Stolen Away (11 page)

Calmly, he looked at Chocan, then Kiera. “There is a long and dangerous journey ahead for both of you. Please, stay with us for as long as you need. You will be our honoured guests.”

K
iera felt as if her body had been trampled by a caribou. Every muscle in her body protested as she pried her eyes open within the smoky confines of the mamateek. The ten-day walk had exhausted her more than she had realized. As her eyes came into focus, she discovered that she was alone. Bright light streamed in through the cracks of the protective leather flap. What time was it? She felt as if she had slept the whole day away.

Quickly bundling herself up, she stepped out into the noonday sun. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the harsh early spring light. The village was a flurry of activity. She wandered past the women preparing a fish stew, wishing them a good day. She asked if they had seen Chocan. They stared at her with curiosity, then pointed towards the river. She made her way through the playing children, past several men testing out their newly carved spears. After a short jog down a gentle hill, she came to the edge of the river. The body of water was much larger than the creek that ran through Nadie's winter village. The river was already swelling with early run-off, and the centre of the choppy river was clear of ice. Looking downstream, she found Chocan talking with Rowtag under a large pine. Beside them were the village's canoes, sheltered from the ravages of winter.

Chocan pointed to a smaller craft, one that had been built with a shallower draft for navigating the river systems. Most of the other canoes had a deep “V” hull for ocean travel. Listening in, Kiera realized that they were in the middle of negotiations.

“That is our best river canoe,” explained the chief. “I cannot part with it.”

Chocan dipped deep into his leather bag and pulled out a large, bulging sack.

“Here is enough whale oil to keep your village stocked until the fall. It is worth more than two canoes, and I am willing to part with it for just one.”

“We have enough oil,” said Rowtag flatly, although Kiera noticed his eyes were sizing up the sack.

“I should not be offering any more,” Chocan grumbled, as he reached again into his bag. “The oil is already a far too generous exchange. All I can offer beyond the oil is this.”

He held out his palm. In it rested a strange arrow head, larger than any she had seen before.

Chocan passed the stone piece to the chief for examination. “Hmm, a seal arrow head. Very nice. Although yours is of excellent quality, I'm afraid we already have enough arrow heads of this kind for the spring hunt. But there is something that would be of great interest to me.”

“What would that be?”

“A Thule harpoon head.”

“Harpoon head?” asked Chocan. “What is that?”

“We have seen the Thule use them to catch even the largest of whales. They are a special type of arrowhead that falls off the harpoon shaft once it has embedded itself in the whale. But we have never had the chance to examine one. It is one of their most guarded secrets.”

Chocan shook his head. “No, I'm afraid that I can't offer something I have never even seen myself.”

The chief folded his arms and frowned. The negotiations had reached an impasse. Neither man had noticed Kiera. She cleared her voice. Both turned in surprise.

“Perhaps I have something of interest to you.”

Rowtag eyed her curiously. Chocan stared at her in hope, wondering what she could possibly offer to the negotiations. She bent over, and from the hem of her skirt, removed a small object. She held it up for him to see.

“This is called a needle. It is made of a special stone called iron. It is a sewing tool, and it is much easier to use than your sharp stones. Just put the sinew through the loop at the top of the needle, then pull it through the material. Here, I'll show you something I did a few weeks ago.”

She took off her jacket, tying not to shiver as the cool breeze swirled around her exposed arms. She turned the jacket inside out and showed the chief the fine stitches of a repair in the sleeve. The chief gazed admiringly at the stitch work, then at the strange-looking needle. Chocan grinned. He knew they had the man.

“The gift Kiera made for Nadie with this instrument will be the talk of the Meeting Place when you return next summer,” Chocan explained. “Just think, you will be able to duplicate the work seen on this garment for all the members of the band. And also think of how much time could be saved by your village.”

“I will even teach your band members how to use it,” added Kiera.

Chocan stepped towards the chief and folded his arms. “The oil, the arrow head and the needle. It all can be yours in exchange for the one canoe.”

Kiera passed him the needle for his inspection. Rowtag rolled the cold metal of the needle between his fingers, studying the strange object. After a moment of contemplation, he slowly nodded his head in agreement.

“You may have the canoe.”

Chocan grabbed Kiera's arm in joy. Turning to her, he looked down into her eyes with the happiness of victory.

“Thank you.”

She smiled back. “For a way home, it was the least I could do.”

The next morning, the entire band came to the river's edge to watch the foolhardy pair push off from the edge of the near-frozen river. No one had ever dared attempt a canoe trip so early in the spring. The water was simply too high, too fast and too dangerous. Kiera and Chocan waved to the sombre crowd as the current swiftly guided them downstream.

Chocan, sitting in the stern, expertly guided the craft through the choppy water. His skillful steering wound the canoe around the frothing rocks and downed tree limbs. Kiera did her best to follow his instructions. Following his commands, she would switch from side to side with her paddle, even reverse paddle if a danger appeared unexpectedly. Her strong strokes gave Chocan the momentum he needed to steer the craft even in the fastest-moving water. Her focused concentration helped to keep her mind from reliving the near-death experience that had occurred when she had last stepped into a canoe.

Flying through the high water, the canoe literally launched itself over the edge of the first set of rapids. As the water fell away from the bottom of the craft, Kiera was momentarily airborne. She floated weightlessly with her stomach in her throat before she was rudely pulled back to earth, landing in the gaping mouth of a churning maelstrom. She had to fight her panic as the bow dipped into each frothing hole, only to rocket out the far side through a towering curved wall of water. Her teeth gritted together as sheets of icy spray stung her exposed face and hands.

During a rare calm section of water, she turned to Chocan, her eyes wide and wild, her wet hair plastered to her forehead. The red ochre had been nearly washed clean from her face. Chocan was momentarily stunned by her appearance. He had forgotten how pale and smooth her skin had been when he had first rescued her. Her green eyes twinkled in the glistening early spring air.

“Wouldn't it have been easier to walk?”

“I'm sorry about the rough ride. We would never have been able walk to your village in time. By using a canoe and paddling along the coast, we will take weeks off our trip. Also, to go across land, we would have had to put up with the very unpleasant clouds of blackflies that live in the lower areas. The flies are just a few weeks away from hatching. Even a thick coating of red ochre will not keep them under control. They attack your exposed ears and eyes. They can drive you mad.”

“In other words,” she sighed, “we had no choice.”

He nodded.

“So how many times have you canoed this early in the year?” she asked.

“Never.”

“Never,” she groaned. “So this really is an adventure to you.”

“Life, when it is challenging, stirs the spirit,” he replied, smiling.

She was about to bemoan his cheerfulness, but the words were stolen from her mouth. The canoe suddenly disappeared from under her as the river took another monstrous plunge downhill. Chocan laughed as Kiera screamed. The canoe once again rocketed towards the ocean.

I
t was not the waning light that brought their voyage towards the sea to a halt, but the frigid, strength-sapping cold of their river-soaked clothes. Together, they were barely able to haul their canoe onto the frozen embankment of the river. They desperately attempted to start a fire in a nearby clearing. Kiera had to will her reluctant limbs to carry an armful of dry twigs and branches back to the camp. Upon arrival, she was dismayed to find Chocan still struggling to start a fire. His fingers were so numb that the flint fell from his hand whenever he tried to strike it with the stone.

“Would you like me to try?” she asked, putting down the sticks.

He held the stones up to her. “I'm sorry. My hands are useless.”

Before she took the stones from him, she wrapped her hands around his fingers. “Chocan, your fingers are like ice! Stick them inside your coat and under your armpits. You don't want to risk frostbite.”

Chocan did as he was told. Kiera knelt down, placed the rocks above the bits of dry moss and began striking the stones together. On the fifth hit, several sparks fell onto the moss. She continued to spray the moss with sparks until she saw the tiniest trickle of smoke. Putting the rocks on her lap, she leaned forward and began to blow gently on the tinder. The smoke thickened until a small orange flame licked the air. Chocan managed to pass her several tiny pieces of bark, and together they nursed the tiny glow into a roaring campfire.

After removing their wet outer clothes and replacing them with a second set of dry garments, they hung up their wet clothes on a branch that hung over the fire, then huddled together under a thick, caribou blanket, allowing the fire and their combined body heat to calm their uncontrollable shivering.

It was an hour before they had regained enough control over their numbed bodies to continue setting up camp. Kiera organized the sleeping area for the night while Chocan speared several fish, then roasted them on a wet, wooden grill over the open flames. As they ate, their strength returned. Kiera gazed out to the river.

“How long do you think it will take to get back to my village?”

My village. The words echoed in Chocan's mind. He sighed and looked into her distant eyes that stared beyond him and into the future. As they travelled, her Beothuck spirit, like the ochre that had been cleansed from her face, was slowly being washed away. He joined her gaze toward the water. The fast-running river that was carrying them ever closer to the sea was itself the portal between their worlds. He now realized that she would not be able to exist in both. It wrenched his heart, but he knew he would have to let her go.

“We have made good progress.”

Kiera waited for more, yet Chocan remained silent. She sensed an uneasy feeling that she had never felt before with her friend. Something was wrong. She leaned forward and touched his shoulder.

“What is it, Chocan?”

He turned to her, lost in his own thoughts. “I'm sorry?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. You're thinking about something.

I feel like your mind is on the other side of the world.”

“Not quite the other side.”

She looked at him quizzically. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I was thinking about the world to which you are returning. You are allowing yourself to lose your freedom and once again become a slave.”

Her face hardened. “You don't think that I've had sleepless nights over that thought? Even though I have considerate masters, they still are not my family. They bought me at an auction and took me away from my home. I thought you understood. If I knew that Thorfinn and the other Vikings were planning to stay here in your land permanently, then I would not hesitate to turn my back on them. I would gladly start my life anew with you and your band.”

Chocan slid closer to her. “But you have been away from your home for so many years. Even if you do somehow manage to get back to Ireland, there is a possibility that your family will no longer be at your childhood home. They may have been captured or killed in other raids. They may have left the area to avoid further attack. Perhaps Ireland itself won't be the same, after so many years of Viking rule. The home you remember may no longer exist. Will all of this effort and agony that you are now choosing to endure be for nothing?”

In her exhaustion, she could feel her dream shattering with each word. A tear trickled down her cheek. “Why are you saying this to me? Weeks ago, you said that I should follow my heart!”

“I'm only trying to prepare you for what you might find,” he replied. “I owe you, as a friend, to help you think this through. You will be giving up many things, including your freedom. If you have any doubts, you should consider them now. Tomorrow we leave Beothuck territory. Given the weather, it will be very difficult to turn back.”

She reached over and took his hand in her palms. “I know you are only trying to help. But Chocan, I need to try. I need to get back to the Viking village.”

Chocan smiled. “If your family is anything like you, then I think they will be looking for you with the same ferocity that burns within your heart. You are choosing the path to which you have been called.”

Kiera smiled. “Thank you.”

Chocan collapsed onto the mattress of pine needles and closed his eyes. “I understand your feelings more than you realize. I, too, sometimes long for home. My village, where I was raised and born, will always be a part of me. In a way, the village of the Teachers is like stepping onto the soil of Ireland. After all, the Irish teachers created it. And it is also a distant home. It may remain forever beyond my reach.”

Kiera was surprised. She thought about Chocan's words. They were more similar than she had ever realized.

“I'm sorry, Chocan. I had never known you felt that way. So tell me, why can't you return home?”

She looked at Chocan, but he had already drifted off to sleep. The fire crackled and popped beside her, calling out for more fuel. Her heart felt as if it were being torn in different directions. She searched within the flames for a hidden message, a direction amid the chaotic light. The flames once again danced the Irish jigs and crackled to the beat of the Celtic drums. Closing her weary eyes, she was lulled to sleep by the music of the dance.