style="font-size:15px;"> 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.
Using the rudder, Thorfinn turned the bow into the wind as he prepared to pass beyond the famous southwest point of the island. The game was ended as the crew adjusted the sails for the change in attack. Thorfinn smiled proudly as he watched them work as one. Given the short length of time he'd had to train the crew, it was a minor miracle that the voyage had progressed so smoothly.
Then, as the point drifted past and the south opened up into a wide vista of endless ocean, Thorfinn gasped in horror. His eyes were transfixed upon a distant black curtain of darkness that was sweeping the sea into a frenzied froth. The blistering edge of a darkened weather front was moving across the ocean at an incredible speed. The tempest was heading directly towards them.
“Lower the sail! Oars in the water! Mats! Kiera! Get that sail down now!”
Thorfinn glanced from the approaching storm front to the top of the sail that was slowly sliding in spurts down the mast. He timed the effort and looked back at the approaching curtain of death. It was going to be close. If the storm hit with the sail up, they would all be dead.
The bow was still pointing west, and the storm was coming at them from the south. They had to move the bow directly into the storm or risk capsizing.
“Starboard oars! In the water! Pull for your life! Hurry!”
Kiera and Mats glanced at the approaching wall of cloud that threatened to destroy them. The wind began to whip and swirl around their legs. It was about to hit. They knew that the next few seconds would decide if they would live or die. They had to secure the sail.
They worked the ropes feverishly, lowering the top boom until the great square sail rested upon the lower boom. The bunched-up cloth was already starting to thrash frantically against their working hands. Mats and Kiera flung short ropes around the circumference of the sail and booms, lashing them together to prevent the wind from attacking the cloth.
The boat began to heave violently in the towering waves. Kiera lost her balance on the pitching deck as she and Mats tried to retreat to their seats.
“Well done!” shouted Thorfinn over the ominous thunder of the wind and waves. “Quickly! Tie off the sail lines, then brace yourselves! It's about to hit!”
Kiera quickly looped the rope around the stay next to her seat then hunkered down low against the railing.
The storm was upon them.
Now deep within the throat of the tempest,
