The Ghostfaces (20 page)

He grinned widely. “She had Hal throw a bucket of water over me,” he said.

Tecumsa made a small moue of surprise. “An unusual way to solve the problem,” she said, obviously amused.

Thorn nodded agreement. “She's an unusual woman.”

“When you say you had given up on yourself, what do you mean?” she asked.

Thorn considered his answer for a second or two, then spoke. “I felt sorry for myself. I felt the world had done me a great injustice.”

“Because of your poor hand,” she said simply, reaching out and gently resting her fingers on the wood of his hook.

Hal and Lydia froze, anxious to see how Thorn would respond. People usually didn't mention his missing hand. Somehow, they sensed it was not a subject for discussion. But there was no sense of idle curiosity in Tecumsa's words, only kindness and sympathy. And her dark eyes showed a level of compassion and awareness that precluded Thorn's taking offense. He glanced down at her slim fingers on the wooden hook, polished smooth but showing the scars of many months of use and hard wear.

To Hal's and Lydia's great relief, he smiled at the young woman. “Yes. Because of my hand.”

“You must have been terribly saddened,” she said. “Stig says you were a great warrior.”

Before Thorn could reply, Hal answered. “He still is.”

Tecumsa smiled at him. “Stig says that too.” Then she turned back to Thorn. “So what is your role with this brotherband?”

“Oh, I train them. I discipline them. I kick their backsides when they're lazy and yell at them when they're stupid,” he said, then added, “At times I do a lot of kicking and yelling, believe me.”

She looked deep into his eyes. “And yet I think you're not as mean and bad tempered as you pretend to be,” she said.

Thorn colored slightly and said nothing.

Lydia stepped into the silence. “Oh, he is, believe me. He's quite horrible at times.”

Tecumsa's dark eyes switched to hold Lydia's gaze. “And I sense that you have a great affection for him, and he for you,” she said.

Now it was Lydia's turn to redden as she realized that the
Mawag girl had seen through their constant bickering and teasing, and seen it for what it was—an expression of deep fondness.

“Well, maybe he's not all
that
bad,” she said, looking away from those grave, steady eyes that were locked on to her own.

Hal laughed quietly. “I'm glad someone has finally seen through you two frauds,” he said.

They continued talking in this way for another hour, answering Tecumsa's questions about the brotherband, how they worked together, the ship and how Hal could navigate with such accuracy from one point to another. Most of the latter was described by Thorn and it became apparent to the young woman that the old sea wolf held the boy in the deepest respect and admiration. They discussed Stig, and his amazing skill in battle, and how he and Hal had become friends. She was aware of the story of how Hal had saved Stig from drowning, but she wanted to hear him tell it, and was impressed by his self-deprecating manner. Many Mawagansett young men would have been boastful about such an achievement, she knew.

At length, the evening drew to an end, by which time they had all been captivated by Tecumsa's beauty, sensitivity and natural, unaffected warmth. If she had wanted them to become her friends as she had stated, she had succeeded beyond all reasonable expectation. They accompanied her back to the track through the trees that led to the Mawagansett village and made their farewells there.

“I'll walk you back to the village,” Hal said impulsively, but she smiled and shook her head.

“I'll be quite safe. Stig is waiting at the bend in the track there.”

And, looking up, they could see his tall form leaning against a
tree. She hurried to him and they joined hands and disappeared into the darkness.

“What a remarkable girl,” Thorn said softly. Then he smiled. “If I were a few years younger . . .”

“You'd still be old enough to be her father,” Lydia finished the statement for him.

chapter
thirty

I
t was some days after the meeting with Tecumsa when Hal broached the subject of returning home with Stig. It was early evening and the first mate had returned from a fishing trip with Simsinnet, laden with fish for Edvin's smoking chamber. As the Mawag warrior bade them a cheerful good night and headed for the trail through the forest, Hal watched his friend deftly cleaning the fish, then splitting them so they could be laid on the smoking racks.

“He seems to be a nice enough type,” he said, gesturing toward the departing Mawag, who was bidding some of the other Herons good night.

Stig nodded. “Amazing how well you can get on with someone when you start out fighting them,” he said. “We have a lot in common, as it turns out.”

“I suppose when we go home, he'll start courting Tecumsa again,” Hal said, trying to sound casual about it.

Stig looked up quickly, a frown creasing his forehead, and said nothing.

“I mean, it's not as if you're planning on marrying her or anything, is it?” Hal continued.

Once more, Stig didn't reply. For Hal, the silence was unbearable. It seemed to indicate that there was something important going on—something for which he was unprepared. When Stig finally spoke, it turned out he was right.

“I'm not sure I'll be going home with you,” Stig said.

Hal recoiled in horror. Of all the replies he'd expected, this one had never occurred to him.

“Not coming with us?” he exclaimed. “But you have to! We're your brotherband—your family. You were the first one I picked! You're my best friend.”

Stig refused to meet his eye, shaking his head stubbornly. “Well, things change, you know?”

Hal was almost hysterical in his reply. “No! I don't know! How do things change? You're one of us. You're a Heron. That doesn't change!”

“But I love Tecumsa,” Stig said in a low voice. It was the first time he had admitted the fact, even to himself.

Hal made a desperate, helpless gesture. “Then bring her with us! She can come back to Hallasholm!”

But Stig was already shaking his head. “She wouldn't be happy there. Everything would be so strange for her.”

“Everything here is so strange for you,” Hal said, but Stig smiled sadly at him.

“Not really. I have friends here. There's Simsinnet and his circle, and Tecumsa's family has accepted me. I know I'll be happy here.”

Hal felt tears stinging the back of his eyes at the thought of losing Stig—big, powerful, dependable Stig. He was the mainstay of the crew, Hal's strong right hand, always there when Hal needed support.

“But . . . ,” he began. Then he couldn't think of anything further to say.

Stig reached across and gripped his shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “It'll be all right, Hal,” he said. “It's not the end of the world. You'll find someone to take my place. Hallasholm is full of young men who'd jump at the chance to become a Heron.”

“I don't want someone to take your place. I want you, Stig! Please say you'll reconsider.” He was aghast at the thought of Stig's staying behind. It was as if the fabric of his world were being torn apart.

“Things change, Hal. People change. The situation changes. It's been a wonderful few years with you and the rest of the brotherband. But it's time for me to move on to the next phase of my life. And that's here with Tecumsa.”

“What about your mam? She'll be devastated!” Hal said, desperate to change his mind.

Stig's face saddened. “Yes. I wish she could meet Tecumsa. But she'll understand.” He smiled sadly. “You can explain it to her.”

Then he rose and walked quietly away, leaving his friend devastated.

• • • • • 

Hal slept badly that night, tossing and turning as he thought over what Stig had said. He remembered something his mother had said to him years before, when he had promised to always be beside her.

“You'll move on,” she said. “Young men don't just marry their wives, they marry their families as well. It's the way of the world. Mothers know it and expect it.”

He realized she was right. He resolved, however, to try to convince Stig to bring Tecumsa home with them. Lydia could help. She'd left her homeland and resettled in Skandia. She could tell Tecumsa what a good place it was to live.

But even as he had the thought, he was assailed by doubts. Lydia hadn't left any family behind in her hometown. And she had potentially blotted her copybook with the community leaders by liberating a batch of diamonds to pay the Herons for their services. She hadn't bothered to get permission for that and it could still be held against her. Tecumsa would be leaving her father, mother and brother behind—and an extended family of uncles, aunts and cousins. It wasn't the same at all.

“But we'd all help her fit in,” he said. He wasn't aware that he had spoken the thought aloud until Stefan, on the other side of the tent, called softly to him.

“Are you all right, Hal?”

“Yes. Sorry, Stefan. Go to sleep.”

He heard the other boy pull his blankets up and roll over. He tried to do the same but his mind kept churning. An hour before dawn, he finally dropped off, but he continued to mutter and toss fitfully in his sleep as he dreamed of sailing away from this foreign land, leaving Stig waving farewell on the beach.

Something woke him just after dawn. He sensed something new and he sat up, his head turned to one side to listen. Then he tossed the blankets back and rolled out of bed, slipping out of the sleeping tent and walking toward the palisade. Ulf was on sentry duty and he looked at his skirl curiously. Hal hadn't told the rest of the crew about Stig's shattering revelation, but most of them knew something was amiss with their leader.

“You all right, Hal?” he said, unconsciously repeating Stefan's earlier question.

Hal didn't answer. He sniffed the early morning air. “Did you hear something?” he asked.

Ulf shook his head, yawning. “No. But I'd like to hear Wulf coming to relieve me,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Hal walked a few paces away from Ulf, head raised, listening, sensing. Something was different, he thought. Then it came to him. Since they'd been here, the northeasterly wind had driven the waves through the narrow headland into the bay, sending them rolling onto the beach. The gentle rush of waves breaking had formed a constant background sound to their world. And the trees behind them had stirred and rustled with the wind, sounding like more waves breaking.

Now the waves were stilled and trees were silent.

The wind had shifted to the southwest.

chapter
thirty-one

A
s the rest of the brotherband awoke, they all became aware of the changed conditions. Even Lydia, who was not as attuned to the variations in wind and weather as the rest of the crew, noticed something was different.

“The wind has backed,” Ingvar told her. “We can go home.”

There was a general air of elation in the camp as the Herons realized that the time was fast approaching when they could sail for Hallasholm. Only Stig appeared somewhat downcast, as the prospect of saying good-bye to his friends loomed ever closer. He walked off by himself, head down and shoulders hunched. Hal watched him go, his own heart heavy.

Thorn sensed there was something amiss between the two friends. He took Hal by the elbow and led him a little way down the beach, to a spot where they could speak privately.

“All right. Out with it. What's the trouble between you and Stig?” he asked. He expected to hear that they had quarreled over some minor matter but Hal's answer left him dumbfounded.

“He's planning to stay behind when we go,” the skirl told him miserably.

“Stay behind? Where? Here? What are you talking about?”

“He says he's in love with Tecumsa,” Hal told him.

Thorn stroked his beard thoughtfully at the words. He remembered a time when his friendship with Mikkel, Hal's father, had been disrupted by the advent of a beautiful young slave named Karina. The two friends had got through the disruption, but for a time it had been touch and go, and Thorn had thought their friendship might not survive.

“Oh . . . ,” he said now, understanding the anguish on Hal's face and Stig's downcast appearance as he walked off down the beach. “That makes things difficult. Is he sure he wants to do this?”

Hal shrugged helplessly. “He seems to be. He's obviously thought it through. He says he has a place here with her and her family. Says he can be happy here.”

“I'm sure he can. She's the sort of girl who would make any man happy,” Thorn said.

“I wish she'd never been born!” Hal exclaimed viciously, but Thorn laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“I felt that way once,” he said, and when Hal looked at him curiously, he added, “About your mother.”

“My mam?” Hal said, surprised. “Why would you hate her?”

Thorn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he asked a question of his own. “For a start, you don't hate Tecumsa, do you? Not really?”

Hal hesitated, about to argue, then lowered his eyes. “No. She's a terrific girl. And I'm sure she'll make Stig very happy.”

“That's what I realized about your mother when Mikkel wanted to marry her. I felt I was being cut out of his life.”

“But you weren't, were you? They were still around and you could still see my father whenever you wanted to. This is different. Once we leave, I'll never see Stig again.”

“You could always come back,” Thorn suggested.

Hal shook his head. “No. I'm not keeping any sailing notes on how to get here.” He saw Thorn's surprised look. It would have been standard practice for Hal to keep sailing records—courses, currents, wind conditions—on the way home so that the voyage could be retraced. Hal explained, “If we came back, others would follow—more and more of them. I don't think the Mawagansett want an influx of strangers from the other side of the world barging in on their lives, changing their customs, bringing new ways with them.

“It's been all right with just ten of us, but think how it would be if a hundred, or two hundred Skandians came here. The place would change, and not necessarily for the better. The Mawagansett have been good to us and it wouldn't be fair if their kindness ruined their world.”

Thorn regarded him with admiration. “I've always said you're a thinker,” he said. “That's a very wise attitude for someone of your age.”

Hal essayed a sad smile. “Yeah, well, who knows? Maybe Stig will change his mind when the crunch comes.”

“Maybe,” Thorn agreed. But he didn't sound convinced. Tecumsa was not a girl you changed your mind about, he thought, and he sensed that Hal felt the same way.

They walked side by side back to the campsite, where Edvin was serving breakfast. They each took a slab of toasted corn-flour bread and a few slices of smoked river trout. They had finally run out of coffee, but the pot was filled with a rich herbal tea. It was a hot and comforting drink and they took a mug each and sat on the ground, their backs against a log, to eat.

Lydia joined them, looking around curiously. “Where's Stig?” she asked. Then, answering her own question, she said, “Probably off with Tecumsa.” She liked the Mawagansett girl. She felt a proprietorial interest in both Stig and Hal. They were like brothers to her, and initially she had viewed Stig's growing attachment to Tecumsa with some reservations. But the more she saw of Tecumsa, the more she liked her, for her openness, her honesty and her cheerful attitude to life. She did wonder what would happen between the two of them now that the time had come for the
Heron
to leave. But it was only idle speculation. At heart, she assumed Stig would say farewell to the young woman. It would be sad, but it would be bearable. She shrugged away the thought. We'll cheer him up when the time comes, she thought. That's what friends do for each other.

Neither Hal nor Thorn replied to her, so she settled down to eat her breakfast.

Edvin, who had now served breakfast to all the crew who were gathered around the cook fire, filled a plate of his own and moved to join Hal, Thorn and Lydia by their log.

“When do you plan to get away?” he said to Hal.

The skirl looked up at the ridge behind them, where the tops of the trees were bending to the south wind.

“No rush,” he said. “You've got plenty of time to get the ship fully provisioned.”

Edvin considered the statement. “We're pretty well stocked,” he said. “I'd like to get in a few more jars of water and some fresh vegetables, and then we'll be ready.”

They had filled the water casks already—the leaking one had been repaired—and the Mawagansett had provided them with large clay jars to hold extra water. There was still room for a few more and Hal wanted to carry as much water as possible with them.

“We'll give it a few days,” he told Edvin. “I want to be sure this change isn't temporary.”

Edvin nodded agreement. That made sense, he thought. They wouldn't want to set sail and then find the wind back in the northeast, blowing them away from their destination.

They finished their meal without further discussion. Not for the first time, Hal reflected on how lucky they'd been to have Edvin in the crew. No matter where they were, or what supplies were available, he seemed capable of turning out appetizing, nourishing meals whenever asked.

“I suppose he'll tell me he wants to stay here and open a restaurant with the Mawag ladies,” he said gloomily to himself. He placed his dirty plate and mug on a wooden rack to be washed. Stefan and Ingvar were detailed for kitchen duties. One of the perks of being skirl was that he didn't have to take his turn at menial camp chores. Of course, this was balanced by the fact that, in the event of an emergency, he could find himself at the tiller for eight to ten hours at a stretch.

He walked down to the palisade and studied the bay. The wind was holding steady from the south. The small rollers were no longer being pushed in between the headlands. Looking down the beach, he saw Stig slowly returning to the camp, walking in the firm wet sand by the water's edge, head down and shoulders hunched.

“I know how you feel,” he said softly. Then a cheerful voice interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

“Good morning, Hal.”

He looked up, a little startled. Simsinnet was standing just outside the palisade, by the entry ladder. These days, they didn't bother to raise the outer ladder at night, but Simsinnet still thought it would be a breach of protocol to enter the stockade uninvited.

“Good morning, Simsinnet,” Hal said, and gestured for him to enter. “Come on in.”

But the young Mawag shook his head. “Mohegas has asked if you will come to the village,” he said. “You and Thorn and Stig.”

Hal cocked his head curiously. It was unusual for the elder to request that all three of them come to the village. He reflected that it might have something to do with the change in wind direction.

“Is there some problem?” he asked.

Simsinnet shrugged. “He didn't say. But a messenger came in last night from the north. That might be what he wants to discuss.”

Hal turned and caught Thorn's eye. The old sea wolf had noted Simsinnet's arrival and was watching with interest. Hal beckoned to him and pointed to the trail leading to the village. Thorn made a gesture of understanding and began to walk down the sand to
join them. Hal mounted the inner ladder and stood poised at the top. Stig was still several hundred meters away. Hal put his fingers in his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle.

Simsinnet grinned. “I wish I could make that noise.”

Stig, hearing the signal, looked up and Hal beckoned him urgently. The tall first mate increased his pace, jogging through the sand to the camp.

“What's going on?” Thorn asked.

“Mohegas wants a meeting,” Hal said.

Thorn nodded. “Probably wants to ask when we'll be leaving.”

Hal shrugged. “That's what I thought. But Simsinnet seems to think it's about a messenger who arrived last night.”

They climbed the ladders and descended to the beach outside the palisade, waiting for Stig to join them. Simsinnet greeted him cheerfully and Stig nodded in reply. He met Hal's gaze with an inquiring look of his own.

“Mohegas wants to talk to us,” Hal explained. Then Simsinnet led the three Skandians toward the path that wound through the forest to the Mawagansett village.

The sun hadn't risen high enough yet to penetrate far into the forest and they walked through the dark green shadows in silence. Small birds and animals scampered out of their way and the undergrowth around them was alive with the sound of panicked rustling.

At last, they emerged from the shadows into the clearing where the Mawagansett huts were arranged in neat rows. Those tribespeople who were up and about greeted them as they headed for
Mohegas's hut, but Hal sensed an air of tension about them. They seemed on edge and the usual smiles were absent.

“Something's wrong,” he said quietly to his two friends.

Mohegas emerged from his hut as they approached, doubtless informed of their presence by one of his two guards. He stooped to pass under the low doorway and stood in the early morning sun waiting for them. As they reached the hut, he greeted them, then beckoned them inside.

It was warm and smoky in the hut. The fireplace at one end had a smoke hole in the roof above it, but not all the smoke managed to escape. They followed Mohegas to the circle by the fireplace and sat cross-legged, while his wife, Pacahan, served them with hot mugs of herbal tea.

Stig and Thorn deferred to Hal, waiting for him to open the conversation. The young Skandian came straight to the point.

“What's up, Mohegas?” he asked.

Mohegas took a deep breath, as if stating the problem were somehow going to make it more real.

“The Ghostfaces are raiding again,” he said. “They're already in a village five days to the north of here, and they're on their way south.”