On the first day, the western current seemed calm. They were wrong.
The ship rode low but steady. Borri grumbled at every seam and secretly stroked the keel when he thought no one was watching. Nera carefully rationed everyone's food so the provisions would last until the next shore. Modra dried herbs beneath her cloak and spat overboard after every sip of water. At first Eska was afraid to poke her head out of the hold, but then she began counting birds. According to her, the birds were the only others who had found no bench in the hall.
Steinar did what suited Empty Cup best: he sat idle. At least, that was how it looked to the others. In fact, he was counting.
He wrote nothing on the birch bark: the sheet would only get wet. Steinar kept track of how often Farin changed hands on his oar, how much food Nera gave out from each sack, how quickly water gathered by the third plank, where the funeral sail was pulling the ship and which seam held Borri's gaze the longest.
He also watched to see who was more frightened than the rest. Leave such a man idle, and he began frightening his neighbours.
So Steinar said little and found a simple task for everyone.
He told one oarsman to count the teeth in the fish heads, claiming he was too lazy to do it himself. Busy counting, the man at least stopped going on about Brand's prophecy.
He ordered another to check the knots every seven strokes, on the grounds that Borri would spend far too long cursing if the ship came apart. The knots really were working loose.
He put Eska in charge of watching whether the edge of the sail changed colour. The girl was so proud of her task that she stopped stealing Nera's dried fish, at least until dark.
He gave Saiva no task at all – and soon realised his mistake.
On the second day, the wind changed.
At first the wind strengthened gradually, pressing steadily against them, and then a single gust filled the funeral sail so hard that the mast groaned.
Borri raised his head.
"Reef the sail."
One of the oarsmen laughed.
"Barely under way, and already afraid of the wind?"
Steinar looked west. A solid leaden cloud hung there, its straight edge promising a long storm.
"Reef the sail," he repeated.
Skardi with the frostbitten ear shouted:
"Ragned would keep the full sail."
"Ragned is eating by the hearth right now."
"Ragned wouldn't hide his people in the hold."
Steinar stood.
"Everyone into the hold," Steinar said.
No one moved.
Saiva watched him coldly: yesterday's joke had yet to cool.
He could have told them about the low gunwale, the wet cargo, the strain on the mast and what he remembered of storms from another life. But there was no time, and frightened people would only argue. He had to show them the danger.
Steinar snatched from Nera one of the sacks of stones Borri used to trim the ship and threw it overboard.
The sack sank into the grey water.
"There," he said. "I'm too lazy to drown with a load of stones."
Borri understood first and began roaring orders. Farin lunged for the sail. Nera drove the people below with curses and fists. Modra pressed Eska against the bottom boards, and for once the girl did not argue.
A few moments later, the first true gust struck.
If the full sail had remained up, the mast would have snapped at once. But even after they reefed it, the ship heeled so low that water came over the side. The people in the hold screamed and clung to the beams, but no one was swept into the sea.
Steinar and Farin held the same rope. The wet, salt-soaked line burned their palms. Farin did not look at him, only at the knot, the sail and the water.
"Give it more slack!" Borri shouted.
"Any more and we'll turn broadside!"
"If you don't, it'll bury us!"
Steinar forced himself to pay out another hand's breadth of rope.
The ship lost way and slowly crept across the waves. A heroic song would have called it cowardice, but in a storm it was what kept them alive.
Lightning lit the sea for an instant, revealing another ship nearby with its full sail raised. Its crew were trying to keep their speed and outrun the storm.
The next wave struck its side.
The other ship's mast broke. First came the crack, then a flash showed a dark slanting line, and the sea vanished into darkness again.
After that, no one aboard Steinar's ship argued with the order to shelter in the hold.
By dawn the storm had eased. The people shivered, bound their flayed palms and silently counted one another.
Farin sat by the side, winding a strip of cloth around his palms. The skin had been stripped from them, but he asked for no help.
Steinar lowered himself beside him.
"You held the rope better than I did."
"I've had to hold it before."
"On Hroald's ships?"
Farin nodded.
"There they beat me if I let go without my master's order. Here you paid out the rope yourself."
"Borri gave the order."
"And you listened to him."
He looked at the share notches cut into the side. Then at Steinar.
"A master wouldn't have asked who held it better."
Steinar wanted to put on his foolish look again and make a joke of words that were too direct.
But Saiva was nearby. She was mending the edge of the sail and pretending not to listen.
He said only:
"Then don't call me master. We don't need that word on this ship."
Farin nodded slowly.
By midday the fog had sunk so low that it hid the horizon. The ship moved through white dampness. They could hear the oars enter the water and the ropes creak. Eska whispered her count of the birds, though they could no longer be seen.
Then Farin stood.
"Listen."
Everyone went still.
At first Steinar heard only the blood pounding in his ears. Then he made out a distant, muffled blow – not thunder, but a wave breaking against stone.
The fog parted briefly.
Low black cliffs emerged from it. Between them stretched a strip of grey shore, with low, coarse grass darkening beyond.
Grey Land lay before them.
The people did not shout: after the storm, no one had the strength left.
Only Eska poked her head out of the hold and said:
"It looks like old Modra."
Modra replied:
"Then it's wiser than you."
The people laughed. The laughter was weak, but real.
Steinar looked at the shore and understood: there was no ready food here, no safe shelter and no proof that the land belonged to them. But the old North had not yet had time to appoint its master.
That was frightening and almost wondrous.
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