats shrugged and turned his attention back to the hull. “Don't know. Thorfinn hasn't yet decided who's going, as far as I know.”
She frowned as he began to repair another section. The short conversation was over.
“I had better get back to repairing the sail.”
Only the hammer responded with a sharp crack. Kiera shrugged, turned and walked face-first into a sweaty chest.
“Better watch where you're going, young lady.” Bjorn pulled her away from him by the shoulders and glanced over at Mats, raising his eyebrows. “Actually, I'm glad I bumped into you.”
She smiled shyly, knowing that Bjorn wouldn't embarrass her in front of Mats, and brushed the hair from her eyes. “Do you need some help down here?’
Bjorn cleared his throat. “Not exactly. Thorfinn and I have decided that we would like you to come with us on the voyage.”
Kiera's mouth dropped open. “Go with you? On the ship?”
“That's right.”
“But I'm…”
“I know. You are a young woman, and it's unusual for women to go on voyages of exploration, but we really don't have much choice. We need every available man to stay behind and guard the village from possible attack. Thorfinn has decided to take only a skeleton crew with him on the journey south. If you come, then Gunnar, the only man who is skilled in sail repair, can remain and help guard the village. He can also continue to work on the other boats in case the village needs to evacuate on short notice.”
Kiera shifted uneasily. Unlike many Vikings, she preferred to have dry land under her feet. “But there are other women in the village who are skilled at sail repair and life on the ocean than myself. Perhaps one of them should go in my place.”
“I'm afraid that's out of the question,” Bjorn said flatly.
His words cut her to the core. The other, more skilled women were blood Vikings. She was not. Even though Bjorn and Dagmar treated her as family, she was still a slave. Her life didn't matter. Clearly, her idea of Bjorn, Dagmar and Lorna being a second family to her was just a fantasy. If this is how her own family felt about her, then what about Mats? To the villagers, she was still an outsider and would remain so for the rest of her life. Her gaze drifted down to the ground to hide her watering eyes.
“When do we leave?” she asked, her voice hollow and defeated.
“Tomorrow, at first light.”
She turned, shoulders sagging. “Then I had better go pack.”
Kiera wasn't sure if Bjorn had picked up on her dejectedness. She wasn't even sure if he cared. Everything she believed of her place in this community was now shattered. She was heading out to sea, past uncharted lands and into unforeseen danger because she was expendable. She wiped her eyes and glanced towards the open ocean, looking northeast. Somewhere, beyond the horizon, was her home. She would soon be taken even further away from her soul. She stopped, reached out a hand and let the wind kiss and caress her fingers. Closing her eyes, she imagined her parents, their arms open on the distant Irish shore, magically sending the wind across the ocean to greet her.
“Please, mother, father,” she whispered, “save me.”
FOUR
The village gathered in the sombre stillness of the predawn twilight. The silence was shattered as the half-dozen ropes that extended across the river suddenly snapped tight, and the air was filled with grunts and shouts of encouragement. The boat reluctantly inched its way out of its comfortable home, sliding over the wet, grassy meadow and towards the waiting water. As the keel touched then slurped into the muddy embankment of the river, the ship gained speed. With a splash, the nose and hull gracefully slipped into the calm river. The villagers cheered. They pulled the ship alongside the village dock and extended a wide gangplank across to the midship's gunwale. The men and women formed a chain and began to load the mountain of packed provisions onto the ship.
The rising sun winked above the horizon, setting the majestic ocean ablaze with deep crimson. The men gave their loved ones a tender hug and said their goodbyes. Kiera stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, looking off into the distance. A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She turned and looked into the kind eyes of Dagmar. Lorna, still sleepy, clung to her mother's leg.
“We will miss you.”
“And I you,” she said, half-smiling.
“Please don't go,” begged Lorna. She looked forlorn.
Kiera smiled, grabbed her under the arms and lifted her up. Lorna wrapped herself around Kiera's neck and buried her face in her auburn hair. Kiera gently stroked her head.
“Listen, Lorna, the village needs you. You will have to be a good helper to your mother while I'm away. And when I get back, I want you to show me your weaving. Finish the basket that we started before I return, and I will be very impressed.”
Lorna nodded, her face still crestfallen.
“Are you well?”
